Chapter Six #2
“You will remain in your room until I tell you to come out,” Catarina shouted before Elizabeth could shut her door.
Catarina closed her own door behind her and collapsed to the ground. She fought to breathe. Henry’s lifeless eyes flashed again and again in her mind.
“No,” she said aloud. “It cannot be.”
Shaking her head, she paced her room as if trying to outrun the truth. But then she froze and raised her shaking hands in front of her eyes. They were coated in her husband’s blood.
“Oh God,” she cried out. Rupert had killed Henry. She sagged onto her bed, despair claiming the strength from her limbs. Rupert had killed Henry and now she would have to submit to his demands or face accusations of murder. How could this be happening?
What he said was true. Her mother had been a commoner. And if the monk’s report was correct, then her father was a traitor to the crown. No one would believe her. No one would take her word over Rupert’s.
“Do not be alarmed.”
She sat up with a jerk. Standing in front of her bed was Brother Augustine. She had not heard him enter.
His deep-set eyes met hers. “Is any of that blood yers?”
She shook her head, unable to find her voice.
“Did ye kill yer husband?” he asked.
“No,” she cried, her hands once more shielding her face. Then she blurted out, “But Rupert plans to accuse me unless I agree to be his mistress.”
“Sir Rupert is quick to assign blame,” he said under his breath. “We’ve little time,” he said louder. “Quickly, gather what ye need. We must flee.”
She looked up at him in a daze, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
Then with a furious nod, she climbed from bed and hurried across the large, richly appointed room.
She threw open the lid of a truck and then flung wide the doors of a large wardrobe and began tossing velvet and silk tunics into the trunk.
He shook his head in amazement. “What are ye doing?”
She whirled around. Confusion widening her swollen, red eyes. “I do not know.”
“Take a deep breath,” he said. Then he reached into her wardrobe and grabbed a mantle. “This is all ye need.”
She shook her head. “No. I need my son.”
Quinn nearly dropped the mantle. “Yer son?” Bella had mentioned nothing about a child. “Where is he?”
She crossed the room and opened a door, which led to the room next to hers. Inside a woman sat in a wooden chair with wide, unblinking eyes, a stiff back and her hands pressed over her ears.
Without a word to the woman, Catarina rushed to the cradle and scooped a baby into her arms. “I am ready,” she said, turning to Quinn.
Quinn raked his hand through his hair as he stared dumbfounded at a tiny baby only weeks old. How were they going to run with an infant? Pushing aside his shock and doubt, he turned to the woman. Her fear was palpable. He needed her help and quickly. “What is yer name?” he said.
“E...Elizabeth,” she stammered in reply.
“Elizabeth,” he said gently. “We need extra linens.”
She jumped to her feet and opened a chest and took out a neat stack and handed them to Quinn.
“Thank ye,” he said. Then he grabbed a blanket from the cradle and opened it up on Elizabeth’s narrow bed, laying the cloths in the center. “What’s in there,” he said to her, pointing to a cupboard.
“My clothes and things,” Elizabeth said quickly.
He nodded and swung open the door and grabbed the simplest kirtle, tunic and slippers in the lot, which he added to the pile in the middle of the blanket. Then he took the four corners of fabric and tied them together into a bundle.
He led Elizabeth back to her chair and helped her sit. “If ye value yer life at all. Do not leave this room,” he said calmly.
“Ye have my word,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Grabbing the bundle, he turned back to Catarina, who had remained silent, clutching her baby close. “Follow me.” He crossed back through her large chamber and cracked the door, peering out into the hallway.
“’Tis empty,” he whispered, glancing back. “Just stay close to me.”
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
His eyes looked heavenward for patience, then he pulled the door closed. “We are escaping—with our lives I pray.”
She swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “There is a hidden passage in the lord’s bedchamber.”
A jolt of relief shot through him. “Lead on,” he said.
He followed her to the opposite side of the room and opened a large door that led into a massive chamber. The fire already burned bright in the lord’s hearth and candles were lit along the mantle and tabletops.
She froze in the middle of the room, her eyes welling with fresh tears.
Quinn grabbed her arms, looking her hard in the eye. “Yer husband has no wish for ye to mourn him at present.”
She nodded and swiped at her eyes. “This way,” she said, walking toward a large tapestry.
She pulled the heavy folds back, revealing a narrow door.
“It winds down below the kitchens and comes out beyond the outer wall somewhere. Henry told me of its existence after Nicholas was born. Supposedly, no one else knows about it. He said I was to take Nicholas to safety if the keep were under siege.” Her voice dropped as she peered into the darkness.
Quinn grabbed a lantern from the large mantle. “Tread carefully,” he said. “These stairs are narrow.”
She glanced back with an aching heart at the surrounding warmth and finery. Then, taking a deep breath, she stepped down into the bleak unknown.