by Lisa Shea
“Ropes tied to the wall,” Joan explained.
“Sounds like I was getting too close for comfort,” pondered Hugh. “This way they simply move on to another location, and we’re none the wiser.”
Joan glanced back up toward the dark window. “I can’t stay long.”
He ran a hand tenderly down the side of her face. “I know.” He hesitated for a moment, then asked, “what do you want to do about the bowl?”
She had known the question would be coming. “Ada will be sure to realize what it is in the morning,” she pointed out. “I think I should go with her to return it to Michael, to find out exactly what all the fuss is about. Now that you know how this relay works, you can follow me with the full force.” She smiled in contentment, looking up at him. “I have no doubt you all will find me and bring the two to justice, along with all of the wolves’ heads. We will bring their entire group to an end.”
Hugh’s eyes shadowed. “I hate to send you back into the lion’s den.”
“Linota risked far worse,” Joan pointed out. “I am treated quite well. Michael has made it plain that he wants to keep me alive.”
At Michael’s name, Hugh’s face shuttered.
Joan reached forward a hand, twining it into his. “The Michael I cared for as a child is truly dead,” she promised him. “It will take me some time to decide if the transformation came over a long time, and I simply never saw it, or if something happened to him while he was on some mission. But, whatever it was, the man he is now is abhorrent to me. I would never stay with him.”
Hugh’s hand traced her cheek, and there was a slight tremble to his movements. “Still, to think of you under his control …”
She smiled at that, moving forward to nestle in his arms. Hugh’s embrace was strong, steady, and seemed as if it could protect her against any force known on earth.
At last she gently unraveled herself from his warmth, giving him a tender kiss on the lips. “I do need to go,” she stated. “Ada said our first stop tomorrow will be Flamborough. If you gather the forces to watch for us there, you should be able to trail us without a problem.”
He nodded, his eyes darkening in determination. “Flamborough it is. I will make sure everybody is ready.”
She smiled tenderly. “And get some sleep.”
The sharp lines of his jaw eased at that, and he gave a soft chuckle. “I will try,” he agreed.
She drank in one last look of him, then turned, climbing the stairs in the inky night.
Ada still had the blankets pulled over her head as Joan slid the bar closed on the door, but her voice rumbled from beneath the covers. “Done with your puking, I hope? If I wake up to find the room smelling of –”
“I’m done,” assured Joan, slipping beneath the covers. “Just too much mead, I think.”
“You need to build up your tolerance,” groused Ada, her voice sinking back down into a growl. “But first, we need to get some rest.”
Joan did not argue that point. A moment later she was adrift in a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 19
The faintest tinges of grey dawn were tickling the edges of the window when Joan was shaken awake.
Ada’s voice was sharp. “C’mon, lazy bones. We have until noon to get this place searched. We need to get started.”
A loud rumble of thunder sounded, and Ada tossed her head at the window. “And as if we didn’t have enough to handle today, we also need to beat this storm.”
Joan nodded wearily, pushing herself to sit up. Ada turned and strode over to the far wall, starting at the right-hand corner by the door. With the attention of a world class architect she began moving inch by inch along the wall. She sounded each board, tested each peg, and checked every slight protuberance for loose construction or levers to activate.
Joan climbed to her feet and moved to the opposite diagonal, on her left. Satisfaction welled within her. Ada had inadvertently set up the search so that she, herself, would be the one to get to the bowl. However, she would have to go through the entire exterior wall first, and then half of the back wall, before she reached it. That would give Hugh even more time to prepare the troops and be ready to give chase.
Joan poured all of her attention into the task at hand. It was almost fun, this careful attention to every aspect of a wall. She’d never given masonry this much scrutiny before. There was a knot-hole in a beam which almost looked like a whirlpool. The main stretches of the wall were the traditional combination of wattle and daub – woven willow sticks coated over in a whitish, hardened goo of mud, clay, and horsehair. One swirl looked like a cloud high over a distant horizon. Another could be the twirl of a young girl’s hair.
