Chapter Thirty-One #3
It wasn’t difficult to slip past the guards at his door.
He kept his eyes averted and his helm on, telling the guards that Stoneley was ill and that he was summoning a physic.
If the Tower guards happened to look into the room, they would see a man in bed, covered to his head with a blanket.
Guy knew his guards well enough to know that they would not bother to enter the room and check the prisoner personally.
Taking the papal guard on his word, they continued to stand vigilant watch at the door, expecting a physic shortly.
Free! Free! Guy’s mind sang with the glee of it, the simplicity of it. He could not believe he had not thought of this strategy earlier, but in truth, the opportunity had not presented itself. What he had done moments ago was done in the spur of the moment.
He knew his way out of the White Tower easily, and he moved directly for the Martin Tower. His heart was pounding in his ears as he moved across the dark courtyard, moving freely as he had not moved in over two years. It was almost too good to believe!
His mind was reeling with plans, possibilities, and escape routes.
Over his shoulder, he could see the small papal escort waiting patiently by the Tower entrance, but they apparently had not seen him.
With the three-quarter moon, it was dark enough in the shadows that they could not make out the color of his crimson tunic from that distance away.
As soon as he rounded the White Tower, he was out of their line of sight and he relaxed. Several hundred yards in front of him loomed the Martin Tower, and he lowered his head as he scurried down the walk. Behind him, the Salt Tower provided him ample shadow coverage.
There were sentries posted an intervals and he passed them with no problem. His excitement, his confidence, soared.
Sweet Remington would soon be within his grasp. But as he approached the Martin Tower, he slowed. As soon as he entered her bower, she would know it was he. And he had no doubt that she would give him away to her guards, who would most likely be de Russe’s men. And they would kill him.
His pace slowed more dramatically. Mayhap he could send someone else in to retrieve her, to deliver her straight into his hands far away from de Russe’s dogs.
Wise man that he was, Stoneley thought quickly on his feet. At the entrance to the Martin Tower was one of Henry’s household soldiers. He approached the man.
“The papal delegation wishes to speak with Lady Stoneley,” he stated firmly. “You will summon her and bring her so that I may escort her to the hearings.”
The guard looked him up and down. “An’ what’s wrong with your legs, pansy? You can mount stairs as well as I can.”
Guy’s first reaction was to strike, but he clenched his fist instead. He gave a helpless shrug. “I have got the gout, man. It’ll take me all night to take those stairs. Be a good chum, will you?”
The household soldier grumbled and cursed, but he complied. Guy smiled smugly, pleased at his cleverness and glancing overhead. The moon was beautiful this night.
*
Remington was asleep when Patrick roused her.
Stumbling from the great bed, she donned her ecru-satin surcoat and pulled her hair back into a golden net.
Still half-asleep, she splashed cold water on her face and pinched some color into her cheeks, gradually becoming increasingly anxious as she groomed.
Why did not Gaston come personally for her?
She prayed that nothing was terribly wrong, realizing she had done more praying recently than she had done in her entire life.
Running her finger in a small vial of mint balm and rubbing it over her teeth to freshen her breath, she was ready and threw open the bower door even as she struggled to shove her shoe on.
“I am ready, Patrick,” she said hurriedly.
Patrick steadied her as she adjusted the hasty shoe. “You shall need a cloak, Remi. ’Tis cool outside.”
With a sharp exhale, she dashed back into the room and retrieved a cloak of crushed golden silk, a gift from Gaston after the twins were born. The lining was of white rabbit, almost too hot on the cool night, but it matched the dress so, therefore, she took it anyway.
“Let’s go!” she said eagerly.
Patrick escorted her to the base of the Martin Tower, where the household guard was back at his post. The soldier pointed to the papal guard several feet away.
“He’s come for the lady.”
Remington swung the cloak over her shoulders, gazing at the guard in the distance. It never occurred to her that it was odd that the man had not come for her personally, or that he had not met her at the base of the stairs. All she knew was that the man was to take her to Gaston.
But Patrick demanded to accompany her. She tried to protest, but he insisted. With a resigned shrug, she and Patrick made their way to the papal escort.
Guy saw her coming; his heart pounding so loudly that he was sure the entire keep could hear it.
But who was the fool with her? Damnation.
He would have to dispose of the knight, and do it quickly.
Remington would recognize him in a heartbeat and he could not allow his perfect scheme to be foiled this early in the game.
Panicked for the moment, he turned away from Remington and Patrick and motioned for them to follow. They did, nearly catching up to him as they rounded the corner on the green by the Chapel of St. Peter and Vincula.
But Guy kept a pace ahead of them, working a small dagger out of his waistband. Passing the chopping block, adjacent to the Beauchamp Tower, Guy clasped the dagger close to his arm and worked his belt loose. His sword went clattering to the soft ground.
“Good Christ,” he said in an exaggerated lower-bred London accent. “’Ow in the ’ell did ’at ’appen?”
Remington came to an abrupt halt, watching Patrick bend down to pick up the sword. One moment Patrick was grasping the weapon; the next moment, the papal guard was on top of him.
And in the next moment, Patrick collapsed on the ground with a dagger protruding from his neck.
Remington did not quite grasp what she was seeing. It was the farthest thing from her mind. A second or two after Patrick landed in a heap, a scream rose to Remington’s lips and her eyes flew to the papal guard, now moving toward her with lightning speed.
Sea-crystal eyes locked with icy-blue. Guy Stoneley was staring back at her.
“Guy!” she shrieked.
It would not do to have a shrieking, screaming captive. Instinctively, Guy brought up a mailed fist and crowned Remington on the side of the head, just like old times. She dropped like a stone.
He left her, a mound of silk and satin, and dragged Patrick across the moist dirt to deposit him in a small doorway.
With any luck, he would not be found until morning and by then, he and Remington would be on their way to Mt.
Holyoak. With little exertion, he swung Remington into his arms and carried her out into the main courtyard.
The small papal escort looked concerned as he approached, but Guy kept his face lowered and waved them off. “Part the way, men,” he declared.
The three guards looked at him strangely as he commandeered the nearest destrier. “Now where do you think you are going with that horse?”
Guy threw Remington up over the animal and she grunted softly, beginning to come around. Guy slapped her on the rear. “She’s ill, man. Can you not see that? I have got to find a physic.”
The guards looked at each other hesitantly, but Guy was forceful. He mounted behind Remington and gathered the reins. “I shall send the horse back, I promise. You have Bourchier’s word. God bless you for allowing me to seek care for this woman.”
Guy was too fast, too slick. He was spearing the horse toward the main entrance before anyone could stop him.
With a shout that sounded suspiciously like a triumphant bellow, he tore through the narrow entrance as if the demons of hell were on his heel.