Seize The Dawn (31 page)

"And I do forgive you your duty," she told him. He turned, and she closed the door. For a moment, far more anxious than she would ever let on, she paced the room. She forced herself to get back to her work.

She was running out of time. Tonight. It must be tonight.

She knotted, twisted, used the weight of the bed to test her work. At each sound of a movement in the hall, she hid it all again beneath a pillow, waited, and started up again.

Soon after, there was another rap at the door. She was amazed that her keepers at least kept up such a show of courtesy. But she was, of course, even as an accused murderess, a noble one.

She stared at him blankly, then rose, remembering. Paris, the palace on the lie de la Cit6, and the night that
he
had come to her so.

I have sinned!
She had told him.

And you will sin again!
He had replied.

Aye, for the duke's men were everywhere. Brendan would be killed as well. She had to get him to leave, quickly. And still ... she was shaking. She couldn't stand.

She grabbed his hands, so weak that she fell to her knees. "You have come!" she cried out.

The man cast back the cowl that had covered his face. It was not Brendan. It was a tall, gaunt-faced priest with the eyes of a fanatic.

"Of course, I have come. The Church will hear all confessions. You will forfeit your mortal life, but it is my duty to see that your soul goes to Christ! Confess, my lady, and the king will make every effort to see that you may keep your head upon your shoulders, though Philip of France will scream long and hard, demanding your blood. Count de Lacville's heir will demand that your life be sacrificed after the cruel treachery you practiced upon so noble a man!"

"Again, I tell you, I did not kill my husband. And you are not my confessor. If I need advice or counsel, I will call my own priest."

They stopped only briefly to rest the horses, and to discuss what manner of approach they might take. They could not storm the castle, not with six men.

"They will be expecting a much larger contingent of men," Brendan said thoughtfully. Then he lifted his hands. "I have no better idea. We can say that Lord Gilly was taken ill. I will be Sir Humphry Sayers, taking his place. There would have been many more in our party, but the Scottish raids have become more virulent in the last week. We've lost men, we are in danger of losing English fortifications."

"Who knows you at Clarin?" Liam asked him.

Brendan shrugged. "Eleanor, of course. And her maid ..." he began hopefully, then shook his head. "Count de Lacville traveled with some of his retainers. They will know me."

"We wear the armor beneath the tunics, and keep our visors down," Liam suggested.

"All we have to do is get a distance from the castle, and then attack the sheriff, and his men," Eric said slowly. He smiled suddenly. "It might well work. Most English don't believe that we savages are capable of so many languages."

Eric cleared his throat. "Gaelic, French, they are both languages for pretty boys. Norse, my friends, is a man's language.''

They were barely back on the road before Brendan raised a hand, hearing the sound of a horse coming their way. With a gesture, he warned the others.

They melted off the roadside. Brendan dismounted, keeping a hand on his horse's nostrils to keep the animal from shaking his head, and giving away his position.

A lone horse trotted along. The rider suddenly became aware of danger, and paused. Brendan frowned, waiting.

The horse took another step; the rider realized his danger. He started back.

Not wanting anyone to ride ahead and give warning that there were riders coming, Brendan quickly leaped on his horse, and started after the lone horse. It was a harsh ride; his quarry knew he was coming.

"Brendan, Sir Brendan, oh, my God, thank God!" Gregory exclaimed. "I thought you were the English, the Scottish! A cutthroat out to kill us. I can't believe that I've reached you; we meant to ride night and day, praying! Brendan, you don't know what has happened—"

They did so, sitting in a circle, sharing the food Molly, Gregory's pretty young sister, had brought. Brendan hadn't thought about food. Not until the bread hit his stomach. He thanked Molly.

"She is indignant, of course. She is kept in her room, and they aren't letting her family see her at the moment. I kept my head low, and worked about the castle."

' 'And no one recognized you?''

"Of course. But I have many friends at Clarin."

"Tell me," Brendan said, "the English were called in force because the sheriff thought there would be trouble taking her."

"Aye, there could be."

"What of her family?"

"Alfred and Corbin seem distraught; Alfred is withdrawn and worried. Corbin is passionate, saying they must do something."

"Aye. Hagar, you will do no talking," Brendan said. "Not that I don't, personally, enjoy your French. We just don't wish to be caught."

"Because I know the castle. I even know the sewage system, should we be forced to use it. There's a maze of channels beneath the place. Say we ride in, and ride out—as planned. I know who people are. I can warn you."

"You've your sister."

"I can wait in the woods," Molly said. "I'm not afraid. You do need Gregory. He knows the layout of the castle. In fact, you'll need to speak with Eleanor, to warn her, lest she try something on her own to put everyone in danger."

Brendan was silent for a moment. "Our plans sound good, but we could be caught with a single word or deed; we could be given away by someone we don't expect to know us— Gregory is right; we need him."

"Aye!" Gregory said happily. He looked at Eric. "Do you trust me now, then?"

Eric looked him over and shrugged. ' 'More than less. If you should ever betray us, though, I'll have Hagar break your neck before we're cut down."

"I'll not betray you," Gregory said steadily. He gave Brendan his attention. "The lady must be warned. She is not a woman to sit idly about, waiting for a headsman's axe."

She remembered the ship, and the house in Paris, and gave herself courage by realizing that she would have gotten away then ... if not for Brendan.

Sir Miles Fitzgerald was not Brendan. He didn't know her, and wouldn't expect her to risk a broken limb—or a broken neck—in her determination to flee their mockery of justice.

She moved to the door of her room, leaning against it. She heard nothing outside.

From the bed, she gathered her long cord of bed sheets, and hurried to the window. Looking out, she saw that no guard had been posted on the inner caste parapets below. Her breath came fast.

She had a chance.

She fixed the cord strongly to the heavy wood bedpost. As she did so, she kept an eye on the door—praying she wouldn't hear a tapping. She tightened the linen cord, tightened it again, and watched the door. Then she moved to the window, tossing the cord outside. As she watched it fall against the stone, desperately hoping she had given it enough length, she heard a sound in the room.