by Geri Borcz
Her agreement sounded more like a snort of disgust.
"'Tis clear you've but one path," Father Duncan said.
Juliana straightened, her fingertip worrying her lip. "So Agnes also advised me."
The abbey seemed the only alternative. Her father demanded an impossible decision from her. She needed more time to plan.
"A wise woman," Father Duncan said. "So then, my lady, did you wish me to tell them you'll take Adington? Or shall you?"
"That's your solution?"
She glanced over her shoulder to see if any overheard her outburst, but none took note, instead the chamber had divided into three factions.
Rhys and his men moved back to the window, Oliver and the twins mumbled to each other near the table, and her father stood rock still with Roger at his elbow.
She turned a scowl on the good priest. "Has that greedy oaf charmed everyone in this castle?"
Father Duncan edged his face around her, looked in Rhys's direction for a second, and pulled back.
"I take it," he said with a note of reproach, unfazed by her simmering outrage, "you'll not consider him, either."
Juliana rolled her gaze heavenward. Why the push to hand that man her heart on a platter? Did no one, but she, see the greed and deceit that lay beneath the imposing outer shell? That lay beyond the sinister look and fierce lines? Beyond the hard muscles, the coiled strength, the chiseled jaw, silky hair, husky laugh....
She mentally shook herself from her wayward thoughts.
"Nay," she said to the priest. "Or haven't you noticed that Roger hates him?"
Juliana sent a silent promise to atone for that lie of omission. Now wasn't the time to lay bare her soul and confess the unreasoning lust that had gripped her heart for their despicable neighbor.
The priest nodded in belated understanding. "Oh, my, 'tis a coil, this. So, what shall you do?"
Some help, Juliana said in mild complaint to herself. But she kept silent on that uncharitable thought.
"I need to forestall my father until the morrow."
"As I feared," Duncan sighed. "You've a plan."
"I'll not say 'tis a good one, but--"
"Wait." He held up a bony hand. "I beg you, spare me the details. The less I know, my lady, the fewer untruths I may tell your brothers and your father when they vent their spleen."
She sucked in a quick breath and nodded. "You'll help me gain the time I need, then?"
"And I pray you'll use it to seek God's protection."
"Oh, rest easy on that score, Father Duncan," she said. "I shall. Indeed, more than you realize, I shall."
~~~~
CHAPTER 8
No one complained about the evening meal's lateness as it progressed into a rowdy affair. Coarse men talked as they chewed, swilled as they talked, and grew louder as they swilled.
They crowded at trestle tables set end to end against a dais that groaned under mountainous platters of food. An unending river of ale kept every cup filled to the rim.
The hall quickly grew stuffy from a mix of cooking aromas, unwashed bodies, and smoke from resin torches. Other torches suspended in iron sconces lined the blackened walls and added their light to a blazing fire in the wall hearth. The dancing flames combined to throw a kind yellow glow over the people.
Serfs wove among the feasting horde that gathered to celebrate the earl's return, fending off groping hands as they attempted to refill cups. And big or little, young or old, ugly or not, no woman who worked the kitchen or the hall came away without a pinched bottom or frazzled nerves or--for those so inclined due to their mistress's absence--a guarantee of a profitable night ahead.
"Adington?" bellowed Baldwin, who commanded the center seat of the dais and leaned to his right. "Drink up, drink up."
He didn't wait to see if his guest complied, but roared with laughter at a bawdy quip from a lower table.
"More wine, my lord?" said Serle in a loud voice. He served Rhys at table, wedging between the earl and his lord.
Rhys covered his cup with his palm. "I'd keep my wits about me this night." He'd watched Baldwin consume enough to drown a bull, but every man had a limit. "Pour for our host and see that his cup is never empty."
The more men in a drunken stupor, the less to interfere in his plan.
Rhys sat to Baldwin's right, a recognition of his rank, if not a particularly honored guest. Roger sat to his father's left, far enough away for Rhys to ignore, yet keep aware of.
