Twilight Magic

by Shari Anton

  Stunned, Darian stared after him.

  “I thought your reasoning sounded good,” Emma said, too calmly for the situation.

  Sound, but apparently not reasonable enough for Henry, bishop of Winchester, whose jealousy of Chester had overcome the man’s good sense. Which was what Darian had hoped for, but not with this result.

  As the guards ushered them out, Darian took a long look at his dagger on the bishop’s table. This was the second time he’d lost it to Bishop Henry, and he very much feared he wouldn’t get it back this time.

  At least Emma didn’t appear distressed, which made no sense. They were headed for the cellar beneath the palace, a prison called the Clink, and only heaven knew who and what they’d find down there.

  “Why are you so calm?”

  In answer she glanced around at the guards, then smiled up at him. “Do not fret, Darian. All will be well.”

  And only heaven knew why her smile and reassurance made him trust she might be right.

  Chapter Twenty

  The rose-crested door.

  Emma had seen the door and the passage beyond in a vision, and the moment she spotted it in the bishop’s hall had known what it meant. This is the way out.

  Their capture had been frightening, the consequences too horrible to contemplate until she’d recognized the door and knew all would be well once she and Darian passed through it. And they would. She didn’t know when or how, only that they would somehow reach safety through the rose-bedecked door.

  Naturally, she would inform Darian, but not while they were surrounded by the bishop’s guards, who now led them down the stairs into the large, earthen cellar known as the Clink. Emma wrapped her mantle across her nose and mouth, but still the stench nearly overwhelmed her.

  The cellar was dimly lit by torches on either side of the stairs, allowing just enough light to see her way down the center aisle between two walls of iron bars. One cell for the women, the other for the men.

  Keys jangled. Gates clanged and squealed. Soon she and Darian were locked on opposite sides of the room. Thankfully, they shouldn’t be apart long.

  Emma briefly glanced at the three women in the cell. All of them sat on the dirt floor, none of them dressed in better than tattered rags. Drunkards? Whores? Not particularly caring to know why the women were in the cell, she turned away to watch Darian make a closer inspection of the men.

  She winced when he bent over a man curled up in the corner, picked him up by the front of his tunic, and then pinned him against the wall.

  “You sorry son of a bitch! Were I not in so good of a mood, I would shake the life right out of you.”

  “Have mercy, Darian! I have been in this place for far too long, and not one moment has been pleasant.”

  Emma couldn’t see the man’s face, but realized he must be Perrin.

  “You damn near got me hung!”

  “Whatever for?”

  “The murder of Edward de Salis.”

  “De Salis is dead?”

  Darian let go of Perrin and stepped back, his hands clenched. “Murdered. Some believe I slit his throat.”

  “Did you?”

  Darian tossed his hands in the air. “Nay! The bishop used the dagger you stole to frame me for the murder. Why the devil did you give it to him?”

  Even from across the room, Emma heard Perrin’s sigh. “Bishop Henry told me he admired your dagger and would give me five pounds and forgive all of my gambling debts if I gave him your dagger. With the coin, I knew I could purchase a dagger to replace yours and no one would ever know.”

  “You did not think I would notice the difference in the daggers?”

  “The deal was too good to pass up. Never did it occur to me the bishop would lie.”

  Darian scoffed. “I gather you did not receive your five pounds.”

  “Nay, and he tossed me in here anyway. Does Earl William know Bishop Henry accuses you of murder?”

  “Bishop Henry made the accusation in the royal chambers in front of the king and Earl William. He also knows who stole the dagger.”

  Perrin groaned. “The earl will have my balls in a bowl.”

  “Aye, well, first we must get out of here.”

  Darian turned around and came to the gate of the men’s cell. “Why did you tell me not to fret?”

  Emma pulled her mantle away from her mouth. “If you can get us back into the bishop’s hall, I can guide us out of the palace. I know what lies beyond those tall oak doors.”

  Darian’s eyes narrowed. “You have been in the palace before?”

