Chapter Twenty-Five
In her few lucid moments, Maddy thought of Lady Dacre and wondered how deeply she was involved in this enterprise. Up to her ears, Maddy suspected. There had been numerous clues. The fierce guarding of her private papers. Her obvious devotion to the old faith and her defense of Mary Stewart. Her expectation of Maddy’s unquestioning loyalty. And her trip to Carlisle.
Time dragged on.
Surely, Dacre and his followers had set out for Brampton by now, and even if she’d had the means to escape, it would be too late to warn Nicholas. If he and his father were killed, what would happen to Daniel? Maybe a kind servant would care for him, or his mother’s family would take him in.
Without warning, Matthew appeared on the threshold, not even bothering to close the door behind him. Why would Dacre have sent him to her? To see if she still lived? To dispose of her body had she died? Possibly the smith had undergone a change of heart and now wished to help her. But a small frisson of doubt kept her still and silent. Mayhap he had come here for another purpose entirely. Maddy let him believe she had swooned. Since she was lying on her side, she did not believe he could see her face clearly enough to know her eyes were open and watching him.
He held a dagger in one hand and was running a thumb along its edge, testing its sharpness. Jesu. He intended to kill her. No sense pleading for her life; she’d tried that with him already.
The smith leaned over the table, probably to slide the candleholder closer, the better to see his prey. Warily, silently, she pressed her left hand into the floor and pushed herself up. Then she kicked out her leg and wrapped a foot around Matthew’s ankle, yanking with all her strength. The fellow was sturdy and muscular, and odds were against her, but she had caught him off guard and at just the right moment, when he was a bit off balance. He yelped in surprise, and then fell spectacularly, banging his head on the corner of the table before he sprawled onto the hard, flagged floor.
His head was bleeding profusely, but Maddy did not stay to see if he was alive. She grabbed his dagger and, after a precautionary glance out the door, hurried through the gallery and down the stairs, skidding to a halt at the bottom. What if the dogs were still standing guard? Though she abhorred the thought, she’d be forced to use the knife. She eased the door open. Nothing. No dogs or humans were about. Entering Dacre Hall, she made for the kitchen, her heart pounding against her ribs, breathing labored.
As she neared the kitchen, Maddy heard voices. Friends or foes? The higher register of a woman’s voice came in short bursts, and she recognized it as Mistress Derby’s. Praise God. Reaching the threshold, she waved her arms about. When that did not suffice, she banged her head against the doorjamb.
Mistress Derby’s head flew up from her work and she rushed to Maddy’s side, with Alice right behind her. “Oh, my dear girl,” the cook said. She put her arm around Maddy’s shoulder and guided her to a stool. “Never did I dream he would do this to you. Hold you prisoner, aye, I believed it of him. But this?”
Alice’s chest heaved, sobs breaking out, but after a stern look from her mistress, she covered her mouth and tried to compose herself.
“How long have you…been like this?” the cook asked.
Maddy shrugged, then held her hands wide apart, to indicate a long time. She was consumed by shame, hated that they bore witness to her humiliation.
“We need help to free you, lass. I have no key for the padlock. I shall send Alice for Matthew.”
Maddy shook her head, waves of anguish washing over her. “Not Matthew, then. But who?”
She tried to say Thomas Vine, by which name the cook still called him, but could not. Mistress Derby understood her predicament. “I will say some names and you squeeze my hand if that person will do.”
The problem, of course, was that Maddy could not assess the involvement of anybody else. Musgrave was the only man she trusted, and he might have ridden off with Dacre. When finally Mistress Derby said his name, and Maddy gave her assent, she looked skeptical. “That villain?”
Maddy squeezed her hand harder and tried to nod. The cook turned to Alice and said, “Find Master Vine. Tell him to come with a hammer and chisel.”
He might not be on the property, but they would know soon enough.
After Alice left, Mistress Derby said, “It won’t be long now, dear.” Then she launched into a litany of self-castigation. “I should have known, should have guessed. Everybody around this place has been acting odd of late. Going off to secret meetings. Asking me for extra food, for no reason I could work out. Whispering all the time and ending their conversations when I came near.”
Maddy grasped her hand and patted it, to let her know this was not her fault. “When you were not at supper, I feared something was amiss. I asked the master where you were. He said you were indisposed.” She lowered her head, as if ashamed. Maddy tapped her arm and she looked up again. “I was busy and did not check on you right away. When I finally had the time, I hurried to your chamber and discovered you weren’t there. I feared, then, that something was terribly wrong. I could see Master Dacre and lots of other men were preparing to ride out, and I bid Alice to help me look for you, but we’d no luck. We could not find you anywhere.
“I don’t know who all those other men were, but no doubt it was them who required the extra food. What they’re up to I have no idea, but it’s nothing good, I’ll warrant. Must be why Lady Dacre took her leave.”
