ELDRA LAY AWAKE in the darkness, sleep refusing to come, her mind would not settle, nor would her body relax. She could think of nothing but Vincent, alone and vulnerable within the cage in Johnas' cellar.
She twisted beneath the blankets, staring into the darkness. She knew he had asked her not to come for him.
Father Thomas had delivered his message clearly enough.
But how could she simply lay here while the man she loved remained chained beneath the very house of the men who wished to destroy them both?
The thought tormented her.
Lady Mary had requested to be moved into a private room, complaining of the lack of privacy and the mice scratching above her in the rafters, and her request had been granted, leaving Eldra alone with her thoughts while Maeve helped Mary to prepare to return to Johnas's house.
Eldra closed her eyes, Vincent's face appeared in her mind. She could almost hear his gruff voice.
'Leave this place and never return.' Her heart tightened.
"No, I can not abandon you," she whispered into the darkness. She opened her eyes again.
She could not leave him. Not while he was in danger.
Not while there was still a chance she could save him. Not while she loved him.
Maeve helped Lady Mary bathe in the copper tub Robert kept in a back room of the tavern for his special guests. Robert had filled it with buckets of heated water brought from the tavern kitchen.
As Maeve washed Mary's mud caked hair, pouring warmed water from one of the buckets over it, and catching the muddy water in a large metal pan beneath. She regaled the lady with tales from the bawdy houses.
Mary had been slightly bemused at first by Maeve's lewd tales, but before long she found herself laughing at them.
As the warmth of the bath gradually eased the tension from her aching muscles, Maeve lathered Mary's hair with rose-scented Castile soap while Mary half-dozed in the warm water.
"Tell me, my child," Mary murmured languidly, her fingers tracing lazy circles upon the surface of the bathwater.
"Have you ever thought of becoming a lady in waiting at court?" Maeve snorted loudly at the suggestion.
"Me? At court? Have you lost your mind?" she replied. "I'm sure the ladies at court would love having a common whore waiting on them."
Lady Mary pulled her knees up to her chin before turning to Maeve, coyly looking over her shoulder.
"My dear child your tales from the bawdy house are nothing compared to what I have seen and heard at court." Lady Mary said stretching out her legs again, and laying back against the tub.
A look of shocked surprise crossed Maeve's face before she said. "No. Your having me on?!"
"I can assure you I am not." Mary replied.
Maeve collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles, while Mary continued to trace lazy circles in the bath, a sly smile dancing at the corners of her mouth.
* * *
Vincent could hear his captors approaching the cellar door. A moment later, he heard the distinct click of the lock as it was opened.
He tensed, wondering what in the hell they had planned for him, as the cellar door swung open, and Mowbray descended the stairs with Johnas following closely behind him.
Their footsteps echoed against the stone walls as they approached the cage.
Mowbray crouched down before Vincent, looking into his eyes.
"It seems the chains have ceased to work upon you, my friend," he said. Vincent said nothing.
Mowbray's eyes narrowed as he examined him more closely.
The blackened wounds where the blessed chains had once burned his flesh were no longer as angry as they had once been.
Then Mowbray noticed something else, water.
A slowly drying pool surrounding Vincent, and his clothing was still wet from being doused.
His expression changed.
Mowbray slowly rose to his feet and looked toward Johnas.
"Bring me the maid!" He ordered. Johnas frowned.
"The maid?"
"The old woman!" Mowbray snapped. "Bertha. Bring her here!" Johnas hesitated.
Mowbray turned toward him, his voice dropping dangerously low.
"Now," he growled.
Johnas hurried back toward the stairs. Vincent watched him go, his eyes narrowing.
"It seems someone has washed away the holy water from your bindings," Mowbray said, an evil smile spreading across his face.
"But don't worry, my friend. I am sure we can find other ways to loosen your tongue and make you tell us what we require."
Vincent twisted against the chains, fury blazing in his eyes.
"Your no friend of mine," he growled through gritted teeth. Mowbray leaned closer, pressing his face against the bars. Vincent reared back and spat directly into his face.
Mowbray slowly straightened, his expression darkening as he pulled a finely embroidered handkerchief from his sleeve. With deliberate care, he wiped the spittle from his cheek.
"You will pay for that, my friend," he said venom dripping from every word.
"Do you know what happened to the last man who spat in my face? He lost his head." Mowbray's smile twisted into a grotesque mask.
Vincent merely stared back at him, hatred burning in his silver-blue eyes.
"I think we shall have to find a more persuasive means of conversation."
Bertha made her way slowly down the stairs, her arthritic knees protesting at every step.
