Page 87 of The Knight's Pledge
“You allowed him to walk freely through the place?” he was growling as the guard hurried at his heels. “Restrain him,” he spoke to the other two guards standing just behind the group while he flicked his fingers at Effie’s father. “Take him to acell at once.”
Effie opened her mouth to protest, but felt the touch of Lucan’s hand on her own. His frown and the slight shake of his head stayed her.
“I’ll be alright, lass,” Tommy said as the two burly guards bustled him between them. He looked old then, frail, flanked by the stern-looking guards, their chests plated with armor. “I’ve been the king’s guest before, eh, lads?”
“Take him; go,” the secretary commanded. He looked to Lucan. “Montague. So you’ve proved true. Who’sthat with you?”
“My apprentice,” Lucan said at once. “Hello, Hatteclyffe; good to know the king still lives, despite your care.”
The man ignored Lucan’s sarcastic greeting. “You had no apprentice before.”
“He stayed in the city,” Lucan explained. “I’d no reason to believe we’d be detained, so I had no need of him.”
“But now you do?” the secretary asked with a smirk. And then he looked to James. “Does this apprentice have a name?”
“James Montrose, lord,” he said with a slight bow. “From York.”
The secretary’s pale brows rose. “The Belgians? Ambitious.”
Effie could feel Lucan’s curiosity, but he said nothing.
“I’m certain the king will see you on the morrow,” the secretary said, still to Lucan. “You’ll have a chamber for you and your boy for the night. Certainly, you’ll wish to seeyour captain.”
“If he is not otherwise occupied,” Lucan acquiesced.
“Giles will locate him, if he’s not already gotten wind of your arrival. As for you,” he said, turning at last to Effie, “I’ll put you in with the rest of your lot. Giles?” The guard standing to the rear of the secretary stepped to the side to face his superior. “Take her up to the north wing with the otherScots rubbish.”
Effie felt her face heat, but she said nothing as the guard approached her, his hand out, as if he would take her arm.
She pulled out of his reach. “I’m not a prisoner, am I?”
The secretary gave her an oily smile. “Certainly not yet.”
“I wantto see my son.”
He looked at her with a touch of confused amusement. “Do you?”
“I’d speak to the Scots before I retire, Hatteclyffe, if you don’t mind. They were part of my duties, after all, and I’d see that they’ve been cooperative.”
“Not cooperative in the least,” the secretary said. “But His Grace well expected it.”
“My son,” Effie insisted.“Where is he?”
Hatteclyffe turned an exasperated face toward her. “You don’t have a son until the king says you have a son. You really shouldn’t wear trousers, mistress,” Hatteclyffe advised in a mock confidential tone. “They make you forward. Unbecoming.” He glanced back to Lucan. “Very well,” the secretary said dismissively. “Giles will wait for you to show you to your room, lest any ideas of subterfugecome to mind.”
“Perish the thought,” Lucan said. “I’ll send Montrose for more suitable clothing for the lady before he retires.”
“Wise, wise.” Hatteclyffe said with a nasty smirk, and then turned away even as he spoke. “Good evening, Montague.”
“This way, sir,” the guard said, leading them from the antechamber and through dark, echoing corridors.
No one spoke further as the frigid air within the compound wrapped about the group like a shroud—so much colder than out of doors as they walked briskly through the twisting passages that Effie’s skin broke out in gooseflesh beneath her sleeves. She tried to still the panic that wanted to rise within her, saving her questions for Lucan when they were afforded some sense of privacy.
Wasshe being taken to a cell, after all? Hatteclyffe had not struck her as a man whose words could be trusted.
But they ascended rather than descended staircases, and at last came to a set of double doors in the center of a wide corridor, flanked by two more guards.
“I’ll wait for you here, sir,” the guardadvised Lucan.
