by J. R. Tomlin
Her smiled broadened, and she slid a triumphant glance at Sir James. “I told you as much, did I not?”
“This must be secret,” Sir James said, still frowning. “Entirely secret. You swear on your honor that you’ll nae reveal it?”
Patrick flushed with indignation, but he still said, “On Saint Patrick and all the saints, I swear I would never betray the queen nor the bishop.”
Sir James merely nodded and turned as Annabella knelt and opened the kist. “It is large enough, Your Grace, but…” The queen and Sir James went to look into the kist as Annabella pulled out a long blue silk gown. Shoes and several headdresses followed.
“Aye, it will do. I was sure it would,” the queen said.
Patrick stared at the three of them in bafflement. “Do what?”
Then Sir James looked at him and actually laughed. “It is for transporting a most royal cargo.”
Queen Joan put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Hush. You must not tease about it.”
In bafflement, Patrick looked at each of them in turn.
“Here is the plan.” The queen’s smile faded into a look of solemn determination. “In this kist, I had stored some of my clothing and bedding the last time I was at the castle. I will tell Crichton that I shall remove my belongings so he may have free use of the solar if he likes. That he will welcome, surely. Then all my clothing will be removed, hidden somewhere, the kist well-padded with blankets for comfort, and the king will hide himself inside. It has a good lock so there is no danger of it being opened. We acquired a good cart on our way. Sir James will pretend to acquire it to suit my whim for my clothes. We shall have men-at-arms carry the kist down. Then we are away.”
Patrick almost choked. “Your Grace! Hide the king in a kist?” He realized his voice had squeaked like a lad’s and cleared his throat.
“We will pad it well with good blankets. No harm will come to him, and if he’s like most lads, he’ll think it’s a fine adventure,” Sir James said.
Annabella, still kneeling by the kist, had watched the to and fro like a tennis match. “It is large enough. Come look, Sir Patrick.”
She smiled up at him, and the way her eyes gleamed, Patrick wondered if she thought it was a fine adventure as well. He went to squat next to the kist and closed the lid. Then he opened it again. “Aye, it is large enough for the lad, but what if aught should happen, something unexpected, and you are delayed letting him out? It is tightly fitted. He could die from not having enough air.”
Lady Annabella put her hand on his arm. “Och, that is a good thought. We must find a way to let air into the kist.”
Sir James let out a low “hmmmm” as he stood over them.
The queen paced slowly around the kist frowning at it. “But surely we will not be delayed so there will be no danger.”
Patrick shook his head. “There is always a chance of delay. You will nae want to let him out until you are on the other side of the Forth.” He rubbed his chin beard. “There must be some way to let in air.”
While they spoke, Annabella took out more neatly folded clothes from the kist. They were brightly colored, lovely rose, and blue, and green, in shimmering silk and lush velvet.
“If we put any holes in it, they will show as raw wood,” Sir James said. “That would nae work.”
Patrick closed the lid again and examined the hinges. “Look. There are three hinges. If we carve the wood behind them out, the hinge would hide the damage. They’re large. We should be able to make large enough holes that it will let in enough air. Especially since the kist is so large.”
Annabella bit her lip. She opened the kist, closed it and opened it again. “Mayhap a small opening behind the clasp in the front, as well. The lock would hide it.” She gave Patrick an intent look. “We must take nae chances.”
“Aye, but who can do it? We cannot possibly trust anyone here to work on it,” Queen Joan said.
“I shall do it myself. I’ll sneak a tool from the carpentry tonight.” Yet more sneaking. “Then I will come here and have it done before morning.”
Patrick frowned as another problem occurred to him. “What about me and the rest of the king’s household? If we left with you, it would give the game away.”
“I dinnae think that is such a problem,” Sir James said. “You must stay behind; in fact, take leave of the queen in the bailey and then go about your business. When it is discovered the king is gone, you must be distressed and insulted that you were nae tellt. When we reach Stirling Castle, we will send word that the king is safe and in good hands, and command that you and the others join us there.”
Patrick sucked on his front teeth as he considered the plan. He did not like it, but could think of no other. “Och, I suppose that is for the best. But how long until you plan to leave? He questioned me on whether I’d kent you were coming. He is suspicious yet.”
The queen’s mouth pressed into an angry line. “We must stay at least a few days. He has no claim to hold the king, and he shall not. But he must suspect nothing.”
Sir James took her hand and kissed it. “You will charm him as you do everyone, my queen. He will nae suspect a thing.”
Chapter 8
Patrick nudged the door closed with an elbow since both hands were full. He sat a stand with three lit candles onto the floor. A glance showed that that the shutters were closed, so the faint light should attract no attention. He hunkered in front of the kist and glanced at the tool in his hand. He had seen the carpenters use such to make holes; it was an odd-looking thing they called a brace, but he didn’t care as long as it worked. The fact was, he’d never before even had reason to touch such things.
He put the tool, with its long bent wooden handle and sharp twisted metal point, on the floor and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. Slowly, he opened the kist and ran his fingers over the places where he needed to make air holes. This couldn’t be too difficult surely, but he wished he could have brought a carpenter to do the job. A carpenter would have had some clue what he was doing. After darting a glance at the closed door, he picked up the tool, wishing fervently that the queen had trusted this to almost anyone else.
