The Dark Knight (17 page)

Guy narrowed his eyes, always a dangerous sign. Kitt jumped into the conversational breach. “Did the soldiers say what they were doing up on that lonely mountain?”

The man rocked back on his heels and rolled his tongue around his mouth while he considered the question. “They sang a great deal. ’Twere a right merry lot. Said the usual frippery to the girls, I should think. But to me, they only said that they were awaiting fur someone who was late.”

Guy sat up straighter on the bench. “Who would that be?”

The innkeeper shrugged. “I know not. The soldier said that I would recognize him by his London speech.” He put his hands on his hips. “Now I ask you plain and true, me lord. Since I hain’t ne’er been to Londontown, how was I to know how a London man talks?”

Guy wrapped his long fingers around his mug. “They are the men who speak with double meaning out of both sides of their mouths.”

“Oh,” muttered the host. “In that case, no London man came this way. Only the soldiers again a few days later. They stopped by for another carouse and stayed all night.” He rubbed his fingers together to indicate the expenditure of coin. “There was the chinks in that frolic, indeed, indeed, ’tis so.” He grinned, showing a few gaps in his teeth.

“And
that was all?” Kitt asked quickly before the man could catch his breath.

“Not so, neither! I said there was another. He came by one noontime a few days ago.” He snapped his fingers. “Now that I think of it,
he
said he was a-going
to
London, not coming from it! Or was it York that he be headed?” He furrowed his brow with the effort to remember.

“And did this man speak with a different accent?” asked Francis.

“Oh, aye, he did, didn’t he! Foreigner, to be sure. Mayhap Scots. We get them here now and again, ye know. Strange fellow for all his smiles. Looked like the devil with his dark face.” The man lowered his voice. “Methought he was a lord in disguise at first, for he wore an earring of bright gold, but after he talked some, I thought not.”

Kitt caught his breath. Earring! That was what their mysterious guide had worn, though he had tried to conceal it under his cap. That was the niggling detail that had bothered Kitt for the past two days. Though the stranger had spoken with a rough North Country accent, the cut of his clothing looked too outlandish for a simple farmer. Most perplexing of all: what was a common landsman doing with a valuable earring? Kitt swallowed down his excitement lest he rouse the innkeeper’s interest.

“So
this man was the third who asked after Hawksnest?”

The man cocked his head. “Now did I say that to ye? Nay, he was like yerself—asking if any strangers had
come
a-searching fur that ruin. He seemed not to care to find it himself. He bought a bag o’victuals fur his journey to York and off he went. Took the east road to the post road like he said.”

Francis broke a piece of bread from their communal loaf and dipped it into the cooling stew. “Did you happen to notice the
horse
that this man rode? Do you think he might have stolen it?”

Kitt grinned to himself. He was fascinated to watch how Francis, the one-time spy, extracted information from their gregarious innkeeper.

The man snapped his fingers again. “Aye! Now that ye mention it, I did meself wonder that very thing, fur ’twas a fine piece of horseflesh he rode—seeing how he was not dressed to fit the horse, so to speak. ’Twas a pewter color, but with a mane and tale of charcoal. Well groomed. God save me, do ye think that man was a horse thief?”

“Do you have many in these parts?” Francis countered.

The host chuckled. “Horses or thieves, me lord?” He guffawed at his jest.

Guy winced. Then he said under his breath, “’Twas the same horse we saw.”

“Aye,” Kitt breathed. “But who was the
rider?
”

W
hen Tonia
awoke the following morning, she could barely move. All her muscles felt as if they were bound in iron shackles and stabbed with hot pokers. Groaning, she pulled herself into a sitting position. How did the farm girls do such heavy work day after day? She stared glumly at the low embers in the hearth. She had been so tired last night that she had forgotten to bank the fire. A stack of split wood awaited her in the other chamber, but even the simple job of picking it up was agony.

