UNCERTAINTY AND FLIGHT
The road back to Cullver was long and winding and Amice was in a subdued frame of mind. She rode beside Henry silently, the woods around them quiet except for the slight rustle of a bird somewhere in a thicket or the wind in the bare branches.
Amice watched Henry as they rode. She had a sense of such foreboding in her heart. She drank in every sight of him, trying to commit as much of him to memory as she could: The way he sat so straight in the saddle. The wind gently tousling his soft blond hair. The way his blue eyes softened when he smiled. Each tiny detail was precious to her.
When we get to Dunkeld, it will likely be goodbye. She tried to imagine her parents' reaction to her love of Henry. What would she tell them? That she couldn't marry the man to whom they had promised her, because she had decided to marry an English spy instead? She chuckled.
“What, dear?” Henry asked. He gave her a sad smile. He looked as worried as she felt.
She shook her head. No need to burden him with her thoughts. “Nothing. I just had a funny thought.”
“Oh.” he raised a brow, as if he wanted to know what the funny thought was about, but she didn't want to say and he didn't insist.
A twig cracked in the woods and Amice stiffened. She was getting needlessly jumpy, she told herself. The last thing the duke would expect was them returning to his manor. Even so, she felt horribly uneasy.
Crackle. Crack.
More twigs breaking. Along with a rustle in the leaves. Amice stopped her horse. Henry turned round.
“Did you hear that too?” Henry whispered.
“Yes.”
They both stopped and listened. Amice could feel her heart thudding in her chest and her palms were slick with sweat. She expected an arrow to appear at any moment. At length, a deer appeared in the clearing. Henry let out a long sigh of relief and the deer heard him, taking off into the bushes.
They both grinned.
“Whew!” Amice said. Henry chuckled.
“Indeed. I'm starting to get jumpy.”
“Me, too.”
They rode along in silence. The woods were thinning out, the sun shining out through the high clouds to show them the gray wall that marked the boundary of the manor grounds.
Henry stopped his horse. “What shall we do?”
Amice swallowed hard. “Should we go in?” An idea was starting to form in her mind, a dangerous but plausible one. Henry shook his head.
“If we go in just like this, we'll be as good as prisoners.”
“Mm.” Amice cleared her throat. “I have an idea. What if I go in alone, and confide in Adair that something has happened to you? If the duke thinks you're dead, he won't try and kill you.”
Henry stared at her. “Brilliant!”
Amice blushed. “Thank you, dear.”
Henry was grinning. She could see he was thinking hard, taking the idea and expanding on it in his mind. “If you're staying there,” he began, “and the duke is waiting to hear confirmation of my death, then mayhap I can sneak in and look around. I need to see his private correspondence.”
Amice frowned. “I don't want you doing anything dangerous, dear.”
“I don't want you doing anything dangerous, either,” Henry countered hotly. “I just said I'm going to be sending you unaccompanied into the duke's clutches. We can each take a risk.”
Amice sighed. “Henry, you should stop worrying so much about me.” She shook her head, a weary smile on her lips.
“I will when you stop worrying about me,” he retorted.
They laughed. After a long silence, he reached out a hand to her. “Amice?”
“Yes?”
“I...if something happens to me, I need to know this.”
“Know what?” Amice asked softly.
“I need to know I told you how much I admire and love you.”
Amice stared at him. She swallowed. Her words were in her throat and she couldn't say them. Her eyes stung and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I love you, Henry,” she whispered.
He looked into her eyes. She could read the love in the depths of them, sweet, strong, and true. She turned in the saddle and reached a hand to his cheek. He reached up to it and kissed the back of her fingers. Squeezed it hard. Then turned away, coughing.
“We should go. We need to plan what we must say.”
“Yes,” Amice nodded. “I already have some ideas.”
Henry nodded. “Good. Well, you've shown what a fine actress you are, so I trust you will manage just perfectly.”
Amice giggled. “Thank you, Henry.”
“My pleasure.” He looked at her with a wistful expression.
“What?” she asked, her own throat tight with controlled tears.
“That is the image of you I will always hold in memory.” He shook his head. “With your hair loose and the mist on your eyelashes, smiling at me.”
Amice coughed. She reached for a handkerchief. “Don't, Henry,” she said, voice muffled by the cloth as she dabbed at her flowing tears. “Don't talk like that. We'll both come out of this alive.”
“I hope so.”
She gripped his hand. “I know it.”
He nodded. “Very well. I know it too. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Now. When I'm in place, I'll come out on the ramparts. Then you'll know what to do.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Good idea. Go safely.”
“Take care.”
She rode.
The sentries were on the lookout posts, the gate that led into the manor's courtyard closed. Amice cleared her throat. She was still in the cover of the trees, though in a moment she would be in view of the lookout posts. She brought her role to mind. Distressed lady, witness to a murder. Then she squeezed with her knees, urging her horse to a canter.
