Wildewood Revenge (37 page)

“It’s a shame then you’ll be unable to protect her, unfortunate you put the lives of the Scots before your good lady, but I’m sure she’ll understand. I’ll take the time to make her understand. I’m a patient man after all.”

Miles glowered at him. He wondered if he’d already dispatched men to
Wildewood
and whether Gerard had assisted. It seemed the two of them were inexorably linked but driven by different goals. Gerard would not allow himself to be drawn into the debacle of the murdered knights, but he might happily utilise the unprotected state of
Wildewood
for his own ends.

“Does Gerard know you have me here?” he asked, uncertain as to whether Gerard would also collude in his torture.

Guy laughed. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for Gerard to come to your aid. He’s off to
Alnwick
with the good Lady Maud, to meet the king. A little anxious to make a good impression, I believe. But even if he knew you were here, providing my entertainment, he would not intervene. You’ve rattled too many cages, Miles, with all this talk of spies and secret allegiances. Gerard considers you far too dangerous to keep alive. You seem to find comfort on all sides of the blanket these
days and it concerns him as to where your true loyalty lies. Perhaps the girl is not the spy after all.”

Miles shook his head. “You talk nonsense, Guy. My only allegiance is to the king.”

“And yet you fraternise with the Scots.”

“We are not at war with the Scots.”

“And your closeness to Reynard is questionable, considering his own position is far from clear. He seems to have the ear of the rich and powerful of Europe.”

“Are you envious, Guy?”

“No, merely curious.
It’s all rather perplexing, since no one knows of his background. Perhaps he is another bastard, Miles. They say like attracts like, and of course now there’s your dalliance with the little witch girl. Did you know, Gerard thinks you three have hatched a plot and are in collusion with the Devil?”

“You’re not wrong, Guy. There is the devils’ work afoot here, but I assure you it has naught to do with us. I would say you are more closely aligned to the horned one than any acquaintance of mine.”

“So, she is not a witch after all?” laughed Guy, “And yet she bewitches every man who lays eyes on her? How do
you
account for that? Mayflower was practically drooling at the mouth, Gerard was ready to exchange his wife after his encounter with her at the crypt and I must admit I was more than tempted to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. How about you, Miles, are you also under her spell? Are you positive your actions are yours alone and you are not merely a puppet being manipulated for another’s purpose.”

“You know nothing, Guy. You see conspiracy and intrigue where there is none. Grace is beyond suspicion and I am my own man.”

“Good for you, Miles. So, who is little Gracie and from where does she hail? Is she the missing nun from Kirk
Knowe
whom no one has heard of? Or the niece of the infamous, Hugh de Reynard, as she informed Mayflower? Or perhaps she is someone else who we have yet to discover. What do you think?”

Miles remained silent. Guy had an uncanny knack for finding raw nerves, and where Grace was concerned his nerves were very sensitive. He too would like to know the truth but he would not give Guy the satisfaction of knowing that.

Guy smiled, and Miles realised he was not sufficiently adept at concealing his feelings. The tightening of his jaw and the slight narrowing of his eyes had betrayed him.

“Myself, I think if she is not a witch then such a foxy, little strumpet must be the niece of Reynard and whatever game she is playing will be known in due course. Such a shame therefore you will not be around when the truth is revealed, Miles.”

Miles wearied of Guy’s baiting and it seemed Guy had also grown bored of being the baiter.

“Enough idle banter, Miles, it’s time we got down to business.” He gestured to the guards, “Strip him to the waist. Let’s see if we can find some flesh that hasn’t already been claimed by a scar.”

Miles was not about to allow himself to be manhandled and readied himself. He did not however expect the blow to the back of his knees which dropped him like a stone, or the vicious kick to the back of the head which left him stunned while his shirt was ripped from his back.

“Oh my,” exclaimed Guy. “Is that my handwork?” He rose to his feet and with the help of a crutch crossed the room to inspect the wound left by his sword. He reached out and drew a finger down the length of
the scar and the guards were hard pushed to hold Miles back.

“How are you still alive?”

He cocked his head and circled Miles, viewing his handiwork from all sides. The guards glanced awkwardly at each other.

Guy stood back leaning heavily on the crutch.

“Forgive me, I digress. Which do you prefer, Miles? The rack or the lash, the choice is yours?”

Chapter Thirty Eight

Edmund and Belle left the safety of the forest and paused before descending into the valley, somewhat in awe at the castle revealed in all its glory beneath them. The sun was waning and
Ahlborett
was bathed from the west in a soft orange glow. Light glinted off the metalwork, the portcullis, the giant studs on the castle gates and the swords and shields of the men at arms. Soon the castle would be lit by torch light and Edmund realised they needed to be inside before that happened.

Between them they led Mayflower’s tiny pony which had been smeared with mud to disguise its appearance, should anyone recall it from Mayflower’s last visit, and draped with a rough blanket which served to hide a short metal bar. On the pony’s back sat Linus. It had taken an enormous amount of argument and negotiation before Grace had agreed to his inclusion in the plan.  Jack Forester had argued, the younger the child the less suspicious the group would appear and the guards less likely to search them. John had reluctantly agreed his son would be safer with Edmund and Belle than left at Wildwood unprotected while the men folk were away. Grace had listened and understood their reasoning but was mortified they were about to use this child, this baby. She agreed simply because she could see no other way to ensure Miles’ release, and because, like John, she recognised
Wildewood
was currently not a safe place to be.

