by Shea,Lisa
She stopped a few feet from them, sizing them up, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade.
Her voice, when it came again, was a deep, sharp hiss. “You dare to come to me, to plumb my depths, after everything that has happened. Your audacity -”
Her voice bit off in fury.
Peter’s voice was raspy but earnest. “I am here as a friend, My Lady,” he vowed. Jack was sharply aware of the nearness of that steel and the thin edge in the woman’s fury. He suddenly wished he had kept his own sword, to block any attack the distraught woman might throw.
Peter’s voice continued, placating. “Please know that you can trust me, that you can trust both of us. Tell us about what happened. Maybe we can help.”
At this, the woman’s gaze slid from Peter over to where Jack stood a few paces back. Her eyes seared into his; her voice came ragged and low. “You, Jack. I would not have thought ... you stand beside Peter in this?”
With her words, Jack again felt the loss of Catherine as sharply as if a knife had been plunged into his own stomach. He was overcome with guilt; he should have been there, should have protected Catherine with his own life.
He lowered himself onto one knee, bowing his head, his face etched with pain. “My Lady, I was ... close ... to your daughter. I should have been there for her when -”
His voice failed him.
It seemed that the figure froze for a moment. Jack suddenly remembered just how strongly Catherine’s mother had fought against Catherine ever meeting him. Surely she would not hold that against him now, with everything that had happened.
Then, to his surprise, a cynical smile emerged from the depths of the hood. Jack blinked in shock. The woman nodded slowly to herself. “So that is how it stands,” she commented quietly. She stood a little straighter and her voice became more steady. “Well, then, gentlemen. A talk. Let us lay everything out on the table.”
She paused a moment, looking up at the two men with consideration. “However, I insist we have this conversation with you on the other side of that metal grate.”
Confused, Jack and Peter moved to oblige her request. They opened the thick wooden door, returning to stand with the Captain and Bishop. They closed the metal grate which stood before the doorway. At her instruction, they locked the door and handed the key to her through one of the openings.
She glanced down at it. “This is the only key?” she prodded in a rumble.
The Captain nodded in agreement. “We only keep one key to this door, for security reasons,” he responded. “I swear on my honor.”
Lady Bowyer put the key on a table by the bed, then returned to stand by the door, secure in the shadowy darkness of the locked room. “Well, then, here we are. Peter, it seems that we have both been confused. You see, I thought you were dead. In fact, I thought that I had slain you.” She chuckled wryly to herself. “I nearly took your head off, and yet here you are walking and talking.” Her eyes slid to the scarf at his neck, then back to meet his gaze again. “Your medical talents have truly impressed me this time.”
Peter looked at Jack, then back at Lady Bowyer. “I do not understand, my Lady,” he responded slowly. “We have not seen each other in many years. We certainly have never fought.”
The cloaked woman shook her head. “We will get to my proof in a moment. Before we do, show some honor. In this House of God, in front of witnesses, confess to your actions freely. I admit quite openly that my blade connected with your neck, with the intent to kill you. Will you not also admit that you took arms against members of the Bowyer family? That you attempted to kill at least one such person this very night - Catherine?”
Jack felt like he had been punched in the stomach, and looked over at his friend in surprise at this accusation. Peter went white with shock, but when he replied, his voice was clear and steady. “No. I swear to you, I have not laid one finger on Catherine or any of your clan.”
The figure’s laugh was harsh. “You forget that I was there. Despite your efforts, I have survived your ambush.” Her eyes flickered to the Bishop before returning to hold Peter’s firmly. “I do not know if you are working with the Bishop or not, but I do know he will not allow you to harm me on holy ground. So, in this room, I am safe for now.” She paused for a moment, then said decisively, “I will negotiate terms for my safe passage out in the morning, when the castle is awake and I can request an impartial set of witnesses from the town.”
Jack’s world was spinning out of control. Where were these accusations spawning from? He spoke up quickly. “Lady Bowyer, I swear to you that Peter was with me all night.”
She whirled to face him, and the pain burning in her eyes made his breath catch. When she spoke, her voice was low and grating. “That you could even -”
She turned away with an effort. “Fine. Let us reveal the final truth, if you two insist on maintaining this charade.” She paused, eyeing the metal grate, as if gauging its strength. Then, with deliberation, she pushed off the cloak’s hood, letting it fall back.
It was Catherine, her head thrown back in sharp defiance.
Jack’s heart leapt in a rush of joy and relief. “Catherine!” he cried out, running to the grate. To his surprise, she took a step backwards into the darkness, staying out of reach.
His voice caught. “Catherine,” he repeated, “I would never hurt you!”
Her voice shot back immediately, strong and sharp. “Yet I saw Peter there, in the ambush, driving his knife in an attempt to hamstring me. Yet I had to take my own blade to his neck to get myself free. Yet you claim that you have been with Peter all night.” Her eyes went from one shocked face to the other, and then back to the Bishop who stood behind, speechless. She drew herself up. “I will require five town witnesses, gentlemen, ere I step foot through this grate in the morning. See that they are present.”
With a quick move, she deliberately shut the heavy wooden door in their faces. The bar slid home with a solid thud.
