by Lisa Shea
The musician raised an eyebrow. “But apparently you don’t sing with her,” he stated with amusement.
“I have more important duties at the moment.”
The musician laughed out loud. “More important than singing? Singing celebrates life. It commemorates love. It makes loss easier to bear. Nothing is more important than singing.” He looked down at Isabel. “I think here is a woman who understands that.”
There was a call from behind him. “Bob! We’re ready to go!”
He dipped his head. “Until later, maybe.”
Isabel’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe.”
He grinned, then turned to rejoin his group. In another moment the room had filled with the song.
Isabel could see the shadows drifting behind Philip’s gaze, and she was not surprised when, after another two songs, he rose. “We have a long way to go in the morning,” he stated in a low voice. “We should turn in.”
Isabel doubted they could get much sleep right now, not with the riotous noise of the main room, but she didn’t protest. She got up and moved with the other men into the back corridor. They found their rooms, the last two on the right, and Philip unlocked the last door. He opened it and looked around before ushering Isabel in.
There was a raucous shout from the main hall, and he turned, his eyes shadowed. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “Too many around.”
She smiled. “They’re just having fun,” she soothed him. “I’ll be fine.”
With an effort he smiled, nodding. “I’m sure you’re right.” He took her hand in his for a moment, looking into her eyes. His hold was gentle, tender.
Then he turned and stepped from the room.
Isabel slid the bar across the channel, looking at the closed door. She missed Philp’s presence. She didn’t even want to kiss him - she simply wanted to be with him. She wanted to curl up in his arms, to feel his breath on her neck, and to know he was there for her. To show him she was there for him.
She was falling for him.
She went over to the bed, climbed into it, and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. She knew Johann was right – that this was a romance of the moment. It would not survive the long term. Philip would want to head back out to his fighting, and she would be back with her father, going wherever he landed once he had been ejected from the White Tower. She knew that the demotion would break her father; would destroy his spirit. She imagined that they would end up in some seaside cottage, he would stare at the water every day, and she would watch him fade … fade …
She shook her head. Her father had taken care of her, all these long years. She could not stop Lord Bedemor from taking control of the keep or from tossing her father out once he did. All she could do was tend to her father the best she could, once the worst had been done.
She drifted off into a gloomy sleep.
* * *
There was a low knocking at her door, and her eyes flashed open. The room was pitch dark, with only the faintest of moonlight sneaking in through the closed slats of the shutter. She pushed off the covers and moved to the door, her heart pounding.
She leant her head by the crack. “Who’s there?”
A man’s voice mumbled through, deep and urgent. “Open up.”
She put a hand to the bar. “Philip? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Open the door.”
The texture of the wood bar was sturdy under her fingers, and she hesitated. Maybe she was just being paranoid …
She furrowed her brow. What could she ask? “Where did we first meet?”
“Huh? What kind of a silly question is that? Are you feeling all right?”
“I don’t think –”
“Just open the –”
THUNK
The corridor went silent.
Isabel’s heart was hammering so loudly that she wondered if it could be heard throughout the silent inn.
A voice came through the door, low, urgent.
“Isabel – are you all right?”
It was Phillip.
She sighed in relief. “What’s going on out there?”
“It’s the blond, the musician. Johann is going to set up under your window, and I’ll be here in the hall. Braun and Luigi will have a little chat with the man in our room. You go back to sleep. We can talk in the morning.”
Isabel pressed her hand against the door. She wanted with all her heart to open it to him, to fold herself into his arms. Just to be held, nothing more. Just to lean her head against his chest.
“Philip –”
His voice was gentle and low. “I know, Isabel. You stay in there, and you get some sleep. Stay locked up tight while we sort this out.” His voice dropped to a murmur, barely audible through the wood. “Morning will come soon enough.”
She sighed. “All right. Good night, Philip.”
“Good night, Isabel. Sleep well.”
She made her way back to the bed, imagined that his warmth was at her side, and faded to sleep.
Chapter 9
Isabel looked around at the men as they climbed onto their steeds and headed out into the golden morning sunshine. She had a sense that none of them had slept one wink last night – but you couldn’t tell it by looking at them. Each man seemed alert, focused, and prepared for the full day ahead.
Luigi’s chipper nature had not dimmed in the slightest. “At least that buffoon wasn’t a threat after all,” he laughed. “Just a besotted, drunken fool who wanted to provide Isabel with some private singing lessons.”
Braun’s brows came together. “I still say we should have tied him by his ankles and left him that way all night. Would serve him right for trying to force his way into her room. Who knows what could have happened!”
Johann’s face was even, but his gaze was light. “I imagine our songbird here could ably defend herself, if it had come down to that.”
Isabel nodded staunchly. “He might have been singing in a higher octave, once he had finished with that encounter.”
Philip’s look shadowed. “Still, we should take that warning seriously. This time it was an innocent enough situation. The next time, it might not be.” He looked across at the other men. “Keep in mind, it seems likely that the people we are impersonating are plotting against the King. If those loyal to the King hear of this, they may come after us, trying to stop us. And if those of the criminal group realize we’re not who we claim to be, they may also move against us. So we could have threats coming from both sides. We need to be cautious.”
