by Jody Hedlund
The abbot’s face pinched. “I’d hoped you would be reasonable as you have been in the past. But I can see now that your lusts have clouded your good judgment.”
With that, he spun out of the room and closed the door behind him. My pulse came to a shattering halt, and I could only stare at the door with an open mouth.
When the key scraped in the lock, a burst of panic erupted inside me and moved me to action. I flung myself at the thick plank and yanked on it. “You must release me, Father Abbot.”
“This is for your own good, your ladyship,” he called from the other side. “You’ll thank me later.”
“I command you to let me out of this room,” I shouted. I was the ruler of Ashby. How dare he presume to make this decision for me?
“I’m sorry, my child.” His voice was that of a parent chastising an errant child. “This is the best thing for you, even if you don’t realize it yet.”
“No!” The abbot wasn’t planning to set me free. I was his captive. The panic inside swelled and I beat my hands against the door. “Please! I love him.”
“You must put him out of your thoughts once and for all. He’s not worthy of you.”
I flattened myself into the cool wood, and a sob clawed at my chest, nearly strangling me with its power. “I don’t want to lose him!”
“You already have,” the abbot retorted, his steps moving away from my room. “For all of his crimes, he’s sentenced to be drawn and quartered. On the morrow. Think of it as a birthday present, your ladyship.”
Chapter
22
I SAT IN THE SAME SPOT. I DIDN’T KNOW HOW MUCH TIME had passed. It could have been hours, days, or weeks. I didn’t care anymore.
The only thought pounding through my head over and over was that Rosemarie had rejected me.
I didn’t even move when the prisoner in the opposite cell began to stir.
“Hello,” came a hoarse whisper from the prisoner, likely finally awakening from his drunken stupor.
I didn’t answer, grateful for the darkness that hid me from the other man. I didn’t want to talk with anyone, didn’t want anyone to try to cheer me up with annoying platitudes.
“Anyone there?” the voice spoke again, this time stronger and followed by a rustling of the straw.
An ingrained code of courtesy demanded that I reply, but I couldn’t make my lips form the words I knew I ought to speak.
The other prisoner released a long moan. “Father Almighty, help me.”
Something about the man’s voice penetrated my consciousness, and I sat forward. The movement triggered the scampering of rats.
“Hello,” the man said again. “Is that you, Sir Derrick?”
I strained to see through the blackness of the dungeon, but all that met me was the usual foul air. “Yes,” I said hesitantly. “It is I, Sir Derrick. Who are you?”
“’Tis me, sir. Bartholomew. Lady Rosemarie’s guard.”
I didn’t know who I’d been expecting, but at the revelation I slumped against the wall. Bartholomew was the last person with whom I wanted to converse. The old guard’s presence alone would remind me of Lady Rosemarie and the clandestine visits with her over the past week.
But again, the duke’s lessons on manners and kindness demanded that I acknowledge the other man’s presence. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a wild boar let loose inside my head.”
I snorted. Had the old guard been celebrating Lady Rosemarie’s decision to leave? “That’s what happens when you imbibe too freely.”
“Imbibe?” The guard’s question rose a notch. “Not me, sir. This wasn’t from imbibing.”
“I beg your pardon —”
“I took a whack to the head. And once I catch the men who did it, they better watch their backs.”
I stiffened. “You were attacked?”
“I was coming down here to fetch you for Lady Rosemarie when two men came upon me from the shadows.”
My muscles sprang to life, and in an instant I was on my feet, grabbing at the bars. “You were coming to get me?”
“Aye. I was —”
“Then Lady Rosemarie wanted to spend another night with me?”
“She was dressed in her prettiest gown, sir. The red one that she wore to the dance. And she was sitting at the table waiting for you, excited as could be.”
The red gown that the duke had given her? A breeze of relief blew across my chest, loosening the chains that had been holding me prisoner since I’d heard the news from the jailer. She’d been waiting to see me. Had been excited about it. Had even donned her best dress for me.
