In the Shadow of Midnight

by Marsha Canham

  Chapter 22

  After Henry, Eduard, and Brevant had left her, Ariel made a quick search for spare clothing and came up with what she supposed would have to do for two complete outfits. She took Eduard’s only extra shirt back to her chambers with the rest of the bundled clothing, and for some inexplicable reason, felt better for wearing it in place of her own long linen bluet. She did not have much in the way of spare belongings herself, only the velvet gown and silken undertunic she had ruined in the rain last night. Both had been torn by haste and rough treatment and, rather than simply leave them by the hearth or pack them to have to explain their condition at a later date, she rolled them in a tight ball and thrust them into the fire. A few sticks of kindling and a spill of candlewax supplemented the curling heat from the bed of coals, and she finished dressing in the bright blaze of the burning garments.

  Her hair required the perseverance and vocabulary of a Flemish foot soldier to unsnarl and tame into a manageable braid. The heat of sheer frustration was still fuming in her cheeks when the outer chamber echoed with the sound of hurried footsteps. Henry was back to collect their equipment and, barely a minute later, Captain Brevant arrived, striding into her bedchamber with two slender, clinging shapes in his shadow.

  “My lady; I see you have responded well to the need for haste. As you can see, I have accomplished the first half of my task. My lord”—he looked to Henry—“you have seen to the horses?”

  Henry nodded. “Sedrick has it well in hand. I came back to see if I could be of further use.”

  “You can,” Brevant grunted. “You can guard our charges until the final preparations are made. My lady—were you able to find suitable clothing?”

  Ariel moistened her lips and glanced at the bed, where she had deposited her scavenged findings.

  “Good,” Brevant nodded. “I will leave you to it then. As soon as all is ready below, I will return to fetch you. Remain here until I do so.”

  Marienne, hailed from a troubled, anxious sleep, flinched aside as Captain Brevant exited the room as abruptly as he had entered. She looked even younger, paler than she had the first time Ariel had seen her, and the folds of her worn, patched night tunic trembled visibly against her body.

  The second figure could not flinch from what she could not see, but she shook with equal vigor, her fear the result of being roused from her tower and led she knew not where for a purpose which had not yet been explained. She knew it had been Jean de Brevant coaxing her to haste and silence, and she knew Marienne was blatantly terrified. Part of the reason for their terror and uncertainty was that they had not made their way to this place without incident. Twice they had been cautioned to press into a corner of the passageway while Brevant’s sword had made short work of queries by other guards as to where they were going at such an ungodly hour.

  Eleanor could also smell the rank odour of scorched velvet, mingled with the vague, distinctly feminine scent of rose-water.

  “May I presume … I am in the company of Lady Ariel de Clare?” she asked tremulously.

  Ariel’s first response was to nod, since her tongue had decided to remain stubbornly clamped between her teeth. It was difficult to find the words to say, having at last come face to face with the woman she had regarded as her strongest competition for Eduard’s affections … the woman widely acclaimed to be the most beautiful creature in the realm.

  She could see why. Regal, noble features bespoke the bloodlines of kings and queens. All of mankind would have had to be blinded not to recognize the golden-haired niece of Richard the Lionheart, granddaughter of Henry Secund and Eleanor of Aquitaine, last of the true Angevin princesses, and, through no misfault of her own, the rightful queen of England. Despite her eyes being so hideously sealed shut, Eleanor radiated delicacy and grace. A man would have to have been a fool not to love her and a king equally foolish not to envy and fear her.

  Even Henry, who was handsome enough to rarely find himself wanting for the company of a beautiful woman, stood mute in the shadows, awed by the light that seemed to emanate from within the slender form of Eleanor of Brittany.

  “Your Highness,” Ariel murmured, forcing her legs to carry her forward. She started to drop down onto her knees, but Eleanor was quick to halt her.

  “Please. There is no longer any need to kneel before me. I am a charity ward of mine uncle’s now, due nothing more than a common greeting.”

