|
|
|
|
|
|
She almost ordered him to go forward alone, but Simon bellowed "Alinor!" and turned his head to look at her so that Sir Giles was barely able to ward off a blow that would have maimed him. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Be safe!" Alinor shouted at the top of her lungs. "I go." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She burst out from under the iron-fanged portcullis, thundered across the drawbridge and out into the deadest hours of the night. The false dawn was gone from the sky, and the stars that flickered intermittently past the hurrying clouds were very tiny and distant. Suddenly Alinor was aware that she had come away without hose or gloves and she was bitterly cold. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Shall we wait, my lady?" the man-at-arms asked. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"No," Alinor replied. "For now, as fast as we can go is too slow." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Her first impulse had been to stop, to wait for the warmth and security of her husband's arms. Her more considered thought was spoken to the man-at-arms. If Simon could, he would overtake her or join her in camp. If he could notAlinor no longer felt cold. She was warm with the kind of rage and hatred that does not die. If he could not, she would set the land ablaze until Lackland John was dead. She would set her fishermen to piracy, her vassals to rebellion. She would teach the Queen what comes of abandoning a faithful and loving servant to fill a maw that gaped with a greed that could never be satisfied. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
In Kingsclere Keep, Simon, Sir Giles, and Beorn held position before the door of the tower. Hugo had just mounted the horse held for him. Rolf was just disappearing under the portcullis. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Hold!" The sweet, rich voice swelled over the clamor of battle, stilled it. "I am Lord John, brother and Regent for the King. Yield or be appelled of treason." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Beorn," Simon ordered softly. "Go. Now." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Yield, I say!" John repeated. |
|
|
|
|
|