Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

  She had seen more than that, however. Watching him with his people, she had known that he would not back down from the duty laid on his shoulders. He would indeed be in the thick of it. He would do it for his king and his family honor. He would do it for the lands and the power. He would do it because of the years when Anglesmore was lost to him.

  He would do it for the same reason she would, because he had been born for it.

  The grey outside turned silver, and then the first rays of gold peeked over the wall. Suddenly the silence was pierced by intrusive sounds that echoed unnaturally loud, of servants moving and horses snorting and people talking. Marcus and several other men came into view, dressed for riding, and grooms brought their horses to them.

  She had not needed to watch for their departure. She admitted with some chagrin that she had stood by this window so that she could catch a final glimpse of him.

  He mounted his horse and sat there, all golds and bronzes and tall strength. These last few weeks he had been an inconvenience. Before the day was out, he would be an enemy.

  Suddenly his preparations halted and his body stilled. His gaze swept up the stones of the building until he was looking right at her window. She stepped back quickly, but not before she saw the thoughtful expression on his face.

  Horses moved. A gate opened. The small retinue trotted from the yard.

  Nesta stayed near the window, seeing that handsome face in her mind, picturing Marcus galloping toward the road. She let him disappear on the horizon of her imagination, then took a deep breath, swallowed the thick ness in her throat, and spurred herself to action.

  Shaking Genith and the women awake, she issued orders. “Rise and dress quickly and go down to the hall to break your fast. I will join you soon, but must do some thing first.”

  She left them and made her way to the stair: Trusting that she would not meet any servants already beginning morning chores, she descended to the second level.

  She had never been in Marcus’s bedchamber, but she knew it was here, along with another that he used as solar.

  His chamber door was open, making it easy for her. She slipped inside and glanced around. The bed was luxurious enough, with its rich red draperies and feather mattress, but there was something spare about the rest of the furnishings. Nipping around the bed, she discovered a straw pallet on the floor under the window, as if servant slept here and not outside the door.

  She could not find what she sought, and cursed under her breath. It must be in the solar.

  She hurried into the other chamber, and halted ü her tracks. It was not deserted as she had assumed it would be. The steward sat at a table near the window perusing accounts.

  He looked up at her entrance. “My lady?”

  She scrambled for an excuse for being here, am grabbed the only one that might make sense. “I hoped to find Sir Marcus and he was not in the hall. I have good news for him about my sister.”

  “He has already left. No doubt he will regret having done so if the news is that which he awaits.”

  “No doubt.” She subtly examined the chamber. Her eyes lit on a familiar sack propped against the wall. Dylan’s harp.

  She desperately sought a reason to take it with her, but there wasn’t any. The bard was ill, and would hardly be playing for entertainment in the early morning anyway. The steward appeared elbow deep in accounts, and she doubted he would leave this chamber soon.

  Biting back her irritation, she retreated and headed down to the hall.

  Her failure to get the harp created a terrible complication.

  Noise wafted through the window from the yard. People shouted greetings and curses. The farmers were arriving with their provisions.

  Nesta set a veil over Winnifred’s head, draping it so it fluttered low on her brow and over her cheeks. She secured it in place with a rolled circlet of cloth, and examined the results. Winnifred was the youngest and tallest of Genith’s servants, and the eyes peering back at her held wary fear.

  Nesta flipped a long cloak around Winnifred, pulling the edge high on her face. “You will be in no danger, I promise you. Everyone will understand that you only do my bidding.”

  Winnifred nodded. Nesta gave her one last inspection, grabbed a basket, and led the way down.

  Through the hall they filed, and down to the yard Nesta pulled open a door that led to the north tower‘; cellar and they aimed toward Dylan’s chamber.

  “How is the bard?” Nesta asked the guard.

  “I brought him some bread and ale at dawn, and he appeared weak.”

  “Sir Marcus instructed that my woman is to tend to him. She is a healer and has brought some potions and herbs.” She lifted the basket meaningfully.

