Madelyne remembered suddenly that Gavin was not free to come and go… and despair washed over her. But she pushed it away. Seton was there to help…he had helped her mother before, and he would help her now. She made her mouth into a smile, and then drifted back into darkness.
Camped just out of sight of Tricourten’s guards, Gavin, his men, and Tricky conferred in the wood. They didn’t need a fire during the day, and at night would keep it very small so as not to alert the keep-dwellers that they were near.
“Fantin will be expecting us,” Gavin commented. “We will be unable to gain entrance to the keep except by stealth. There must be a private entrance…but there is no way to find out.”
His face felt tight and his eyes burned, gritty from lack of sleep. He’d barely eaten since leaving Whitehall— again, thanks to Madelyne for the robust meals she’d provided for him during his imprisonment, or he would be weaker. “He’ll have his guards watch for a party of men attempting to come in…or staying in the village. He likely has scouts set out into the woods, here, as well, and so we must act before they find us. ’Twill not be an easy task to get into the keep, and I dare not besiege the place for fear he will escape with Madelyne…or worse.”
Silence fell over the men as they digested this information. Their options were limited.
“I’ll go. I’ll go in and find a way to secure entrance for the rest of you. They don’t expect a woman…and ’twould be simple for me to pass as a serf or villager.”
Gavin stared at the plump little maid. His first reaction was to dismiss her offer, but the steadfast earnestness in her eyes gave him pause.
“Nay—you will not,” Clem spoke angrily when his master did not. “’Tis too dangerous. We will find another way in.”
Gavin looked from him to Tricky, a faint stirring in the back of his mind…but he thrust it away. “’Tis a ripe idea. I’ll go with her,” he said, nodding. “No one will expect mischief from a traveling husband and his wife—”
“Nay, my lord,” Clem interrupted. “I will go with her. You’d be easily recognized, and I’ll keep this wench from getting into trouble.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If the woman must go, then I shall be the one to accompany her.” He dashed a glare at Jube, who’d remained silent, and then returned a steady look at Gavin.
“Very well, then, Clem and Patricka. We’ll discuss it no longer, as time is of great import. You will enter the keep and find a way to let us in before the sun rises on the morrow. When you have ascertained your plan, you must send us a message that all is well and give us our instruction. How do you propose to do this?”
“We shall meet with you at that oak tree,” Clem pointed at a strong tree hidden from the keep by a small hill and scattered brush. “As the sun sets.”
Gavin gave a short nod, his face tightening. Grasping the forearm of his man, he squeezed tightly and said, “Go with God. Fantin may be mad, but he is no fool—and he believes he is in the right. He and his servant Tavis will be watching carefully.” He turned to the maid, taking in the seriousness on her round, freckled face. “You are a brave girl to do this for your mistress. I’m certain that God will bless you.” He grasped her by the shoulders, squeezed, and released. “Be off.”
He turned, walking from the camp…needing to be alone while he waited…helpless.
Tricky and Clem arrived at Tricourten on foot. It would arouse too much suspicion if they rode in on a sure- footed destrier. He used a stick to walk, and affected a bit of a limp. They took care that their clothing was dirt- streaked, and Clem turned his tunic wrong-side out to hide the fine embroidery.
For all their pains, it was no hardship to enter Tricourten Keep. As Gavin had expected, the guards paid little attention to a man and woman—their attention would be attracted to a party of two or more men. Clem explained in a rough voice and poor grammar that they traveled to an abbey where his sister—Tricky—was to serve a great abbess, and that they merely needed one night’s lodging. The guards nodded them in with barely a glance.
Tricky walked quickly alongside Clem, brushing against him as he limped along rather briskly for a man with an injured leg…but she forbore to point that out. She was as eager as he to complete their mission and allow Gavin and the others in…but at the same time, the excitement tripped her heartbeat up, and her nerves sang. And she was with Clem—who’d refused to let her go alone—who’d even ordered his master to stay behind so that he could accompany her. Mayhap the man was not so stone-headed as she’d thought!
