by Lily Baldwin
Chapter Eighteen
Bent low, Alex quickly climbed from the riverboat onto the King’s bridge. She stayed close behind Rory as they hugged the palace’s inner wall. Turret’s loomed overhead bearing the king’s colors. They came to a break in the wall.
“Wait,” David hissed behind her. She and Rory stopped, hunkering down against the wall.
“Wasn’t that the gate?” David whispered as he pointed to the map Alec had drawn. Paul and Nick sidled up behind them.
“I think it was,” Nick whispered.
Rory grabbed the map and shook his head. “’Tis the second gate. We must circle around first. “Then we’ll have a straight shot into the abbey grounds.”
David nodded and rolled up the parchment, then motioned for Rory to go. Alex stayed right behind Rory as they continued around the wall.
At the next gate, Rory turned and looked at her. “Remember,” he whispered, “this is the most vulnerable stretch. The abbey’s infirmary is to the left. Alec said the monks who remain there are loyal to Edward, but seldom leave. Move quickly.”
She nodded and turned to David. “This is it,” she said.
Rory raced through the gate. She followed right behind. Her eyes darted to the left. Torch fire lit the glass windows in the infirmary. She pushed harder, following the narrow path, which cut through the abbey’s cemetery. Up ahead, she could see the circular design of the Chapter House. Rory lead them away from the garden entrance, knowing that was where Richard and his cronies had made their hole, and instead followed the cemetery to the dormitory.
Alec had assured them that at that late hour the rest of the monks would be in the palace’s great hall well into their cups. Alex held her breath as Rory slowly pushed the door open. Inside was dark. She dared not breathe as she silently crossed the floor, expecting the hand of a holy man to snake out and grab her arm at any moment. Then she froze. A soft snore rattled from the far corner of the dark room. Rory seized her hand, and David grabbed her arm from behind. They stood rooted to the floor for several moments. Her heart pounded, almost drowning out the sound of the sleeping monk. Then Rory eased forward. She followed behind, waiting to hear Rory’s fingertips graze the far wall.
A soft tap sent a surge of relief through her. She heard his careful exploration of the wall and knew when he had found the door by the quiet click of the handle. He eased it open. She held her breath as candlelight from the cloister invaded the dormitory. She glanced back at the monk now clearly visible in his narrow bed.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she followed Rory into the hallway with David, Paul, and Nick at her heels. They circled halfway around the cloister, and just as Alec promised, there was the sacristy, beside which was the only entrance to the crypt beneath the Chapter House. Resisting the urge to race forward, she kept pace behind Rory. Their practiced steps made no din as they crossed to the door. Rory opened it and darted inside. Torch fire lit the dark stairwell. She descended behind Rory. Glancing back, she saw David and Paul right behind her. But Nick stayed at the top of the stairs to guard the entrance. They circled around three times. Then Rory stopped and turned. He motioned for her to turn. She felt him check that her sword was secure. Then he cupped her cheeks and kissed her hard on the lips before he started back down the stairs.
Her heart raced. This was it. Three more turns and they would reach the drop into the crypt where royal treasure and Richard Ash awaited.
~ * ~
Richard Ash’s chest tightened as he once again scanned his strangely opulent surroundings. The crypt beneath the abbey floor had been transformed from a dark, empty stone chamber to a glittering treasure house that surpassed even his wildest dreams. For nearly a week he had spent night and day beneath the Chapter House, and still he marveled at the glorious sight. The stone arched ceilings and carved faces of tortured saints might have appeared sinister, but as he gazed upon the glittering jewels, chests of coin, rolls of rich velvet, he felt like weeping. The only way down to the crypt was a long, winding stairwell next to the sacristy, but the stairs did not reach the floor. They ended abruptly, making a drop off nearly the length of two men from the last stair to the crypt floor. He wrapped the cloak he wore tighter around his shoulders against the creeping chill, which signaled night had fallen. Still, the cold could not penetrate his newly acquired thick velvet robe. He swept the purple fabric with an elegant flourish, admiring the rich color. Commoners were forbidden to wear purple. For his crime, he could be sent to the stocks for weeks. He stroked the soft ermine fur, which lined the edges of the cloak and closed his eyes against the intense pleasure, moaning aloud, his fingertips tingling. His eyes flew open as the experience overwhelmed his senses. He took his hand away from the fur to catch his breath, but then his eyes caught sight of the rings lining his fingers, making his heart pound harder. Each ring held a stone the size of a plump blackberry. He straightened out his arm, admiring how the jewels glinted in the torchlight. For the first time in his life, he smiled at his small, thin fingers with pride. They looked stronger—the hands of a man who answered to no one. His smile curled into a sneer. If only his father could see him.