Edmund led the pony carefully down the steep track from the
Danestone
and Belle held Linus tightly and ensured he did not slip. The two older children were nervous, but Linus was oblivious to danger and merely excited at being allowed to ride the little pony he so coveted. Perhaps if he were a good boy and did exactly as he’d been told,
Mayflower would let him ride the pony again. He knew exactly what to do and repeated it in his head lest he forget. He was to hold tightly to Edmunds hand. That was very important. When Edmund squeezed his hand he was to howl and cry as loudly as he could. He had practised in the great hall at
Wildewood
and everyone agreed his was the loudest voice they’d ever heard. He looked forward to doing that again.

Belle held a basket in her free hand and beneath its cloth cover it held fresh bread and roasted fowl, winter stored apples and a stone flagon of mead. Beneath her skirts she carried a knife strapped to the outside of each thigh. Edmund glanced at her as they negotiated the narrow path, he hoped she would do as she had been instructed and only that. She was inclined toward recklessness and he feared her doing something ill-advised in a vain attempt to impress him. He was already impressed that she’d volunteered to accompany him.

Edmund hefted a heavy, yew staff, which at seven foot long was far taller than him. He carried one knife against his back beneath his clothes which he felt against his skin as he moved. He would have chosen to carry more, but John advised the only safe place to hide a weapon was at his back and there was only room for one.

They reached the road and before they crossed and entered the castle approach, Edmund stopped and took hold of Belle’s sleeve.

“Are
yer
sure of what ye are to do? Are
yer
sure ye want to continue? Stay here with Linus if
yer
wish, I will understand.”

Belle smiled nervously. “We shall do this together or not at all, and we’re not about to let everyone down are we?”

Edmund nodded and they continued over the drawbridge and paused before stepping into the outer bailey. They were stopped by the guards as they knew they would be.

“We bring food to our father, he awaits God’s mercy in
yer
dungeon we seek leave to visit him with
yer
good grace.”

The soldier looked at the dirty children, wrinkled his nose and waved them through, turning away to confront the next visitor. Edmund slipped the iron bar from beneath the pony’s blanket and jammed it unseen into the drawbridge mechanism. He paused then, as if unsure of the way. He glanced right and left, up and down as he stood hesitantly beneath the raised portcullis, then he propped the staff up against the wall and left it there. Once behind the walls of the inner bailey, Edmund lifted Linus from the pony’s back and tethered the pony to the metal catch which held the inner gate ajar. He soothed the pony and gently placed a teasel from Belle’s basket beneath the pony’s blanket.

“We will return for
yer
,” he whispered in the pony’s ear.

“Come,” he said, and taking Linus firmly by the hand, he led the way to the dungeon entrance. He had memorised the plan which Grace and Mayflower had produced and he knew exactly where to go. The next set of guards gave them a cursory search paying more attention to the contents of the basket than anything else. As expected, they took out the flagon of mead and one of the roast fowl before letting the children pass. The only remaining guards were those who attended the cells and they were currently engaged in a heated argument in the guard room. Belle sashayed past swinging her skirts and they paused in their debate. She smiled at them as Edmund and Linus continued on into the passageway. The soldiers smiled back, eyeing her with sudden interest.

Edmund ignored their lechery and peered into the dimness of the cells. The first held only one man who was chained and desperately thin. He looked blankly at Edmund. Edmund wondered how long the man had been there, wondered at his crime, and if his family knew he still
lived.

The next was empty but smelt of death. Edmund imagined he saw the shape in the straw where a blood stained body had lain. He pulled his eyes away with a shudder and moved on.

The third was full and Edmund stopped and looked in vain for Miles in the gloom. He had to be there. The plan relied upon it. He turned, unsure as to what he should do.

Suddenly, his wrist grabbed from within the cell and yanked against the bars.

“Why, Edmund, lad, what have ye brought us?”

Edmund let out the breath he’d been holding at the sound of Angus’ thick course brogue. The Scot smiled at him reassuringly from within the cell.

Edmund glanced at the guards. Belle had them both entertained. Retrieving his hand he pulled the knife from beneath his clothes and slipped it through the bars.

“We need
mair
than that son. We need the keys,” added Angus and Edmund nodded.

“Belle, give me a hand with this ‘ere basket,” he called.

Belle skipped to the cells and brought with her the youngest guard who had keys attached to his belt. She leaned back against the bars and as she flirted with the guard she slid up the back of her skirts to reveal the hidden knives. They were carefully and quickly retrieved by calloused but gentle hands. She wrapped her arms around the guard and swung him around, so he was the one now pressed against the bars.

Belle reached up with the promise of a kiss and then dived for cover as his throat was slit from behind and blood spurted into the narrow space. More hands yanked the keys from his belt before he was allowed
to fall.

Edmund dipped Linus’ finger in the gushing blood and squeezed his hand tightly before handing him to Belle who ran with him to the entrance. Linus bawled loud enough to split the heavens as he held his blood stained finger aloft.

“Beg pardon, the child has caught his finger, I would take him out if
yer
please,” pleaded Belle. The racket of the screaming child echoed around the subterranean labyrinth. The remaining guard grimaced and unlocked the door to let them through, By the time the noise had gone from the place the cell was open and the final guard dead.

“Where is Sir Miles?” asked Edmund fearfully.

“
Yer
too late lad, he was taken, tae be tortured by Guy
nae
doubt.”

Edmund shuddered at the thought of Guy. “Then we must find him, we cannot leave without him.”

*  *  *

Below in the torture room, Miles hung from shackles which were pitched at such a height, he was required to stand on the tips of his toes to prevent his shoulder joints from dislocating under his full weight. He would be unable to hold the position for much longer. The heat from the hot coals in the centre of the chamber had him sweating; rivulets ran down his face unchecked. The salts from his body leached out with the perspiration on his back and created further torment as they invaded the raw wounds newly created by Guy. Guy circled him slowly. He had delivered one stroke of the lash and noted how Miles had stifled his curse.