Mary Reed McCall (20 page)

“Are you sure you want to make do with cider, milord?” She blinked again, pulling his attention back from his meandering thoughts. “And not try something a bit more…potent?”

“Nay, Cassie. Cider will do fine if you can find it for me.”

Disappointment flared for a brief moment in her eyes, but then she just nodded, a bit more shyly, he thought, before going off in search of his drink.

By the time she returned with it, he’d worked most of the stiffness from his neck and was even beginning to relax a little. He took the spiced brew from her with murmured thanks and drank deep. He was readying to take another healthy swallow, when the hissing, slurred voices of two men hidden on the other side of the jutting hearth gave him pause. He leaned forward to look. They appeared to be common soldiers of some sort, engaged in drunken conversation.

“’S blood, Francis, I’m sick to death of hearin’ it! You didn’t bury the wrong corpse! ’Tis a story the
like of which you’ve told a hundred times. Only if Lord Montford hears you tellin’ this one, it’ll be the long sleep for you, it will!”

Lord Montford?

Gray set down his cup. Eduard was lord of these lands, and had been since his elder brother’s death some five or six months past. The soldiers could mean no other man.

“Christ Almighty, I’m tellin’ true, Rolf!” the man named Francis hissed, before dropping his voice so low that Gray strained to hear.

“May Saint Peter strike me down if I’m false! Lord Montford made me sneak in and put her in our lady’s tomb. ’Twas the dead of night. He had her wrapped up real good, so’s I couldn’t see her, but I’m telling you, ’twasn’t mistress Catherine! I knew our lady as well as anyone, and ’twasn’t her! This one was ’alf her size. Like a little bird, she was. And I saw a lock of hair peepin’ out the top of the shroud—not brown like our lady’s, but pale as spun gold!”

Golden-haired? Like a little bird?

Montford kept her so secluded within the keep, ’twas impossible for me to gain an audience with her. I told you the only information I could gather from the people of the village. They described Elise de Montford as small and fair-haired. One of the villeins even likened her to a tiny sparrow.

Alban’s apology from the day of his wedding shot through Gray’s brain like fire. Without even realizing that he was going to do it, he surged to his feet and lunged across the hearth, grabbing Francis
by the front of his tunic and pushing him up against the wall.

Francis gasped and sputtered, his eyes rolling wildly in his head. “What—what the devil?” Before he could say more, his gaze fell on Gray’s fine garments, took in his masterful height and the iron-muscled arm gripping him, and then he fell to blathering like an idiot.

“Please, milord Montford! God save me, oh Lord, sweet Jesu in heaven spare me, milord Montford! I didn’t mean any of—”

“I’m not Lord Montford!” Gray muttered, giving him a shake hard enough to rattle his teeth, while he jerked his other arm to remove the loyal Rolf, who’d attached himself with drunken fervor to Gray’s elbow in an effort to protect his friend. Rolf slid to the floor, a boneless heap, crossing himself repeatedly and moaning that they were both doomed now, for sure.

Gray scowled and leaned into Francis, talking slowly, so that the man couldn’t help but understand him. “Tell me everything you know. Who was the woman you buried? And if she was a lady, why was she buried in secret? I want to know everything, damn you, and I want to know it now!”

“Gray, for Christ’s sake, let up on the wretch. He’s senseless already.”

With a growl, Gray released the swooning Francis and twisted to face Alban. His friend’s expression was stony, and a chain with something round and metallic dangled from his fist. Alban held out
the object. “I think this will go a long way in explaining what you want to know.”

Taking the offering from him, Gray squinted at it in the dim light, trying to see it more clearly. ’Twas a locket, fairly new. He popped the clasp to see the miniature inside. A thread of shock wound through him. He looked back to Alban in question, not understanding how this could explain anything.

Rolf had been kneeling in desperate prayer on the floor near Gray, but now he dared enough to peer around him and catch a glimpse of the tiny painting. “Ah,” Rolf murmured softly. “’Tis our beloved mistress Catherine, God bless her soul. A fine lady and a good woman she was.” He crossed himself again. “May she rest in peace.”

And in that instant all of the strength seemed to leave Gray’s limbs. He sank down to the bench like a stone, wondering if he’d ever find means to rise again.

