Page 28 of Weave me a Rope
“Well, sir, that is right kind of you to say,” Fielder commented. “I hope someday soon I get to raise a glass to your freedom, my lord.” His face colored, and he looked down at a toe that was tracing a pattern on the floor. “I bought you a jug of ale, sir. And a spiced bun. From the fair.” He whipped off the cloth that covered the tray, and Spen thanked him, warmly.
From under the bed, Cordelia could see Fielder backing out of the room, chamber pot in hand. Cordelia wondered if he would notice it was a bit fuller than usual. Twice, Spen had sat on the floor on the other side of the bed while Cordelia made herself more comfortable. Despite the intimacy of what they had done together, she had blushed scarlet at attending to such a matter with him in the room.
The sound of the bolts sliding back into place brought Cordelia out from under the bed, trying to smooth the hair and clothes disheveled by the scramble into and out of her hiding place.
“Half a spiced bun, Cordelia?” Spen asked, but she suggested he save it for their supper.
“If the Deerhaven servants are still going back and forth to the village, Spen, I am going to have to stay the night. A pity Fielder didn’t bring you a different sort of fairing, for you will be sick of spiced buns.”
What she really wanted to ask was when they might go back to bed.
“I like spiced buns,” Spen said.
Even as he spoke, the clank of the bolts and then the rattle of the key sent Cordelia diving for the other side of the bed, and Spen looking anxiously around the room and returning once more to stand in front of the window.
Fielder burst through the doorway. He was panting for breath. “My lord, get the lady out of here. The marquess is home and is on his way up the stairs.” He grimaced at Cordelia, who was just lifting her nose above the bed. “I am sorry, Miss,” he said. “I’ll try to slow him down.” He slammed the door shut with him on the other side of it.
Chapter Eleven
Spen took nonotice of the bolts sliding back into place. He was busy helping Cordelia through the gap where the bar had been removed. It was harder this time. Before, the risk was she would fall into the room. This time, she was trying to slither through a gap, hold onto the bars, and get her feet out of the room and safely onto the ladder, which he had pushed off the sill hoping gravity would drop it to the ground.
If she slipped or if she failed to hold onto the bars or the ladder, it was a long way down.
He could hear his father’s voice shouting. “Then find the key, you idiot. Hurry up.”
At last! Cordelia was secure on the ladder, only her head and shoulders, and her hands on the rungs of the rope, still in view. She mimed a kiss. “I love you, Spen. I regret nothing.”
“I love you,” Spen returned. “Hurry, darling!”
She disappeared from sight, and Spen put the bar back in place and raced to hide anything that might hint at her visit. He would regret nothing as long as she got freely away.
For the second time in minutes, the door burst open. This time, his father filled the doorway, lifting his head to sniff the air. “You have had a woman in here,” he noted.
Cordelia must be about halfway down. A little more time, and she would be able to escape. Provided the old tyrant hadn’t thought to post people at the bottom.
Spen shrugged. “A tavern girl. A man has needs.” Inside, he winced at comparing the glory of his afternoon to a meaningless transactional encounter.
The marquess stepped into the room and gestured to the footman who followed him. “Search the room. Find the girl.”
“Do you intend to deprive me of all comforts?” Spen asked his father, to prolong the conversation and keep his attention from the window.
“I intend to do everything necessary to bend you to my will, you ungrateful scoundrel,” the marquess replied. “Where is your brother?”
“How would I know?” Spen asked. “He was here when I was locked up. He was sent home with a broken arm. Has he gone back to school? Home to Rosewood Towers?” He couldn’t help the scorn that colored his voice
He braced himself as his father swung a hand back for a blow, but one of the servants shouted. “There are ropes my lord. I think it’s a ladder.”
“Haul it up and look, man,” the marquess scolded.
“I cannot, my lord. Someone is on it.”
The marquess strode to the window, his eyes narrowed. “Coming up or going down? But why? Ah! I see.” He grabbed the loose bar and pulled it out, then stuck his head through the gap to look down the tower wall.
Spen managed two paces towards the marquess before men grabbed him and dragged him backward again.
“It’s a boy,” the marquess was saying, sounding bewildered, then chortling, “No, a girl dressed as a boy.” He pulled his head back and with glee in his eyes he said, “And I think I know her name.” He held out his hand. “Someone. Pass me a knife.”
“No!” Spen shouted as he struggled, but the two men holding him didn’t let go. “No, my lord. Don’t do it!”
