Alice was already crouching down, pulling off Bastien’s hat to find the wound. He was very pale, but his breathing was steady.
Edmund pulled at her arm. ‘Leave the bastard. Come on, before he wakes up!’
‘Nay, I need to see he’s alright. You could have killed him!’
Edmund frowned. ‘What’s it to you? He’s just some local peasant taking advantage of a lone maiden. You’re fortunate I found you in time.’
Beneath her fingers on his wrist, Bastien’s pulse beat strongly. Thank God, she thought, still stunned by the violence of Edmund’s blow—how unlike him! Tears pricked in her eyes at the unnecessary violence, a cold trail of unease crawling through her veins. Even now, Edmund stood over Bastien’s prone form, holding the craggy rock aloft like a trophy, a smug, victorious smile upon his face.
Edmund didn’t recognise him, of course. He had only met him that one evening at Abberley. She felt no inclination to reveal Bastien’s identity and for the first time, a tiny seed of doubt began to grow in her mind. This was the second time Bastien had tried to warn her and she couldn’t fathom out why he did it. Unconsciously, she smoothed one hand across the broad expanse of Bastien’s chest, feeling his strong heart beat beneath her fingers.
Edmund yanked her upwards, pulling at her upper arm with a sharp tug. ‘Leave him!’ he ordered roughly. ‘We must keep going!’ He gave her a little push towards the horses. Alice hesitated, turning her head back in time to see Bastien’s eyes begin to flicker as he surfaced back into consciousness. She had a powerful desire to tell Edmund to go, so that she could stay instead at Bastien’s side.
Chapter Thirteen
Lord Walter of Felpersham, Edmund’s uncle, was a portly, florid-faced man of about sixty winters. He slumped back in his chair, alone, at the top table, his fleshy lips slicked with grease. Stripping the chicken bone of its last piece of meat, he tossed it to one of the dogs trotting expectantly below the high dais.
‘Welcome, welcome.’ He lifted one arm in greeting, spotting Alice and Edmund entering the great hall through the main door. A long strand of grey hair fell across one eye; he pushed it away in irritation, peering with excitement at his new visitors.
‘Well, well, well.’ His small, sunken eyes feasted on Alice’s slender figure as she mounted the steps to the dais. ‘What a tasty morsel we have here.’ He ran a thick tongue around greasy lips, nodding approvingly at his nephew. ‘You have done well, Edmund. You promised me she would have beauty, and so she has.’
Alice’s skin crawled at the thread of lust in Walter’s words. Who was this man? Surely not Edmund’s father!
‘This is my uncle, Alice,’ Edmund introduced her.
‘And where is your father?’ she shot back.
‘I expect he is in his chambers.’ Edmund raised his eyebrows in mock query at his uncle, who nodded back in conformation. ‘How is he?’
Walter burped loudly, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. ‘Not well, my boy, not well at all. Thank goodness you made it before…’ His words faded as he stared at a point on Alice’s chest.
‘Then maybe we should go and see him,’ Alice suggested, appealing to Edmund with a sense of desperation. Although it was not late into the evening, she wanted nothing more than to disappear up to bed. The uneasy feeling she had experienced on leaving Bastien sprawled in the forest had refused to diminish, but she continually damped it down, attributing it to pre-wedding jitters.
‘Not yet, Alice,’ Edmund countered. ‘Let’s eat something first. I’m starving.’ He plonked himself down at the table, indicating that Alice should do the same. Sitting next to Edmund, she prayed that his lecherous uncle would retire, and leave them in peace, but to her dismay, he was already pouring himself a large goblet of wine, and for her, as well.
She shivered slightly, her limbs thawing in the heat of the room. Nothing about this journey northwards had been as expected; instead it was tainted with something unfamiliar, sinister. Guilt soaked through her, a rolling wave of shame, as her mind continually recalled the sprawling, unconscious figure of Bastien in the forest. She should not have left him, she realised that now—why couldn’t she have been stronger, more forceful with Edmund? But somehow, she knew that if she had stayed, then the whole direction of her life would change for ever. And her future lay with Edmund. It was her duty.
A pewter plate was set before her, a servant placing a lump of barely cooked, gristly meat upon it, followed by bread, a few vegetables. She stared at it with no appetite, her mouth dry.