With a mocking tilt to his mouth, Rhys gazed over Baldwin's crowded great hall, listening to the squeals of outrage that mingled with raucous laughing. His casual seat belied his coiled inner tension.
Patience. Too many remained sober for only three men to handle. An occasional snarling yip rose above the din from the motley pack of hounds that scavenged in the rushes and fought over the bones and scraps thrown to the floor.
Alain and Costin sat at a table below him, enjoying the camaraderie of Juliana's twin brothers, though imbibing far less than their supper partners. Costin wore a silly grin, trying his best to persuade a buxom young thing to explore the single delight in his lap, while next to him, Alain gorged himself as if it were his last meal.
Again, Rhys's gaze wandered to the empty stairway in the corner tower. He understood why Juliana chose to take her meal above-stairs with the new countess--down here a man had to scream to hear his own thoughts. But he didn't understand her earlier ploy for time. And he'd no doubt it was a ploy. As sure as night turned to day, he knew she plotted some sorry mischief.
He should have known she wouldn't capitulate so easily. Out-maneuvered and out-manned, even under pressure she was a fighter. Rhys picked up the empty cup and twirled it between his hands, then chuckled to himself.
He'd stood ready to do battle, only to watch the hardened border earl wilt like a fresh flower out of water. Juliana had emptied her feminine arsenal, and with the priest's help, had cajoled Baldwin into delaying until the morrow with a sweet smile of innocence worthy of any thief caught red-handed.
The goblet dented under the pressure of Rhys's hands.
Christ's toes. The woman had some sorry whim hatching in her mind. But what?
Know your opponent's weakness, then strike swift and sure. She'd certainly done that with Baldwin, with the consummate skill of any battle commander.
It pleased Rhys she didn't choose Malcolm, but by the same silence, she didn't choose him, either. Why not?
Did his blackness offend her? Or, like so many noble women of his experience, did a second son as husband rank too low for her tastes? She didn't strike him as shallow, but he wondered.
Or... did she fancy another man? Now that unwelcome thought grated.
A nagging inner voice warned Rhys her stalling tactic meant only one thing--Juliana never intended to face her father on the morrow.
But how would she accomplish that?
Perchance a sudden, yet lengthy sickness? Crowding upon that conclusion, a thought popped into his mind that brought a shaft of hunger so sweet as to border on pain. Would she come to a lover, bestowing the same fiery passion she gifted to everything else? He shifted his seat with the burning. A lover, perhaps, but what about an unchosen husband?
"Serle?" Cursing the huskiness that stole into his voice, Rhys motioned the squire nearer.
In one way or another, Juliana controlled everything in her world. Well, by God, she'd learn her place. She'd not wield such control over Rhys.
"The little maid," he said into the squire's ear.
"Marta, my lord?"
"Aye, that's the one. Cease your duties and find her. Talk sweet with her. I'd know what her mistress is up to."
Serle beamed with shy pleasure and immediately took himself off, pausing only when Rhys called to his retreating back, "Not too much time. The night grows short."
Again, Rhys's gaze narrowed upon the empty stairway. Then he plowed his fingers through the hair above his temple. Too many remained sober.
The day is not
yet won, he reminded himself, and cursed under his breath.
* * *
Light from a crescent moon cast the world in a silvered net, but the high wall's shadow hid the two people who hugged the limestone and crept along the deserted battlement.
This portion of the wall, next to the kitchen and out of view from the keep, usually sported lighted torches at lengthy intervals.
But not tonight.
One guard usually walked sentry.
But not now.
The two furtive figures, one slender and one not, paused before a pole lashed to the putlog hole that extended above a low stone segment on the wall's other side. Juliana leaned over the embrasure and stared at the outline of scaffolding the workers had used to repair the wall.
She nibbled her lip while studying the temporary wooden framework, and, for the first time, realized just how far down lay solid dirt.
