Wimarc laughed and slapped Bennet across the back.
It must have been a sound blow for Bennet coughed with the strength of it. As Wimarc walked away, the echoes of his laughter receded until silence claimed the air again.
“Warin,” Bennet whispered. “The door to the stable lies to your left. When the sentries have turned their backs and on my count of three, I will tip the cart. It will provide cover for you to sneak in.”
The next few moments crawled by but finally he heard Bennet’s whispered count.
“One, two, three.” Bennet grunted as he tilted the cart.
Warin slid down with the shifting pile, landing awkwardly on his back. Hay floated over him and he had to blink to clear his eyes. Raising himself on his elbows, he turned his head and saw the door.
“Go!” Bennet hissed. “The sentries have two steps more before they turn back this way.”
Warin nodded and scrambled to his feet. Crouching, he broke free of the hay and dashed the few steps into the haven of the stable.
Just inside the door, he paused a few seconds to get his bearings. He charged towards a roughly hewn feed trough and ducked in behind, kneeling on the grain-strewn ground.
He glanced back over his shoulder through the open door. Bennet tugged the rein of the ox, and man and beast disappeared from view. Then the sentries hailed Bennet as the cart passed unimpeded through the bailey towards the gatehouse and out. An auspicious start – Bennet had carried out his part and none suspected him.
So far all went well. Blood pounded through his body, setting every nerve fiber to tingling, heightening his senses to an acute level.
Was that his imagination or did he hear Alyna’s voice on the breeze drifting in through the open door? Nay, it couldn’t be, a fair distance still separated him from the keep. He shook his head to clear the fanciful notion and to keep his thoughts on rescuing his wife.
A rope. He needed a rope if he had any hope of breaching the wall with Alyna. He peered over the top of the trough and through the gloom of the stable spied several coils hanging from pegs beside the door. He crawled over and grabbed one.
Returning to his niche behind the trough, he unrolled the rope, unsheathing his knife from his boot to cut it into several differing lengths. The shorter pieces he wedged into his belt, while the remaining length he looped to sling over his shoulder.
He ran his thumb along the edge of the blade before stuffing it back into his boot. Then he settled in to wait for darkness to fall.
Chapter Twenty-One
The moon made a crescent sliver in the chill murkiness of winter’s night when Warin made his move. On stealthy feet, he darted through the bailey of Faulkenburg, dodging from the shadows of one hut to another. He crouched as he ran, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword to keep it silent. At the hut nearest the stepped path leading to Faulkenburg’s castle tower, he stopped to calm his breath.
“Only two man the gate,” he muttered as he watched the figures of the guardsmen warming their hands on a small fire built in the shelter of the palisade wall. Those two didn’t expect a threat for their weapons lay beside them on the ground and their interest lay on the flask of wine they shared.
Somewhere someone ate for the odor of freshly cooked meat teased his nostrils. His stomach growled and he pulled his lips back into a thin-lipped grin. How ironic to be betrayed by the grumbling of his empty stomach. He jammed his fist in his belly and focused again on the guards.
Both men had their backs to him. Quietly, he removed his sword and the coiled rope and laid them on the ground. When one of the men arose and disappeared inside the gatehouse, he ran up behind the remaining guard and with the hilt of his knife, knocked him unconscious. Grabbing the man by his ankles, he dragged the limp body to the side of the gatehouse. The man stirred and groaned and Warin delivered another blow, this time a swift kick to the temple with his heel. The guard fell silent and Warin wondered briefly whether the blow had been strong enough to kill.
There was no time to ponder further on that guard’s fate, for the other guard stepped out of the gatehouse. The man stopped and looked about in visible puzzlement at his compatriot’s disappearance. He opened his mouth to shout but before he could make a sound, Warin hurtled himself through the air, catching him waist high and knocking him to the ground. The guard struggled and although strong, was no match for the avenging silhouette. Soon he too, lay silent and limp from the blow delivered to his skull.
