“What court?” Duncan muttered and spat in the snow. “This one knows naught of justice. You can see the mark of it on all his holding. Pity the poor wretches condemned to live beneath his hand.”
Bartholomew said naught to that, but unlocked the door to the chapel and cast Duncan through it. The other man contrived to fall through the portal and land on his knees, which amused the sentries greatly.
Bartholomew shut the portal behind them and abandoned Duncan, making haste for the hidden reliquary.
“Where do you mean to hide it?” Duncan asked. He did not move from his spot inside the door, as if conserving his strength. Bartholomew tried to not think overmuch about it.
“I will suddenly develop a paunch, the better to resemble the knight whose tabard I claimed,” he said
Duncan grinned than, he looked most tired.
“Are you sufficiently hale?” Bartholomew had to ask.
“I have been better, lad, that much is certain. Fear not. I will not slow you down.”
Bartholomew nodded and struggled to fit the key into the lock. The helm would provide an admirable defense against arrows, but he could not see clearly. How backward was this realm that the knight’s visors were not hinged? He cast off the helm and fitted the key into the lock with ease. He turned it, opened the sanctuary and stared at its emptiness with shock.
“What is amiss?” Duncan asked.
“It is gone!” Bartholomew turned to face his companion, uncertain what to do. The portal to the bailey opened in that moment, and Duncan gasped. There was not time to shut the cupboard and don his helm both, and Bartholomew managed neither before Lady Marie swept into the chapel.
She took one look at him, then gestured to the maid who must be following her but as yet out of sight. “I will pray alone this morn,” she commanded, shut the portal, and leaned back against it.
Silence crackled in the chapel. Bartholomew returned Marie’s gaze, and Duncan looked between them, clearly uncertain what to expect.
Then Marie smiled and strolled toward Bartholomew. “Now here is a tale,” she said softly, and not without satisfaction.
Did she know about the reliquary at all?
Did she know its location?
Would she reveal them?
A thousand possible lies flicked through his thoughts, not a one of them convincing, and his heart stopped cold. Duncan remained on his knees and perhaps he prayed in truth.
The lady swept past the older man, her confidence clear as she approached Bartholomew. “I believe you might find my offer of assistance more savory on this day, sir,” she purred and offered her hand to him.
Bartholomew hesitated only for a moment before he took her hand and kissed it. Would she truly help them escape?
Could he truly give her what she desired?
His moral code fought against his awareness of what he knew she wanted of him, but survival had to be worth some sacrifice.
Lady Marie’s could have been higher, to be sure.
Chapter Ten
Duncan was tired and he was sore, he was hungry and more than impatient with the hospitality of Haynesdale. Still, those were not the sole reasons he found the lady’s solution unsavory.
He stared at the black hole of the sewer and sighed. “No other way?” he muttered.
Lady Marie had ushered them to the back of the stables, one at a time, using her cloak to disguise them from view. Bartholomew had already cast aside his stolen helm and had opened the wooden trap placed over the hole. The smell was pungent and strong enough to bring a tear to Duncan’s eye. The mingling stink of kitchen waste, dung from the horses, and slops less than inviting.
“No other way,” Lady Marie insisted. “Be quick!” She stretched to kiss Bartholomew’s cheek. “On the first day that the sky is clear after the snow,” she whispered. “Meet me at the old mill after midday.”
The younger knight nodded once, his expression grim. The lady strolled through the stables to her waiting maids.
Duncan looked at the open square of the front gate, yearning for a cleaner solution. “Could we not detain another guard, lad?” he asked, even as Bartholomew shed the borrowed tabard. “Or one of us walk out the gates?”
