If Love Dares Enough (9 page)

“Don’t open it too much. It will create a noticeable draught in the house above,” Antoine panted.

“You’ll need torches when you descend, Devona,” Hugh called to her as he peered into the murk. “It’s dark and looks slippery.”

Devona nodded, but she was getting nervous. “My lords, the tide, come—quickly.”

The waves were already lapping at the edges of the cave.

“Devona, go, go quickly. We’ll come back on the morrow and investigate the cave further now we’ve found the passageway. You must look for the doorway at your end. We’ll send word by way of our steward, Barat.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and brushed his lips over hers and she could feel his heart beating in her ears. She placed her palm over his heart and returned his kiss, shocking herself by thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Then she tore away and ran for the stone staircase, already awash, her dress and the smooth pebbles impeding her progress, her wimple askew in the wind.

Antoine and Hugh splashed into the waves and swam out to the waiting rowboat. Their oarsmen pulled them aboard. Halfway up the steps Devona looked back and saw Hugh waving to her. How she wished she could have escaped with them, but she couldn’t leave her family. She raised her hand in a silent salute to her heroic saviours. She was sobbing by the time she reached the top of the climb.

“What have we here, Lady De Maubadon? You seem to be wet.” Torod’s voice drenched over her like a bucket of ice cold water.

“I—I—fell—into the water,” she stammered.

“What were you doing on the beach at this time in the evening? It’s dangerous when the tide comes in.”

She cast a wary eye out to sea. No sign of a rowboat. She didn’t know where she found the courage, but looking him squarely in the eye, said, “I thought to drown myself, Torod, but my courage failed me. Satisfied?”

“Hmph!”

He strode off and she collapsed to the ground, abject fear and glimmering hope warring within her. Brigantia came lumbering out from the house and licked away her tears.

***

Hugh sat panting in the rowboat, his heart beating a thousand times faster than it should, the touch of Devona’s palm still burning his skin. He turned to his brother and said with a grin, “She has beautiful raven hair, Antoine. Green eyes and raven hair. May God save me!”

Antoine smiled and patted him on the back. “God save you indeed with that idiotic grin! Put your shirt back on, little brother.”

Hugh took the dry garment from his brother’s hand and donned it. The oarsmen threw blankets around their grateful shivering
seigneurs
.

“I didn’t think to bring blankets. Thank you,” Antoine gasped.

“You’re landlubbers,
milords
. We’re men of the sea who know the value of blankets. Now rest in the bottom of the boat, regain your strength and we’ll get you back safely to Kingston Gorse.”

Hugh gazed up at the darkening sky as he lay huddled in the boat, shivering, the blanket clutched tightly around him, and noticed for the first time in his life how many stars populated the heavens. Exhaustion claimed him and he dozed.

***

The Norman family at Kingston Gorse soon had them sitting by a roaring fire, Hugh and Antoine outfitted with dry clothing.

“Sir Stephen,” Antoine said, “We’re obliged to you for your assistance. As your overlord, it’s incumbent on me to give you some explanation as to what we’re about at my brother’s manor at Melton.”

“If it involves getting rid of Renouf de Maubadon, I’m in full support,” the lord of Kingston Gorse asserted. “The man is a disgrace to Normandie.”

The brothers exchanged glances as Antoine went on. “However, our actions against him will involve removing his wife and her family from his abusive control. This could put us at odds with His Majesty.”

Sir Stephen was pensive for a while then stated, “Sometimes men of true worth must follow their conscience. I’ll help you as much as I can, though I won’t put my family at risk.”

“
Merci,
we can’t ask for more,” Hugh said, grasping the man’s hand. “If we may impose upon your hospitality this night, we’ll need the rowboat again on the morrow.”

Sir Stephen nodded. “Of course. My honour. There’s another low tide an hour after dawn. It would perhaps be easier than night-time reconnoitering?”

“Again, we’re obliged to you, Sir Stephen.”

