With a heavy sigh, he abruptly lowered his weapons and extended them, hilt end, to Lawrence. The white-haired knight paused a moment before taking them, suddenly feeling a good deal of defeat himself. He felt as if he had done something truly horrible, which he had. But it had been necessary.
“Rhys?” he asked as he turned away.
“What is it, Lawrence?”
The knight turned slowly, gazing at him with his white-blue eyes. The words spoken were softly uttered. “I lied. Richard is safe and sound at Kenilworth.”
The soldiers swarmed on Rhys and Elizabeau and dragged them off into the night. On the third floor of the keep, however, Radcliffe was not so lucky. A jumpy soldier mistook his surrender for an offensive and drove his blade straight into the man’s chest.
Edward died with Elizabeau’s name on his lips.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ludlow, like most fortresses, had more than one entrance. It was a small gate near the kitchen yards for servants and peasants to pass through, where business was conducted. It was also usually heavily fortified. Called the postern gate, Ludlow possessed not one but two. As David and Geist scouted the walls of Ludlow, they both came to the same conclusion. Whatever chance they had of getting the lady and Rhys out of that place would have to happen on a much smaller scale. They would have to slip away through the smaller gate with less chance of being caught.
But there were problems aplenty. If Lawrence truly was a traitor, then he would know David on sight, which would make it difficult for David to make it into Ludlow unnoticed. Geist had been around Lawrence for several months but did not know the man well, which would make it easier for him to move about without attracting a great deal of attention. His heavy accent was another matter but Geist was certain that he could convince them that he was a mercenary from Saxony. He even had a nice lineage memorized. But David talked him out of the mercenary idea and convinced him that he should pose as a priest. Priests were unthreatening and rarely questioned. For lack of a better argument, Geist agreed.
So they had taken precious time to return to the nearby town of Ludlow and scavenge the area until they came up with some rough garments and a little donkey that some farmer obviously used for a beast of burden. The little animal was laden with kindling and other materials, but David stripped it off the animal’s back and quickly yanked the animal into the shadows. While Geist peeled off his armor and donned clothing that looked more like a peasant than a monk, David made sure the donkey was as prepared as he could get it.
So they returned to Ludlow with less than two hours before dawn. The plan was for Geist to enter Ludlow as a traveling priest and unbar the postern gate that was nearest the kitchens. At the moment, it was soundly locked. David would have his charger waiting by the gate for a swift getaway, but he planned to be inside the gates come sunrise. He wasn’t sure how to conceal his identity until Geist pointed out that he could dress as a farmer or peasant and enter unnoticed. But if the lady was going to be put to the block at sunrise, then security would more than likely be tight and David was going to have to think quickly on his feet to avoid being shut out altogether.
A little more than an hour before dawn, Geist rode to the great portcullis of Ludlow and announced himself. The men at the gate were suspicious of him and at one point, turned him away. But Geist was able to convince them that he was exhausted, and ill, and simply wished shelter for the remainder of the night. So the soldiers let him in and one followed him to the stable, where he was to rest and feed his donkey. Geist was quite congenial as he removed the rough-fashioned saddle from the animal’s back and began wiping it down. When the soldier, bored with the latest addition to Ludlow, yawned and averted his attention for a moment, Geist whacked him on the head with the butt of a dirk he had tucked into his belt and the man fell like a stone.
As Geist gazed down at the fallen soldier, a thought suddenly occurred to him. It was a brilliant idea, in fact. Several minutes later, the soldier was stripped of his clothing, bound hand and foot, and buried under a pile of dirty straw.
David took the soldier’s clothing gladly. The man was taller than he was, but David was broader, making the clothing and armor a bit tricky to maneuver. The helm covered his entire head plus the bridge of his nose, making it almost impossible to recognize him. As Geist explained the layout of the ward, including what looked like a common area where he saw some soldiers manipulating a great stone block into place, David pulled on the remainder of his stolen armor and the two of them slipped in through the postern gate and into the shadows of Ludlow.
There was nothing to do now but wait for sunrise and see how events would unfold. They didn’t even know if Rhys was alive or dead, or if the lady was even alive, but they would know soon enough. Both Geist and David carried a crossbow, concealed, plus whatever weaponry they could handle. Their primary focus was on freeing the lady, but if Rhys was still alive and anywhere in the vicinity, then it was imperative they free him, too. They needed his sword and David would not let the man die without doing everything in his power to save him. Rhys was not only a friend, but he had saved David’s life on many occasions. The most recent was the night they had sent the lady into hiding and Rhys had used his crossbow to dispatch a warrior that had the upper hand on David when his charger slipped in the mud. David remembered that clearly. Now it was his turn to return the favor.
Everything was resting on their hastily formed plan and David had been praying steadily on it for quite some time. He prayed that his brother would not arrive before he could get to Rhys and Elizabeau because the fortress would surely be locked down in that case, making escape impossible. He prayed for another miracle in a week that had already seen one.
God help them all.
