“I do, my lord. I shall not fail, I swear it.”
Kenneth was off, racing for the horses that were still tethered in the bailey. Tate watched him thunder from the outer ward before turning to Stephen, Edward, and now Wallace. In the distance, he could see Althel and the men at arms approach. His heart was aching but he forced himself to focus. He would not waste her sacrifice, as much as it was paining him not to help her. He would have to trust Kenneth.
“We go,” he growled, shoving Edward back in the direction of the kitchens where a postern gate lay lodged in the northern wall. “We have a very long night ahead of us to Carlisle.”
Edward, however, had heard the entire conversation about Toby. He was pale with anxiety.
“Is it true?” he demanded as Tate shoved. “Did Toby really pull those men off so they would not discover us?”
Tate realized that he was very close to tears. His heart screamed to save his wife but his head demanded he follow his duty to Edward. It was a horrific struggle.
“It would seem so,” he labored to stay on an even keel. “Kenneth is going to help her while I take you to safety.”
“But we must all go and help her!” Edward insisted. “I cannot allow her to sacrifice herself!”
Tate grabbed him around the neck, so hard that Edward visibly flinched. His eyes were like daggers as he stared at the boy. “To allow yourself to be captured would be to shame the courage she has shown,” he hissed. “We will honor that sacrifice. She has given us this gift and we will not waste it.”
Edward nodded unsteadily as they continued on, rubbing his neck where Tate had grabbed him. Together they moved to the postern gate, unlatching the nearly-frozen bolt and shoving it open. The snow was beginning to pile up, making it difficult to move the gate. But they managed to get it open and spill out into the yard beyond.
De Roche was waiting for them.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Toby wasn’t surehow long she had been riding. With the snow and darkness, she had lost all sense of time. More than that, it was increasingly difficult to follow any given path. The snow was completely obliterating it. So she followed what she thought was the road as the snow built up and the horse began to tire. She had stopped looking behind her long ago, fearful of what she would see, and just kept riding. So far, she had remained free. She thought she might even escape. But all of that eventually came to an abrupt, painful end.
Something hit her from the side, so hard that the horse went down and her with it. She heard bones cracking in her torso and she groaned in pain as a large, armored body came crashing down on top of her. There was so much pain that she couldn’t even fight back. All she could do was lay there and struggle to breathe.
The man pushed himself off of her, roughly reaching down to yank her to her feet. But Toby was in so much pain that she screamed the moment he tried to move her so he let go of her arm and stared down at her. She lay in the snow, gasping in agony. Soon, several more faces joined him.
“Who are you, girl?” one of the men asked.
Toby could hardly breathe; tears were stinging her eyes as she struggled. “To.. Toby Cartingdon.”
“What were you doing at Harbottle?”
“V-visiting friends.”
The man doing the questioning pursed his lips irritably. “Get her to her feet,” he commanded. “Take her back to Mortimer.”
The same man who had knocked her off her horse turned to his commander. “She is injured, m’lord,” he told him.
“That is her fault. Get her on a horse.”
The soldier turned his attention back to her and, obeying orders, grabbed Toby by the wrist and yanked her into a sitting position. Toby screamed again in agony and, upon being jostled a second time, succumbed to the welcome shroud of unconsciousness.
When she finally came to, she was in a dark, cold shelter that she did not recognize. She lay there a moment, eyeing her surroundings and having no idea where she was. But she did remember the chase, the fall, and her heart began to pound loudly in her ears. Wherever she was, it was no place friendly. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious or what had happened during that time. All she knew was that she was in a good deal of trouble. She could only hope that Tate and the others were able to get away.
She took a deep breath and pain shot through her torso. Agony returned full bore and she groaned softly, her hands against her ribs as if to hold in the pain. Tears ran down her temples as she wondered just how badly she was hurt. Any movement was torture.
“What is your name, lady?”
The voice was soft in the darkness. Startled, Toby tried to twist her head around to see where it came from. She could see a body off to her right, back behind an old vizier that was struggling to give off some heat. But the twist of her neck hurther torso so she resumed her former position, lying still and staring up at the ceiling.
“Who is asking?” she replied breathlessly.
The man didn’t say anything for a moment and Toby heard rustling, as if clothing was being shaken. Suddenly there were footfalls near her head and she closed her eyes, praying that the man wouldn’t step on her skull. But the footfalls came to a halt and she could hear breathing as the man stood over her. He was silent for quite some time because, Toby was sure, he was inspecting her.
“You are a captive of Roger Mortimer,” the man finally said. “I would suggest you cooperate so we can have your ribs attended to. I was told you were injured in a fall.”
