Chapter Thirty-Three #2
Suddenly, he moved to the door and unbolted it. Remington jumped, startled, as he bellowed for a servant. When a girl came running, he shoved five gold pieces into her palm.
“Find Lord Stoneley downstairs,” he commanded. “Tell him I am retaining the lady’s services for the night. And furthermore tell him not to disturb us until morning. Is that clear?”
The wench nodded and Hubert gave her a coin for her trouble. When she dashed off, he slammed the door and bolted it again.
“There,” he said softly. “That ought to take care of that bast… your husband. Now, to get us both out of here unnoticed.”
She nodded shakily, rising to unsteady feet. He looked at her a moment. “When did you last eat?”
She thought a moment. “Yesterday, in London, I suppose.”
He moved to a table by the hearth and collected a few bits of food. Into her hands he deposited an apple and a large chunk of bread. “You can eat this on the way,” he told her with an encouraging wink.
Grateful, she took a healthy bite of the bread as Hubert secured a huge black cloak about his shoulders. She watched him a moment, dazed at her turn of luck. In fact, the past two days had left her reeling and unbalanced so that she hardly knew her own name anymore.
“Sir Hubert,” she said softly. “How is it that you happen to be at this inn?”
“I was returning from Daventry on business for Lord Ingilsby,” he replied, donning his helm. Then he smiled. “It would seem that God was listening to your prayers this day, my lady. I almost did not stop at this place, but all of the other inns were full.”
God had been listening to her, indeed. She smiled timidly. “You know, I have never really believed in God. I only believed in the devil because I was married to him.”
Hubert’s own smile faded somewhat. “From what I have seen this night, I certainly believe that. But have no fear, my lady. I will protect you with my life.”
Remington sighed with relief. It was almost enough to start her weeping again. Thank you, God.
She finished the bread and started on the apple. Just as Hubert was moving for the door, there came a sharp rap and he unbolted it swiftly.
The serving wench was standing in the archway, eyeing Remington as she spoke. “The lord says that he shall give you until midnight and no longer,” she said. “He says they need to be on their way.”
Hubert nodded sharply and shut the door, turning to Remington. “It would seem that my coinage did not buy as much time as I would like, but it still gives us nearly four hours. Enough to make it into Yorkshire, at any rate.”
“You are taking me to Yorkshire? Why not back to London?” she demanded.
“Think on it, my lady,” he said gently. “Gaston is most likely on his way to Yorkshire already. I shall take you to Ripley Castle for safe keeping and send word to Gaston.”
“He shall be traveling to Mt. Holyoak,” she murmured, her eyes distant. “But so is Guy. What happens if…?”
“If Guy intercepts the message? He won’t, I swear it,” Hubert was pulling her to stand.
“I shall send one of my most trusted men to seek out Sir Gaston, wherever he might be. In fact, I’d wager to say that your husband will not be welcome at Mt.
Holyoak as it is. The fortress is staffed with Sir Gaston’s men. ”
She’d forgotten that very real fact. Her eyes widened, feeling more energy than she had in a day. “Then….Guy has nowhere to go.”
“Most likely not, unless he plans to engage one hundred of Gaston’s troops,” Hubert moved her to the door. “However, Guy has several sympathizers in the area he could easily house with, including Botmore.”
Remington’s mouth went agape with the possibilities. “And if Gaston occupies Mt. Holyoak again, the raids could start anew.” She tilted her head at Hubert. “My God, this is confusing, isn’t it?”
He laughed softly, a dazzling smile of white teeth and she joined his snickers.
To laugh, to smile, improved her mood immensely.
“’Tis good to see you smile,” he said approvingly.
“And, please… call me Hugh. No one calls me Hubert except my mother, and she only uses my full name when she’s angry with me. ”
She nodded in agreement, mayhap a bit shyly.
Hubert’s eyes lingered on her for a brief moment before he moved to the door again.
Silently, he opened the panel and glanced down both sides of the hall.
Unfortunately, there was only one way down, and that route led to the common room where Guy Stoneley was enjoying his meal.
And there was the window.
Hubert held his hand out for Remington, who slipped her soft hand into his mailed one. Silently, they slipped from the room and closed the door.
