Finally he reached the bottom and stepped off the last stair into a poorly lit stone corridor. The last flight of steps had been far older than the rest, worn in the middle to a smooth curve. The changed air told him he was underground: stale, damp, a mushroom-like smell. He must be near the dungeon now. Or dungeons. In a castle this size, de Morville could have any number of people locked away. And any number of guards to watch them.
He put his hand to his belt and drew his dagger, cursing he didn’t have his sword. But that lay beside his bed. He couldn’t risk going back for it. He might wake the sleeping le Bret or de Tracy, or, worse, meet Fitzurse and de Morville on the stairwell.
Palmer took cautious, quiet treads. The corridor sloped down to take him deeper underground. Black mold spread thick on the flags under his feet, and close on either side the walls oozed damp. Ahead, the wall curved to the left and orange light flickered from beyond. He halted. That would be the guards. He cursed his lack of sword again.
He couldn’t rush in blind, not as badly armed as he was. He needed to judge his foe first. Sticking his dagger back in his belt, he raised his chain mail hood and straightened his surcoat. He stepped forward with definite strides and rounded the corner.
“Stop right there.” The bulky guard who stood outside the iron-hinged wooden door held a hefty axe. But there was only one of him. And only one door.
The man raised his weapon, and the blade caught the torchlight, a large K for de Morville’s Knaresborough engraved on the shiny metal.
Palmer held up a hand. “Hold, soldier. I’m Sir Benedict Palmer, sent by Sir Hugh. A disturbance has been heard upstairs. We’re checking the whole castle.”
The guard kept his weapon up. “Why haven’t they sent the regular watch?”
“Because in that cell behind you is no regular prisoner, is it?” Palmer kept his look firm.
“No. De Morville usually keeps his girls upstairs.”
He’d found her. “Exactly. This one must be kept secure. That is Sir Hugh de Morville’s direct order. I hope you’re not questioning your lord, fellow.”
“My apologies, sir knight,” said the man, lowering his axe. “All has been quiet down here.”
“Good. Make sure it stays that way.” Palmer gave him a stiff nod and went to retrace his steps back around the bend in the corridor. “Stay alert. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The guard gave him a sharp salute.
Palmer went back the way he had come, with loudly echoing steps. He gave a quick look back. The man hadn’t followed. Palmer bent to the floor and scooped up two handfuls of the mildewed rubble and mortar that lay scattered there. Rising to his feet, he stepped silently back to the curved corner.
He flung the debris hard at the ceiling. It clattered against it and fell back down.
“What’s to do?” The guard came round the corner, eyes up to the source of the noise.
Palmer drove his fisted knuckles into the man’s face, and he went down, palms to his nose. The axe fell to one side and Palmer was on it. Handle grasped in both hands, he pointed the weapon at the writhing guard. “Open the cell. Now.”
Blood seeping from his nose, the guard got to his feet, his sight only for the axe. “You sapless cur. I knew you was off.” He sought out by touch the bunch of keys that hung from an iron loop on his belt.
“Another word and I’ll have your head,” said Palmer.
The guard glared but nodded. With Palmer close behind, he retraced his steps to the cell, where he unlocked the door, then twisted the rusty handle. The door opened to a scuffling sound inside, but darkness so complete Palmer could see nothing.
“Take down the wall light,” Palmer said. “Enter before me. Slowly.”
Again, the guard did as he was told. As he followed the man into the cell, the torch’s flare lit the blackness.
“Oh, please have mercy, I beg you, I beg you.” Theodosia’s voice, below him. The clink of a chain.
Palmer looked down.
She was on her hands and knees on the filthy floor, scrambling away from him and the guard, pulling a chain with her. It stopped taut from her neck to the wooden post that secured it. She gasped hard.
“Unlock her,” said Palmer.
The guard bent and yanked the chain to him with his free hand.
Theodosia gave a strangled cry and fell onto one hip. Her hands went to her throat as the guard hauled her back to the post like a dog. A rusted collar was tight round her neck, and she clawed at it to ease her breathing, gray eyes wide in panic as she sprawled on the floor.
“I don’t want her throttled.” Palmer showed his axe to the guard, and Theodosia ducked from it with a scream, arm across her face. “Sister, I’ve come to free you. But stay quiet.” She lowered her arm and looked at him as if she’d not heard right.