“Richmond is the only one who can save her,” Mossy replied hoarsely, struggling against the bright red flow.
Bartholomew’s blue eyes opened, unnaturally bright against his pasty face. “Then find him. Do not let my death be in vain.”
Mossy stared at him, hearing his words and seeing the truth within. Reluctantly, he left the dying young man and stumbled toward the doorway. Nearly more than the shock of Bartholomew’s impending death and Arissa’s abduction, the fact that the soldiers who had come for her knew who she was was enough to dash his composure. Distinctly, they had referred to her asPrincess. God help her, they knew who she was.
It suddenly began to occur to him that the siege on Lambourn had not been revenge for the attack against Tad de Rydal. Mayhap, there was a greater scheme involved, a plot full of court intrigue and royal conspiracies that could threaten the very foundation of England’s stability.
Mayhap Ovid de Rydal hadn’t attacked in the hopes of exacting vengeance against Richmond le Bec. Mayhap, it had all been a cover for another objective.
Mossy was quivering so terribly that he could scarcely walk, but he knew that he had to get to Richmond before something horrible befell Arissa. He was her Great Protector, sworn to protect and serve her with his very life. For eighteen years Richmond le Bec had carried out his objective. Now, when she needed him the most, he was distracted.
Mossy’s pace picked up speed and urgency, ignoring the panic and astonishment that threatened to disable him. He had to reach Henry’s le Bec with the news.
*
Lambourn was desertedfor the most part as people took to their chambers to wait out the fighting in and around the bailey. The kitchen doors had been shut and bolted, hindering David’s escape. He had to do away with two serving wenches and threemale servants before he was able to unlock the door, leaving it open for Lyle’s flight. Trudging into the pouring rain, he went about his objective.
Lyle was not far behind. Arissa bounced miserably on his shoulder, trying to cushion the blows with each step. As he descended the stairs, she begged to be put to her feet and he complied without a word. However, the death-grip he kept on her arm was nearly as uncomfortable as being slung across his shoulder and she winced continuously as he led her through the dim foyer and into the deserted gallery.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked softly, resisting the urge to struggle against him. She had, after all, promised not to resist in lieu of sparing Mossy’s life.
“That is not for me to decide, princess,” Lyle replied, his eyes alert for any movement that might interfere with their progress.
Arissa tripped on her own feet, nearly falling to her knees had it not been for Lyle’s powerful grip. But the impact of his words settled, including the title of respect he had used. Not simply my lady, but princess. Puzzlement invaded her expression.
“Why…. why do you address me in such a fashion?”
He did not answer her as he pulled her through the gallery and prepared to enter the kitchens. “Enemy or not, I will address you with due respect.”
She gazed up at him as he paused near the threshold leading to the kitchens, completely confused.
“Duerespect? I do not understand. I am a mere lady, the earl’s daughter. But you know that, lest you would not be abducting me,” she was somewhat calmer than she had been earlier, although she knew not why. She assumed that if the large soldier was intent upon harming her, then he would have done so by now. “Why does Ovid want me? To lay a trap for Richmond?”
The soldier was distracted by her words as he scanned the dim kitchens beyond for signs of danger. Irritably, he glanced at her. “I do not know of whom you speak. Who is Ovid?”
Her eyes narrowed curiously at his lack of understanding. It never occurred to her to refrain from elaborating. “Lord de Rydal. You are with his army, are you not?”
Satisfied that no threat lay beyond in the yawning room, Lyle turned his full attention to her. “I am not English. I serve Owen Glendower.”
Arissa blinked in confusion. “Who is that?”
He cocked his head, less concerned with making it to the servant’s entrance as he found himself interested in their conversation. “The Welsh prince opposing your father. Surely he’s told you of his bloodthirsty quest to maintain a captive Wales?”
Arissa’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “My father is intent on maintaining Wales?” she repeated, surprised. “Good sir, my father is an earl, and we are easily fifty miles from the Welsh border. You must have him confused with someone else. Perhaps you have confusedmewith someone else.”
Lyle gazed into the pale green eyes, wondering how on earth she could be so dense. Either that, or she was an accomplished liar. The mere fact that she was a woman made him opt for the latter.
“No more talk,” he grip on her arm tightened in a display of irritation. “You must have little respect for my intelligence to plead innocent of your heritage”
Arissa gasped as he swung her through the kitchens. Turning a sharp corner, they were confronted with five dead bodies and an open door. The hellish weather beyond beckoned viciously, calling them forth into her freezing embrace.
Lyle attempted to move Arissa forward over the corpses, but she cried and squirmed, resuming the struggle she had pledged to cease.
“Quit your wrestling, wench,” he snapped.
She gasped and nearly swooned when one of her flailing feet came into contact with a bloodied head against the stone. “I…. I need my cloak. Oh, please, allow me to retrieve my cloak!”
Lyle glanced at the pouring rain, thinking that a cloak would be a wise acquisition in light of the weather they would be facing. ’Twould not do to have the princess die of illness before they reached Wales. But returning to her chamber to retrieve a heavy cover was out of the question; instead, he glanced about quickly and was not surprised to see that both dead women were wearing protection against the elements.
