“Care for some spiced tea, yer lor’ship?” Justin offered. “We brought it wit’ us, we did.”
Accepting a mug, Quentin savored the aroma a long pleasurable moment, then indulged in the wam liquid. He nodded his thanks to the cook as that one handed him a piece of flat bread cooked in a kettle of hot fat above the fire. His amazement knew no end as the sweetened bread created a luscious delight in his mouth, and he realized how hungry he was after avoiding the tasteless, greasy gruel that had become their main staple. Surely their plight was not because of a need of supplies, but for want of someone who could cook.
“I approve!” Quentin declared with enthusiasm. It was the only thing that had met with his approval for days!
The old man chortled in glee, then winked at the tall man. “Just thought we’d give ye a samplin’ afore we talk ’bout Deat’s wages.”
“Set a price and if it’s fair, I’ll consider it,” Quentin replied magnanimously. A good cook was worth keeping satisfied . . . at least for the short time he intended to be around to enjoy the fare. Before a wage was due, he would be well on his way to Spain with the treasure. And now with a cook to see to the preparation of the food, he would not have to face a mutiny.
“The three of you can bed down here in the kitchen,” Quentin directed. His eyes swept to a long box the newcomers had placed beside the hearth and he gave a jerk of his head toward it as he demanded, “What have you there?”
“Oh, ah . . . why, ‘at’s Deat’s knives, yer lor’ship,” Justin answered in a gravelly voice. He tottered over to the box and, lifting the lid, displayed the top layer. Long and stout-bladed cutlery was set in neat niches wedged into the wood of the shallow tray. “Deat uses ’em for butcherin’, ye know.”
Quentin licked his fingers, finding little reason for a close inspection of the lower trays of the box. After all, what was a cook without his knives? “I’ve some guests downstairs who’d be greatly heartened if they were given something worthy to eat. I’ll escort you down when their food is ready.” He made a casual excuse in an attempt to silence any inquiries before they were spoken. “They’re prisoners of the crown and are being held ‘til the Queen’s men can come to fetch them, so I warn you make no attempt to free them lest you wish a much-shortened life. As to that”—he smiled as he slipped the key from his doublet and tossed it before their eyes—“I’ve got the only key, and no one enters or leaves the cell unless I’m there to open the door.”
“Tain’t a twitch off me nose oo’ ye gots locked away.” Justin shrugged indolently. “I’m just here ta settle me good nephew in as cook for ye.”
“Good! Then we understand each other.”
“Quentin!” The plaintive wail came from the small upstairs chamber which Quentin had once reserved for his own use. “Where are you, son? I’m hungry!”
The summoned one rolled his eyes heavenward as if in mute appeal, then almost angrily jabbed a finger at Justin. “You tell your nephew to prepare enough food to stuff down the gullets of that bunch of whiners upstairs. You’ll find them in my quarters, and heaven help your hide if you delay!”
It was a short time later when Quentin’s directive was carried out, and when Justin entered with a tray, Cassandra and the three Radbornes seized the food in a greedy frenzy. Snarling and snatching to prevent anyone else from having what they desired, they tore apart the fowl with their hands and teeth as Justin backed out of the doorway. He had once seen wolves feeding, and their display was somewhat reminiscent of a canaille of those beasts.
The mood was somewhat more tranquil among the prisoners in the dungeon. Elise had been slumbering beside her father on the cot before she was roused by approaching footsteps. She blinked sleepily as the key rasped in the lock and the door was swung open to admit a gray-haired old man who hobbled across the space. He placed his burden on the crude table beside the cot, then glanced aside at her as he rubbed a spilled droplet from the tray. His squinting eye opened and closed in a deliberate wink, prompting Elise to stare at him for a confused, uncertain moment, then a sudden dawning swept her and she recognized the man behind the disguise. He left her and climbed the stairs, but she knew what his presence meant. Maxim was aware of where they were, and he had already begun infiltrating the enemy’s camp to secure their safety.
