Chapter Twenty-two
Lana awoke in a dark, dank room, the air reeking of mildew and neglect. Her head was pounding and her mouth felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton balls. Groaning, she slowly raised herself to a sitting position. She was lying on a rough straw mattress, the room's only other contents being a table and a chamber pot. A single high, unglazed window let in a weak shaft of sunlight. She staggered to her feet, a wave of dizziness causing her to stumble and fall back down on the bed. She sat for a moment, trying to clear her head.
"I see that you've awakened."
Lana's head jerked up as the door opened and a figure strode in. Her stomach heaved at the sight of Blackwood, but she refused to show any kind of weakness.
"Your humor shall improve soon enough," he said. "'Twas only a bit of mandrake, enough to make you more cooperative." He held out a beaker of water. "Drink."
She would sooner swallow nails than accept charity from him, but she needed her strength, so she accepted the beaker and downed its contents. Her head slowly began to clear. She did not speak, only fixed him with a stare that could never do justice to the contempt, revulsion, and rage that burned within her.
"I have spoken to Father Martin. We will be wed on the morrow. Until then, you will remain in this tower chamber under close supervision." He sighed, shaking his head. "I hate to keep you imprisoned, my lady, but I do not trust you not to do anything foolish, like escape."
"I'll never marry you," she vowed.
"At this point, it seems you haven't a choice in the matter," was his crisp reply. "You will become my wife on the morrow, and I expect you to willingly fulfill your. duties that eve."
"I would rather die," Lana spat out.
"A man needs an heir," Blackwood went on, as though she hadn't spoken. "Consider yourself lucky I will still have you. You may have beauty and fortune, but so do many other maids, and most men would be hard-pressed to marry a fallen woman who could well be carrying De Montclair's bastard whelp."
Despite her dizziness, Lana leapt to her feet. "Better his bastard child than any spawn of yours!"
A swift blow to her face sent her reeling. Her hand flew to her cheek, her fingers encountering a swollen lip while the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.
"Need I remind you that you are my property now?" Blackwood said contemptuously. "I will not tolerate such insolence from my wife. Give me any more, and I shall beat you as I see fit."
Lana forced herself to ignore the stinging pain in her split lip. "You'll never get away with this."
"It appears I already have." A malevolent smile spread across his features. "Who will come for you now, Lianne? Kendrick?"
Grief and rage welled up in a hot, blinding haze. Were she not so weak, she might have flown at him as she had at the lists. However, she did muster up the energy to spit on his embroidered tunic.
A moment later she was sprawled out on the bed, Blackwood's form towering above her. "I've half a mind to take what is mine now," he growled. "De Montclair might have had you first, but I will possess you for the rest of your days."
Lana gulped, knowing she hadn't the strength yet to fight back. But to her surprise he drew back, his eyes dark with the deadly promise of what was in store for her. "But alas, I will not have my heir sired this way. You will come to me willingly soon enough."
He backed off, making his way toward her door. The encounter had drained Lana of what little energy she had, and she remained huddled on the bed. "Never," she managed to whisper.
Her defiance had no effect on Blackwood as he left the room. But once he was gone, the façade quickly crumbled as fear, grief, and despair took over. Clark was gone, and it was all her fault. She was alone. It looked like they'd finally tempted fate one too many times.
She collapsed onto the bed and wept bitter tears.
Clark and Gillian passed much of the journey to Blackwood bickering over strategy. Ralph had insisted upon coming along, despite Clark's order to stay at the manor. He was pretty much ignored while the other two argued. The only thing they could agree upon was that Blackwood was going to do a thing that puzzled Ralph greatly--something the lady referred to as "catching a beat down."
"They have some strange speech in Brittany," the squire muttered.
Sir Pierce and his cronies were ordered to stay outside of the castle as backup, should something happen to them. "'Twill be easier to sneak in with less of us," Clark told them.
Gillian had swapped her gown for a pair of hose and a tunic borrowed from Ralph. The knights were scandalized that a lady would disguise herself as a boy attempt such a mission, but few crossed Lady Anne. "She is my kinswoman and friend. I am going in and you'll not stop me," she said in a tone that left no room for argument.
It wasn't until the small party had nearly come upon Blackwood that Clark and Gillian finally settled upon a plan. They both spotted a peddler's wagon at the same time, and simultaneously made for it. Throwing quick glances at each other, they nodded their mutual acknowledgment of the plan before putting it into action.
"Excuse me, sir, but we're going to have to borrow your wagon," Clark said to the peddler, pulling up beside him.
The middle-aged man frowned. "What say you?"
"'Twill only be for a little while. Now if you'd kindly vacate this wagon, we'd be most gratified."
The man's bloodshot eyes bulged. "Routers!" he cried, fumbling for his dagger. "You'll not take my wares, you bloody swine!"
"I assure you, we aren't routers," said Clark blandly. "And would you cease with waving that blade in front of my face? 'Tis most unnerving."
