Blades of Valor (22 page)

Katherine grinned inside.
Thomas kept his vow well. What still lies hidden at the monastery of his childhood might—

“I overheard nothing about that which we seek,” Waleran repeated, “and a freak child, whose face was burned, helped them escape.”

Again, Katherine found reason for hidden satisfaction.
He does not know it was I behind those bandages.

“It was hardly worth my effort for what little I gained in that prison.” Waleran squirmed as if remembering the dank darkness and the flea-infested straw and the scurrying of rats. “However, my time in York paid dividends, as you know.”

Katherine bowed her head. Waleran had been in a neighboring cell as she spoke to the captured Earl of York. What he had heard had been enough to—

Waleran cackled again. “Yes. Thomas thought he was so brave and noble, capturing Isabelle and holding her as hostage. Little did he know we had deliberately allowed that, so that he would lead us to—”

“You saw the old man dead,” Thomas interrupted with bitterness. “Was that not enough?”

Katherine kept her head bowed this time so that Waleran would not see the gleam of triumph in her eyes. Yes, Thomas had led Waleran’s soldiers to her and the old man. But Hawkwood, in the confusion of the attack, had pretended death by swallowing one of the prepared pills he always carried among the herbs and potions hidden beneath his cloak. This pill, made from the dried and crushed bark of rhododendrons, caused unconsciousness, coldness of the skin, and a vastly reduced heart rate. A gamble, for any of the soldiers might have run him through with a sword, but a necessary and successful one.

“Dead, and not a moment too soon.” Waleran laughed. “His death made it easy to outmaneuver you. Following you to the Holy Land was child’s play. And such simple minds.” Waleran choked on his laughter, then recovered. “Should it not be obvious that if there were Immortals in the Holy Land, that Druids would also have their spies?”

“Lord Hubert Baldwin,” Thomas spat.

“None other,” Waleran said. “One of your most trusted men and one of our greatest allies. Without his help, Magnus might never have fallen as it first did.”

Katherine felt frozen to the ground. So many died then. A generation of Immortals wiped out. And now the Druids would be able to move openly against an entire country.

“He is a man of strong arm, but limited intelligence. And I did not want to soil my own hands with such matters. So after he had secured you, his task was complete. I naturally handled the more nuanced matters.”

“Baldwin now rots in a Jerusalem dungeon,” Thomas challenged.

“He was a fool to allow himself to be taken in Jerusalem.” Waleran shrugged. “No matter. I needed to return immediately to England. As a chamberlain, I have freedom but not unlimited freedom, and the situation seemed to be in hand, especially since the Mameluke officials are not averse to bribes.”

Then Waleran grinned, an ugly, evil grin of stinking breath and smug triumph. “You have reported the rest. What he failed to do, you accomplished for us. What we lost so many centuries ago, you recovered and against all odds, returned it to England.”

He stood and rubbed his hands briskly. “And now. I shall take that book.”

Forty-Three

W
ith reluctance, Katherine nodded at Thomas.

“Not so, my dear,” Waleran said. “
You
take the book from him and slowly hand it to me. He is young enough and strong enough to attempt an attack.”

Waleran placed his hand on the sword’s hilt as he directed his words at Katherine. “And if
you
attempt anything, I shall run you through.”

Thomas unwrapped the book. Katherine took it with both hands and extended it to Waleran.

He merely smiled.

“You think I will reach for it and drop my guard? Place it on the armrest and step away.”

Katherine did as instructed.

When she had retreated to her previous position, Waleran opened the book and glanced inside.

“Ah. Splendid,” he breathed. “I see already many of the secrets we lost over the centuries.”

He ran a dirty finger down one of the pages. “Here. A mixture of common garden herbs to induce madness … there, a prediction of the stars’ movement, knowledge to impress superstitious peasants.”

Waleran paused. “But you already know these weapons. The eclipse during the hanging of the knight. That was masterful.” He mused further. “Of course, Hawkwood is dead and I need not worry …”

He slammed his fist down on the book, snapping Katherine’s head upward in attention.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice no longer contemplative but ugly and threatening. “What did you hope to accomplish with this book?”

