Page 78 of Stay with Me

She tried to open her eyes, tried to move, tried to draw in a deep breath, but she could do nothing but cling to the little bit of life she had left.

Footsteps drew nearer, as did torchlight. Someone was coming for her—or at the very least was checking on her. She guessed she’d been in the cell for at least twelve hours, that it was possibly sometime the next day. But without her mobile to check the passing of time or a window to see the amount of daylight, she couldn’t be sure.

“She looks dead,” came a hushed male voice.

“She must have caught the plague too,” whispered another.

The plague? Nicholas had spoken of the plague during one of their conversations—describing an outbreak in London and the surrounding areas.

Their footsteps clattered away, and the light went with them. When the main dungeon door closed, Sybil shivered. She tried to pull the blanket around her more securely but couldn’t make her fingers work. They were too cold and her muscles too weak.

Even as fog wafted through her mind and darkness obscured her thoughts, she was aware enough to know she didn’t have symptoms of the plague, which was carried by fleas on rats. Thefleabites caused fevers, headaches, chills, and painful swollen lumps under the skin—none of which she was experiencing.

Nicholas had explained to her that the disease was so deadly that people could go to bed healthy at night and be gone by morning. Unfortunately, it often passed through entire households and even villages, sometimes leaving no survivors.

If Lord Worth’s guards wanted to believe she’d caught the disease, then so be it. There wasn’t anything they could do to help her anyway, not with her body dying in the present day. At least now they would leave her alone. Nicholas’s mutilated back was vivid proof of the torture Simon Worth was capable of doling out. After witnessing Nicholas’s pain, she would much rather rot in a prison cell than be subjected to the whip.

She was just surprised she hadn’t passed away yet. She supposed Baxter and Dawson and Acey were still using every means possible to keep her alive. But it was only a matter of time before they would run out of options.

Her biggest regret was having to leave her husband.

“I’m sorry, Nicholas,” she managed to whisper. “I never meant to hurt you.” The closer she drew to death’s doorway, the more she wanted to cling to this life she’d just begun with him. She wanted more time with him. Even if just a little.

“Please.” She whispered her prayer through parched lips. “Please give me a few more days.”

But would she be satisfied with mere days? Would a week be enough? Or two? A year?

She wasn’t sure that any amount would be long enough with Nicholas... unless it was for eternity.

~ 30 ~

Nicholas hid behind the thick hedge,his gut churning. Something wasn’t right. His gaze alternated between the gate and the embattlements on the outer wall, as it had for the past hour of waiting and watching.

The silence over the castle was eerie. Gone were the usual calls of the guards, the clanging of the smithy, the clatter from the kitchen, the chopping of wood, and the clop of horses. Even the dogs and chickens were strangely silent, sensing the tension of the imminent altercation.

With the coming of eve and sunset but a short time away, Simon should have sent his guards out to Canterbury. But the bridge hadn’t been lowered across the moat, and the gates remained upright and locked. As far as Nicholas could tell, no one had left the castle.

Surely Simon intended to have his men positioned in Canterbury by the time darkness fell in order to open Newingate to the French, even without Nicholas to accuse. Simon would find another unsuspecting victim to plant the key upon, someone else he could blame for colluding with the French.

At the very least, Simon would be awaiting Nicholas’s arrival for Sybil by now. Were his men waiting behind the battlements, eager to lob their arrows at the first sign of Nicholas and his archers moving toward the castle?

Or was Simon expecting Nicholas to step out and announce his surrender?

“What should we do, sire?” came the whisper of one of the archers crouched beside him. “’Twill be dark erelong.”

Nicholas lifted his gaze to the dusky sky. Once they disabled the contingent riding to Canterbury, his archers would need to engage in a skirmish with the remaining castle guards to provide a diversion. If Simon’s men were busy fighting against his archers, hopefully they would be too distracted to pay attention to Nicholas sneaking into the castle via his usual method.

Of course, Simon might anticipate such a tactic and have guards waiting to jump out and capture him as soon as he set foot inside the castle. If so, he’d have to fight his way free.

What was taking Simon so long to send his men to Canterbury? Had he already done so? Maybe earlier in the day? ’Twas possible Simon had learned of the deciphered French message Nicholas had taken to the king. Maybe Simon had worked out other plans now with the French to attack elsewhere.

Nicholas studied the embattlements again, his gaze alighting from one guard’s position to the next. Even without seeing the men, he knew exactly where each was located, which arrow slits they would use, and where the safest place was for his archers to fire their shots in return.

At a sudden clanging from the castle gatehouse, Nicholas blew out a breath. Finally. The bridge lowered slowly above the moat until it thudded against the bank on the opposite side. The inner gate creaked as the pulley and chains lifted it too. But the outer portcullis remained firmly closed.

All along the hedge, the other archers in their gray cloaks were peeking through the shrubs now, their attention fixed upon the gatehouse. They watched as tensely as he did for the outer gate to rise and a group of riders to gallop through. That would be the signal to race to a spot down the road where they would jump out and fight the small group of Simon’s men, hopefully disabling them.

With every passing moment, Nicholas’s body wound as tight as if he were being stretched upon a rack. If Simon’s men suspected Nicholas and his men intended to waylay them, they might be using extra caution before venturing out.

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