“Wait a moment.” Catherine pulled back suddenly and squinted as she looked to get her bearings. “We’re close to the buttery here. If we can reach it, Gray, there’s a hidden door that leads to a tunnel out of the keep. It goes all the way to a field beyond the walls.”
He frowned. “A secret passage in a manor house?”
“It served as an escape route nearly two centuries ago, during the Conquest. Geoffrey once told me that the family who lived here added it in case the Normans breached the walls during an attack.”
“Then Eduard knows about it as well,” he said grimly.
“Aye. But ’tis our only way out, other than taking the children through the battle in the courtyard.”
Gray nodded, leaning out into the corridor she’d indicated, looking for any movement. All seemed quiet. The twins gripped each other’s hands, staring at him, but doing exactly as he bid while he supported Catherine down the hall. Every now and then the shouting sounded nearer, and they were forced to duck into the shadows or behind a door until it seemed safe to continue.
Though she never complained, Gray knew by the way she limped and by the ashen cast of her complexion that Catherine was in a great deal of pain. He cursed silently, love for her mingling again with his rage against Eduard. He itched to get his hands on the bastard, to make him suffer tenfold for what he’d done to her.
At last she pointed to a door ten paces away. “There it is. The buttery. The passageway is hidden behind the shelves on the far wall.”
Gray led the children into the large, cool chamber; Catherine stood with them while Gray worked to remove the heavy shelving that blocked the tunnel. There was no way to do it quietly. Barrels thumped to the floor and pottery jars crashed as he yanked the wooden slats from the wall.
But soon the ancient looking door appeared, its latchstring hanging out. Gray lifted the rotted leather carefully, and the door creaked open. Cobwebs yawned and stretched at the corners of the portal, the odor of decay spilling out of the tunnel to coat them with a chill blanket of vapor.
“Come,” he said, herding the children into the opening. “We must hurry.”
“Nay. ’Tis too dark and small!” Ian cried, pulling back.
“He’s afraid because when we fostered with Master Dumont he used to lock Ian in a little chamber below the kitchen floor for being bad,” Isabel said softly.
“Merciful saints,” Catherine muttered, looking as if she was going to be sick.
“’Tis all right, Ian. There’s naught to fear,” Gray said, hoping to comfort the lad. “Your mother will lead the way into the tunnel. You can go right behind her.”
“I don’t think that I can, Gray,” Catherine said. “Without a torch, I can’t see well enough through this swollen eye. You’ll have to go first and let me follow behind the children.”
Gray considered that for a moment, uncertainty assailing him. Leaving Catherine last made him uneasy, but it didn’t seem that he would have much choice. Leaning in, he brushed her lips with a kiss, murmuring for her to take extra care before he stooped to enter the tunnel, coaxing first Ian, then Isabel in after him.
“You’re doing fine, lad,” he murmured to Ian, who trembled and clutched Gray’s tunic in a death-grip as they crept along.
Gray looked back to ensure that Catherine had ducked into the tunnel as well before he continued to lead them all on through the dark passage.
Suddenly, he heard Isabel gasp.
“Lily!” Isabel cried. “Oh, Mummy, I’ve dropped Lily!”
Gray turned to see Isabel scrambling past her mother, trying to crawl back into the buttery.
“Nay Isabel! We mustn’t return. ’Tis too dangerous,” Catherine said sharply, lurching to catch Isabel at the very portal of the chamber. She was just nudging the weeping little girl ahead of her into the tunnel again, when Gray saw her face stiffen in the dim light from the chamber. A tingle of warning shot up his spine.
“Ah, Catherine, my dear. How lovely. It seems that we’ll get to finish our little meeting after all.”
Eduard’s voice echoed through the tunnel a mere instant before he reached in to grab Catherine and drag her, kicking and fighting, back into the buttery. With a shout, Gray twisted and threw himself at the door, trying to get to her, but the wooden slab shut on him and the twins, sealing them inside and leaving Catherine trapped with Eduard on the other side.
Thrusting the children behind him, Gray slammed into the door, rattling the scarred planks, then ramming it with his shoulder. Aged as it was, it wouldn’t budge. Eduard must have put something heavy in front of it. The twins huddled in terrified silence, as through the wood the muffled sounds of scraping furniture and banging gave way to the unmistakable echo of a slap and Catherine’s cry.
Cursing aloud, Gray leaned back and kicked again and again at the old door. It cracked, finally, under his assault. He burst through the splinters, shoving aside the barrel blocking his way as he fell into the room, his frantic gaze searching for Catherine.
She stood at the other end of the chamber. Somehow, she’d managed to get one of the buttery’s worktables between herself and Eduard. But he was in the process of drawing his sword, readying to slash at her with it.
Flashing a dark grin at his rival, Eduard gloated, “You’re too far away, Camville. You’ll never reach her in time to stop me. But do come and try anyway. Then I’ll have the pleasure of killing you as well!”
Gray knew in that sickening moment that Eduard was right. He couldn’t get to Catherine in time. But an idea began to form as he shifted to look at the woman he loved more than his life, and her frightened gaze locked with his. Gripping the hilt of his sword, Gray nodded slightly, praying that she understood his unspoken signal.