Once Tonia renewed the fire, she faced the task of fetching water from the well. How easy that chore had been yesterday! Grumbling to herself, she dragged the bucket up the stairs and out into the courtyard. Looking up toward the brilliant sun, she realized that the day was already well advanced. She rubbed her stomach. No wonder she felt so hungry!

Slowly she winched up the full bucket from the cold depths of the well. After pouring its contents into her own bucket, she eyed the brimming container with misgiving. It was heavy enough under normal circumstances, but today—

A covey
of screeching birds soared overhead, obviously startled by something in the forest beyond the walls. Tonia tensed, her aches and pains forgotten. She stood rooted to the spot as she strained to catch the sound of something out of the ordinary. She clenched her empty fingers. Her dagger was back in the guardroom on the table.

A shout, not loud but clear on the morning breeze, echoed across the mountainside. A second cry answered the first—men on the trail and coming closer! Tonia began to shake as fearful images assailed her imagination. Were they the King’s soldiers, returned to verify her death? Had they apprehended Sandor and tortured the truth from his lips?

The water bucket forgotten, Tonia spun round and dashed back to her chamber. She stuck the dagger in the waistband of her gown, then she piled her few belongings on the sheepskin. Gathering the corners together, she fashioned a clumsy bag. Clutching it to her breast, she raced down to the far end of the corridor to the stairway leading to the wall walk. She dragged her bundle up the steps to the narrow parapet, where she wedged it between the wall and the battlement. Then she retraced her route. Her bruised joints cried out for mercy, but she paid no heed to the pain.

At the top of the stairs to the courtyard, she paused, listening. Though no one had come inside the fortress, she plainly discerned the muffled voices of several men beyond the moat. Gripping the dagger’s handle, she ran along the edge of the yard, pausing every few steps to listen. Near the stables, she encountered some stone steps that led to the top of the outer wall—or what was left of it. Biting her lip, she studied the chipped stone and wondered if its mortar would support her weight.

Every
aching fiber of her body warned against the climb, but she ignored common sense. She would surely be killed if these men discovered her. Hunching low against the wall, she crept to the top and peered through the chinks in the wall at the green-sward below.

Seven horsemen milled around her gravesite. Then one of them half fell out of his saddle in his haste to reach the ground. Tonia’s heartbeat pounded in her inner ear. She withdrew her knife from its sheath.

Dear Lord, I beg that they do not open the hole! Please let them think that I am dead.

Suddenly, a great despairing wail split the stillness.

“Jesu!” the man cried as he fell to his knees beside the mound of dirt. He buried his face in his hand.

Confused by his actions, Tonia pressed her eye closer to her peephole. Who was this person and why had her grave so upset him? She wished that he would turn toward her so that she could see his face. Yet even then, the distance was still too great to discern his features.

The other six dismounted. Two of the taller men joined the first and knelt beside him. One of them pushed back the hood of his cloak and pulled off his hat. The sun caught the flash of his red-golden hair. Tonia’s breath nearly stopped in her throat. Only one person she knew had that exact hair color—her half brother.

“Francis?” she whispered. “And Pappa?”

It had to be! No King’s minion would lament so grievously at her gravesite. Steadying herself against the rough stone wall, she rose to her feet and peered over the ragged battlement. By now all the men had doffed their caps. The Cavendish golden hair blazed like three welcoming beacons.

A warm
rush of incredible joy flooded through Tonia’s veins. She stood on tiptoe. “Pappa!” she shouted down to them.

As one, the men looked up in her direction. Tonia called again and waved her hand, forgetting for the moment that her numb fingers still clutched the dagger.

The four men-at-arms backed toward their grazing horses, while the three Cavendishes gaped at her. Then one of them, Kitt, she thought, made a hasty sign of the cross.

They think I am a ghost!
“’Tis I, Pappa! I am alive!”

At this, the tallest man scrambled to his feet and started running, stumbling, clawing his way up the hill toward the fortress. Tonia watched his rapid progress with tears freely flowing down her cheeks. “Oh, Pappa. Pappa! How glad I am to see you!” she whispered.

