The Heart of the Phoenix (28 page)

At last she rose, collected her bag, and beckoned to Marie. “Bring the pitcher,” she told the girl, nodding toward the bench where the water sat beside three cups. She walked to the door.

“I must tend to my needs,” she announced, daring the guard to argue. “My maid will accompany me. I require the water that she carries. You may join us, if you feel compelled to make certain I do not race alone into the unknown countryside and make good an escape to nowhere for assistance from no one.”

Her expression bore into his, and he thought better about whatever he’d opened his mouth to spout. With a look of scorn, he stepped aside and allowed the two past.

“If you b’ain’t back apace, I’ll come looking,” he warned as they reached the last step.

Evie slipped into the shadows along the wall, then rounded into the storage chamber, Marie at her heels.

“You should not be here,” Stephen whispered as she knelt at his side.

“These cuts must be cleaned and salved. You may think you are indestructible, but—”

“No one is indestructible. That doesn’t mean you should place yourself in danger.”

“Please stop interrupting me. It’s become a habit of yours, and it’s irritating.”

He remained silent, but she could imagine what he was thinking.

“Yes, I know, you call me irritating often enough. Now hush. Marie, hand me the water and keep watch for visitors. Please,” she added.

Evie opened the bag and extracted a sturdy linen wimple she used for traveling. Wetting it, she began to dab at the blood and dirt that crusted Stephen’s face. Little of it budged.

“It won’t come off like this,” she murmured. “I’ll have to rub harder. It may be uncomfortable.”

She re-soaked the linen and tried again, scrubbing in places. Once she stopped and tilted his chin to better catch the moonlight. His hand reached out to cover hers. A thin moonbeam fell across his lips, and Evie remembered their softness against hers. She longed to lean forward and brush her mouth there, and across his bristly jaw.

He was injured, chained up, threatened with death, and all she thought of was kisses? She disgusted herself. With a soft snort, she applied the cloth vigorously. So vigorously, clumps of dried matter rolled from his face to be replaced with fresh blood.

“Oh,” she gasped and sank back on her heels. “I’ve hurt you again. You’re bleeding.”

“Shhhh, don’t fret,” he whispered. “That’s clean blood now. Finish quickly before you’re discovered.”

He brushed at her damp cheeks with his free hand, then slid his fingers behind her head and pulled her forward. His lips were as warm and soft as she remembered. She had the power to move away, to end it. Instead, she leaned into him, deepening the kiss. As she did, she felt the pressure against his secured arm and jerked away.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

“It’s all right. Don’t worry. Shhhh.” He caressed her one last time. “Go now.”

“But what can I do? What will happen?”

“I have a plan.”

She let him think she believed the lie.

“You will see. Everything will be fine.”

She knew the words were just to comfort her, but she also knew this wasn’t the time to demand answers. Too much was at stake. For now the guards thought the prisoner was incapable of causing trouble. They must continue to believe that.

Digging into the bag, she located the jar of salve. After blotting the blood again, she smoothed a thin film over the cuts and scrapes.

“Milady.” Marie’s low voice reached her just as she replaced the jar’s stopper. “One of the soldiers is coming from the stables.”

Evie placed a finger over Stephen’s mouth one last time, then rose.

“Keep yourself safe,” he whispered. “Take no chances until you reach Henry.”

She smoothed her skirts and stepped around the corner into the deep shadows along the wall where Marie waited. Together they made their way up the stairs, into the hall.

Inside, no fire had been built, and the only light came from a branch of tallow candles that smoked in the center of the hall. Reaching the bench along the wall, Evie sat and leaned back.

And wondered if the night would ever end.

****

Only the animals stirred in the deepness of the night. The moon had journeyed nearly across the sky, and Stephen knew if he didn’t succeed in digging the damned stave from the wall soon, he’d lose his chance.

He welcomed the silence that told him all slept except for the two guards posted at the permanently open gates in the curtain wall. Yet that same silence magnified the slightest noise.

Scraping away mortar, even old, crumbing mortar, wasn’t a quiet business. Each time the chipping knife blade scraped against stone, the sound echoed through the empty night. Each time he’d halt to make certain no one heard. When no alert sounded, he continued.

