The Heart of the Phoenix (27 page)

“Thank you, Brother Gerald. I worry for the young one, Davy. He’s my brother’s squire.”

The monk pursed his thin lips and raised his brows. “No need to concern yourself over him, Lady Evelynn. That one’s doing right well. He’s all for storming the door and confronting the soldiers. The older ones are giving him a lesson in patience.”

Evie smiled, knowing he tried to cheer her. “Do you think this foolish accusation against Sir Stephen will be treated seriously?”

“It should not be, my lady. But Prince John’s whims were dangerous. When he’s crowned King John—well, we can only wait to see how the new authority sits on him.”

“You do know what happened?” she ventured. Perhaps he hadn’t been given the whole story.

“Lord d’Ambrosie’s words were few but specific. Sir Stephen is accused of leading bands of outlaws in robberies and murders for the past several years. The lord insisted his information left him no choice but to make an arrest. He is very sorry to involve you.”

Evie shook her head. “It’s unthinkable that Sir Stephen is blamed for such horrible acts.”

“I know, my lady. Of course, none of the accusations are true. Sir Stephen is incapable of that kind of vicious behavior. No matter how he suffered in the past, he would never resort to killing innocents.”

The guard who had called her name stood at the base of the stairs, a look of disgust on his pocked face. “Come back inside, now. The master said you had to stay safe until we leave tomorrow.”

“First I will tend to the injuries of my captain, whom you’ve chained up like an animal. I won’t tolerate any of my people to be treated so.’

“Sorry, lady. The master ordered specific. You’re to stay away from that one. He’s headed for the gallows, so won’t be needing no help.”

Evie bit her lip to keep from snapping back. There was no trying to reason with the man. And if she angered him, slipping away later might be more difficult, so she trudged up the steps. She had to find a way to release Stephen from the manacle. As she resumed her seat on the bench along the wall, Geoffra rose and walked toward her.

“Here now,” the guard’s officious tone carried across the hall. “You get back there.”

Geoffra stared at him above the soft fabric of the veil. Whatever he saw in the look drove him back a step. The Saracen woman approached, sending Marie scurrying to sit beside Macsen. Geoffra took the space the maid vacated.

She looked at Evie, raised her brows.

A seed of an idea took root. “You can move about more freely than I.” Evie nodded toward the door where their jailer glared at them. He started forward again but stopped when the other returned with a waterskin. They eyed her and Geoffra, then turned to speak.

When she was confident their attention was elsewhere, Evie whispered, “Sir Stephen is chained in the storage chamber beneath us.” She searched the other woman’s face, what of it that was visible. A thought nibbled at edge of her mind, but right then she had no time to examine it.

“You can understand me, can’t you?” she asked.

The Saracen nodded imperceptibly.

Keeping an eye on the men at the door, Evie opened the travel pack of herbs and from the bottom, palmed a small eating knife she’d used on the journey.

“Here.” Evie passed the knife to Geoffra. “If you are able to venture outside, get this to him. It isn’t much, but perhaps he can use it in some way.”

The knife disappeared into the folds of the silky fabric, and the other woman rose without a word. Her tall figure moved across the floor of the hall. As she brushed past the pair at the door, one muttered something. The other laughed and reached out for Geoffra. In a quick twist, the woman slid past, and Evie saw the ends of the diaphanous clothing flutter as Geoffra disappeared down the steps.

Marie appeared at her side again. “That’s a strange lady,” she whispered. “She never speaks, she sits and stares at the floor with her hands folded, so, as if she prays to that foreign god. Do you think our God will smite us down to hell for allowing such blasphemy?”

“‘Smite?’” Evie bit back a smile. “Where did you hear such words?”

“The priest at Rosemont.”

“Ah. No, Marie. I believe our Lord looks for ways to help us.”

A knot of lines eased from the girl’s forehead. “Good. For I was getting worried we might not escape this time.”

“Don’t worry. We are not prisoners. And with all the armed fighters here to protect us, who would dare attack?”

The words were at odds with her feelings. They sounded right, and they had, once again, reassured Marie. The girl’s slight form had lost some of its tightness.

Why, then, did the words sound so hollow? It had to be because the man she was to marry had two faces. And she wasn’t certain which one was true. His behavior to her had been all that was polite, yet cold, even assessing.

