Mary Reed McCall

by Secret Vows

  “Lady Camville,” he said, bowing low. When he straightened he held out a sealed parchment. “I present this missive to your hand alone, according to instruction given me by the most esteemed Lord Montford.”

  Catherine’s stomach heaved, and she thought her knees might give way. With a trembling hand she took the parchment. But as she read its contents her heart pounded harder, nausea rising up to choke her. She grasped the edge of the table for support, vaguely hearing the messenger’s gasp as he leaped solicitously to her side; one of the hall servants quickly poured a goblet of wine and pressed it into her hand.

  She pushed them both aside, in her haste knocking the cup to the floor. It clattered to the stones, and she watched the widening, bloody pool of wine with a kind of morbid fascination before she lurched to the doorway in frantic search of Gray.

  Nay! Her mind screamed in protest to the message on the parchment. She’d wanted to destroy it, but the words scorched her brain, burning her thoughts like venom.

  It was too late. Sweet heaven, but it was too late for them all.

  God help her, but Eduard was on his way to Ravenslock.

  Chapter 17

  “This changes everything.” Gray tossed the parchment to the table, feeling a pit open in his stomach. “Damn Montford’s timing,” he added under his breath, leaning back in the willow chair Catherine had made for him and raking his hand through his hair.

  “It does present problems,” Alban said, looking back from where he stood at the window of Gray’s solar. “You and Catherine can’t possibly rescue the twins and get them back here before Montford arrives. You’ll be gambling a battle out in the open if you try it and he intercepts you.”

  “’Tis a chance we’ll have to take,” Gray answered. “We have to get them out of Somerset before Montford’s return. If the bastard catches us at it and wants a fight, then by God, I’ll give him one.”

  “But that means the children will face the added risk of battle,” Alban argued.

  “No one will face any added risk if I go to Ian and Isabel alone and leave the two of you here to keep Eduard out of my way,” Catherine broke in quietly from her position near the hearth. She’d been sitting silent since bringing Eduard’s missive to him, but Gray could tell by her expression that she was worried.

  Pushing herself to her feet, she came toward him. “I can steal the children from Faegerleigh and take refuge in one of the village cottages with them until you send word that you’ve secured Eduard and his forces.”

  “’Tis an idea, Gray,” Alban said, turning completely away from the window to face him. “Eduard would never think her bold enough to attempt such a rescue.”

  “Nay,” Gray shook his head. “’Tis too dangerous.”

  “No more dangerous than what my children have faced alone for all these months,” she answered. Her eyes seemed to pierce him to his soul. “You trained me to wield a sword yourself, Gray. I’m no master, but you know that I can defend myself. If it makes you feel better, send two or three of your knights with me. We’ll move quickly and quietly, perhaps without anyone even knowing we were there. ’Tis our best chance for getting the children to safety before Eduard’s return.”

  A bolt of fear shot through Gray at the idea of Catherine sneaking into her old home and facing its countless dangers without him. To stall for time to think, he said, “What about Montford’s message? Your bargain with him accorded that you would be the one to clear the way for his man to slip the poison that would kill me into my food. If you’re not waiting for him in the courtyard when he rides through these gates, he’ll know something is amiss.”

  “There’s no help for it,” she countered. “We’ve known all along that I would have to take part in Ian and Isabel’s rescue. No one else here can successfully navigate Faegerleigh’s intricate corridors.”

  She frowned, adding, “’Tis true that Heldred knows Faegerleigh’s design as well as I do, but his health has been precarious of late, and ’twould be dangerous for him to attempt the rescue.” She shook her head. “There’s no other way but for me to go while you stay here to take care of Eduard. I’ll trust you to keep him contained so that I can get to my children without his interference.”

  “I don’t like it,” Gray said, getting up to pace around to the front of his table. “There must be some other way.”

  “There’s not,” Catherine said. “None that will ensure Ian and Isabel remaining alive and safe, and that must come first. ’Tis the only way.”

  He gazed at her, fear for her warring with love and pride. “What you plan will be dangerous, Catherine. Too dangerous.” He clenched his jaw, battling with himself as he added more quietly, “I don’t know if I can let you go.”

