The King's Rebel

by Morrison, Michelle

  William laughed sharply. “Then why are ye taking the wine?”

  His friend frowned as if William were stupid. “‘Tis Rhenish—a goodly year, too.”

  “But if we’re going to die—“

  ”At least we’ll die drunk.”

  Chapter 13

  Meghan clutched her cloak to her and tried to slow her breathing. She lifted a shaky hand to her brow and found a thin sheen of perspiration. “‘Tis summer,” she murmured. “Won’t it look suspicious that I’m wearing a cloak?” The rain had stopped and in its place was a heavy mugginess that pressed down on them like a wet woolen blanket.

  William pressed her against the stone wall with one arm while he peered around a corner. “You’ll need it once we’re on the road. ‘Tis still cold at night. Besides, I’m hopin’ no one will see us.”

  Meghan stared in disbelief at the back of his head as he led her down the stone staircase. They paused at the door and she leaned up to whisper in his year. “From here to the stables you think no one will see us? Have you a magic spell you’re going to chant?”

  “Aye,” he replied, lifting a basket of wash that was sitting just outside. “The chant of the servant.”

  “What?”

  He handed her the heavy basket and bent to pick up a pile of firewood. When he stood, he lifted the logs so they obscured his face. “Servants. No one ever notices servants. Keep your eyes down and speak to no one.”

  “But—“ Meghan began but William was already making his way through the throngs of people who were putting away the day’s work and preparing to retire to rooms either within the Tower’s walls or out in the city. The heavy basket cut into Meghan’s hands and banged against her legs. She heaved it up to rest against her hip and bumped into a passerby in the process.

  “Look where you’re going,” snapped Lord Betrand.

  Meghan’s heart froze in her chest and she quickly lowered her head and mumbled, “Forgive me, m’lord.” She moved away as quickly as her heavy burden would allow, expecting at any moment for the haughty steward to call for the guards. When she caught up to William, she risked a look behind her and sighed in relief that Betrand was not in sight. Perhaps they would make it after all, she thought.

  They reached the stables and found Hamish carefully adjusting the unconscious body of the stable master. He lifted up his wineskin and tsked to see the drunken man had spilled the last of the wine in the matted straw on the floor. “Blighted oaf,” Hamish said, delivering a none-too-gentle kick at the sleeping man. “‘Twas better wine than ye deserved.”

  “I thought that was going to make us drunk before we died,” William said and Meghan frowned at his words.

  Hamish shrugged and replied, “It’s no a good day for dyin’.” He turned and disappeared into the gloom. He returned shortly leading their horses. “Besides, yon fool man showed up to let the stable lads go eat and wanted to know what I was doin’ here. I had to pretend I’d lifted the wine from you and brought it to share wi’ him.”

  William nodded and took the heavy basket from Meghan. She rubbed her hands against her skirts and said, “What do we tell the guards at the gates? None of the other servants or workers have mounts such as these.”

  William chewed his upper lip and Meghan watched, fascinated as his lower teeth scraped the stubble, then let the full lip slip between them. She shook her head in disbelief at her thoughts. They were trying to escape the greatest fortress in all of England and Scotland and here she was studying William’s mouth as if it were the rock to which she was anchored!

  “You and Hamish will ride out, leading my horse. Here,” he said, unclasping her cloak to expose her embroidered gown beneath. He bundled the cloak into a pack with his own and slung it onto his back. “You pretend you’ve just been here for the day. You’ve a house in London and that’s were you’re returning with your servant here,” he said, gesturing to Hamish. “Don’t talk to the guards, but if you must, for God’s sake, try not to sound Scots.”

  “And what of you?” she asked. She started to reach for him but quickly drew her hand back. The re-forged bond between them was tenuous at best and she was unsure why she was suddenly so concerned for his safety.

  William must have noticed her aborted gesture for he smiled softly and brushed a tendril of hair off her face. “I’ll try to blend in with the crowd. I’m just a rag collector, ye ken?” he said, indicating the bundle of cloaks.