"Why, these are rather pretty," Gillian remarked, holding up a pair of gleaming gold earrings. "How much do you want for them?"
The peddler turned to her, bewilderment written across his ruddy face. Clark seized the opportunity to knock him out with a swift smack upside the head, using his super strength. The peddler instantly crumpled in an ungainly heap.
"You didn't hurt him, did you?" Gillian asked.
Clark shook his head. "He'll have a bit of a headache when he wakes up, but he should be fine." He felt bad about having to knock the guy out, but they really had no choice if they wanted to save Lana.
Clark and Gillian dragged the senseless man from the wagon and turned to Ralph. "Got any experience driving a wagon?" Clark asked.
Ralph shook his head.
"Well, you're about to. Get on."
Ralph scrambled onto the wagon, pulling up the hood of his tunic to hide his face. Gillian and Clark scrambled into the back, where they huddled among the peddler's wares. "Man, this guy's got some choice stuff. check this out." Gillian grinned, holding up a finely crafted gold crucifix. "Maybe I'll leave some coins for him. ooh, look at this bracelet. It totally goes with this velvet blazer I have back home, you know, like a knockoff of that Yves St. Laurent one Sarah Jessica Parker was wearing at some premiere or something."
"Gillian, if you're not going to find anything useful, could you leave the fashion commentary to Joan Rivers?" Clark asked. He'd managed to stumble upon the man's storehouse of weapons. "Here."
He passed Gillian a crossbow and helped himself to jeweled dagger. And he did leave a handful of coins in the back of the wagon for the peddler to find.
Gillian had to grin. "Lana wasn't kidding. You're more chivalrous than half the knights around here."
He shrugged. "I figure if we're going to knock him out and borrow his stuff, we should at least leave a tip."
They passed through Blackwood's main gate without incident. Once inside the outer bailey, they concocted a plan to rescue Lana. "First, we find out where Blackwood's keeping her," Gillian said. "I suggest we split up. Then one of us will have the other's back while we rescue her."
"You and Ralph go after Lana," Clark told her. Grim resolve gleamed in his eyes. "Leave Blackwood to me."
It was amazing what a good cry could do to clear one's head. Lana wiped the tears with her sleeve, the despair that had overwhelmed her earlier hardening into grim resolve. She knew what Clark would've wanted her to do. He'd want her to escape, to make it back to the twenty-first century, to live. for him.
Blinking back tears as she fingered Isolde's necklace, she knew she would always cherish the memory of what they had shared. She now understood the pain Lianne must have felt, and how much strength and courage she'd needed to go on. She only hoped she would inherit some of that courage along with the woman's memories.
Lana rose to her feet, scanning the room for something she might use as a weapon. Her search came up dismally short--what could she do, knock out a guard with a chamber pot? She decided to try a different tack. Pushing the table below the window, she climbed on top to look out. The sight that greeted her made her gulp. A sheer drop of thirty feet or so awaited her on the other side, with naught but a narrow ledge standing between her and the floor of the inner bailey. The roof of the keep stood about ten feet down, off to her right.
Oh, Lord. To pull this off was going to require some ingenuity. If she could get onto the ledge, perhaps she could make her way along the tower and from there, jump to the roof of the keep. Maybe then she could find a way into the building. The mere thought of climbing out that window made her dizzy, but it was the only chance she had.
Scrambling onto the sill, she drew a shaky breath and vowed not to look down. God, give me courage, she prayed. Ever so slowly, she climbed out of the window onto the ledge below. Her heart was racing so quickly she thought it would surely leap out of her chest. Slowly, painstakingly, she crept along the ledge, until the roof of the keep appeared below her. She swallowed over a dry throat, steeling herself for the ten-foot drop. This very moment might be her last.
But then, what else was available to her? A life as Blackwood's wife?
She jumped. The roof of the keep slammed into her with a force that drove the very breath from her lungs. A moment passed before she recovered, staggering to her feet on the flat stone surface. Lana surveyed her surroundings, wondering if there was any kind of roof access from the keep. Relief flooded her when she spotted a door leading into the tower. She walked over and tried the door tentatively. To her surprise, it opened.
She peeked in slowly, praying to God no guard was standing nearby. A sigh of relief issued from her lips upon beholding a deserted staircase. She crept down the stairs, her boots making no sound on the worn stone. Upon reaching the landing she scanned the dimly lit corridor, making sure the coast was clear. Then she stealthily slipped from the cover of the shadows.
Unfortunately, Lana had made it barely a few paces down the hall when the sound of heavy footfalls made her freeze in her tracks. She dove into an alcove, but too late. "Who goes there?" a male voice shouted, the footsteps drawing closer.
Shit. Lana opted for the only choice available to her--she fled into the nearest room.
Not the best idea, seeing how it was currently occupied by one of Blackwood's knights. His eyes widened at the sight of her. "The prisoner has escaped!"
