Part 5 (1/2)
Under the guise of the new chatelaine, while Rardove slept and retched, that's what she did. Linen s.h.i.+rts, leggings, hooded tunics, food, rope, flint: anything she could lay her hands on. She also scooped four handfuls of pennies from Rardove's coffers, all she could carry without it being too heavy.
Then she shoved her booty into packs and stared at it glumly. Such a cache was meaningless if she ended up astray on the Irish countryside, well stocked to await her demise. She might have coin, but what she needed was the Irishman. Without him, she had as much chance of survival as a good notion in a tankard of ale.
She looked down at her injured hand and tried flexing it. Her fingers didn't hurt, which should have been mildly rea.s.suring, except that they were numb. That could not be good.
The autumn day was growing weary of its task and stretched out in long shadows, when she spied a short, squat, red-faced villein who did odd jobs around the castle. He was pus.h.i.+ng a creaking wheelbarrow. It was filled with old, rusted leg irons.
Senna stopped short.
The villein did too, his beefy hands frozen on the wooden handles. Senna stared. He stared back, then set down the barrow and scratched his balding head. She sighed. His hand froze mid-scratch, and his eyebrows lifted, but otherwise there was no change.
”Are you...milady?” he asked, lowering his hand.
”I suppose I am.”
He dragged off his linen cap and gave a small-a very small-bow. ”Milady.” Then he deposited the linen back on his s.h.i.+ny scalp and levered the wheelbarrow onto its front wheel. ”If I can ever be of service, then, milady. I'll be on my way, then? Milady?” His queries were sounding more desperate.
Senna's heart slammed against her ribs. There was nothing for it but directness. ”I wish to see the prisons.”
His eyebrows shot up, then descended into a thick black line, a startling slash across his red face. ”Milady.” He frowned disapprovingly.
”'Tis...a game,” she declared.
”A game,” came the flat, disbelieving reply. The black lines jogged into jagged curves.
She nodded. ”A game. Lord Rardove devised it for me.”
Something rippled across his sweaty face. It might have been disgust. Or sympathy. In any event, he set down the wheelbarrow. ”Well, then. I'll show you the way.”
He guided her down a dark hallway, out into another courtyard, back inside, through more doors and hallways, and down, ever down. The light dimmed, the air grew cold and dank, her fingers grew damp and chilled. She blew on them and hastened after. How in G.o.d's name would she remember all the twisting turns?
The villein suddenly halted in front of a thick wooden door. ”I'll wait for you, milady.”
”No.”
Up went the thick black eyebrows. Pa.s.sing her a look that spoke volumes on his opinion of the rich, he shrugged and pushed the door open. Two guards sitting at a small table leapt to their feet.
”Her ladys.h.i.+p is here...for a game. Methinks' twill be great fun,” he announced, then disappeared.
”Sirs,” Senna trilled, sweeping into the small, dirt-walled room. She smiled brightly, completely pus.h.i.+ng aside the terror about to close up her throat.
”My lady!” they exclaimed in startled unison.
”I am inspecting the castle,” she explained brightly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. ”And I couldn't very well ignore this place, could I, where the ruffians who threaten my lord's peace are held, before being taught the folly of their ways? 'Tis here that the true peace is kept, and men like you ought to be honored for your role.”
She concluded her patriotic little speech with sparkling eyes. The men stared at her, mystified.
”And how long have you been stationed here?” She wandered around the small antechamber, continuing the one-sided conversation.
The taller of the two cleared his throat. ”Since Michaelmas.”
”Do you enjoy the post?” she asked, seating herself at the small table and peering at them with interest.
”My lady,” the shorter one mumbled helplessly. His thoughts were emblazoned across his face like an armorial crest: What was this cruel torment? What answer would suffice?
She got back to her feet and wandered about the room, tucking her injured hand close to her chest. The men stared, slack jawed, then jerked their eyes away. They s.h.i.+fted back and forth on their booted feet, their eyes darting to every point in the room but the brightest.
”The souls who do the hardest work are oft ignored by those who receive the bounty of their labors,” Senna said in a conspiratorial tone.
They nodded miserably. She could have said the king of England should be garroted and they would have agreed.
”I do not wish to be one of those who would benefit without giving recompense,” she added, spinning around.
They jerked straighter and stared straight ahead. ”Nay, my lady!”
”Some are,” she breathed, soft again. Bending her head, she touched her hand gently, drawing their eye to the damage done by their lord.
”Aye, my lady,” the taller one muttered uneasily.
”I wish to know all my people and to show my...appreciation to those who work hard in my service,” she murmured in a low voice, and, in a fit of inspiration, trailed her hand along the curve of her bodice. to those who work hard in my service,” she murmured in a low voice, and, in a fit of inspiration, trailed her hand along the curve of her bodice.
The guards' eyes practically bulged out of their heads.
”Aye, my lady,” the shorter one stammered, wiping sweat from his brow.
She lifted her eyebrows ever so slightly. That particular tactic had never come into use in contract negotiations before. ”And when do you leave your posts?”
”Prime,” one croaked.
She smiled in relief. ”So you shall be here later this eve?”
The taller one adjusted first. ”As you wish, my lady.” He stepped forward, his gaze raking her figure with an intense, hungry look.
Her mouth went dry. She stepped backward, her ankle turning slightly as she stumbled.
”Fine then. We understand one another,” she murmured, her heart hammering. This was a remarkably dangerous game, but what other weapons did she have at her disposal? Few enough not to use those to hand.
”I will leave you to your posts and explore the remainder, as I have done with all the rest of the castle.”
”My lady, those are the holes where the prisoners are kept,” the taller one protested, stepping forward again.
She turned, her forehead furrowed in delicate disapproval.
”Are you gainsaying me? My lord has it wished that I know every inch of his keep, as he will know every inch of me. Those were his exact words. I have found it unwise to thwart him.”
She suddenly dissolved into tears, her shoulders bobbing up and down.