If Love Dares Enough (10 page)

Then she felt and smelled the stale air rush into the space. An opening had appeared to her right. It was barely wide enough to squeeze through and even Aediva would have to stoop to enter. Gathering up her skirts and bending low, Devona edged gingerly through the opening and looked down the passageway. It was dark, but she could tell that after a few yards it curved out of sight. Despite the stench of stale air, she sensed Hugh had been there and her heart lifted. For the first time she felt hope rise in her breast.

She stepped back into the hidey-hole behind the larder, reached up and pushed the lever back, then heaved the stone into place carefully. She listened for any sounds before exiting the hiding place and hastened off to tell her grandfather the good news.

She found Sir Gerwint in a state of high excitement which seemed to have spread to the dogs. He’d just learned the details of the plan from Barat Cormant. In his hand he held a small sack. Barat had given him precise instructions as to its use. When Devona came into the stables he could see she was as excited as he.

“Grandfather?”

“You first. You look pleased. Did you find the lever?”

“Yes!” she replied excitedly. “It reveals a very small opening into a passageway. Hugh was there, I know he was.”

Gerwint frowned. “Have a care, Devona. Hugh de Montbryce may intend to rescue us, but he’s still a powerful Norman. Such men don’t give their hearts to Saxon women.”

He could tell by the discouraged look on his granddaughter’s face that she had indeed fallen in love with the handsome Norman.

Devona looked at the ground. “I’m not in love with him. I’m a married woman. Though my husband is a monster, I can’t commit the sin of adultery.”

Gerwint wept inwardly for the pain Devona suffered at Renouf’s hands, and for his own helplessness to do anything to save her from it. Now they were depending on a Norman nobleman for rescue, a man Devona had obviously lost her heart to. The relationship could only end in heartbreak, as long as Renouf lived—

He held up the bag. “Barat has given me a means to render Renouf’s men-at-arms harmless during our escape. It’s set for the morrow.”

He saw Devona’s surprise. “On the morrow,” he repeated, “We’re to mix this herb with their potage for the midday meal. It will make them sleep. We’ll then make haste to open the passageway. I’ll help get your mother down to the cave, where Montbryce will be waiting. The tide will be full and the rowboat will take us to a longboat moored further out. It will transport us to Normandie.”

“To Normandie?” Devona whispered. “You would consent to go to Normandie?”

Gerwint had been afraid his perceptive granddaughter would find the flaw in the plan. He wrestled with his dilemma. He had no intention of going to Normandie, but if he told her she might refuse to leave. He sat down on a bale of straw and motioned her to sit beside him, taking her hand.

“Devona, you’re too intelligent for your own good. You’ve perceived correctly that it would be impossible for me to go to Normandie. What would I do there—an old Saxon warrior? I intend to remain in England. I’d rather die in my own country. I’ll go to the South Downs. A man can hide in forests and wild secret places aplenty. There are other Saxons living in hiding there. I’ll join them and keep an eye on Renouf.”

Devona clutched his hand. “But I can’t go without you,” she sobbed.

Gerwint put his arm around her shoulders. “You must. For my sake. I’ll feel much happier knowing you’re out of Renouf’s clutches. And what about your sisters? Do you want them to become Torod’s playthings? Or Renouf’s?”

She sniffled. “No, of course not. Oh grandfather. I love you. And I’ll miss you and Melton so much.”

“I love you child. There’s no other way. Lord Hugh will take care of you. All of you.”

They clung together for a long while in silence, listening to the excited panting of the dogs at their feet.

Lady Wilona Melton saw and understood much more than anyone thought. Upon first learning of her husband’s death at Stamford Bridge, she’d lost the will to speak, afraid if she attempted to do so she might begin to weep and never stop. The longer her self-imposed muteness went on, the harder it became to renounce it, to reassure her family she wasn’t mad, as they no doubt thought. It was easier to be taken care of, to not have to think, especially when the monster Renouf came along. If she thought overlong on what he did to her daughter she would indeed go mad.

