Snow in July (20 page)

“You are right,” he said at length. “I probably imagined his voice.” Disappointment leached through his whisper to wrench her heart.

“I’m sure Sir Ruaud is safe.” She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt.

This time he returned her squeeze.

RUAUD HAD to admit that when Alain didn’t want to be found, he’d go to heroic lengths to ensure it. Employing a demon cloaked in fur and fangs, however, seemed a bit too much.

Grunting, he hauled himself out of the hole a bare step ahead of the snarling menace.

Lofwin and Garth grabbed him under each arm and helped him regain his footing.

“No good, this.” Ruaud spat his disgust into the shaft and faced his allies. “Another way out?”

“Mayhap the others have found a cave entrance on the hillside.” Lofwin’s countenance looked doubtful as he addressed the other scout. “Wait outside in case they return this way.”

“I search there first.” Ruaud jerked a thumb toward the stairs. “Join you after.”

Garth shoved aside the splintered remains of the door and stepped outside to take up his post. Waldron’s chief scout clasped Ruaud’s forearm and used the path Garth had cleared.

Ruaud stumped up the spiral staircase, cursing the fight that had caused Alain to spirit Lady Kendra into hiding.

Not that he could blame his friend’s caution. That last batch of brigands—he hoped it would prove to be the last—had been the toughest to defeat. His knee was aching like fury now, though in the heat of combat it hadn’t troubled him. Still, he’d been grateful to have Lofwin and his men guarding his back, whom he’d found soon after emerging from that Godforsaken swamp.

No, not Godforsaken, he amended, casting his gaze upward to offer a quick apology. Receiving aid in the guise of Waldron’s retainers was nothing short of miraculous, even after Lofwin admitted to having begun trailing the Normans soon after their “surrender.”

With one prayer answered, one remained.

THEY STOOD, neither moving nor speaking, for a long time after silence had descended. Alain brought all his scouting-honed senses to bear but couldn’t detect anything amiss.

He
had
heard Ruaud. What he hadn’t been able to ascertain was whether Ruaud had been acting under his own volition, trying to find them, or whether he’d been forced by his captors into the hole to flush out their prey.

But if the outlaws wanted them that badly, why didn’t they just kill the dog and come after them? Or was that part of the ruse, to dupe Alain into thinking the exit was safe? Were the outlaws that clever?

Perhaps not this band, but death swiftly visited a knight who underestimated the enemy.

The fist farthest away from Kendra he ground into the rock.

There was no way on this side of hell that he was going to leave her alone unless he could make certain she would be safe.

A familiar, hopeful whine interrupted his musings.

“Our new friend may be telling us it’s safe to come out,” he said.

Kendra agreed but waited to move until he started forward. When he encountered the muck, he picked her up again to bear her across.

It felt so good, so right to cradle her in his arms.

But he had no right to keep her there against her wishes. There had to be a way to circumvent that accursed vow she’d made, but his wits felt as thick as what he was wading through.

Curbing a sigh, he took one last step to clear the offal and set her down in the main corridor. She dropped to her knees to hug the dog, who rewarded her with a faceful of licks. Alain offered his thanks with a pat to the dog’s head but straightened quickly, hearing a faint creaking noise. He’d have dismissed it as the natural sound of the tower settling, but his senses tingled a warning.

They were not alone in this tower.

He grasped her elbow to encourage her to rise.

“Come. We must hurry and find another way out,” he said, hoping to avoid alarming her by sounding as calm as possible. “They may return.”

“I think you’re right.” Before rising, she gave the hound a final hug.

They inched into the dark unknown, feeling their way like the newly blind.

For reasons of its own, the dog had chosen to remain. Alain concentrated on trying not to crush Kendra’s fingers as he struggled to banish the impression that perhaps their canine friend knew to avoid what lay ahead of them.

RUAUD REACHED the top landing and stared at the closed door, scratching the stubble on his chin. If Alain were guarding Kendra inside, he’d have rigged a trap.

He stepped up to the crack between the door and its frame. “Alain!” No response from within, not that he was expecting any. He tried a different tack. “
C’est moi, mon ami, seulement moi. Viens ici!
”

Still no sound. He tried the handle: unlocked. But when he would have opened the door, the threat of Alain and Kendra being held captive loomed as a distinct possibility.

Other, grimmer possibilities he refused to entertain.

He backed up, drew his sword, and readied it for attack. In one fluid movement, he kicked in the door and lunged into the chamber, sword leveled for business.