Alice and Musgrave burst through the door, Musgrave carrying the required tools. Mistress Derby glared at him, which, under the circumstances, did not seem prudent. “Can you break the padlock?” she asked.
He ignored her and spoke to Maddy. “Pray forgive me, mistress, for my part in this. I was making ready to rescue you. I had to let Dacre think I would ride with him and his men.” The cook pressed her lips together hard, for which Maddy was grateful. Whether Musgrave told the truth or not, she could not judge. But as long as he freed her, she didn’t care.
“Hmm. How best to accomplish this?” He seemed to be talking to himself, but Mistress Derby said, “You need her on a hard surface. Let’s lay her down on the floor, on her side.” Then to Maddy she said, “This will hurt like the very devil, lass, but then it will be over.”
She and Alice helped Maddy lie down on the unyielding stone floor. “You must hold her still,” Musgrave said to them. “I want to break it with one blow.” Alice leaned hard on her shoulder and legs, while Mistress Derby held onto the cage with a fearsome grip. Maddy couldn’t have moved her head even if she’d had any remaining strength to do so. She prayed his aim was true.
In the end, it required three blows.
The pressure eased immediately. They helped her up and guided her back to the stool. “Wrench the sides apart as far as you can,” Mistress Derby directed. “We must have room to get the bit out before we lift the bridle off.” Alice offered to help, but Musgrave waved her away. He pulled, grunting with the effort, and the cook drew the device forward, far enough to extract the bit. Without delay, they lifted the cage off Maddy’s head. For a moment, she could not move her tongue. Everybody was staring at her, waiting for her to speak. After several attempts, she was able to wiggle her tongue, and thus to form one word. “Water.”
“Oh! We should have thought of that,” Alice said. She left, returning in seconds with a ewer and cup. The girl helped Maddy drink a few sips, and afterward Maddy squeezed her hand gratefully.
“Do you think you can walk?” the cook asked. “We must get you to your chamber and into bed. And you need some patching up.” She and Alice made as though to help her, but Maddy stopped them.
“Nay. I must warn my cousin.” Her tongue was thick and not working well, and the words came out garbled. She could tell the others weren’t sure of what she’d said.
“Come now, you can tell us everything once we have ministered to your wounds.”
This was not going to be easy. Maddy repeated what she’d said before, as clearly as she could, and now they understood. “You’re doing nothing of the kind,” Mistress Derby said. “You can barely walk, let alone sit a horse.”
And then, for the first time, Musgrave spoke up. “You cannot go alone, mistress. I’ll ride with you.”
“Thank you, John.” It sounded like, “Ank oo, Ohn.”
Shock emanated from the cook. She must be told the truth of the matter, so Maddy revealed it, her tongue limbering up as she spoke. “Mistress, this man’s name is John Musgrave, and he did not kill Cath. Christopher Dacre did that.”
When she started to protest, Maddy stopped her. “He told me so himself, right before he brought me to the room where he held me prisoner. Now, I need your assistance binding my wounds and changing into a riding costume. Will you help me?”
The cook nodded, apparently too shaken to argue.
“I’ll ready the horses,” Musgrave said, “and meet you right outside the tower when you are prepared. But first I want to know exactly how you escaped from that room.” The three of them eyed her suspiciously. Perhaps they thought she had supernatural gifts.
“I haven’t time to explain now,” Maddy said impatiently.
“Give us the gist,” Musgrave insisted.
And so she did, ending with, “Somebody should check on Matthew. I-I might have killed him.” All three stared at her in disbelief, until she nearly jumped from her skin. “We must be on our way, John!”
He nodded, obviously suppressing a smile. Glancing at the two women, he said, “If one of you could gather some bread and cheese and a skin of wine? I am sure Mistress Vernon needs some sustenance.”
“I’ll do that,” Alice said.
Mistress Derby grasped Maddy about the waist, and haltingly, they made their way up to her chamber. Maddy located her riding apparel while the older woman ran back downstairs to collect the supplies she needed to tend to Maddy’s wounds. While she washed and bandaged the abrasions, Maddy told her a little of what she thought the Dacres were up to, evading all questions about how she was privy to this information. Every so often, the cook made little noises of sympathy, especially when she bathed Maddy’s mouth and the worst of her head wounds. Best not to mention her bruised ribs. “One of Matthew’s dogs bit me when I tried to make a run for it. Would you—?”
“Look at that!” The cook untied the handkerchief Musgrave had used as a tourniquet. “It’s still oozing blood. I knew having those evil beasts around would bring harm to one of us someday.”
At last it was done. Maddy stood up, and between the two of them, they managed to get her out of her torn and filthy bodice and skirt and into the riding costume.