  Ariel glanced at Marienne, who was bravely trying to hold back the watershed of tears brimming along her lashes. The task was rendered impossible as Robin came bounding through the door with the impact of a gust of wind, sweeping the young maid off her feet and spinning her so high, her legs were bared to the thighs. He was out of breath from running up the stairs, but as he brought Marienne to ground and held her close against his body, he beamed a wide smile over the top of her head.

  “Highness … Lady Ariel … Eduard and I met Captain Littlejohn on the stairs.”

  “You are both … all right?” Ariel gasped.

  “Aye, my lady. Right and ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Eleanor pleaded. “What is happening? Why was I brought here?”

  “Your Grace,” Robin explained, “we are taking you away from this hellish place. Eduard tells me Lord Sedrick is in the yards now, saddling horses. Lord Dafydd is purloining foodstuffs, and—”

  “What do you mean you are taking me away?” Eleanor recoiled with surprise, stumbling back until she met abruptly with the wall. “And who are these lords you mention? I am familiar with none of them.”

  Henry was bestirred to step forward. “If I may, Highness … my name is Henry de Glare, and I am brother to Lady Ariel. Lord Sedrick of Grantham is a loyal vassal of our uncle, William the Marshal, and Lord Dafydd ap Iorwerth is … is a Welshman, come with us from Pembroke to Paris and now to here. We are all here in the marshal’s service and with Lord Eduard FitzRandwulf’s guidance.”

  The princess raised a trembling hand to her temple. “But … I told Eduard … I wanted no part of a rescue. The king—”

  “The king is docking his ship even as we dither and dally, Your Highness,” Robin said. “And when have you ever known my lord brother to do aught he was told, especially if he was told it was impossible?”

  “But …” Eleanor’s hand fell from her temple and gripped the crucifix that hung around her neck. “I have accepted my fate. Marienne, yes, take her and leave if it is at all possible, but I must stay here. The king will never let me go free.”

  “We are not asking his permission,” Henry said evenly. “And as the captain has said, we do not take one without the other. We all go together, or none of us go at all.”

  “Captain Brevant is helping in this madness?” Eleanor whispered.

  “Willingly, my lady,” Marienne said, her fear beginning to give way to excitement. “He is a good man, and as such, has surely had his fill of this place, as have we all.”

  “He has sworn to see you safely away,” Robin added. “And to lend his sword as far as Nottingham if need be.”

  “Nottingham?” Eleanor’s lovely face showed more confusion than ever. “Why on earth—?”

  “It was Eduard’s idea,” Robin said proudly. “For the time being, at any rate, he reasons the safest place to hide you is right under the king’s nose. Certes, the Channel will be watched and all ships searched that are bound for Brittany. Brittany itself will be scoured from border to border. It was originally planned to take you to Wales—”

  “Wales!”

  “Powys, Your Highness, but Eduard has reconsidered in light of your … your reluctance to test the king’s mettle. His … our father, Lord Randwulf, held lands north and east of Nottingham. In Lincolnshire. He still has many friends thereabout, loyal to our grandfather, and among them is a certain prioress who owes a large favour to the House of Wardieu.”

  “My head,” the princess gasped. “It begins to spin, Robin. Can you not speak in plainer terms?”

  “Plainly said,” besp
oke a deep, familiar baritone from the doorway, “if you will allow us, Eleanor, we will fulfill your brother’s promise to you.”

  “Eduard?” A slender white hand trembled over empty air for a moment until it was caught and held firm by the stronger, bolder grasp of Eduard FitzRandwulf d’Amboise.

  “The priory is called Kirklees, and the abbess will welcome you to its cloisters without a qualm, I can promise you. Safely there, the king cannot touch you, even if he manages, by some wild mischance of fate, to determine your whereabouts. And though it galls me to say it, he will have no more need to fear you once he knows you have taken your vows to heart.”

  “A priory?” Eleanor whispered, raising the fingers of her other hand to her lips. “Can it be true?”

  “It can,” Eduard promised. “And it will, I swear it on my soul, providing you offer no more arguments.”

  “But the risks, Eduard! Nottingham is so far away!”

  “It is closer than Wales, with fewer obstacles in our path. A week, no more, and you should be safe behind the walls of Kirklees.”

