Mary Reed McCall (19 page)

S
quinting, Catherine blew a strand of hair from her eyes. Her knees ached from sitting in a cramped position for the past three hours, even though she’d been using the padded weaving mat that had mysteriously appeared in her chamber a few days ago. Worse, her fingers felt as if she’d dipped them in boiling water. But she couldn’t stop now. ’Twas almost done.

There
. Slipping the final strand of willow through, she deftly wove it among the other supple rods until it held. Then she pushed herself to her knees on her mat to better survey the finished product.

The chair was her best yet. Its large, curving back was graceful, the arms sturdy looking, but with an intricate woven design along the edges that set it
apart from others she’d made. ’Twas a kingly chair, fit for a noble knight or a great leader.

Fit for Gray.

She stood abruptly, gripping the chair’s back as his name resounded through her mind and soul, flooding her with all of the thoughts she’d done her best to keep at bay for the past six days.

Time was running out. Eduard wouldn’t wait forever to take what he wanted. He’d been with King Henry for nearly two months already, and she had a sinking feeling that her luck wouldn’t hold much longer. Soon he’d be breathing down her neck again, demanding that she help him to finish their evil bargain or allow her children to suffer for her inaction.

Her hand tightened on the chair until the long, graining weave imprinted on her already sore fingers. Her skin was stained with tannin from the boiled rods, and her fingertips had long ago gone numb. She’d been weaving night and day, it seemed, since Gray had left for the grand assize. But the simple act of creating had calmed her, as always. Had helped her to think.

Now she knew what she must do, though it was breaking her heart. For as much as she loved Gray, and as much as it would destroy her never to see him again, she had to leave Ravenslock. She could wait no longer to save her children from Eduard.

Her stomach rolled with the thought of what she planned. Rescuing the twins without help was risky at best. Her skills in swordplay were barely enough to carry her through rudimentary drills,
not to mention defending herself and the children against Eduard’s trained knights. But with Gray in Cheltenham for God knew how much longer, it was the best she could offer.

Foolish twit, waiting like a lovesick maid for your prince to return
. Such nonsense was the stuff of dreams. It never happened in real life. Not for someone like her, anyway. But she’d clung to the fragile hope that Gray might return in time to hear the truth. That she’d somehow manage to keep his love, despite her lies and her sins against him.

It had been a dream built on air, one that had served no purpose but to place her children in more danger.

Silently cursing herself, Catherine blinked back tears. Ian and Isabel needed her, now more than ever, and she’d sat here doing nothing for them. The time had come to act.

Tonight.

Aye, she’d leave tonight. The Punkie Night celebration would be under way by sundown. ’Twas an evening of freedom and wild revels, when the castle gates opened wide for a flood of people descending to the village for the harvest festivities. If she was careful, no one would notice her slipping off onto the dark down the road back to Somerset. They wouldn’t raise the call that she was missing until much later, after she’d made good distance from Ravenslock.

A tingle of fear went through her as the reality of her decision sank home. What would she need to
take with her? Her boy’s garments, of course. And her sword. Her jaw tightened at the thought of actually using it on anyone, but she tried to concentrate instead on what else she should gather before sunset. A large, dark cloak to conceal herself. And a swift mount. As much as she hated the thought of adding horse theft to her list of sins against Gray, she’d never reach the twins by morning unless she rode to get to them.

It was settled, then. Yet those things needed to be gathered at the last moment, to minimize the chance of anyone noticing. What provisions could she garner now without raising undue suspicion?

Food
.

She’d need as much food as she could carry with her, for both herself and the twins. Enough to last them all for a few days, at least. By then she hoped to have traveled nearer to London, where the three of them could more easily disappear into the crowds and where she might hope to earn even a meager living through her weaving.

After taking a few deep breaths, Catherine poked her head out the door of the weaving chamber and looked around. ’Twas quiet in the corridor. She headed toward the stairs, preparing to sneak down to the larder to fill a sack that she could hide in her room until tonight.

