Edward stopped pacing. “The rest will find us. If we do not leave this place, it is only a matter of time before they track us down.”
Tate was used to Edward’s concerns. He was young and spirited, concerned for himself and his country. His passions ran deep, and sometimes, so did his foolishness.
“As I said, we are safer here than almost anywhere at the moment,” he said steadily. “It is my suspicion that the rest of Mortimer’s assassins are in the vicinity of York, thinking we may be in that area. It will take them time to realize that we are not. By that time, we will be half way to London. They will not be able to catch us.”
“But it is three hundred miles to London,” Edward pointed out. “It will take us weeks to get there at a hard ride.”
“It will not matter if we leave tomorrow or the next day.”
Edward cocked an eyebrow, the Plantagenet stubbornness apparent. “No offense to the Mistress of the house, but I would think you would put my priorities over hers. I frankly do not care if she is ill or not.”
Tate had the Plantagenet stubbornness, too, with the added benefit of age to bolster it. “Your priorities are, and ever have been, my greatest concern. If you are questioning my loyalty, perhaps you should find someone else to lead your cause.”
“Perhaps I should.”
Tate snorted; it was a bluff and they all knew it. “No one else would put up with your constant whining. By virtue of the fact that I am your uncle, I must.”
Edward quieted somewhat. He wandered over to where Tate sat, pulling up a stool from the hearth and appearing somewhatforlorn. “It should be you on the throne, not me,” he muttered. “Had things been different.…”
“Had things been different, your grandfather would have married my mother and I would be the king. But things are not different. They are as they are. I accepted that long ago and so should you.”
“I am afraid that I will not be an effective ruler, Tate.”
Tate smiled at the youth, putting a big hand on his blond head. “You will be the best ruler England has yet to see. I see my father’s strength in you. Trust in yourself, Edward. We do.”
“Sometimes I wonder. There is so much at stake.”
Tate had heard these words before, many times. When Edward wasn’t doubting himself, he could be a responsible, decisive young man. But he was young and circumstances beyond his control had the tendency to frighten him.
“There is much at stake; that is true,” Tate agreed. “But the rewards far outweigh the risks, do they not?”
The lad gave his uncle a reluctant grin. Tate gave the boy’s hair one last shake and returned to the task of removing the last of his armor. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until he sat down. Now, he was thinking seriously about a few hours of much deserved sleep. Stephen was already snoring in the corner. Tate had barely laid his head down when there was a knock at the door.
Morley, the man-at-arms, was the first to the door. He threw it open, sword in hand, to reveal Ailsa standing at the door. The sun was rising, giving her an unearthly glow as the rays filtered through the early morning fog.
“I am sorry to come,” she stammered. “But my sister… she is worse.”
Tate was up and so was Stephen. They crowded Morley away from the door, filling it with their bulk.
“What is wrong?” Tate asked.
Ailsa’s face was pale beneath her blue hood. The frail child looked like a porcelain doll, able to crack at any moment. “Her fever has worsened. She does not answer when I speak to her.”
Stephen was already out of the door, heading for the manor. Tate was close behind him with Ailsa bringing up the rear.
“Is she going to die?” Ailsa asked anyone who would answer her.
“She is not going to die,” Tate replied.
Ailsa ran until she was beside him as he walked and still, she had to run to keep pace. It was exhausting work.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Ailsa was losing speed, breathing heavily. In the midst of his concern, Tate could see that the child was unused to physical exertion. He paused long enough to pick her up and resumed his stride. The last thing he wanted was for the younger sister to catch her death running about in the dank air.
Stephen was the first one up the stairs followed closely by Tate and Ailsa. It sounded like a thundering herd against the wooden steps. When they reached the top of the dimly lit stair hall, Tate could hear groaning coming from one of the rooms. He ignored the moans, trailing Stephen into the chamber that he had left Toby in. When they finally reached her, she was lying upon the sheets, her damp skin as pale as the linen.
