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Page 480
women did now would not matter. Their screams probably would not be heard and they could not get out until freed from this side. He had thought of replacing the bar at Alinor's door so that her escape would be concealed, but he had been afraid he could not do it silently enough in the dark. Below him there was a single sob, a sharp hiss, and renewed silence.
When they reached the forebuilding, they all stopped to breathe. Simon held Alinor against him, just held her, not speaking, not thinking. They all knew the worst was yet to come. Alinor stood passively within his arms, realizing they were both very close to death in this moment. If she permitted herself to return his embrace, to feel anything at all, the mad terror that was working in her brain would precipitate their destruction.
It was she who said, "Let us go, Simon."
The voice was low and steady. It did not sound like the voice of a madwoman, but Alinor was very little removed from that. She could endure no more waiting, no more fear. For over a week she had lived with the vision of Simon with a dead, gray face in blood-spattered mail. She had been wakened by her own nightmare; her dead husband stood before her in torn and blood-soaked garments with gray flesh, stiff and cold as clay. What he had said to her, except the order for silence, she had not understood; however, dead or alive, if Simon wanted her she would follow him.
"Give us a count of three hundred," Simon said to Rolf and Hugo. "Then start your part. Now, Beorn, you know this place best. Lead on to the stables."
The moon was set, but there was an odd gray light in the skyfalse dawn. Beorn slipped out of the forebuilding and around to the left, keeping close against the wall. One by one the others followed, Simon, against all reason, holding Alinor by the hand. There was an open area between the keep and the stables. Beorn paused. Sir Giles came up to him. Both stared toward

 
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