‘Come on, eat up, my lady.’ Walter jostled her from the left. ‘You’re going to need all the energy you can get.’ His insinuation was unmistakable, and she blushed, a hot, livid colour flowing across her face. Her nose wrinkled; Edmund’s uncle obviously hadn’t taken a bath for a few days and now the smell of stale sweat mingling with meat fat made her stomach roil.
‘You need to drink up, as well,’ Walter continued, slopping yet more wine into her goblet, despite that fact that she hadn’t drunk anything yet. The voluminous gathered sleeve of his tunic brushed across the table with the movement, gathering crumbs. Recalling her last brush with alcohol, she took a small tentative sip.
‘Oh, come on, Alice, you can drink more than that,’ Edmund accosted her jovially, leaning forwards so she could see his face past Walter’s flabby jowls. ‘Surely this marriage is a cause for celebration?’
‘I don’t see how we can celebrate when your father is lying upstairs,’ she responded disapprovingly, surprised that Edmund hadn’t even gone upstairs yet to visit him. She lifted the unwieldy goblet and took a few sips, just to appease him. Why did she feel so leaden?
Walter belched loudly, then pushed his chair back. ‘Must go and see that everything is prepared. Especially that good-for-nothing priest of mine.’ He winked sideways at Edmund, before prodding fleshy fingers into Alice’s forearm. ‘Not long to wait now, my lady,’ he leered at her. ‘Make sure this little lady drinks up,’ he ordered Edmund before he rose, and lumbered off, his shuffling step accompanied by another powerful belch.
Relieved that he had gone, Alice leaned across to Edmund. ‘Does that mean we’ll be married tonight?’
Edmund grabbed her cold fingers. ‘It’s for the best, Alice. We have no idea when my father…’ His voice trailed off, miserably.
Alice nodded, understanding.
‘Have some more wine,’ Edmund said helpfully. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’
Her head was swimming already; she was surprised at how soporific it made her feel. ‘I’d better not drink too much. It makes me feel quite giddy.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.’ Edmund’s voice was gentle, reassuring. Was it her imagination or did Edmund appear to be a little blurred, as if he were in a dream? She shook her head, trying to clear her vision.
‘I feel very strange.’ Her tongue felt huge, unwieldy. Even speaking seemed to involve a great deal of effort. What was the matter with her? A trickle of panic gripped her stomach—what was happening to her? ‘Edmund…I’m not well.’ Her heart knocked against the wall of her chest, an irregular beat.
‘Nay, you’re exhausted from the journey.’ Edmund’s voice poured over her from a long way away. Now he was at her side, hoisting her bodily out of the chair. Her legs and arms refused to work in a co-ordinated fashion and she heard him summon a castle guard to take her other arm. ‘I think he gave her too much,’ Edmund chuckled above her head to the other man.
His words sent ricochets of fear slicing through her brain. Too much of what? Sweet Mother of Mary, what kind of nightmare had she landed herself in? As they half-lifted, half-dragged her towards the door, she forced herself not to panic, to slow her breathing and to think. ‘Edmund, stop! Please stop!’ she endeavoured to force the words out, but the two men either couldn’t hear her or chose to ignore her. She sagged against their hold, thinking to slow them, but between the two of them they could carry her easily, even with her puny resistance.
Undefeat
ed, she gathered every last vestige of strength to scream his name, to make him hear her. ‘Edmund!’
At last! With one palm flat on the door panels, about to push it open, he paused in his determined stride, angling his head solicitously towards her. His features bobbled before her face. ‘Aye, my sweet?’ His tone held the faintest trace of mockery.
‘What…is…going…on?’ She forced the words out on a squeeze of breath, fighting the engulfing torpor that swirled in her brain. The soldier on her left adjusted his hold on her upper arm.
‘Haven’t you guessed yet?’ His smiling mouth closed in on her face, a threatening twist to his lips. ‘I would have thought your quick little mind would have worked it out hours ago. You’re going to marry Felpersham.’
‘Wh-what?’ Every last thread of reality vanished into the shimmering light of nightmare at his words; her head jerked back in shock. Her fingers clung to the soft material of Edmund’s tunic sleeve. ‘But…I was going to marry you.’
