Exile's Return (32 page)

Agnes turned back to face him. ‘Your gold? It is not your gold.'

He narrowed his eyes, an avaricious gleam in their depths. ‘It was on my property, therefore it is my gold.'

Agnes stared at him. ‘If you extend that logic then it is Henry's, not yours. This is not your property and it never will be, Tobias Ashby. Everything on this land is yours only by dint of Henry's guardianship.'

Tobias's gaze flicked to the little boy with a look in his eyes that made her blood run cold.

‘Turner. Escort Mistress Fletcher to her bedchamber and ensure she is locked in.'

Agnes stiffened as Turner took her arm. ‘You found what you were looking for, Tobias. My obligation to you is relieved. Let me go.'

Ashby shook his head. ‘Oh no. There is far more to this tale then I am hearing and I am not convinced by your pretty little tale. Take her away, Turner, and ensure that servant of hers is suitably detained as well.'

***

Chafing with impatience, Daniel paced the kitchen, provoking uncharitable comments from the cook. Sarah had taken Agnes's breakfast up to her but had not returned.

Something was wrong.

When the girl finally appeared at the door, breathless and her cap askew, he knew his instinct was right. She ran to him and grasped his arm, pulling him outside into the yard.

‘You've got to go,' she said. ‘Turner will be here any minute to lock you up just as they've done Mistress Agnes. Ye're more use to her out there then ye are here. I'll tell her.'

Everything in Daniel's being protested at abandoning Agnes again, but head won over heart and he barely had time to collect his few belongings before he heard the sound of heavy feet on the kitchen stairs.

Sarah waited for him in the courtyard.

‘Go to my aunt's,' she said. ‘I'll come as soon as I can.'

‘My horses –'

She shook her head. ‘No time. Go, Daniel.'

He took to his heels, making his escape out through the kitchen garden and the woods to Peg Truscott's cottage. At every footstep he cursed himself for not carrying Agnes away last night when they had the chance. How did they ever think they could carry through the charade? Now she was truly a prisoner, and he had abandoned her not once but twice.

He reached the cottage more by luck than good judgment and forced himself to pause, watching the little building for what seemed an age. In the grey half light, smoke curled from the chimney but he saw nothing and nobody that gave him cause for alarm.

He circled to the back of the house, knocking on the low door. Peg answered it, her eyes widening when she saw him. She stood aside and he all but fell into the gloomy space.

Strong fingers circled his arm and the muzzle of a pistol pressed into the back of his neck.

Daniel swore and whoever had seized him relaxed his grip, the pistol dropping away.

Turning on his heel Daniel found himself face to face with a tall, all-too-familiar man – and he groaned aloud.

Jonathan Thornton should have been well on the road to Worcestershire.

‘What in God's name are you still doing here?' he demanded.

Jonathan shook his head. ‘Lost my horse. I could ask the same of you. Where's Agnes?'

‘Ashby's locked her up and would have done the same to me, but I got away.'

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. ‘So if he had his suspicions before you have just confirmed them. Well done, Lovell. How did you get here?'

‘Foot. No time to saddle a horse. The roads and woods are crawling with Ashby's men and I've no doubt they will be here at first light'

Jonathan jerked his head in the direction of the pallet.

‘Your brother's hurt.'

‘Is that Daniel?'

Daniel hunched down beside the bed.

‘Are you badly hurt?'

Kit shrugged, pushing himself upright with his uninjured arm. ‘Nothing serious. Just feel a bit lightheaded.'

Daniel looked around the cottage. ‘What a damnable mess. We've no horses. We're never going to get away and what are we going to do about Agnes? We can't leave her to Ashby's mercy. He has none.'

Jonathan looked at Kit. ‘Is he always this impatient?'

Kit nodded. ‘Always. Sit down, Dan. We're in a bind. I'm hurt … '

‘… and we've no horses,' Jonathan put in. ‘Only way out of here is going to be on foot.'

Jonathan held up a hand. ‘First we have to make sure Ashby doesn't find us. Peg was telling me she has a hiding place.'

Peg gestured at the chest that stood against the wall. ‘Under there is a cellar. It'll hold you safe and snug.'

Jonathan moved the chest aside, revealing a flagstone with a ring in it. He hauled it up and swore softly.

‘It's going to be a tight fit.'