  How did she tell him she’d seen the rose-bedecked door and the passageway beyond it without giving her secrets away to Perrin? “Once, as I hope never to envision it again.”

  Darian’s eyebrows shot up; then he nodded, telling her he understood. His small hand signal brought Perrin to the iron bars.

  Tall and gaunt, dark-haired and unshaven, Perrin leaned against the bars. His clothing was dirt-caked and his skin pale. Weeks of enduring Bishop Henry’s hospitality had taken a toll.

  “How much of the palace have you seen?” Darian asked of his fellow mercenary.

  “Not much. The hall, this cell, a bit of the yard.” “Wonderful.” Darian rubbed at his forehead. “I suppose our first step is to get the guards’ attention, then overpower them.”

  “They will return, likely twice more before dawn,” Perrin said. “They bring several people in each night.”

  “So all we need do is be ready for them when they bring in another group of drunkards. When do they let them go?”

  Perrin gave a burst of laughter. “When they are of a mind.”

  Darian leaned on the bars. “We need a plan.”

  “ ’Ere now,” a gray-haired man said, “if yer escapin’, ye got to takes me with ye.”

  “And me,” another demanded.

  One of the women sidled up next to Emma. “I would not mind gettin’ out o’ this hole in the ground.”

  Darian bowed his head, and Emma felt his misery. Getting the three of them out of the palace would be risky enough without having to escort several drunkards and whores with them.

  Darian’s head came up and he announced, “Perrin and I will overpower the guards. If everyone remains quiet and leaves us be, anyone who wants to walk out of here may do so. However, escaping may be to your detriment, so consider carefully before you decide to leave.”

  “Sounds fair to me,” declared the gray-haired man. With mischief in his eyes, he added, “Most o’ us knows these halls and walls better than we ought to. You keep that gate from closin’ and those of us who are of a mind can find our way out.”

  During the grunts of agreement, Emma wondered how many of the current prisoners would suffer future consequences for having escaped. If they were caught, the guards certainly wouldn’t be gentle with them.

  But the prisoners were all beyond the age of reason, and each could make up his or her mind. Emma wished them all well and hoped they didn’t hinder her own escape.

  Darian and Perrin talked quietly, likely deciding on how best to overpower the guards.

  The woman at her side nudged her elbow and whispered, “The sandy-haired one. He yers, dearie?”

  Not for much longer. Not after they petitioned for an annulment. But the curious woman didn’t need to know that Darian would soon be unwed. For now, Darian was hers.

  “My husband.”

  The woman sighed. “A pity. Would not mind givin’ that one a tumble. Might not even charge him.”

  Emma blushed, realizing she was speaking to one of Winchester’s geese. A whore of the stews. A woman who sold her body to earn her living.

  Embarrassment quickly gave over to curiosity, and the oddest sense of pride in the woman’s admiration of Darian.

  Emma knew a lady should back away in disgust, but there was truly nowhere to go. And heaven help her, she couldn’t help but smile at the whore.

  “I shall pass along your compliment, though I shall also strive
to ensure he has no need for your services.”

  The whore chuckled. “If all wives were so clever, I would starve. Come sit. Not much for us to do ’cept wait.”

  Wait and hope that when the guards returned, Darian and Perrin’s plan would work.

  Seated in the far corner of the windowless cellar, Darian had no idea what time of the night it might be, just knew he’d remained awake for what felt like hours while the others slept.

  In the women’s cell Emma dozed lightly. Too often those doe-brown eyes had sought him out, and not once had he seen a hint of anger that because of him she shared a dank, dirty cell with whores.

  Once more, he hadn’t taken care of Emma as he ought. No princess should suffer the indignity of a night spent in the Clink, curled up on a dirt floor with the rabble of Southwark for company.

  She should be furious. Instead, Emma calmly accepted that he would get her out of the cell and they would escape and all would be well. Such faith humbled him.

  But then, Emma didn’t rely solely on his abilities. Apparently at some time in the past, she’d seen the bishop’s palace in a vision, or at least the door in the hall and what lay beyond it.