  “And you? What will you do then? How will you get back to Amboise?”

  “By a somewhat longer route, I imagine,” he answered casually. “I have sworn to bring my father word personally of your safe conduct, and I fully intend to do so, regardless of any kings … or dragons … who might stand in my way.”

  Mention of oaths made reminded Ariel of oaths broken, and she could not stop herself from glancing his way. He had donned his armour, his polished mail hauberk and chausses, and overtop wore the plain gray Crusader’s gypon, slit at the sides for riding. His hair was hidden beneath the mail coif and his gauntlets were tucked into his belt, near the hilt of his sword. He looked every inch a man to whom failure was unheard of. An hour ago, she had been naked in bed with him, thinking everything had changed. Seeing him now, armed and defiant, she suspected nothing had changed at all. Eleanor’s safety was still his first priority, as it should be. But by the time he delivered the princess to Kirklees, would Ariel de Clare be long gone on the road to Wales?

  “My lady,” Henry said gently, stepping forward to win the princess’s attention. “We have come this far with no ill effects. God must have willed it, just as He has put the safety and solace of Kirklees within your grasp. How can you refuse Him?”

  Eleanor’s head was bowed. When she raised it, there were twin streaks of wetness streaming from the puckered scars across her eyes. The effect on Henry was likened to an iron hammer striking him across the chest.

  “How odd,” she whispered softly, her finger lifting from her mouth to her cheek. “To still be able to weep.”

  “Surely they are tears of happiness,” Henry said. “To know God has found a way to bring you into His house.”

  Eleanor gasped at a breath, then surrendered with a small, fleeting smile. “It appears I cannot fight all of you …” She lifted her face. “Perhaps you will tell me what I must do?”

  Robin refrained from letting out a whoop of joy, but just barely. Ariel and Marienne moved at once to sort through the variety of garments strewn on the bed.

  “You must wear a disguise,” Ariel said. “A squire’s disguise is best, with a cloak and a hood to keep your head well covered.”

  “A blind squire,” Eleanor mused. “Indeed, it might draw a curious eye or two.”

  “It was more the colour of your hair I was thinking of, Highness,” Ariel amended. “Such a golden crown would not go unnoticed.”

  The faintest hint of chagrin pinkened Eleanor’s throat and she apologized by way of a compliment. “Eduard tells me your own colouring is nothing shy of spectacular.”

  With Ariel’s startled glance, FitzRandwulf cleared his throat and snatched up Robin by the sleeve of his hooded jerkin, ushering him out the door. “Come along, Henry, and help gather up the rest of the armour. Ladies … as swift as swift can?”

  “Before you can blink an eye,” Marienne promised, already shaking the folds—and dust—out of the chainse that would replace Eleanor’s long tunic.

  “What am I to do with this?” the princess asked, pulling Ariel’s thoughts back to reality. In her hands she held a leather belt, strung with over forty rawhide strips.

  Since it was the very article that had given Ariel so much grief on the journey through Normandy, she felt expert enough to offer instruction.

  “It is worn thus, Highness,” she explained, buckling it firmly around Eleanor’s waist. “These ties are called points and are used to bind the hose snugly to the limbs.”

  “So many?” Eleanor exclaimed. “Can not just one or two suffice?”

  “Men … especially knights are all vain creatures,” Ariel announced grimly, catching up the first leg of the hose Marienne assisted the princess into. While she began to attach the points to the corresponding ring of eyelets woven into the top of each stocking, she kept talking, if only to keep her mind off the next and most dangerous stage of the rescue. “God and all the saints forbid there should be a wrinkle or a sag to mar the bold thews of such a fellow’s thighs. For a woman to bare an ankle, it would cause the earth to tremble and monks to prostrate themselves by droves. But a man—ho! The tighter the hose, the shorter the tunic … the more likely he is to strut and stretch and boast of his wares. Why, I have even known my brother to pad himself with wads of linen for the benefit of winning a particular maiden’s eye.”

  Eleanor’s lips trembled with a smile. “Did he succeed?”