His father had never believed in him. When the larger boys walloped him in the streets for sport, he’d return home bruised and bloodied, only to have his father beat him as punishment for his weakness. His father, his teacher, his priest and everyone else for that matter, never believed he would accomplish anything, but Richard soon learned to work their contempt to his advantage. It was easy to surprise those who expected nothing from him. This was how he rose to power right under his father’s nose, stealing his best customers right out from under him. Because his father never truly saw Richard, he never saw him coming—for who would have expected a weakling, a disappointment, to become a wealthy merchant. In no time, his father was penniless and begging Richard for help.
“Anything,” his father had pleaded. “I will take anything ye give me.”
And Richard had complied by giving his father an extra helping of misery.
His mother, who was naught but a drunk, had taken to humping the neighbor. Richard led his father to the very room in which they were fornicating. Keeping his eyes trained on his father’s face, he threw the door open and watched. Confusion pinched his father’s features. Then surprise widened his eyes, followed by a rage that shook his jowls, but his father had been too broken to act on his fury. An instant later, his face crumpled.
A chuckle bubbled up Richard’s throat as it always did when he remembered his father’s utter humiliation.
Witnessing his father’s pain had always been Richard’s greatest victory; however, that sweet memory was quickly moving to a close second behind the present moment—Himself, standing in purple velvet, surrounded by more riches than he ever dreamed existed. If only the lads on Westcheap Street could see him now.
And he had earned it all—down to the last penny.
King Edward had abused his power in Flanders and ruined everything for Richard. It had been so easy to prey on the Flemish who were naturally more trusting than the English. Instead of interpreting his small stature as a weakness, he was met with goodwill and pity. Once again, he was able to surprise people, making them so easy to cheat. A few sweet words from him, and suddenly they were emptying their coffers, buying what they did not need.
But all that came to an end after King Edward beguiled them all.
Richard clenched his hands into tight fists when he remembered how swiftly the Flemish king had exacted his revenge. Overnight, Richard found himself stripped of his wealth and belongings, sailing home to England, a failure. But he never doubted that he would once again rise to the top. And at long last, he had done just that. He proudly surveyed the king’s treasure.
Nay, it was his treasure.
He closed his eyes and lost himself in his newfound favorite pastime. He imagined all the wonderful things he would do with his riches. He could not only have his pick of the best whores, he could make them his slaves. As
soon as the heist was finished, he would cheat the men working with him. They were all so stupid, they would never know they hadn’t gotten their fair share.
With that in mind, one of those fools should soon drop a sack down the hole they had made through the thick rock wall of the Chapter House then down into the crypt, and he still had yet to make the day’s final pick. He narrowed his choice to either a gold plate encircled with rubies and emeralds or a sleek dirk. Picking up the blade, he held it in his hand. It was short and light with an ornate hilt, encrusted by a rainbow of small gems. He shoved the dirk into his satchel, deciding to keep it rather than hide it away to be bartered when they found a willing merchant. Clasping the plate, he looked up at the hole, and from the corner of his eye caught a flash of black soar through the air. He whirled around just as two masked figures landed on the stone floor. Richard dropped the bejeweled plate and screamed, covering his head with his hands while he scurried to the far corner.