‘Felpersham’s promised me a great deal of money in return for a maid like you.’ His features, undulating close to her face, seemed to take on a weird sense of proportion, his mouth and nose huge, his eyes receding, tiny. Guttering candles lit his face from the side, giving him a monstrous aspect.
‘Nay.’ Her head drooped in sadness, shoulders hunching forwards, unable to look at him, shattered beyond belief at the huge betrayal. Sweet Mother of Mary, Bastien had been right all along, and she had thrown his advice right back in his face.
‘How could you do this to me?’ A single tear rolled over her cheek. ‘How could you?’ Nausea made her gorge rise; swaying, she wondered vaguely whether she might be sick.
‘You never wanted to marry me anyway, Alice. Admit it. I have always been the friend, nothing more. Our marriage would have been dull beyond belief; this way I’ll be rich.’
‘So money means more to you than our friendship.’
‘Aye, it does.’
Alice crumpled momentarily against the soldier, the flagstone floor looming close in her vision, blood pumping fast through her veins. Despite her outward appearance of weakness, of docility, inside her mind worked fast. Felpersham had obviously slipped something in her wine, hence the reason why they had constantly urged her to drink. But she had only taken a few sips, barely swallowed. Already her head was beginning to clear, and she could feel the strength returning to her limbs. If she could keep up the pretence of someone who was almost incapable of walking, then maybe she could seize an opportunity to escape. She tracked back to the moment they had arrived at Felpersham’s castle, recalling details about the layout—had there been a moat, a high curtain wall? With those details steadily building in her mind, she might find a way out. She would not give up. She would fight, fight this man who she had believed to be her friend, and she would escape this fate he had engineered for her, even if she had to die trying.
Between them, the two men shouldered her through the thick oak door, its wide panels studded with iron rivets, and out into the cobbled expanse of the inner bailey. Above, stars twinkled in the vast bowl of dark blue velvet, the clear skies promising frost on the morrow. As the cool, sweet-smelling air rushed over her, Alice, her head still hanging with the supposed effects of the sedative, rapidly gained her bearings. The castle gatehouse sat to her left, heavily guarded; on her right, steps led up to the battlements. If they reached the chapel it would be too late; it was now or never.
She slumped heavily within their arms, stopping any forward movement, shivering dramatically. ‘I don’t feel too well,’ she whimpered, raising one limp hand to her forehead. ‘Edmund, fetch my mantle, would you? It’s on the chair…back there.’ She lolled her head in the direction of the great hall.
Edmund scowled, rolling his eyes at the soldier over her neat head. ‘It’s not much further, Alice, just over there.’ He pointed out the arched doorway of the chapel, the stone fretwork of the windows from which a flickering light spilled, ominous. Inside, Felpersham waited for her, and if they tarried too long, he would no doubt come looking to see what held them up.
‘Please, Edmund.’ Her voice wavered; she was careful to keep the sense of urgency from her tone. ‘It’s only a couple of steps.’ He must not guess, must not realise that she had regained her strength.
Edmund regarded her faltering, pathetic figure: she did look pale. ‘Sweet Jesu!’ He relented. ‘This is going to take all night! Keep going with her,’ he ordered the soldier. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
As soon as Edmund vanished through the oak doorway, the latch clicking solidly in place, Alice lunged at the guard, forcing him to stagger away. He released his grip, surprised by her sudden burst of strength. With the look of astonishment pinned to the soldier’s face still in her mind, she ran. Ran as if her whole life depended on it. Blood pumped through her veins, her muscles, giving her the extra burst of energy she needed to fly from this awful place. Her nimble feet sprinkled over the cobbles, slippers barely touching the ground, bobbing and weaving through the milling servants, who, only after she had passed through them, heard the frantic shouts of the soldier, and of Edmund. ‘Stop her! Hold her!’ But she was already halfway up the steps to the battlements, her steps determined and sure, the green fabric of her dress shining against the grey stones of the wall. She climbed up, the muscles in her thighs tight with exertion, to the top of the grey wall, to the square-cut crenellations. Up here, the wind snagged at her hair, her veil, and she wrested the white fabric from her head, knowing it would flag up her position in the darkness. The battlement soldiers moved in towards her, one to her left, one to her right. They were grinning, believing she was trapped; there was nowhere else for her to go.