  Meghan studied his inky black hair, bold green eyes and powerful build. He’d have an easier time blending in with a group of noblemen, she thought. Though considering the whiskers that shadowed his jaw and roguish grin, perhaps a band of fierce warriors would suit him better. Either way, she had to admit he was devastatingly attractive.

  “Perhaps you’d better slouch a bit,” she suggested.

  He laughed. “Like this?”

  “Aye. And here,” she said, stooping to gather some straw. She rubbed the straw in his hair and sprinkled it generously over his tunic. She studied his appearance and decided he was still too good looking by half. She rubbed her hands across the top of an extinguished torch and anointed his face with it. “Now you look a proper rag man.” She allowed her fingers to remain on his face and lightly caress the hard planes of cheek and jaw. “Have a care, William. Have a care,” she said softly.

  William ducked his head and captured her lips in a kiss full of promise and desire.

  “Now what’d ye go and do that for?” Hamish whined.

  “What?” William asked and Meghan flushed in embarrassment.

  “Ye’ve got her covered wi’ soot. How is she supposed to pass for a lady of quality when she looks like a char woman?”

  Meghan hastily scrubbed at her face and turned to see Hamish grinning broadly at them.

  “Looking forward to possible capture and death, are you?” she asked him, deliberately misinterpreting his smile.

  “Och, aye. And torture. Dinna forget the torture.”

  Meghan rolled her eyes and allowed William to help her up onto her horse.

  They had to wait at the bridge linking the last two towers. A cart had overturned at the gate and the servants, craftsmen and merchants waiting to leave were crowded together, trying to squeeze past the obstruction. Meghan stole a glance at the crowd, but saw no sign of William. She hoped that was simply because he was blending in. A slight breeze lifted her hair and cooled her brow.

  “Phew!” she said to Hamish who stood, holding her horse by its bridle and the reins of the other two. Her eyes watered and she had to suppress the urge to gag at the smell that arose from the moat surrounding the Tower.

  Hamish grinned and whispered, “Now ye know why no one has ever successfully attacked Edward’s fortress.

  “I wonder that anyone dares live near it,” Meghan said, carefully avoiding looking into the fouled water.

  Three soldiers shoved their way through the crowd to assist in moving the overturned cart and Meghan’s horse snorted and jerked at the reins.

  “Easy there, laddie,” Hamish said and Meghan noticed a few heads turn at his Scots accent.

  She leaned down as if to examine her stirrup and whispered sharply, “Keep quiet!”

  Hamish nodded, red-faced and suddenly the crowd began to move. Meghan allowed herself a quick peak around but again she did not see—she paused. There, by the low wall, buried under his pile of “rags.” She caught the quick wink of a green eye amidst the black smudges on his face before Hamish led her horse away.

  Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. Meghan inhaled a pungent lungful. They would make it. Surely they would–-

  “Halt! Stop the woman on the horse!”

  Meghan’s heart froze and she whipped her head around. Her gaze locked with a set of hard, cruel eyes framed by an elegant coif. Betrand! She looked about for William but he was no longer by the edge of the bridge. Gathering up her reins, she saw that Hamish had already mounted and was forcing an opening in the crowd with the burly chest of his horse. She kicked her ho
rse more sharply than necessary and the beast neighed and tried to lunge forward, stepping on one man’s foot, pushing over two others. A woman screamed as Meghan’s horse breathed hotly down her neck and suddenly the bridge was a mass of chaotic movement. People began shoving against one another, trying to flee the horses’ hooves, the armed soldiers, and the pressing crush of bodies. Meghan’s reins were pulled from her grasp by one of the soldiers who had moved the cart. She yelped in surprise and instinctively kicked the man in the face. Gripping the horse’s mane, she again urged it forward. Just a few more steps to the gate and freedom. Surely she could push her way a few more steps! Hamish was through the gates, using the horse he rode and the one he led to distract the two remaining guards. He jerked his head in direction, telling her to hurry and Meghan prepared to dig her heels into the horse’s flanks. She cast one last glance over her shoulder and froze.