*
The vault in the gatehouse of Ludlow was dank and dark but for a small slit in the door that allowed some light to come through. There was a torch lit somewhere in the corridor, enough so that Rhys could see Elizabeau’s face in the weak light.
He had been gazing at her for the better part of an hour, trying to figure out how to get them out of the mess they were in. As he inspected her features, the lovely lines, delicately arched brows and pert nose, he was coming to feel like a tremendous failure. He had known at the inception of this mission that success had less than even odds; still, he had truly believed that he would not fail. He believed that he would see his mission through to success and emerge a man of stronger reputation and wisdom. As it was, he had failed in nearly everything. He had succumbed to emotion and reasoned things through with his heart and not his common sense. It made him ill to think on how horribly he had failed. Their current situation was proof.
So he struggled to divert the negative thoughts weighing down on him. They would not do him any good; not now. He was at the end of the road as far as most would determine, but he could not let it end this way. He knew that he loved Elizabeau with all his heart and the child she carried fortified him with determination such as he’d never known. When he looked at her, he saw more than just a failed mission; he saw his life as he had never expected it to be. He saw his wife, his son, and he knew that he would protect his family at all costs. He would not, could not give up, not until the last breath left his body.
“Do you remember the night we met?” Elizabeau soft voice invaded his restless thoughts. “Do you remember how I hid from you for over an hour?”
Rhys had been standing near the cell door, trying to listen to any conversation outside in the gatehouse. He turned to look at her; she was seated on the cold stone of the vault, her arms wrapped around her legs to stay warm. The expression on her face warmed his heart, causing the pains of desperation that he was trying so desperately to stave off to throb in his chest. He ignored them.
“I remember,” he said softly. “And you did not hide very well. I knew where you were the entire time.”
She pouted like a child. “You did not.”
“I confess, I did.”
She made a face
at him. “You think you’re so clever.”
He laughed softly at her as she fussed; it was great fun watching her fuss and he moved away from the door. When he reached her, he extended his big arms. “Get off the floor, angel,” he pulled her to her feet, sat down, and seated her on his lap. “You do not belong on the dirty stone.”
She curled up on his big legs, her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder. For a moment, they simply sat there, feeling each other’s life and warmth. Neither one wanted to think that these would be the last few stolen moments that they would ever know. The mere idea was too painful to entertain. For Elizabeau, the pressure was eventually too much to take and she ran her fingers through his dark hair, burying her face in the side of his head.
“Please tell me that we have not come to the end of all things,” she murmured. “Tell me we will live to see the sun set. Tell me that we will live to see our son born.”
He sighed faintly, pulling her closer. “I promise that I will do all in my power to make it so, I swear it.”
She had her face in against his hair. After a moment, he could feel her shaking with sobs. It was the first time since they had been locked up in the vault that she had succumbed to her fear. She was struggling not to be obvious about it, but he knew. He kissed her forehead, feeling her shake.
“No tears,” he murmured. “Tears are a sign of surrender and I refuse to believe that you have given up so easily. That is not the Elizabeau I know.”
She struggled with her tears. “I am not giving up,” she whispered, wiping at her nose. “But I will admit that I am scared. Rhys, I do not want to watch you die. What if they kill you first and I must watch? My God, I cannot imagine such a horrible….”
He cut her off with swift, gentle kisses. “Instead of thinking of what might happen, we should think of a way out of this. We must plan another escape attempt, something you must be vastly experienced at by now.”
His attempt at humor brought a weak smile. “I haven’t been very good at it so far.”
He smiled at her. “Those were all practice attempts. Now that we know what will not work, it should be easier to figure out what will.”
“You make it sound simpler than it is. How on earth can we get out of this place?”
Rhys was silent a moment, caressing her gently as he thought on his reply. “We have not seen Radcliffe since our capture,” he said quietly. “There is hope that the man has eluded arrest. Perhaps he is already plotting our escape.”
Elizabeau gazed at him steadily. “Do you really believe that?”
“It is possible.”
She sighed with disagreement. “He is more than likely dead or imprisoned as we are. Edward does not think quickly on his feet. I know; I have been confined with the man for months and he does not think well for himself. I do not believe you can depend on him to help us.”
“Then what would you suggest?” he asked, though he didn’t really mean it. “For I am considering anything at this point.”
She thought a moment, pondering the many thoughts that had been rolling through her mind for the better part of an hour. One thought above all loomed heavily and she chose to voice it. She felt marginally foolish for doing so, because she wasn’t a seasoned knight as Rhys was, but she spoke nonetheless. Perhaps the most obvious solution was the best one.
“While you have been thinking of escaping with violence and force, I have been thinking of a more powerful avenue,” she said quietly. “I am thinking of asking the Church to intervene. As much as they hate my uncle, I am hoping they will support my cause and stay the execution. Especially since I carry a child, they might be particularly supportive.”
Rhys gazed into her lovely face, nodding slowly as she finished her statement. In truth, it made a good deal of sense and he was surprised that he had not thought of it.
“Perhaps,” he said. “It might be your only hope.”
