“They’re our horses,” Hamish protested.
“If they’re your horses, how come ye’re so willing to give ‘em away?”
Meghan chewed her lower lip. They were wasting precious time! With scarcely a thought as to what she was going to say, she stepped out of the dark alley into the fading light of the street.
“Because I must escape London,” she answered. She couldn’t affect the noble accent William had obviously practiced, but she could smother her Scots accent.
Several of the boys yelped at her sudden appearance and William frowned his disapproval at her.
“Why?” asked the tall boy.
Meghan thought frantically. “Because I’ve no wish to marry the captain of the Tower guard.”
“The captain?” said the boy, suspicion evident in his voice. “I didn’t hear he was lookin’ to marry. ‘E’s an old geezer.”
“Which is exactly why I’ve no wish to marry him,” Meghan argued. “He...he convinced my parents to promise me to him but they are feeble and trusting. They don’t know that he is a cruel, lecherous old man.” Meghan hoped she wasn’t weaving an unbelievable tale. She had no idea who the captain of the guard even was. Apparently, however, the boys shared her invented opinion of him for they agreed that the man could not be trusted.
The youthful leader stepped forward to inspect Meghan in the faint light. He was nearly tall enough to look her in the eye and Meghan obligingly shrank a bit. She pasted on what she hoped was a look of delicate terror and even pretended to blink back tears. It was a trick she had scorned to see other women use, but she was willing to do anything to gain the boys’ assistance. She resisted looking at William, focusing all her attention on the lad.
She bit back a smile as the boy straightened his shoulders and said, “Ye poor lady.”
“Will you help me then?” she asked, looking at him as if he were a knight about to rescue her from a fate worse than death. “There are soldiers looking for us even now.”
He sketched a bow and said, “O’ course we’ll help ye.”
“C’mon lads, we’ve a diversion to create.”
“What’s a diversion?” asked the smaller boy. “I thought we was just goin’ to ride some horses.”
“That’s exactly what you are going to do,” said William as he swung the boy up onto Meghan’s horse. Unclasping her cloak, he put it on the small boy. “Pull the hood up.”
The boy, obviously the youngest of the lot, protested. “I’m not a girl!”
“Of course you are not,” Williams calmly replied. “That’s why you must pull the hood up. You are much to manly looking for anyone to believe you’re a girl. But under this cloak you might manage to fool the unwary.”
Appeased, the young lad pulled the hood low over his face.
Hamish pulled their saddlebags off the horses as William quickly assigned the other boys their role in the charade and instructed them to swear they were forced at knifepoint to the ruse in case they were caught.
“We’ll not be caught,” bragged the leader. “We know these streets better’n any soldier!”
“Off you go then,” William said, slapping his horse on the rear to send it forward.
Turning to Hamish and Meghan, he said, “We must hurry.”
As they ran through the cobbled streets, Meghan tripped on the uneven stones and her trailing skirts. She splashed through fetid puddles of water and ducked beneath low-hanging signs. Her lungs felt as if they were about to burst but William pulled her after him and fear fueled her weary legs. They wove their way through the twisted streets of London, ducking into alleyways whenever they heard the shout of men or the clatter of horses’ hooves. The smell of cooking food reminded Meghan that they’d not eaten all day and her limbs began to tremble with exhaustion. Still they kept running.
The urgent sound of the swiftly flowing Thames finally greeted their ears. William shoved Meghan behind a cart loaded with manure while he darted ahead to look for guardsmen. Despite the ripe stench, Meghan took great lungfuls of air, thankful for the moment’s respite. Hamish buried his face in the crook of his arm to muffle the sound of his labored wheezing.
William slid into their hiding spot as soundlessly as he had left it and urged them closer so he could whisper, “There are four soldiers on the bridge now, questioning the tollkeepers and the owners of the shops on the bridge.”
Meghan frowned. “There are shops built on the bridge?”