The only comments came from Arabella, who strode near the iron gate as it was slammed closed and once more secured. “So, Quentin! You lock the door again! ‘Tis not that you’ve disturbed yourself to see to my comfort. Oh, nay! You’ve answered naught my tears and pleadings, but have steeled yourself against my cries. And now it seems you continue my imprisonment.”
“I’m only protecting you from my men.” Quentin excused his deed nonchalantly. “No telling what they’d do while my back is turned.”
“Ha!” his mistress scoffed. “You’ve locked me away in here, and I finally begin to see that I mean nothing to you.”
“Complaints! All I’ve heard since I’ve come to this place are complaints!” he grumbled. He motioned toward the tray. “See there! I’ve brought you food. Try it! Maybe ‘twill sweeten your temper.”
“I doubt it.” Arabella’s chilled tone denied the possibility. “To think that I’ve let you run my life all these years. Father was right! All you wanted was my fortune and . . .”
“Your fortune?” Quentin laughed aloud in jeering tones. “I worked harder for your fortune than you did yourself.”
“What do you mean?” Arabella demanded angrily. “My father arranged the matches himself.”
“That buffoon! He’d have settled for a mere portion of what you have in your possession now. I knew with your beauty you were worthy of an earl, or even a duke.”
“You wanted me to marry someone else?” Arabella questioned in surprise. “But I thought you detested an my suitors.”
“I did!” He shrugged and gave her a sneering grin. “At least the first ones. Their purses were of little value, and in his greed, Edward would have accepted them, for they had more than he. You ought to be thankful to me, Arabella. I arranged a better match.”
Arabella shook her head, as if to free her mind from the confusing cobwebs. “I don’t understand.”
Quentin settled his arms akimbo in vexation and began to explain. “Dear girl, do you really think your life has been cursed? Nay, my lovely, your suitors fell beneath a stronger hand, except for perhaps one or two whose lives were snatched by fate ere I did a like service. I must say I found Seymour suitably wealthy, but the Queen’s agent recognized me as a conspirator and it became necessary to lay the blame on him for that one’s murder.”
“You murdered the Queen’s agent?” Elise interjected the question in amazement and turned to stare at her father as he laid a comforting hand upon hers.
“Quentin was the one who told the Hansa that I was spying on them,” Ramsey stated in a raspy whisper. “I found that out from Hilliard himself. It amused him that an Englishman could hand over his own uncle to be tortured and starved.”
Elise’s head moved slowly until she glared at her cousin. “Don’t ever give yourself airs above Forsworth, Quentin. You’re wallowing in the same slime.”
He seemed amused by her disdain. “I can hardly declare my innocence before so noble a lady. I vow my heart doth break at your slight, and truly, my dear Elise, I’m sorry I disappoint you, but my mother taught her sons well that we should look after ourselves.”
“And so you do.” Elise dipped her head, acknowledging his statement as one of fact.
Arabella railed at him. “You used me! All this time you used me!”
Quentin bestowed a lazy-eyed gaze upon his mistress again. “I’d have married you, Arabella. I told you I would. I had planned to right after you inherited Huxford’s wealth and after a proper period of mourning had passed.”
“How soon would you have killed me to gain that fortune?” Arabella asked caustically.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully and finally shrugged his brows. “Actually, you were qui
te suitable for a wife, and I rather enjoyed our interludes together. ‘Twould not have been too soon, my dear.”
“And to think I helped you murder my husband!”
Elise jerked her head up and stared at Arabella in amazement. “You helped him murder Reland?”
“Not exactly.” Quentin’s chiding chuckle raised gooseflesh along Elise’s skin. “Reland was quite alive when I carted him away from the stable, but you believed me when I told you he was dead. True, he was unconscious, and because of that I was able to haul him off the cart and drown him without a struggle.”
“You’re detestable!” Arabella accused in roweling repugnance.
“Enough of this! I grow weary of your insults.” Ending the discussion, Quentin strode quickly away, his boot heels clicking against the stone floor and echoing back to them.
“I’ve been a fool,” Arabella moaned dismally. “All these years, I thought he loved me as I loved him.”
