by Secret Vows
Gray clenched his jaw, keeping his reactions in check. He nodded. “We’ll have to trust him to take care of himself for now. Your children must needs be rescued first. Come.”
Taking her hand, he helped her down the corridor, following her instructions for where to turn. By the time they reached the short jut of hall leading to the solar, he uttered another silent prayer of thanks. He knew now that he’d never have found the chamber on his own. Not through the maze of corridors they’d followed to get here. ’Twas undoubtedly why Eduard had chosen the place as ideal for securing the twins.
Only two men stood posted outside the door. From his position with Catherine down the hall, he could see that they looked very young and very nervous. He’d hazard a guess that these new-bloods were all that Eduard could spare as guards, once he realized that he’d be faced with an all-out battle beyond the boundaries of the keep.
Suddenly, a banging arose from within the solar, followed by shouts and screams. Gray lunged forward just behind the sentries, who’d turned to each other at the noise and scrambled to open the door.
But before Gray and Catherine could reach them, there was a loud clatter, and a cloud of soot billowed out of the now open door. Throwing himself into the chamber, Gray tripped over the prostrate forms of the guards. He waved his arms and coughed, unable to see anything. Ash filled the air, along with the fearsome shrieking of two very small warriors wielding knobby sticks at him.
They swung their sticks wildly, and one of the blows connected with his shin. He cursed, shifting his weight to grab the miscreants, one in each hand, by the backs of their shirts. He hoisted them into the air, carrying them unceremoniously into the corridor, where he put them down before spinning back to shut and bolt the door on the two sentries still lying, half-senseless, inside.
“Ian! Isabel!” Catherine cried, kneeling to enfold them into an embrace.
“Mummy!” they croaked simultaneously, coughing and sneezing as they wrapped their arms around her neck, both trying to talk at once.
“Oh, Mummy, you’re hurt!” Isabel said, coughing again and blinking back tears from the ash as she cupped her hand gently over her mother’s cheek. She pulled a grubby doll from her waist sash, where she’d obviously secured it to do battle with the guards. “Lily was worried about you too, Mummy. We were trying to get to you, to save you from Uncle Eduard. That’s why we had to trick those bad men. But we didn’t want to kill them, really. We only—”
“It was my idea to hit them with sticks, Mummy!” Ian crowed between coughs. “You’re not mad, are you? I didn’t hit them too hard, I just—”
“Oh sweethearts!” Catherine pulled both of them tighter in her embrace. “I’m not angry. I just thank heaven that you’re both all right.”
“We must make haste,” Gray said quietly, loathe to end their reunion, but knowing that ’twas dangerous to linger. Catherine nodded, pushing herself to her feet with a grimace.
“We’ll go this way,” he said, taking her hand and directing the twins to walk next to her as he led them all back down the hall toward the courtyard.
“Wait a moment.” Catherine pulled back suddenly and squinted as she looked to get her bearings. “We’re close to the buttery here. If we can reach it, Gray, there’s a hidden door that leads to a tunnel out of the keep. It goes all the way to a field beyond the walls.”
He frowned. “A secret passage in a manor house?”
“It served as an escape route nearly two centuries ago, during the Conquest. Geoffrey once told me that the family who lived here added it in case the Normans breached the walls during an attack.”
“Then Eduard knows about it as well,” he said grimly.
“Aye. But ’tis our only way out, other than taking the children through the battle in the courtyard.”
Gray nodded, leaning out into the corridor she’d indicated, looking for any movement. All seemed quiet. The twins gripped each other’s hands, staring at him, but doing exactly as he bid while he supported Catherine down the hall. Every now and then the shouting sounded nearer, and they were forced to duck into the shadows or behind a door until it seemed safe to continue.
Though she never complained, Gray knew by the way she limped and by the ashen cast of her complexion that Catherine was in a great deal of pain. He cursed silently, love for her mingling again with his rage against Eduard. He itched to get his hands on the bastard, to make him suffer tenfold for what he’d done to her.