Johann nodded evenly. “We’ll keep her safe,” he stated. “We’ve taken on small armies. Whatever they send, we’ll be ready.”
The men were even more attentive than usual. Every penitent pilgrim, dirt-coated farmer, and weary road traveler who broached the horizon was perused with attention. Philip escorted Isabel a distance off the road while the other group passed. She thought the efforts were unnecessary, but she held her tongue. She figured any attempt would happen in the dark, in the shadows – not on the open road for all to see.
The only sign of weariness as the sun faded into crimsons and lavenders was Luigi’s quieting. There was the young boy ahead on the road, the guidance, and a quiet inn alongside a well-kept stables. The sun had just dipped below the horizon when they pushed open the inn’s main door and stepped in.
There were perhaps twelve large, round oak tables scattered around the room. Most had farmers or merchants talking animatedly around them, filling the room with convivial cheer. A fire blazed merrily in the hearth. A rose-cheeked woman with plump hips ambled over with a smile. “There’s a table free in the back. Shall it be stew and ale?”
Philip nodded and guided them to the table indicated. It lay against the back door to the kitchen area. He waited until the others were seated before taking his own spot facing the door. He stretched his arms wearily over his head. “It will be good to get some sleep tonight,” he murmured.
The woman was back, laying down the steaming bowls, and Isabe
l’s mouth watered. The ales came next, and Isabel brought hers to her lips, downing a third of it in a long draw.
“Ahhh, that is just –”
A shout called, high and bright, from the front of the inn.
“Lord Bedemor!”
Isabel drove hard to her feet, looking around with alert attention. Where was he? Where was this bastard who was about to steal everything her father held dear?
Philip grabbed her arm, spinning on the men. “Johann, you go cause a distraction. Braun, Luigi, with me.”
The men didn’t hesitate a moment. Johann plowed forward toward the entrance and Philip pulled Isabel with him through the back door. It seemed seconds before they were in the stables, mounted, and galloping down a wooded path which ran parallel to the main road.
There was hoofbeat behind them and Philip turned, his hand falling to his hilt. Johann reined in as he rejoined his friends. He nodded to Philip. “None are following us,” he reported. “We got away cleanly. I convinced them that we were just passing traders.”
Philip’s face was shadowed. “We have to be careful. We are playing both sides of the coin here. If the two men on the ship that Marianne killed were royal messengers, we can be strung up for treason by those loyal to King John. They might not believe our vows that we are just play-acting a role.” His lips pressed. “And if Eric’s crew realizes we are merely players, I imagine our deaths would be even more brutal.”
Luigi gave a low laugh. “Maybe we should open this Orsini letter ourselves and see what we’re in for.”
Philip paled. “That is not our place. By all evidence it is intended for King John’s eyes. We must bring it to our King along with all we know. We must trust in his good graces.”
Luigi snorted, but said nothing.
Braun pointed up ahead. “There. That appears to be a tavern … in name, at least.”
Sure enough, a rickety building was stationed by the side of a small pond. The sign out front was hanging on one chain, swaying loose, and showed a yellow dog. It almost looked like Isabel’s Hilly, and she took it as a good sign.
“Let’s stay here.”
Braun raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure, lass? We can always keep going to find somewhere in better repair.”
She shook her head, her stomach growling. “I’ve been in far worse, when with Diggory. Some barely had roofs overhead or you had to pick the maggots out of the bread. So I’ll accept this place with thanks.” She patted the pouch at her side. “Besides, we are supplied with funds for all emergencies.”
Braun nodded in agreement, and a few minutes later the horses were safely settled in the stables.
An elderly woman with sparse hair looked up in pleased surprise as they entered. “Welcome! Welcome! Sit yourselves anywhere. The bread’s only two days old – still has a bit of spring left to it. And you’ll be wanting ales?” She gave a kick to the young boy sleeping by the fireplace. “Ry – go wash out the mugs. Five of them! Quick!”
The boy scurried to comply.
The table was pock-marked, and rocked at the slightest touch, but the mugs of ale sat comfortably on its surface and the liquid felt good to her parched throat. The bread was a bit crunchy, and the stew more broth than meat, but Isabel ate it with gratitude.
She looked around at the few farmers who nursed drinks in the corners and smiled. “I think this is the first night that we’re truly on our own. We’re off the set path.”
Johann glanced up. “It seemed Talbot’s reach was quite thorough. I would not put it past him to know exactly where we are and what we are doing. And, through him, for the progress to be reported back to Eric.”
She nodded. “I imagine you are right. We have to assume that to be true, at least.”
Philip downed his ale. “Either way, we arrive in London tomorrow, and then we have to figure out the next step. We know that there is a ball we are to attend and something of importance will happen there.”
Isabel scraped at her bowl until every last bite was gone. “Well, whatever it is, we will figure it out.”
