Palmer cut him off with a wave of his free hand. “Enough of your blubbing. I care not. And you were right about one thing.” He made a clumsy lunge at Theodosia’s chest, crushing her lips with his. She held in her cry of disgust. He broke from her with a coarse laugh and addressed the sentry. “You’re right, she is a trollop. A bit dirty, but very willing.”
He jabbed his unseen fingers against her ribs to prompt her enthusiastic nod.
“So willing that she wants me to meet her friends at a bawdy house in the town. Are you going to keep me from my pleasure, soldier?”
“No indeed, Sir Palmer.” The sentry turned and hurried to the massive main gate, where he busied himself raising the heavy wooden bars.
Palmer glanced down at her. “Keep it up,” he whispered through clenched teeth.
Stomach turning at her own base actions, she flung a hand to the knight’s neck and stroked it.
The gate opened with a deep creak, the gap enough to allow them through. “As you required, Sir Palmer.”
“Good man.” Palmer leaned Theodosia against him and made his way to the gate.
“Good night to you, sir. What’s left of it.” The sentry gave a brief salute as they passed through.
The road ahead dipped steeply toward the straggle of the town of Knaresborough lining the river along the narrow valley.
“Carry on with our slow stagger,” came Palmer’s low murmur. “And once the gate’s closed, we run.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The sentry slid the bolts in place and made the gates secure once more. It was tricky work in his thick leather gloves, but he wouldn’t remove them for a gallon of hippocras, not on a night as cold as this. At least his work on the gate had made his blood move round a bit more. Guard duty in winter could lead to black fingers and toes if you weren’t careful.
He stamped his feet a couple of times for good measure.
Across the courtyard, the door from the porch at the bottom of the main keep flew open. A flushed-looking de Morville dashed out.
The sentry snapped to attention as his lord ran over to him, slipping and sliding on the icy stones.
“Have you seen Palmer and the prisoner?” said de Morville.
“I’ve seen Sir Palmer. But he had no prisoner, my lord. Only a harlot.”
“A woman?”
“Yes, my lord. I allowed them passage to the town. He wanted to go to her brothel.”
“Fool!”
The sentry ducked from his lord’s furious swipe. “I’m sorry, my lord. He said he’d been feasting with you tonight. He had great authority.”
“And you have a tiny helping of sense.”
“I will get the gates open at once, my lord. We can give chase — they must only be at the bottom of the hill.”
“Forget that.” De Morville heeled round to return to the castle. “I’ll take the sally port. Going down the tunnel will give me the surprise of being ahead of them, when they expect me to come after.” He held out a hand. “Give me your sword.”
The sentry complied. “Please excuse my foolishness, my lord. Whatever you want, I will do it to put it right.”
“Then take yourself up to wake Lord Fitzurse. Tell him to follow me down the tunnel. Armed.”
The sentry breathed a sigh of relief as de Morville hurried off and he hastened behind. His apology had been accepted.
De Morville paused and gave the sentry a sour look. “And on the morrow, you’ll get your flogging. Six for each prisoner and six for your stupidity.”
“Yes, my lord.” His bowels knotted tight but cramped at his lord’s next words.
“And if I don’t find them, I’ll hang you.”
CHAPTER 7
Palmer’s breath clouded before his face as he and Theodosia ran through the unlit narrow streets of Knaresborough, his arm locked tight through hers to keep her speed up. Dark houses and shuttered shops meant no one would see them pass but might easily hear them. The brown, smooth ice that coated the mud road snapped and cracked under his boots, her shoes.
Theodosia’s feet went from under her, but he blocked her fall and pulled her on.
“Hold, sir knight.” She panted so hard she could scarce speak. “It feels like a knife in my side.”
“That’ll pass. We can’t stop.” He hurried her along the slippery surface. “Keep going, and faster.”
Her brow creased as she fought for breath.
He knew how much it hurt when you couldn’t get air in your lungs and still had to run. Yet she tried to match him, even with her shorter legs. “That’s it.” He took more of her weight to help her.
They neared a row of wretched cottages, the wattle-and-daub walls splintered and crumbling. A dog barked as they passed, scrabbling against a warped door.