They made their way across the bailey, toward what appeared to be the main entrance to the hall, when Tricky suddenly noticed a familiar figure leaving the hall. “Rohan!” she gasped, whipping her hand back into Clem’s gut. Rohan—the traitor—would most certainly recognize Clem…and quite possibly recognize her.
Without a second thought, she grabbed Clem by the tunic and, using his own momentum, propelled him toward the wall of a building. He pulled her with him and she slammed into his arms, and suddenly their mouths were thrashing together. Clem moved, rolling along the wall, until she was pressed between his comforting bulk and the raw wooden planks of what smelled like the stable.
At last, he pulled free and turned his head slightly to look in the direction Rohan had gone. “I’d forgotten about him,” he said between breaths. “Bastard. I’ve half a mind to take care of him right now… ”
“Nay, Clem,” Tricky plucked at his sleeve, “we must find Madelyne. We’ll need to be mindful of Rohan, but I wish to waste no further time. We must find her and find a way to get Gavin into the keep.”
“Aye,” he replied, returning his attention to her. His eyes bored into hers. “Tricky, do you not think you have escaped my wrath for this harebrained scheme…I will have words with you after this is all over.”
She could not help but smile up at him, and ticked at his nose with her fingernail. “Clem, sweetling, I should be quite disappointed if you did not follow through on such a threat…a tongue-lashing from you should be only one of many such repercussions of our relationship.” Her coy smile and lilt to her voice sent a very different message than the one he must have expected. She swore his face tinged pink.
But now was not the time to carry this further. Tricky and Clem agreed to separate, explore the hall and the outside of the keep, and meet back at the stables within an hour.
“Have a care for yourself,” he told her, his dark eyes boring into hers. Then, slumping over his big stick, Clem hobbled off to examine the stables and other outbuildings.
Tricky entered the hall, and found that serfs had finished clearing the food and platters of the midday meal from the rows of table. She tried to blend into the activity by picking up a tray, and following one of the other serfs, but her attention was caught by the two men who sat at the high table.
She paused, holding a wooden platter that oozed with grease, and looked at them. Tricky knew who they must be…Lord Fantin de Belgrume, the handsome man with the pale blond hair that rose from a widow’s peak just off the center of his forehead, and his cohort: a slender, younger man with dark hair and soulful eyes who looked harmless. As she watched, de Belgrume laughed at some jest from his companion, and the beauty of his face, and the warmth of his laugh startled her. How could someone so beautiful be the monster that Madelyne feared so?
Suddenly, the other man—Tavis, Gavin had said was his name—looked at her and their eyes locked. Panic rose into her throat and she turned abruptly to take the platter she still held, but a peremptory voice made her halt in her tracks.
“You, there! You, with the red hair!”
Tricky froze, her heart pounding so hard it threatened to choke her. She turned slowly, waiting to hear a call for the guards to come down upon her…but instead the man called again, “Bring my master that wine!”
Thank the good Lord the man pointed to a table nearby that held several bottles of wine, else Tricky would have surely given herself away. With a quick bob of her head, she dropped the platter back onto the table where she’d picked it up, and hurried over to get the wine.
Her hands were slick with sweat and she nearly tripped over her skirts when she approached the high table, but de Belgrume didn’t appear to notice. He pored over a curling piece of parchment while Tavis rested his elbows on the table.
“M-my lord,” Tricky gave a brief curtsey and sloshed wine into de Belgrume’s goblet. She was about to set the bottle down on the table when Tavis straightened up in his chair.
“I don’t recall seeing you before,” he said, his dark gaze sweeping over her. He was a handsome man, with slender fingers and a sharp tone in his voice.
She gulped, curtseyed, and stammered, “Me brother and I—we just become here this day.”
A gleam that made Tricky’s belly twist leaked into his eyes and he crooked a finger at her. “A shy one, are you?” He looked at her again, more slowly and with greater weight than a moment before. Tricky felt his attention
