He knew it was the women.
The interior doors of the keep were heavy wood held together with iron strips, but the bolt that locked the door and held it to the stone wall was too small for the size of the door. It was a design flaw that King Henry’s architects had overlooked when they’d upgraded the keep several years ago. With a door that size and weight, a bigger bolt was needed, and as the drunken wounded pounded on the door from the landing, splintering the wood, it was only a matter of time until the small bolt gave way.
Inside the smaller chamber, Cowling and Emera and Jessamyn could hear the pounding and they knew it was only a matter of time before those pounding on the door managed to break it down. Cowling was working furiously to secure the last piece of linen, his big fingers deftly tying off the knots. Even with the considerable length of the rope, it would still dangle several feet off the ground, but that couldn’t be helped. They were out of time.
Finishing with the knot, Cowling grabbed the nearest woman, which happened to be Emera.
“Come, quickly,” he said, looping the linen around her waist. “I must lower you from the window. There will be a bit of a gap at the end, but it shouldn’t be too much. You can fall to safety.”
Emera balked, pulling the linen off her midsection. “Nay,” she said. “You must lower Jessamyn first. Get my sister out of here!”
Cowling frowned. “Lady Emera, you are the one they want,” he said. “I must remove you immediately. There is no time to argue about this!”
The pounding on the door grew louder and they could hear objects hitting the floor. Chips of wood were flying off the door as the wood splintered.
“Please,” Emera begged, fearing that the men might break through at any second. “I am of some value to them, at least, but my sister is not. I am afraid they will throw her off the roof in their rage, so you must help her to escape first.”
Cowling was beside himself. “My lady, I cannot…!”
“You must!”
“But you do not know what they will do to you!”
“If they think they can use me against Juston, then I will be safe, at least for a time. But my sister will not be!”
Cowling was torn, miserable. “My lady, please….”
Emera would not hear him. “Do it!”
She began wrapping the end of the linen rope around Jessamyn’s waist as the woman stood there and gasped in panic. When Cowling tried to remove it to put it on Emera again, Emera simply moved out of arm’s length, thrusting her sister at the man, and Cowling had little choice. He had to get one of them out and Emera was making it most difficult. With great reluctance, he began to tie the linen around Jessamyn’s waist. Emera was giving him no say in the situation at all.
Meanwhile, Emera was coming to realize that she needed to buy her sister some time because the drunken mob were nearly through the door. The second door, which covered the portal to her chamber, wasn’t as big or as strong as the one currently being pummeled. More than that, with the pass-through hearth, all those fools had to do was come in through the weak fire to capture them. Being that they were desperate and angry, she couldn’t imagine that the small fire in the hearth would prevent them from coming through it.
Clearly, they had very little defense once the master chamber door broke down and with that thought, Emera grabbed the heavy fire poker and went to her chamber door, throwing it open. Seeing the state of the other door, nearly broken through, she turned to Cowling.
“Lower my sister to freedom,” she half-hissed, half-begged. “I will hold them off as much as I can.”
Aghast, he tried to plead with her. “My lady – you must not!”
“Do not argue with me! Do as I say!”
With that, she was gone, dashing through the master’s chamber and wielding the poker like a club, pounding on those who were trying to get their fingers inside the door to lift the bolt. As she whacked and smacked, listening to Arthos and his men cry out in pain and rage, Cowling watched her in awe for a moment before slamming the smaller chamber door and bolting it.
“God’s Bones,” he grunted as he finished securing the knot around Jessamyn’s waist. “I would never have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. Your sister’s bravery is that of ten men.”
Jessamyn was terrified for her sister. “She is doing it to save me,” she wept. “Please… do not allow anything to happen to her.”
Cowling rushed Jessamyn to the window and lifted her up onto the sill. “I will do my best, my lady, I swear it,” he said. “So brave a woman, I dare not disappoint. Now, out with you, lass. Do not let your sister’s sacrifice be in vain!”
He pushed Jessamyn out, listening to her weeping with fright, as he lowered her foot by foot, slowly so that she would not drop. The keep was fifty feet in height, quite considerable, so it would not do to have Jessamyn fall as he tried to lower her out. As Emera tried to hold off those who were breaking down the master chamber door, Cowling lowered Jessamyn as far as he could. There was no more rope left. Looking out of the window, he could see that she was still several feet from the bottom.
“Untie yourself!” he called down to her.
Jessamyn was holding on to the rope with a death grip. “I’ll fall!”
“If you do not untie yourself, you will die! Please, my lady!”
Weeping, Jessamyn struggled with the knot, finally managing to undo it and falling to the ground several feet below. She landed, unharmed, but her struggles had attracted attention and several de Royans soldiers, having heard the commotion, came around to help. Cowling was vastly relieved when he saw the men helping Jessamyn out of the mud. Now, he knew she was safe.
With one lady down, he reeled in the linen rope and turned his attention to Lady Emera. He could still hear the struggle at the master chamber door and he opened the smaller chamber door at nearly the same time as someone managed to lift the bolt on the master chamber’s door.
