Rand shook his head. “I don’t like it. Too many things can go wrong.” He thought for a moment. “How many people can absolutely know for certain it is you and not Scarlett? If the two of you were side by side, who could tell the difference?”
Juliet considered carefully, half thinking out loud. “My old nursemaid Frida knows about the birthmark. Sir Brenden had a pet name for me that he used only when we were alone. It was ‘red bird.’ He used to say ‘Come along, little red bird’ if he was escorting me somewhere. And father, of course.”
“But if the two of you were just standing somewhere side by side, could anyone tell the difference?”
“Perhaps not,” said Juliet. Roland and Scarlett had to agree.
“I am acquainted with Sir Brenden. What do you have in mind?” said Roland.
“Confusion,” said Rand. “Utter confusion. I have a plan in mind that may work.” He addressed Juliet and Scarlett. “You may be placing yourselves at Cramden’s mercy for a time, but Roland and I will be close by. And we’ll be bringing men. There are many in Kingsgate who know me and will come to my aid. They may be criminals, but they know of me, and I think that they can be convinced to join our cause. We can get them into the castle through the tunnel. I’ll unbar it from the inside while Roland finds King Robert. Now, show Roland what he must do with the antidote.”
Chapter Eighteen
On Saturdays, petitions were heard in the Great Hall. Normally King Robert himself heard the important ones, but as he had taken ill, his high minister presided. Most of those seeking the king’s justice were not happy to see Lord Cramden on the throne. He was known as a hard man, given to capricious and unfair rulings.
The Great Hall was filled that day. Numerous petitioners and their advocates had been arranged in a long line to present writs to be ruled upon. The hall was crowded and unruly. While the petitioners waited, their families milled about. Frequent calls to order were made by a bailiff pounding a large staff against the stone floor.
Among the crowd admitted to the hall were two couples, men escorting women, both of whom were wearing hooded cloaks. Once inside, the couples separated. That the hall was packed was good as far as Roland and Rand were concerned. The greater the milieu, the easier it would be to slip inside and go where they needed to go once the ruse started. In the confusion Rand and Roland were to split up. Roland would find King Robert and administer the antidote; Rand would open the gate to the secret tunnel to let fighters into the castle.
Once they had arrived in Kingsgate, Rand made contact with a criminal boss he knew as Vargus Shiv. Rand had dealt with Shiv before, selling him stolen goods that Shiv then sold in legitimate markets. Shiv presided over a large network, and Rand was able to convince him that coming to the king’s aid would result in rewards and, possibly, pardons. So Shiv’s men would be in the tunnel with Rand’s men, ready to fight as soon as the secret gate was unbarred.
Roland edged away from Scarlett as she reached the front of the line. Rand did the same with Juliet. They would be on their own for this. It was a desperate plan, and a number of things had to work. First, Roland needed to find Sir Brenden and explain the gravity of the situation; next, together they needed to find the king’s chambers and administer the antidote; finally, they needed to quell any opposition. Rand was worried there might be some. Performing reconnaissance prior to the mission, he had noticed the red livery of the house of Bathen on soldiers milling about in Kingsgate, and now, here in Greystone Castle. The idea was that the incident they were about to launch would create a firestorm, both within the walls of the castle and in the town, that would occupy the authorities until it was sorted out.
* * *
Scarlett took a deep breath. She looked over at Roland, who nodded to her. He had edged his way toward the perimeter of the hall, near the doorway he knew would take him to the headquarters of the king’s guard. With him was Rand. All was in readiness.
“Next!” intoned a bored bailiff.
Scarlett stepped forward and stood before the high minister.
“And who are you?” asked Lord Cramden.
Scarlett threw off the hood of her cloak. Her red hair tumbled out. Several in the crowd began to point. Cramden gripped the arms of the throne, a look of shock on his face.
She raised her arm and pointed a finger at the high minister. “I am the royal princess, Juliet Greystone, and I accuse you, Lord Cramden, of high treason.”