Katherine bit her tongue.

“Tell me!” Waleran roared. “Silence gains you nothing!”

He leaped to his feet and placed the tip of his sword against Katherine’s throat.

“I need only pierce the skin,” Waleran said, in a voice unexpectedly silky, “and she dies. So tell me.”

“At the back,” Thomas said hurriedly. “At the back of the book lies the Druid outline for means of taking a country. Key towns to hold. Key people to bribe. Although it is dated by the passage of centuries, it shows intent. Proof of a Druid master plan, to be delivered to King Edward. That, and news of what is happening in northern towns now, was to be enough for him to consider a Druid threat in this day and age. With his help, we hoped to stop you.”

“Children, children,” Waleran said with insincere sympathy as he stepped away from Katherine and sat once again in his chair. “What delusions you carry. King Edward himself is a pliable fool, who relies heavily on my advice. And he is so distracted now with war against Scotland that I am allowed to dictate our domestic affairs.”

Waleran laughed. “Do you think it is an accident that a hopeless battle against Scotland preoccupies him? Hardly. Once again, my advice. As I said, a useful distraction, and one that weakens the entire country.”

Waleran then sighed and stared into the distance. “Thomas,” he said softly, “give us what we have always wanted from you. What you were entrusted to guard since birth.”

Still Thomas sat silent.

“You have a simple choice,” Waleran said. “Join us and gain the wealth and power of the land’s most powerful earl. Or remain silent and see Katherine die.”

“No!” Katherine uttered. “My life is nothing compared to what he seeks. Thomas, I die gladly.”

“Thomas?” Waleran purred.

Still Thomas said nothing.

“A difficult choice?” Waleran asked. “Perhaps time in the torture chambers will loosen your tongue.”

Waleran did not wait for a response.

Instead, he raised his voice. “Guards!”

The door opened instantly.

Waleran stood and pointed to Thomas and Katherine.

“Take them to the Tower.”

Forty-Four

K
atherine wept freely. Though she was not alone in the Tower prison cell, her cries went unheard. The other occupant of the cell was Thomas, unconscious. Moments before, two guards had dragged him in. His head sagged like a broken puppet’s. They had shackled him to his place along the wall.

Now, the chains kept him from falling forward completely, though his hands, attached to the chains, reached behind his back at an unnatural angle. Katherine hardly dared guess how much it tore his muscles to have his entire weight straining so awkwardly against his chest and arms.

She reached for his face.

She didn’t need the clank of chains that followed her every movement to remind her that it was impossible. From where she stood, she could only move a foot away from the wall. Her own wrists were shackled, and even with lifted arms reaching and pushing against the chain, her fingers stopped inches short of Thomas’s face.

“My love,” she cried, “awaken. Please.”

He did not.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. For five days, the guards had taken him away during midmorning. For five days, they returned him less than an hour later. Each time he had been placed unconscious in those chains. Each time it had taken longer to rouse him.

She longed to touch his face. In sudden rage, Katherine yanked her chains, uncaring of the stabbing pain of the cruel metal of the shackles biting into the softness of her wrist. But her fingers fell tantalizing inches short.

“Thomas,” she whispered again. “Please. Please look at me.”

In the quiet, a rat rustled in the straw at her feet. She cared little. Rats were as common as the fleas, and her attention was on Thomas’s pale face, motionless in the sunlight that fell through a high, narrow window.

Thomas stirred. Groaned. Blinked. And slowly found his feet.

“Katherine,” he croaked. Joy filled his voice. “You are still here.”

She turned her head so that he would not see the tears. How could he think of her first when they inflicted so much pain upon him?

“I am still here,” she said, her voice muffled by the hair that clung to her wet cheeks.

“It is my worst nightmare. That I will return here and find you gone. I … I … could not bear this prison alone.”

“Nor I,” she said simply.

She brought her face around again to the sound of the shuffling of his chains.

They stared at each other.

Thomas brought his hand up, as she did hers, but the chains brought them short. Their fingertips could get no closer than six inches apart.