She could hear the sounds of preparation for the Punkie Night festivities increasing as she got closer to the gallery above the great hall. She stopped a few paces shy of the stairway, keeping back in the
shadows. From her position near the rail, she could see people scurrying back and forth, scrubbing, cleaning, setting up wooden trestle tables and shaking out linens. They darted about, trying to avoid colliding with servants who were in the process of laying fresh floor rushes sprinkled with herbs.

Several women moved through the confusion, giggling as they pushed a handcart piled high with fat orange pumpkins toward the courtyard door. One of them shrieked and veered around a boy replacing torches; at their movement, a few of the pumpkins rolled from the barrow and cracked on the stone floor. Peals of laughter mingled with grumbling while the women jostled each other to scoop up the mess of seeds and stringy pulp.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Catherine swept down the staircase and out of the hall. She only stopped when she was in the cool dark of the corridor leading to the kitchens.

Pressing her hand to her stomach, she leaned against the wall, trying to still the nervousness that radiated through her entire frame. It was then that she realized that she stood in almost the same spot where Eduard had cornered her so many weeks ago. The same spot where Gray had come to her rescue and made her loathsome brother by marriage pull in his claws and retreat.

Grief threatened to overwhelm her, flooding her with a thousand sweet memories of Gray. Sweet Jesu, it was going to be hard to leave him. Clenching her jaw hard, she pushed away from the wall and continued to the larder, managing to nod and mur
mur something about a picnic to the page and two cook’s assistants she passed on the way.

Young Tom, the gallant who had accosted her and Gray near the stream with his friends, looked up from his pot-scrubbing duty as she passed. He grinned and waved, and she mustered a smile for him. Another pang cut through her. Everyone had been so kind to her here. But she couldn’t think about that now. She fought to keep the image of Ian and Isabel at the front of her mind, reminding her of what she needed to do.

Finally, she reached the larder. After glancing to see that no one watched, she slipped into the cool chamber. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom as she scrounged for an empty sack. Like every other part of this wondrous castle, the food stores here exceeded imagination. Provisions of every kind lined the shelves and filled the barrels stacked on the floor. And it all smelled wonderful. Eight freshly baked loaves lay cooling on a board near a pallet of cheeses with thick yellow rinds.

She tossed three of the loaves and two circles of cheese into her bag, adding seven or eight crisp apples, topped by numerous handfuls of walnuts from one of the barrels. She allowed herself a tiny smile while she scooped up the hard fruits; Ian always adored cracking open their shells with a stone to get to the meat inside. Pray God she’d find him well enough to take the same pleasure in dissecting these.

A few onions followed the rest. As a final thought, she added a parchment-wrapped bundle of wax tapers from a pile that lay in the coolest part
of the larder. They were a luxury, unsuitable for the life she and the twins would be living once they escaped, but they might be bartered, later, for more food. Taking a last look around, she pulled the string tight on the sack and gritted her teeth to lift it over her shoulder.

Saints, ’twas heavy. The trick would be getting it back to her chamber unnoticed. Then again, perhaps she ought to hide it somewhere nearer to the stables, so that it would be easier to hoist onto her mount when the time was right tonight.

Biting her lip, Catherine considered her options. There was a mound of clean hay, covered by a pavilion of sorts, just behind the stables; she could hide the bag there until night fell and the area emptied as most of the workers went to the Punkie Night celebration. She dragged the sack to the door, so caught up in her thoughts that she opened it and stepped out without checking first.

“Good morn, Lady Camville,” a harsh voice rasped. “Planning a journey, are you?”

Catherine silenced the scream that bubbled up in her throat; her sack thudded to the floor as she snapped her gaze to the person who’d surprised her.

’Twas the deformed man, swathed in his customary black robes. He stood crouched in the shadows just outside the door, his mouth the only visible part of his face. His thin white lips pursed together, and though his eyes were hidden in the folds of his hood, she felt the strength of his stare on her.

“You seem to have packed a great deal there,” he
said, nodding to the sack. “It must be a sizable journey you plan to undertake.”

“I—I’m having a picnic,” she blurted, despising herself for the fear that tightened her throat.

