Pressing her hand to her stomach, she leaned against the wall, trying to still the nervousness that radiated through her entire frame. It was then that she realized that she stood in almost the same spot where Eduard had cornered her so many weeks ago. The same spot where Gray had come to her rescue and made her loathsome brother by marriage pull in his claws and retreat.
Grief threatened to overwhelm her, flooding her with a thousand sweet memories of Gray. Sweet Jesu, it was going to be hard to leave him. Clenching her jaw hard, she pushed away from the wall and continued to the larder, managing to nod and murmur something about a picnic to the page and two cook’s assistants she passed on the way.
Young Tom, the gallant who had accosted her and Gray near the stream with his friends, looked up from his pot-scrubbing duty as she passed. He grinned and waved, and she mustered a smile for him. Another pang cut through her. Everyone had been so kind to her here. But she couldn’t think about that now. She fought to keep the image of Ian and Isabel at the front of her mind, reminding her of what she needed to do.
Finally, she reached the larder. After glancing to see that no one watched, she slipped into the cool chamber. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom as she scrounged for an empty sack. Like every other part of this wondrous castle, the food stores here exceeded imagination. Provisions of every kind lined the shelves and filled the barrels stacked on the floor. And it all smelled wonderful. Eight freshly baked loaves lay cooling on a board near a pallet of cheeses with thick yellow rinds.
She tossed three of the loaves and two circles of cheese into her bag, adding seven or eight crisp apples, topped by numerous handfuls of walnuts from one of the barrels. She allowed herself a tiny smile while she scooped up the hard fruits; Ian always adored cracking open their shells with a stone to get to the meat inside. Pray God she’d find him well enough to take the same pleasure in dissecting these.
A few onions followed the rest. As a final thought, she added a parchment-wrapped bundle of wax tapers from a pile that lay in the coolest part of the larder. They were a luxury, unsuitable for the life she and the twins would be living once they escaped, but they might be bartered, later, for more food. Taking a last look around, she pulled the string tight on the sack and gritted her teeth to lift it over her shoulder.
Saints, ’twas heavy. The trick would be getting it back to her chamber unnoticed. Then again, perhaps she ought to hide it somewhere nearer to the stables, so that it would be easier to hoist onto her mount when the time was right tonight.
Biting her lip, Catherine considered her options. There was a mound of clean hay, covered by a pavilion of sorts, just behind the stables; she could hide the bag there until night fell and the area emptied as most of the workers went to the Punkie Night celebration. She dragged the sack to the door, so caught up in her thoughts that she opened it and stepped out without checking first.
“Good morn, Lady Camville,” a harsh voice rasped. “Planning a journey, are you?”
Catherine silenced the scream that bubbled up in her throat; her sack thudded to the floor as she snapped her gaze to the person who’d surprised her.
’Twas the deformed man, swathed in his customary black robes. He stood crouched in the shadows just outside the door, his mouth the only visible part of his face. His thin white lips pursed together, and though his eyes were hidden in the folds of his hood, she felt the strength of his stare on her.
“You seem to have packed a great deal there,” he said, nodding to the sack. “It must be a sizable journey you plan to undertake.”
“I—I’m having a picnic,” she blurted, despising herself for the fear that tightened her throat.
“Oh, aye, a picnic,” he cackled. “All the way to Faegerliegh Keep, I’d warrant.” She felt herself blanch, but before she could even attempt a denial, he shuffled closer to her, making her shrink against the wall. He started to say something, but then stopped as two laundresses opened a door down the corridor and started toward them.
The women chattered, unaware of anyone else, until at last they veered away and disappeared down another passage to the great hall. But their interruption seemed to change the man’s mood. He swung his hooded head around, as if checking for others who might disturb him.
Finally, he leaned closer to her again, rasping softly, “If you wish to keep your children safe from harm, lady, then do as I say. Meet me after thenonesbell in the abandoned crofter’s hut beyond the limits of the fallow field. Fail me not.”
With that he coughed, the sound rattling from his chest, and turned to hobble down the hall. She heard the portal to the yard swing open and bang shut behind him. And then her knees gave way. She gripped the doorframe to steady herself, her breath coming shallow, her eyes a blur of dancing black dots.
If you wish to keep your children safe from harm…
Holy Mother Mary, the man was Eduard’s spy, and he’d caught her planning her escape.
Her babes. Sweet God, her precious babes. She’d done this to them with her clumsy, ridiculous ideas of a rescue. Would the spy tell Eduard about her transgression against him? And would her odious brother by marriage choose to take out his anger toward her on her children?
Her heart hammered with thick, painful beats. She released her hold on the wall, sinking to the floor as she clasped her hands tightly to pray. She begged God to help her, beseeching Him for the courage to face this nameless spy of Eduard’s…and for the strength to deliver her children from the clutches of evil.
Pushing his hand through his hair, Gray strode into the village tavern in Somerset, bone-weary from the events of the past six days. The grand as-size was over, thank God. He’d conducted himself in a way sure to please King Henry, but the whole time his mind had kept straying to the task awaiting him here; his chance to learn more about Elise and the secrets she was keeping from him.
His gaze swept the dim recesses of the inn. At this time of the afternoon, the place was predictably full of customers, all seeking a pint of ale or some watered wine to ease their day’s toil. He’d sent a message ahead to Alban, informing him of his arrival, but it seemed that his friend remained occupied elsewhere for the moment. Ah, well. Waiting for Alban gave him good reason to sit and cool his own parched throat.
He walked to the back of the wattle and daub building, finding an empty bench near the hearth. He sank down with a sigh, stretching his back and trying to work the kinks out of his neck, noticing that several village residents favored him with curious stares. ’Twas nothing out of the ordinary. His size alone usually elicited such attention, but today he’d worn several of his finest garments for the conclusion of the grand assize, and it assured that many here would find him an interesting sight.
“Here you go, love.”
A blond serving wench set a cup of ale in front of him, sloshing some of the brew over its rim. With a false mew of distress, she leaned over to wipe up the spill, ensuring that the full mounds of her breasts wobbled temptingly in his face while she cleaned.
Gray lifted his brow. Tavern lasses were a usually cheeky lot, but this one was bold, even by common standards. When she smiled and pulled away, ready to flounce her nether assets at him on her way to the next customer, he decided to smile back at her. It stilled her in her tracks as effectively as he’d hoped it would.
“I’d prefer some spiced cider, lass, if you have any,” he said, lifting the cup of ale to hand it back to her.
The girl stared at him, her mouth gone slack. Finally she clamped it shut, seeming to regain her wits enough to run her appreciative gaze over him and dart out her tongue to moisten her lips. “The name’s Cassie, milord,” she answered in a husky purr, “and I’m not so sure Master Jack keeps much more than ale and wine in store.”
“Cassie, then.” He held the cup to her again, still smiling. “I’d be grateful if you’d look for me.”