“Aye,” William said shortly. “As soon as they realize we’ve not been by, they’ll continue to search the city.”
“Won’t they stay to make sure we don’t try to cross later?” Meghan asked.
“Aye, but by then, we’ll already be across.”
Meghan’s head spun with exhaustion and confusion. “Have I missed something?”
In answer, William took her hand and pulled her after him. Hamish followed closely.
They crept to the edge of the bridge and William nimbly leapt up onto the stone wall. He turned and helped Meghan up and then edged carefully along the uneven wall. Meghan’s heart began to beat a fearful protest as she realized they were precariously perched above the cold dark waters of the Thames. As she crept behind the back wall of one small shop, she stumbled, her heart lurching to a stop. A solid arm swept back, knocking her against the wall, pinning her to safety. They continued on, creeping inch by inch as the sounds of the soldiers’ search punctuated the lulling rush of the water down below. They were nearly halfway across the bridge when they came up against a shop whose owner had clearly needed more room than the narrow confines of the bridge allowed. The back of the shop was built up and over the wall, hanging over the bridge by a good armsbreadth. The shop was separated from its neighbor by a passageway too narrow for anything but a starving rat.
Meghan had rested her hand on William’s back so as to keep pace with him. She now felt his muscles tense as he let his head drop forward against the impeding wall. She heard a soft thud as he punched the wall and she dropped her own head back in mute appeal to the heavens. The heavens being equally silent, Meghan opened her eyes and squinted.
“William,” she whispered. “William!”
He turned slightly. “What?”
“Could we not go over? If you boost me up, I think I could reach the roof.”
William studied her plan and nodded.
“What’s goin’ on?” asked Hamish.
William quickly outlined their idea.
Hamish muttered complaints about a fat man being forced to climb but obligingly helped boost Meghan up to the roof. Luckily the roof was wood-shingled rather than thatch, but it was pitched steeply and Meghan quickly knelt to steady herself as she felt one of the shingles creak beneath her weight. Below her, William struggled to push Hamish up and Meghan leaned over the roof to offer what help she could. As soon as Hamish was up, William made a running jump, grabbing the edge of the roof. His sword sheath thudded dully against the wall and he grunted as he struggled to pull himself up. Meghan and Hamish each grasped a forearm. They pulled him up several inches when the sweat on William’s arm loosened her grip. William swung free, held up only by a grunting Hamish.
“Your hand! William, give me your hand!” Meghan whispered as loudly as she dared. Terror shot through her veins as she imagined William plummeting into the dark water below. She leaned far over the edge of the roof, straining to reach his arm until her muscles cramped in her back. She reached further until she blindly caught William’s flailing hand and pulled with every ounce of strength she could summon. She only managed to pull herself so far forward that she lost her balance. As images of her own death in the Thames blurred before her eyes, she felt Hamish’s meaty arm pin her legs to his ribs.
Soldier’s shouts made them freeze–caught like ridiculous statues in a mockery of grace and poise. They hung, suspended in the inky blackness for several terrifying seconds until the sound of the soldier’s boots faded across the bridge. Then, inch by frightening inch, Hamish heav
ed Meghan back. As soon as her hips were on solid roof, she pushed against the wall to lever herself up and crawled back to safety.
“Hurry,” Hamish panted. “Grab ‘im.”
Meghan flattened herself on the roof and reached again for William’s hand, finally catching it in a frantic grip.
William tried to swing a leg up onto the roof but couldn’t quite reach. “Swing me,” he ordered.
“What—“ Meghan said.
“Swing me!” he said sharply.
Though she had no idea what he meant, Hamish clearly did, for he pulled on William’s arm, causing William’s body to sway back and forth. William threw his leg up on the upswing, clipping the edge of the roof.
