The Deed (29 page)

It was full dark out now. So dark she could no longer tell where the wall ended and the
ground began. It looked to be an abyss outside her window.

Grimacing, she turned and quickly stripped the linens off the bed, adding them to the end
of her rope. Then she hurriedly checked each knot to make sure they were firm. That done,
she paused to take a deep breath to bolster her courage, then stooped to tie the end of
her makeshift rope around the bedpost before moving back to the window and leaning out to
peer toward the guards. They were busy yelling at each other across the distance
separating them. Emma waited a moment, but they did not glance away from each other so,
giving her shoulders a shrug, she dropped her rope. It disappeared into the darkness even
as it slapped against the wall. Twas not a very loud sound, but made her glance nervously
toward the guards again anyway. They did not appear to have noticed.

She waited a moment just to be sure, then started to lift a leg onto the window ledge.
There was every possibility that one or the other of them would glance over and spot her
golden gown in the darkness. It was something she had thought of as she was making the
ropes, but there was little she could do about that. It was a terrible shame she did not
have on a gown of a darker color, but Amaury had insisted he did not wish to see her in
anything even vaguely resembling black. She would give him hell for that the first chance
that she got, she decided, refusing to consider the idea that he might already be dead. He
simply could not be. She would not have it. She simply could not be widowed by him. And
not just because she did not wish to marry Bertrand. Damned if she hadnt become used to
having her husband about. Why, she was even becoming used to the idea of being in love
with the great lug. Truly, her knees went weak whenever he touched her, and his smile
somehow seemed to make the morning brighter. It would be a gray world without him in it.

Her thoughts managed to distract her from what she was doing as she sat on the ledge and
eased to its edge, preparing to shimmy down her rope. A quick glance to the side assured
her that she had not been noticed yet. It also helped to delay her descent. She was not
sure what she would do if she were spotted. She supposed she could simply push herself out
from the side of the castle and drop into the moat in the hope that she could get out and
avoid her pursuers long enough to lose herself in the woods. On that thought, she wrapped
the top of the rope around one arm, grasped it with both hands, and pushed herself off the
ledge.

Emma did not have far to drop with the rope wrapped around her as it was, but she realized
her mistake in doing so the moment the rope jerked tight around her arm. The pain was
excruciating. She managed to bite back a shout of agony and hold on as she swung just
below the window ledge. Forcing herself to concentrate on the solid stone wall before her,
she tried to ignore the pain in her arm. It felt as if that limb were afire.

After a moment of time in which she waited to see if the pain would lessen any, she
glanced nervously to the side to see the guards. They were still talking, but she knew she
could not count on their continuing their conversation forever.

Biting her lip to keep back the whimper of pain and fear that wanted to escape, Emma
shifted her hold and allowed herself to lower a hands span down the rope. She paused again
then before lowering herself the same amount once more. Then again. She traversed most of
the wall like that, inch by painful inch, every second expecting a shout to call the
warning that she was trying to escape. She was halfway down the wall, the muscles in her
arms and shoulders aching so badly she feared she could hear them screaming in her head,
before she stopped worrying about that. It seemed that in the dark the guards could not
see her.

Emma discovered she had arrived at the end of the rope when she reached down to grab it a
bit lower and grasped nothing but air. Holding still, she glanced down, squinting in an
effort to see the ground. After a moment she was just able to make it out. From what she
could tell she was a little over two thirds of the way down the wall. That still left a
third of the way to traverse. With no rope. She felt panic rise up in her briefly, then
stomped down on it determinedly as she tried to consider her options.

Climbing back up the wall to her prison was one.

Not bloody likely, she muttered under her breath.

Jumping to the ground was another option, but it carried the possibility of breaking her
legs with it. It would be difficult to escape on broken legs.

She surveyed the ground again, then glanced at the moat. She could always make a jump for
that. Her nose wrinkled at the idea. She had begun to smell the moat before she had
traversed a quarter of the distance down. Right now the scent was almost unbearably
strong. Diving into the source of that smell was not the most appealing option. Unless she
put it next to seeing her husband dead, she thought grimly and peered below again. She
would have to move quickly. Her splashing into the moat would no doubt be heard. It would
at least be enough to have the guards send someone to look about. She would have to pull
herself out and reach the woods before being caught, but there was no help for it, she
decided. Yet she still hesitated.

A sudden shout from above brought her head up. She could just see Bertrands silhouette in
the window of the tower, framed there by the candlelight in the room. It seemed he had
come for another unapproved visit. He did have the damnedest timing.

Grimacing, Emma turned to face the wall, took a deep breath, pushed herself out with her
feet, and released her hold on the rope.