  William was trying to free himself from one soldier who held his arm while another moved in behind to grab him in a stranglehold. There was no way he would be able to unsheathe his sword to defend himself.

  “No!” she screamed.

  William’s gaze sliced to hers and he scowled as she jerked at her horse’s mane, trying to turn it around. He shook his head sharply, but she ignored him and he was soon too occupied trying to free himself from his captors to pay her any heed.

  “Tcha!” Meghan shouted at her horse. The great beast overcame its fear of stepping on the surrounding masses and followed her order, knocking over baskets, people, and soldiers. When she was pointed in the right direction. Meghan dug her heels into the beast’s flank and it spurted forward. The frightened peasants and merchants pressed against the low wall, trying to escape the sharp hooves and heaving flanks. As if from far away, Meghan heard a cry and a splash as someone lost their balance.

  “Meghan! No!” William shouted, but she ignored him.

  More guards arrived, trying to cram their way through the crowds of people. Their progress was hindered by those who decided that the safest way off the bridge was back into the Tower. Suddenly a gap appeared in the crowd and despite the screams of protest, the shouted orders and the roar of fear in her own ears, Meghan heard the deadly hiss of steel being pulled from a scabbard. One of the soldiers had forced his way into the clearing and set himself between her and William.

  Meghan clenched her jaw and let her fear boil into rage. She’d be damned if another blasted Englishman stood in her way. With scarcely a glance at her objective, she leaned over in her saddle and plucked a basket of apples from a frightened woman’s arms. Apples scattered as she swung the heavy basket. She urged the horse forward, the fruit crisply snapping beneath the sharp hooves. The perfume of cider filled the air as the horse picked up speed. Meghan’s arm strained and sharp bits of reed bit into her palm. She saw the soldier frown at her odd choice of weapons in the moment before she swung the hamper in an upward arc, catching the man squarely under the chin. His head snapped back and his sword skittered across the uneven stones of the bridge.

  In another instant, Meghan was upon the men who held William. Their surprise at their comrade’s fate was still evident on their features and they had no time to recover before Meghan was kicking one man in the chest, forcing her horse to trample the other. William fought his way free of their grasp and swung himself up behind her. The reins still dangled loosely so he wound his hands tightly in the horse’s coarse main before urging the animal into a run.

  The now-frantic horse needed no further urging to free itself from the noisy, threatening crowds. Meghan squeezed her eyes shut as they ducked beneath the final portal. At any moment, she anticipated the thud of an arrow in her back. With a start, she realized that her back was now protected by William’s. She struggled to turn in the saddle and assure herself that he was unharmed.

  “Sit ye still!” he snapped. He pulled at the horse’s mane and they clattered down a side street. The noise of pursuit followed behind them.

  William pulled on the horse’s mane, dragging it sharply around a corner. They thundered down a noisome alley, splashing through puddles. Two more abrupt turns led them onto a wider street. The sound of hooves following echoed off the close-packed buildings.

  “Hurry!” Meghan screamed. “They’re right behind us!”

  She felt William’s body clench as he prepared to urge the horse on even faster down the narrow, cobbled street.

  “Ho! William!”

  “Hamish!” William said.

  Again Meghan turned in the saddle, though this time more carefully. She peeked over William’s shoulder and saw the stout man trailing behind him, the spare horse in tow.

  “I don’t think he’s being followed,” she shouted.

  William did not spare her a glance, but nodded shortly, his attention fixed on the treacherous path before them. Luckily, there were few people on the streets—most were home with their supper. Still, the light was failing, the street twisted in odd directions, and she had no idea where in London they were.

  “Where are we?” she asked, craning her neck to look at him.

  William allowed the horse to slow a bit and threw a quick glance over his shoulder. When he turned back, she saw him drag his teeth over his lower lip again.

