Page 39 of The Knight's Pledge
“I’ve no idea where the horses are kept.”
The group seemed to give a collective, silentsigh of relief.
“I think Rolf has things sorted—I’ll take you,” Gorman said. He walked past his father with a clap on the shoulder and Rolf slowed his son’s progress by only a moment in reaching up and grasping Gorman’s forearm firmly. They shared a solemn meeting of the eyes, and then Gorman joined Lucan in striding back down the throat of the cave.
“What did you mean by Rolf preserving his reputation and position by staying behind?” Lucan asked straight away. “Certainly not that Padraig Boyd might be loath to employ him at Darlyrede Housein the future.”
“Why not?” Gorman suggested. “If the king and Caris Hargrave have their way, Thomas Annesley will be executed. I don’t think it likely that Padraig will thank us for that.”
“He knows Rolf has nothing to do with this,” Lucan said with an uneasy frown. “If he cast guilt upon everyone under the king’s directive—”
“You too, my child?” Gorman interjected with a grin.
Gorman had read his thoughts, and the comment surprised him. Who was this man, presumed dead for so many years, quoting Greek from a betrayed emperor? A man whose own father had long held a position of power in one of the wealthiest holds in all of England. A man who had the love of Effie Annesley?
Gorman indicated with a hand near Lucan’s arm toward a long, slender shadow in the corridor wall. “This way.”
It was another passage, curving and sloping to the left, the uppermost parts of the ceiling hairy with roots. A trickling stream with thin shards of ice at its edges crossed the path to crawl along the wall into the darkness, and the far side was still wet with hoof and boot prints.
“I walked right past it,” Lucan couldn’t help comment.
“It’s well-suited for our needs,” Gorman agreed. “There is a hidden paddock just beyond the ridge for grazing in the good weather. We keep few animals though, so they can be cared for in secret if we are unable to leave the Warren for any reason.”
“The—gallery, is it? It’s theonly entrance?”
Gorman grinned at him. “What think you?”
“I think not.”
The grin widened. “It is certainly the most convenient entrance.”
They reached an open chamber where a rather tidy scene of wooden stalls and troughs comprised the stone stable, the smell one of dung and torch and well-dried sweet grass and minerally water. A pair of children not much older than George Thomas was tending the animals—the horses from their journey, several goats. The children rose from their tasks to stare at Lucan, their brushes stilled.
“Good evening,” Lucan greeted them.
They only continued to watch him closely.
“This is Sir Lucan,” Gorman supplied. “He’s come to care for his horse—that great, black beast, there. What’s he called, Sir Lucan?”
Lucan knew that Gorman Littlebrook was well aware of his horse’s name. “Agrios. His name means ‘wild’ in Greek. I named him thusly because he was trapped as a coltfrom the wild.”
The children continued to stare at him, motionless.
Gorman spoke again. “Sir Lucan won’t harmyou. Carry on.”
The children dropped back to their work at once, as if Lucan had ceased to exist.
“Don’t be offended if they aren’t interested in idle chatter,” Gorman murmured as he showed Lucan where all the supplies were located. “They’re careful of strangers. Especially men.”
“Are their parents here?” Lucan asked.
“Ben’s mother is. Have you everything you need?”
Lucan knew he was missing very large pieces of information, but he didn’t wish to push Gorman too quickly. If Lucan made an enemy here, he was even more likely to have a dangerous journey northon the morrow.
“It’s seems that way. My thanks, Gorman.”
“I’ll see you in the cathedral, then.” He turned to go.