She had just turned the corner to the far wall with the shelves of kitchen supplies when Ada cried out in delight. “The decorative hanging!”
Joan turned, preparing her face for the look of surprise and admiration she knew Ada would expect. Indeed, Ada was holding up the wooden circle as if it were the Ark of the Covenant. “It was here in plain sight all along! But look!” She flipped it over in her hands, showing the curved interior. “It clearly is the bowl Michael is after. Funny, he never mentioned the seagull carved into its base. That would have made it much easier for us to find.”
Joan shrugged. “You know how men are.”
Ada’s brow furrowed. “I do indeed. Idiots.” Her face brightened. “Still, we have the prize, and it’s an hour or more from noon. Plenty of time for us to make our escape.”
Joan allowed her gaze to shadow in confusion. “We are going to just ride out of here? Surely someone will ask where we’re going, with it being so soon after our last capture.”
Ada strode over to stand before her. “There’s a small chapel just a half-mile east. We’ll tell them we want to go pray there, alone, in thanks to the Holy Mary for her role in protecting us. With the storm about to release, we’ll want to stay there all afternoon.” Her grin grew. “They’ll expect us to pray in thanks for our safe return,” she pointed out.
Joan tapped a finger to her lips. “They might want to send an escort with us.
Ada shook her head. “We need to do this alone, to show our gratitude.” Her eyes held sharp focus. “It’s only a half-mile. They would think we are quite safe in that distance and agree without much fuss. And then we simply keep riding.”
Ada seemed enormously pleased with herself as the stable hands prepared Accipiter and Aquila without a complaint. She grinned as the cook waved farewell to them. She took it in stride that the other men were sleeping off the excesses of the previous evening’s festivities, and that her excuse of going to the chapel was accepted without a squeak of protest.
Joan held in a smile, running a fond hand down Aquila’s mane, then climbing into the saddle. Where Ada saw the execution of a brilliant plan, Joan saw the sure, deft hand of Hugh preparing the way for them, allowing their travels to start smoothly and unhindered. And, even better, her sword had been in Hugh’s room, right where she had left it. Ada had not complained as she strapped the scabbard at her waist. If anything, Ada seemed to take it for granted that they were now a team.
Ada glanced around at the empty courtyard, and her voice was a crow of triumph. “I told you! These simpletons can’t think past their next meal.” She gave a shake to Accipiter’s reins, then looked up at the billowing clouds. “Might be our last chance for a proper run. Race you to the chapel!”
Joan’s eyes lit up in delight. No reason that the ride to Flamborough should be boring. “You’re on!”
The two burst into a gallop.
They were laughing by the time they drew in at the side of the small stone chapel. A billowing of forget-me-nots lined one end of the building, shimmering in soft blues and delicate white. A strong breeze shook them into brighter life, and a few errant drops plunked down from the sky.
Ada slipped down from her steed, smiling up at Joan. “Seems like the storm is finally here,” she commented. “I’ll just make sure nobody is here, and the
n we’ll be on our way.”
Joan’s brow wrinkled. “What if someone is here?”
Ada shrugged. “We take them hostage with us until the first stage, and let the people there deal with it,” she answered easily. “It’ll give us enough time to slip the net.” Her grin widened. “And this time, with the torrent about to deluge us, there’s no way in Hell that Hugh will be able to track us.”
A nervous tremor shot through Joan, but she pushed it away. Hugh would find them. No matter what it took, he would stay with them, from the moment they arrived in Flamborough until the instant they crossed into whatever new keep Cecily and Michael had commandeered.
Ada approached the front door of the chapel. “Hallooo,” she called out in a friendly tone. “Anybody around today?” She came up to the arched wooden door and pressed it inward.
Creak.
Whoosh.
Ada staggered backward, a crossbow bolt standing straight out from the center of her chest like a mast on a ship. Then she timbered back, blood welled from around the wound, and she slammed hard to the ground.