  “I’ve no idea,” he said.

  “What? What do ye mean, you’ve no idea?”

  “Hush woman. Edward himself will hear your screeching.”

  She lowered her voice but asked more insistently, “Then where are we going?”

  “Out of London, and as fast as we can.”

  Meghan clung to her precarious perch as they rounded a sharp corner. William had allowed the horse to slow still further and she could hear Hamish’s mount closing in on them.

  “Clearly we’re leaving London, but how? Won’t the city gates be closed by now?”

  A shadow ahead indicated a narrow alley. William reined in the horse and urged it into the rank darkness, pausing just long enough for Hamish to see them. Meghan could hear dripping water and the scuttle of tiny vermin feet. The smell, while not as strong as that which arose from the moat, was nearly as noxious and she could no sooner see her hand in front of her face than she could the smell itself. Turning once more, she could make out the faint illumination of the entrance to the alley, which darkened as Hamish entered, dragging the third horse behind his own mount.

  The three horses neighed softly to one another, reassuring each other—and their riders—that they were safe, if only for the moment.

  “Were ye followed, man?” William asked, his voice tight with tension and suppressed fear.

  “No immediately, but I’m sure ‘tis only time before they send out word that we’re to be apprehended.”

  “Aye, they probably already have. There’s nothing for it then, we’ll have to get out of the city tonight.”

  “But the city gates—“ Meghan began.

  “Aye, the gates will be closed, but they’ll no close the Thames, will they?”

  “You wish to swim?” Meghan asked incredulously.

  “Ye know I nearly drown when it rains,” Hamish added.

  “Tcha!” William spat. “Have ye two lost the wits that freed us from the Tower? We’ll find a boat. Sail out from under Edward’s nose with him none the wiser.”

  “Won’t they look for us there?” Meghan asked.

  William remained silent and she felt a trill of fear run up her spine that his plan was so easily fooled. The raucous sound of laughter filled the air and Meghan thought she saw a group of boys pass by their hiding spot, tossing a ball back and forth.

  Suddenly, William dismounted and followed the boys.

  “Good even, lads,” he said in the cultured accent of a nobleman.

  Meghan quickly scrambled down and crowded behind Hamish to watch William’s display of insanity.

  The startled boys spun about, guilt-ridden faces pale smudges in the fading light. Meghan wondered what mischief they’d been up to.

  When none of the boys answered W
illiam, he said, “I wonder if I might employ you fine young men for a few hours work.”

  “What sort o’ work?” asked one pale smudge—the tallest of the boys.

  “I simply need you to ride my horse here to the edge of town. Try to leave the city,” William explained, as though it were an inconsequential event.

  “They’ll be closing the gates any time now!” the tall boy protested.

  One of the shorter boys burst out, “Me pa would cut off me head did I leave the city at night!”

  The rest of the group crowded in with their own protestations until William held up a hand to quiet their refusals.

  “I’d not require you to actually leave London, simply make it appear as if you wanted to.”

  “Why?” asked the short boy, but before William could answer, the tall leader asked, “What will ye pay us?”

  Meghan peered through the encroaching gloom to make out William’s expression. It was carefully benign, though a sly smile curled one side of his mouth.

  “I cannot pay you money—“

  ”What?”

  “Ye’ve lost yer mind!”

  “D’ye think we’re idiots?”

  Again William held up his hands for silence. “I cannot pay you money, but my three horses should fetch you a tidy sum.” At that, he gestured to the alleyway and Hamish obligingly led the three horses out for the boys’ inspection.

  Collective shouts of enthusiasm made William smile and Meghan marveled that his plan should come off so smoothly.

  The boys gathered around the horses, running their hands over the sweaty flanks. Only the tall leader held back, a suspicious expression pulling his face into a frown.

  “How do we know ye haven’t stolen these beasts and we’ll all be thrown into the clink for ye?”