The following day, the Norman provided Hugh and Antoine with torches of flattened saplings bound together and soaked in beeswax, as well as a tinderbox with flint, steel and charcloth. The oarsmen wrapped the materials in an oiled cloth and stowed them with the blankets. The first grey streaks of dawn were lighting the sky as the quartet set off once more for Melton Beach. This time they were shod and wore gambesons over their shirts.

The heavy clouds didn’t bode good weather and the gentle zephyr of the previous evening had changed to a cold, brisk wind that whipped the waves into racing rollers. Antoine looked apprehensive.

“It’s nothing to worry over,
milord
,” one of the oarsmen reassured him. “Just a bit of a squall.”

Antoine had retched several times before they pulled the rowboat up onto Melton beach. Once on shore, he recovered quickly and the two brothers hurried across the sand to the cave. At the foot of the ancient steps they unwrapped the torches and Hugh crouched to set about creating the spark with their tinderbox materials. After several fruitless tries, he lamented, “Look what happens when you allow servants to do everything for you. I used to be adept at this.”

Antoine hunkered down beside him. “Let me try—ah—
voilà!
Vite!—
blow on that spark on the charcloth.”

Once they had the torches aflame, they held them aloft and squeezed through the small opening they’d made the night before.

Peering into the gloom, Hugh observed, “It doesn’t go far before it turns.” His voice echoed off the rock.

Antoine put a forefinger to his lips. “We should go silently, so our voices won’t echo into the house. It will probably twist and turn many times to compensate for the height of the cliff. What a feat to carve this into the rock, even with the natural fissure.”

Hugh nodded and they set off up the slope. The passageway did indeed wend this way and that, sometimes barely wide enough to pass. Here and there, two or three rough steps had been hewn into the rock. The walls were wet and the going underfoot slimy. The air, undisturbed for many years, reeked of stale seawater and decay. Though they climbed mostly uphill, the incline wasn’t so steep that coming down the other way would be impossible—slippery, and in places treacherous, but possible.

As they drew nearer to the manor, the odours changed to normal household ones, and abruptly they found themselves at the end of the tunnel. Hugh ran his fingers over the wall, trying to find a doorway or portal of some kind while Antoine held the torches. Suddenly they heard scratching and whining and then, “
Woof.
”

“
Merde!
” Antoine whispered. “That dog Boden loves you so much, he’ll give us away. We must go.”

Hastily they retraced their steps, slipping and sliding their way down the narrow passageway. By the time they reached the cave they were as exhilarated as two small boys who have just perpetrated a successful prank.

“I think I’ll have bruises on my bruises after that,” Hugh laughed.

“Reminds me of the time we raided the apple orchards, just after the harvest. Did you ever see serfs so angry?” Antoine cracked.

“Never mind serfs, I thought Papa was actually going to whip us. It was only thanks to Ram’s quick talking that we escaped punishment.”

They extinguished the torches and left them in the passageway, but took the tinderbox with them. The tide had carried the rowboat into the mouth of the cave, forcing them to take off their boots and wade. They clambered aboard and the oarsmen rowed them back to Kingston Gorse. Hugh could tell his brother was thinking as hard as he was to devise a plan to use the passageway to free the Meltons.

***

Devona had spent ten frustrating minutes in the bolt hole behind the larder, trying to find the means to open the passageway that her grandfather had described to her. He’d been a small boy the last time he was in the passageway and couldn’t be explicit in his instructions. She’d taken Boden with her for courage. So far the dog had obeyed her command for silence and was watching her intently. Suddenly the mastiff cocked its head and lifted its ears. A moment later it was scratching the stone wall and whining. The hairs rose on the nape of Devona’s neck as she tried to quieten the excited dog.

What does he smell?

A current of air laden with the stench of stagnant seawater wafted into the confined space where she hid, and Boden barked.

Is that someone whispering?

A prickly sensation swept over her at the thought that Hugh was just on the other side of the wall. So near and yet so far away. She placed her palm on the wall, her heart beating wildly.