…
Musgrave was waiting with their mounts. Maddy had strapped her scabbard and dirk around her waist and prayed there would be no cause to use it. They debated what route to take.
“We should ride along the wall,” he said. “That will give us the best vantage point—we might look down and see exactly where they are.”
“No! It will take too long to get up there, and it is too circuitous. I am sure they took the Roman road, so they already have a substantial lead.”
“Bear in mind there are only two of us. If we approach them from the rear, they will hear us. Which in turn means we will be dead before we can reach for our weapons. Warning Ryder should be our chief concern, not accosting Dacre.”
He had a point. When Maddy hesitated, Musgrave said, “There is the path on the ridge. It is not ideal, but it sits above the road. It’s more accessible than the path along the wall.”
Maddy had been on that path the night of the raid. “Good plan. What are we waiting for, then?”
Musgrave helped Maddy mount, every one of her wounds crying out as she landed in the saddle. “Can you shoot a bow?” he called, holding one up.
“At a target. But I can’t ride and hold one at the same time.” Especially not with bruised ribs.
“Take the quiver. I’ll carry the bow.”
At last they were off. They trotted over the bridge, but once they’d gained the path, Musgrave shouted “Hiyah!” His horse sped up to a canter and hers followed. Galloping would get them there faster, but the terrain was a bit uneven for it. Maddy hoped Dacre had not set any sentries along the way. Musgrave carried the bow out to one side in an impressive show of one-handed horsemanship.
There was still plenty of daylight left, yet it was eerily dark along the wooded path. It wasn’t long before Musgrave reined in and beckoned to her. The woods had given way to a clearing. He was gazing down toward the road, but there was nothing to see. “Dacre and his men must have already passed.”
“Let’s go,” Maddy said. “We’ve no time to waste.” In only a few moments they neared the end of the path and slowed the horses to descend from the ridge. When Musgrave looked confused, she said, “Follow me.”
They had to cross the road to get to the market square. Only a few people were about. Shops had already closed. Tethered horses stood in a line outside the tavern. When they got to Church Street, she held up a hand. “I think you’re correct in assuming Dacre and his men are already there. What should we do?” All along, Maddy had imagined herself arriving ahead of Dacre, riding up to the front door and banging on it until Nicholas answered and she could warn him.
“How far down the road is the house?”
“A half mile at most. Not far.”
Musgrave studied her. “I could ride down there and have a look.”
It was time to pluck up her courage. And summon what little wisdom she possessed. What would serve them best? Maddy was no longer the foolish, impetuous girl who had joined Leonard Dacre’s raid. She was capable of reasoned, cautious action, and she wanted to prove it to herself, and to Nicholas. “That would probably be best. Can you see the stand of yew trees? Let’s take cover there. You should probably walk the rest of the way.”
“Aye.”
They walked the horses a good way into the trees and dismounted. Musgrave wore a rapier, and she was certain he had a dagger in his boot. That was where he’d always carried one.
“I’ll leave you the bow. If I do not return—”
“I shall come. Pray, don’t tell me not to. The house is across the road. ’Tis the only one.”
He hesitated before setting off, his eyes on her. “It is thanks to you the justice of the peace did not arrest me. You have my gratitude.” And then he was gone, before she could respond. Maddy watched his progress. He remained in the cover of the trees a long time, finally crossing the road where the woods ended. When he was too far away for her to make out his form any longer, she paced from tree to tree, agitated, the pine needles soft beneath her feet. She hefted the bow, practiced pulling the string, nocking an arrow. Her ribs screamed in agony. Maddy could only hope that when a heightened sense of urgency kicked in, she would be able to focus on her target and ignore the pain.
For a long time, she waited. When Musgrave didn’t return after what she judged to be another quarter of an hour, Maddy decided to find out what was happening. Nicholas might need her, and what good was she doing, cowering here among the yews? Following Musgrave’s example, she stayed in the woods as long as possible, finally crossing the road toward the house.
All appeared normal, if rather too quiet. Laborers would have finished for the day, but nobody else, neither a groom nor a stable boy, loitered about. Maddy darted from tree to shrubbery, trying to conceal herself. If Dacre and his men were here, they’d left their horses somewhere else.
Not satisfied, she sneaked up to one of the windows and peered in. It was too dark inside to reveal anything. If all was as it should be, why hadn’t anybody lighted candles? Where was everybody? She was mulling this over when a commotion coming from behind the house claimed her attention.
Shouts. The clank of steel. A scream.
Maddy hurried to the rear of the house, the bow bouncing against her side. A skirmish was underway in the Ryders’s back garden, a place where she had known such tranquility. Pulling her hood up, she ducked behind the ancient oak, the one with such an enormous girth, and hoped nobody noticed her. Cautiously, she peeked around the tree to observe the action. For several helpless moments, Maddy watched, trying to sort out who was who.