“Again,” he gasped and Meghan helped swing his heavy body like a sack of grain. This time he managed to get his leg onto the roof. The three of them heaved, pulling him up. William teetered on the edge of the roof, his sword catching in the shingles. With a last frantic tug, Hamish pulled him the rest of the way up. The clatter of William’s sword against the bridge wall was followed by a faint splash as it dove into the Thames.
“Damn it to hell!” William cursed.
Hamish lay back against the roof, panting as if he’d run up a mountain. “Wouldn’t...wouldn’t have happened if ye were no so fat.”
“I’m no fat!” William protested.
“Fat in the heid. What sort of idiot has us climb over a house?”
“I believe that would be me,” Meghan said, torn between hysterical laughter and tears at their near calamity.
Hamish mumbled an apology as William pushed himself to his feet and then helped Meghan up. They began to cross the treacherous shingles, Hamish in the lead. He reached the opposite side of the roof and turned to gesture them to hurry. Meghan took a quick step forward and suddenly felt a loose shingle slide out from under her. She screamed as she slid down the roof. Out of the darkness, William’s arm caught her. She dangled midair, her feet flailing for purchase against the distant wall.
“Hey, what was that?” The muffled shout of one of the soldiers made Meghan curse her startled scream.
“Sounded like a woman,” said another man. “Came from over there.”
The three fugitives froze again, Hamish crouched at the roof’s edge, William pressed against the wood shingles, Meghan suspended over the edge like a fish caught on a line. Against the moonlit sky, Meghan saw William glance at the rooftop. “Hamish!” he called. “The ravens!”
Hamish spotted the several large birds who watched the proceedings on each side of the roof with indifference. With a low rumble from the back of his throat, Hamish let fly a gob of spittle at the nearest bird. With a loud screech, the bird evacuated its perch, startling its fellows into similar flight, harsh caws filling the air.
“‘Twas a bird. Probably one of the Tower ravens,” answered one of the guards.
“They’ve not been over the bridge,” said yet another. “You two stay at the bridge’s entrance. Make sure no one crosses.”
The men clattered away and William heaved Meghan up onto the roof. They clung to one another and Meghan would have given the world to stay within the safety of his arms. After a moment, she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.
“We’re almost safe. Can you continue?”
Meghan felt as if she’d not be able to move for at least a lifetime, but she nodded against his chest and reluctantly pushed herself up.
They crept to Hamish and slowly eased over the edge. Once on the wall again, they continued along the narrow precipice until they came to the end of the shops. The bridge was clear over the peak to allow for the wooden drawbridge to raise, allowing larger ships through.
“They’ll no be watching this side of the bridge. We should be safe enough walking over,” said William.
Hunched over, they raced across the rest of the bridge and disappeared into the darkness of Southwark on the far side of the Thames.
Chapter 14
The tang of salt air left a clammy sheen on Meghan’s cheeks, but she preferred the exhilarating rush of cold air above deck to the stuffy, cramped quarters below. The snap of canvas overhead and the crash of waves against the hull sang of speed—a comforting feeling after the terror of escaping the Tower and Edward’s troops.
Hamish had managed to finagle passage aboard a small merchant ship bound for York. Amidst bolts of cloth, barrels of wine, and small, fragrant packages of exotic spices, the crew had cleared a small corner for three passengers who wished to remain anonymous. Between the hard planks beneath her back, the residual fear of the chase, and the constant worry that she might be nibbled upon by rats, Meghan had scarcely closed her eyes all night. As a result she remained upright now only through sheer determination.
Overhead a barefoot man nimbly climbed a rope ladder to tighten down a flapping sail. Meghan watched him hang effortlessly in the wind as he used one hand and his teeth to tie a knot.
She was distinctly uncomfortable as she recalled the speculative glances the seamen had cast her way as she boarded ship. Even now she was unsure if they regarded her as a whore or a witch, for she’d heard of sailors’ superstitions regarding women on board. Either way, she was relieved to see William’s dark head poke out of the causeway as he hefted himself up on deck. They’d had scarcely a word since they found refuge last night and Meghan was uncertain of the status of their relationship. In the moments before Hamish arrived in their room in the Salt Tower, they had each said things...done things...