Alex froze. Her mouth agape, she stared at Richard Ash—or at least what she could see of him—through the eye-holes in her mask. He crouched against the wall, mewling and blubbering for mercy, shielding his face and head with his arms as if he were being pummeled by large fists.
“P…p…please, don’t hurt me. Take it. Take all of it. Just…just don’t hurt me,” he wailed. Then he howled and rolled around on the ground, knocking into a large bowl with a gold plate for a lid. The plate slid to one side and the contents sloshed on the floor, releasing a horrific stench. Clearly, Richard had just disturbed his week-old chamber pot. She gagged and covered her mouth with her hand, but Rory grabbed her arm and motioned for her to fill one of her large satchels. Taking shallow breaths through her mouth, she filled her first bag. Rory tossed it, along with the one he had filled, onto the platform above where Paul and David waited, both wearing hooded masks. Alex carried on filling another sack, every now and then glancing at Richard’s pathetic figure still pleading and blubbering and now steeped in his own waste. She certainly did not need the small sword strapped to her back or the length of rope tied loosely around her waist to restrain him if he had decided to challenge them. His fear and cowardice were restraint enough. She shook her head, still astounded by his total surrender of control, while she grabbed three large, gold platters and several bags of coin and put them into another bag. Because they were too heavy to toss, Rory tied one end of the rope to the bag and tossed the other end up to Paul or David, she could not tell, and together, the men pulled the heavy bag up to the landing. She wondered if Nick could hear Richard’s desperate pleas at the top of the stairwell.
She had one last satchel to fill. She hurried to a pile of coin and began stuffing it into the bag. Richard’s blubbering had grown to convulsing sobs as he pleaded with the Almighty for his unworthy life to be spared. Not far from where he lay, she spotted a gold plate with enormous jewels. Carefully stepping around the excrement-smeared floor, she leaned down to pick it up the instant before Richard lunged and seized her mask, ripping it off.
“What kind of fool do you take me for?” he spat, pressing the tip of a dirk to her throat.
She sucked in a sharp breath; she knew his face!
A glint suddenly lit his puffy eyes. “Lady Alexandria MacKenzie—I can’t believe it’s you.” He grinned, showing rotted, black teeth.
Rory whirled around, his ears ringing with the sound of Richard’s voice speaking Alex’s name. Fury seized him when he saw her face unmasked and a knife to her throat. He grabbed a goblet from the ground and launched it at the man’s head. An instant later, Richard’s eyes rolled behind his lids, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
“What the hell is going on?” David shouted.
Rory ignored David and rushed to Alex’s side. “Are ye all right? Did he hurt ye?”
“He knew yer name,” David shouted. “How is that possible?”
“Shut up,” Rory snapped.
Alex gripped the sides of her head and her breathing became ragged. “He came through my village last spring, peddling his goods. He tried to cheat my people, so I ran him off.”
“Damnation,” Rory cursed.
“Get him. Bind his feet,” David urged. “We’ll pull him up.”
Rory nodded, then looked back at Alex. “It will be all right. I promise ye.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. He could see the initial shock leave her eyes and her mettle return. She untied the rope around her waist and handed it to Rory. “I’ll hold his feet.”
After binding Richard’s feet, Rory dragged their putrid captive toward the platform. Tossing the other end of the rope to David, Rory warned, “He’s a foul one.”
Once they pulled Richard out of the crypt, David dropped the rope back down. Alex seized it and Paul whisked her up to the landing. She tossed the end down to Rory and a moment later all four agents began to carry the sacks of treasure up the stairs to where Nick waited, keeping guard at the sacristy door. Then Rory and David returned to grab Richard.
“What are ye doing?” Nick growled when they came up the stairs, dragging Richard behind them, his head knocking against the stone steps.
“The plan was to leave him in the bleeding crypt,” Nick cried.
Rory whirled around and snapped. “He saw Alex’s face.”
Nick threw his hands up. “She was supposed to be masked.”
“Enough,” Rory snapped. “’Tis too late to change what happened. We are running out of time.”