At last she pointed to a door ten paces away. “There it is. The buttery. The passageway is hidden behind the shelves on the far wall.”
Gray led the children into the large, cool chamber; Catherine stood with them while Gray worked to remove the heavy shelving that blocked the tunnel. There was no way to do it quietly. Barrels thumped to the floor and pottery jars crashed as he yanked the wooden slats from the wall.
But soon the ancient looking door appeared, its latchstring hanging out. Gray lifted the rotted leather carefully, and the door creaked open. Cobwebs yawned and stretched at the corners of the portal, the odor of decay spilling out of the tunnel to coat them with a chill blanket of vapor.
“Come,” he said, herding the children into the opening. “We must hurry.”
“Nay. ’Tis too dark and small!” Ian cried, pulling back.
“He’s afraid because when we fostered with Master Dumont he used to lock Ian in a little chamber below the kitchen floor for being bad,” Isabel said softly.
“Merciful saints,” Catherine muttered, looking as if she was going to be sick.
“’Tis all right, Ian. There’s naught to fear,” Gray said, hoping to comfort the lad. “Your mother will lead the way into the tunnel. You can go right behind her.”
“I don’t think that I can, Gray,” Catherine said. “Without a torch, I can’t see well enough through this swollen eye. You’ll have to go first and let me follow behind the children.”
Gray considered that for a moment, uncertainty assailing him. Leaving Catherine last made him uneasy, but it didn’t seem that he would have much choice. Leaning in, he brushed her lips with a kiss, murmuring for her to take extra care before he stooped to enter the tunnel, coaxing first Ian, then Isabel in after him.
“You’re doing fine, lad,” he murmured to Ian, who trembled and clutched Gray’s tunic in a death-grip as they crept along.
Gray looked back to ensure that Catherine had ducked into the tunnel as well before he continued to lead them all on through the dark passage.
Suddenly, he heard Isabel gasp.
“Lily!” Isabel cried. “Oh, Mummy, I’ve dropped Lily!”
Gray turned to see Isabel scrambling past her mother, trying to crawl back into the buttery.
“Nay Isabel! We mustn’t return. ’Tis too dangerous,” Catherine said sharply, lurching to catch Isabel at the very portal of the chamber. She was just nudging the weeping little girl ahead of her into the tunnel again, when Gray saw her face stiffen in the dim light from the chamber. A tingle of warning shot up his spine.
“Ah, Catherine, my dear. How lovely. It seems that we’ll get to finish our little meeting after all.”
Eduard’s voice echoed through the tunnel a mere instant before he reached in to grab Catherine and drag her, kicking and fighting, back into the buttery. With a shout, Gray twisted and threw himself at the door, trying to get to her, but the wooden slab shut on him and the twins, sealing them inside and leaving Catherine trapped with Eduard on the other side.
Thrusting the children behind him, Gray slammed into the door, rattling the scarred planks, then ramming it with his shoulder. Aged as it was, it wouldn’t budge. Eduard must have put something heavy in front of it. The twins huddled in terrified silence, as through the wood the muffled sounds of scraping furniture and banging gave way to the unmistakable echo of a slap and Catherine’s cry.
Cursing aloud, Gray leaned back and kicked again and again at the old door. It cracked, finally, under his assault. He burst through the splinters,
shoving aside the barrel blocking his way as he fell into the room, his frantic gaze searching for Catherine.
She stood at the other end of the chamber. Somehow, she’d managed to get one of the buttery’s worktables between herself and Eduard. But he was in the process of drawing his sword, readying to slash at her with it.
Flashing a dark grin at his rival, Eduard gloated, “You’re too far away, Camville. You’ll never reach her in time to stop me. But do come and try anyway. Then I’ll have the pleasure of killing you as well!”
Gray knew in that sickening moment that Eduard was right. He couldn’t get to Catherine in time. But an idea began to form as he shifted to look at the woman he loved more than his life, and her frightened gaze locked with his. Gripping the hilt of his sword, Gray nodded slightly, praying that she understood his unspoken signal.