She dropped like a stone, her skirts flying up over her face as she slammed into the
stinking water of the moat. It was deeper than she had expected. It seemed to take forever
for her to plummet to the bottom, though she supposed that at the moment, as she imagined
guards pouring out of the gate to search her out, everything seemed to take too long.
Feeling slightly uneven ground beneath her feet, she pushed upward, only to reach the
surface and barely manage a gasp of putrid air before her skirts dragged her down again.

She struggled briefly, attempting to reach the surface anyway, but it was impossible. When
her lungs began to burn from lack of air, she started to tug desperately at her gown,
shedding it as quickly as she could before struggling back to the surface again. As fetid
as the air that she drew into her lungs then was, it was about as sweet as the scent of a
rose to Emma.

Gasping more air into her lungs, she struggled through the foul stew toward the outer edge
of the moat, aware of the shouting above her head as the guards on the wall tried to
pinpoint her in the dark. She

could also hear the rattle of the drawbridge being lowered.

Emma had almost reached her goal when she felt something brush up against one of her legs.
Images of what might actually be alive, or even dead, in the moat exploding in her head,
she grasped desperately at the turf on the far side, and quickly pulled her shuddering
body out of the water. She would have liked to do a little dance of disgust as she drew
herself to her feet on the grass, but there was no time for it. Gaining her feet, she
glanced over her shoulder at the men pouring over the drawbridge after her, then sprinted
for the woods.

Emma had almost reached the trees when a solid wall of men stepped from them, barring her
path. She paused in astonishment, then turned to flee to the side.

Emmalene!

Freezing at that voice, she whirled, peering in the direction it had come from. But all
she could see were the dark shapes of soldiers. Until one stepped forward. He had the
vague outline of her husband and she truly wanted to believe that it was him, but it was
so dark... Then someone lit a torch, holding it aloft as the men pursuing her began to
slow in confusion. The man bearing the torch was Blake. Beside him stood Amaury, and
beside him was King Richard. On either side of them stood a line of men that seemed to go
on forever.

Sobbing her relief, Emma raced forward and threw herself against Amaurys chest.

Amaury raised his arms automatically to catch his little wife to his heart. He had never
been more relieved in his life than when he had spotted her at the tower window. The
soldiers who had trailed them all day had just caught up to them when she had appeared.
They had all stood silent as they stared at her. His relief to know that she was at least
alive had been nearly enough to make his legs collapse beneath him as he had recognized
her gold gown in the candlelight.

Then she had leapt from that window and his heart had stopped dead. When she had been
brought up short in her downward flight and he had realized that she was hanging from a
rope, his legs had given out. Only Blake and the kings speed in catching his arms had kept
him on his feet. The following few minutes had been sheer hell as they had watched her
descend inch by painful inch toward the ground. All of them, every last man, had seemed to
hold their breath as they watched his wife do what few of them would have dared. And all
of them had felt completely useless from their position on the edge of the woods.

Sweat had beaded Amaurys brow and his hands had ached from clenching them by the time she
had reached little more than halfway down and suddenly stopped. He had known right away
there was a problem. Still, none of them had been prepared for her sudden plummet down
into the moat. They had all stood frozen to the spot briefly. Then she had pulled herself
from the water and charged across the grass as if nothing had happened. At first she had
headed straight for them. Almost as if she knew they were there. It wasnt until she had
suddenly changed her course that he had realized that she did not know it was them.

Now, he lowered his face to press a tender kiss to the top of her head, only to stiffen,
dismay crossing his features as he got a whiff of her. A glance to the side showed the
king taking a hasty step back, waving one hand frantically before his nose as he too
caught a sniff. Blake had taken two decidedly large steps to the side, taking the torch
with him and nearly casting them in darkness again.

The sound of hoofbeats drew Amaurys attention to Lady Ascot as she crossed the bridge on a
horse, her son behind her on another. The men who had stopped in their pursuit of his
wife, and now hesitated

uncertainly a few feet behind their quarry, immediately made way for their mistress as she
rode up before them.

Ah, de Aneford. I see you saved us the trouble of hunting down both your wife and
yourself, she drawled, then glanced toward her son. Kill him.

Bertrand looked nonplussed for a moment, then turned to the men standing on the ground
before his horse. Kill him. But do not harm Emma.

The men simply stood there with expressions of uncertainty. They had seen the king. They
had also had time for their eyes to adjust to the darkness, and now saw the number of men
they faced. None were willing to act.

Did you not hear my son? Lady Ascot snapped impatiently. Why do you hesitate? Kill the man!