“But I plead for both our causes,” she insisted. “I will not save my own life only to watch you sacrifice yours.”
He just looked at her. Then, he stood up, placing her gently on her feet as he did so. As Elizabeau watched, he went to the cell door and began bellowing through the grate for the guards. When she realized what he was doing, she rushed to him.
“Nay, Rhys,” she pleaded, pulling at his big arm. “Do not call them. I will not…”
He gently ignored her, collecting both of her hands into his big palm as he continued to call for the guards. There was a host of suspicious faces looking back at him but no one came forward. Eventually, an older man, more than likely a sergeant from the way the other men responded to him, came to the grate.
The man was without his helm, his face dirty and scarred. His muddy gaze fixed on Rhys. “What do you want?” he demanded.
Rhys was equally demanding. “The lady demands to see a priest. It is her right. You will bring one immediately.”
The sergeant sighed impatiently. “We don’t have a priest,” he snapped, but one of the other soldiers on guard muttered something to him and the sergeant caught himself. He spoke to the soldier. “Are you sure?”
The soldier nodded and the sergeant pursed his lips. “I’d forgotten,” he mumbled. “Do we know he is truly a priest?”
The soldier shrugged. “That is what he said.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He went to the stables, more than likely. At least I saw him heading that way.”
Rhys didn’t know what they were talking about but he would not be ignored. They weren’t loud enough for him to hear the actual words.
“The lady has every right to the blessing of the church before she is put to death,” he interrupted their conversation strongly. “You will grant her that courtesy. Go find a priest.”
He was giving orders and the sergeant didn’t like it. He cast Rhys a menacing glare and walked away from him, pulling the guards with him. Rhys could see what they were doing; they were preparing to ignore his demand.
“Send the lady a priest or I swear I will make your job as miserable as possible,” he snarled. “I may go to the block but I swear I will take as many of you as I can with me. I have nothing to lose for my life is already forfeit; do you truly want an angry, condemned knight on your hands? You will have a battle on your hands, the ferocity of which you could never conceive of.”
The sergeant was several feet away, standing with a few of his men. He was still shooting daggers at Rhys with his gaze. He was determined to prove he could not be intimidated but the truth was, it had taken almost a dozen of them to subdue him enough to get him to the guardhouse and he did not look forward to another battle like that. The man was as powerful as he was immense. Moreover, the lady was indeed due a priest. They both were and God forbid that the sergeant find himself in trouble if his denial of religious blessing was discovered. Better to find that traveling fool his man had reminded him of than waste any time going into the village to hunt down the parish priest.
With Rhys still snapping threats, the sergeant turned to the man next to him.
“Go find that priest who sought shelter here,” he muttered. “Maybe that will shut him up.”
Two men went on the hunt. They found Geist huddled in the cold night air near the steps to the keep, gazing at the block they were preparing. Not strangely, he seemed most eager to delivery absolution to the prisoners.
*
“Of all the stupid nonsense,” Christopher growled to no one in particular. “David knew better than to take off like that on the eve of battle. All he had to do was ask the prince why he had sent his man out and he would have had his answer.”
It was snowing heavily a couple of hours before dawn as de Lohr’s mighty army made their way north. Over a thousand men and war wagons churned their way northward towards the fortress of Ludlow, although Christopher was minus two of his most powerful knights. David was gone and so was Lawrence, contributing to Christopher’s foul mood. He knew why David had gone; what he was still
having trouble figuring out was Lawrence’s disappearance.
Conrad and his men rode silently with Christopher’s men, their mood almost apologetic. When told of his brother’s disappearance and why, Christopher had confronted the young prince and had been told that Geist had been sent out to follow de Beckett. Over the course of the conversation, Christopher began to deduce that something was terribly wrong because he knew that he had not sent Lawrence out on an errand. Whatever Lawrence was doing, Christopher had no knowledge of it. So now Lawrence, Geist and David were all missing, and Christopher was heading into battle. It was a troubling time.
Rod seemed particularly concerned, but not for the same reasons that the earl was. He rode at Christopher’s right hand in the absence of the other knights and, along with de Wolfe, bore out the commands of the earl to the following army. His mind was at their destination, at least an hour ahead, and he knew that they would arrive sometime after sunrise. Moreover, it was becoming increasingly apparent that the weather was working against them as the snow continued to fall, slowing their progress. By then, his brother would have already saved the lady or failed trying. The more the minutes dragged out, the more anxious he became at the thought of Rhys all alone as he battled to both save the lady and breach Ludlow from the inside for de Lohr’s army. It was too much to ask of one man. Eventually, Rod could keep quiet no longer.
“My lord,” he addressed Christopher as the man steamed about his brother. “It is clear that we will arrive at Ludlow after the sun has risen.”
Christopher turned to him. “That cannot be helped.”
Rod cleared his throat, somewhat nervously. “That being the case, I would like to ride on ahead should my brother require assistance. As slow as our pace is now with this weather, we will not make it in time for the lady’s execution appointment. If Rhys runs into trouble, he will be alone in his endeavor.”
“He has Radcliffe.”
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