“If you need help, ask any of the pages. And I’m certain you can get Reynard to aid you.”
“I can manage.” Old Emma got to her feet. “I’d best go up and see to him. Is he awake?”
“He’s still mostly insensible. I’m not sure if it’s due to the bump on his head, the poppy juice, or the fever, but he isn’t fully aware.”
“Mayhaps he’ll think I’m you and pull me into bed with him.” Old Emma chortled.
“We can only hope his wits are not that confused,” Nicola retorted dryly.
Leaving the servant to make her slow progress up the tower stairs, Nicola hurried to the kitchen, where she grabbed a fresh loaf, buttered it and headed to the hall. She found Reynard there, along with the knights who’d rescued Fawkes and others. Between hasty bites of bread, she told them of her plan.
Reynard regarded her skeptically. “Yesterday you told me it was too risky for you to go to Mordeaux, for fear FitzSaer might imprison you. Now you mean to go there alone.”
“He can only imprison me if knows I’m there. If I sneak in through the hidden passageway and am very careful, I should be able to get Glennyth and myself out the same way without anyone being the wiser.”
“It sounds foolhardy,” Reynard said. “At the very least, you must take an escort. You can’t travel all that way alone.”
“Stealth is what matters now,” Nicola argued. “I vow, I will fare better by myself.”
“What about sending someone else?” Oliver asked in a tentative voice. “Why couldn’t I, or another knight, accomplish what you mean to do?”
“No one else knows where this secret entrance is located. Even I will struggle to find it. It was well-hidden when I was a child. By now the weeds and brush will have grown up and obscured it even more. Besides, none of you are familiar with the layout of Mordeaux. It will be much easier for me to find Glennyth than it would for anyone else.”
“Fawkes would never allow you to do this,” Reynard said.
“Nay, he would not. But at the moment he’s in no position to exert his authority. And if you want to do something to help him while I’m gone, you can help Old Emma. She’s watching over Fawkes until I get back.”
“Of course I’ll look after him,” Reynard said.
Nicola hurriedly finished her bread, then went to get a basket to carry supplies.
Chapter Twenty
Nicola rode down the forest trail, scanning the thick stands of oak trees on either side. She needed to find some place to leave her horse. Although this route to Mordeaux wasn’t much used, she didn’t want anyone finding Mist.
Seeing an opening in the trees, she dismounted and led Mist off the trail. She secured the horse’s reins to an ash tree in a sheltered glade. Then she untied her basket from the saddle and adjusted her head covering. If anyone saw her now, with luck they would think she was a village woman taking produce to the castle. She gave Mist a quick pat goodbye and started off.
Although she worried about getting lost, there was enough sunlight shining through the trees to give her a sense of direction. It also helped that she’d spent a fair amount of time in these woods as a child and recognized distinctive trees here and there. Although it was yet summer, there were already signs of the coming fall. A stand of elderberries. Late flowers like asters and loosestrife.
Nicola finally reached the place where the forest met the river and followed the pathway along it. When she passed the castle, she left the river path and made her way to the rear of the keep. As she’d expected, the area was overgrown with willow and alder. It was also very marshy. Either it had rained recently or the nearby stream had changed course and now ran closer to the castle.
After a short search, she found the entrance. The slab of stone was covered with dried mud and the iron ring that served as a handle was badly rusted. Now, she had a new worry, that the passageway would be flooded and impassable.
She cleaned the ring with the hem of her coarse-woven gown and gave it a swift hard tug, but the slab of stone didn’t budge. She tried again, pulling with all her strength. The trapdoor still refused to move. Frustrated, she lifted her skirt and withdrew her dagger from the sheath securing it to her thigh. She poked the dagger around the edges of the stone to loosen it. This time when she pulled the ring, she felt movement. Again she used the dagger to clear around the edges. She pulled and the stone came loose, pitching her backwards into the damp grass.
She got up and bent to peer into the dark passageway, cursing herself for forgetting to bring a torch. After lowering herself into the opening, she pulled her basket in after her. The passageway had seemed roomy when she was a child; now it was scarcely big enough for her to stand up in. But at least it wasn’t full of water.