  Her fierce expression softened a little; the shadow of a smile teased her mouth. “If you’re worried that you’re going to lose me, Gray—don’t.” She stepped closer to him and cupped his cheek, stroking his skin with her cool fingers. “If the truth about my real identity didn’t tear us apart, I’m certainly not going to allow Eduard or his men to do it. Trust me to be strong, as you’ve taught me to be. Strong as I know I am.”

  Gray placed his hand over hers, pulling her to him, and Alban pretended to be very interested, suddenly, in the wooden joints of the window casement. Turning her palm up, Gray kissed the tender, now lightly callused skin there. She leaned into him, and he held her close, soaking in the warmth of her touch.

  “All right,” he finally conceded, cursing softly as he released her. “I give up. You’ll go with a group of my men to Faegerleigh to get your children, and in the meantime, I’ll plan a surprise attack to contain Montford. We’ll give him no time to suspect anything. We’ll just charge in and restrain him until King Henry arrives. Montford has enough men with him that there will likely be a battle before we can subdue him, but at least we’ll have the advantage of being on Ravenslock ground.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Alban asked, leaving his study of the window to join them at the table.

  “Go with Catherine. Damn Montford for keeping me from her, but if I can’t be at her side, then I’ll feel better knowing that you’re there.” Gray dragged his hand through his hair again. “I wish there were another option. Letting you both go with so little protection—it seems wrong, somehow.”

  “I’d say ’tis the best plan,” Alban countered. “We cannot have too many with us, or we’ll draw notice. Your task will be far more difficult, keeping Montford and his men contained.”

  Gray clenched his jaw, worry ripping through his gut as he considered all that could go wrong.

  “Everything will be fine, Gray, you’ll see,” Catherine said, taking his hands in hers.

  Gray met her gaze, saw the purpose and fire burning anew in their blue depths. Another burst of pride and love shot through him. When had she changed so completely from the timid, frightened woman he’d first known into this virago, ready to confront their enemies single-handedly?

  As if she’d read his thoughts, she added quietly, “I’m not afraid of Eduard any longer. His tyranny over me is done, thanks to you. But my children remain at his mercy; they need me, and I intend to be there for them. I’ve waited too long already to bring them to safety.”

  Leaning closer, she brushed her lips over his. He felt the warm, sweet caress of her mouth and yearned to deepen it, to let it escalate again into the passion they’d shared last night. But what lay ahead couldn’t wait.

  Pulling away with a sigh, Catherine gave him one more loving glance, then gestured to the door. “Come and help me prepare for the journey. We must leave soon if we wish to travel at least part of the distance to Faegerliegh under veil of darkness.”

  Nodding, he followed her from the chamber. A short hour later all seemed ready for their departure. Standing in the courtyard, he watched Catherine, Alban and two more of his best knights ride through the gates. The feel of her parting kisses lingered on his lips, haunting him with self-doubt. He fought back the panicked sensation th
at threatened to overwhelm him, the feeling that said he was making the biggest error of his life. He suppressed it forcibly, reminding himself that this was what they’d decided together. He and Catherine. Together.

  She had a task to accomplish, and so did he. If she was successful in stealing back her children, it would damage Montford’s position in the evil game that he played, but it wouldn’t stop him. Capturing and destroying the wretch once and for all would be Gray’s duty alone.

  It was a moment he looked forward to with every breath that filled his lungs. A task he would take great pleasure in completing at long last.

  A night owl called from the stable rafters as Heldred settled with a sigh into the fresh straw. His bones ached more than ever, curse them. And his heart…Jesu, his heart was skipping enough beats lately to make him see stars thrice daily. It was because of his damnable weakness that Mistress Catherine had not asked him to join her in rescuing her children.

  Oh she’d discussed it with him, introducing him to her husband anew and acknowledging that they’d known each other for years. She’d even told Lord Camville that they shared a friendship, bless her kind heart. But in the end, when she’d needed help, when she’d needed allies and supporters, she’d been forced to leave him behind. He was naught but an old and useless man.