The chatter in the cacophonous hall ceased. People stood in stunned silence.
In the meantime, Juliet had eased forward. She threw back the hood of her cloak and said in a loud voice,
“No! I am Juliet Greystone, and this man had me abducted and held for ransom.” Juliet also pointed at Cramden.
Heads turned to look at Juliet, amazed to see a veritable twin to the first woman who had spoken.
“Don’t listen to her. I am the real princess,” said Scarlett.
“She’s lying,” said Juliet. “I am the real princess of the house of Greystone.”
Everyone started babbling at once. Heads swiveled as they looked at Juliet, then at Scarlett. Cramden, still in a state of shock, seemed rooted to the throne. His guards looked to him for instruction, not knowing what to do. A number of the crowd in attendance rushed for the exits, spilling into the street, telling everyone what was happening inside.
In the midst of the pandemonium, a figure cloaked in red appeared behind the throne. The room grew quieter as the crowd began to notice the new arrival.
“Well,” she said, striding forward onto the dais supporting the throne. “It seems both of my pretty birds have returned to the nest.”
Juliet and Scarlett gasped. No one had anticipated this. It was the red countess.
“Escort both of them to my chambers,” she ordered. Men-at-arms in red livery appeared in the doorways and rushed to do her bidding. “We’ll see who is lying and who is telling the truth.” She turned to her soldiers. “Muster the guard to my chambers at once. I want my quarters under full protection until I find out what this is about.”
Chapter Nineteen
The two men raced through passageways in the castle. The quarters of the king’s guard were on ground level, near the kitchen. Several men were milling around in the common room, off duty for now. Some were eating, others were repairing weapons. They looked up as Roland and Rand entered. A couple of them recognized Roland.
“Sir Roland,” said one, rising. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe here for you, man. Lord Cramden sent a party of his men to find you and the princess and bring you both back. They say you abducted her. You’ve been accused of being an enemy of Westvale.” Several others stood and hands began reaching for weapons.
“I didn’t abduct her,” said Roland. “She is here in this castle at this very moment, and I need to see Sir Brenden right away. The king’s life is in danger and there is no time left.”
A gray-haired figure in black appeared in a back doorway. “What is the meaning of this?” Then he recognized Sir Roland and pointed at him, a tone of accusation in his voice. “You are Roland of Durham. You abducted the princess.” He glared at Roland. “We trusted you, gave you shelter, and you took her. Where is she?”
“I did not abduct anyone,” said Roland. “The princess is here.”
Then Sir Brenden noticed Rand. “And who is he?”
“A friend,” said Roland, then he continued. “She is here, Sir Brenden. I don’t have time to explain now, but you must believe me. The king’s life is in peril. He is suffering from the effects of an insidious poison. But with the princess’s help we’ve secured an antidote. Now we must get it to him right away.”
“You say the princess is here? In this castle?”
“Yes, but she will need help. We were able to get here only by creating a diversion. The diversion is in the Great Hall.”
“How am I to know the princess is really here, or what you say about the king is true?” Sir Brenden strode toward Roland, h
is face displaying his skepticism.
“She told me to find you. She said you would not fail to protect your little ‘red bird.’”
The shock of recognition passed over Sir Brenden’s features. He turned to the men in the room, all of whom were under his command. “Call out the guard. Have them assemble here.” To one of the men he said, “Hugh, take some men to the Great Hall. Find the princess and bring her here.” To Rand and Roland he said, “You have confirmed a suspicion of mine. The high minister has brought in men from Bathen Castle who are in the service of Morgaine, the red countess. She is here now with more of her men than ever. They surround the king and will admit no one to his chambers. We may have to fight our way in.”
“Wait,” said Rand. “You say Morgaine is here? Now, in this castle?”
“Yes, and she grows more powerful by the day. It seems as though the high minister takes orders from her. We have been told to stand down while her men guard the king.”
“The ladies are in more danger than we thought,” said Rand, looking at Roland.