Jack shook the locked gate in frustration. His voice echoed with anguish and joy. “Catherine!”
There was no sound at all from within. After ten minutes of pounding and pleading from both Jack and Peter, the situation remained unchanged. The Bishop and Captain watched the pair with a mixture of suspicion and confusion. The men’s efforts were only halted when a page came running up to the group. “My Lord, the patrols have brought in the dead bodies from the ambush earlier. They request that you immediately come down for a briefing.”
The Bishop turned to the Captain. “Stay here at the door. Let me know if she makes any noise or opens the door. Do not in any way attempt to harm or detain her. Something odd is going on here.” The captain nodded his assent.
His eyes swiveled to stare at Jack and Peter. “You two are with me,” he ordered. “You will not be left alone near Lady Bowyer, not with this current state of affairs. She is safe enough in her room for now.”
Jack glanced back at the doorway in anguish, but she had not made a sound since closing the door on them. Perhaps he could best serve her by finding out the truth of what was going on.
Jack and Peter fell in alongside the Bishop as he strode down the hallway. Jack spoke with fierce determination. “I swear to you, Bishop, that we had no hand at all in any of these deeds. I do not know if Catherine is in shock or has been misled by someone.”
The Bishop did not stop in his quick pace. “We will determine the truth soon enough, Jack. And when we do, we will have a reckoning,” he promised.
The trio reached the outer courtyard in a few minutes. A ring of torches surrounded the open wagons that the patrols had brought in. There were several corpses in each one, clothed in purple and yellow livery. Peter looked at the uniforms with shock. “Those colors are of my family,” he rasped in surprise, fingering the cloth. “However, the outfits are not quite right; they seem to be cheap imitations. I do not recognize any of these men either. They are not from my household.”
Jack’s eyes flashed. “Imposters,” he stated with f
lat anger. “Not only that, come look at this one.”
Peter and the Bishop walked over to join him. The man in the cart had been cut at the neck; his head was barely attached to the shoulders. Peter’s eyes moved from the wound to the face, and he started back in shock.
“That shock of red hair … he could be my twin,” he whispered hoarsely.
He reached over to touch the nose, and a piece of putty came off beneath his fingers. “This man was trying to disguise himself as me?” he asked in confusion. “Why?”
Jack was scanning the other bodies. “Look - this one has a face like a frog, and here is a tall, thin man with blond hair. This other one is small, with tight, blond curls. Where have we seen these men before?”
Peter’s eyes sharpened in recognition. “The minstrels at the cathedral at Worcester,” he replied in surprise. “These were the men who sang with Maya.”
“They also passed us on the road here,” remembered Jack. “Dressed as merchants. They have been tracking Catherine, and perhaps studying us as well. This had been planned out. Maybe they thought it was the only way to get close enough to her.”
Jack turned and strode toward the stairs. “If she sees the bodies, she will know the truth of what happened,” he vowed resolutely as he took the steps two at a time.
Peter was alongside him in a moment. “Maybe if we let her rest until morning, she will be more willing to talk about it then.”
Jack shook his head. “She will not sleep, and if we leave her alone too long -”
He ran the rest of the way to her room, slowing when they reached the Captain. “Has she said anything yet?”
The Captain’s eyes were somber. “Not a peep. However, I am not even sure we could hear through that door, if she made any noise. It is very thick.”
Jack walked over and hammered on the door for a few minutes, calling in between thuds with the news. There was no response, not the slightest indication that his message had been heard.
The silence worried him immensely. He turned and raced down the hall. “I am going around to the window,” he explained to Peter, who loped alongside him. “She has got to hear what we have to tell her.”
The two ran down the halls and worked their way around the main castle building to the back side, where it overlooked the fields. The room was on the second floor, and Jack hoped that she had kept the shutters open so that she could hear his message.
When the pair rounded the last corner, his heart sank. A long ribbon of fabric descended from the window. He had no doubt that Catherine had made her escape while they were down examining the wagons.
Exhausted but determined, he jogged to the stables and tracked down a stable boy. The sleepy lad was helpful but confused. Yes, a woman had come asking for her horse, and he had done all he could to help her get on her way. Had this been the wrong thing to do?
Jack slumped against a wall in despair. It was pitch dark, and she did not want to be found. There was no way he could track her, although every instinct in his brain screamed for him to head out and try. His body was near collapse from exhaustion. He knew he still had the remaining three charges to get safely to St. Albans, and it appeared they were in serious danger. His world was crumbling down around him.
Peter let him rest for a few minutes, then guided him gently back toward their room.
“Let us get some sleep,” he suggested quietly. “She will be safe enough, hidden away in the forest. I have no doubt that when we are on our way that she will come and find us in her own time. She wants to know what happened as much as we do. She is not one to shoot us in the back or kill us in our sleep. When she comes, we will talk.”
Jack felt completely helpless, but nodded in acquiescence and followed his friend. Despite his worry, the moment his body touched the mat he collapsed into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter 19
Jack found himself being shaken awake by Peter. It seemed he had barely fallen asleep, but he could see the sun high and strong through the window. Peter put a wooden platter of bread and cheese down on the table next to him, along with a mug of ale. “I thought you could use some lunch,” offered Peter quietly, taking a seat in a nearby chair. “I held off waking you as long as I could.”