Mustering her determination, then, casting modesty to the wind, she pulled the skirts of her sturdy woolen gown between her legs and wrapped the brown length in her belt. She stood as though she wore baggy breeches and shivered in the brisk air that caressed her exposed legs.
Night creatures filled the air with their song. The haunting melody floated over the wall to entwine with the faint noise coming from the keep. Somewhere boots scraped. The tranquil lowing of bedding animals echoed on the chill.
"My lady," said Agnes from beside her. "One misstep and you'll splat at the bottom like rotted fruit."
"Your confidence is a comfort."
Agnes snorted. "'Tisn't meet for a gentle-born woman to shimmy down a wall like a bug."
"'Tisn't meet for a gentle-born woman to defy her father. Next to that grievous sin, anything else I do loses its import."
"You should've cleared the gate with Sir Oliver."
Juliana arched a brow and put a hand to her hip. "And how was I to do that? Wouldn't the guard have thought it a bit odd, that I, too, saw the need to visit the village whore? He'd have grown wings to fly to Roger with that interesting tidbit."
Agnes shrugged away that reasoning. "I still say 'tis time enough to sneak out the postern door."
"'Tisn't meet to crawl over a wall, but sneaking out the back like a thief is better? Agnes, your logic escapes me," countered Juliana as she worked to secure a rope around the high merlon. "Besides, two men guard the postern door and that's twice the tongues to wag."
"Then it's your fortune Sir Thomas agreed to your scheme."
"I didn't tell him."
"Wh-what?" Agnes flattened herself against the stone and swivelled her head to stare with wide eyes down both sides of the darkened parapet. "You mean we may be caught?"
Tying a secure knot by dim light proved a task. The coarse rope slipped from Juliana's hands and she tried again.
"I gave him no details, just asked that he spare the guard on this side of the wall a few minutes of rest."
"And that old goat said aye, my lady with no questions?"
"If you must know, I bribed him."
"God help us," whispered the nurse and crossed herself.
"Cease fretting. Men are led by their stomachs. I instructed the ale to flow freely at table, and I swore to Thomas he'd enjoy apple tarts the rest of his days. S'truth, the knave, I fear he blackmailed me. He agreed to my request only after I promised him the whole orchard."
A lurid giggle carried to their ears, hushed by a gruff laugh from somewhere amid the courtyard's dusky corners. Juliana frowned into the night, but finished with the knot and tested her skill with a yank. It held firm. She threw the other end of the rope over the embrasure and heard it thump against the wood.
"Wait until I've reached the ground," she said, "then toss the bag and mantle over the side."
"God help us," the nurse repeated. "If your lady mother did not already rest in her grave, this would kill her." Agnes tugged on her wimple. "Even if you manage to climb down, have you strength enough to row the tiny boat the workers use?"
"'Twas your idea, Agnes. Too late for hesitation now."
"'Twas my idea you should seek a place of safety with your wits intact. Not scattered over the wall like limewash."
Juliana ignored the shiver that coursed through her body. Did a safe place exist for her? A place where she could renounce Roger's opinion from her heart, or exorcise Adington from her thoughts?
In a quiet voice, she said, "The moat's not so wide I can't row across."
"You'll find Sir Oliver?" Agnes gestured to the far away trees. "The forest abounds with wild animals."
The woman's endless worries stretched Juliana's nerves taut. "As we planned," she said with a patience she didn't feel, "Oliver waits with the horses at the edge of the park. He'll find me."
Before her courage fled, Juliana hefted herself upon the wide embrasure and rolled onto her stomach, her head facing the parapet and her feet dangling over the scaffold. She grabbed the rope and looped it around one hand, while clutching the thick strand with the other.
"Remember to cut the rope with your eating dagger, so none will discover my absence too soon. Oh, and Agnes, toss out and over. 'Twill do me little good to have the bag or mantle caught on the pegs in the planks."
