The Fifth Knight(79)
“Our passages are booked.” He cast her an inquiring glance and lowered his voice. “Have you had any word of Laeticia?”
“No. I do not know anything more than your letter.” Her voice trembled. “Who knows what may have befallen her by now at the hands of those terrible knights? Robbed of her virtue, her chastity. Carried off by death without a proper confession.” She trembled harder. “Her soul might be crying out to me now from hell, but I cannot hear her.”
He raised a hand in sympathy. “Sister Amélie, you cannot torture yourself with such grave fears.”
“But without a confession — ”
“If she has departed this world, her soul will be receiving its eternal reward in heaven, united with our beloved Thomas.” Edward took her empty cup from her and returned it to the stallholder. “I have been her confessor for many years, and have offered up absolution every day for her since we lost her.”
Amélie let out a long breath. “Oh, God be praised for you and your care, Brother.”
“Now you need to come with me so you can rest at the hostel. You must recover your strength for the journey to France.”
She fell into step beside Edward as they left the market to join a busy street. “It will be hard to rest while I do not know my daughter’s fate.”
“Then if you cannot rest, use the time to pray.”
Her voice cracked. “But what should I pray for? I am so afraid for her.”
His green eyes softened in sympathy. “Pray for her deliverance,” he said. “If God is good, that will mean her safe return to you.”
CHAPTER 20
Theodosia began the second of the glorious mysteries, the regular rhythm of her rosary bringing comfort and peace to her soul. The weak light of the winter dawn showed Benedict asleep beside her, his breath measured and even. Soothed by her prayers, her heart softened for the sleeping knight. She should pray for him next, with his soul so far away from the protection of the church. He needed to realize the wrongness of his ways.
A low murmur came from outside. In this inhospitable place? Prayer abandoned, she strained to listen. The wind moaned from the hilltop fort like a disturbed spirit, as if the ancients questioned her and Benedict’s presence. Was that the sound? An abrupt bleat made her start, then almost laugh aloud. Of course. The sheep that roamed outside. She settled back into her sacred call to Mary.
There it was again. A voice. Male. Definitely. Kept low. A whinny of recognition from Harcos. Dear God. Fitzurse. Oh, Mother Ursula. What did he do to you?
She grabbed for Benedict, put her mouth close to his ear. “Wake up, wake up. Fitzurse has found us.”
He shook off sleep in an instant. “Are you sure?” he whispered.
“Harcos knows his master,” she whispered back. “Listen.”
The muted sounds repeated, along with the low rumble that could only be le Bret.
She tightened her grip. They were stuck here, like beasts at slaughter. The door, wedged shut as it was, would open with a few hard pushes.
“The roof.” Benedict’s lips formed the words against her temple.
“How?”
“Thatch. I’ll cut through and get you out. Then run. Make for the fort. It’s the only cover.”
A stifled cough from outside brought them both to their feet.
Benedict stretched to the sagging fibers of the roof. Loose pieces snapped off onto Theodosia’s face and shoulders as he cut furiously and quietly with his dagger.
The door squealed, sealed for now against whoever gave it a cautious push.
“They’re coming in, Benedict.”
“Almost there.”
Another protest from the door’s damp wood.
Benedict hauled at the thatch as he slashed harder. It came away in a shower of dust and dried, dead insects. A circle of pale dawn sky appeared above them.
“Palmer. I know you’re in there.” Fitzurse’s voice. “You make more noise than a herd of swine. You know what I want. Come out if you know what’s good for you.”
“Quickly.” Benedict crouched to form a step with his hands.
Theodosia raised her right foot onto them and grasped his shoulders. She looked into his dark eyes, ashamed at her earlier anger. “You save me again.” It sounded so weak.
“Go.” He boosted her up.
Her upper body squeezed through the gap in the thatch. She looked down. Their two horses grazed on. Le Bret and Fitzurse crouched before the door. Le Bret’s spiky-haired head crammed against it to listen for sounds within. Fitzurse had his sword drawn and ready. All it would take was for one of them to glance up. Pushing steadily with her arms, she eased herself out. She beckoned to Benedict.