He shook his head. “I know. But the important thing is to revive the king, then we can deal with Morgaine.” Roland addressed Sir Brenden. “Lead the way. There is no time to lose.”
By now more men had assembled, having been roused from their quarters. They poured into the assembly room, strapping on armor and buckling sword belts. “We will fight our way into the king’s chambers if necessary, but we are few and they are many,” said Sir Brenden.
“We may have help,” said Rand. He explained about the secret passage, Rand’s irregulars, and their need to unbar the door from the inside.
“I will send men with you,” said Sir Brenden. “You may have to fight your way there, too.”
“If the princess’s ruse worked, they will be confused. Morgaine will order most of her guard to surround her for protection.” But she’ll have the princess and Scarlett as well, the outlaw thought. “Still, we have to hurry. Help awaits but we must allow the men we expect to breach the castle. Juliet told me how.”
Sir Brenden picked a squad of men and sent them on their way.
* * *
Rand and a small band of the princess’s personal guards hurried down the passageways that Juliet had described. The hidden gate to the escape tunnel was in the far southwest corner of the castle on a subterranean level. They didn’t encounter opposition until they reached the end of a hallway. Then a squad of the red countess’s men appeared, blocking their way.
“Stand aside,” said Rand.
“For you?” said their leader. “Not likely.”
He drew his sword. Rand and his men followed suit. The fight was engaged and the hallway rang with the sound of clanging swords. It was close quarters fighting, but it was something the castle guard had trained for. Rand fought with a sword in one hand, dirk in the other, lunging, then stabbing, then slashing with the dirk as he backed his opponent down the narrow hallway. Before long the countess’s men had been defeated. There were no survivors.
Rand lifted the heavy bar that secured the tunnel door. The portal had been well hidden behind a cabinet in a room below ground level, just as Juliet had described. When he opened the door, there was no one there. Dru was to have led Vargus and his men through the tunnel from the other side. It shouldn’t have been hard to recruit men. There was not only Vargus and his band; many of the townsfolk knew of Rand LaFlors and his reputation. With the news of what had transpired this morning surely spreading through town, the citizens should have been anxious to join an effort to rescue their princess. So where were they? He listened and stared into the gloom. After a few anxiety-filled moments, he saw faint flickering lights down the tunnel. Someone was coming. Help was at hand.
Chapter Twenty
Scarlett and Juliet stood nervously in the center of the room while Morgaine paced. In her hand she absently twirled a short whip. The girls could not keep their eyes off of it. Seven leather thongs like thick bootlaces dangled from its black handle. Every now and then the countess would slap the thongs against a piece of furniture. The sharp thwack made them jump. The other worrisome thing in the room was the presence of two heavy wooden frames. These were tripods formed from a tilted ‘A’-shaped front piece supported by a single rear leg. A round bolster, secured by pegs, spanned the front legs of the ‘A’ at about waist height. It looked like the perfect device for securing a victim for a whipping on the buttocks. The men had been dismissed to stand guard outside, but Morgaine’s female attendants remained. Both Scarlett and Juliet recognized some of them.
“So you both claim to be the Princess Juliet,” said the countess, pacing back and forth. “One of you may be, but the question is, what is the purpose of this deception? What did you hope to accomplish?” She turned her back to walk away, thinking out loud. “Why did you come back?” Then she whirled around suddenly, eyes glaring. Both girls flinched. “And more important, who did you bring with you and what are they doing?”
Neither Scarlett nor Juliet said anything.
“Cat got your tongue?” She walked around behind the princess and Scarlett. “We’ll see. Strip them and put them on the whipping frames.”
Hands seized them. Among Morgaine’s attendants were stout matronly women whose strength far exceeded what Juliet or Scarlett could muster. Before they knew it, their clothing had been stripped off and tossed aside. Naked from head to toe, they were fastened to the flogging frames. There were manacles at the apex of the frames into which their wrists were clamped. Their legs were kicked apart and their ankles tied to opposite legs of the triangle. In this posture they were partially bent over, the bolster forcing them to thrust their buttocks out, a nice presentation for the whipping that seemed certain to follow.
