Page 4 of The Knight's Pledge
“All the more reason to once more seek my bed,” Lucan acknowledged. “I’d not waste what little strength I have to get Effie Annesley out of a snare she’s most likelymade herself.”
“It’s not her in thesnare, lord.”
“But you said—”
“It’s her boy.”
Lucan’s racing heart had slowed somewhat and so now he did turn his head to regard the steward, who seemed to have paled another two shades. Lucan remembered the red-haired lad from his sister’s wedding toPadraig Boyd.
I’m George Thomas Annesley,how do you do…
“What’s wrongwith the boy?”
“He’s…missing.” Rolf seemed in greater pain that Lucan, although Lucan didn’t know how that was possible. “Please come,” he whispered.
Sweat seemed to be pouring down Lucan’s back now. “Why should I care what happens to a bandit’s brat? In fact, why shouldyou?”
“Lord?” Rolf’s brows knit together. “Perhaps you should—”
“It’s not as though she can further your status now that Darlyrede is burnt and she is wanted by the Crown,” Lucan explained. “In fact, if I should see her, I would only arrest her, which I do doubt would be of any assistance in whatever plight she now finds herself in. Most deservedly, I should think, as well.” Lucan paused. “You seem to be quite far away just now, Rolf.”
* * * *
Rolf Littlebrook caught the knight just before he could slide to the stable floor, his noble battle steed having done his duty in just holding his master aright these past several moments. Agrios didn’t so much as flinch asLucan crumpled.
Rolf lowered the knight to the hay-strewn ground, seeing clearly his gray, greasy pallor beneath the lock of black hair. He was more unwell than Rolf has guessed, and now he was unconscious—dead weight. Rolf didn’t relish the idea of the trip back through the hold to return Lucan to his bed, nor the calling of the surgeon and the questions that would arise. He’d already wasted precious time in traveling to Steadport Hall. Apparently, neither the surgeon nor the priest from Darlyrede had done Lucan any good thus far. For such a young man to lose his foot would be a tragedy. If Winnie were here, she would know howto treat him.
He stilled, thinking. Dare he?
In the next moment, Rolf haltingly folded the tall knight into an awkward embrace and then staggered to his feet. Agrios stood as still as any stone wall as Rolf draped his master across the saddle. He fastened the stirrup high up around one of Lucan’s upper thighs to keep him from sliding to the ground. It wouldn’t be a comfortable ride, but hopefully he would stay good and unconscious until they were deep in the wood.
By then, it would be toolate to return.
Rolf pulled Agrios’s reins over the horse’s head and regained his own saddle, leading the fine, inky horse into the equally inky night. The well-trained animal followed obediently, seemingly knowing that the cargo he carried depended upon it.
It would take much longer to arrive at the Warren this way, but it was likely better to arrive late with Lucan Montague than not at all.
Perhaps for Lucan Montague most of all.
Chapter 2
“He’s here.”
The words were whispered into Effie’s ear, but they roused her like a blast from Vaughn Hargrave’s arquebus. She opened her swollen eyes and looked up into Gorman’s face. His eyes, too, were red, dark-hollowed, above his thick beard. She made no reply, only held up her hand so that he could help her from George Thomas’s little bed. She followed him from the carved-out chamber in the rear of the warren of rooms and into the tall, twisting stone corridor toward the cathedral, still gripping the blasted parchment they’d found earlyyestermorning.
After fifteen years, Effie no longer noticed the mineral smell of the caves. Her eyes were exquisitely adjusted to the way the torches played off the chiseled-sharp, glittering planes of the walls and she knew them all as well as she knew the curves of George’s small face. There was no daylight in the caves, save for just inside the entrance, and in one chamber where a tiny sink hole in the forest floor far above sometimes allowed a beam of light to fall in the center of a tall, conical cell Gilboe had claimed as his oratory.
The lower portions and pathways of the corridors were worn smooth and rippled, perhaps by ancient, long evaporated rivers, but the upper portions of the caverns bore the marks of chisel and driven stone, the Warren having been stretched and widened by human hand for years to suit the hidden village it now contained. In addition to the common storage and stable areas, the Warren currently boasted seven private cells, as well as two large dormitory chambers where unpartnered adults slept. The echoey sound of the shallow, subterranean river grew louder, and beyond the next curve of stone wall the ceiling soared away into invisible darkness as Effie and Gorman enteredthe cathedral.
The cavern was filled with many of the residents of the Warren, and all were in a grim fluster as Effie drew nearer. She braced herself for the argument she knew was inevitable. Effie certainly hadn’t wanted to call for him, but Rolf and Gorman had convinced her that Lucan Montage could help them. And so helpthem, he would.
He must.
Gorman stopped suddenly in front of her, nearly causing her to runinto his back.
“Rolf?” he queried ina strange tone.
Effie stepped around in time to see the man who had served as Darlyrede’s steward for decades place a dark, limp bundle on the floor. Rolf rose, and his usually placid facewas troubled.
