By Arrangement (33 page)

David and Oliver eased along the gutter of the inn, their backs pressed against the steep roof. Below them the lane that led to this hostelry appeared deserted except for the large shadow of a man resting casually against a fence rail. The shadow's head looked up to check their progress.

It went without saying that Sieg could not join them up here. He weight would have broken the tiles. He would wait below and then enter the normal way, dispatching in his wake any inconvenient squires or companions who might try to interfere.

“This reminds me of the old days,” Oliver whispered cheerfully as they carefully set their steps into the gutter tiles. “Remember that time we boys got into the grocer's loft through the roof? Filled our pockets with salt.”

“Nothing so practical, Oliver. It was cinnamon, and worth more than gold. They'd have hung us if they caught us, children or not.”

“A great adventure, though.”

“At least your mother used what you took. Mine knew it was stolen, gave it away, and dragged me to the priest.”

“Her sensitivities on such things are no doubt why your life took a turn for the worse when you got older,” Oliver said. “School and all.”

“No doubt.”

Oliver's foot slipped and a tile crashed to the ground. Both men froze and waited for the sounds that indicated someone had heard.

“I've a good mind to slit this knight's throat just to express my annoyance that he was so hard to find,” Oliver muttered in the silence.

David smiled thinly. Percy had certainly been hard to find, and the length of their search had not improved David's own humor much. The man seemed to be hiding. Not a good sign.

They had ridden first to his father's estate, then his uncle's, and finally to the properties which Stephen himself managed. There had been no need to approach the castles and manor houses. A few hours in the nearest town or village gave them the information they sought. Young Sir Stephen had not been seen for at least a week. Finally, on the road south, a chance conversation with a passing jongleur had revealed that Percy had been resting at length at this public inn several miles north of Newcastle.

David surveyed the ground below him, dimly lit by one torch. Sieg glanced up and nodded. They were just above the window to Stephen's chamber on the top level of the inn. The warm June night had caused the window to be left open.

It was the dead of night and no sounds came from the inn or the chamber below. David turned to the roof, crouched, and grasped the eaves. He lowered his body down, slowly unbending his arms. His feet found the
opening and he angled in, dropping with the slightest thud on the floor of the chamber.

He peered around at the flickering shadows cast by one night candle. Curtains surrounded the beds in this expensive inn, but here they had been left open. He saw a man's naked back and blond hair, and a strong arm slung over another body. Long dark tresses poured over the sheet.

His stomach clenched. A bloody fury obscured his sight. He unsheathed the dagger on his hip.

Oliver swung in the window and landed beside him. He gestured for David to be still, and then eased over to the door. Sieg waited on the other side.

With Sieg's arrival there could be little hope of keeping their presence a secret. The Swede stomped in, unsheathing his sword. Stephen Percy's head jerked up.

Sieg reached him before he had fully turned over. He placed a silencing finger to Percy's lips and the sword to his throat. Stephen froze. The woman still slept.

David found a taper near the hearth and bent it to the guttering night candle. He walked over and inspected the man who had caused him so much trouble.

Bright green eyes stared back warily over the shining blade. Stephen had rugged features and his skin appeared very pale, especially with all of the blood gone out of it now. David grudgingly admitted that women might find this man attractive.

“Who are you?” Stephen asked hoarsely in a voice that tried to sound indignant.

David leaned into better view. “I am Christiana's husband. The merchant.”

Stephen's gaze slid over David, then angled up at Sieg and over to Oliver. “Thank God,” he sighed with relief.

Sieg frowned at David. David gestured to Oliver. The wiry man moved to the other side of the bed.

Oliver pushed back the raven tresses spilling over a thin back. The girl jolted awake and turned. She managed one low shriek before Oliver's hand clamped down over her mouth.

Oliver stared. “Hell, David, it isn't her!”

“Nay. I never really thought it would be. She would not come on her own, and he never cared enough to abduct her. But I had to be sure.”

The girl had noticed the sword at Percy's throat, its point not far from her own neck. She huddled herself into a ball and stared around wild-eyed.