The dog raised its head from its paws and growled. The men froze and Daniel could just make out the thud of hoof beats. Horses ridden at speed in the lane.

‘He's coming,' Daniel said.

‘I'll help Mistress Truscott with the chest. Get down there, now,' Kit said. ‘Take my sword.' With his good hand, Kit tossed the weapon to Daniel.

At the entrance to the cellar, Daniel hesitated. Memories of the pit into which Outhwaite had consigned him came flooding back. Nausea rose in his throat and he backed away.

‘Are you all right?' Jonathan asked.

But Daniel was lost in the recollection of that dark, noisome hole that had so nearly claimed his life. A band tightened around his chest.

‘I can't,' he said.

Jonathan touched his arm. ‘You must.'

‘You don't understand –'

Jonathan's clear gaze met his in perfect understanding. ‘I do,' he said. ‘Kit told me about your experience in Barbados. You go first. I'll follow.' The shove he gave Daniel was far from gentle, and enough to shake him from his reverie. He caught himself before he pitched into the cellar. Although descending the rickety ladder into the small space made his skin crawl with memories of rats and insects. He sat down heavily on the cold earthen floor, drawing up his knees.

Above him, his brother said. ‘No time. You go, Thornton.'

‘But –'

‘Don't argue. They're here.'

Jonathan all but fell into the cellar in his haste as above them the flag fell back into place and the legs of the chest scraped on the floor.

‘Kit?' Daniel whispered.

‘Too late,' Thornton replied.

The dark closed in around Daniel and he buried his head in his arms like a small child, trying to shut out the memories of Outhwaite and the dark, dark days he had spent in the Pit.

Jonathan hunched down beside Daniel, the warmth of his body and the touch of his shoulder reassuring in the darkness.

“Ye've faced yer demons, boy,”
the old woman had said.
“And ye beat ‘em down, but they'll keep trying. All your life they'll come a-knocking at the door.”

“You can tell me my future?”

“Aye, but not now, not today. There are still words to be written on that page.”

How many words? Were they to be written in ink today?

The door crashed open. Scuffling footsteps and a woman's scream indicated that Mistress Truscott had been detained.

‘Where are they?' Ashby's voice filtered down to them, muffled by the flagstone.

‘You're hurting me.' Mistress Truscott sounded close to tears. Beside Daniel, Jonathan tensed.

Then they heard Kit's voice, clear and untroubled. ‘Unhand the woman, Ashby.'

A pause, and Ashby said, ‘I know you.'

‘Eveleigh Priory, 1648.'

Daniel held his breath as Ashby replied. ‘Lovell?'

‘Christopher Lovell, the same. It was my father, Thomas, you murdered in cold blood.'

‘Murdered? It was war, Lovell,' Ashby sounded almost nonchalant.

A long pause followed.

‘Ah, yes, war excuses every little misdeed, does it not,' Kit replied. ‘So is this still war?'

‘Put down that weapon, Lovell,' Turner's voice now.

Kit swore in French. ‘Very well. I can see when I am outnumbered. Forgive me if I sit, Ashby. Some fool discharged a weapon in my direction last night, but I suspect you know that.'‘

‘Where are your companions?' Ashby's voice rose in crescendo.

‘They've gone. Abandoned me to your tender mercies.'

‘Gone. How?' Turner's voice now. ‘Two men, one horse, by my reckoning. We'll catch them soon enough. In the meantime, secure this man and search this cottage.'

Daniel winced as his brother cried out in pain, no doubt as his injured arm was twisted behind his back.

‘Her too,' Ashby said.

‘Let the woman go, Ashby,' Kit said. ‘She's innocent.'

‘Innocent? She is clearly guilty of harbouring villains.'

‘I assure you,' Kit's voice had taken on a breathy edge, ‘Mistress Truscott only ministered to me under coercion. She is innocent of any wrongdoing –' he broke off as the woman whimpered. ‘Leave her!'

‘You're in no position to bargain, Lovell,' Ashby said. ‘Search every building.'

Daniel held his breath at the sound of scraping furniture and heavy boots above them. The chest was moved aside and Daniel held his breath, expecting any moment that the flagstone would be hauled back, but Turner's men were less than thorough and must have missed the recessed ring in the gloom of the cottage.

‘Nothing.' The voice of Septimus Turner.