Evie shuddered, as if the coldness pervaded her bones. She had to face the truth. She didn’t trust her betrothed.

****

A rustling of soft footsteps and fabric drew Stephen from a light drowse. He looked up to see Geoffrey dart into the undercroft, turn, and kneel beside him.

“Macsen is well. I sent James and the other two south to the port when I saw d’Ambrosie’s troop approach. I don’t know when the others will arrive.”

The men, safe. His discomfort seemed to lessen at the news, and he blew out a breath of relief. He’d feared they had been killed.

“We can hope they received the message you left at the inn, or they will sail for Dover. If they find their way to Shoreham, James can lead the way here. I’m to be transported to London to face John. You must see that Lady Evelynn is safe.”

“Gerald will travel with her, he’s decided. I must follow you. Without my evidence, you may not be able to persuade the king to listen. And here. Your lady sent this.”

Geoffrey placed the little knife in his left hand.

“Too small to pick open the lock, but maybe I can find some use for it,” Stephen said.

“Just what she said.”

He flipped it between his fingers. How like Evie to think of something like this. Too bad the blade wasn’t just a bit longer.

“You’re smiling.”

Stephen leaned against the wall. “Make sure she’s safe tonight. I don’t trust any of the animals in d’Ambrosie’s pack up there.”

Neither man spoke for a moment. Then Geoffrey said, “She is a good lady. Do not allow her to escape, my brother. In these last days, I have seen a change in you, a light that has been absent for years.”

“Sorya—”

“My sister would have liked her.” Geoffrey loosened the face veil to meet Stephen’s eyes unhindered. “It is time. Have you not punished yourself long enough? You are not to blame for her death. For any of their deaths. The Dragon’s men were too many. Had you been at our cousin’s house, you would have died as well.”

Stephen clenched his lips and turned his face away.

“Lady Evelynn heals your heart.”

“The king has betrothed her elsewhere.”

“But have you not the means to persuade him otherwise?”

The wealth Stephen accumulated over the years was substantial. He would give it all to buy Evie from marriage to d’Ambrosie. To anyone.

“Too much coincidence these past weeks. Your discovery, Michael’s betrayal, the Dragon’s raids attributed to us, the pack that followed us to Boulogne. And then d’Ambrosie miraculously appearing there, when Dieppe was the logical port for him to use.”

“Listen.” His voice dropped, and Geoffrey leaned in to catch the next words. “Why would a message meant for the Dragon fall into d’Ambrosie’s hands? Why not deliver proof of betrayal to the authorities? Isn’t Hubert Walter still justiciar?”

“And you believe this message was one he particularly wanted?” Geoffrey asked.

“D’Ambrosie said the message awaited him at his lodgings. How would any but his own men know where to locate him?”

Geoffrey stared into the dark of the empty bailey. “So when d’Ambrosie received proof about the Brotherhood, he gathered more men and returned to arrest you on his own authority.”

Stephen nodded, his movement a whisper of shadow. “If I’m right, then he is the Dragon. And he’s been one step ahead of us since Christmastide.”

Neither man spoke. In the distance, frogs took up alternating choruses. An owl welcomed the night. Nearby, curses trickled from the run-down wooden garrison where the soldiers gathered. A horse neighed.

Inside, a soft rustling in the far corner heralded a rodent scavenging through leavings of old corn. The smell of the soured grain mingled with odors of dried blood and damp earth.

“D’Ambrosie is a favorite of the king,” Geoffrey said at last, his voice thoughtful, as if he assessed another fact and not defeat. “Our evidence must be indisputable.”

“We’ve done our best,” Stephen said. “It will be enough. If it is not, I will find a way to kill him. For Sorya and for Evie.”

“Both of us shall,” Geoffrey said. “He said he has gone to London. How long is the journey from here to London?”

“A day and a half of steady riding, perhaps less with fresh horses and little time lost for sleep. More from the seaports. Why?”

“If he is arranging the king’s coronation, then he must hurry. As must we.”

Then Stephen had best see to freeing himself. “Return to the hall before one of the guards comes looking for you,” he said.

Geoffrey retied the veil and rose. “Take care.” He cuffed Stephen’s shoulder as he left. “Pry well.”