He lunged at her. Frantically scanning the room for any kind of weapon, she seized the bottle of wine mulling by the fire and smashed it over his head. He cursed foully as the hot liquid flowed into his eyes, but it did not stop his advance. Lana's eye fell upon the tray of food on the table and the sharp carving knife lying next to it. She snatched up the knife and struck out as the man seized her.
She shrieked as they fell in a heap on the floor, his heavy weight pinning her down. She looked up into a pair of glazed, sightless eyes, blood flowing freely from the front of his tunic onto her gown. She shoved him away, fighting back a tide of nausea at the sight of the knife protruding from his stomach.
Oh, God, I killed him.. Her stomach heaved and she was sure she was going to throw up. But there was no time to gather her bearings as the second knight, the one who had spotted her in the hall, barged into the room. She grabbed a chair and threw it at him, distracting him long enough for her to snatch up her fallen assailant's sword and hightail it out the door.
It was a good thing she was on the cross country team, because her running skills were definitely going to come in handy. She thundered down the stairs, not sure where she was going or what she was going to do, just that she somehow had to get away.
It was going to take a miracle to pull this one off.
Ralph rather clumsily steered the wagon among the merchants' booths set up in the outer bailey. They would have to sneak in on market day. Gillian tucked her braid under the hood of her tunic, while Clark donned a traveling cloak he found among the peddler's wares. Once the wagon came to a stop, they surreptitiously hopped out of the wagon and began making their way to the keep. That it was market day actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for it was easy to blend in with the crowd.
Getting into the keep was another matter. "Ralph and I can attempt to pass for squires," Gillian said discreetly to Clark. "We can create a distraction while you sneak in."
Clark nodded his acknowledgment. With Ralph in tow, Gillian strode through the door of the Great Hall as nonchalantly as though she'd always been there. Unfortunately, she and Ralph did not go unnoticed by the guard. "You're a bit early for dinner," he remarked. "Did you two sneak out of squire practice?"
"We're finished," said Gillian casually. "And we're not early for dinner. You're late."
The guard scowled. "You've got a lot of cheek, lad. Were you not taught to mind your tongue around your superiors?"
"If I were you I'd save my energy for pressing matters than questioning a couple of squires," Gillian returned. "You never know who might be mounting a rescue mission for Lady Lianne."
The guard was getting ticked. "Why, I ought to personally teach you some respect, boy. hey, wait a minute." A look of recognition dawned across his swarthy face. "You're no squire! You're Lady Anne of--"
The rest of his sentence dissolved into an incoherent grunt as he immediately crumpled to the floor. Clark stood behind him, having knocked someone out for the second time that day. Gillian regarded him with wide, grateful eyes. "Dang, you lift weights or something?"
"You'd be surprised at what baling hay for hours does for one's arms," he said dryly. "Come on. let's make ourselves scarce before his friends show up."
"Good call." The three of them slipped out of the great hall and ducked into a corridor, pausing when they heard voices around the bend. Gillian peered into the nearest room and finding it empty, signaled Clark and Ralph to follow her inside.
The voices turned out to be those of a pair of servants, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Clark, Gillian, and Ralph found themselves in Blackwood's treasury. But before resuming their search for Lana, Gillian couldn't help herself--her eye fell upon a breviary lying upon Blackwood's desk.
"Is that the one that was stolen from Langdon?" Ralph asked.
Gillian shook her head. "Nay. But I'm thinking there's more to this one than meets the eye."
Snatching up the volume, she slashed neatly at the binding. "Bingo!" she said, extracting a piece of parchment.
Clark and Ralph looked on as Gillian scanned the missive. Her face grew pale as she read.
"What is it?" Clark asked.
"Dear God," Gillian murmured. "I knew it! Blackwood is our mole. He's been leaking information to Philip's men. He has agreed to return Henry's lands in exchange for a title in France. This is new correspondence from abroad."
"Can we take it to the king?" Ralph wanted to know.
"I don't think so," a new voice spoke up from the doorway. With a sickening drop in her stomach Gillian turned around to behold a tall figure standing before them, clutching a sword. "I've no idea how you got into this castle, my lady, but 'tis a shame one so beautiful is also so foolish. I'm afraid you leave me no choice but to kill you."
"I doubt that." Clark shed his cloak and stepped forward, drawing his sword. "I've been waiting for this since the day I met you, Hugh."
Hugh's expression quickly went from menace to shock. "Dear God," he gasped. "'Tis true! You really are a warlock!"
"Don't worry, sir. When I kick your arse, 'twill be without the aid of black magic."
"We'll see about that." His beady eyes narrowed. "I should've known someone would make an ill-fated attempt to rescue the lady. But no matter, if my lord couldn't kill you, then I will."
Clark was unfazed. Hugh should be easy enough to dispense with. It was then he noticed that Hugh was not alone. Two more knights materialized behind him, drawing their swords and wearing murderous expressions. Even more footsteps sounded in the hall when Hugh shouted, "Guards! We have intruders!"
Gillian gulped. The only way out of the treasury was to get past them. They were trapped!