Behind the hinge in the back would probably be less noticeable if he somehow messed it up. He pressed the sharp point against the inside edge of the kist, leaning into the tool. The kist slid and Patrick slipped, catching himself to keep from tumbling inside. He cursed and pushed himself upright. Of course, he had to put the chest where it was braced. Stupid.
He dropped the tool inside and shoved the kist, the rug it sat upon going with it, until it was backed against the wall. Wiping his brow with his forearm, he let out a long breath. He could do this and would if it took him all night. A click when the door opened made him jump to his feet, his heart galloping in his chest. He spun and Annabella slipped in through the partially opened door.
“Mother of God, Lady Annabella, what are you doing here?” he burst out. Then he realized he had spoken so loudly someone might have heard. Blood rushed to his cheeks and he whispered, “I didnae mean to shout.” He went past her to the door and opened it a crack to peek out and then stuck his head out to look in both directions. The light from a torch flickered on the stairway but all was silent, with not even the sound of a footfall. He closed the door and leaned on it for a moment.
She put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry to give you a start, Sir Patrick. I could nae sleep so I just came to see...” She nodded toward the kist.
He turned to look at her curiously; he was surprised that she was brave enough to wander the castle alone at night. She gave him a level look and the curve of her lips made him smile. She was doe-eyed and slim, but he wondered how she got those freckles across her very straight nose. For warmth, she was wrapped snuggly in a long, plaid, checked green and yellow over her white linen kirtle.
“I am only now starting. First, I needed to find a tool to make the holes with.” He knelt back down at the kist and picked up the brace. “I’ve seen carpenters us
e this to make holes, so I am sure that I can as well.” He frowned down at the tool in his hands, trying to picture exactly how he had seen it used.
Her kirtle whispered about her feet as she came to kneel beside him. “That is a very strange looking thing.”
“Aye.” He blew out a breath and did his best to demonstrate how he was pretty sure it was used. “You put the point where you need the hole and then you…” He grasped the bent portion of the handle which should have spun the point. It wobbled, so he leant onto it. That made it bite into the wood and steadied it, so he could turn it and turn it.
“It’s working,” she whispered.
“Aye.” Her arm was warm as she leaned close and she had a soft scent of roses.
He kept his eyes firmly on the hole that was forming as he turned the brace. He pretended that the sweat that broke out on his brow was from exertion, but in truth, it was nerves. Every second, he expected one of Crichton’s men-at-arms to come through the door. After minutes turning, the point of the tool broke through to the other side. When he pulled it out, the wood splintered. He drew his dirk and worked the splintered bits loose for a larger hole. He pried until it was a carved notch in the top rim of the kist about the width of a couple of his fingers.
Annabella brushed the wood fragments away. He cut his glance toward her and she was beaming. “It worked,” she whispered.
“Aye, but ’tis nae large enough. I think if I make another just next to it, I can make it larger. I think that will be big enough to let in air, to be safe.”
“Is one hole enough?”
He chewed his lip for a moment. “Let us see how it looks once I’m done. If it does nae show, then I think you were right, I should make another in the front. But that one I’ll only drill through once. It would be easier to see, I’m afeart.”
“I cannot believe that you were able to do this,” she said.
He felt his face get hot. “I ken it is nae skill for a knight, but I’ll do whatever I must for the king.”
“But it’s wonderful that you have. ’Tis noble of you. And I begin to believe that we will get him away.” She turned and grasped his forearm. “We must. It is a terrible thing to keep him here when he should be with his mother and his sisters. Truly, I believe that.”
“Wheesht.” He was glad the light was faint so she wouldn’t see that he was blushing. “’Tis nothing noble about making a hole in a kist.”
She laughed softly. “But I think there is.”
The drilling went faster on the second hole, and then a little prying with his dirk turned it into a large enough space to let in air for the little king. He brushed the sawdust and shards of wood into his hand.
Anabella held out her hand. “Let me.” She took them to the window, opened it a sliver, and tossed them into the wind.
Patrick nodded his approval before he turned back to the kist. “I want to see how it looks with the kist closed.” He put down the lid and turned it around. She brought the candle and together they examined the hinge that hid the air hole. “I don’t see anything. It does nae show at all.”
Patrick tugged at his tuft of a beard. “Aye. It will do.” One more hole and he would be done, and he could hope he would never have such a task laid to him again. So he opened the kist, looked at the front, and drilled a hole above the metal loop just where the hasp would hide it when it was locked. Once more Annabella disposed of the bits of wood out the window.
Patrick said, “I’ll have to find blankets to line and soften the inside.”
Annabella drew herself up, and it was then Patrick realized how petite she was — the top of her head barely came to his chin. “Aye, we must do that. I have coverlets in my chamber, one stuffed with feathers that will be very soft for him. There’s no time to lose. Let us go.”