  Good Lord Camville had tried to make him feel needed; he’d asked him to keep an eye open to discern who among those at Ravenslock might be Lord Montford’s spies. But it seemed so paltry compared to all he should have been able to do. And yet he would do it. Anything to aid mistress Catherine in getting her children back.

  Punching at the hay-stuffed ticking that served as his pillow, Heldred rolled over and breathed deep. The stable was quiet now, but for the occasional snuffle of horses and a few grunts from the other men sleeping inside. Lord Camville had done well in closing off the castle to prevent anyone entering or leaving; in fact the whole place had been almost unnaturally still since Mistress Catherine set off.

  He heard Hugh the tacksman growl a warning to one of the stablelads, threatening to bury him under the straw if he snored again this night. Another man coughed, and Garth Digby, the blacksmith’s apprentice, called out for quiet, as he did every night. Then all fell silent. Heldred began to drift off, lulled by the rustling sounds of the animals settling down in their stalls. The warm, earthy smells of sunshine-dried hay, horse and leather filled his senses, and he closed his eyes…

  Not five minutes later, a sound on the other side of the stall startled him from the edge of sleep.

  Heldred lurched to sit up, peering in vain through the darkness. Something wasn’t right. The lads never moved around after Garth’s call for rest. The hair prickled on the back of his neck at the sound of crackling straw. He listened more carefully and heard a man’s voice crooning softly to a horse. There was still no light. Then came the creak of leather, as if from a saddle being cinched.

  A horse-thief? It couldn’t be; the castle gates had been locked against traders, travelers or anyone not of the castle since before Mistress Catherine left…

  Pulling himself to stand in his hunched-over position, Heldred stumbled quietly to the edge of his stall, squinting as he ducked under the rope and into the aisle. His eyes had by now adjusted to the dimness enough to see the shadowy outline of a man in the next stall, furtively tightening the bridle of the mare he’d just saddled. Grabbing a shovel from where it leaned on the wall, Heldred raised it and prepared to strike.

  But before he could move, the man spun around, grabbing the tool from Heldred and hitting him hard in the throat with a closed fist. The pain in his neck sent Heldred crashing to his knees; his hands gripped his throat as he gasped for air. With what seemed a Herculean effort, he managed to raise his gaze, trying to see the face of the man who’d struck him.

  Shock sliced into him, even through the pain. ’Twas young Rupert, a stable hand of no more than twenty years. He was a lively youth, always whistling a tune and laughing as he dallied with the girls from the kitchen.

  “Rupert, lad…?” Heldred tried to croak, but no sound would come out. Without a word or a change of expression, Rupert raised his arm, and Heldred felt the cold, angry slash of a dagger blade rip into his shoulder, felt his own blood spatter up warm onto his face. He fell back, palms out, flailing and gasping without breath, like a fish on the beach; the blade sliced into his hands and then jabbed past them to bury with a sickening thud in his chest. Pain washed over him in a wave, and everything slowed as if in a dream.

  Rupert’s bloodied face floated above his gaze a moment more, his expression almost regretful now as he pushed past him to go back to the mare. As from the end of a long tunnel, Heldred heard a soft whinny—the mare liked not the smell of the blood, his fading mind supplied—then he heard Rupert lead her quietly out of the stables, before closing the door behind him with nary a sound. None of those sleeping at the far end of the stables seemed to have been awakened by his leaving.

  Heldred closed his eyes, fully expecting that these would be his last seconds on earth. But he didn’t die. To his great surprise, pain continued to wrench him with each tortured breath, and his chest felt like it was squeezing down on his heart, but he didn’t lose his senses. Saints, he wanted to. He wished for the cool peace of oblivion. But God apparently wasn’t done with him yet.

  After a few more ragged breaths, Heldred forced his eyes open. Everything was quiet again. All appeared peaceful. But he knew that nothing would ever be the same. It seemed that Rupert was one of Lord Montford’s spies, willing to kill in order to escape with news to his evil master.