Elise had no words of comfort to give her cousin, for her mind was already searching for ways to give her husband aid when he came to rescue them.
Chapter 35
THE LIGHT OF LATE AFTERNOON had been obscured by a slow, misty rain that was more fog than drizzle. Maxim had searched out a shallow swale that would offer some shelter for an approach by foot to the south side of the keep. The three of them that remained were well-equipped, with rope, swords, pistols, and daggers. Maxim was the first to slide down the gully, and behind him came Nicholas and Sir Kenneth. They found good cover to the base of the knoll, and there they waited as they appraised the ramparts and crumbling stone wall. No guards could be seen, and it was quickly surmised that Quentin’s men had gathered in the shelter of the tower, save for the two who stood guard at the approach.
The invaders squinted up into the rain and scoured the mound and tower wall for any sign of an opening, a niche, a crevice, or anything that would allow them to gain entrance to the place. Close beneath the stonework of the walls they discovered a smear of rust flowing downward, staining the cliff.
Nicholas pointed it out, being more familiar with scuppers and drains. “It probably leads avay from the lowest level.” He lifted a quizzical gaze to Maxim. “The dungeons perhaps?”
“Let’s have a look.” Maxim glanced aside to receive Kenneth’s nod of approval.
“Let’s go!”
Hardly half an hour later the three rested beneath a large opening covered by a rusty iron grill. A thin trickle of ocher water ran from the lower edge. Carefully they worked their way upward until they clung with the slightest of toeholds to the stone beneath the grill. Nicholas reached up a hand and tied one end of his rope to a rusty metal bar, then grasped the edge with his large hands, braced himself, and heaved. The grate moved, but only the barest measure. Sir Kenneth and Maxim applied similar efforts from their positions, and slowly they worked the barrier out of its nest. When it was freed, Maxim let the weight of it swing onto Nicholas’s rope, and it was lowered to a safe resting place beneath them. Nicholas flipped the rope and the knot fell free, allowing him to gather it in and restore it to his shoulder.
Maxim had already entered the cramped drain and warned Kenneth to silence as the knight heaved his bulk into the opening. A dim light showed through two grate-covered openings in the ceiling beyond them. One was only a few yards away, while the other was perhaps ten yards beyond. Bars and a corner of an iron gate could be seen from the nearest, and when Maxim crept beyond it to the distant opening, he saw the boots of a guard seated on a stool and heard the sonorous rasp of his snores. Cautiously he returned to the first grate.
An examination proved that the grill only rested on a shoulder cut in the stone floor. It was a tight fit, but the three of them laid their shoulders against it and slowly heaved. The rust-encrusted grate moved reluctantly with a slight grating sound, and they froze to listen. The snoring continued without interruption, and with a trio of nods they forced it again. The grill loosened, and they worked it up and away, moving it aside onto the flooring. Maxim carefully raised his head to peer over the level of the flooring. No one moved. The guard, having propped himself against the wall, still slumbered amid blissful dreams. Maxim searched with his eyes through the deep gloom until he found three slumbering forms in the shadows of the cell.
The men silently lifted themselves out of the drain, and while Maxim examined the massive lock, Kenneth went to watch near the stairs and Nicholas moved swiftly and lightly to where the guard dozed. He straddled the man’s sprawled legs before he clobbered him over the head with the butt of his pistol. He kept the man from falling with his left hand and returned him to a slumbering pose, then caught his feet in a quickly formed loop and slipped the rope under the bench and securely bound the hands, snipping off the excess cordage and returning it to his coil.
Maxim plucked a lead shot from his pouch and rolled it across the flooring of the cell toward the cot where a wealth of auburn tresses spilled over its edge. Elise sat bolt upright, immediately awake, and found that fond and familiar form standing just beyond the bars. It was his finger across his lips and the negative shake of his head that silenced the joyful gasp. She reached out and shook the man beside her. Slowly a bearded head raised, and she touched her father’s lips with a hand to still his question, then pointed toward Maxim. His gaze came around to find the younger man, and a smile, the first for some months now, broke upon his countenance.