Philip raised his empty glass to her. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
Chapter 10
Isabel’s eyes welled with tears of joy as the horses clip-clopped their way down the busy streets of London. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the cacophony of voices; the calls of fish vendors striving against the rattle of wagon wheels. The stench of unwashed bodies, horse manure, and a thousand other smells assailed her, and she soaked it in.
Home.
Johann shook his head, glancing at Isabel. “We all have different environments which call to us,” he mused. “This is a far cry from the deep woods where my village lies.”
Luigi’s eyes were gleaming as the group passed a fabric store, the windows draped with all manner of tapestry and embroidery. “But similar to my beloved Rome,” he murmured, and she could see his fingers twitching to rein in.
Philip’s gaze swung steadily from left to right. “Talbot will prove himself a magician indeed if he’s able to have his minions find us in this mass of humanity. Maybe we should just choose a tavern at random and then start visiting all the local seamstresses and tailors.”
Isabel’s eyes kept flicking north, north, toward the Tower. Toward where her beloved father lived. The soldiers she missed. Her darling Hillie. Was he even still alive? She had been gone a full year, and her dog was quite elderly when she left.
She shook her head, dragging her gaze back to the road before them. She couldn’t risk the trip. Not now, not when they were so close to discovering what the secret message was about and why Marianne had been so desperate to get her hands on it. Why would she have drowned an entire shipload of strangers just to get away cleanly with the silver case?
Braun turned his head, then had his horse step closer to Isabel’s. His hand dropped to his hilt. “There. By the tinker.”
Four heads swiveled to follow his gaze, and the men closed in around Isabel without a word.
This was no boy. He was in his fifties, with a scar across his right eye which caused it to close most of the way. He wore a leather jerkin and a sword at his hip. He strode out into the flow of traffic and it parted around him as if he were a bear in a stream of salmon. He came up to the horses and nodded to Isabel. “Right on time, as always, M’Lady. We heard there was a hiccup with your last stop.”
She shrugged. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. And now we are here.”
“Eric has lodged you and your men at the Flying Rhino. The costumers will arrive in the morning to handle the outfits. Everything is arranged for the Winchester Ball the following day. You have the package?”
She nodded.
His teeth sparkled in a grin. “Then I wish you the best of luck.” His gaze swept the other men. “See she arrives at that ball safely and that nothing happens to her until the mission is complete. Otherwise Eric will ensure your remaining years are ones you would not wish on your worst enemy.”
Philip’s gaze was steady. “On our lives, no harm will come to her.”
The man eyed him appraisingly. “On your lives, indeed.”
He gave a parting bow to Isabel, and then he turned. In a moment he had vanished into the bedlam which was London.
Isabel looked south, her shoulders slumping. It seemed torture to turn away from her father, but she nudged the horse, and the men fell in with her. They did not speak for the fifteen minutes it took them to navigate the busy streets and reach the inn.
They brushed and fed the horses, then moved inside to the main tavern room. It was cozy and well kept, with polished tables and a crackling fire in the fireplace. The buxom waitress came over with ale and stew, and Isabel realized she was famished. The few other patrons talked quietly amongst themselves, and outside the diamond-paned windows was the steady sound of wagon and horse.
At last the meal was complete and evening’s shadows sent dark fingers along the room. Isabel found she was still staring north, north, and the longing was growing
within her.
Philip frowned and leant forward. “I know what you are thinking. It would be dangerous.”
She curled her fingers around her mug. “But what if he is hurt? Ailing? He isn’t a young man, you know. He had me quite late in life, after his decades of soldiering were behind him. What if, even now, he’s on death’s door and I am not there to console him?”
Philip laid a hand on hers. “We don’t have to go through with this deception, you know. You can give the message to me. My men and I will simply take the message to the King’s court and present it.”
She shook her head. “But there would be so much left unknown. Who is involved in this conspiracy? What are their goals? I have no doubt that Talbot and Eric would vanish into the mist the moment the message became known.”
Luigi leaned over. “We should still be able to sweep up the sailors who rescued us.”
She nodded. “We could find them – but those sailors who picked us up off the island probably know little of the larger plan. They may simply have been told to transport group A from point one to point two.”
She sighed. “No, I know this is the right course. It is what we must do. But still …”
She looked off toward the north, her heart twining tighter.
Philip gazed at her for a long moment, then glanced at his companions. One by one they nodded.
He gently pressed her fingers. “We will find a way.”
An hour later, with dark clouds causing the night sky to be an even stretch of black velvet, five cloaked figures eased out of the back door of the tavern. They slipped down an alley, turned into another, and made three more changes before stopping in a shadowed doorway. Luigi and Johann immediately headed off in two different directions while Philip and Braun waited with Isabel, hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
In five minutes both men were back. Luigi shook his head. “No sign of any followers.”
Johann nodded in agreement. “The drunk woman is still at her post watching the front door, and the barmaid believes we are tucked in our rooms for the night. She glances down the hallway occasionally and then looks out to the drunk. I believe we have gotten away cleanly.”