She bent and entered the tunnel. The cold of the stone walls immediately seeped into her bones, and she fought to suppress her dread at the thought of the spiders, rats and other vermin lurking around her. Balancing the basket on her arm, she reached out for the clammy walls on either side and inched forward.
The tunnel seemed to go on forever. Her neck and shoulders ached from being bent over. She considered crawling, but having felt things brushing against her ankles, she’d rejected the idea. Why in heaven’s name had she thought this fun as a child? Of course, she’d been much smaller then and had a candle to light the way. She’d also been certain of what lay at the end. Now she worried the opening might be sealed.
A short while later, her head banged into a solid surface. She winced and drew back. This was the end of the tunnel. The trapdoor must be directly above her. She felt for it, grimacing as falling dust and debris struck her face. Finding the trapdoor, she pushed upwards. Nothing happened. Remembering her experience at the other end, she retrieved her dagger and worked at the edges of the trapdoor. After resheathing her dagger, she shoved with all her strength.
More debris fell, coating her face and shoulders, but the trap door shifted. She tried again and was able to move the door and the object holding it down clear of the opening. She used the steps cut in the wall to scramble up and drag herself into the chamber above.
Nicola sat on the dank stone floor to catch her breath, inhaling the scent of apples and the earthy odor of root vegetables. She was inside Mordeaux Castle. Now all she had to do was find Glennyth.
****
Wild, blurry dreams, the pain in his shoulder a constant. What woke Fawkes was thirst. This time it was worse than ever. “Water,” he whispered.
Someone supported his head and held a cup to his lips. It was wine, rather than water, but he drank it anyway. When his most urgent thirst was quenched, he opened his eyes, expecting to see Old Emma. A pair of hazel eyes stared back at him, disorienting him.
“It me. Alys.”
It took a moment to connect the name to the tawny-haired serving girl. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
Alys’s hazel eyes narrowed. “I’m looking after you.”
He raised his head, trying to see if there was anyone else in the room. “Where’s Old Emma?”
For a moment the young woman looked unsettled. Then she spoke soothingly. “Old Emma is resting. It tires her out to climb the stairs.”
Fawkes struggled for more of the pieces missing from his memory. “Where’s Nicola? I thought she was going to fetch the healer.”
“She’s not yet back from Mordeaux.”
“Mordeaux? Why did she go to Mordeaux?”
“The healer is there. Or at least that was Nicola’s excuse for going there. ’Tis more likely she went there to be with her son.”
Her son? Fawkes shook his head, as if that would dislodge the cobwebs of confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Alys smiled smugly. “I forgot you didn’t know. Lady Nicola had a son with Mortimer. A fine, fair-haired boy.”
“The baby died.”
Alys shook her head. “That was some other babe. Her son has been living at Mordeaux all this time.”
He must be dreaming. Yet when he clutched
at the bedcovers, they seemed real enough. And the woman looking down on him appeared to be flesh and blood. But what she was telling him, it could not be true. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why else do you think Nicola goes to Mordeaux? Why else is she so secretive?”
Fawkes felt like he was falling. Things he’d believed solid and secure seemed to be breaking off and scattering into an endless dark abyss. “But why would she lie about it? And for all this time?”
Alys shrugged. “I think she feared Mortimer’s wits were so addled he might harm the child in a drunken rage.”
“Nay. I meant, why did she keep the child a secret from me?”
“Who knows why Lady Nicola does anything? She’s a queer one, as my ma would say. Perhaps she thought you would not accept another man’s son.”
He focused his gaze on Alys and tried to figure out if she was telling the truth. Her hazel eyes seemed guileless, and yet there was something in her expression. A hint of satisfaction. Of triumph.
“Who else knows about the child? Who else at Valmar can confirm this tale?”
“Why…I… ’Tis not common knowledge, if that’s what you mean. I doubt any of the knights knew of the boy. ’Tis a matter whispered among the women.”