Thunder growled immediately overhead, and lightning flashed a split-second later into the depths of the wood. Heavy raindrops hammered the earth, the flowers, and Ada’s motionless body. The blonde stared blankly up into the dense clouds, the crimson of her blood mixing with the rivulets of water, and she did not move again.
Joan’s heart thundered; she swept up the reins, preparing for a gallop to the woods. At that instant Michael stepped through the door, a crossbow held casually couched across one arm, his eyes sweeping from the fallen woman to hold hers. “No need to fear,” he calmed her. “Just cleaning up some loose ends.”
Cecily strode through the opening behind him, standing over Ada’s body and staring down at her. “Good riddance,” she snapped. “Still can’t believe she would turn on us like that, but there you have it. Hard to trust anyone these days.”
Joan’s hand twitched at the reins; it took her a long moment before she lowered them. She looked between the corpse and the other two in surprise. “Ada betrayed you?”
Michael gave a soft shrug, his eyes still on her. “We had our suspicions, with how cozy she had become with Hugh’s group. So, when we sent her back with you, we told her the first stop would be Flamborough. It wasn’t true, of course, and nobody else knew of that location.”
He ran a hand down the center strut of the crossbow, almost caressing it. “Next thing we hear from our contact in Lord Weston’s stables, the soldiers there are gearing up to head out to Flamborough. Oh, the soldiers were coy enough about their destination, and it took some doing, but the information was reliable. So it seems Ada was playing both sides of the fence.”
Joan pressed her lips together. Hugh, Lord Weston, and all the rest were now camped out near Flamborough, awaiting her arrival. And apparently that town was a completely false trail.
Michael’s gaze dropped to land on the bowl tied to the back of her saddle. A grin spread on his face. “And everything works out just as it should,” he murmured.
A blast of thunder sounded directly overhead, the lightning crackled at the exact same time, and Accipiter reared up in panic. Joan turned in surprise. Both steeds were battle trained. Indeed, Aquila stood as quiet as could be beneath her. But Accipiter was now streaming toward the woods in full gallop.
Her eyes narrowed. Was that the hint of a thin hand she saw clutching the saddle, as if a thin, teenage boy were clinging to the far side, allowing the steed’s body to shield his own?
Michael’s voice was sharp. “I thought you had trained these steeds properly.”
She couched her face in disappointment before turning back to him. “I thought I had, too,” she admitted.
He looked after the disappearing horse for a moment, then shrugged. He turned to glance down dismissively at the corpse. “Cecily, get that inside,” he ordered. “Then bring the steeds.”
It was only a few moments before Michael pulled up alongside her. By then she had composed her face into a mask of contentment. “Just like old times,” she murmured.
A softness edged his gaze for a moment, and he nodded. “That was a long time ago,” he commented.
Cecily drew up on her other side, her hood pulled low over her eyes. “This storm is only going to get worse,” she pointed out. “Let’s get going!”
Michael nodded, and in a moment the three were in motion, submerging themselves in the depths of the wood’s shadows.
Chapter 20
Joan carefully steered Aquila along the mud-drenched river which had once been a trail. Ahead of her, Michael cursed in exasperation as his horse tripped for the ninth time on a hidden root. The torrential rain hammered their heads and backs, the steady noise a drone which reverberated the air around them. Occasionally a ground-shaking rumble of thunder jarred them, accompanied by a blinding flash of light.
Joan wondered if any part of her body would ever be dry again. She was so thoroughly soaked she could almost feel her fingers and toes pruning.
There was a clearing up ahead, and Michael steered toward it. Joan could see movement, and her hand dropped to her hilt, but Michael plowed forward without concern. As Joan emerged from the shadows, she could see why. Sheriff Elias waited there with ten wolves’ heads. They seemed as a whole thoroughly sullen and miserable. Joan scanned the faces beneath the hoods. She thought she recognized a few from the camp she had raided a few days ago with Hugh, but the two men of the Sheriff’s from the morning at the tavern were nowhere to be seen.
Michael pulled to a stop before the Sheriff. “No problems?”