“Then what happened?” I asked, peering through the darkness to the cell across from mine, wishing I could read Bartholomew’s face. “Did she change her mind and decide to leave for the convent in the middle of the night?”
“Convent?” The guard’s gap-toothed voice rang with surprise. “No, sir. She made no mention of leaving for the convent. Especially not in the middle of the night. In fact, I thought she was changing her mind about leaving at all. If you catch my meaning, sir.”
My mind spun with the new information, and I worked to make sense of it. Had she intended on staying, then? If so, what would have made her change her mind? “Do you have any idea who hit you, Bartholomew? And why?”
“I don’t know, sir. They came up behind me too quickly.”
I released my tight grip on the bars and stalked the ten steps to the wall and then back. There was only one person who had any reason to keep Rosemarie from me: Abbot Francis Michael. Perhaps the abbot had learned of our midnight chess matches and decided to put an end to them.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs leading down to the dungeon.
I yanked at my tunic and tugged it over my head. “Take off your outer garment, Bartholomew,” I whispered urgently. “And twist it into a rope.”
I didn’t know what had happened to Rosemarie. Maybe she’d gone to the convent willingly. But maybe she hadn’t. I knew I’d never be able to live with myself if I failed to at least find out. I needed to hear directly from her that she didn’t love me and didn’t want to be my wife. If she said so, then I’d leave and let her take her vows.
But I couldn’t languish in the dungeon any longer. I’d already shown courage by humbling myself in this pit in order to keep her safe. But now it was time to rise up. Time to charge into battle.
“I want you to call the jailer over to your cell,” I whispered, twisting my tunic tightly. “Then take him by surprise and shove him straight back toward me.”
“And if that doesn’t work, then you’ll push him against my cell?”
“Exactly.” Bartholomew wasn’t a strong man, but we would have the element of surprise on our side. Hopefully the day jailer would have compassion on us and not put up too much of a fight.
The door scraped open, bringing a blinding light and, to my dismay, two unfamiliar guards. The day jailer was nowhere to be seen.
I hid my shirt behind my back, and my muscles tensed, ready for action.
One of the guards sauntered near me. “The abbot wanted me to inform you that since today is Lady Rosemarie’s birthday, she’s decided that the gift she’d like to have most is your head on a silver platter.”
I gave an inward sigh. There was still time. Maybe not much, but at least her birthday hadn’t passed.
“But before that,” the guard continued, “she wanted to make sure you suffered for your crimes. She ordered that you be hanged, drawn, and quartered in the town square at midday.”
Public torture was the last thing Rosemarie would ever order, even against her worst enemy. A burst of fury pumped through my veins. Something was wrong with Rosemarie. I knew it with certainty now.
“I would advise against taking any action against me without the consent of the Duke of Rivenshire, the brother of the High King,” I said, my fingers twitching against my tunic. I didn’t know how I would be able to fight against two guards with only a scrap of cloth, but I had
to try.
One of the guards drew nearer, dangling the keys in one hand and holding a spear in the other. The guard by the door followed on his heels, holding the torch.
“My source says that we won’t need to worry about the Duke of Rivenshire or his knights trying to rescue you from your due punishment. He’s been unavoidably detained by the abbot.”
I let the news bounce off my chest. I’d have to worry about my companions later. For now I’d have to fight this battle by myself — hopefully with a little aid from Bartholomew.
Through the flickering light, I caught the old man’s gaze and cocked my head toward the second guard. Bartholomew gave a slight nod and set his mouth grimly.
“If you promise to be a good lad,” the guard said, looming nearer, “then I’ll make sure to deliver you to the town square in one piece. If not, I’ll be cutting off your fingers one by one for every struggle you make.”
Sunshine poured in the barred window and indicated midday. My birthday was already half over.
Trudy sat on the edge of the tiny bed, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wild. “My lady, we have to do something.”