Finally, much later than he’d hoped, the base of the manacle moved. Back and forth he worked it until at last the metal gave way. It took a moment to thread the bolt from the end of the ring that still circled his wrist. He tried to wrap the chain around and tuck it in, but failed. God knew where the key was. If one existed.

He grabbed the chain in his hand to deaden the sound. Although he had moved around as much as possible during the night, his muscles protested as he stood. He stretched his legs and rubbed the cramps from his right arm as he searched the darkness for signs of the two guards.

After marking their progress for two rounds, Stephen edged toward the open gates, then faded into the early morning shadows beyond. He was afoot, but he was free. When he gained shelter of the trees, he looked back.

He hated to leave Evie, but she would be safe. Meanwhile, he must make his way to London. Or Westminster, if time ran short. With one last glance, he took up a methodical jog down the trail.

The sound of horses’ hooves carried through the dawn as Stephen approached the main road. The early traffic was not unusual, given the route was a major passage from Shoreham. But the riders had turned and were coming his way along the private lane to Sir Hugh’s place. Fading into the brush at the side of the path, Stephen peered through the tender new leaves.

God’s bones, Bernard. He identified the other members of the small party, then stepped out. The movement caught attention of the group.

“By the rood! Sir Stephen.” Bernard guided his huge mare back along the line. “Well met. We weren’t sure this trail led to the manor. What brings you out at this hour? Trouble ahead?”

“Yes. You must stop. I’ve much to tell you.”

“And we’ve more to tell you. John is here.”

“Here? What do you mean?”

“His party landed in Shoreham shortly after ours. He stopped at the church of St. Nicolas, so we’re before him on the road. But we heard one of his counselors say he heads for Westminster. He’ll be crowned some two days hence. Ascension Day.”

Stephen leaned against a tree trunk. “We’ll make for London, then. I’ll tell you what’s happened as we travel.”

“Jamie’s the lightest. You can double with him.”

“Until I find a likely mount to buy or borrow,” Stephen agreed. “But we can’t delay. If you were able to bring the last item uncovered in Brittany, our case is secure.”

“Aye, we have that and more.” Bernard’s chuckle brimmed with anticipation. “Let’s ride.”

****

The sound of shouts and curses startled Evie awake. A quick glance placed Macsen and Marie in their usual spots. Something was missing, however. Someone.

Geoffra. Geoffrey. Had he been discovered with Stephen? Evie’s stomach lurched.

A soldier barreled into the hall. “The bastard’s gone.”

Even at a distance, Evie saw spittle arc from the man’s mouth. The guard at the door rattled off a string of words in a language she didn’t understand. But she guessed the problem.

Stephen had escaped.

Had Geoffrey gone also?

As the two guards thundered down the steps, she approached Macsen. “What happened?”

“Geoffrey left.” A light sparked in his eyes. “Knowing him, he’ll draw the search away from Stephen.”

“But how did he leave the hall without being challenged?”

Macsen’s mouth twitched. “The fool at the door fell asleep.”

Evie’s hand flew to her throat. She didn’t know Geoffrey well, but if he had the talent to pass as a female across hundreds of leagues, no doubt he could slip away from an inattentive jailer. But why? To help Stephen escape? Or to accompany him?

She raced to the landing outside the open entrance. Below, the bailey was in turmoil. Horses stomped and blew as riders cursed and shuffled to mount, all the while the soldier in command threatened to flay whichever guard allowed the prisoner to escape. And with one of the horses. Another string of curses followed.

“There,” the man bellowed, “there’s the trail he left. Mount up, we’ll find him.”

Evie drew back against the stone around the entrance, pressed a fist to her stomach. Somehow she doubted Stephen delayed long enough to take a mount, which would guarantee to reveal his absence. Geoffrey was the one who created the path away from the manor.

Why would he be so obvious about taking a horse? As soon as the question occurred, she knew the answer. To cover Stephen’s escape. Macsen had been right.

A shiver slid across her shoulders. Worse and worse. The soldiers were bound to catch Geoffrey, and when they did, she dreaded he’d be killed. Only Lord Fulk could keep them under control and heaven knew when he’d return.