The sheriff shook his head. “None at all. I sent my two men to follow along after the crew from Lord Weston’s keep. If the group tries to turn and ambush us, we’ll get advance warning.”
Michael nodded in satisfaction. “Good. With any luck they’ll just watch over Flamborough for the night and assume the women were delayed because of this storm. By the time they realize their mistake, our trail will be thoroughly washed away.” He gave the side of his cloak a shake, fruitlessly trying to release some of the water. “Either that or we’ll all be drowned.”
He glanced around at the group. “C’mon. I’ll get us some shelter for the night. Maybe the worst of it will be over by dawn and we can make proper speed.”
A murmur of relief swept through the group. Michael crossed to the opposite side of the clearing, starting in on a trail that seemed vaguely familiar to Joan. She set after him, pondering it, while the others fell in line behind them.
It wasn’t until they passed a greying stump, speckled with fungus, that the pieces clicked in Joan’s mind. She shook her reins, moving to ride alongside Michael.
She strove to keep her voice even. “Where are we going?”
He gave a barking laugh. “You know well where we’re going, or has the darkness and rain gotten you thoroughly turned around?”
Joan’s pulse quickened. She forced herself to take a long, steady breath. There had to be some way to keep Michael away from there. It was her sanctuary, her private retreat. “But surely they might look for me at my own house.”
Michael shook his head. “It’s the last place they’d look for you, once they realize Ada is dead and you are missing. So it’s actually the safest place to be.” He shrugged. “Besides, that’s assuming they even leave Flamborough tonight. My bet is on them sitting watch over there at least until tomorrow night.” He gave a wry smile. “If Hugh is anything, he is determined when he sets his mind to something.”
Joan nodded in acceptance, allowing Michael to pull forward in front of her. If she resisted more strenuously, Michael would undoubtedly get suspicious and only want even more avidly to go to her home. She could get through this. Although it had been her sanctuary, it was only a structure of wood and mud.
She wasn’t feeling so sure of herself an hour later when they finally pulled up, soggy and bedraggled, at the fence which surrounded her property. Michael swung his eyes left and right d
own its length. At last he turned to her in grumpy confusion.
“Where’s the gate?”
She shrugged apologetically. “I didn’t get around to building one yet.”
“Fine,” he snapped. He pointed to the Sheriff. “Get one of those sections torn down.”
The Sheriff looked as if he might object, but there was another crash of thunder immediately overhead, and he slid in resignation from his saddle. He waved over two of the bandits, and together they leaned on one of the poles until it separated from the surrounding fence. In short order they had opened up a small but serviceable path through.
Michael waved a hand. “Joan, lead the way.”
Joan was half-tempted to gallop through the path, but she knew that, with the drenching rain, Aquila would be lucky to escape without a broken leg. She took the route at a slow, careful pace. Even so Aquila slipped several times before they made it to the safety of the stables.
Michael pulled in beside her. “Put the four main horses in here,” he ordered. “The rest can set up beneath that stand of oaks. It should give them some shelter, at least.”
Cecily slid off her horse and turned to the bandits. “Once the horses are settled, set up three watches. Make sure both the outer perimeter and inner area are covered thoroughly. Whoever’s sleeping first can stay here in the stables with the steeds.”
The men nodded in resigned acceptance.
Michael turned to Joan. “Leave your sword here. The men can sharpen it for you while they’re on watch.”
A knot formed in Joan’s stomach. “It might be better if –”
Michael’s eyes sharpened. “- if you followed my orders.”
Joan pressed her lips into a line and nodded. She still had her knife on her. It was best if she played along for now.
The stables had four stalls; each of them led their steed into one. Joan hated to leave Aquila in the hands of hired help, but at least it was the leader, the blond from the camp with the long plait down his back, who came over to take care of her steed. He nodded to her, his gaze going with admiration to the horse. She knew he would take good care. It could instead have been the two giants, easily six-foot-five, who seemed to provide in brawn what they lacked in brains. They were gathering up the reins of the other steeds and leading them to the woods.