thrust his hand out and they shook. “She is alive? Is she hurt?”
De Masin hesitated, and Gavin’s stomach pitched. “She is alive, she can speak, but she is injured. I could not keep them…from her…last night. She will be well if we can get her from that place.”
Gavin struggled to control the frantic pictures and thoughts in his head. He must focus and stay clear headed if he had any chance of saving her. “Can you get me inside? I will have Fantin’s head on a platter. Nay, he will die a painful death…slow and painful… ”
“Aye. How many men do you have?”
“Five, plus myself and my man within.”
Seton nodded once, then beckoned. “Come, let us go. We have very little time.”
Twenty-Nine
Madelyne forced her eyes open.
The acrid burn of candles, other smells she did not wish to define, and the throb of pain throughout her body assaulted her senses. The taste of the last bitter, putrid liquid that had been forced down her throat still surged in her empty belly. She couln’t keep back a moan, and was rewarded when her father’s face came into focus in front of her own.
Stifling a shriek, she closed her eyes and turned away from his face, the image now implanted on her brain: empty eyes with tiny pinpoints of black in the center, a wide, grinning mouth, and a mass of white hair as uncontrolled as the joyous laugh that erupted from his lips.
She was against the wall again, taken from her prone position on the table and re-strapped to the cold stone. The rough edges of the blocks behind her chafed her bruised skin, and her arms, stretched to their limits, had no feeling in them. She could barely keep her head raised, but with an effort she lifted it as Fantin’s laugh stopped abruptly.
“What is it you say?” He turned and screamed at someone. “That cannot be!”
Madelyne tried to focus and looked around the room, her muscles cramping, her arms jerking involuntarily. She vaguely remembered speaking with Seton again, and talking of Gavin and her love for him…a sob clogged her throat that had naught to do with the pain in her bones, but the pain in her heart. She might never see her husband again.
As she looked about the chamber, Madelyne froze, staring in disbelief. Tricky? Dear Lord, how did Tricky come to be here? Her maid was slumped on a stool, her clothing mussed, dirty and torn, and her hair straggling about her.
Fantin screamed more profanities to some unseen messenger, then, with one last glance at his prisoner, turned to rush from the chamber—his robes flowing behind him. Tricky and Madelyne were alone and safe, for a time, from Fantin’s rage.
“Tricky!” Madelyne hissed.
Her maid shook her head as though to clear the fog and slowly turned to look at her. “Maddie,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”
“I am alive and thankful to be so,” she returned. “And you? How came you here?”
Tricky explained quickly, and then gestured to a dark corner. “They have Clem over there. I cannot tell if he is hurt. He’s not moved since they hit him on the head.”
“Can you move on that stool?” Every word was an effort, but Madelyne forced them out. For the first time, she felt a ray of hope that escape might be possible. “Those shards from the broken bowls…mayhap you could cut… ” her voice gave out, the words would not come…but Tricky knew what she meant to say.
“Aye.” Tricky rocked on the stool, side to side, and managed to tip herself over. She rolled on the floor and Madelyne could not tell if she was successful in grasping a piece of broken crockery. Silence reigned but for the grunts and groans of exertion from her maid.
The sound of voices and heavy footsteps down the stairs caused Madelyne’s attention to sharpen. “Tricky… they come! Can you right yourself?”
Gasping, Tricky rolled herself back to where she’d been and struggled to right her stool. The door flung open again, and Fantin and Tavis strode in, arguing.
Their loud voices, angry and shrill, sent greater shivers up and down Madelyne’s spine. Where was Seton? Was there aught he could do?
“There is no sign that Mal Verne has entered the keep—he is no where to be found.” Tavis spoke in an urgent tone. “You must concentrate on your work, Master Fantin…your time is so close!”
He flickered a look in Madelyne’s direction, then, as his gaze swept back, it was distracted by the sight of Tricky on the floor, still attached to her stool. He trotted over, standing above her with his hands on his hips. “And where are we going, my little coquette? Surely you do not wish to miss our little demonstration anight?”
Roughly, he yanked her upright and reached to fondle her breasts. “Ah, such sweet rewards await me!” With a lascivious smile, he turned back to Fantin.
“Master…no one can enter this keep now without our knowledge. Mal Verne’s one man gained entrance, but if there are others, they will be stopped by the extra guards we have posted. Mal Verne must still be jailed, awaiting trial for attempted murder of the queen.”
“Aye,” his master chuckled. “Even our king is not so foolish as to allow him loose in the wake of his little gift to that whore.” Fantin appeared to be placated, and he swept over to Madelyne, fluttering his robe dramatically. He reached to touch her face, smoothing his cool hand lovingly along her cheek.
“Madelyne, dear daughter, feel you ill, or do you feel the strength of your cleanliness returning to you? The potions we have given you are only for your own health. We must eradicate the seed of that bastard Mal Verne if you are to attain your innocence once again.”
Holding her breath, Madelyne turned her face away, afraid that even the little she knew would be betrayed on her face. God willing, Seton had found a way to bring Gavin’s men into the keep…
Suddenly, the door to the laboratory burst open, and even through her haze, Madelyne recognized Seton de Masin as he pitched into the room, nearly falling to his knees. Blood smeared his face, and where he held his left arm with his right, more redness colored his fingers and clothing. He was followed by the priest, the white-faced, man with dark circles beneath his eyes. The latter prodded Seton with a sword to the back.
“Lord Fantin, you have a traitor in your midst,” announced the priest as he stood proudly at the base of the stairs. Madelyne’s head went weightless. Nay!
“What is this?” Fantin turned, his words soft, but the touch of his hand on Madelyne’s skin turned heavy and still.
“This man has been feeding your daughter, and whispering with her whilst you work to rid her of the evil within her. He is destroying your ever chance of cleansing her!”
“De Masin, what is the meaning of this? Is this true?” Fantin whirled from Madelyne’s side and faced his man, hands on his hips.
“Lord Fantin, ’tis not his only trespass,” Rufus continued. “He strode from the keep and spoke with a man near the oak tree—in secret.”
Madelyne dragged in a shaking breath, her body overcome with tremors. Oh nay…!
Fantin left her side as if propelled, leaving a force of shifting air in his wake, and a deep fear chilling her bones. “What are you about?” her father roared, snatching a gleaming sword from one of the tables, whirling to face his man.
“Your work will never come to pass,” Seton told him, standing tall, though pain marked his face. “You seek to use Madelyne as the conduit for your work with God, but she will never fulfill that role.”
“You know naught of what you speak,” shrieked Fantin, his eyes wild and desperate. He swiped out with the wide blade. In his fury, he swung too wide, and Seton easily leapt out of its path…but the priest was not so fortunate.
Before Madelyne’s eyes, her father’s blade sliced through the neck of the little priest, leaving a deep, thick red line across his throat. He gurgled and slumped to the floor as Fantin stared in disbelief.
Then, as if some great power seized him, Fantin clenched his fists, flinging his arms wide and raising his face