Warin dragged the second man around the corner and placed him beside the first, tying them together back to back with the lengths of rope from his belt. Before retrieving his sword and the coiled rope, he stuffed their mouths with cloth hacked from their cloaks. As he passed by, he nudged them with his foot to ensure both remained unconscious.
Through the gatehouse he darted and then, hugging the palisade wall, began the climb towards the castle proper. At the top, he stopped where it opened up into the small yard in front of the castle.
The shadow of the palisade hid him well and gave him the opportunity to collect his thoughts and calm his breath. He must remain calm, for Alyna’s very life depended on it.
He inspected the darkened keep, with its tightly shut door and shuttered windows. Blessed silence filled his ears for it meant no one had found the hapless guardsmen and therefore his presence remained undetected.
He made his way to the postern door and tried the latch. It opened easily beneath his fingers and he slipped through, leaving it ajar to catch what little light he could. Before him, steep stairs disappeared up. He climbed them step by stealthy step.
The stairs opened into the warmth of the kitchen. Banked embers in the fireplace cast a muted orange glow throughout the empty room. He strode purposely through it before pausing at the portal into the storeroom.
A lone wall sconce flickered against the gloom. His luck was about to run out, for someone trod the stairs coming down from what must be the great hall. He dove behind some barrels and unsheathed his knife, waiting for the unknown person to show himself.
*****
Alyna drowsed in the heat given off by the coals of the fireplace in the hall. She had claimed a spot close to the warmth and had not moved from there the entire day. As night fell, someone had thrown her a fur and she had wrapped it about herself before lying down. Swathed in both her cloak and the fur, it was not too uncomfortable.
Yet she wouldn’t let herself fall asleep. Somewhere there must be a postern and she had to find it, had to find a way to Warin. She propped herself up on one elbow and scanned the room. No one stirred. She struggled to her feet, dropping the fur but keeping her cloak. If anyone awoke and asked, she would say she needed to relieve herself.
No one noticed her as she stepped over the sleeping bodies littering the great hall. Philippa and Alan were nowhere to be seen. They must be sharing the lord’s chamber above – so much for Philippa’s apparent modesty and piety, and so much too, for Baldric’s usefulness to Philippa. Exactly what Baldric deserved, she thought with derision, to be tossed aside when someone more to Philippa’s liking came along.
She slowed as she approached the stairs. The flicker from a single wall sconce below barely penetrated the darkness and she held onto the wall for guidance as she moved slowly down the steps.
At the bottom and out of the murk, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Startled, her heart nearly exploded with fear and she tried to scream.
“Mmmmf!” The hand muffled her voice and she struggled to pull herself away, stepping on her cloak in the process. She lost her balance and toppled against her assailant. Sobs bubbled up in her throat. She’d been discovered already, her search for Warin finished before it had even begun.
“Alyna! Shh! It’s me.” It took her befuddled, sleep-filled mind a second or two to realize Warin whispered in her ear.
Frantic with relief, she hugged him, encircling his neck with fierce abandon. They embraced for an ethereal instant before he pulled her arms away. However, he kept on
e hand firmly anchored on Alyna’s elbow and the possessive gesture filled her with pleasure.
She opened her mouth to speak but he placed his finger on it and shook his head at her. He pointed towards the kitchen and she nodded in understanding. Soundless shadows, they crept towards the doorway. Once there, Warin held back a second to scan the room and at his nod, they flitted through and then down the stairs, out the postern.
“How did you find me,” she whispered, amazed he’d come so quickly.
“Later,” he murmured. “We’re not safe yet.” They hurried along the stepped path leading down towards the bailey. Just outside the gatehouse, they stopped.
“Wait here.” Warin disappeared around the side of the small building. Alyna sagged against the wall, grateful for the respite. The tower of Faulkenburg loomed over them, dark and menacing, but thankfully, silent. Her heart pounded and beads of perspiration pricked her forehead.
