Moira shouldered open a door and a cold breeze buffeted into the cramped space. They ducked against the chill and exited onto an open battlement. Ahead, a narrow path ran behind the brick rowhouses. Crenellated parapets lined the walkway’s other side, overlooking a long drop to a shadowy stretch of Mint Street, which separated the inner curtain wall from the Tower’s outer rampart.
Naomi kept next to Sharyn as they hurried after Moira. “This is Elizabeth’s Walk.”
Duncan finally recognized it, too. Atop this battlement, the imprisoned princess had been allowed to stretch her legs while being held captive at the Bell Tower. Ahead of them, the path led to another fortification, the Beauchamp Tower.
Archie trailed behind with Tag. “Moira’s clearly not taking any chances that the bastards might have the Bell Tower watched.”
Duncan nodded.
Smart . . .
He searched ahead. A black door beckoned at the end of the walkway. Moira’s plan must be to escape down through the Beauchamp Tower, which sat on the green about fifty yards from the King’s House.
With the cover of darkness, we might be able to—
The black door shoved open ahead of them.
A shadowy figure strode out onto the battlement, a sliver of moonlight illuminating the bright red garb and cap. Another Beefeater. But this was no Warder of the Tower.
The bastard yanked up a pistol and fired.
Moira gasped and fell back into Naomi and Sharyn.
Duncan struggled to draw them away, but the confines of the battlement confounded him. The Beefeater strode forward, centering his aim. The surprise of seeing their group rushing at him must have thrown off the bastard’s first shot. Now, he intended to correct that mistake.
Behind him, a second gunman appeared at the threshold, blocking any escape.
Moira breathed hard, clutching her side.
Duncan shoved forward, sheltering the others behind him.
It was all he could do.
22
5:30 p.m.
With Duncan guarding over them, Sharyn struggled for her folded knife. She had zippered the karambit into an inner pocket of her crossbody satchel. She had managed to slip the blade past security during the bag check at the entrance. The strange book, with its copper bands and crystalline orb, had drawn eyes away from the hidden weapon.
She pulled the blade free and flipped it open, hearing her father’s admonishment.
Never bring a knife to a gunfight.
Still, she refused to simply give in.
She also chose to defy her father, too, proving one didn’t need a gun.
Not when armed with razor claws and a sharp beak.
A dark shadow swooped overhead and dove down like a feathered arrow. A screech of fury burst from the raven’s chest.
Hugh must have trailed after them, either on his own or sent by Moira’s father. Ever smart, ever protective, the raven crashed into the first Beefeater, ripping at the man’s face with talons and driving his beak like a battering ram again and again.
The man bellowed at the savage mauling and batted wildly. In a panic, he accidentally fired his weapon. The recoil knocked the pistol loose, where it clattered to the stone path.
Duncan rushed forward and slammed into the gunman’s belly like a linebacker, lifting him off his feet.
Sharyn reacted with a reflex ingrained into her from countless jiujitsu bouts.