Alys was right. This was a something women would know about. But the only woman he’d questioned in the matter was Glennyth, and since she was Nicola’s friend and confidant, she’d had every reason to lie. And now both women were at Mordeaux. Leaving him here, with his injury. “How long ago did Nicola leave?
“’Twas yesterday. I thought she would hurry back. I’m surprised it’s taking so long. Something must have happened. Perhaps her son is ill and she felt Glennyth was needed there. So easy for a child to die. And you’re a grown man. A strong, robust warrior.”
Were her words meant to soothe him? Or torment him with the awareness that Nicola, or any woman, would undoubtedly make her son her first priority?
Now it all made perfect sense. Nicola traveled regularly to Mordeaux and sewed children’s clothing. The tunic in her satchel was likely one the boy had outgrown. He’d guessed it would fit a child of three or four years. The age his son would be if they had conceived one.
Alys seemed to think the boy was Mortimer’s. But he could not believe Mortimer had managed to overcome his aversion to Nicola long enough to lie with her and beget a child. It was more likely Mortimer had been so desperate for an heir that he’d tried a second time to secure one. Perhaps some other man had fathered Nicola’s son. Was that man still around? Perhaps living at Mordeaux?
The thought made him feel sick. If that was true, then Nicola had no reason to return with Glennyth. Indeed, it would be much more convenient for Nicola if he died of his wounds.
Even so, he remained convinced that Nicola loved him. Or at the very least was fond of him. She’d seemed so upset that he was injured.
Although her anxiety might stem from something else. Perhaps she’d had news her child was ill, and that was the reason she’d rushed off in such a hurry, leaving him in the dubious care of Old Emma, and now Alys.
Old Emma. Nicola’s servant must know the truth about the child. It would be impossible for Nicola to hide something like that from the woman who was with her every day. Somehow he would make the old crone tell him what she knew.
“Fetch Old Emma for me,” he told Alys, who was now sitting on the stool by the bed.
The young woman grimaced. “I would if I could, my lord. But you see, she fell on the stairway and hurt herself. I’m afraid she’s not able to climb the tower stairs. Not for several days.”
“Then have some of the knights bring her! I want to speak to her, and I won’t be denied!”
A mixture of emotions crossed Alys’s face: Anger. Irritation. Calculation. “Of course, milord. I’ll do it anon. But would you not like another drink first? I don’t know how long it will take to find some knights to carry that fat old thing up here. I’m sure you’re still thirsty, milord. With your fever and all.”
He wanted another drink. But not wine. Every time he drank some, he fell asleep. He wanted to stay awake and find out the truth once and for all. “Fetch Old Emma. And while you are at it, have her bring me some water.”
“Of course, milord.”
Perhaps it was his imagination, or his weakened state, but he swore there was something scornful and gloating about Alys’s tone. As she closed the door, he had the disturbing thought that if she never came back he’d have to crawl down the stairs and fetch help himself.
****
Nicola moved gingerly, fearful of tripping over the baskets and barrels filling the storeroom. She bumped into a pile of cabbages and nearly fell. At last she encountered the earthen wall and was able to follow it around until she reached the smooth surface of the door.
Once out, she made her way up the stairs, trying to remember the layout of this side of the castle. A moment later, she smelled baking bread and the odors of cooking food. She followed the smell until she was near the kitchen. Then she veered the other way, toward the stairway leading to the solar and the private chambers of the castle. With luck, Glennyth would be with Hilary. Joy filled Nicola at the thought of seeing Simon. She would give him a hug, but that was all. She had to get Glennyth back to Valmar as quickly as possible.
But as she climbed the stairs to the castellan’s chambers, she felt something was wrong. She paused to listen, expecting to hear the sounds of children playing. There was nothing. Perhaps Hilary had taken the children out in the bailey. That was certainly possible, but still…
She moved up the stairs, her foreboding growing each moment. At the top, she peered cautiously into the solar. What she saw hit her like a blow to the belly. There were no toys strewn around the hearth. No sign of Hilary’s sewing materials. Except for the furniture and the tapestries on the walls, the solar was empty.