Patrick wondered what he should say as he followed her up the stairs to the next story where the queen and her ladies had their chambers. As much as he enjoyed her company, there was a danger that someone would see them together. They could not call attention to themselves now, and being with her in the middle of the night would be a terrible scandal. It would be an even worse scandal and she would be banished from the queen’s service if he were caught in her chamber. He leaned close to be sure no one else could hear. “If you bring me the coverlet here, I shall take it down. There is nae reason for you to risk…”
“You think I should nae have risked a scandal.” She gave him a rueful smile. “The queen would understand. I only wish to be sure our wee king makes his escape.”
Patrick nodded, trying to think of something to assure her of his regard, but nothing came to him. His mind was aswirl with burgeoning desire. Here he was alone with her in the near dark.
Annabella took a step toward him. Her eyes were suddenly downcast and her lips parted, trembling a little. She whispered, “Sir Patrick, there is no one here to see…”
He put his hands on her small waist and leant his face to hers. She raised her hands to his chest.
Their lips touched.
Then she spun away and darted into her room as he looked after her, his head spinning. He rubbed the back of his neck and ordered his heart not to pound so. In a moment, she returned and thrust a thick feather-filled coverlet into his arms. Then she smiled up at him. “Good night,” she whispered, and the door closed behind her.
Chapter 9
The king huffed angrily. “While my mother is here, I should nae have to have lessons.”
Alex Boyd, kneeling before the king, put the boy’s shoes on his feet and stood. “Mayhap, Your Grace, but I dinnae think that is for Sir Patrick or me to decide.”
The lad pouted, but there was an amused gleam in his eye. “I shall talk to my lady mother. I am sure she wants to see me fly my falcon.”
Patrick laughed and clapped Alex Boyd on the shoulder. “Go on. I’ll see his grace to his tutor.”
“Drag him you mean.” Alex Boyd walked out the door, chuckling.
Patrick closed it softly and put his fingers to his lips. He waited a full minute before he checked into the hallway to be sure no one was within sight. He motioned to the king and hurried to the far side of the box bed with its heavy hangings. He grasped the boy’s arm, pulled him close and said, “There is a secret, but you must say nothing.”
James looked up at him with wide-eyed eagerness. “What? I will nae tell.”
“Wheesht. This will be a huge adventure, like…” He thought desperately, trying to remember what heroic tales the lad might have read. “Almost like the tale of the champion, Fierabras. People will talk about it for ages, but if Lord Crichton learns, it will spoil everything.” Patrick glanced nervously toward the door. “You are going to escape from the castle. In hiding.”
James bounced with excitement. “With my lady mother? And the others?”
“We must be very careful not to give our plan away. I’ll show you how you’ll escape so you can be ready but then we must act as though everything is as usual. If Crichton even suspects we have a plan, you ken that it will all be spoilt.”
“Show me!” He grabbed Patrick’s arm and tugged him toward the door. “I want to see now.”
Patrick gently put his hands on the lad’s shoulders and turned him. He crouched and looked him intently in the face. “Softly, my king. If Crichton or his men see that you are overwrought, they’ll ken something is afoot. This is very important. Your lady mother is counting on you to be calm. This is an adventure, but it is no game.”
His young king took a deep breath. His color was still high, eyes shining with excitement, but he nodded solemnly. “I will be very calm. I promise.”
“Aye.” Patrick had to smile at his earnest expression. “I ken that you always keep your promises. Now I’ll show you how you will escape.”
No one would think a thing about the king going into the queen’s solar to give her a good morning greeting, so he led James boldly past a servant scrubbing the floor and another carrying a load of faggots up the stairs. When
he closed the door to the solar, James couldn’t contain himself any more. “What? How can I escape in here?” he whispered loudly.
“Look.” Patrick lifted the lid. “I made holes, you see, to be sure there would be enough air. And Lord Crichton agreed that your lady mother should take with her the clothing that was still stored here. But instead of clothing, it will be—”
“Me!” James was already climbing in.
“Aye. It is well padded but may still be bumpy when they are moving it. So you must be sure to make no noise, even if you are knocked about or bruised a bit.”
James stretched out full length in the kist. “Pffft. You ken I dinnae care about bruises.” He pulled back a sleeve and proudly displayed a yellowing bruise from one of his recent tumbles. “I shall be quiet as can be. Like the great King Robert hiding in a cave.” He grinned with obvious satisfaction. “And I’ll escape the cruel lord who is holding me prisoner.”
Patrick shook his head. Sometimes he thought he saw so clearly the man the young king would become and wondered if Crichton even knew that he was making an enemy of him. But no point in worrying about it now. His job was to be sure James was prepared for the escape. “I’ll close the lid for a moment, so you’ll ken what it is going to be like.”
“Aye! Close it.”
Patrick lowered the lid. “It will be very dark, but the holes will let in air. You can do it, Your Grace, aye?”
“Of course.”
Even muffled from within the kist Patrick could hear the scorn. He lifted the lid. “Of course, Your Grace. It will be locked after you’re inside to be sure it does nae accidentally come open. They’ll carry it down and put it on one of the carts, and then you’ll go to a waiting boat to cross the Forth. And then on to Stirling Castle with your mother and sisters.”
“And Sir James and his brother and the men-at-arms.”
Patrick chuckled. “Aye, with them as well.”