Jack shook his head to clear the mists, and rolled over to a sitting position. He took some cheese and bread, layering them before popping them into his mouth. After two or three he began to feel human again.
“How are the others doing?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“As well as could be expected,” replied Peter somberly. “They are completely confused as to what happened. They cannot think of any ties Walter had to the Bowyer family. They blame themselves for not having heard the attackers.”
Peter paused for a moment. “Apparently Walter’s parents are both dead, and the Cathedral is offering to have him buried here. The other lads think it is a good idea, that Walter would have been content. We were waiting on you to begin the service.”
Jack finished the small meal and stood. “Of course, just give me a moment.” He walked to the dresser and splashed some water on his face, then ran a comb through his hair. He turned and nodded to Pete. “Let us go.”
The service was short, but Jack was touched by the care the Bishop put into talking about Walter’s life and deeds. The group watched somberly as Walter was lowered into a plot in the cemetery, well-tended and surrounded by flowers. Jack knew his friend would be well looked after here; it was small comfort with the guilt which lay over him like a heavy blanket.
The Bishop urged the group to stay, but more than ever they sensed the need to push on to St. Alban’s. Father Berram wanted to get to his destination safely, but Peter and Jack had a different reason for wanting to move on. They both knew that their only hope of talking to Catherine soon lay in being in the open, where she felt safe to approach them. They moved out into the late afternoon sun, with the rainclouds finally easing into patchy wisps.
As they left the immediate environs of the cathedral the landscape slowly changed from built-up town, to sparse villages, to quiet rural roads. At first Jack watched every tree, every hill for a sign of Catherine. As the miles rolled by he relaxed his vigilance. He had no doubt that she was out there, somewhere ... but she would choose the time and place of their meeting. He would need to practice patience and wait for her.
They rode longer than they normally would have, enjoying the quiet of the open road and hoping to give Catherine an opportunity to present herself. They finally stopped only when the last streamers of violet had faded into dusky ebony. They ate their dinner in silence, keenly aware of the missing spots at the campfire. The group turned in early, and Jack sat out for his watch.
Every snapping branch, every gust of wind made his heart leap in hope, but despite his fervent wishes Catherine did not show herself. He thought of walking a short ways into the woods, in case she was nervous about confronting the whole group, but he could not bring himself to do it. The sleeping forms of his friends lay deep in exhausted slumber before him, and he would not let them leave his sight. Not tonight.
Finally the moon had crested its center point; he gently shook Peter awake, turning the watch over to him. It was a while before sleep overtook him.
The next day found them in even quieter woods. The sun was in full force now, and numerous wildflowers were springing up along the roadside. Jack knew he should take some pleasure in these signs of spring, but his concerns about Catherine and fresh grief over Walter’s death filled his thoughts, layering a dense fog of darkness over the yellows and turquoises. The cart wheels rolled onward, the group moved along slowly but steadily, and soon it was evening again. They found a clearing by a small pond and ate their meal in silence.
The three religious men turned in early, the recent grief still weighing heavily on their minds. Peter turned to Jack, giving him a gentle nod. “Go ahead and rinse the horses’ tack down at the pond,” he encouraged quietly. “I will keep an eye on them until you return.” Jack h
esitated for a long moment, then nodded. The gear needed the rinsing, and he would only be gone for a short while. He gathered up the items and walked down to the quiet shore.
He knelt in the moonlight, swishing the bit and bridle through the water, the events of the night running over and over in his head. How long had Peter been away from the lads on that fateful night? Two minutes? Maybe three? How could any assassin have slipped in so quickly, and then escaped without even a trace to show his passing?
A loud snap echoed around him, freezing him in place.
* * *
Catherine watched impassively as Jack stood slowly, turning in place to meet her gaze. She kept her hand on the hilt of her blade, stepping back off the thin branch she had deliberately pressed in two. He was perhaps ten feet away, and she could see the exhaustion lining his face. She had no doubt that her own body held the same signs of weariness and sorrow.
Jack gazed at her for a long moment, then dropped his hands to his belt, undoing the latch and separating the halves. He tossed the whole thing, scabbard, blade, and all, a distance behind him. He stood, waiting, arms out to his side, completely unarmed.
Catherine let the silence stretch out for one minute, then two. She knew that she was unwilling to begin their talk because it could easily be the last time she saw the man she had grown to care for greatly. Once this started, it could lead directly to the brutal ending.
She had gone over the options incessantly since that night at the cathedral. The men would stop at nothing to finish what they had set into motion. Undoubtedly Jack and Peter had concocted a story to explain everything, to attempt to win her trust again.
How could she believe whatever they said, with all that had happened? How could she afford to trust anyone, if she were truly the last Bowyer now alive?
She drew in a long breath, then let it out again in a smooth stream. She would provide them with this one last chance. If there were but the slightest possibility that they remained true to her, it was worth risking. The two men could be her last hope.