Warin returned with a pleased expression on his face.
“Our luck holds,” he whispered to Alyna, pointing back to where he just came from.
She peeked around the corner and seeing the two inert forms, nodded in understanding.
“Ready?”
At her nod, he took her elbow again, guiding her carefully through the shadows. Once free of the palisade, they doubled back around the base of the hillock until they were behind the keep and out of sight of the bailey. The only thing between them and freedom was the stone curtain wall, mayhap three men tall, encircling the entire keep.
“Can you climb?” Warin’s voice was solicitous.
“I think so.” Aye, she would climb or die trying.
“I’ll go first and lower the rope.”
Slinging his sword over the same shoulder as the rope, he began to climb the rough stone work. Carefully, from handhold to handhold, wedging his toes into the gaps between the stones, he clambered up the wall. Alyna watched, heart in her throat, certain he would misstep and tumble to his death.
But he didn’t and soon, Warin sat on top. He formed a loop in the length of rope and tossed it down to her.
“Put your foot in the loop,” he whispered.
She did as he instructed and seemingly effortless, he pulled her up. When she reached the top, he grabbed her hand and hauled her up beside him.
“All is well?” He whispered in her ear and his breath tickled her neck.
“Aye,” she whispered.
“We’re almost over.” He gave her an encouraging smile and his teeth flashed white, even in the dim light of the new moon. “Bennet waits in the trees.” He pulled up the rope, offering her the loop. “I’ll lower you down.”
She nodded and wiggled over to the outer edge of the wall before putting her foot in the loop. She turned around to face him, edging backwards, scrabbling at the stones with her fingers, until she hung suspended, slowly swinging to and fro. She clung to the rope with all her might, pushing away from the wall with her elbows as he lowered her down. She welcomed the solid ground beneath her feet and with trembling knees, she leaned against the wall. So far, all remained silent. They were safe.
“You are down?” Warin’s whisper came from above.
“Aye.”
The next instant, the rope snaked down, landing in a muddled heap beside her. She could hear a scratching sound as Warin searched for footholds with his toes, ending only as he jumped the last few feet. He buckled his sword at his waist then looked at the rope.
“We may need this.” He wound the rope around his elbow and hand and then slung the coil over his shoulder.
Alyna looked up at the stone curtain wall. No heads appeared, no shouts sounded. Her heart lessened its frantic pounding but she had a difficult time catching her breath. Nerves clutched her belly and she bounced from foot to foot.
“Come.” Warin grabbed her hand and they began to run, flanked on one side by the wall and on the other by the stake-filled motte.
“Here.” He pulled her up abruptly. “Here there is a way through the stakes.”
Cautiously, they wound their way through. Alyna’s cloak caught on one of the sharpened ends and she yanked it free, leaving a small patch of fabric.
Warin reached back for it. “No need to tell them we passed through here.”
She noticed he tucked the tiny swatch in his pocket, like a good luck talisman. It reminded her of that day of the joust when she had given him her hair ribbon.
They climbed out of the motte and ran towards the road. Fear gripped Alyna, tightening her chest, lodging itself in her throat like a mud clump. They had a long distance to go to reach the woods and even in the dull light of the new moon, against the snow they would easily be seen from the keep.
“Oh!” She stumbled, falling on all fours. The snow stung her hands and she yanked them free, rubbing them together to warm them as best she could.
“Come. Let me carry you.” Warin helped her up and slung her bodily over his shoulder. He seemed not to notice her additional weight and he jogged along easily on steady legs with breath firm and even. His shoulder bone jammed into her pelvis, each step jarring and she hoped it would not hurt the babe.
“Here.” Bennet hailed them as they finally approached the welcoming shelter of the trees.
Relief swept through Alyna at the calm voice. Warin set her down gently and she barely had time to wave at Bennet before bolting behind the nearest bush. By the time she emerged, Warin again wore his mail and he and Bennet had mounted. Warin leaned down and held out his arm.