  Ariel paused and thought back. “As it happened, halfway through the evening, the wadding shifted and started to creep down toward his knee. He had the maiden swooning, but not for the reasons he intended.”

  A small choking sound sent Ariel’s gaze flying upward. Her expression changed from concern to relief to shared amusement when she saw that Eleanor was laughing. Marienne was laughing too—and fighting tears again, blessing Ariel with silent thanks for prompting what had been the first time the princess had laughed since the fiasco at Mirebeau.

  Chapter 23

  A gray and sinister dawn was seeping through the teeth of the outer battlements as FitzRandwulf’s party assembled in the courtyard. Few of the lower windows showed any signs of light; most were still shuttered against the wind and the rain that came and went in waves, sweeping across the bailey, soaking and resoaking everything in its path. The walls were silvered with it and the gutters overflowed, sending swift rivulets of water running through the cracks and crevices in the cobbles.

  Ariel walked into the circle of horses and hissing torchlights, looking neither to the right where Henry was conferring with Brevant, nor to the left where Eduard and Sedrick were rearranging their saddle packs with exaggerated care as they kept a close watch on the doors and windows that opened on to the bailey. Ariel was more conscious of the two cloaked and hooded figures who followed steadfastly behind her. So engrossed was she in worrying how Eleanor would cope with the uneven cobbles, she stubbed her toe on one and nearly launched herself headlong into her palfrey. The princess did not miss a step, however. She kept her head tilted forward and a hand grasped around a fold of Marienne’s cloak, gauging each footfall to precisely match her maid’s.

  Six grumbling, grousing guardsmen stood in a huddle beating their arms for warmth and cursing in unbroken waves over Jean de Brevant’s lack of concern that none of them had laid their heads on their cots more than an hour. The captain had insisted the ruse was still necessary, to give the appearance of leaving Gorfe under protection of Gisbourne’s guard, otherwise the sentries on duty at the gates might question the reason why only he accompanied them.

  Collectively, they looked as nondescript as when they had ridden through half of Normandy, yet their swords were within easy reach. They all wore their helms and carried their shields slung across their backs on leather straps, rubbing an assortment of arms that might otherwise have been relegated to the packhorses. Even Ariel, when she mounted her palfrey, found both a falchion and a bow looped over her saddle, placed there
by a man whose gray eyes acknowledged her glance and expressed confidence in her ability to put the weapons to good use if it became necessary.

  Brevant, cursing the rain in a loud enough voice to earn a partial grumble of agreement from the guards, ordered the knights to mount and waste no more time dallying. He had better things to do, he said, (eliciting another round of sly grins from Gisbourne’s men) than to squander the morning pointing them onto the right road. He assumed the lead on his enormous rampager and set a belligerent pace through the inner bailey and over the first draw. The outer bailey was just as deserted and bleak; the ground was mud underfoot and the horses made deep sucking sounds as they approached the huge barbican. They rode in pairs and threes, with the guardsmen remaining in a glum pack in the rear, preferring to keep to their own company.

  Ariel, despite the rain and the chill, found she was sweating uncomfortably beneath her layers of linen and wool. The skin between her shoulder blades was clammy and her hands, inside her gloves, were sticky with a dampness that had nothing to do with the wetness that leaked under her clothes. Henry rode beside her, and although his face was naught more than a dark blot beneath the steel nasal of his helm, she thought she saw a puff of breath after one sidelong glance, accompanied by the whispered words: “Courage, Puss.”

  Behind them, riding three abreast were Sedrick, Eleanor, and Eduard. Iorwerth, with his arm cradled in a leather sling, rode behind them with Marienne and Robin completing the threesome.

  Twenty paces from the main gates, a shadow detached itself from the guard tower, prompting Brevant to hold up his hand and signal a halt. He rode forward alone, supposedly to identify himself and explain what they were about. Ariel could hear nothing but the loud pounding of her heartbeat. Her palfrey took a nervous half-step sideways and skidded on a hump of mud, righting itself with an indignant snort. Somewhere off in the rain-soaked distance she thought she heard a bell ringing, but since she had no idea of the hour, she could take no comfort in knowing if it was a church bell or an alarm bell being sounded.