I fear it may have something to do with my presence. Richard stepped briefly back into the
torchlight, wrinkled his nose, then hurriedly moved around to Blakes other side, as far
from Amaury and his aromatic little wife as he could before relaxing again and smiling at
Lady Ascot. A smile that became decidedly predatory as his soldiers made their numbers
known by circling Lady Ascots men.

To her credit, the woman paled, but retained enough of her wits to try to protect herself.
Your Majesty, what a... lovely surprise. We were just...

Attempting to recapture your prisoner? Richard finished for her archly. Nay. Never.
Nonsense. Lady Emma was our guest. Do many of your guests leave by the window? Blake asked
dryly. Only the more adventurous, Lady Ascot snapped.

Thinking he had most definitely comforted his wife more than enough, Amaury barked over
his shoulder for his squire. See your lady to the horses.

Nay, Emma protested, pulling back to peer at him. Amaury

Aye, wife. We will tend to Bertrand and his mother, he insisted, grimacing as a fresh
whiff of moat reached his nose.

But I must tell you, Gytha is her maid. And they knocked me out and held me captive. And
Arundel was supposed to poison you at court. Then they were going to force me to marry
him. She gestured toward Bertrand, who was doing his best to appear invisible at the
moment.

Aye, wife. Now go with Alden. You are barely dressed. He gave her a gentle push toward the
boy, then turned back to faceAscot and her son.

Emma frowned at his back, then turned reluctantly toward the squire.

Come, my lady. Alden stepped forward to take her arm, then immediately stepped back as far
as he politely could and still lead her by the arm into the woods.

Bertrand watched the woman he had coveted disappear into the woods, and took a moment to
wonder at the unfairness of a bastard son of a village maid having gained everything he
sought. Then he sighed and slid off his mount. It was apparent to him what he must do now.

Both Amaury and Blake drew their swords, crossing them before their king when he suddenly
hurried toward him. The action brought him to an abrupt halt, but did not stop his saying,
I beg your leave, Your Majesty. It must be obvious to you that I had nothing to do with
this? Twas all her doing.

Bertrand! Lady Ascot roared furiously when he waved vaguely in her direction, but her son
ignored her.

I was a mere pawn! A victim as surely as Lady Emmalene herself!

Blake and Amaury glanced at each other, sharing a look of amused disgust at this display.
The king was less than entertained, however.

Quit your sniveling, man! Yer in this up to your neck. A quick gesture was enough to bring
two of his men forward to collect Bertrand as the king faced Lady

Ascot. Blake and Amaury lowered their swords and turned to glare at her as well.

She lasted a moment or two longer under their combined accusing scowls than her son, but
it was only a moment or two.

Twas Gytha! she screeched at last. Twas all her idea. I only told her to get her cousin,
that fop de Lascey, to take her with him so that she might spy on you. She took it upon
herself to poison you. Twas she who knocked your wife out as well. She caught her
listening to us Lady Ascots panicky babbling came to an abrupt end when the servant she
was accusing pushed her way through the horses and yanked the woman off her horse by the
skirt. Before anyone could move, the maid had her mistress before her, a dirk at her
throat.

Tis glad I am that loyalty works both ways in our relationship, she muttered bitterly to
her betrayer, then pressed the knife closer until a bead of blood appeared at its tip when
Amaury made to move forward. Nay, de Aneford. While you may have nine lives, I much fear
her Ladyship here does not.

Amaury stopped, but shrugged at the intended threat. Kill her then.

Lady Ascot released a choked squawking noise at that, and he turned his gaze to her,
adding, Why should I care? She has been working hard enough to do just that to myself.
Sides, once she is dead, you will have no shield.

Gythas mouth twisted bitterly at that, and she began moving backward, pulling her mistress
with her as Lady Ascots men stepped out of the way. It seems I made a mistake again, Gytha
said. The first was in backing this old bitch as a victor.

The second was in underestimating me, Amaury told her arrogantly, following her retreat.

Aye. I will not do that again, she muttered, glancing behind her and pausing when she saw
that she had backed up to the moat. Gytha started to turn back, spied the rush of movement
out of the corner of her eye as Amaury hurried forward, then stumbled off balance as Lady
Ascot began to struggle. Her mistresss struggles stopped the moment the knife pierced her
neck, but it was too late. Off balance and

already falling, Gytha was unable to stop them both from tumbling backward into the moat.

Amaury shouted in warning as the two women began to fall. The nearest of her men stepped
forward at once, intent on catching at least their mistress, but none were close enough to
be able to grab at her before both women plummeted into the moat. Once they had
disappeared beneath its dark surface, the men all simply stood about, grimacing as they
watched for one or the other of the women to resurface.