Maxim lightly tapped the lock, silently asking the whereabouts of the key, but Elise shook her head and mouthed the name “Quentin.” She made a tucking motion as if slipping it into a doublet, then she came close to the door and reached through to grasp her husband’s hand. They leaned together, and even the bars could not prevent their lips from touching briefly. When they drew apart again, Maxim smiled and, with his thumb, wiped a smudge of rust from her cheek.
He inclined his head toward the third form lying alone on the other cot, and Elise shaped the name “Arabella” with her lips.
Nicholas strode along the row of bars that surrounded the cell and gently tapped at each with a stout cudgel he had found. Toward the far end of the cell, he found several that did not ring, but gave forth a dull thunk instead. Flicking his hand toward Kenneth, he summoned the knight near. The pair of them grasped the lower ends of the bars and, flexing their knees and gritting their teeth, heaved upward and outward. One bar moved with a moan of yielding metal, then caught and held, while the other rusted base snapped and the bar lifted clear the measure of two handbreadths.
The sound of heavy boots and a protracted yawn echoed from the stairs, announcing the entrance of one of the guards who was coming to relieve the other. As his head came into view, he froze and his once-sleepy eyes widened as he saw three men staring back at him. He fumbled for his musket, but before he could raise it, Nicholas threw the cudgel, striking the piece from his grasp. The guard bellowed out a cry of alarm and, snatching a long rapier from his side, leapt to the dungeon floor where Kenneth met him with drawn sword. There was a rush of footsteps from above as the brigands scrambled toward the stairs.
Maxim stood away from the bars and lowered his musket. The first man to come into sight took a ball in the chest and slowly toppled to the floor. Another pistol spoke, and the next guard fell over his dead companion. Maxim replaced the empty pistols and his sword rang free as a half score guards clamored down the stairs. Elise smothered a scream as he was pressed back by the assaulting attack of a quartet of men, while Nicholas and Kenneth met a similar number with slashing, hacking sweeps of their long swords.
A sudden cacophony of screams rang from the level above them, and a moment later runnels of hot fat dribbled down the stairs. A handful of guards stumbled and slid down the slippery steps, holding their grease-soaked clothes away from the bodies while hardly daring to touch the bright red splotches on their faces.
On the upper level Justin threw open the long box and lifted the top compartment as Sherbourne tore off his bandage. The younger of the two seized his
axe, while the knight claimed a mace and sword from the box. Dietrich chose a long butcher knife half the length of a sword, but twice as deadly. He butted away a stout guard with his ponderous belly and swung around with a vicious swipe. The other saw the blade coming and danced back on the tip of his toes and sucked in his breath just as the knife whizzed past, then he slithered senseless to the floor as a huge mallet followed the assault and caught him alongside the head.
Quentin had been in the loftier chambers with his family, demanding their departure at dawn, when the commotion alerted him. Savagely he snarled at his brothers, “Well, let’s see how good you three are at defending my hide. Without me, there’s no treasure at all.”
Cassandra immediately jumped up and delivered swords to the hands of her offspring, then thrust out a finger toward the door in a command “Go! Fight the filthy rabble who would dare attack your brother!”
Quentin smirked as he raced from the chamber. Perhaps this one time it was to his benefit to have a family.
In the dungeons below Maxim had been pressed back toward the far wall by the advance of the guards. Still, he seemed the victor in the fray as he thrust out with his sword. One guard sank to his knees, and another struggled to hold at bay that whiplash blade that turned upon him and threatened at every quarter. He cried out as the rapier seared like fire through his ribs, then his own heavy sword clanged to the stone floor.
“Hold!”
Maxim glanced up, and his heart froze in his chest. Quentin had caught up a musket and now stood with its muzzle pointing through the bars a short distance from Elise’s head. Behind him, his brothers had gathered and watched the proceedings warily. Maxim lowered his sword and Nicholas dropped the limp head of his opponent and let the fellow sink to the floor. From the level above, the sounds of scufflings and struggles continued, interjected with the clank of iron and the blunt thud of an axe.
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