When the footsteps faded, Stephen pulled his knees up and draped his left arm across them. He’d not had time to make sense of the way facts had collided in his mind. But based on his reasoning, the conclusion was inevitable. All clues pointed to d’Ambrosie as the Dragon.

What did that mean for his Evie? For his own search? Over the years, he’d guessed that his enemy was placed highly, but he’d never though the murderer would be quite so influential. What irony.

He shifted the knife between his fingers. Was it God or the Devil who arranged these cruel tricks? The one man Stephen hated more than life, the man he’d sought for five years—within reach and he hadn’t known. Even if he had, he couldn’t exact justice because of Evie. How could he explain why he killed her betrothed?

He hoped she understood when it finally happened. He thought, perhaps, she might. If her behavior these last days were any measure, she realized d’Ambrosie was far from the champion that talk portrayed him.

Whether or not her attitude had changed, the king’s decision on her marriage was made. Unless he and Geoffrey produced enough proof to condemn d’Ambrosie, it likely would stand. Against any ordinary lord, the proof they’d gathered was enough. Against a favorite of the king, there might never be enough to justify the charges.

For the Dragon stood as murderer, thief, deceiver and, yes, traitor. No denying the substantiation of those accusations. The trick lay in proving the Dragon and d’Ambrosie were one and the same. He and his men possessed the means to do so, provided King John accepted the testimony of strangers.

It might be possible to persuade d’Ambrosie to help convict himself. The lord’s arrogance was likely to make him overconfident. Arrogant, overconfident fighters made errors. And Stephen planned to be present to take advantage of those mistakes.

Which meant he must escape quickly. With luck, which he’d been damned short of lately, the rain clouds would disperse, leaving room for moonlight to illuminate the wall where he was chained. The bolt had been driven against the edge of a stone, into the mortar. Surely the crumbling condition of the manor and outbuildings extended to the material holding the stones together. The tiny knife might not spring a lock, but the blade dug.

****

When Geoffra glided back into the hall, Evie eased out a long breath. The other lady had been gone so long, Evie worried a guard may have stopped her and their plan revealed. They hadn’t a plan, exactly, only the knife. But perhaps it would be enough.

Marie fled again as Geoffra approached and sat.

“He sends his thanks,” she murmured. “His injuries need tending or infection may result. He thinks not, of course, but we must be wise in his place.”

Evie nodded. “I will find a way.”

As Geoffra started to rise, the filmy sleeve of her bodice fell back. She flicked it in place, but not before Evie caught sight of a strong forearm and sturdy wrist. She shot a glance at Geoffra’s face to find the brows lowered in a frown. And like that, she knew.

She ducked her head to hide the shock. Yet had she not wondered about the lady when they arrived to find her at the manor? The mysterious Geoffra’s appearance, together with Geoffrey’s disappearance, seemed altogether too convenient. And the eyes—having met Geoffrey, they were unmistakable. Impossible for another to be so similar.

Yet Evie had mistaken him. The heat of embarrassment burned her cheeks. When she looked up again, Geoffra—Geoffrey—leveled a stare. Evie offered a rueful smile and nodded. “I’m so foolish,” she whispered.

Geoffrey lowered his head, effectively disguising himself once more. “Not at all, my lady. You are supremely perceptive. Thank you for not betraying me. We shall explain later.”

Evie placed her hand over his. “Be careful. If I realize the deception, others can.”

“I will be leaving soon, so the danger will be removed. Care for him now. He needs you.”

She waited until Geoffrey resettled in his corner, the guard had relaxed, and Macsen snored gently on his pallet. A quick check of the knight found his slitted eyes on her, in spite of the regular sound coming from his mouth. He winked.

Mary’s tears, were they all crazed? She pressed her fingers against her chest, as if to calm her thudding heart. Nothing was as it seemed, and Evie felt suspended in a dream world. Again. That sensation came frequently since she’d begun her journey with Stephen’s band of fighters. Knights posing as monks, men posing as women—she wondered what else was real and what imagined?

Was Lord Fulk d’Ambrosie truly the brave and courtly favorite of King John she’d met on the ship? Or was her betrothed the cold, cruel, deceptive man she’d glimpsed today? She feared she already knew the answer.