Page 36 of The Knight's Pledge
The path to the left leadsto the spring…
Effie’s head hung lower as her horse instinctively followed Gorman’s on the right hand trail, almost as if she couldn’t face seeing anymore of the landmarks that punctuated the life of her little boy. Her eyes filled with tears—hot in the frigid wind.
“Are you unwell?” Lucan Montague’s voice called out from behind her.
Resentment kindled in her breast. Unwell? What would he know of it? He didn’t care about her, or about George, or about any of them.
But she only shook her head and put him off with a wave.
They arrived at the mouth of the Warren at last. The lookouts must have heralded their return, for the sloping entrance to the cave was filled with family expressing relief at their return, and the despair that had briefly overtaken Effie sank below again as she donned the mantle of her role.
Dana was at her side helping to pry her from the saddle, sheets of ice sliding from her cloak like a shedding of skin. Effie found herself in a crushing embrace.
“Thanks be to God,” Dana’s raspy voice praised. “Where isGeorge Thomas?”
“He is safe,” Effie assured them all in a voice raised to reach the entirety of the group. “But he is being held by the king against my return with Thomas Annesley.” She tried to keep her voicefrom breaking.
There were no gasps, no cries of outrage. These were a people who could no longer be shocked at the evil and unfairnessin the world.
“Let’s go inside and get you warm,” Dana murmured. “And you will surely tell us what we must do.”
The Warren gave her power. Sitting in the Cathedral around the roaring fire, eating good food in the midst of the people who were her family, Effie quickly regained her strength and her resolve.
She could almost even forget the knight sitting on the periphery of the group, watching her closely with his cool stare while Gorman gave those gathered an outline of the situation and Effie filledin the details.
Bob the Butcher’s Boy offered the first question, his round, pale face splotched with freckles beneath his startlingly orange hair giving him the appearance of one much younger. “Do we know where Thomas Annesley is?”
Chumley answered. “We’ve set the word among the taverns. The rumors so far have been only what we’d expect—he’s been seen here, there; he’s dead; he’s absconded to France. None of which we suspect are true.”
“He’s likely returned to Scotland,” Lucan Montague offered, and all eyes turned to him. “It’s where he’s made his home the last thirty years—longer than he ever resided in England. If not on Caedmaray, then perhaps in the area around the mainland village of Thurso.”
“That will take weeks to reach in this weather.” Bob frowned.
“It can’t be helped, I’m afraid,” Gorman said, and the authority and diplomacy in his voice made Effie proud. “We’ll take roughly the route Thomas himself traveled when he left Darlyrede House, pausing at Effie’s brothers’ homes to leave explanations of their delay with their houses. Effie’s identity as Thomas Annesley’s first-born child has been revealed, but whether Tommy will take it for a hoax or not is unknown. We’ve been careful on our journey from London, but by the time we cross over the Borderlands into Scotland, word will have spread. Rolf will stay behind in the Warren, both to preserve his reputation and position, as well as continue on the work here. Winnie, also, will remain.”
Effie glanced at Lucan Montague and saw the furrow between his eyebrows. Her attention was drawn back to the group as Winnie stood, her hand motions compact and brief.
I’m going.
“We don’t know how long we will be away,” Effie warned the woman. “And it’s been a difficult journey for you already.”
Winne inclined her head graciously, even as her hands flew.I understand. But what if someone gets shot through the foot?
Every gaze in the hall turned to regard the knight.
“What?” he demanded.
Gorman leaned closer to Effie’s shoulder. “She’s right, you know. It won’t look well on you if he shoulddie next time.”
“I demand to know what you’re saying about me,”Lucan insisted.
Effie sighed—Gorman was right, of course. “Not everything is about you, Sir Lucan. Verywell, Winnie.”
“If I may preclude further argument,” Gilboe interjected with a humble bow before addressing the family. “We have already considered members of our little pilgrimage, as it were.”
“As always, anyone called upon can refuse,” Chumley interjected. “This promises to be a dangerous expedition.”
A sullen looking young man leaning against the rear stone wall called out. “Might we get on with it? Or must Chumley motherus all night?”