Johnas followed close behind, breathing heavily as he descended.
The old woman gripped the wooden railing, pausing briefly at each step struggling to keep her knees from buckling beneath her.
"What is it ye that wants, My Lord?" she asked, her voice filled with feigned innocence.
Bertha glanced into the shadows of the cellar, where Mowbray stood beside the cage, while inside it Vincent watched her in silence.
Bertha's expression remained carefully neutral, but her heart began to pound.
Mowbray approached Bertha casually, though his face betrayed the fury he felt.
"Tell me, Bertha, did anyone visit my friend today?" he asked, motioning toward Vincent with one of the fine leather gloves he held in his hand.
"Or perhaps you have been poking around where you are not permitted?"
Bertha watched the nobleman cautiously, as though he were a snake poised to strike.
She knew exactly what he was asking.
The old woman slowly straightened her back, despite the ache in her knees, and lifted her chin. Defiance showed plainly upon her weathered face, as she refused to answer.
Mowbray studied her in silence.
"Have you suddenly lost your tongue, woman?"
Bertha remained silent, her eyes fixed steadily upon him.
Behind the bars, Vincent watched the exchange with growing respect for the elderly house keeper.
He knew that look upon Bertha's face.
The old woman was frightened, but she was not frightened enough to betray the priest.
Mowbray suddenly struck out with one of the gloves in his hand, the blow connecting sharply with Bertha's wrinkled cheek, sending her head whipping to the side.
For a moment, the cellar was silent.
Slowly, Bertha turned her head back toward him. The sting of the blow had brought tears to her eyes, but the defiance burning within them had only grown brighter.
"I've been struck by better men than you," she hissed. Johnas stared at her in disbelief.
Mowbray, however, seemed incapable of believing what he had just heard.
The fury in his face, already simmering beneath the surface, erupted into full blown rage.
Bertha stood before him, small and frail in comparison, yet somehow seeming taller than she had been moments before.
Vincent watched her defiance, his lips curling into the faintest smile.
He had to admit the old woman had courage, and Mowbray had just made the mistake of underestimating her.
"Get her out of my sight!" Mowbray roared.
Johnas hurried toward Bertha, but the old woman needed no assistance.
She turned and slowly made her way toward the stairs, one arthritic step at a time.
As she climbed, a broad grin spread across her weathered face. Then she began to cackle.
The sound echoed through the cellar as Bertha's heart swelled at besting the whores son.
Mowbray watched her as she made her way up the stairs, his face crimson with rage.
Vincent watched his face through the bars, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Bertha reached the top of the stairs, and disappeared through the cellar door, still cackling loudly.
"Cunt," she muttered under her breath, the door slamming shut behind her.
Mowbray stood motionless for several moments, his fists clenched at his side.
Then he slowly turned back toward Vincent. Vincent let out a hearty laugh.
" So the great and powerful Gavin Mowbray has been bested by an old woman!" He roared.
Mowbray rounded on Vincent, fury twisting his features.
He drew his sword from its scabbard and in one swift motion, slashed it across Vincent's face, opening a deep gash along his cheek.
Vincent recoiled against the chains, a low growl escaping his throat.
"Your whore won't find you so pretty when I am done with you." Mowbray sneered.
He held up the sword, watching with cold indifference as Vincent's blood slowly slid along the blade before dripping onto the stone floor.
"Who do you think we should burn first?" he said casually. "You or your whore of a witch. I think perhaps the witch." He paused glancing sideways at Vincent. "Then you can watch her burn, just as you watched your Maker burn."
Mowbray said with feigned disinterest.
Vincent's eyes flashed crimson as he lunged forwards.
For the first time, Mowbray's expression faltered.
He had expected fear.
Instead, he saw something far more dangerous. Hatred.
Mowbray slid his sword back into its scabbard, turning to face Vincent.
"Good night my friend," He sneered, giving a small bow to him," and pleasant dreams."
With that Mowbray and Johnas turned and climbed back up the cellar stairs, locking the door behind them.
Vincent sat alone in the darkened cellar for a moment, listening to the silence that followed Mowbray's departure.
Slowly, he lifted a hand to his cheek, running his fingers along the jagged edge of the wound.
His fingers coming away slicked with blood.
Vincent studied it for a moment before bringing them to his lips, licking the blood from his fingers.
The metallic taste lingered upon his tongue, and then he closed his blood slicked hand into a tight fist.
His eyes lifted slowly toward the cellar door, and something dark stirred within him.
Mowbray had threatened Eldra, and that was a mistake he would live to regret.
Vincent's eyes flared crimson in the darkness.