Men poured in and Emera was swallowed up by them. Cowling lost sight of her although he could hear her resisting whatever they were trying to do to her. The next thing he realized, Arthos was storming at him with a fire poker in-hand, the same poker that Emera had been using. He shook it in Cowling’s face.
“Where is the other woman?” he demanded.
Cowling shook his head. “She is not here,” he said simply. “What are you doing with Lady Emera?”
Enraged, Arthos ignored the question, pushing past Cowling and going into the smaller chamber. Clearly, Lady Jessamyn was not there. He looked under the bed and even in the trunk, but there was no sign of the lady. It was as if she had vanished. He came out of the chamber, red in the face.
“What did you do with her?” he snarled.
Cowling remained calm. “I did not do anything with her,” he said. “How do you know she was even here? Mayhap she is in the vault.”
“She is not in the vault,” Arthos barked. “Do you think me blind? She is not in the vault and she is not in the hall, yet you were in here with the whore. Where is Lady de la Roarke?”
Cowling merely shrugged. If the mob didn’t know, or at least suspect, then he wasn’t going to tell them. They were a stupid bunch, anyway, but he was very concerned that the stupid bunch had Emera, trapped by several men who were using hemp rope to tie her up. She was kicking and fighting for all she was worth.
“If you do not know where Lady de la Roarke is, surely I do not, either,” he finally said. “Tell me why you are tying Lady Emera up. What has she done?”
Arthos had finally reached his limit. Infuriated, and still quite drunk, he took the fire poker in his hand and rammed it straight into Cowling’s belly. The tip of it was sharp and pierced his flesh quite easily. He plowed the poker all the way through Cowling, even as the man fell to the ground, mortally wounded. Arthos’ rage was so great that he didn’t care that he’d just killed a man he had greatly respected. All he saw was a man who was against him.
Cowling’s last recollection was hearing Emera’s
screams as she was taken from the chamber.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The gatehouse of Bowes opened wide for Juston, admitting him into the vast outer ward as the soldiers he left behind swarmed around him. The men he’d brought with him filtered in and he dismounted his steed, grabbing the first soldier he came across.
“Who is in charge now?” he demanded.
The soldier, a younger man, pointed to an older warrior who was coming from the gatehouse. Juston recognized the older man as a soldier who had been with his army a very long time. Tomas was his name. Pushing through the men and horses, he made his way to Tomas.
“I received word that the keep has been taken by rebels,” he said. “Gillem has been killed?”
“He was, my lord.”
“There was nothing you could do for him?”
“Nay, my lord. He took an arrow to the neck.”
“Where is he?”
“Over near the stables. We put him over there and covered him up with straw.”
Juston sighed, shaking his head with some regret. Although he was sorry for the loss of a good sword, he found that he wasn’t particularly sorry that he’d lost Gillem. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about the man’s conniving any longer and that was a burden relieved.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “What is the situation now?”
The old soldier glanced at the top of the keep, seen over the top of the inner wall. “The wounded from the vault have arisen and claimed the keep in the name of Henry, my lord,” he said. “Since Sir Gillem was killed by an arrow from the keep, we know they have some manner of weapons, which keeps us in the outer bailey. They are trying to kill everyone that comes within range but a few minutes ago, one of the women escaped through a window.”
Juston’s heart caught in his throat. “Which woman?”
“Lady Jessamyn.”
Now he was swept with disappointment to hear it wasn’t Emera. “Where is she?”
The old soldier motioned for him to follow. “Come with me, my lord.”
Juston did, with Maxton and Kress and Achilles behind him. Together, the group followed the old soldier through the muddy outer ward and back to the cold, dark gatehouse.
They were taken to a small room, a guard room where a fire blazed brightly in the hearth. The room was only big enough for six or eight men at a time, and Juston crowded in with his knights behind him only to see Jessamyn sitting on a three-legged stool next to the fire, trembling as she tried to warm herself. When she looked up and saw Juston, she burst into tears.
“They have her,” she wept. “They have my sister!”
Juston struggled not to feel sick. He crouched down next to her, trying to keep his manner calm and soothing. “Lady Jessamyn, what happened?” he asked. “We received word that the wounded rose up and took the keep.”
Jessamyn wiped at her nose. “They did,” she said. “I do not know what happened, to be truthful. Emmy and I were sleeping when the wounded soldiers burst into our chamber and announced they had taken the keep. They called Emmy your whore and they seemed to be very angry with her, but she swore she was not a traitor. We had to help them or they would have killed us.”
“Then… then she did not have anything to do with this uprising?”
Jessamyn shook her head. “Never,” she insisted. “Emera is not the kind of woman to rebel. Surely you know that about her by now.”
He did, but to hear it from Jessamyn’s lips was the confirmation he needed. He hung his head for a moment because there was a massive load off of his heart and mind to realize that Emera hadn’t anything to do with this rebellion, that she had simply been caught up in something she couldn’t fight off. He felt foolish that he’d let his suspicions get the better of him.
Truthfully, he’d known of her innocence all along or at least he’d hoped he’d known. He hadn’t wanted to doubt her, to have faith in the relationship they were building. At Jessamyn’s words, something inside of him felt vindicated.