In the next instant everything slowed as if in a dream. Eduard roared with fury, tossing the table aside, even as Gray drew his own sword hissing from its sheath and hurled it toward Catherine in flashing, rotating arcs.
Instinct surged in her, blending with skill borne of their hours of practice; she reached up and caught Gray’s sword by the hilt, in the same motion twisting and lunging to point it at Eduard as he charged her. His momentum slammed them both against the wall—and then he stiffened, his weight still pressed into her, his eyes widening in shock just inches from her own. Past the sound of her gasping breath, she heard his weapon clatter to the floor.
He tried to pull back, looking down awkwardly at the blade imbedded in his chest to the widening blossom of blood around it, before finally lifting his gaze to meet Catherine’s again.
“You bitch,” he rasped in disbelief. “You unnatural murderous bitch…”
Rage flooded her anew. Even here, at the point of death, Eduard couldn’t resist spitting his venom at her. Gritting her teeth, she fixed her gaze on him, this man who had caused her so much pain, so much torment in her life, and muttered, “Now ’tis your turn to feel what hell is like, Eduard.”
Yanking her blade free, she pushed him away; with a choked gurgle he slumped to the floor and lay still, blood soaking the front of his tunic and trickling from his mouth. His eyes remained open, but they gazed at her now without sight. Flat and empty.
She stood frozen for a long moment, just staring at him. He was dead. God help her, he was finally dead, and it was she who had defeated him.
Her mind throbbed so that she hardly noticed Gray’s approach. She staggered back to lean against the wall again as he crossed the room in several strides, quickly checking Eduard’s body before turning to her. Then he cupped her cheeks in his palms, lifting up gently to make her meet his gaze.
“Are you all right, Catherine? Did he wound you before I got back inside?”
“Nay,” she managed to whisper, shaking her head.
“Thank God,” he said hoarsely, enfolding her in his embrace. Her breath came shallow, and she held herself stiff for a moment, still staring at Eduard’s body. Then with a cry she dropped Gray’s sword and buried her face in his chest, holding him tight.
Ian and Isabel had crept out of the tunnel once everything went quiet, and now they rushed forward, tucking themselves against her and Gray.
“Oh Mummy, I’m sorry,” Isabel sobbed. “I’m so sorry I went back to get Lily!”
“Hush, sweetheart,” Catherine murmured, stroking her daughter’s hair. “’Tis over now, and we’re all safe. That’s all that matters. We’re all safe.”
“Aye, praise God,” Gray added.
“Stand down in the name of the king!”
The shout rang from the corridor, making Catherine stiffen. Gray released her and the children to scoop up his sword and face the door, sheltering them behind him.
A half dozen soldiers wearing the orange tunics of the king’s forces burst into the chamber, weapons drawn. The leader of the group skidded to a halt when he saw Eduard’s body. Then his gaze flicked to Gray and the bloodied sword, and he held up his hand to bring the others up short behind him. His expression tightened, but he nevertheless jerked his head in recognition of England’s High Champion.
“Lord Camville,” he said.
Gray nodded back cautiously, still keeping Catherine and the twins tucked safely behind him.
The captain straightened before calling out in an official voice, “I am under orders to take you and Lord Montford into my custody and escort you both to London, to face charges of seditious action and disobedience against His Most Royal Highness, King Henry.” He paused, glancing again at Eduard’s body. “However, it seems that Lord Montford’s fate has already been sealed, and that the charge of murder must needs be added to those tallied against you.”
Gray clenched his jaw, maintaining silence in the face of the false allegation. Nausea flooded Catherine when she realized what he intended to do.
With a cry, she stepped away from him, avoiding his attempts to keep her back as she stumbled a few paces closer to the soldiers.
“Sir, why have you charged Lord Camville with the slaying? He is no murderer! He—”
“Catherine, be still,” Gray muttered, grasping her hand and trying to pull her back. “The children need you. ’Tis for the best.”