Then the terrifying rush through the streets of London had bound them in mutual fear and the basic common goal of staying alive, and that was a bond that did not quickly fade. She fought the urge to fling herself at William and cling to him.
Meghan drew a deep breath and gripped the rail to steady her shaking hands. He had tricked her time and again and ultimately forced her to abandon her father to certain death. Her feelings for him were tortured and confused. She glanced over her shoulder again and saw that the captain of the small ship had stopped to talk to William.
***
“The men aren’t comfortable havin’ a woman aboard,” the captain said. He was an older man with long, iron-grey hair bound in a tight braid at his nape. A full beard and bushy eyebrows nearly obscured his face but could not dim the sharp glitter of his black eyes, which seemed to glare accusingly at his passengers. He was an Irishman named Proinnsias Keenan, but his crew neither called him by his name or his title. Instead, everyone referred to him as “Pappy.”
William glanced at Meghan who was standing at the rail, holding on for dear life.
“I know,” he replied. “I’d no have asked ye to take us on were it no an emergency.”
“Owe someone money then? Didja win ‘er in a game of dice?”
William was about to nod when he recalled Meghan’s story to the boys in London. He shook his head and said, “Actually, the lady had no wish to marry the captain of the Tower guard.”
“The captain? He’s an old geezer!”
William bit back a smile. “Aye, he is. He’d convinced her kin to wed her to him nonetheless. I’m her—“ William paused and, playing a hunch on the romantic nature of a sailor, decided to embellish on Meghan’s story. “She and I are in love, ye ken? We’d planned to marry, but the captain, he’s a hard, stubborn man.”
Pappy made a low grumble that was part agreement, part sympathy.
“Her folk were taken in by the man’s money, wouldn’t even hear my suit seeing as how I was naught but a Scot and a farmer to boot. The lassie and I ran off and wed secretly. We were goin’ to tell her folk, but the captain found out and tried to chase us down. So instead, we’re off to Scotland where I’ve kin who will help us start a life.”
The gruff man brushed a rough hand over wet eyes and blew his nose on a large sheet of red flannel. “The dear sweet gel,” he murmured, gazing at Meghan now with the approval of a loving father, rather than a sea captain begrudging a whore space in his berth. “And you!” he said, turni
ng back to William. “Why did you not tell me the two of you were newlyweds. I’ve better accommodations to offer such a sweet young couple as yourself.”
“No, ‘tis not neces—“ William began, but Pappy shut him up with a wave of his hand.
“And to think I let you spend yer first wedded night in that cramped hold—with yer servant no less!” He began to walk over to Meghan and William had no choice but to follow, unsure of what the old man would say or what Meghan’s reaction would be to the story that they were married.
“Now look at you!” the captain chided Meghan. “You’ll catch your death of cold getting wet in the spray. You’d best go below with your man to get good and warm. I’ve a nice big bed that will do just the trick.” Pappy punctuated this instruction with a knowing wink at William. “Your to use my cabin for the remainder of the voyage. I’ll hear no arguments,” he said magnanimously, although William could see that arguing was the farthest thing on Meghan’s mind at mention of a bed.
Pappy left to issue instructions to his crew and Meghan turned a bewildered gaze to William.
“What inspired that gesture?” she wondered.
William shrugged. “I suppose he feels sorry for ye. I—“ he cleared his throat. “I told him the story you made up about havin’ to marry the captain of the guard.”
Meghan smiled. “Pretty clever, no?”
Her smile was contagious and William joined her. “Aye.”
“Where is this big bed?” she asked and William glanced aside to see a crewman grin.
He cleared his throat again. “Below. ‘Tis below.”
He grabbed her elbow and steered her to the ladder that led below deck.
The King's Rebel Page 13