It was cowardly. Did her father-by-marriage suspect she wasn’t mad? Long ago, when Renouf first arrived, Sir Gerwint had given her a dagger and whispered, “For your protection, Wilona. Just in case.”

Now, slumped in her usual place against the kitchen wall, she heard the edge in Devona’s voice, saw the anxious glances exchanged between Aediva and her grandfather, and watched Bemia surreptitiously pour something from a sack into the cauldron of potage being prepared for Renouf’s men-at-arms. She wondered if perhaps the time might be at hand for her to use the weapon she’d kept concealed under her skirts for so long. Brigantia, lying beside her, was tense.

It didn’t take long. One by one, the drugged mercenaries succumbed to sleep. The only part of the plan not going well was that Torod hadn’t appeared for the midday meal.

Devona ran to the stables. “Where can he be?” she asked her grandfather.

Gerwint had been on the point of coming to the house, having retrieved his long-hidden sword from the rafters of the stables. “I don’t know, but we have to proceed. This is our only chance. I must get all of you down to the beach and make my escape to the Downs before these men awaken. Come, Aediva and Bemia are already behind the larder, lighting the torches. Boden is with them. I’ll assist you with your mother.”

They entered the kitchen and were taken aback to see Lady Wilona on her feet, holding on to Brigantia for support.

“Mother?”

Lady Wilona looked at her daughter. “Let’s be gone from this place, Devona.”

They were the first coherent words any of them had heard her utter for more than five long years. “You—you can speak!” Devona choked out.

“Devona, we must hasten,” Gerwint said. “There will be time enough for—” He couldn’t continue, his heart broken by the sight of Devona clinging to her mother, sobbing.

“I’m a coward, Devona,” her mother cried, “But I won’t allow my cowardice to interfere with your escape. Tell me the plan as we go.”

They made their way to the hidey-hole. After so many years of inactivity, Lady Wilona had difficulty walking. Devona indicated the location of the secret stone to Sir Gerwint. He removed it and pulled the lever. The opening appeared. Holding one of the torches aloft, Sir Gerwint led his family through it and into the passageway. Aediva and Bemia followed directly behind him. Devona helped her mother. Boden and Brigantia brought up the rear.

***

Sucking on a sweet grass plucked from the roadside, Torod wondered idly why there was no noise coming from the Hall. Usually, after their midday meal, the men were boisterous. True, on occasion some of them ate and drank too much and had to nap for a while, but still, it was uncommonly quiet. What could have happened in his absence to render them so mute? He’d only been gone for a short while, collecting rents from the tenant farmers. Now he was hungry and hoped there was food left.

He stopped in his tracks when he entered the Hall. His jaw dropped and the grass fell to the floor.

By the saints! Are they all drunk? At midday?

Where were all the servants—and the Saxon madwoman—and the dogs? Come to think on it, the old man wasn’t in the stables, and—
damnation
—where was Lady Devona and the two brats? Fear snaked into the pit of his stomach. He ran from the Hall, taking the steps to the bedchambers two at a time, cursing each time he flung open a door.

He was panting and sweat was blurring his vision by the time he regained the main floor. As he ran by the larder, he noticed the door was open. He recoiled at the stale smell emanating from there.

“
Merde!”
he swore when he discovered the opening and the secret passage. There was no doubt in his mind Renouf’s wife and her family had made their escape down that passageway. If they succeeded he was a dead man. Renouf would skin him alive. Without hesitation he raced headlong into the darkness, sword drawn.

It was Boden who first alerted the Meltons to pursuit. Wilona was trying to make haste down the passage, with Devona’s help, but her legs wouldn’t respond. Her joints were stiff and she cursed that she would be the cause of the failure of this escape attempt.

“Leave me, Devona. Take the girls and run. Leave me.”

“No, mother. I won’t go without you.”

“For Aediva’s sake—for Bemia—I implore you,” Wilona gasped, sinking again to her knees, clinging to the damp rock wall.

Devona struggled to get her mother to her feet, and Gerwint came back to help her. Boden had turned to look in the direction of the house. His rigid tail wagged ferociously as he growled. Brigantia nuzzled Wilona, urging her to her feet.