She shot up to the gate, hair flying around her face, wind streaming and catching her dirty blue velvet cloak.
“Who goes there?” one of the sentries called.
“Help me!” Amice shouted up imploringly. “Oh, please!”
The man started hauling on the rope to raise the gate. “Come inside.”
Amice slowed her horse and entered the manor at a walk.
“My lady,” the guard said gently, walking down from the guard post. “What ails you?” He rested a hand on her arm, and Amice stiffened so he withdrew respectfully.
“I am Lady Amice,” she said shakily. “Daughter of the thane of Dunkeld. I am a friend of Lord Adair...I need to see him. Please?”
The man nodded briskly. “Of course, my lady. I will send word to him at once. But follow me. He would have my skin for target practice if aught harmed you.”
Amice let him lead her to the solar, and then sank gratefully onto the settee, covering her face with her hands. She didn't need to pretend the exhaustion. Keeping up this performance was wearing on her sorely.
Then, as she heard the sentry withdraw, she stood. She had to go up to the ramparts. She slipped out and went up the spiral staircase in the tower, praying she could get up and down again before Lord Adair was summoned. If he finds me up here, I'll say I was looking for the privy closet and got lost.
She found the door, slipped out onto the ramparts and walked to the front wall. She stood there for a full minute, shivering as the wind tousled her hair. Then she turned and went inside.
When she went back down the stairs, the castle was in uproar.
“Where is she?” Lord Adair was demanding. “I must see her.”
“My lord, I...” her guard sounded terrified. Amice stepped lightly out of the turret door into the hallway, heart pounding against her rib cage.
“Here I am,” she said quickly. She saw Adair's lean face soften with relief.
“My lady,” he said gently. “It grieves me to learn of your distress. Come. Follow me.”
He led her into the solar, where she had just been, and showed her to a seat. In her absence, spiced cakes and claret had appeared on the table. She schooled her face into a picture of horror and looked up at the duke's son brokenly.
“My lord Adair, I...”
“Hush,” he said gently. “Here. Drink. I understand whatever happened has distressed you. I am only so glad you brought your worry to me.”
Amice smiled wanly. He was a kind man. She wished she didn't have to take advantage of that. She accepted the goblet and wet her lips with the dark, strong beverage, not wanting to drink overmuch lest she forget her lines.
“Now,” he said when she had accepted wine and nibbled on a cake. “If you can speak of it, please tell me.”
Amice cleared her throat. “Lord Adair, I...when I was with Lord Henri, I...we...”
“Take your time,” he said gently. His thin face with its grave brown eyes was solemn.
“Thank you. It's so recent. But I must speak of it. When I was walking in the market – we stopped in a village called Currie – we were suddenly set upon. A man – a red-haired man – he ran at Henri and he...” she swallowed, “he had a knife. He plunged it into Henri once, twice...Oh! The blood!” she sobbed. “There was nothing we could do. Of course, the villagers ran to our assistance, but it was near the woods and he ran in and escaped. Henri is...My lord, he is dying. I do not even know if he will last through today.”
Adair's face had gone stiff. Amice frowned, heart thumping. “What, my lord?” her first thought was: he knows. He always knew. He was in on his father's plans to kill us.
He cleared his throat. Reached out a hand to hers. “My lady,” he said tightly. “I am so sorry. More than sorry. But I must say that...the man was French. He was foreign. Who knows why he was here? In my heart, though I mourn with you. I am glad you are free of him.”
Amice stared at him. “My lord, I...”
“No. I am sorry,” Adair said, closing his eyes. “I should not be so honest. But it is true. My lady, he was not good enough for you.”
Amice shook her head. “My lord is kind,” she said in a soft voice. Inside, her mind was racing. Adair had been sincere in his pursuit of her. He meant what he said, that he was glad Henri had died! Were they right in suspecting his father? Or had the knife man been sent by him? She couldn't fathom.
“My lord, I think you are distressed, as I am,” Amice said gently. “I myself would like to lie down.”
“Of course,” Adair said, standing abruptly. “I'll send Greere to have your room readied for you. Please, forgive me for my misplaced words. It was cruel of me to say such things now.”
“You said what you felt,” Amice said. “That is no crime.”
“It can be.”
He paced to the window and Amice stood, following him. She looked out over the forest. Oh, Henry, please be safe.
She had no idea at all where he was.
Once in her chamber, she found she could not make herself sit still. She paced and sat, fidgeted restlessly with her skirt, trying to mend a hole in it using a needle she found in the drawer. When the door opened, she jumped, almost stabbing her finger with the needle.
“My lady?”
“Oh! Greere! You startled me.”
“Beg your pardon. The master asked to see you in the colonnade.”
“Oh.” Amice stood quickly. The master? “His grace the duke?”
“No, milady. Lord Adair.”
“Oh.” Amice turned in front of the mirror, reached for a comb and dragged it quickly through her hair. Then she went out to the colonnade.