Where were they? What has FitzSaer done to them? Panic engulfed her, making it hard to breathe. She’d feared FitzSaer had imprisoned Gilbert, or even killed him; she’d never dreamed he would do anything to Hilary and the children. And where was Glennyth?
She forced herself to take deep breaths. FitzSaer might be cunning and ruthless; he wasn’t completely depraved. He might have killed Gilbert but he was unlikely to harm a woman and two small children. At least she hoped that was true.
She moved cautiously through the solar into the bedchamber. Men’s clothing was scattered on the floor. A cup and ewer sat on the table with a dried pool of wine where the ewer had slopped over. The night candle had guttered and never been replaced. The windows were shuttered and whole chamber smelled stuffy. FitzSaer had clearly taken the room for his own.
Anger energized Nicola. She would find Hilary, the children, and Glennyth and take them back to Valmar. Then she would make FitzSaer pay for what he’d done!
But she needed help from someone inside the castle. She didn’t know the cook very well. But the brisk, bustling woman was fond of Simon and Joanie. For their sake, Morwenna would surely help her.
Nicola crept back down the stairs, aware that at any moment she might come face-to-face with FitzSaer and have all her plans destroyed. But she made it to the kitchen without encountering so much as a servant. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her.
“Lady!” Morwenna exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Nicola moved past the gaping kitchen wenches to reach the cook, a solid, dark-haired woman of middle-age. “I’m looking for the healer, Glennyth.” Nicola kept her voice low. “I’m also hoping you know what has happened to Gilbert and Hilary and the children.”
The cook’s mouth set in a grim line. “Bad business, that. Sir Gilbert vanished three days ago. Rode out alone and never came back. Then, just yesterday I waited for Lady Hilary to come and discuss the evening meal. But she never did. I sent one of the pages to look for her. When he returned he told me Hilary and the children were gone. This was late morning, so they must have left, or been taken, some
time in the middle of the night. I did hear a commotion around then. Horses in the bailey, that sort of thing. But I dismissed it as nothing to worry over and went back to sleep.”
“Glennyth, the wise woman, have you seen her at Mordeaux?”
Morwenna shook her head. “I don’t pay much attention to who’s coming and going. I assume if there are visitors, Lady Hilary will tell me, so we can make more food.”
“Have there been any visitors recently?”
“There were a couple of knights here a few days before Sir Gilbert disappeared. Well-born men. Good manners.”
“How long did they stay?”
“One night only. Then they were gone.”
John’s spies, most likely. Nicola wondered what they had told Gilbert. It didn’t matter. What was important was what they had told FitzSaer. Perhaps they’d informed him of the attack to come and convinced him to aid them in the plan to take over Mordeaux. Their visit might have sparked FitzSaer’s scheme to seize control. Or had he been plotting even before that? Perhaps since Fawkes sent him to Mordeaux?
She could not take time to untangle it now. All her efforts must focus on finding Glennyth and making certain Hilary and the children were safe. A cold hand of terror clutched her throat at the thought of Simon being in danger. She forced away the paralyzing dread. FitzSaer must have imprisoned the women and children somewhere. But where?
She thought of her father’s little used dungeon. Like the secret entrance, it dated from a time when her father’s hold on his lands had been much more precarious. As a child, he’d warned her not to play near the opening of the oubliette lest she fall in and be injured.
Caught up in her thoughts, she jumped when Morwenna grasped her arm. “If there is anything I can do, lady, let me know. I’m fond of Lady Hilary. And the children, of course. It troubles me to think they might be in danger.”
“Thank you. For now, there’s nothing I would ask of you. But later, after I find them, we may need supplies.”
Morwenna nodded. “I’ll gather some things together.”
Nicola left the kitchen. The oubliette was on the other side of the castle. To reach it, she would have to pass through the hall or circle around the outside of the castle through the bailey. Either way, she risked encountering people whose loyalties were unknown. Deciding the hall was safer she pulled up her hood, and set off.
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