Panic laced around her heart, tightened its cold fingers. Stepping up into the gap between the crenellations, fingers rasping against the granular stone, Alice prayed that her judgement had been correct, that the wall, at this point, was not too high above the moat. She took a deep, steadying breath, and jumped. The rush of air ballooned out her skirts, searing her legs with icy breath. Seconds later, the waters closed over her head, and she plunged down and down, hoping her legs wouldn’t suddenly judder and crumble against a solid bottom. But nay, the moat was deep, her saviour! She began to bob back up again, but before she reached the surface, she struck out to the right, underwater, hoping to confuse her trail. Thank the lord her brother had taught her to swim, to be strong in one’s body! She pulled herself steadily under the water, until her lungs screamed out with the need for oxygen. Breaking the surface carefully, water streaming across her eyes and face, it took a moment for Alice to realise that the opposite bank was close by. She struck out towards it, knowing that it wouldn’t take long for the castle guards to make their way around to this point. Her gown, saturated with water, clung around her legs, slowing her. She flung herself towards the bank, hands reaching out to slip futilely against the long strands of wet grass. Brambles, sprouting vigorously from the damp earth, tore at her skin, but in her anxiety to drag herself out, she grabbed at them again and again, making her palms bleed. Hot tears of frustration poured from her eyes—nay, not now! She couldn’t fail now! Hopelessness clawed at her heart—was marriage to Felpersham to be her fate after all?
The winding creak of the drawbridge being lowered clanged dully in the breeze; her time was running out. Gouging desperately into the soft mud beneath the grass, her nails filled with sticky earth. Exhaustion began to sap her lively strength, the constant treading of water to keep upright in the deep water began to tire her; as the energy leaked out from her, all she wanted was to lay down her head and rest.
And then, out of the darkness, a hand, a warm rough hand, grasped her fingers.
Wild fear made her lunge backwards, trying to escape the grip, but she only succeeded in wrenching the muscles in her shoulder. The hand held her fast, began to lift her sodden weight out of the moat. Nay! Nay! She shook her head in dismay, despair. This could not be happening! The moment her feet touched the flat gr
ass beyond the bank, she sprung at the dark shape, pushing, twisting to free herself. At her back, the sound of hooves, of raised voices.
‘Nay!’ she yelled at her captor, unable to push her matted wet hair from her eyes as both her hands were held by now. ‘I’ll not do it! You cannot make me do it!’
A hand came over her mouth, sealing her speech. ‘Hush now, it’s me. Come on!’ The dark, looming shape took on more familiar lines, the broad shoulders, the high cheekbones…Bastien?
‘What are you doing here?’ Relief sapped at her knees; she stumbled alongside him over the rough ground, aware of his arm around her back, supporting her. His horse waited on the edge of a copse of trees, patiently cropping the grass.
‘Up!’ He hoisted her drenched form on to his horse, swinging his body into the saddle behind her. The hem of her skirts dripped sparkles of water over the animal’s side, highlighted by the eerie light of a low three-quarters moon. Bastien kicked his heels inwards, urging his horse to move quietly into the shadow of the trees.
Her mind was rife with unanswered questions, cushioned against a background of pure, unadulterated relief. ‘What are you doing here?’ she murmured, pallid and wilting against him, grateful for the support of his wide, hard chest at her back.
Hot breath fanned against her damp ear. ‘Talk later,’ he whispered. ‘The sound will carry easily in the night air. Hopefully they’ll think you’ve drowned in the moat. Which, of course, is nothing less than you deserve.’
Alice’s gown stuck uncomfortably to her in wet, cloying folds, making her restless, muscles tense. ‘What is this place?’ She clasped her arms tightly about her chest, trying to stop her teeth chattering.
Bastien shrugged his shoulders, glancing up at the crumbling stone walls, the shaggy green ferns sprouting from precarious heights. ‘An old keep, by the looks of it. It should give us some shelter for the night.’ The moon had risen high, its unearthly light slanting across the inner walls, illuminating Bastien’s rugged outline as he looked across to her.
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