Adair was there when she arrived. “My lady,” he said. He bowed over her hand.
“My lady.” He had changed into a fresh tunic, she noticed, one of raw linen worked with a patterned border round the neck. He had dark brown trews and his copper hair shone. Was he trying to impress her? She looked down, hiding her unease.
“My lord.”
“I wished to have you know that my father has dispatched a physician to Currie,” he said gravely. “Insofar as anything can be done, we will see to it.”
I am sure your father will see it done, Amice thought gravely. I do not think the physician was Father Matthias, or that he was told to heal Henry. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“It is nothing. Now,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “The last time you were here, we discussed the subject of riding. I had wished to take you on a proper tour of our stables. I...”
At that moment, a shout split the quiet air. A man was roaring at another, somewhere in the depths of the castle. The noise was followed by the sound of a sword blow, ringing on stone. Amice whipped round to face the noise, almost losing her footing.
“That was Father.”
The two of them, for different reasons, ran toward the noise. No, Amice thought. No, no, no. He cannot have found Henry. It cannot be.
They ran into the castle.
Inside, there was chaos as guards ran up toward the guest wing and other guards ran down. The person – Amice assumed it was the duke, Adair's father – still roared. The sound of weaponry had stopped. As she ran, they were passed by someone else, running in the opposite direction.
“Henry!” Amice screamed.
“Amice!” He panted. “Follow me!”
Amice turned round and ran. Adair was staring at both of them, a look of such disbelief on his face that Amice knew, in that moment, that he had not known what his father planned.
Then she was vanishing up the hallway behind Henry.
“Here!” he whispered, pulling her into a room she hadn't been in before. He closed the door behind them, bolting it from the inside. She looked around. It must at one time have been a parlor, for there was a fireplace and a single wide-arched window. It was also bare of furniture.
She looked at Henry. He face was ghostly white, eyes opened wide.
“Henry,” she whispered. “You're bleeding.”
It was true. A dark spot had appeared on his tunic, wet, red, and sticky. As she watched, it grew darker and spread. Henry shrugged.
“It's nothing. Now. Go! Through the window. I found this room earlier. It's the only way out.”
“Henry...” Amice stuttered. She was terrified of heights. She went to the window and looked out. Henry was right. A roof was below the window, jutting out over the yard. From there, the roof joined a vine trellis in the kitchen garden and they would be able to climb down. She slipped out.
“You traitor!”
“Spy!”
The shouts through the door were loud and Amice held her breath as she heard them knocking on the wood. They would break through any moment. Henry was still inside.
He grunted, swinging himself up to the window ledge. The wound was painful, clearly. He reached up.
“Here!” Amice screamed, taking his hand. “Pull!”
She braced herself against the ledge and leaned back as he drew himself through, using her hands as handholds. Then he was through. The door broke.
“Run!”
They ran. The roof was exposed to anyone who wished to aim a bow at them, but fortunately, the outer guards seemed oblivious to whatever was happening inside, for no one shot at them. Amice panted, terror giving her wings as she ran to the edge of the roof. The vine trellises were largely bare, the vines just starting to bud with the season's change. She stiffened and came to a halt. How would they get down?
“Follow me!” Henry shouted. He gripped the edge, a long pole about the thickness of her upper arm, and swung down. He let go. His feet hit the ground with a thump and he wheeled his arms for balance, and then froze. “Jump, Amice. You can do it.”
She put her hands around the pole, swung down as he had done. Opened her hands.
She was on the ground beside him then, and they were running for their lives.
“After him!” the duke himself shouted through the window. They saw him there, face dark and scowling, as they ran to the gate. A group of guards ran from there, running to head them off.
“Left! Amice screamed. Henry nodded. They ran left. An arrow skidded overhead, almost hitting her. She screamed and weaved left, Henry grabbing her arm.
“No shots!” a voice bellowed. Adair. Amice felt a pain in her heart even as she ran with Henry, into the grounds. He didn't want her killed.
“Back...entry,” Henry yelled. He was exhausted – she could hear the way his voice dragged. “Must be...gate.”
“Yes!” Amice shouted. They ran across the lawn, past topiary hedges and rose trees, around oaks and along paths. Then they were out of the ornamental part of the garden and there, in front of them, was a gate. A small one.
Henry hauled at it.
“Try the bolt!” Amice shouted. He reached through and moved it. It was rusty but it moved, slowly. Henry grunted as he pulled on it, and Amice felt her heart beat and her blood flare as she saw the soldiers running towards them.
“It's stuck. No. It's...here.” Henry sighed with relief as the bolt slid back. Amice pushed him through ahead of her and followed, slamming the gate shut behind them. Then they were in the woods and running for their lives.
Already, she could hear a hunting horn. The duke was sending his verderers and huntsmen after them.
“Run!” Henry yelled.
She nodded.
Breathless, panting, slowed by Henry's wound and their own exhaustion, they ran. Into the woodlands.