  The guard unlocked the door for them. After they entered, Nesta managed to ease it mostly closed. She greeted Dylan loudly, then stepped very near and whispered. “I could not get the harp. I am so sorry.”

  Dylan’s bright eyes dulled. Winnifred began making noises with the basket and clucking about the prisoner’s condition.

  “Will you still do it? If you refuse, I cannot blame you, but—”

  “I will do it.” Dylan’s expression appeared bleak, but his voice carried resolve. “For my lady, I will do it.”

  Nesta didn’t turn a hair at that. She was in no position to question the motives behind Dylan’s choice. Besides, more than one just cause had been won because of a man’s chivalrous love.

  She gestured for Winnifred. “Good. Then let us tend to you.”

  A short while later, Nesta and the cloaked servant left the chamber. The prisoner was lying on the bed, huddled in blankets and face turned to the wall.

  “We gave him a sleeping potion, and some herbs for the fever,” Nesta told the guard as she closed the door “He should sleep most of the day.”

  She caught up with the servant, and together they mounted the stairs and entered the yard. Iolo’s wagon stood a few feet away from the cellar portal. When Nesta hailed him, he walked to the end of the wagon to greet her.

  While their bodies blocked the view, a veiled and cloaked figure climbed into the wagon and crawled under the hides.

  Sir Leonard’s eyes glazed over long before they reached the town. Nesta and Genith continued to dull his wits with relentless chatter about women’s things.

  They gossiped about ladies he did not know. They debated at length the beauty of certain new fashions. Genith launched a chamber-by-chamber description of how she intended to turn Anglesmore inside out with new furnishings when she was mistress.

  Once in the town, they dawdled in each shop, commenting in detail on the wares. By the time they had finished with the third one Sir Leonard looked like a man performing a penance he considered too great for even his worst sins.

  “You must find this very dull, Sir Leonard,” Nesta said as the trio headed toward a grocer’s shop.

  “Nay, nay, you and Lady Genith are delightful company.”

  “How courteous of you to say so. Still, if you would prefer to wait at the tavern, we will fetch you when we are done.”

  A bit of hope flickered in his filmy eyes. “My lord said—”

  “Sir Marcus required your escort on the road for our safety. I doubt he expects you to follow us around here in the town. What could possibly happen to us now? Besides, I will confess that this is much less enjoyable when there is a restless man pacing around.”

  He debated it. “How many more shops do you think to visit?”

  “No more than three or four.”

  She might better have said he was due for a flogging. “I suppose that I could wait in the tavern…”

  “We will be sure to meet you there when we are finished.” She moved a little closer and smiled at him until he blushed. “I would consider this a great favor, and so would Marcus if he knew. I intend to speak with Genith about her future duties as a wife while we dally over these wares, but with you attending us…” She gave him a look that made clear just what duties she referred to.


  He flushed deeper, and without another word aimed his steps toward the sanctuary of the tavern.

  They visited the grocer, but did not stay long. Taking Genith’s arm, Nesta strolled along the town’s main road until they were out of sight of the tavern. Ever so calmly, they turned between two buildings. Much less calmly, they quickly walked back along the alley until they reached their horses.

  Nesta slipped a coin to the boy who held the horses, and he asked no questions. He helped them both to mount, and then they were trotting through lanes, aiming for the open fields. Once there they rode as if the devil followed.

  Nesta did not catch her breath until they pulled up at the designated crossroads. With that deep inhale came the full realization that there was no turning back now.

  Iolo and his wagon waited for them. Another man stood beside the big burly farmer. Dylan had shed the veil and cloak, and paced expectantly.

  His expression of worry cleared as soon as they approached. He reached in the wagon for the two sacks Winnifred and he had hung on their bodies under the cloak, and tied them to the saddles.

  Nesta caught Dylan’s arm. “You can still change your mind. The danger here is greatest for you. If you are caught this time, there will be no reprieve, because we steal horses now and the blame for it will fall on you.”

