Page 65 of The Raven and the Rose
The dungeons smelled of damp and decay; she shuddered to think of the golden-haired youth in such a dreaded place. Dim candlelight came from the only cell that was occupied. As she crept toward it stealthily, a tall, dark form loomed out of the shadows. She almost jumped out of her skin—she knew she had been discovered. “Roger!” she cried in alarm; then she saw that it was Captain Kelly. “Oh, I thought you were my husband —you are so alike.”
His eyes gleamed at the prize he had caught doing what she shouldn’t. Suddenly a thought hit her in the pit of her stomach: This could have been the man Mr. Burke had seen the night Janet was murdered! Her mouth was so dry, she could barely swallow. Kelly reached out a bold hand to touch her breast; in her misery she did not stop him. Emboldened by her acceptance, he said low, “I’ll look the other way while you free your lover if you’ll spread yourself for me.”
Numb with fear and loathing, she nodded her head and fumbled the key in the cell lock.
“Roseanna, thank God,” breathed Bryan, slipping from the cell.
She could not get out fast enough. If she didn’t get the stench of the place out of her nostrils soon, she would faint. They crept to the stables, and in the dim light she handed him the paper. “Ravenspur took you prisoner because he found this paper among your things. Tell me truly, Bryan. Did you mean to imprison me at Middleham?”
He laughed shakily. “Nay, Roseanna. The paper refers to the King,” he swore fervently.
She was stunned. Ravenspur was right! Bryan was involved in treason—and what of her brother?
“Goddamn it, he’s locked up my horse,” swore Bryan.
“Take Zeus. Leave him at Castlemaine.” She knew that she was doing an insane thing in letting him go, but she had loved him once, and she would never be happy if his blood were on her hands. He went to take her in his arms, but she recoiled in horror. “Go quickly before someone cries the alarm.”
He needed no second urging but threw a saddle onto Zeus and secured the belly strap. Only seconds after he rode off, old Dobbin ambled up with a lantern. “What do you want, my lady?” he croaked.
“The Arabian. What have you done with Mecca?” she asked.
He cackled. “As soon as ye brought them mares in, he began screaming until I give them to ’im. I’ve put them in the small stable behind this one. Come on, I’ll show you.”
“Go back to bed, Dobbin. I’ll see for myself,” she said with regal authority. He knew the tone and shrugged. When Lady Roseanna was up to intrigue, it was best to look the other way. He touched his forelock and ambled off.
She found the Arabian in a roomy, loose box stall with the three mares. One of them had a bite on her neck from when he had forced her to his will. Roseanna washed the wound and disinfected it as the young mare stood trembling beneath her ministrations. She muttered a low oath at the stallion as she saddled him: “By God, if you’ve got so much energy, I’ll run it out of you.”
He snorted and tossed his head, but she made him take the bit with determined hands. She had no plan yet except to go to her father. But as she rode toward Middleham, she knew the Abbey of Jervaulx would be close enough to shelter her until she found a way to see him.
Roger opened his eyes; the emptiness of the chamber was tangible. His eyes flew to the table where the keys had lain, and he knew. He sprang from the bed and pulled on his clothes. He ran down four flights until he was beneath the castle, and he saw for himself that she had freed his prisoner. Fear was a stranger to Roger Montford, but it snaked through his belly as he ran to the stables. Fitzhugh’s horse was still locked in its stall, but a quick search confirmed that his fear was justified. Zeus and Mecca were missing; they had gone together! He turned on young Dirk, his temper in shreds. “Who guarded Fitzhugh?” he demanded.
“I gave the only keys to you, my lord. No guard was posted,” he said, shamefaced. He was saved from a tongue-lashing by Tristan and his men clattering into the yard at full tilt. Roger could see Tristan’s agitation. Roger’s heart sank as his brother shouted, “They’ve taken the King!”
“Come upstairs where we can be private,” Roger bade him, “Kelly! Ready a hundred men and horses.” Grim-faced, Roger led the way to his chamber and slammed the door. The sight of the tumbled bed was like a knife turning in his breast. Quickly, he poured two goblets of wine and handed one to his brother.
“Two weeks ago, Ned left York. But instead of going straight to London, he decided to visit Nottingham Castle to see the extensive building renovations that are being done there. He got word that Warwick was going to move against him, and he was caught with his feet up on the table. He had only his Court with him.
“He foolishly delayed at Nottingham over a week trying to raise an army. He got Pembroke and Devonshire with their armies of Welsh archers, but Warwick’s forces were too great. Warwick has Ned at Warwick Castle, and he has had the gall to summon a Parliament for York. He has called on all subjects to join him in arms against the King. His war cry is ‘Death to the Woodvilles.’ Warwick says if the King won’t take action against them himself, he must be made to do so by others!” recounted Tristan.
“You’re certain they took Edward to Warwick Castle?” asked Roger.
“As certain as I can be. He’s more a guest than a prisoner, according to Warwick. They have made Warwick Castle their headquarters.”
Roger paced the bedchamber like a caged animal. He was wracked with indecision. The scrap of paper had said the prisoner was to be held at Middleham, yet Warwick Castle made more sense. It was close to Coventry, where the Queen’s father, Lord Rivers, held sway. Edward had made his father-in-law his chief military officer, and he held the exalted rank of Constable of England. It was Lord Rivers whom Warwick intended to bring low.
Roger made his decision. They would go to Coventry and swell Edward’s army. There was strength in numbers, and they would join Hastings, Herbert, Stafford, Pembroke, and Devonshire. He would try to influence Norfolk and as many others along the way as he could. If it meant bloody war again, then so be it! He ground his teeth over the little creeping louse who had escaped from his own dungeon; he should have gutted him while he had the chance.
Roseanna used every excuse she could think of to stay at the abbey. She told them she had come to look at more horses; she also wanted to buy some sheep; and she had decided that Jervaulx should provide Ravensworth with their famous flakey white cheese year round. She hoped God would forgive her for lying to men of the church but wasted no more thoughts on the matter.
She needed to figure out how she could get close to Edward if she saw him around Middleham Castle or on Middleham High Moor. She concluded that a monk’s white robe would be her best camouflage. Holy men came and went everywhere almost unnoticed. She hadn’t been inside the Abbey of Jervaulx two hours when she stole a robe from a clothesline outside the laundry.
She rode out onto the moor and put the large white robe over her other clothing as soon as she was away from the abbey. The Arabian blended in with the other white horses grazing on the moor. Roseanna decided she would ride in close proximity to the high walls of Midhung around all afternoon; then just at dusk she couldn’t believe her luck. A large troop of men-at-arms came riding over the ridge with King Edward at their head. She rode slowly toward them, hoping and praying that her father would recognize the Arabian.
He did! Edward held up his hand for the troop to rein in. He felt inside his purse for gold. The King was famous for his generosity, so when he asked if he could approach the monk to give him alms, it raised no suspicions. Edward spurred his horse the few yards toward Roseanna. His own gentlemen who had been allowed to attend him while he was a “guest” at Middleham rode up close behind him to partly screen him from his captors’ vision.
Roseanna whispered hoarsely, “How can I aid you?”
He shook his head quickly. “I am in no danger. But oh, my Rosebud, I beg you to ride swiftly and get the Queen into sanctuary. Warwick means to destroy them all!”