A
breeze caressed Catherine’s fevered skin as she made her way across the clearing, toward the path that cut through the fallow field. With each breath, she inhaled the fertile scents of fallen leaves and sun-warmed grass, but she had no will to enjoy autumn’s bounty this day. Her stomach felt sick, the echoing notes of the
nones
bell matching the relentless thrumming in her ears.

In a few moments she was going to reach the abandoned crofter’s hut and come face to face with Eduard’s evil spy.

Her fingers tingled, and she kept flexing her hands to keep them from going numb. Trying to force herself to focus, she patted the handle of the sheathed dagger she’d secured at her waist as pro
tection. ’Twas little comfort, considering the ordeal that lay ahead, but ’twas better than nothing.

The wind seemed to pick up, gusting through the trees as she approached the old cottage. It crouched like a troll in the woods, with chunks of thatch missing from its roof and several boards hanging askew. A fitting choice, she thought, for Eduard’s misshapen spy.

She paused at the portal, trying to gather her courage to go in and face the man. But then the door creaked open, and she forced her trembling legs to carry her into the cottage’s dim recesses.

It was quiet inside. A film of grit seemed to blanket everything in the oppressive atmosphere, and a damp, musty smell assaulted her. Rubbing her eyes, Catherine squinted, trying to make them adjust from the light of outdoors. Where was the wretch? He’d arrived first, the open door made that clear. Was he hiding to frighten her? Was this some perverse game he played, worthy of his evil master?

A grinding crunch sounded to her left, and she swung her gaze to the spot. The hunched man stood half in shadow, his form partly illuminated by daylight streaming in from the shutter he’d just opened. Dust motes danced in the slash of light, swirling round him. He stepped closer, and Catherine forced herself not to shrink back. As before, only his thin, pale lips showed beneath the folds of his hood.

“Have you come alone?” he asked in a low rasp.

“Aye,” she whispered.

“You’re certain that no one followed you?”

She nodded mutely this time, feeling what little courage she’d mustered beginning to fade. This man, this
spy
, held her children’s lives in his hands. Holy saints, what could she do to stop him from making them suffer for her mistakes?

“Please,” she blurted, “please don’t let Eduard hurt my babes. I’m begging you, do not to tell him of—”

“Hush, Catherine,” the man said softly, and she stilled, feeling a tingle go up her spine at the change in his voice. There was something about it. Something that struck a chord at the very center of her…

“There’s no need to fear,” he continued, his tone gentle and melodious. “I’ll not be telling Lord Montford anything, except to go straight to hell where he belongs, to roast with all of the other demons and villains.”

With that the man slowly straightened until he stood miraculously transformed, just as tall and true as any other healthy person. When he lifted his hands to his hood, Catherine gasped; her heart skipped a beat as he swept the dark material back to expose his face and the silvery waves of hair atop his head. After staring for several moments, her voice finally squeaked past the tightness in her throat.

“Heldred? Sweet Mother of God. Heldred, is it really you?”

“Aye, my lady, ’tis me,” he answered quietly. “Blessed be, but ’tis good to speak with you at long last.”

Shock dissolved into happy tears as Catherine threw herself into the old man’s arms. He hugged her tight to him, and she heard the catch in his breathing as he stroked her hair softly.

In all of her years as Geoffrey de Montford’s wife, Heldred had been the only person, other than her own children, to show her kindness and love; the old weaver had been the first in her life to treat her gently, with courtesy. Though their stations in life were different, they’d become friends. She remembered how his sun-browned cheeks had wrinkled with smiles every time he helped her, teaching her new skills to perfect her weaving, and she’d never ceased to feel grateful for his care of her.

Now she pulled back, gazing at his dear old face and spilling questions at him in a confusing stream. “Why did you—how did you know where to find me, and what do you know about all this—?”

Heldred shook his head, smiling. “Ah, lady. I suspected something foul from the moment Lord Montford announced you dead.” He stroked his finger over her wet cheek. “When I slipped past the guards and found Elise’s body in your tomb, I saw the truth of his evil deed. I decided then that he had brought you here as his own sister, though at first I didn’t understand why he would commit such blasphemy. I came here to watch over you and to be sure that he planned no other harm.”

Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place. Gripping his hand, Catherine smiled at him through her tears, “’Twas you all along, wasn’t it?
You
were the one who sent me that pot of salve for my blisters. And those bouquets of flowers—and the padded weaving mat that appeared in my chamber just last week. All this time, it was you! But why did you not reveal yourself to me? Why did you let me think you were one of Eduard’s spies?”

“For the fears that I caused you, my lady, I am heartily sorry,” Heldred murmured, bowing his head. “But I needed to keep my disguise to be sure that none other might recognize me and report of it. I didn’t want to endanger you in any way, so I watched and waited.” Shadows deepened his brown eyes. “And I learned. I think I understand, now, my lady, why Lord Montford sent you here. It has to do with your husband, does it not?”

Catherine released his hands and stepped away. “Aye. Eduard wants me to prepare the way for Gray’s murder, so that he can assume Gray’s power and lands. If I refuse, he’s vowed to kill Ian and Isabel as punishment.”

Heldred cursed under his breath. “’Tis as I suspected.” He looked back to Catherine. “When is the deed to be committed?”

“I do not know. The order is certain to come soon, though. Eduard has been away with the king for nigh on two months already. ’Tis why I planned to escape tonight.”

“But why have you not—” Heldred paused, studying her. “I mean no offense, my lady, but why have you not confided in Lord Camville? I’ve noticed in these weeks of watching that he seems to be
a kind man. A powerful man, in a position, surely, to help you.”

Catherine felt her cheeks heat. “Gray is a good man, Heldred. The finest I’ve known. I had resolved to tell him, and in truth, an opportunity to confess presented itself but a week past, when we were away from both the castle and Eduard’s spies. But I let the chance slip by.”

Heldred frowned. “When was that?”

“The day of the village fair.”

“Ah, yes,” Heldred said. “I remember. Sir Alban left to find you and Lord Camville in the forest after the brawling began at the marketplace.”

Catherine nodded, the heat in her cheeks intensifying. She remembered all too well those moments in the glen and the passion she and Gray had shared. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Heldred, dear as he was, the full reason behind why she’d remained silent.

Finally, she settled for an explanation of a different kind. “Gray left that same afternoon at the king’s command. He went to Cheltenham, to assist in a grand assize there. It’s been six days already, with no telling when he’ll return.” She looked away, so that Heldred wouldn’t see the pain in her eyes when she added, “And that is why I must leave tonight. I cannot continue to risk my children’s safety by waiting longer. I am only indulging myself if I do.”

Heldred drew her gaze again, his dark, wise eyes searching hers. “You feel deeply for your husband, then, lady?”

She tried to blink back stinging tears, but in the end, she just nodded and forced a watery smile. “Aye, Heldred. I love him. My heart aches to think that I must leave him. But my children must come first. I know that, and yet I—”

Her voice cracked, and with an oath, Heldred gathered her to him like a wounded child. All the anxiety of the past week seemed to overwhelm her, and she let herself weep into his kind embrace, clinging to him for strength. It felt so good to have the comfort of this old friend; he knew her true identity and could share her burden, even if only for a little while.

When the worst of her crying had passed, Catherine hiccuped and wiped her nose with the scrap of linen he offered her. “Thank you,” she murmured, trying again to smile. “The only bright spot in all of this is finding you, Heldred. That, and knowing I’ll see my children again tonight, God willing.”

“Aye. If there be any justice in this world, you and they will live safely together once more.” Heldred stood straighter. “I want to help you to it, my lady.”

“What?”

“I wish to go with you, to assist you in freeing your children from Faegerliegh Keep.”

“Nay, Heldred. I’ll not have you risking yourself more. Coming here and taking a disguise to watch over me was danger enough.”

“And what of the twins’ safety, lady? Will you be
content to pass by what help I can offer? Are not two rescuers better than one?”

Catherine frowned at her old friend, taking a breath in preparation to argue with him, then clamping her mouth shut when she realized that he was right. She sighed. “You have a point. But attempting a rescue at Faegerliegh will be dangerous, as you well know. The intricacy of the corridors alone will daunt us, not to mention the guards Eduard has surely posted everywhere.”