With that, Juliana lowered herself until her feet touched one of the wooden ramps that inclined sharply toward the ground.
"God be with you, Lady Juliana," Agnes whispered.
Juliana angled her head and shot a brave smile to the silhouette of her nurse. "And with you, dear Agnes."
No further words got past the lump in her throat. Instead, she concentrated on balancing herself as she descended the steep planks, while steadying her moves with the rope.
* * *
After the crowd degenerated into drunken revelry, Baldwin's hall resembled a raided camp. Bodies sprawled every which way.
One by one, his men had slumped with their heads to the table tops or had stretched out upon the hard benches or had rolled to the rush-strewn floor. Even the hounds had deserted their foraging to congregate into a satisfied heap in front of the hearth.
Serle returned from his mission, the success of which showed in his anxious face.
While the lad whispered into his ear, Rhys watched the earl's head bob once, twice, then rest against the chair's high back. Baldwin's jaw fell slack and gurgling snores poured from his opened mouth.
"God's death," Rhys swore, and shot from his chair. "She'll not escape me again." He glanced across the dais to the one man who remained upright.
There, Roger pierced him with one last scornful, but bleary glare. He splayed his hands on the tabletop and rose slowly from his seat.
Silence trickled throughout the hall, broken only by erratic guttural breathing. Viciousness emphasized the scars that shone stark against Roger's tanned face.
"Monteux?" Scattered hands crept to their swords. "Should she decide in your favor, I'll not make my sister a widow."
Rhys nodded. "And should she decide against me, our business is settled."
Both men lied, and they knew it.
They locked gazes, a combat without blows, then Roger quit the table and staggered toward the kitchen. Hands relaxed and a subdued buzz resumed.
Rhys crooked a thumb toward Alain and Costin, who had witnessed the exchange. He stepped down from the dais and over the bodies, then with determined strides, headed out the entrance door.
The brisk night air smelled clean after the stale hall and came alive with a cacophony of hums, chirps and croaks. But the knights spoke in low tones, to their accustomed ears quiet rang in the pale moonlight.
"I don't trust him," said Costin, catching up to Rhys who hurried across the dimly lit courtyard toward the stables. "Where do you think Roger goes?"
Alain snorted from his other side. "If luck's with us, to impale himself on a pike."
"Most like to retrieve his scheming sister," Rhys gritted out, as he entered the outbuilding. "Mount up. The lady is no longer in the castle. We don't have long until Roger discovers this, and we
must find her before him."
Serle hurried to aid his master in donning the heavy mail. Meanwhile, two serfs appeared upon hearing the noise, but one glacial stare from Rhys sent them scurrying back to the far end the way they'd come.
"How did she get past us?" said Costin, hefting his saddle. "And where do we ride?"
How indeed? Rhys growled to himself, angered he'd not anticipated the possibility of another passageway. Then fear sprouted in his chest. Curse that witless woman for venturing out into the forest at night.
"To Bekton," he snarled.
Alain chuckled in surprise, tightening his cinch.
"That's across the border in Scotland," said Costin. "Surely, she'd not prowl the roads at night alone?"
Alone? Rhys cursed again.
"I pray not," he said. "She's foolish, not a simpleton."
"Remind me to give her thanks for saving us the bother of stealing her," added Costin. "I grew weary of waiting for Baldwin's men to drop off."
"Women," said Alain. "'Tis naught else like the challenge." He chuckled again upon receiving an impatient glower.
"Make haste, you dolts," griped Rhys, yanking on his gauntlets, as Serle tugged the thigh-length shirt of iron links into place. "If naught has befallen her, no doubt she's halfway to the abbey."
"Fear not," said Alain, leading his mount out. "I vow holy church would fare better with yer horse as a nun." He hooted aloud then.
They cleared the stable building, mounted, and to the tune of Alain's rude chuckles, wheeled their horses toward the closed drawbridge.
