Page 30 of My Warrior
CHAPTER 6
Sir Guy turned on her with a furious glare, as if she were to blame for whatever had transpired.
One servant fetched a bucket of water, another brought cloth for bandages, a third roused the physician from his bed. Only after the litter was carefully lowered to the floor did Cambria notice the three men kneeling in cruel chains on the stones beyond the litter, held there by two of Holden’s knights. They were bloody and ragged, and it took Cambria a moment to realize who they were.
Robbie’s fiery red hair was dulled beneath a crust of filth, but his temper blazed as hot as ever in his angry blue eyes. Beside Robbie was his younger brother, Graham, fourteen summers old, looking suddenly much older in his pain and fear. The third was her older cousin Jamie. It was the first time she’d ever seen him without a smile on his face.
At Guy’s harsh command, the two knights dragged the prisoners to their feet and hauled them off to the dungeon. If her clansmen noticed her at all, they showed no sign of it, or perhaps terror blinded them.
Sick in her heart, she retreated from the horrible scene and stole up the stairs. Once returned to the haven of Lord Holden’s chamber, she wore a path through the rushes with her pacing.
Lord, what was she to do? Holden’s men were so ferociously protective of him. If the Blackhaugh deserters were responsible for the lord’s wounds, she feared they wouldn’t live long. Somehow, she had to help them. Aye, they’d deserted Blackhaugh and joined up with Scots rebels, but they were still Gavins. As her clansmen, she owed them her protection.
Her eyes flickered over the things in the room,histhings—the tapestry of a boar hunt on the wall, ink and parchment on the table, a whalebone comb, a pair of deerskin boots—and a desperate plan formed in her mind.
She had sworn not to attempt escape while Lord Holden was away, and a vow made in the name of her clan was sacred. But he wasn’t away now, was he? So her oath no longer applied. Or so she told herself, though the thought of coming so close to breaking her word left a bitter taste at the back of her throat.
In a matter of moments, the men would bring the lord to his chamber. She used the time to hide, secreting herself behind the long tapestry.
When the knights finally carried in de Ware’s unconscious form, so concerned were they with the condition of their lord, they never noticed her. She seemed to be completely forgotten in the uproar.
She heard Holden’s muffled groan as the men eased his body onto the pallet. Strangely, it caused her heart to catch. She scarcely breathed as they unfastened and removed his mail. From the hushed conversation between de Ware’s men and the physician, she learned that they’d been waylaid by a half dozen rebels who had somehow been alerted to their whereabouts. There was talk of a spy. The lord had been wounded by a sword slipped beneath his ribs. One of the three Scots prisoners they’d managed to capture had done the deed. The blade had cut cleanly, and the flow of blood had been stanched, but he’d lost a lot of it, and the travel through the fierce storm had left him weak.
A servant kindled a fire in the fireplace, and everyone but the physician cleared the room to allow the wounded man rest. While the physician rummaged through his chest of cures, Cambria peeped out at Lord Holden.
His hair stuck in damp curls to his forehead, which was wan and troubled. His nose trembled with each shallow breath. The coppery smell of blood was heavy in the room as the physician bent to inspect the wound. Something deep within her was stirred with pity to see such a fit warrior injured, but of necessity, she choked the emotion down like gamey meat. His misfortune was, after all, her good luck.
She waited patiently while the surgeon practiced his arts on the lord, wincing as he stitched up the ugly wound, shutting her ears to Holden’s weak groans, sighing out a breath of relief when, near midnight, the physician finally settled down on his own makeshift pallet and began to snore at the foot of the bed.
Long before the fingers of dawn stretched over the horizon, Cambria stole from her hiding place. She quickly plaited her loose curls by the dim firelight. Then, casting a cursory glance at the still sleeping lord, she made a hushed exit from his chamber and crept like a mouse through the castle.
As quiet as shadow, she hovered outside the room Gwen shared with several other maidservants. The time seemed to plod by in plowman’s shoes as she awaited the hour of the maid’s tryst with her lover, the gaoler.
Finally, Gwen emerged from the room. Cambria followed at a distance, staying close to the shadowy walls of the descending passageways, until she heard the maid address a young man around the corner. They murmured together, and then Cambria heard the voices recede.
Cautiously, she advanced until she came to the spot where the lovers had met. To her delight, the gaoler’s keys still hung from a peg on the wall. She captured them, silencing their jangle in the folds of her kirtle, and peered into the barred peephole of the nearest cell.
The walls were dank and odorous. It was gloomy within, but she could make out three forms huddled in the far corner of the room. When she whistled quietly, the three came instantly to their feet.
“Cambria? What are you doing he—“
“Shh. De Ware’s men are everywhere.”
As luck would have it, the last of seven keys was the one that fit. Its grating turn in the lock made all four of them freeze in dread, but Gwen was apparently keeping the guard busy. After that, their passage was smooth. They made their way through the halls unseen while most of the castle denizens slept.
Cambria reentered the lord’s chamber alone first to be sure that Holden was still asleep. She woke the physician, sending the groggy man away with a false tale of poisoning from supper. When he’d gone, she motioned her men to come forward.
Once they were alone in the chamber, Robbie muttered a cursed and pulled the dagger from Holden’s discarded belt. Stepping toward the lord, he raised the knife to finish him.
Cambria gasped and caught his wrist, shaking her head firmly. “Nay!” she hissed.
Robbie tried to pull away, his eyes narrowly questioning her, but she gripped him insistently.
“Don’t you see? He’s our escape!” she whispered. “We won’t make it past the curtain wall without a hostage.” Bloody hell! Robbie, the boy who had taught her how to gentle a falcon, had nearly killed a man in cold blood.
She took a steadying breath and straightened her shoulders. “We’ll take him to Blackhaugh. We’ll reclaim what is ours.”
Robbie’s eyes were hooded. “Blackhaugh is no longer…ours,” he said meaningfully, glancing at the other two rebels.