They hauled the treasure and Richard farther around the cloisters, away from the dormitory and the slumbering monk, and out into the courtyard to the stables and filled a wagon.
Everyone climbed onto the back of the wagon, while Rory finished hitching the horses. Then he took the reins and urged the beasts forward. Cutting back through the cemetery, he passed through the gate to the palace grounds, coming face to face with two monks returning to the abbey.
The holy men’s eyes widened with fear at the sight of the masked rebels. Then they turned on their heels and started to run toward the palace doors, but Nick leapt from the wagon, tackling them both to the ground.
“Do not kill them,” Rory cried as he, too, jumped to the ground.
Nick squatted above the monks, holding their faces in a fierce grip. “Remember yer vows,” he hissed. Then he released them and started backing up toward the wagon. “Go to the chapel and beg God for forgiveness.”
The monks lay on the ground, frozen with fear.
“Now,” Nick growled.
They scrambled to their feet, then tripped on their robes in their haste and stumbled to the ground. They shot a look back at the wagon.
Nick unsheathed his sword. The sight forced whimpers from their lips as they once more found their footing and raced toward the abbey, disappearing through the gate.
Rory had no doubt they were headed to the chapel to pray. “Hurry,” he called to Nick from the wagon. As soon as Nick jumped back on, Rory snapped the reins. They surged forward. He circled around the palace outer wall to the King’s Bridge and down to the Thames. They moved the treasure, splitting the weight between two riverboats. Then Paul and Nick dragged Richard into their boat and took up their paddles, heading downriver with Rory, Alex, and David following behind in the second boat.
Alex dug her paddle deep into the water, then pulled the wood free from the current, only to plunge it back in an instant later. Again and again, she strained to gain as much speed as possible. They needed to clear the city limits to the wooded bank, where Alec awaited with more wagons and horses. Her mind raced. She still could not believe it. She had been seen. Not only seen—she had been recognized, and in connection with the robbery of the King’s palace. Her worst fear had come true. Surely, King Edward’s wrath would rain down upon the whole MacKenzie clan.
Chapter Nineteen
Back at Luthmore
“Corc, ye need to take the bread,” Mary said, a crusty loaf in her outstretched hands.
Corc smiled. “Like I to
ld ye already, the ladies in the village keep me fat as butter,” he said, while patting his trim belly. “Give that to someone who needs it.”
Mary stood her ground. “Ye’ve hardly an inch around yer middle to spare. Listen to me, Corc. We do this dance every time Alex is away, when I know for a fact ye accept the bread when she does the rounds. Helen told me so. Please, take it. Don’t make me drag Alex from her sick bed.” Mary looked down the lane and saw Helen waving from her door.
Corc nudged the bread away. “Give it to Helen,” Corc replied. “Look at all the wee ones she has. To be sure, she needs it more than I do.”
Mary was about to give in, but then William, who was assisting her with rounds, drew close and whispered the secret to sway Corc’s mind.
Mary winked at Will, then turned to Corc. “Please,” she said sweetly. “As a favor to me.”
A gummy smile, stretching from ear to ear, lit Corc’s face. “When ye put it like that, ye know I cannot refuse ye,” he said, taking the bread.
Mary laughed and threw her arms around Corc’s neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
The sound of pounding hooves drew her attention. She pulled away from Corc and spotted Gavin galloping toward them. He reined in his horse in front of Corc’s cottage and reached out a hand for her, saying, “The MacLeod’s colors were spotted on the road. His arrival is imminent.”
Mary nodded and took Gavin’s hands. He lifted her into the saddle in front of him, then raced to the keep. Riding straight to the doors of the great hall, he lowered her to the ground. Without pause, she hurried inside, calling Rosie to her. Together they hastened to Mary’s chambers and quickly yanked her work clothes off. Mary stepped into a fresh kirtle and fitted the straps over her shoulders a moment before Rosie pulled a tunic over her head. Both women were panting as Mary stepped into her surcote.