  “My lady, Carwyn Hir needs the horses more than Marcus of Anglesmore.” He swung up on a mule that Nesta had bought from Iolo. “If I could have found a way to steal ten, I would have done it.”

  Put that way, she didn’t feel so much a criminal. With thanks to the good Iolo, they headed northwest across the countryside, toward higher land.

  Marcus entered his solar where the steward still fussed over accounts. As he removed his cloak, he noticed the bard’s sack propped against the wall.

  Its presence surprised him. After visiting the closest farms, he had sent Paul and the others on while he turned back, but perhaps his precautions had been for naught.

  He looked at the sack again. He had just assumed…

  “Lady Nesta was looking for you,” the steward said as he rolled up a parchment. “Soon after you left, she came here with good tidings for you about her sister.”

  Suspicion turned to certainty in that instant. If Nesta had something to report, she could have told him last night. He doubted that Genith had woken at dawn with a sudden change of heart.

  He strode out of the chamber and down to the cellar. The guard quickly unlocked the door while explaining how the woman Marcus had sent had given Dylan a sleeping potion.

  There was no bard in the chamber. Marcus threw back the blanket only to find a very frightened Welsh woman cowering against the wall.

  The guard mumbled a litany of excuses and apologies. Marcus did not stay to hear it. Back in the yard he paused, and watched the last of the farmers and merchants straggle out the gate. No doubt one of the firs wagons to leave had carried a young bard among it wares.

  He had known this was coming. He had been waiting for it ever since Nesta had cajoled him into letting Dylan join the household at night. He had seen her tall to him, and surmised that some plot for his escape was being hatched.

  He had even guessed that it would be today. Nesta’s argument for leaving Dylan in the cellar had struck him as odd, coming from a woman who had suffered on the road to spare the young man discomfort. Her request to visit the town, and his profound sense that she was watching his departure today, had supported his suspicions.

  She was clever and subtle, but he had begun to comprehend how her mind worked.

  This time she had succeeded because he wanted her to.

  He returned to the steward. “The bard has escaped. Have a horse prepared for me, with provisions for a journey in the hills.”

  The steward rose in alarm. “How many will go with you?”

  “None. One man can track him better than a whole troop. If Dylan guesses he is being followed, he will disappear instead of leading me to Llygad’s men as I want.‘

  “The preparations will be made at once.”

  “There is no need for special haste. I want to be sun he is enough ahead before I follow. While I wait, give Genith’s servants some duties to perform. Keep then away from the ladies’ chamber.”

  He headed down to that chamber, to see if he was correct about the rest of it. He already knew what he would find, however. If Nesta had planned Dylan’s escape, she had also arranged to have Genith leave with him.

  The only question was whether Nesta herself was also fleeing to the hidden stronghold of Llygad ap Madoc’s rebels.

  Nesta’s mind worked hard.

  She thought about the events of the last days, and how accommodating Marcus had been about Dylan. She considered the good luck of having Sir Leonard as an escort. He was not the most clever man, which had been very convenient. Mostly, however, she kept seeing the expression on Marcus’s face this morning as he gazed up at her window.

  By the time afternoon brought a light, wet snow, she concluded that her plan had worked far too smoothly. She suspected that Marcus had let it unfold. There could only be one reason why.

  He planned to follow them and find her father’s men.

  She studied the ground beneath their horses’ hooves. The late fall rains had left it soft. Glancing back, she had no trouble detecting the impressions that would lead Marcus right to them. Worse, if the ground froze their tracks would be preserved for days.

  She told Dylan to head toward the side of the valley in which they rode. Once they reached the first rise of the land, she stopped her horse.

  “I think that we need to separate. Dylan, you will take Genith to my father’s men. Go over the hills. It will be slower, but safer. I will continue along this vale, and make it appear as if all our horses did so.”