“Oh, aye, a picnic,” he cackled. “All the way to Faegerliegh Keep, I’d warrant.” She felt herself blanch, but before she could even attempt a denial, he shuffled closer to her, making her shrink against the wall. He started to say something, but then stopped as two laundresses opened a door down the corridor and started toward them.

The women chattered, unaware of anyone else, until at last they veered away and disappeared down another passage to the great hall. But their interruption seemed to change the man’s mood. He swung his hooded head around, as if checking for others who might disturb him.

Finally, he leaned closer to her again, rasping softly, “If you wish to keep your children safe from harm, lady, then do as I say. Meet me after the
nones
bell in the abandoned crofter’s hut beyond the limits of the fallow field. Fail me not.”

With that he coughed, the sound rattling from his chest, and turned to hobble down the hall. She heard the portal to the yard swing open and bang shut behind him. And then her knees gave way. She gripped the doorframe to steady herself, her breath coming shallow, her eyes a blur of dancing black dots.

If you wish to keep your children safe from harm
…

Holy Mother Mary, the man was Eduard’s spy, and he’d caught her planning her escape.

Her babes. Sweet God, her precious babes. She’d done this to them with her clumsy, ridiculous ideas of a rescue. Would the spy tell Eduard about her transgression against him? And would her odious brother by marriage choose to take out his anger toward her on her children?

Her heart hammered with thick, painful beats. She released her hold on the wall, sinking to the floor as she clasped her hands tightly to pray. She begged God to help her, beseeching Him for the courage to face this nameless spy of Eduard’s…and for the strength to deliver her children from the clutches of evil.

Pushing his hand through his hair, Gray strode into the village tavern in Somerset, bone-weary from the events of the past six days. The grand as-size was over, thank God. He’d conducted himself in a way sure to please King Henry, but the whole time his mind had kept straying to the task awaiting him here; his chance to learn more about Elise and the secrets she was keeping from him.

His gaze swept the dim recesses of the inn. At this time of the afternoon, the place was predictably full of customers, all seeking a pint of ale or some watered wine to ease their day’s toil. He’d sent a message ahead to Alban, informing him of his arrival, but it seemed that his friend remained occupied elsewhere for the moment. Ah, well. Waiting for Alban gave him good reason to sit and cool his own parched throat.

He walked to the back of the wattle and daub building, finding an empty bench near the hearth. He sank down with a sigh, stretching his back and trying to work the kinks out of his neck, noticing that several village residents favored him with curious stares. ’Twas nothing out of the ordinary. His size alone usually elicited such attention, but today he’d worn several of his finest garments for the conclusion of the grand assize, and it assured that many here would find him an interesting sight.

“Here you go, love.”

A blond serving wench set a cup of ale in front of him, sloshing some of the brew over its rim. With a false mew of distress, she leaned over to wipe up the spill, ensuring that the full mounds of her breasts wobbled temptingly in his face while she cleaned.

Gray lifted his brow. Tavern lasses were a usually cheeky lot, but this one was bold, even by common standards. When she smiled and pulled away, ready to flounce her nether assets at him on her way to the next customer, he decided to smile back at her. It stilled her in her tracks as effectively as he’d hoped it would.

“I’d prefer some spiced cider, lass, if you have any,” he said, lifting the cup of ale to hand it back to her.

The girl stared at him, her mouth gone slack. Finally she clamped it shut, seeming to regain her wits enough to run her appreciative gaze over him and dart out her tongue to moisten her lips. “The name’s Cassie, milord,” she answered in a husky
purr, “and I’m not so sure Master Jack keeps much more than ale and wine in store.”

“Cassie, then.” He held the cup to her again, still smiling. “I’d be grateful if you’d look for me.”

She smoothed her hands over her curved hips and tilted her head ever so slightly, fluttering her thick fringe of lashes at him. Ah, she was good. Too good, perhaps. It wouldn’t surprise him if he came back here in a year to find Cassie full and ripe with a babe, courtesy of one of the men with whom she so shamelessly flirted.