Page 95 of My Hero
Cynthia blinked. That was impossible. It was October. The garden couldn’t be green.
El nodded emphatically. “I told you themonkshood would bear fruit.”
“Monkshood?” Cynthia furrowed her brows. The monkshood would have gone to seed weeks ago.
Elspeth screwed up her forehead in frustration. “Aye, my lady. I can see thehorseradish from my window. Thewolfsbane will be coming up soon.”
What the devil was El talking about? Green? Monkshood? Horseradish? Wolfsbane? “I don’t—”
“Wolfsbane,” Elspeth enunciated clearly. “Scores of them have popped their heads up already.”
Cynthia stared into Elspeth’s eyes, which were fierce with the effort of trying to make her understand. Then, slowly, she began to decipher El’s words.Monkshood. Themonkhad to be Garth.Wolfsbane. Thewolveswere likely Garth’s brothers.Horseradish. El had seenhorsesfrom her window, scores of them. Clad in the colors of de Ware, it would make the landgreenas far as the eye could see.
Cynthia’s heart fluttered with an emotion she’d almost forgotten. Hope. She clutched at the bars and silently mouthed,He comes for me?
Elspeth smiled and nodded.
“Thank God,” Cynthia choked out. The guard swung his head around with a suspicious scowl, and she added, “I was afraid the monkshood…might have languished in my absence.”
The impatient guard motioned for Elspeth to leave, and El gave her a quick pat on the hand.
“Never worry, my lady,” El said with a wink of farewell. “It’s stubborn, that monkshood, near impossible to stifle.”
When she had gone, Cynthia turned away from the door. Her eyes filled again, this time with joy. Garth had sent for his brothers! He’d done it. He’d come to her rescue.
She leaned back upon the cold iron door. The torch in the hall flickered, making her shadow dance a merry jig of celebration across the damp stones of her cell.
They might survive—the babe and her—and hope lightened her heart.
She wished she’d been able to ask Elspeth more. What was the Abbot doing? How were the castle folk taking the news? And where was Garth? But then, she supposed she’d learn in time. For now, it was enough to know that the knights of de Ware—scores of them—were coming to rescue her.
The babe wiggled inside her as if sharing her delight, and she laughed aloud, though the sound was almost like a sob.
“Soon,” she promised, soothing the infant with long gentle strokes. “Soon we’ll be free of this place.”
In a few hours at best, a few days at most, she’d walk through the dungeon door, never to return again.
“The first thing I intend to do is stretch out on the sod of the garden,” she said, half to the babe, half to herself. “Just soak up the sun’s warmth…smell the ripening apples…hear the cuckoo’s call…run my fingers through the fallen leaves…gold, orange, yellow, crimson.” She closed her eyes, imagining it.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke through her thoughts. Suddenly the Abbot appeared at the door. He looked agitated and displeased, and an icy trickle of fear ran down her neck.
“What do you want?” she croaked.
He beckoned the guard, who rattled a key in the lock of the door.
“What…” she began again, swallowing the words involuntarily.
The door screeched open, and the guard grabbed her by the elbow. As ludicrous as it was, she resisted him, strangely reluctant to step from the cell that had been her home for so many weeks.
“Come along, child,” the Abbot said as the guard lugged her out. “It’s time for a bonfire.”
“Nay!” she screamed, fighting against the guard with all her might. “Nay!”
This couldn’t be happening—not while the babe was still unborn, not with the Wolves de Ware at the gates, not with Garth on his way.
Her eyes rolling wildly, she pulled against the guard, dragging her feet and grabbing at the stone walls, desperate to slow her progress.
The last horrifying thought she had as the guard scraped her feet over the rough stones and hauled her up into the blinding daylight of the great hall was that she’d never have the chance to take her opium.