David smiled down at Sir Stephen. “You thought we might be her kinsmen?”

Stephen gave a little shrug.

“Another virgin sacrifice to your vanity, Sir Stephen?”

Stephen's eyes narrowed. “Have you lost something, merchant? You can see she is not here, so be gone.”

“Do you have her elsewhere?”

Stephen laughed. “She was sweet, but not worth that much trouble.”

Dangerous anger seeped into David's mind. “Sweet, was she?”

A sneer played on Stephen's face. Sieg lifted the blade a bit, forcing Percy's chin to rise with it. Stephen glowered down at the sword and hesitated, but conceit won out.

“Aye,” he smirked. “Very sweet. Well worth the wait.”

“I kill him now, David,” Sieg said matter-of-factly.

“Nay. If he dies, he is mine.”

The girl had begun crying into her knees. Oliver sat beside her and patted her shoulder. She muttered something between her sobs.

“Considering your position, you are either very brave or very stupid to taunt me thus,” David said.

Stephen laughed. “You are no threat to me, mercer.

Harm a hair on my head and you had best leave the realm. If the law doesn't hang you, my family will.”

“A good point. Except that I had already planned to leave the realm, and so it appears that I have nothing to lose.”

The smug smile fell from Stephen's face.

“David,” Oliver said, “this girl is little more than a child. Look at how small she is. How old are you, girl?”

“Just fourteen this summer,” she sobbed miserably. She glared at Stephen. “He was going to take me to London, wasn't he?”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “We will go, my sweet. After it is safe …”

“Nay, you won't,” Oliver said to her. “He will leave you to the wrath of your kinsmen, and you'll be lucky to end up in a convent. What are you? Gentry? Aye, well, they won't press case against a Percy, will they? Nay, girl, it's a convent or whoring for you, I'm afraid.”

The girl wailed. Percy cursed.

“So do we kill him now?” Sieg asked.

Quick. Easy. So tempting. David gazed impassively at the rugged face trying to remain brave and cool.

“I think not,” he finally said.

Stephen's eyes closed in relief as Sieg cursed and sheathed his sword.

“Give me your dagger, David,” Sieg said, holding out his hand. “The Mamluk one.”

“What for?”

Sieg sniffed. “In honor of the love I feel for this country and in protection of the few virgins left in it, I'm going to fix this man.”

Stephen frowned in perplexity.

“Remember that physician in prison, David? The one who had once worked at the palace? Well, he told me how
they made eunuchs. It is a simple thing, really. Just a quick cut …”

Stephen's eyes widened in horror.

“Sieg …” David began.

“The dagger, David. You always keep it sharp. We'll be out of here as quick as a nick.”

David looked at Sir Stephen's sweating brow. He looked at the crying girl and Oliver's gentle comfort. He thought about Christiana's pain over this man.

“If you insist,” he said blandly.

“Aye. Oliver, help hold him down for me.”

The girl saw the dagger approach and began a series of low, hoarse screams. Sir Stephen practically jumped out of his skin. He inched back on the bed, staring at the looming, implacable Sieg. He turned to David. “Good God, man, you can't be serious!”

“As I said, I have nothing to lose.”

Stephen laughed nervously and held up a hand as if to ward off the dagger. “Listen. Seriously. What I said before about Christiana …I was lying. I never had her. In truth I never did.”

“It is more likely that you are lying now.”

“I swear to you, I never …I barely touched her! I tried, I'll admit, but, hell, we all try, don't we?” He turned wildly to Sieg and Oliver, seeking confirmation.

“Let's see. Kneel on his legs, David. Oliver, climb over and put your weight on his chest,” Sieg said as he reached for the sheet.

“Jesus!”
Stephen yelled. “I swear it on my soul, she wouldn't have me.”

David smiled. “I already knew that.”

Sieg took another step forward. Stephen looked ready to faint.

“How?” Stephen croaked while he stared at the ugly length of steel.

“She told me.” He placed a hand on Sieg's shoulder. “Let us go, Sieg. Leave this man.”

“Hell, David, he is disgusting …”

“Let us go.”