  He’d never placed his trust in a vision before, and while it felt strange, his instincts told him such trust wasn’t misplaced. He had to trust in Emma, as she trusted in him. He didn’t doubt her belief that she knew an escape route, hadn’t even questioned the cell’s inhabitants, who apparently knew of other ways out.

  Where Emma led, he would follow. Straight into hell, if that’s where fate took them.

  Lord above, he’d fallen hard for the woman, and setting her free of him would be a difficult task. Living without her would be pure hell, indeed.

  When Darian finally heard footsteps on the stairs, he nudged Perrin, who instantly awakened and without words understood he was now supposed to be dead.

  Silently, Darian hurried toward the bars.

  Two guards noisily brought down three men, one of them so drunk one of the guards practically carried him. Perfect.

  The clamor woke almost everyone, and to Darian’s relief, none of the men got up or seemed about to warn the guards.

  Across the room Emma stirred, but didn’t make any threatening or otherwise suspicious moves, either.

  The guard not holding up the drunk drew his short sword from his scabbard and fetched the large key from the hook. “Everyone stay put, now. Ain’t mornin’ yet, just got us some new guests.”

  The gate swung open and the guard shoved the more sober of the drunkards into the cell. The other guard entered to dump his burden a few feet from the gate.

  “You have a dead one in the back,” Darian said. “He is beginning to stink.”

  “Ah, hell,” the guard at the gate grumbled, and waved his sword at his comrade. “Go have a look.”

  In preparation the prisoners had left a wide circle around Perrin. Darian tensed. The guard kicked Perrin, who grabbed hold of the guard’s leg and knocked him off balance.

  Darian took advantage of the armed guard’s shock and leapt for the gate. A solid punch to the guard’s jaw took him down. Within a trice, Darian dragged the unconscious guard over to the far corner of the cell, where Perrin stood over his victim.

  Darian noted how swiftly the cell emptied of prisoners, the sobered men quietly and hastily making their way up the stairway. He also knew the guards could rouse at any moment, and the need to hurry quickened his own steps.

  He found the key in the dirt outside the cell, where the armed guard had dropped it when he went down.

  Perrin picked up the guard’s sword. “Not the best quality, but ’twill do. There should be more weapons in the armory at the top of the stairs.”

  Darian locked the guards into the cell. “Will there be guards in the armory?”

  “Likely not. They are supposed to be out patrolling the streets, and the servants should be asleep. Our way should be clear.”

  With a relieved nod, Darian opened the women’s cell, anxious to have Emma in his arms again. Her bright smile reflected both pride and relief. He pulled her close for a brief hug, vowing he would claim a less hurried one later. Hand in hand, they left the cell.

  All three of the other women had also escaped the cell. Two had already scampered up the stairs. One seemed content to linger.

  She put a hand on Perrin’s arm. “My thanks, kind sirs, fer yer good deed. Ye ever in need of a tumble, ye come see Molly.”

  Emma squeezed his hand, as if warning him he’d best not accept the offer. Darian had to smile, rather liking the sign of possessiveness.

  Perrin smiled, too, but at Molly. “Our thanks for the offer, Molly, but first we must all get out safely. Do you know a way out?”

  Molly waved a dismissive hand. “This place has more ins and outs than a mole has holes. Want me to show ye one?”

  Perrin looked to Darian.

  Trusting in Emma’s vision, he shook his head. “We have a bit of business with the bishop first. We will find our own way out, Molly. You have a care getting past the guards.”

  “Aye, well, you have a care in yer business with the bishop that ye do not end up back down here!”

  Darian handed Molly the key. “If you happen to hear we met ill fortune, come get us out.”

  Her gap-toothed smile widened, and the whore dropped the key into her gown and patted the ample breast where the key landed. “A bargain. God go with ye.”

  Molly sped up the stairs.

  “You know a way out?” Perrin asked.

  “We must get back to the hall,” Darian answered. “Armory first. I need a dagger.”