“Hugh?” she whispered.

The dog barked again and she thought she heard the faint sound of running steps and—laughter? Her elation turned to icy fear as she suddenly heard the footfall outside the larder that she recognized instantly—Torod! He’d stopped and was listening too. Boden turned his enormous brown eyes to her and she didn’t doubt the dog knew who was there. She placed a trembling forefinger on her lips. The mastiff made no sound.

After a few minutes she heard the toad’s steps grow fainter as he walked away mumbling, “Always said evil spirits lurk in this cursed house. Now the ghosts are laughing! And what a foul stench!”

***

“I can’t find the lever, grandfather,” Devona sobbed. “Tell me again.”

The old man scratched his head. “Perhaps it isn’t a lever at first—perhaps a brick—or loose stone, then the lever. It was a long time ago and I was but a boy watching my grandfather. He was a tall man and I remember him reaching up. Or perhaps he just looked tall to me then.”

“Don’t worry.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll try again. I’ll find it. Is there word from Hugh yet? Renouf will be returning in a day or two.”

“A man I judge to be his steward arrived but an hour since and is with Torod now. I expect he’ll seek me out when he’s done. But we must be careful.”

As he spoke, a stranger strode into the stable. “Sir Gerwint?” he enquired.

Gerwint nodded.

“I’m Barat Cormant.” He turned to Devona and bowed. “
Milady,
I have but a few moments to tell you I shall be here the rest of the day, working with Torod. The man has no head for figures and cannot read, so I can toy with him to my heart’s content, unlike Sir Renouf who has done a masterful job of hiding corruption.

By the end of the afternoon I should have an idea of how much money he’s spirited out of the manor. I’m not sure why he would want to hide what he’s taken. If he’s the legitimate master of this manor, he’d have the right to do with it as he wishes, within the law. I’ve escaped Torod for a moment on the pretence of getting a forgotten item from my saddlebags, but will return later with details of
milord
Hugh’s plan.”

Barat went to where his saddlebags lay on the low wall of the stall, removed a sheaf of documents and left with a nod.

Gerwint and Devona stood dumbfounded, unsure what to do next.

“What do you think Renouf has done with our coin, Devona?” Gerwint asked.

Devona gritted her teeth. “I think he takes it to Normandie. It’s a mystery what he does with it there.” She squared her shoulders. “Now, while Torod is occupied, I’ll try again to find the lever, and this time I’ll leave Boden with you.”

Gerwint hooked his fingers into the dog’s collar and nodded. “I’ll set about preparing torches.”

***

Certain no one was observing her, Devona pressed the wall sconce to reveal the hidden space behind the larder, stepped through quickly and closed the panel behind her. The necessity of working in the dark—she dare not light a torch—meant she had to feel for a loose stone. This time she concentrated on the upper part of the wall.

On the verge of giving up, her arms and shoulders aching, she suddenly felt a faint breeze on her fingers emanating from one of the stones just above her head. She clawed at the rough edges with her fingertips, trying desperately to pry the stone loose. After what seemed like an eternity, it came away from the wall with a scraping sound and she strained to place it as soundlessly as she could on the ground beside her. Standing on tiptoe, she reached into the hole and her hand closed on a long metallic object. Something scurried across her fingers and she squealed as she snatched her hand away. Her heart was pounding like a drum and waves of fear washed over her. She wondered if she would have the strength to pull the lever after so many years of disuse. If only it wasn’t so high.

Reaching up again, she grasped the lever with both hands, praying whatever had run across her fingers was long gone. She pulled with all her might, but it wouldn’t budge. She slumped to the floor with exhaustion, close to tears.

I can’t give up now.

She struggled to her feet and reached up again, took a deep breath and pulled. The metal groaned as it gave way and sweat beaded on her upper lip. She stood stock still, listening intently for Torod’s footsteps. “Pray God he heard nothing.”