“I know,” he said after a moment. “But I needed to hear it from you. Who is leading this rebellion, then?”
Jessamyn was deeply troubled. “Men who have served my husband for a very long time,” she said. “Wounded men that my sister and I nursed back to health. We had no idea they were planning something like this, I swear it. Never once did we hear utterings to that regard. We were completely surprised when they burst into our chamber and told us they now held the keep for Henry.”
Juston was listening intently. “Where was Emera when you escaped?” he asked. “Why did she not come with you?”
Jessamyn teared up again. “A sympathetic soldier helped me to escape by making a rope of linens and lowering me from the chamber window,” she said. “He tried to send Emera first but she refused, insisting that I go instead. The wounded were at the chamber door, pounding it, breaking it down, and she went to fight them off so that Cowling could lower me from the window.”
Juston was shocked by what he heard. “Cowling?” he repeated. He knew the name of the man who had once served him, a man he respected. “He was the one who helped you?”
“Aye.”
“He was not involved in the rebellion?”
“I do not know for certain. He did not seem to be as much as the others were.”
“And Emera… the last you saw of her, she was fighting the rebels?”
Jessamyn nodded. “She is brave that way. She is braver than I could ever hope to be.”
Those few words were an understatement as far as Juston was concerned. He felt a great deal better knowing that Cowling was on the inside, possibly helping Emera, but hearing that she had fought against those who had taken the keep… the mere thought was overwhelming him. He could just see her using whatever weapon she could to strike back at those threatening her and Jessamyn, and he’d never been so proud or so angry all at the same time. Angry with Emera for risking her life, but proud just the same. She was selfless to a fault, this time for her sister.
He could only pray it didn’t cost her everything.
Wearily, he stood up. He wasn’t particularly physically exhausted, but mentally he was nearly at his limit. The last time a woman he loved was in danger, he hadn’t been able to help her. That terrible reality kept rolling over and over in his mind, pounding it home. But this time, he made it back before anything could happen to the woman who held his heart. At least, he prayed that was the case because he intended to save her or die trying.
There was no question in his mind.
He turned to Maxton and the other knights, wedged in behind him.
“You heard her,” he said. “Rebels hold the keep. We must find out if they have a price for their safety and release.”
Maxton nodded, motioning Kress and Achilles out of the cramped room. Juston followed. When the four knights were outside, they joined into a quiet huddle, away from the other men. With just the four of them, they could lay out their plans.
“Achilles, if Lady Jessamyn was lowered from a chamber window, mayhap there is a way to get back into the keep,” Juston said. “I would like to think that while I keep the leaders of this mob occupied, you and Kress could find a way in.”
Achilles nodded. “We can try, but that is a very tall keep,” he said. “We could build a ladder to reach the hall entry but that would take time.”
Juston shook his head. “If they have the door bolted, which I am sure they do, then it must be opened from the inside before you can gain admittance,” he said. “I am talking about any of the windows. If we could only get Cowling to lower that linen rope again, we could use it to climb up.”
“I think that we should get a look at the keep first and see the state of it for ourselves,” Maxton put in. “If we cannot get in through the hall entry, then we shall have to get in another way.”
“There is another way.”
Kress had spoken those words and they all looked at him expectantly. “The latrines in the hall,” he continued. “T
he ones on the top floor. They have large shoots and wooden seats. If we come up through them, we can easily break the seats away.”
Maxton and Achilles gave him such a look that Juston had to fight off a grin. “You know it will be us going up those shite holes, correct?” Maxton said, his expression wrought with disgust. “We will be climbing through other men’s piss!”
Achilles pointed a finger at Kress. “You will go first,” he said. “You can clear the way and then I shall follow. This is your foolish idea.”
Juston put up a hand to silence their annoyance, although he did find it rather humorous. “Enough,” he said quietly. “If going up through the privy chute is the best way to gain access, then so be it. But if you can find another way, I suggest you try. Meanwhile – Maxton, you will seek a parler with whoever holds this keep. I wish to speak with them.”
Maxton cast a long glance at the inner bailey. “Aye,” he said in resignation. “Give me a shield so they do not try to shoot me with an arrow like they did Gillem. Juston, I cannot say that I ever liked Gillem, for we all know how the man tried to manipulate you using his sister, but I am sorry to hear of his death. In spite of what we all thought of him, he was a good knight.”
Juston nodded in a fashion that suggested he was thinking the very same thing. “Indeed,” was all he said. “Get on with it, Max. Time is wasting.”
They waited while Maxton went back to his horse to retrieve his shield. When he had it up in front of him, well-fortified, he proceeded through the inner wall and came face to face with the enormous keep. Cold, foreboding, and stretching to the sky, he could quickly see what the rebels had done to the forebuilding, burning the wooden stairs that had been protected by stone. The ground around the keep was still littered with dead and he recognized a few of the servants. Holding the shield up, he shouted to those in the keep.
“I come on behalf of the High Sheriff of Yorkshire, Juston de Royans,” he boomed. “I wish to speak with whoever is in command.”
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