Ashby grunted. ‘Where is my gold, Lovell?'

‘Gold?'

Ashby swore. ‘So it's going to be like that, Lovell. Turner, tie these two to a stirrup. A stroll into town may make them more inclined to be co-operative.'

Peg whimpered. ‘Please, sir. I've done nought and I know nothing.'

‘You can do what you like to me,' Kit's voice rose, ‘but not an old woman. If you drag her along behind a horse, you'll kill her.'

The old dog, galvanized by what must have been the obvious threat to its mistress, began to bark.

Ashby swore. ‘Get that dog off me.'

‘Don't ‘urt her. She's old and blind,' Peg pleaded, but the old dog continued to snarl and bark, her fierce defence of her mistress ending in a sharp whine and then silence.

‘You are an unspeakable bastard, Ashby,' Kit said.

‘Enough from you, Lovell,' Ashby's words were followed by the sound of fist on bone and a body hitting the floor. Daniel half rose, his fists balled impotently.

‘Tie him up,' Ashby said. ‘As for you, old woman, I always suspected you of witchcraft, woman. Now your familiar is dead and I've evidence enough in that cupboard to convince me that I am indeed dealing with a witch. Get her out of here.'

‘Please, sir-' Peg's plea was cut short and she gave a sharp cry.

Ashby laughed and Daniel's blood ran cold. He had heard that laugh before, on a clear autumn day in 1648. He lowered his head again, trying to shut out the memory of his father standing on the steps of Eveleigh.

“You have my surrender, Ashby,”
Thomas Lovell had said.
“Let my garrison pass unmolested.”

Ashby had laughed, that same braying laugh.
“Why would I do that, Lovell? An example must be set. Secure those men and bring them forward. I want them to see what happens to traitors. Turner, your four best marksmen. Tie this man to that column.”

And so they had dragged Thomas Lovell to the slender column that held up the entrance porch to Eveleigh Priory and tied him to it. The four marksmen had arrayed themselves and on Ashby's command the volley had rung out. For a long, long moment there had been absolute silence. Kit had broken away from the men who held him. It had been Kit who cut down his father's bleeding body, cradling him in his arms as he breathed his last.

‘They've gone.' Thornton touched Daniel's arm, bringing him back to the present.

Daniel raised his head. Only the faintest light around the edges marked the flagstone that secured them in the cellar.

‘We have a problem, Thornton,' he said. ‘Ashby's taken the woman too. There is no one to move the chest.'

Even as he said the words, the blood pounded in his ears and his breath stopped in his throat.

Thornton grabbed the back of his neck, forcing his head down between his knees. ‘Breathe,' he commanded. ‘I need you with all your wits.'

The demons tore at Daniel's chest, sending the world in giddying spirals, and through it all a voice, calm and controlled, said, ‘Breathe … in … out … That's it. The quicker you fight this, the quicker we are out of here.'

Daniel took a shuddering breath and shook off Jonathan's hand. ‘We're going to have to work the flag away,' he said. ‘That chest is solid but it should move with enough force.'

A long pause before his companion said, ‘Is this the moment to tell you that I have a bad shoulder?'

Turner came for Agnes in the early afternoon. Ignoring her questions, he took her by the arm, propelling her through the house toward the Great Hall. An ominous silence hung over the castle, servants scuttling away at the sight of Turner and the guard escorting Agnes. Only at the door to the Great Hall did he pause, looking down at her with his cold, hard eyes. From behind the door she heard a woman weeping and feared the worst.

Turner's men were gathered in an orderly half circle in front of the dais where the Earls of Elmhurst had presided for centuries and now Tobias Ashby, in the red coat of his military status, complete with the metal gorget around his neck, stood with his hands on his hips.

Ashby gave Turner a nod and the man released Agnes's arm. She rubbed at the place where his fingers had grasped her.

‘Stand aside,' Turner ordered his men, and they parted like the Red Sea as Agnes walked forward, coming up short at the sight of the two bedraggled figures arrayed before Tobias Ashby. Peg Truscott was on her knees, her head buried in her hands, weeping softly; the sound Agnes had heard when she entered. She lunged forward to go to Peg but Turner brought her up sharply, grabbing her arm again and pushing her into line beside the second figure, a man, who stood swaying slightly, his hands bound in front of him, staring resolutely at a point above Ashby's head.