I paced back and forth. “What can we do?” I’d gone over all my options too many times to count. There was no way around it. I would have to fight if I hoped to set us free.
It would be dangerous, but throughout the past sleepless night, I’d realized that I had to show my strength as a leader. Maybe I was late in doing so. Maybe that’s why the abbot thought he could still make decisions for me.
But I had to show him once and for all that his behavior, his control over me, was completely unacceptable, that I wouldn’t tolerate it.
The door rattled, and Trudy rose from the bed, her wide eyes frantically sweeping our narrow room. “This isn’t right. I won’t stand back and let them do this to you, my lady,” she whispered fiercely.
The abbot had sent news with our morning meal that I would be taking my vows at the ringing of the afternoon bells. And now they were coming to get me.
Trudy strode to the chamber pot and picked it up. “I only want you to be happy, my lady. And I can see that’s not going to happen unless you’re with your knight.”
The lock squeaked.
“I’ll distract them.” Trudy planted herself in front of the door, her feet wide, the pot drawn back. “And you run and get help.”
“I can’t leave you here,” I whispered.
The door started to open.
Trudy pursed her lips and drew her shoulders back. “Don’t worry about me, my lady. I can fend for myself.”
As the door swung open and revealed the armed guard waiting to deliver us to the chapel, Trudy swung the contents of the chamber pot forward so that the sour mess fell directly upon the face of the guard.
He stumbled and cried out, dropping a once-white robe to the floor.
“Run, my lady,” Trudy screamed, tossing the chamber pot itself against the guard and knocking him in the head.
Even though I didn’t want to leave my nursemaid behind, I bolted forward past the confused guard, out the door, and down the hallway. My footsteps echoed in the barren hallway. And my heartbeat slammed into my ribs.
I had to get away. I wouldn’t be able to help Trudy or myself if I was locked in the convent. In fact, perhaps that’s what the abbot intended all along. Maybe he’d never planned to let me rule in my own right when I turned eighteen.
The long corridor ended and opened into a covered walkway that passed through the courtyard. I paused and glanced to the monk kneeling in the flowers, pulling weeds.
Shouts echoed behind me. I had to find a way out of the convent. Perhaps the secret gate I’d once used to sneak inside?
I sprinted down the covered walkway, heedless of the monk stopping to watch me with a curious stare. Ahead loomed an arched door with a stained glass window above it.
The chapel.
If I could make it through the chapel, I would find the door that allowed the public to come and go into the sanctuary. I would be able to slip outside and command someone to take me back home, to Derrick.
Chills shook me, as they did every time I allowed myself to think about what the abbot had planned for him. Drawing and quartering was one of the most gruesome of torture methods, surely invented by the devil himself. Why would the abbot do such a thing? The idea of my wise counselor purposefully planning to harm Derrick revolted me.
I’d trusted the abbot these past years, and my heart ached to think about how he’d kidnapped me and locked me up. And now he was planning to torture the man I loved? How could he? Especially when he knew exactly how I felt about using torture methods?
I reached the church door and paused, gulping down a ragged breath. The shouts coming from the dormitory echoed again and spurred me forward. I yanked the door open and stepped through.
The high arches and tall pillars of the nave rose above me along with the stained glass windows. The candelabras near the altar were lit. But the glorious building was strangely quiet and deserted.
I slipped along the wall, seeking the front double doors that would take me to freedom.
“Ah, there you are, your ladyship.” The abbot’s voice echoed through the sanctuary.
I halted and located him at the front of the crossing, standing in his best robes near the chancel door, the Book of Prayers open in his hands.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” He stepped to the base of the altar and scrutinized me across the span of columns. “But why aren’t you dressed in the white robe I sent to you?”
I spun away from the abbot. With a new burst of panic, I bunched up my gown and ran straight for the door. I didn’t stop to think. All I knew was that I must escape. Trudy had put her life in danger for me. And now I must find Derrick. If I could get to him before it was too late, then together we could come back to rescue Trudy.