Oliver got up from the bed and fetched some garments from a stool. “You wait outside, we will be down soon.”

“We?”

“We can't leave her here, can we? He's ruined her if she's found. I told her that we'd take her to Newcastle and leave her at an abbey. She'll say that she got knocked on the head and lost her memory and wandered for days until some kind soul brought her to the city.”

“Ah. The knocked-on-the-head-and-wandered-for-days explanation. A bit overused, don't you think?”

“Her family will believe it because they will want to. On the way, I'll tell her how to fake the evidence when she gets married.”

“Oliver …”

“She's just a child, David. Too trusting, that is all.”

“You are a whoremonger, Oliver. You are supposed to recruit girls who have fallen, not save them.” He looked at the girl not much younger than Joanna had been. He sighed and went to the door with Sieg.

Hell. At this rate, he'd never get out of England.

But, then, that had been the whole point of forcing him to make this search in the first place.

CHAPTER 19

C
HRISTIANA PULLED THE
knotted sheets and towels tautly to be sure they held together. She slid her arm through the center of the coiled rope of cloth and draped her light cloak over all of it.

It will work, she decided. It has to.

Leaving the chamber and building, she walked across the courtyard to the hall. She sought out Heloise sewing with her servants and three daughters. Beautiful, blond Heloise looked up kindly as she approached.

“The evening is fair,” Christiana said in the distant tone she had maintained since her arrival. “I will sit in the garden for a while, I think.”

“The breeze is cooling,” Heloise said.

“I have brought my cloak if I need it.”

The woman nodded and returned to her conversation.

Christiana forced her steps to slow indifferently. Outside she nipped into the walled garden behind the hall.

She meandered through the plantings so that her
progress would appear accidental. Slowly, deliberately, she worked her way toward the tall tree in the back corner of the garden.

Five days. Five days she had been a prisoner, and she still did not know why they had brought her here. She doubted that Heloise knew either. Perhaps her husband, the mayor of Caen, in whose palatial home she now found herself, had the answer, but he had explained nothing. Since the day she had stumbled into that hall, filthy and disheveled from her journey on horse and sea, furiously indignant and ready to kill or be killed, no one had told her anything. They had welcomed her as a guest, however, and shown her every honor and hospitality.

Except one. She could not leave.

Well, she would leave now. Yesterday she had found this tree. It grew higher than the wall, and she had eagerly climbed it, praying that some structure to which she could jump abutted the wall on the other side. Hovering amongst the obscuring branches and leaves, she had looked down at the sheer twenty-foot drop awaiting her. Even as disappointment flooded her, however, she had laid her plans.

She glanced around cautiously while she backed up into the shadow of the tree. At least two hours before nightfall. Enough time to get away from this city and find shelter somewhere.

Hoisting the line of sheets up her arm, she climbed the tree. She found a strong branch overhanging the wall's crest and settled herself on it. Easing off the sheets, she tied one end to the branch and threw the rest over the wall.

She shimmied out over the precipice and looked down. The dangling white line reached within ten feet of the ground. If she hung near the end and dropped, she should be safe enough.

She eyed the sheets and their knots. If they failed to support her weight, this could maim her. She prayed that the mayor of Caen bought top-quality linen for his bedding.

Lowering her feet to the top of the wall, she grabbed the first knot. She stepped back.

She had hoped that she could basically walk down the wall, but it didn't work that way. She found herself dangling against it, her hands clawing at the white line that supported her. The muscles in her arms and shoulders immediately rebelled.

Only one way to go now. Grasping with all of her strength, she began to jerk her way down, hand over hand. Halfway to the ground, she began to hear a distant commotion. It grew and moved toward her.

Noises and voices resonated through the stone wall. A lot of people were in the garden, thrashing around. She continued her painful progress and stared up at the tree limb fearfully, waiting for the face that would discover her. The leaves must have hidden her rope's end, because the noises retreated.

She had tied some towels at the end to lengthen the rope, and she reached them now. The knot stretched against her weight. Just as her hands were about to give out anyway, she heard the rip that sent her crashing to the ground.