  A rapidly spreading pool of his own blood grew warm and slick beneath Heldred’s prostrate body, as he tried to make himself think. He pushed his mind to work, to formulate a plan of action.

  He decided that he must first try to calm his heart, then staunch the flow of blood from his wound. Rupert’s blade had punctured a lung, Heldred was sure of it, by the unnatural weight and bubbling rasp of air he felt in his chest with each breath. He couldn’t yell for help. ’Twould be a challenge to overcome the pain at all, but he would do it. He needed to retain his senses long enough to get outside. To get to Lord Camville.

  He had to find his lady’s husband and tell him that their plans had gone awry, that the security of Ravenslock was breached, and that Lord Montford would surely learn, now, of their design to rescue the twins. Then Mistress Catherine would be in far graver danger than anyone had suspected when she left for Faegerleigh Keep with only three men to aid her.

  Groaning, Heldred rolled onto his side, his gashed hands trembling as he reached for the medicine pouch hanging round his neck. It dangled there, torn, likely from the thrust of Rupert’s wicked blade. He found a few bits of cherry bark left in the folds of leather, and, pinching these between his thumb and finger, pushed the pieces past his lips, grimacing when the metallic taste of his own blood mingled with the bitter peelings. But the bark’s medicinal properties soon eased his irregular heartbeats, quieting some of the pain wracking his chest.

  Finally, he strained to grasp the edge of his cloak from where it hung on the stable post, pulling it down and bunching it up to press against his dagger wounds. He gasped with agony at the movement, holding himself very still until the white-hot burst of light in front of his eyes faded away. Then, holding the makeshift bandage firm to his chest, he began to drag himself, shaking and sweating, inches at a time toward the stable door…

  And toward the one man who might prove to be Mistress Catherine’s chance of survival.

  Gray was at work in his solar planning out his strategy of attack on Eduard when he heard the shouts. It sent a tingle of warning up his back, like the feeling he got in the dead, eerie silence right before a thunderstorm unleashed its fury from the heavens.

  Something was wrong.

  Grasping the silken bag from under the table’s edge, he pulled out his key and jammed it into the lock in the wall, pushing the hidden door open and lurching into the tilt
yard. Though it was night, nearly a score of men filled the area, their torches providing flickering illumination.

  “My lord! Sweet Jesu, Lord Camville, ’tis awful!” Gray’s steward, Briggs, came rushing up to him, his hands smeared in blood, his face pale in the unnatural light. “The old hunchback from the stables has been attacked, my lord. One of the watchmen found him. Knifed, he was,” the steward cried, even as he led Gray past the open stable doors.

  A trail of blood soaked into the wood chips along the edge of the lists; Heldred had obviously been trying to cross the yard to get to the castle. Several of Gray’s knights knelt next to the old man’s prostrate form another ten paces away, trying to staunch the red flow that continued to seep onto the now slick grass near him.

  “Is he alive?” Gray asked harshly, stalking the last few feet to Catherine’s old friend. Concern gripped him so that he didn’t know if he could speak at all.

  “Aye, my lord,” Briggs answered. “At least, he was so when I left him a moment ago.”

  Heldred’s eyes fluttered open when Gray dropped to his knees beside him. Even through the pain Gray saw reflected in the old man’s gaze, worry and intensity shone brighter.

  “Easy, now. I’m here. Talk to me if you can. Tell me how this happened,” Gray said gently, anger at what Heldred must be suffering churning in him as he supported the old man’s head on his arm. “I vow to bring those responsible to justice for it.”

  Coughing, Heldred tried to sit up more. The movement made him blanch anew, while the horrible bubbling sound that wheezed from him increased. He grasped Gray’s tunic in his bloody grip, pulling him closer. “Breached, my lord!” he whispered. “The security of the castle is breached. Rupert—” He gasped for breath again, blood showing on his lips. “He is a spy. You must go after my lady Catherine…” He coughed, a harsh rattling sound that mixed now with a gurgle. “She is in grave danger. You must go to her—!” he choked, before falling back into Gray’s arms. He took one, last, tortured breath before his chest stilled and his eyes fixed upon nothing.