“Nay!” Catherine said, shaking herself free. “Eduard is dead, and I will lie no more.”
“What are you saying, lady?” The captain scowled.
“I am saying that Lord Camville did not kill Lord Montford. He is innocent of the charge.”
Gray cursed softly, but the soldier just stared at her as if she’d gone mad. He glanced around the chamber again to see if he’d missed the presence of another person capable of killing one of the king’s best champions. Seeing no one, he spoke to her as if she were a child, in need of gentle care and handling.
“Lady, what you say makes no sense. Lord Camville was the only man here, the only one anywhere, many might say, accomplished enough even to commit the deed. If he did not, then who, pray tell, killed Lord Montford?”
“That is what I have been trying to tell you, Captain,” Catherine said, pulling herself up to her full height and staring in turn at each of the soldiers before finally settling her gaze on their leader again.
“I did.”
Chapter 20
London
The Royal Palace of Westminster
Gray stood surrounded by guards in the great chamber of King Henry’s Court, forcing himself to remain still as he waited for Catherine to be brought in. The hours had been endless, every minute torture since he’d last seen her on the day of his arrest nearly two weeks ago.
Disbelieving as they were, the soldiers had finally placed her into custody along with him for Eduard’s murder; they’d had no choice after she’d stood like an avenging warrior queen over Montford’s body and made her bold statement to the captain. And so they’d brought her to London too, to let the royal inquiry sort out the mess of their sworn confessions.
Since then, Gray had been consumed with worry over her, driven by a fierce desire to see her and know that she was all right. But his inquisitors hadn’t allowed it. Instead, he’d faced their questions. Days of endless interrogation, sometimes for many hours, without food, drink or sleep. It could have been worse, he knew; they could have used some of their more infamous means of torture on him in their quest for the truth. He was grateful that they hadn’t and prayed that it meant Catherine had been spared as well.
Through it all, he’d done his best to convince them of his guilt, of his action alone in the murder of his hated rival. ’Twas the only possible conclusion, he’d told them, and they’d listened carefully to his explanations, sometimes scribbling notes, other times just observing him. Day after day, he’d stayed true to his story, relentless in his will to convince them.
Today he would learn if he’d succeeded.
At last the door at the back of the massive chamber creaked open. All of the more than three score guards, knights, nobles and ladies filling the room craned th
eir necks to see the second prisoner brought forth.
Catherine walked steadily between her guards, head held high. Gray felt a stab of relief; she looked unharmed. Even the bruises from Eduard’s abuse had mostly faded. Her steps only faltered once, and that was at the moment she met his gaze. In that instant, her emotions shone on her face; intense longing and a love for him so powerful that it seemed almost otherworldly spilled from her, lighting her with that angelic radiance that took his breath away.
Vaguely, Gray heard the murmurs of the people in court who saw it as well. But his entire focus stayed on Catherine. All he wanted was to touch her, to hold her, to love her, and it took every ounce of his strength not to leap over the benches and people separating them to carry her from this place and never let go.
Before he could act on his impulse, he saw her breathe deep and direct her gaze firmly ahead. Then she took her place in court, standing with her guards only twenty paces away from him.
Following the line of her vision, Gray started. King Henry had entered the chamber previously; now he sat motionless on his dais, his stare hard and penetrating as he looked at them both. But the row of royal councilors sitting at long tables to either side of him leaned into each other, whispering behind their hands as they glared at Catherine.
Only at Catherine.
The hair prickled on the back of Gray’s scalp. Their expressions were filled with hatred, their mumbled comments malicious.
“Man-killer,” he heard one of them mutter.
“Liar,” murmured another, shaking his head.
A third scowled and formed a soundless, damning curse into the ear of the man next to him. “Witch.”
Sweet God in heaven…
Bile rose in Gray’s throat as he gazed from the councilors to the woman he loved and then back again. He felt their malice rippling toward her in an evil, oppressive tide.