Just as Wilona managed to stand, a wild-eyed and breathless Torod burst upon them, sword flailing. Boden lunged at him and the sword caught the dog on its foreleg. The animal fell, whimpering. Torod grabbed Wilona by the hair and pulled her towards him. Devona struggled to hold on to her, but Torod raised his sword over her mother’s head and she reluctantly let go.

“No!” she screamed.

Gerwint had drawn his sword and was moving stealthily towards the toad.

“I’ll slice off her head, old man,” Torod sneered.

Suddenly the colour drained from the toad’s face, his mouth fell open and his disbelieving gaze dropped to the dagger Wilona had embedded in his belly. The sword fell from his hand as he pitched forward, his head striking the rock with a sickening thud, his chain mail scraping against the slippery pathway.

“Wilona!” Gerwint exclaimed. “All these years!”

“I knew I’d need it someday,” she sobbed.

The echo of running footsteps alerted Devona to other intruders and the hairs stood up on her nape, but then she realized the sound was coming from the other direction. Shadows cast by the flames of oncoming torches danced on the ceiling.

“Hugh!” Devona cried, collapsing to her knees at his feet. “Torod is dead—Boden—Boden’s hurt.”

Hugh could scarcely take in the scene he encountered. He’d been waiting in the rowboat, becoming increasingly concerned and impatient. He’d decided to meet the Meltons as they descended.

Now, here was Torod—dead by the looks of it—Sir Gerwint, sword drawn, standing with his foot atop the toad’s chest, a bloody dagger in his hand—Boden lying wounded and panting, a gash in his foreleg—a woman, who seemed to be Devona’s mother, standing unsteadily with a gleam of triumph in her green eyes—Bemia and Aediva holding on to each other in fright—and Devona, clinging to his legs, babbling incoherently, crying. He crouched to put his arms around her.

“He didn’t succumb to the potion?” he asked Gerwint, pointing to Torod.

Gerwint was wiping the dagger on Torod’s tunic. “Nay, he was absent when we administered it. But it worked like a charm with the others.”

Hugh tightened his arms around the shivering Devona. “He pursued you and you slew him?”

Gerwint shook his head. “Nay again, Lord Hugh—it was Lady Wilona dealt the blow that ended his life.”

Hugh peered through the murk at Lady Wilona, who now looked as if she was about to faint. Devona was still clinging to him, shaking, evidently in shock.

“Devona, you must get hold of yourself. Take Aediva and Bemia to the rowboat. Your grandfather and I will bring your mother and the dog.”

He kissed her on the forehead and she seemed to gather her wits. He helped her rise.

“Hugh—forgive me—I—”

“Go—
mon amour
—I’ll follow. The boat is waiting,” he commanded.

The three sisters fled down the passage, their slippered feet making hardly a sound. Gerwint assisted Wilona and Hugh heaved up the dog. Brigantia never left his side as he struggled to keep his balance on the slippery slope, the huge mastiff in his arms.

When the breathless assembly spilled out into the cave the men from St. Valery helped the three sisters into the rowboat.

“We’ll come back for the rest of you
milord
, else the boat capsize.”

“No!” Gerwint exclaimed. “I’m not going to Normandie. We know that’s impossible—and Devona knows it too. I intend to hide in the South Downs and keep an eye on Renouf.”

Hugh glanced at Devona and she nodded sadly, tears streaming down her face as the boat bobbed in the waves. Gerwint looked with sadness upon his granddaughters, smiled and said, “I give you my blessing. You are Meltons. Never forget that.” Turning to Hugh he said, “My Lord Hugh de Montbryce, I thank you and your brother. Take care of my ladies. I’ll dispose of the toad’s body.” He touched his hand to his heart, bowed and left.

“That still leaves two of you—and the dogs,” the oarsman said.

Devona was climbing out of the boat. “Take my mother and Boden. Brigantia’s a good swimmer. I’ll stay here with Lord Hugh and await your return.”

“
Non!
Devona
!
” Hugh objected.