“I dreamed you called me ‘my love,’ ” Thomas said.

“I did,” Katherine replied. She waited long moments, as if debating whether to speak. “It is a subject we have avoided,” she said. “My love for you. Yours, I pray, for me. My own fear was this. To declare love for you yet be helpless against the Druids.”

“We are not helpless,” Thomas vowed. “For I have not revealed to the torturers the secrets of my childhood monastery.”

“But to save your life …”

“No. Sir William hinted that my knowledge could turn the final battle. To reveal it now means my life is worthless.”

“Yet—”

“No, Katherine. There is no ‘yet.’ ” He grinned. Blood trickled from one corner of his mouth. “We shall watch for escape.”

Anger seemed to strengthen his voice. “I have said it before. We shall watch for escape. Then, we shall return to the monastery, and I will solve the final puzzle, find what it is the Druids so badly seek! With that, they shall be defeated. Dreaming of this final crushing blow sustains me.”

The effort of rage cost him his reserves of energy. Briefly, he sagged again against the chains. “Then we shall talk of our love,” he finished softly.

This time, Katherine made no attempt to hide her tears.

Thomas gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Anger once more gave him strength to stand upright.

“Katherine,” he began. “Do not despair. You will see a chance for escape. Or I will.” His voice rose again. “All we need do is reach the monastery.”

Forty-Five

I
sabelle looked up from the bolts of wedding dress material to watch Rowan through the window. It warmed her heart to see him scowl from his post at the door at any passerby that he deemed suspicious or a possible threat to her.

It began to sprinkle rain.

Isabelle called, “Rowan, come inside.”

He poked his head inside the shop. “No, m’lady.”

She had learned he was too stubborn to sway.

He remained in place as if it were the sunniest of days, and he staunchly waited another hour until she reappeared.

By then, the rain had ceased, and Rowan’s hair had dried.

“M’lady,” Rowan said gravely as they began to walk down the cobblestone toward the waiting carriage, “we must talk.”

“Talk?” Her mind was on the misery ahead of her. The dress would be ready in two days, and the day after, she would be the Duchess of Whittingham.

“I can see you are not happy,” he said. “ ’Tis the marriage ahead of you.”

“There was a time,” she confessed, “when I had hoped for another.”

She could not explain to Rowan that she meant Thomas. For that would begin to unravel all the lies she had told Rowan about the need to stop Thomas in the Holy Land.

“Have you not the right to refuse this marriage?” Rowan asked.

“It has been arranged,” Isabelle said. There was much more to it than that, of course. The secret society of Druids. Her role. Waleran’s role. “It is how life is.”

“But once the king had complete rule,” Rowan said. “And now he assembles a parliament to vote on matters. Things change. What if you refused to marry?”

“My father is Lord Mewburn. This marriage is for political alliance. If I refuse, it would be a direct challenge to my father’s power, and he would not allow it, for it would make him look weak. I would be banished from the household, and when the money that I have is gone, I would be forced to live as a peasant or a working girl. Craft guilds rarely allow women. I would spend all my days spinning wool or selling fish.”

“Is that not worth the price of freedom?” Rowan asked. “The castle and position as the Duchess of Whittingham is a prison, is it not?”

“I have no choice but to obey my father.”

“You just told me you have a choice. And I’ve learned how much knowledge you have in medicines and potions. You could be a healer, helping others as you have selflessly helped me.”

Isabelle couldn’t think of a suitable reply. The boy in front of her had no idea that she had deceived him from the beginning, simply so that she could have a trusted guide.

Rowan continued, “When you get into the carriage, m’lady, I will not accompany you.”

She tilted her head, puzzled. She’d come to rely on Rowan’s loyalty as something as sure as the rising of the sun.

A tear trickled down his face. “I heard the duke tell you that the only way I would get an audience with the Harcourt family is if you become the Duchess of Whittingham. Your happiness is more important to me than my own. I have decided that I must leave your side and depend on others to defend you. With me gone, you may then more easily decide to refuse to become the duke’s wife.”