  If Perrin noticed that Darian held on to Emma’s hand on their way up the stairs, all the time they spent in the armory, and down the passageway to the bishop’s hall, he said nothing. Nor did Darian care what Perrin thought. Emma didn’t object, and Darian didn’t intend to release her until they were well out of harm’s way.

  In the hall Emma pointed to the tall oak doors through which the bishop had passed earlier. “Through there.”

  Darian glanced toward the table, which had been cleared—save for one bright, shiny object. His dagger! Darian didn’t question his good fortune, just snatched it up on his way through the room.

  Once past the rose-decorated door, Emma again pointed, this time down the passageway to another door. “Every lord has a secret way out of his castle to a postern gate. This is Bishop Henry’s.”

  “Do you know where it leads?”

  “Nay, only that we must pass through it.”

  “Then we shall.”

  Darian grabbed a torch from a wall sconce; Perrin opened the door.

  Reluctantly, Darian let go of Emma’s hand to cautiously lead them down a long flight of stairs, the light from the torch allowing him to see only a few feet ahead. At the bottom of the stairway was an earthen tunnel, and Darian glanced back at Emma and Perrin, wondering if they, too, noted the air stale from disuse. No fresh air had invaded this tunnel in a very long time, and despite the assurance of Emma’s vision, Darian prayed there was a door at the end of it.

  Silently, with his head ducked to clear the roof of the narrow tunnel, he picked up the pace and soon felt the slight strain in his calves from an uphill tilt to the floor. Judging by the long trek, they were far from the palace when Darian spotted the door he sought, hoping no lock proved a hindrance.

  He handed the torch back to Emma. “Stay here while

  I see where we are.”

  The door groaned, but it opened, and Darian eased out. Freedom had never smelled so good. By the sliver of moon, he glanced around, again grateful for good fortune.

  He went back into the tunnel, took back the torch, and doused it in the dirt. “It appears we are at the very south end of the palace grounds. The livery is to the left. What say, Perrin? Go for horses?”

  “Lead on.”

  Darian grabbed hold of Emma’s hand and swiftly led them the few steps to where they entered the stables. To his deligh
t, his horse occupied one of the stalls, the saddle and his satchel resting nearby.

  Hands on hips, Perrin glanced around. “The postern gate must be close.”

  That made sense to Darian. He was almost ready to begin saddling up when the thought struck him that taking his horse might be a bad idea.

  “Perrin, is your horse still in the stables at Westminster?”

  “Should be. Why?”

  “Emma and I can get to the other side of the Thames more secretly if we are not on horseback. You take mine, I will use yours, and we can trade when we next meet up.”

  As they’d surmised, the postern gate wasn’t far from the stables, and the guard, sleeping beside it, was so easily tied up and gagged that Darian began to fidget over how easily they were making their escape. Still, not one to overly question good fortune when it came his way, he closed the postern gate behind them, hoping to never again cross paths with Bishop Henry.

  With his satchel in one hand, his other arm draped over Emma’s shoulders, Darian watched Perrin ride west on his way to Wallingford.

  “Will William accept Perrin back into the band?” Emma asked.

  “I suspect he will, but that is between Perrin and William.”

  She slipped an arm around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder, her weariness overcoming the strength she’d shown all day.

  He gave her a squeeze. “Let us find a place to catch a few hours’ sleep. On the morn, I believe we shall forgo the bridge and find a ferry to take us across the river.”

  “By morn, the bishop’s guards will know we have escaped and will be searching for us.”

  “Then we will have a care not to let them find us.” He looked down into her worried eyes. “You did well, Emma. If not for your vision of the door, we would not have escaped so easily.”

  The compliment earned him a sleepy smile. “Perhaps, but we are not out of danger yet.”

  “Nay, but I vow, we will sleep in a bed in Rochester tomorrow night.”

  And the night after that, they would be in Canterbury. Darian turned Emma toward the river to find a secluded spot along the bank, where they could wait for the dawn, determined not to think about what would happen in Canterbury.