“I am well, Uncle, I merely tripped over my gown.”
That he’d called out gave her even more hope that the note she carried was truthful. She’d have to pray hard and beg the archbishop for forgiveness for her actions over these past days. She’d told more falsehoods than she could count.
William took her hand and led her toward the main gated door. The fat man was there waiting. There were no jeers this time. She wondered if the silence was because they were in awe of William. His presence was powerful. He would be vexed, and she would let him have his say. If what she held in her pocket had any value, that would surely temper his mood.
Once outside of the prison area and into the garden separating the structure from the great hall, William turned to her and held her by her shoulders. “If you ever pull an act like that again, I will build you your own prison. What were you thinking?”
“I was protecting my family, as you have been without my consult.”
“There are so many ways this could have gone wrong.”
“Aye, and so many ways this can go right. I have a letter from him in my pocket.”
William’s eyes grew wide. “What does it say?”
“I have not read it as I had to maintain my deception. We must bring it to the king and read it together.”
That seemed to appease him somewhat, for he squeezed her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
Agnes drew a deep breath to steady herself. Inside the king’s solar the queen took her hands and led her to a thick, padded bench and passed her a goblet of something warm.
“Drink this,” she said. “’Twill steady your nerves.”
William sat beside her and placed his arm around her shoulder. “Do you need a few minutes?” he asked.
She was grateful he did not try to take her experience and inform the king without her involvement. Somewhere along the way, he’d understood that she had a voice as well.
“Nay. I am well enough to inform Your Majesty that I have a letter here written by my uncle.” She reached in her pocket and withdrew the parchment.
“Well, Lady Montrose,” the king said. “Read it out.”
Agnes stood before them all and read.
“The letter reads,I confess your letter surprises me, for you did not appear to be interested in my stories on our journey to Stirling. But yet here you are reciting those words precious to me and our brethren. You will find aid with them if you choose. But I will not give them up so easily. You must convince the king to release me. I will find you and bring you with me to somewhere safe. I know they won’t let you see me again, so you can slip your notes to the servant named Archie. He is sympathetic to our cause and will ensure I receive them safely.”
Agnes looked at the king. “Archie?”
“Is loyal to me and has been warming up to John since he was imprisoned. We have been gleaning our own intelligence that way.”
The king paced and stroked his beard. “What to do,” he said.
“I know what we are not doing,” William said as he stood. “We are not allowing my wife to be placed in harm’s way one second longer. This business was folly from the start, and she will not be involved any longer.”
“You do not get to make that decision, husband,” Agnes said. “I will continue to assist His Majesty. In any way he deems necessary.”
William scowled at her. They would argue this out, of that she had no doubt, but she would not do it in front of the king and queen.
“Now if it is all well with you, I should like to avail of a bath to wash away the stench of that place.”
It would appear she would remain at Stirling Castle for the day at least. The king drew William into a conversation about the letter after Agnes passed it to him. The queen called for servants to attend Agnes and she was brought to her chamber. Not long after, as she sat in the tub with the hot water soothing her, she heard the door open and close softly. She’d sent away the servants, wanting only solitude. She didn’t have to turn her head to know who’d entered the chamber.
Let the battle begin.
*
William pulled achair over to the tub to sit by his wife. He reached out to brush a stray strand of hair off her shoulder and to the back of the tub. For a few moments he sat there brushing his fingers over the soft skin of her arm, staring into her eyes. His very existence was tied to her now. What happened to her happened to him as well, and nothing in this world could change that. His anger had stemmed from fear, but how could he express that in such a way that would not offend her?
“You are troubled by my participation in this business,” she said after a time.