“Here Alyna, we must hurry.” He swung her up behind him. “Hold on.”
Without waiting for a reply, he spurred Citadel and they began the desperate race back to Caperun Keep.
Followed by Bennet, they galloped at full speed through the ghostly trees, dodging the branches that looked to Alyna like black claws attempting to catch them, and brushing past shrubs that seemingly tried to block their path.
At first it appeared as if their escape had been unnoticed, for the forest behind them remained quiet and the only sounds to be heard came from the pounding of hooves on the frozen ground. However, their luck ran out as the sky began to lighten with winter pale streaks of rose and ivory.
With the strengthening light came the ever-increasing sounds of pursuit. Shouts in the distance and the baying of hounds raised the hair on the back of Alyna’s neck. Warin, however, appeared unconcerned and she took comfort in that, leaning into him even closer as they continued their headlong flight through the trees.
They rounded a corner in the path and Warin pulled up suddenly, so suddenly that Bennet charged past for a few yards before stopping.
“We have time to lay a trap,” Warin said as Bennet trotted back with an inquiring look on his face. “Citadel carries two and has not the speed to outrun our pursuers.”
“Aye,” Bennet agreed.
Warin helped Alyna dismount and then slid off, putting the reins of Citadel into her hand. Bennet did the same.
“Take the horses and hide,” Warin instructed. “Don’t make a sound and don’t show yourself until I tell you all is clear.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Fret not,” he whispered, “all will be well. To stand and face our foes is much better than to run like cowards.”
“Aye, my lord.” Alyna’s voice quivered. Determined to hide her fear, she smiled at him. “Don’t worry for me.”
“Go.” He took the coiled rope off the pommel of the saddle and then nudged her towards the safety of the trees.
Alyna pulled the horses behind her and disappeared into the woods. The ground beneath her sloped upward as she pushed through the dense underbrush. When she judged herself to be mayhap two men higher than the road, she tied the horses to a branch and wedged herself between two solid tree trunks. From here she had a clear view.
Down below, Warin and Bennet strung the rope between two trees. They positioned it a fair height off the ground and she puzzled on that. It didn’t take her long to realize why for no sooner had Warin and
Bennet hid than around the corner then came the leading riders.
The first two hit the rope neck high and were knocked senseless to the ground. Spooked, the rider-less horses galloped away at breakneck speed, disappearing around the next curve in the path.
The next rider charged around the corner and pulled up when he saw the two bodies.
“Keep back! There is a trap!” He cried out to the others but a knife flew out of nowhere to cut short his warning. Blood gushed from the wound in his neck and he slumped in the saddle before toppling slowly to the ground. The reins of his horse became tangled beneath the body and the panicked animal began to buck and squeal. It broke free and charged back the way it had come, stirrups flapping, saddle tilted askew.
The hoof beats died away, leaving the forest in silence. Even the birds stopped chirping, the scent of freshly spilled blood warning them to be still. Alyna shifted position, wiggling her toes in her boots in an effort to warm them.
The man had called out a warning so there must be others with him but why didn’t they come? She snuggled her chin deeper into her cloak. Warin hadn’t called for her so she must stay hidden.
After what seemed like an eternity, three more men rode into view and stopped just below Alyna. She recognized Baldric, Alan and Wimarc immediately and a surge of abhorrence spilled through her. They meant to kill her and the babe she carried within her womb, the babe whose existence Warin didn’t even know of as yet.
She tried to suppress the fear threatening to swallow her whole. Aye, she hid here on the hill but what if Warin and Bennet were killed in the skirmish? The men below would easily find her for her tracks lay in the snow for all to see. Her death and that of her babe would be swift and likely not avenged. Sorrow washed through her at that thought. Nay, she shook her head, it won’t happen that way. Even outnumbered by one, Warin and Bennet will triumph, for right, and the king, are with us.
Voices drifted through the trees and she cocked her head to listen.
A Knight for Love Page 23