He led her to the window at the end of the hall. Below, a twelve-foot plunge beckoned and he was reluctant to drop the lady from that distance. But he had no choice.
“I shall go first,” he said quietly, placing his big body in the sill.
Remington watched with anticipation as he hung by his hands from the window. Sir Hubert was a tall man, not nearly as tall as Gaston, but large nonetheless. Even so, the twelve-foot chasm was a long way for him to fall.
When his fingers let go of the sill, she gasped softly and hung her head from the window just in time to see him land heavily. Hubert stumbled to his knees but rose, unharmed. Hurriedly, he turned to Remington and held out his arms.
“Jump,” he hissed. “I shall catch you.”
With only the slightest hesitation, Remington swung her legs over the side of the sill. Horrified that Guy would mount the top of the stairs at any moment and see her dangling, she scooted herself off the wooden ledge without further delay.
All Hubert saw was a billowing mass of gold and cream satin falling.
The very next thing, she was cradled in his arms with surprising ease, her arms gripping his neck.
Her crashing weight had barely been mentionable and he was vaguely pleased that he had not tripped over his own feet and broke both their necks.
He’d never caught a woman in his arms before.
With Remington still in his arms, he rushed to the livery behind the inn.
There was a young boy on duty. Hubert put Remington down just outside the door, out of the boy’s view.
Remington could hear the knight conversing easily with the lad, the sounds of a horse being led out of its stall.
Hubert continued to talk the entire time his destrier was saddled and she heard him pay the boy for his trouble.
He rounded the corner of the stable with a great brown destrier in tow. Reins in one hand and Remington in the other, they moved into the shadows of the trees before mounting.
Hubert was silent now as he lifted Remington onto his saddle, mounting behind her lithely. Gathering his thick reins, he clucked softly to the horse and spurred him into the sheltering safety of the forest.
Remington leaned against him as he took her through dense foliage, crossing over a creek and through more trees.
They were paralleling the main road north; actually taking a short cut that would chop two miles off their trek.
She would find out later that Hubert grew up in Leicester and, therefore, knew the surrounding area very well.
She prayed to the God she did not believe in, yet the God she was coming to know very well.
She prayed that Guy was still content with his ale and food, that he would not bother to check on her until the allotted time was concluded.
She prayed beyond hope that he would do what she wanted him to do, just this once.
Even so, she had no doubt that Hubert could competently protect her even if Guy discovered their absence and caught up to them.
Her greatest fear, however, was that Guy would accuse the knight of stealing his wife, and rally the township into a lynch mob.
He was not beyond any sort of lie or deception, as he had proven when he testified before the papal delegation.
Guy could not be anticipated, and that frightened her.
Her mind would run wild if she let it. Banking her fears, her exhaustion-fed imaginings, she convinced herself calmly that she was safe now, thanks to Sir Hubert.
Thank you, God.
*
At exactly midnight, Guy mounted the stairs to the second floor of the inn.
Expecting to find a verily pleased knight and one exhausted woman, he rapped softly at the door.
When he received no answer, he knocked louder.
He continued to knock until, irritated, he called out to the knight to awaken and open the door.
Still no answer, he rattled the latch himself and was surprised to find it open. Cautiously, he pushed the door open but did not enter the room. He stood back in the jamb, his ice-blue eyes inspecting every shadow and crevice of the dimly lit room.
It was empty.
Anger settled in his chest and his eyes narrowed. Strolling slowly into the room, he glanced about for any signs of his wife and the knight. There was a half-empty wine flask on the table and an empty cup, and the remainders of a meal.
The bed had been sat on, but was not mussed beyond that. He wandered off to the small bed, his eyes grazing the dirty coverlets. It did not take a brilliant man to deduce that the bed had not been used for the illicit encounter.
So where were they? Guy turned a complete circle, scanning the room. The window was closed, and everything was fairly in order. But there was no knight, and no Remington.
They had vanished.
Impossible, he told himself calmly. He had been seated in the common room the entire evening and they had not escaped him, of that he was sure.
So where were they?
Guy went back downstairs. It was late and there were several soldiers snoring on the dirty floor, the smell of ale and urine heavy in his nostrils. The innkeeper was wiping at a stack of wooden trenchers when he approached.