The guard who had manned the hall’s entrance stomped up the steps. He looked as if he’d like to strike her, but when he caught sight of her face, his frown moderated. The shock Evie felt must be evident. The man likely misinterpreted the signs, because he actually harrumphed.

“Don’t ye worry. We’ll catch the prisoner right soon. Stupid bastard won’t get far. Um—pardon, milady.”

Evie nodded once, stiffly. Inside, she paced the floor. Thoughts swirled but refused to coalesce. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw Stephen chained to the wall, blood crusted on his skin. Suffering. Absently she rubbed an ache in her chest.

How could he possibly get far with his injuries? Once the searchers ran Geoffrey to ground, they were bound to set out after Stephen. They’d find him, and they wouldn’t be kind. Their orders had been only to keep him alive. That allowed a great deal of freedom for revenge. The thought stripped her of breath.

When she passed near Macsen, he whispered, “All will be well. The captain and Geoffrey have eluded more pursuers than the motley few here.”

She glanced at him, but he stared at his hands. Taking the hint, she jerked her gaze away and turned to stride back. “I just don’t understand how Geoffrey managed it. He’s leading the others on a false trail, but when they catch him—”

“No need to fret,” Macsen murmured.

Fret was a mild word to describe the fist squeezing her heart, the sword piercing her stomach. Thoughts crowded her head until it threatened to burst. Evie sank down beside Marie.

The maid leaned in. “Was Davy there, milady? Is he well?”

“I didn’t see him. I’m sure he’s safe.” Evie patted the girl’s hand then eased her head back. Her mind was so stuffed with thoughts she couldn’t seem to sort them out. She closed her eyes and let everything go blank.

Instead of the problems of the present, she recalled the days of travel from Rosemont. Stephen had proven so different from what she envisioned him the past two years. He wasn’t the hard, insensitive knight he presented to the world. He was a thoughtful, dedicated, honorable man.

Even when he angered her until she wanted to stomp and shout, even when he prodded her into behaving in the childish ways of her youth, he defended her. And his men. Even the exasperating Marie, with the maid’s continual cries and complaints.

Lord Fulk’s charges were wrong. What evidence had he acted upon? He certainly hadn’t been happy when she’d put the question to him. Considering the way he’d behaved many of the other times she’d been in his presence, Evie very much feared he was not a good man.

Yet no matter what she thought, no matter what she wanted, a betrothal mandated by the king was inescapable.

The turmoil in her stomach congealed to rock. The future that days ago seemed bright and exciting now stretched before her like a dark, lonely path.

At the sound of hoofbeats, she leaped to her feet and raced to the entrance, following the guard out. Into the small courtyard galloped her betrothed and his band. His glance darted around the area, rose to the spot where she stood—and moved on without acknowledging her.

What brought him back so quickly? He had said he planned to ride to London? Evie’s stomach knotted and a bitter taste filled her mouth. Whatever his reason to return so quickly, it didn’t bode well.

Guards surged around him. He dismounted, then tilted his head to listen to the soldier he’d left in charge.

“You allowed him to escape?” Lord Fulk’s voice rang with fury. Evie glimpsed the flash of movement as his arm swung around—to bury a small dagger in the man’s throat.

She froze, too stunned to speak. Then she gagged. Lord Fulk had struck down his own man in rage. Stumbling back through the doorway, she swung around, pressed her back to the frame. Macsen shook his head sharply, mouthed, “Be calm,” but the advice failed to penetrate the ice that enveloped her.

Boots thundered on the stairs, and Lord Fulk burst through the opening. “You,” he shouted at Macsen, “where did he go?”

Macsen ducked his head. “I don’t know where he has gone, my lord.” His usual firm, commanding tone had been replaced with a deferential mumble. “He meant to deliver the lady to her brother at Chauvere. When we heard John had been invested duke in Normandy and was journeying to England to be crowned, Sir Stephen’s plans changed. He said he would confront the Dragon at Westminster. That’s all I know, my lord.”

The planks of the floor seemed to move beneath Evie’s slippers. Macsen, revealing their plans? Macsen, a betrayer? But he stood as Stephen’s close friend, his second in command. Her knees wobbled, and she slid to the floor, the fabric of her gown catching with a rip on the splintered wooden door frame. The scene darkened before her eyes.