The Scots were dressed like border reivers, in padded leather doublets and steel helms. She spotted Francis Ryder, in the midst of a rapier fight with one of them. He seemed at a disadvantage, without armor or helm. Musgrave fought with another man, rapier in one hand, dagger in the other. To her horror, a few bodies lay on the ground.
Where was Nicholas?
And then she spied him. He wasn’t wearing his doublet, which would at least have afforded him a small degree of protection. His hair was slick with perspiration. He and Dacre were in combat against each other, also with rapiers. Dacre grasped a dagger in his other hand. She kept her eyes riveted on them. At the moment, neither seemed to have an edge. Maddy stepped back behind the tree and nocked an arrow. She wanted to be ready if she had a chance to take a shot at Dacre. Then she peered around the tree once again.
Nicholas had the upper hand. He was younger, stronger, and more fit. But his opponent had two weapons, a distinct advantage. After another series of attacks and counterattacks, Dacre suddenly crossed his weapons. When Nicholas lunged, Dacre fended him off with a downward thrust of his blades. Nicholas’s body was now completely exposed. And then, the unthinkable happened.
Daniel jumped out from behind a lilac bush and screamed. “Uncle! Uncle Nicholas!” Nicholas turned and Dacre landed a hard kick to his stomach, felling him. From where she stood, Maddy could hear him struggling to breathe. Dacre stepped on his middle with one booted foot, holding him in place. But instead of running him through, Dacre began talking. To Daniel. His voice was too low for her to hear, but his intent was obvious. He motioned to the boy with his dagger. Nicholas did not dare move. It was down to her now.
She stepped out from behind the tree and pulled her hood down. “Daniel! It’s Maddy. Run to me!”
Without hesitation, Daniel charged over to her.
He clung to her skirts, and she knew he would not let go. Dacre looked at her, and she could see a flash of recognition and shock pass over his face. Distracted, he forgot about his foe long enough for Nicholas to struggle to his feet. Maddy was not about to gamble on how long the distraction would last. While Dacre was gawking at her, she raised her bow and shot him square in the chest.
He dropped like a deer in a hunt.
Clutching Daniel’s hand, she ran to Nicholas. He gestured toward the house and said, “Get inside! I must assist my father.” He threw himself back into the fight before she could answer. Not the greeting she’d hoped for, but he was in the middle of combat, after all.
A moment before they reached the door, she heard a howl of terror. Wheeling around, she glimpsed John Musgrave pinned to the ground by his attacker, but fortunately, Nicholas ran the man through with his rapier. Musgrave leaped up and the two of them went to Francis Ryder’s aid.
This was nothing Daniel should be witness to. It looked as though they would soon defeat the enemy, so she grabbed his hand and they dashed inside.
“Is Margery here?” she asked the child. They went to the drawing room, where Maddy quickly found tinder and lit a few tapers. A fire was laid in the hearth, and she lit that, too. There was a chill in the room, and a fire would provide both warmth and comfort.
Before Daniel could answer, Margery swept into the room. “Master Daniel!” she cried. “You disobedient child! You were meant to stay inside with me, where it was safe. I am very angry with you.” Her actions belied her words, as she lifted him into her arms and hugged him until he began to wiggle. She eased him down, and only then did she see Maddy.
“Mistress Vernon. What are you doing here?”
“It is a long story, and one best saved for another day.” Suddenly, Maddy felt all the energy drain from her body. She needed to sit before she collapsed. Lying down would be even better.
Maddy lowered herself to the settle. Margery walked over and took a closer look at her. “What has happened to you, mistress?”
“I…may I lie down, Margery? I am not feeling quite well.”
Margery settled Maddy upstairs in the same chamber she’d stayed in before, and afterward, brought her the willow bark tea she so detested. After drinking it, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
…
Hours later, Nicholas crept into Maddy’s chamber. Weary to the bone, he had neither washed nor refreshed himself in hours. Margery said Maddy had been injured, that her face bore wounds. He needed to reassure himself that she was all right. He sat on the bed, and she stirred and then rolled over so that she was facing him.
“Nicholas? You are safe, then.” She sounded groggy, barely awake.
“Aye, ’tis over. Dacre still lives, even though your arrow was true.” He chuckled. “Well done, Maddy. Unfortunately, the padded doublet he wore allowed him to survive the hit. What did he do to you, sweeting?”
“I can’t…talk of it now, Nicholas. Tomorrow.”
“In the morning, I am sending you and Daniel to a friend in the village. My father and I will be riding to Carlisle at first light. But I will visit you when my work is done, and then we will talk.”
“Aye.” Her eyes drooped shut.
Had she understood anything he’d said? Nicholas leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Adieu for now, my love.” But she was already sleeping.