I fell against the carved door. My fingers grasped the handle, and I lunged forward only to fall short.
The door didn’t budge. I rattled the handle, desperation pouring into my chest. It was locked.
With a bolt of panic, I pivoted and ran back toward the side door I’d just entered. But it opened with a resounding bang, and several breathless guards raced inside with their swords drawn.
I stopped and swiveled, searching for another escape route.
“For the love of the sun, moon, and stars,” came another voice behind the guards.
Trudy.
I stared as the same guard who’d come to our cell now strode into the center of the sanctuary, dragging Trudy next to him, heedless of the foul stench that accompanied him. At the sight of his dagger pointed against Trudy’s chest, I cried out, “No! Don’t hurt her!”
The sanctuary echoed with my cry.
The abbot smiled, but the motion lacked any warmth. “Fetch the tongue ripper.” He motioned to one of the guards. “I’m sure her ladyship will cooperate more fully with taking her vows if she sees the instrument in place inside the mouth of her beloved nursemaid.”
Chapter
23
I SUCKED IN A FORTIFYING BREATH AND WHISPERED A SILENT plea of forgiveness in advance for all I was about to do.
The guard bent his head to slip the keys into the lock, and I jolted forward. Before he could react, I snaked my arms through the bars and wrapped my tunic around the man’s neck, twisting him around.
The guard managed a strangled cry, but I yanked the cord tighter, enough to strangle the air from his lungs.
With a roar, the other guard lunged toward me, his sword aimed to plunge through my body.
But with the strength born of practice and endless training, I positioned my leg through the bars and leveled a swift kick into his stomach with enough strength to send him reeling back against Bartholomew’s cell.
With surprising quickness, Bartholomew looped his tunic around the guard’s throat and twisted it into a slipknot.
I felt a sudden plunge of burning pain rip into my leg and realized the guar
d I was holding had slipped his dagger out of its sheath and had swung it back, grazing my outer thigh.
The man jabbed again, and this time I darted out of the way, grabbed the guard’s arm, and yanked it behind his back into a painful upward hold that forced him to drop his weapon.
From the flares of torchlight, I could see Bartholomew struggle to avoid the blade of the sword that his prisoner was swinging wildly backward in an effort to free himself from the deadly hold around his neck. But due to the length of the sword, the guard was having little success.
I knew I didn’t have time to spare. If Bartholomew lost his grip on the guard, the job of freeing us would grow slightly more complicated. With a swift yank, I brought my captive’s head back and banged it against the bars hard enough to knock him unconscious. As the guard slid down to the floor, I pried the keys from the man’s fingers before they fell out of reach.
I made quick work of unlocking my cell, and then, before Bartholomew’s prisoner could react, I leveled another sharp kick into the man’s stomach and then into the arm holding the sword. The pain of the attack forced the guard to release his weapon, and it fell to the ground with a clank.
In the moment of the man’s weakness, Bartholomew yanked the cord around the guard’s neck tighter. At the same instant, I rammed my fist into the side of the guard’s head. The man crumpled, and I rescued the torch as it fell from the man’s limp hand.
Without wasting a single second, I unlocked Bartholomew’s cell and dragged one of the unconscious guards behind the bars.
“Good work, sir,” Bartholomew said breathlessly as he stooped to help.
Once the men were safely locked away, I unwound my tunic and slipped it back on. Then I armed myself with the weapons of both guards.
I turned to Bartholomew. “I need you to find my weapons, especially my halberd, and then show me a way out of the castle that will cause the least detection.”
“You need to tend your wound.” Bartholomew stared pointedly at the blood seeping into my leggings.
I grabbed the old guard’s tunic. With a burst of renewed determination, I ripped a shred from the edge and wrapped it around my leg, tying it tightly to stem the flow of blood. My mind was filled with only one goal: find Rosemarie.