“Well, well. Very nice,” said Morgaine, once the ropes had been tightened. Juliet and Scarlett were stretched out on the frames, naked and exposed. She inspected the girls, slyly patting each on the bottom. “I think it will be delightful to hear these two scream under the lash. Ahh, the succulence of youth. Just look, Moll, at the roundness of these bottoms. Imagine how the flesh will quiver under my whip.”
Moll’s gaze focused on her mistress, her eyes shining bright with expectation. Scarlett and Juliet looked around. All of the women looked on in excited anticipation of what was about to happen. They enjoy seeing young girls whipped, thought Scarlett.
“Now, I will ask again, which of you is Princess Juliet? Think carefully before you answer.”
“I am,” said Juliet.
“No, I am Princess Juliet,” said Scarlett. It came back to her what Rand had said, that they were to keep them occupied, keep the confusion going to buy time as long as possible. He had warned that the consequences of their ruse might turn out to be very unpleasant for them.
“Very well,” said Morgaine. She handed the whip to Moll and stood facing the girls. “A few dozen lashes each,” she said. “Then we’ll see.”
As the stout matron took the whip from Morgaine’s outstretched hand, a broad smile spread across her face. “It will be my pleasure, my lady.” She took a stance beside Juliet and measured her distance. Juliet took a breath and closed her eyes. Her body tensed. The woman drew her arm back, running the strands through her left hand. The whip seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then sped through the air with a swishing sound. It landed on Juliet’s hindquarters with a sharp thwack!
“Ahh!” Juliet pressed forward into the frame as far as her bonds would permit. It was a vain attempt to diminish the target area. The strands of the whip had licked off her backside. Red weals formed.
Scarlett was next. A white-hot blaze of pain erupted across Scarlett’s bottom as the whip struck. How was she going to be able to stand this? It was worse than the episode in the dungeon.
Juliet anxiously swiveled her head, watching Moll prepare for another lash. When it came, she flinched and cried out. The sting was overwhelming. It seared her backside as though it had been tapped with a hot iron.
Wi
th measured solemnity, Moll delivered the lashing, moving from Juliet to Scarlett, then back again. Each time she went through what seemed to be a familiar and practiced procedure, taking a stance, drawing the whip strands through her fingers, rearing back with her arm, and applying a stroke to the quivering buttocks of a princess. The sounds heard in the stone chamber were the whoosh of the lash, the thwack of its impact on flesh, and the cries of the girls.
Tears welled up in the eyes of both girls as the awful sting escalated. Their bottoms felt as though they were being flayed as they squirmed helplessly in the bonds holding them to the whipping frames. The flogging continued at the pace set by the burly matron. A swish… crack! applied to the writhing backside of Scarlett was followed seconds later by an identical lash to Juliet’s naked bottom. A dozen lashes would soon be completed and the questioning would begin anew. What would they do then? Where were their rescuers?
Morgaine next instructed her servant to lash also their upper thighs and backs, and a different kind of pain was visited on the young women as previously unspoiled skin felt the stripes of the whip. But that was not the worst of it. Failing to get the answers she wanted, Morgaine told her burly maidservant to bring the whip up from below, to strike in the tender folds of the girls’ quims. The red countess smiled as earsplitting shrieks echoed off the stone walls when the whip struck between the legs, into a woman’s most tender place. For the princess and Scarlett, it was sheer agony.
Morgaine paced casually behind the weeping girls. Their buttocks, backs, and thighs were wealed with red stripes and they sobbed and hiccupped, sagging weakly in the bonds that held them to the frames.
“Care to tell us now which one of you is Princess Juliet?” said Morgaine. “We have all night, but I’m not sure your tender skins can take it. Perhaps I should leave you here now and we’ll resume in the morning, hmmm?”
The Princess and the Rogue Page 12