No trap, no bodies, nobody.

Discouragement warred with relief.

With the point of his sword, he poked a man-size heap of coverlets lying on the floor, revealing naught but pillows.

Something plain and white caught his eye amidst the opulence. He used his sword to pull it from beneath another coverlet: two generous lengths of bandage. From the lack of bloodstains, he surmised they had been used for some other purpose; binding sprains, perhaps.

He almost missed the other bandages that were so red they blended with the fancy furnishings. His gut twisted as he looked toward the door and saw the spatter trail, its biggest splotch near the threshold. Such severe blood loss didn’t bode well for the injured person’s chances of survival.

Fraying threads told him these bandages had been torn from something else, perhaps an underdress, unlike the other strips, which had been cut.

Lady Kendra, suffering a sprained ankle, had tried to stanch the flow of Alain’s gash? If so, how in hell did she move him? Even in perfect health, with that petite frame of hers, he doubted she could have managed unassisted.

Forehead to fist, Ruaud slumped against the doorframe.

“Alain, where the devil are you?”

He sheathed his sword with a heavy heart and turned to leave the tower.

THE CORRIDOR widened into a large gallery lit by beams shining through holes formed by chinks in the rock. Heaps of gold, silver, and jewels glittered before them. Kendra gasped, half dreading to find the Round Table populated by a slumbering King Arthur and his knights and half disappointed when she didn’t.

While she contented herself with standing to bask in the eye-popping sight, filling her lungs with sweet air, Alain examined several objects.

“It isn’t enough for them to terrorize farmers and merchants.” He held aloft a hefty gold crucifix. “They have looted churches too.” Disgust oozed from his tone. “Bishop Odo will be livid.”

“But this is Saxon gold. What is it to you, a Norman?”

He set the crucifix down, gave it a slight bow, and faced her, fists on hips. “The king is not deaf to the plight of your people. His regent in charge of southern England, Odo de Bayeux, dispatched Sir Ruaud and me to investigate the complaints and set matters aright.” He relaxed his stance and pivoted, shaking his head. “It appears the complaints contain much substance indeed.” Stooping, he picked up a large brooch wrought in a distinctive Norman floral design. “And not all of this plunder is Saxon.”

“What will you do with this hoard once we get free?”
If we get free…
“Claim it for the king?”

An offended look darkened his features. “I will make every attempt to locate the rightful owners, of course.”

She laughed in spite of their predicament. “Come, now. Do you believe you can show people this treasure and expect them to claim only what belongs to them? Are you Normans that blind to human nature?”

Irritation flashed across his face. “Regent Odo showed me some of the letters. The lists of stolen items were quite detailed. And there are other ways of testing honesty.” He uttered a quick laugh, but she didn’t understand the jest. Just as quickly, he sobered. “But of course we cannot do anything while we remain trapped in here.”

Kendra couldn’t agree more. While Alain searched for the means to climb toward the air holes in the hope of widening them enough to slip through, she searched closer to the ground for a more readily accessible outlet.

Their efforts met with no success before the light fled the chamber. She sank onto the lid of a chest, wishing she had brought the cushions.

At least the dog and its wretched living quarters had seemed to discourage pursuit; small comfort, that. The prospect of being above ground, even if as the outlaws’ prisoner, was looking more attractive by the moment.

As the gloom deepened, Alain pulled several kneeling pads from the pile where he’d found the crucifix, along with an altar cloth embroidered with gold threads. He pressed the
Chi-Rho
over his heart for a moment, head bowed, before unfurling the cloth over the kneeling pads, which he’d arranged into the shape of a pallet.

“I shall stand watch while you rest,” he said.

“Mayhap later. But…thank you.” His kindness forced tears to her eyes that she prayed he couldn’t see, and it was all she could do to keep a quaver from invading her voice. “I—I’m not tired,” she lied, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Here, then.” She felt the wineskin brushing her arm and opened her eyes to find Alain bent low beside her with his offering. Taking the wineskin with a grateful smile, she shifted over to make room for him atop the chest. “You need to keep up your strength,” he cautioned.

As the apple-sweet wine soothed her parched throat, she remembered the coarse but kindly Snake, who had told her the same thing.

That felt like half a lifetime ago.

A long blink checked her tears. She couldn’t bear having to explain to Alain why she mourned someone he probably had killed.

He passed her an oatcake, but his hand lingered to clasp hers. “Why did you ask me to kiss you?”

“What? You didn’t enjoy it?”