Then she scampered down the stairs. Pebbles and chunks of mortar scattered at her footfalls. “Pappa! Pappa!” she continued to call as she ran toward the drawbridge.

When they met under the arched gateway, Guy swept Tonia into his fierce embrace. He pressed his wet cheeks against hers and murmured her name over and over. Tonia hugged him and made soothing noises. Never before had she seen her strong, steady father cry and the sight moved her deeply.

Then her half brother and cousin joined them, enfolding the two with outflung arms and heaving bodies. Everyone talked at once and none of them made any sense.

“Pappa,” Tonia
murmured in his ear when he finally stopped babbling, “I fear I cannot breathe. I pray you, put me down, but don’t let go of my hand or else I will think that you are all nothing but a happy dream.”

Guy lowered his daughter to the cobblestones but held her close to his side. “I would to God that I never let go of you again,” he said in a very hoarse voice.

“Whose grave is yonder?” Francis asked with a half smile. “Did you overpower the headsman?”

You have hit the bull’s-eye.
But Tonia decided that now was not the time to announce her marriage. Instead, she replied, “’Tis a counterfeit.” She showed them her blistered hands. “And I have done duty as a digger.”

Kitt whistled with surprise and appreciation. “I shall remember your new skill when I have need of a ditch or moat, coz.”

Tonia laughed. It felt so good to laugh without care. Then she remembered her laughter with Sandor and wished that he stood by her side now to share in her kinsmen’s joy.
He will return soon anon.
Bolstering herself with this thought, she invited her family down to the guardroom.

The Cavendish men filled the chamber. Kitt made quick work of building up the fire. When Tonia went up to the wall walk to retrieve her sheepskin bundle, she discovered several officious jackdaws trying to pull open the pack with their long, black beaks. She waved them away and returned with her few belongings.

Guy dropped
down onto the bench. “’Tis a plaguey rat hole that those malt worms have kept you in, sweetling,” he grumbled.

Tonia only chuckled. “Nay, Pappa. This is a grand manor. My former rat hole is down the passageway—the one with the stout door and the thick bars.”

Her father muttered one of his seldom-heard oaths under his breath. “We shall discover who the villains of this piece are, and when I do, their lives will become much more tenuous.”

Her father’s quiet anger made Tonia wonder if she ought to show him the warrant now or wait until his passion had cooled a bit. She had never seen him in such an emotional state and it frightened her a little.

Francis gave his sister an encouraging smile and asked, “So what
did
happen here? We were led to believe that you were executed.”

Tonia remembered the first time she had seen Sandor with his long black cape and his face hidden by his hooded mask. Though she had trembled at his approach, she had also been drawn to his power and the gentle nature that he hid.
Jel sa’ Duvvel. Go with God, my beloved, and come back soon to me.

Aloud she replied, “’Tis a long story best told when accompanied by good wine and food. Do you have any such provender with you, perchance?” She was giddy from both hunger and joy.

Kitt snorted with a grin. “Now I am sure that ’tis Tonia in the flesh. Always thinking of her stomach.”

And with my heart.

The Cavendishes spent the rest of the day outside while the sun warmed the greening earth with its rays. While they enjoyed a prolonged picnic under the walls of the fortress, Tonia related her tale. Though she described Sandor’s appearance and sweet nature in detail and told how they had concocted their plan to hoodwink the officers of the King, Tonia refrained from telling her father about her blood pledge. Guy’s features had grown more stern the minute he learned that Sandor was a Gypsy.

“I admit
that I owe a King’s ransom to that man for sparing your life, and I will gladly pay him whene’er we meet, but now you must put this Sandor out of your mind and think happier thoughts,” said her father at the conclusion of her recitation.

But Sandor is my happiness.
Under the folds of her skirts, she rubbed the horseshoe-nail ring that he had given her. “He will return here within the fortnight, Pappa,” she told him. “Then you may reward him as you see fit.”