“That doesn’t change my wanting to aid you.” A familiar glint sparked in his eyes. “Besides, if we find trouble, you can always stun the guards with a few passes of your blade. You know, your first day of training with the sword was inspirational.” He grinned and made a feinting pass at her before letting his imaginary steel tip thud to the floor.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “You saw that too, did you?”

He shrugged. “I followed at a safe distance. ’Twas but a short while after I’d arrived at Ravenslock, and I had to be sure that your new husband meant you no harm by taking you out dressed so strangely and with weapons in tow.”

Catherine’s smile dimmed. Gray had never meant her any harm in the entire time she’d known him. All he’d ever done was care for her and make her feel safe and loved. Shaking her head to push the thoughts away, she said, “I’ll have you know I’m much improved from that first day.”

“Aye, lady, I know,” he said, still smiling. “I’ve
been watching.” Then he gestured toward the door. “But perhaps we should go now so that you may get back to the castle. It wouldn’t do for you to be missed on this of all days.”

Catherine nodded, clasping his wrinkled hand in hers. “I had planned to leave after dark, once the Punkie Night festivities were full under way. My maidservants told me ’tis a night of wild revels. The confusion will provide a chance for us to make our escape.”

“’Tis a good plan. We can leave with what we need before anyone even knows we’ve gone. Where did you stow the sack of provisions I saw you gathering?”

“I hid it in the straw behind the stables. I thought it would be easier to retrieve when I needed to get it onto my mount.”

“Clever, my lady. But riding will make it necessary to steal a horse. Two, if I am to go as well.”

“Aye, Heldred, I know. I regret the theft, and yet I cannot see much choice in it. Not if we’re to get to Faegerliegh and spirit the twins away before a search finds us.”

Heldred nodded. “’Tis a boon, then, that I sleep in the stables. I’ve been passing myself off as a groom. In disguise my back looks crippled, but I’ve proved to them that my hands work well.” He grinned, wiggling his fingers. “I can prepare the mounts for us. All you’ll need to do is meet me at the stables as soon as most of the revelers have left the castle.”

“I’ll be there,” Catherine said, opening the door
and peering out of the cottage to ensure that the pathway was quiet. All looked bright and deceptively calm. She ducked back inside for a moment to give Heldred a hug and a murmured farewell. But before she could embrace him, he winced and drew in his breath sharply. Startled, Catherine pulled back.

“What is it, Heldred? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my lady,” he said through gritted teeth, reaching for the pouch on his neck. After fumbling to open the drawstring, he took a pinch of the dried contents inside and pushed it past his lips. In a moment his spasm seemed to pass, and he breathed easier. Apologetically, he looked at her. “’Tis but an old malady of the chest. Nothing that a little cherry bark cannot cure.”

“But it pained you so,” she said, still worried. “Might it not be better to have the castle healer examine you to be sure ’tis nothing more serious?”

“Nay, I’m fine,” he said, waving her off. “I’ll not forestall the rescue of your children for the sake of my aches and pains.”

He smiled tightly again and shooed her toward the door, but she resisted. “I wish you would reconsider, Heldred.”

“Nay, my lady. Please. Speak no more of it.”

She paused, lips pursed at his obstinacy. Finally she just shook her head and said, “If you will not do as I bid concerning this, then you must grant me one other boon.”

“What is it, my lady?”

“To be careful in your preparations for this night.
Horse thieving is a serious crime, and I do not know if I could live with myself if anything happened to you because of me.”

He patted her cheek. “Aye, you have my word, lady. I will be fine. I plan to do my work in the shadows, as always.” He smiled, crouching back down into his former, hunchbacked pose, startling her again with the swiftness of his transformation. “People often overlook cripples, you know, my lady. ’Tis easier for most to pretend deformity doesn’t exist.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand before moving to the door.

“Until tonight, then, Mistress Catherine,” he called gruffly.

“Aye, Heldred.” She gave him one last look over her shoulder. “Until tonight.”

Eduard tilted a stick of sealing wax to the flame and let it drip onto the fold of parchment he held. When the liquid had accumulated to a thick, blood-red pool, he turned his hand and pressed his signet into it. There. ’Twas done. Nodding for his messenger to approach, he handed him the sealed document.