“I will find a way. Fear not and ride on!” Bartholomew cried and slapped the rump of his destrier. That beast sprang forward with a nicker, and the entire company gave their spurs to their steeds. The horses galloped down the road, both Timothy and Leila looking back in concern. Bartholomew gave them a jaunty wave, but Anna seized his arm.
“We must hide!” she hissed, and he followed her immediately. Percy had already ducked into the undergrowth and she turned her steps toward a large crooked elm.
Father Ignatius was there, his hand upon Percy’s shoulder. He carried a large sack, and Anna assumed he had brought some provisions and perhaps a Bible. Bartholomew held up a hand as the sound of hoof beats became louder. They ducked down in the undergrowth and watched the shadows of the passing horses. Dogs ran with the steeds, baying and barking after the departing party.
She wished that they had left Cenric behind. Of course, there had been no opportunity to ask for the dog or to offer to pay for it, and she already knew this knight well enough to understand that he would not have simply taken it.
“Four,” Bartholomew whispered when they were gone.
“They will double back,” Anna said. “We will be found.” She fixed Bartholomew with a look. “You must be blindfolded to go farther.”
His lips parted. He looked back to the road, then to her. “A fine time to mention such detail.”
“I cannot betray them,” Anna said with ferocity.
“Them?” Bartholomew echoed, looking between her and the priest with obvious curiosity. “How many hide in these woods?”
“At least half the village of Haynesdale,” Father Ignatius said. “I did not think so many were killed in that fire as Sir Royce maintained.” He nodded at Bartholomew. “They have learned a distrust of knights and noblemen. Decide, my son, for it must be this way if you are to continue.”
“And make haste!” Percy said. “Or we shall abandon you here.”
Bartholomew nodded once, then sat on a log. Anna tore a length of cloth from the hem on her chemise and wrapped it several times around his head before knotting it securely. “You will have to trust my guidance,” she said quietly.
“If I trip, I will be sure to break the weapon you so value,” he countered, and she had to admit that it was not an unreasonable reply.
“Once again, we make a wager to see the goals of each of us achieved,” she said and was rewarded by his quick smile.
“Quickly, now,” she urged then, and Percy gathered some boughs. Fortunately, there was little snow on the ground here where the trees were dense overhead even in winter. They moved with haste, Anna leading Bartholomew by the hand and Father Ignatius steadying his other elbow. Percy trailed the group, sweeping over the marks of their passage and tucking bracken across the path to disguise the way. The deeper they went into the forest, the quieter the air seemed to be. There was no smell of wood smoke or any notable signs of men.
Anna saw the bent twigs that were left as signals and the quick movement of shadows on either side of the established route. Word of their party would reach the haven before they did, and she anticipated a full greeting.
Father Ignatius would be surprised by the size of his flock that survived in the forest.
*
The sorry truth was that Duncan had seen worse prisons.
This dungeon was not so fine a place, but the vermin—thus far—were neither numerous nor bold, and the dampness was constrained to one corner. It did not smell fair, but it was not a dung heap either. It was damp but not as cold as he might have expected.
Aye, he had seen worse.
That was precious little consolation now that he found himself trapped in this one. Indeed, it said much about his life, and little good.
The realization disgruntled him.
The entry was from above, a trap door in the floor, which was the height of three men above him. There was a rope ladder that could be lowered into the dungeon but he had simply been cast through the hole. It was a blessing that he had not broken a bone on impact with the packed dirt floor.
Duncan had paced the space to confirm what he already suspected. It was roughly square and offered no other way out than the trap door. There was not a foothold or a handhold to be found in the walls, which were cursedly smooth—not that it mattered for scaling one even to the top would still leave him too far from the trap door to escape. He did not even imagine that a trio of men could work together to escape this place.
It was of simple but cunning design.
To think he might have still been with Radegunde.
Duncan paced the dry end of the dungeon, then he stood beneath the door for a while. He refused to sit while he had a choice, and he was determined to remain alert. Curse duty and obligation! Curse his own integrity! If he had not been so resolved to keep his word and escort Fergus home, as promised, he might have been with Radegunde.
Radegunde.
Of course, he would not have been the man he was, if he had been able to so readily discard a vow, and Radegunde might not have felt affection for him, as a result.