Guy shook his head. “Your lady mother weeps daily for you. We cannot allow her to continue now that you are found alive and well. Tonight we will camp here, and tomorrow we will leave at first light. We will be home within two days, if we push the horses.”

Tonia’s mind churned with a conflicting mix of emotions. She desperately wanted to see her mother and wipe away her tears, but at the same time, she wanted to remain at Hawksnest until Sandor’s return. She couldn’t wait to introduce him to her family. She frowned to herself. Then there was the ticklish matter of her marriage. Her father’s strong disapproval of the Rom was obvious.

“But I gave Sandor my word that I would wait here, Pappa,” she said quietly, trying not to raise her voice. “And we must guard the secret of my survival from the world. If the King learns that I still live, Sandor’s life and that of his family will not be worth a farthing.”

Francis
nodded. “Tonia speaks the truth, Father,” he said. “We must disguise her before we leave this place, and once back at Snape Castle, we must swear the household to secrecy.”

“And you will still be a prisoner, I fear,” added Kitt, his usually merry face now serious.

Tonia put down the capon’s leg she had been about to eat. The mere mention of imprisonment sent a chill through her. “How now, Kitt?”

Her cousin wet his lips before he continued. “Once at home, you must stay close to your chamber. You cannot walk about the moor, nor go into the village on market day. Too many eyes would see you. And we must bind all the servants’ tongues with loyalty. The lure of the King’s gold and good favor will too easily tempt at least one greedy soul to betray your whereabouts.”

Tonia clasped her hands together in supplication against such a grim future. The nail head of Sandor’s ring bit into her skin. “Oh, Kitt, say that you speak in jest. You cannot begin to imagine what it is like to be denied freedom.”

Kitt reached across the blanket that they sat upon and took his cousin’s hands within his. “With all my heart, I wish ’twas not so, Tonia.”

She drew in a deep breath, then turned to her father. “Then I may as well stay here. Once Sandor returns, we will flee this wicked clime and together seek a better fortune in Scotland.”

Guy’s eyes darkened. “Nonsense, child! I am not such a lackwit parent to allow you to go haring off in the company of a lewd barbarian. You will come home and from there we will devise a plan to circumvent this dire outlook.”

“But
Sandor is no—”

Guy cut her off with a glare. “Peace with your prattling, Tonia. I can see that this wretched affair has unhinged your mind. ’Tis no wonder! Once under your mother’s tender care, you will soon return to your own sweet self.”

Tonia hated to disagree with her father, but she had to make him understand Sandor’s importance to her. “He promised to return soon and I gave him my word that I would be here, waiting for him,” she repeated as calmly as she could.

Guy lifted one of his brows. “A Gypsy’s promise is only hot air. They are not like us and never will be. You have been too sheltered from the world and have no experience in knowing the hearts of men. I met many of these vagabonds years ago at the Field of Cloth of Gold, and they proved themselves to be nothing but a pack of ravens, stealing everything that was not tied down.”

“But, Pappa—”

Guy stood up. “Speak no more to me of this man. If we ever meet, I will reward him. Trust me, Tonia, my gold is the
real
reason he told you to wait for him here. Peace! I’ll hear no more of this matter.” With that, her father strode down the hillside toward his retainers. Mumbling an apology, Kitt followed after him.

Tonia chewed on her lip. “Sandor is not like that at all,” she said under her breath.

Francis gave her a smile. “Let us not break the good cheer of your safe recovery, Tonia. Let tomorrow take its own course when it comes. For tonight, let us be gladsome.”

Tonia
nodded her head, but she did not trust herself to speak, lest the tears she held back would be discovered in her voice.

Francis touched her arm. When she looked up at him, he asked, “Methinks you show all the signs of a woman in love. Is that the way this wind blows? Does this Sandor claim your heart?”

Relieved that someone understood her plight, Tonia returned her brother’s smile. “You were always very clever at reading other people’s minds, Francis.”

He sighed. “I only wish I could read the future as well.”