  She pulled a large fur provided by Iolo off her saddle and handed it to them. “You will need this more than me as I do not feel the cold much. Dylan, tie it so it falls be hind your mule and sweeps the ground. Maybe it will smooth the snow enough to obscure your tracks. Genith reach in your sack and give me your blue veil, the one you wore the first night at Anglesmore.”

  Dylan tied the fur to his saddle. “And you, my lady How will you find us?”

  “I will eventually go to Bala. Tell Carwyn Hir to was seven days, and then send a man there to guide me the rest of the way. You, however, must bring Genith immediately to Carwyn.”

  The sudden change in plans distressed Genith. “Yoi said we would stay together.”

  “I had hoped to, but I think Marcus will follow sooner than I expected. I cannot risk that.”

  She reached for Genith’s hand, and wished that she could take the time to reassure her. She had pictured their next leavetaking in many ways, and secretly dreaded it, but she had never intended it to be like this hurried and precipitous, with the bulk of two horse separating them.

  She yanked a small purse from her neck. “Take this for food and shelter, and give the rest to Carwyn. Dylan will see to your safety, and I will join you soon. Leaning toward Genith, she managed a clumsy embrace. ”Go now. Dylan, my sister’s future and honor an in your hands. I want your oath to protect her with you life.“

  Dylan swore as she asked. He turned toward the hill and gently called for Genith to ride ahead of him.

  Genith hesitated, and turned soulful eyes on Nesta “I know that this is no different from leaving you at this village, but it saddens me more. If something happens, and we do not see each other again—”

  “We will be together again soon.”

  “It could be many years—”

  “Nonsense, sister—”

  Genith placed her fingers on Nesta’s mouth, silencing her. Eyes tearing, she had her say. “It could be many years. Do not deny me these words to you. I love you very much, Nesta, and I will always cherish this time we have had together. For a short while it was like the old days, and I would have gladly kept Sir Marcus dangling for another month to preserve it a bit longer.”


  Nesta smiled ruefully. “It was our misfortune that Sir Marcus does not dangle so well, eh?”

  Despite her tears, Genith had to laugh at that.

  Dylan waited twenty paces away, looking to the hills and not them. Nesta swallowed her emotion and patted Genith’s hand. “Go now, before he has two wailing women to deal with.”

  Reluctantly, and with many long looks over her shoulder, Genith rode over to Dylan. They filed up the hill, the long fur cape sweeping like a train behind the mule’s tail, smoothing the snow behind them.

  Nesta watched as their forms grew small and hazy through her filming eyes. Her mind’s eye saw her sister as an infant and a little girl, and she felt again the small arms hugging her during the night.

  At the crest of the hill, Genith stopped and once more looked back.

  Nesta had to be the one to break that poignant connection. Turning, she headed back into the vale, making sure that she rode over their tracks to confuse the evidence.

  At the point where they had turned to the hill, she removed her cloak and tied it to her horse just as Dylan had tied the fur to his mule, only she draped it so that some of her horse’s prints would show. Hopefully, if Marcus followed today, he would assume that a faulty attempt had been made to cover the tracks of three horses, and that a few still survived.

  Kicking her horse, she trotted down the vale. Two hundred paces along, she pulled up and added one final touch. She took Genith’s veil, and snagged it low in a bush.

  She peered once more to the crest of the hill, half hoping to see Genith still there. Her sister was gone.

  Misgivings and sorrow suddenly filled her. She had never anticipated how the cost of her promises would become such a burden, and how doing the right thing would bare her heart to lacerations and regrets. For months the excitement of laying her plans had stimulated her, but now, gazing at the spot where Genith had last been seen, a terrible heaviness filled her chest.

  She battled the sorrow by reminding herself that this was all bigger than Genith or herself, or Marcus, or even the King. The happiness of one person meant very little in this world. Did a knight think about such things as he donned his armor to fight for his lord or his God? Had her father weighed his own comfort and life before raising his banner?