* * *
The noises of the forest ceased as Eldra slipped between the trees toward the clearing where Lady Mary had been bound to the lone tree at its center. She slowed as she reached the edge of the forest, her breath catching in her throat.
The clearing was unnaturally still.
No insects hummed in the grass, and even the wind seemed to have abandoned the place, the leaves hanging motionless above her.
Eldra's eyes searched the clearing. Lady Mary was still there.
Her red hair hung in tangled strands around her pale, frightened face, and the rope binding her to the tree had rubbed her wrists raw.
Her dress was once more torn and stained with mud, and she trembled as she strained against her bonds.
But there was something else. Eldra felt it before she saw it. A presence.
Watching.
"Mary?"
Her head lifted.
"Eldra?" she whispered.
Relief flashed across Mary's face, quickly replaced by terror.
"No," she breathed. "You mustn't come here." Eldra froze.
"Why?"
Mary's eyes darted toward the opposite side of the clearing. "Because you're the one they're waiting for."
A branch snapped behind Eldra. She spun around.
Nothing.
Only darkness between the trees.
Then, from somewhere beyond the clearing, came the slow, deliberate sound of footsteps.
Eldra sat bolt upright in bed, her heart racing within her breast. She swallowed the scream that had risen in her throat before it could escape between her lips, careful not to wake Maeve, who shifted restlessly upon her own bed mere feet away.
It seemed that she too was in the clutches of a nightmare.
Her brow furrowed, and her hands clutched desperately at the blanket as she tossed beneath it, a soft whimper escaped her lips before she fell silent.
Eldra watched her for a moment, her own breathing slowly beginning to steady.
But the nightmare remained vivid within her mind. The forest.
The clearing.
Lady Mary bound helplessly to the tree, and the footsteps approaching from the blackness.
Eldra shivered despite the warmth of the room.
She could still feel the terrible certainty that had filled her in the dream. Someone, or something, was coming for her.
Eldra only wished she knew who, or what it was. She threw back the covers and rose silently.
Though she knew Lady Mary was safe within her room down the hall, she felt compelled to check on her.
The door hinges creaked slightly as she pulled it open, and although Maeve appeared not to notice, Eldra silently cursed the noise, feeling the rough floorboards beneath her bare feet, she crept towards the noble-woman's door.
Lifting the latch, she pushed it open and peered inside. The bed was empty.
Panic began to rise remembering her dream.
"Lady Mary?" Eldra whispered, her voice barely audible.
She stepped into the room, her eyes darting towards the darkened corners.
Her blankets lay undisturbed, as though no one had slept there at all. A cold knot tightened in Eldra's stomach.
She turned towards the door, suddenly aware of how quiet the tavern seemed.
Eldra noticed a faint light coming from below in the tavern below. She descended the stairs, finding Robert alone in the kitchen, preparing a large kettle of pottage over the large hearths fire.
He looked up as she entered, surprise crossing his face. Then he hurried to her side.
"What are you doing up so early, miss?" he asked, drawing her closer to the warmth of the fire as she stood shivering in the doorway.
Where has Lady Mary gone?" she asked the inn keeper.
Robert settled her into the chair by the fire, placing a blanket around her shoulders.
"Mathew came early to fetch her. She wanted to arrive at Johnas' house before dawn, so that her reappearance would have a more dramatic effect. Or at least, that's how she put it, miss," he said.
Though Eldra would have loved to see the expressions on Mow-bray's and Johnas' faces when Lady Mary suddenly reappeared in their midst, she could not shake the worry that had settled in her heart.
Bertha, as clever a woman though she may be, Eldra could not help but wonder if she was clever enough to keep Lady Mary safe from harm.
All she could do was hope and pray. Though a nagging unease remained.
She tightened the blanket around herself and stared into the fire.
As true of heart as Lady Mary believed herself to be, and as desperately as they needed a trusted friend to keep watch over Vincent, Eldra prayed they had made the right decision by allowing Mary to walk back into the dragon's lair alone.
The memory of her dream swirled within her mind as she contemplated what it could mean, and who or what the thing watching from the shadow of the trees might be.
She thanked Robert for his company and slowly made her way back up the stairs to her room intent on visiting Father Thomas.
After dressing and pulling the hood of her cape down low over her face, obscuring it from prying eyes, Eldra slipped out of the tavern through the back entrance, where the tavern's privies were located.
She then climbed over the low stone wall surrounding the graveyard and made her way across the dew wet grass towards the sacristy door.
Seeing the priest's shadow moving about within the room, she rapped lightly upon the leaded glass window of the door.
Father Thomas cautiously approached.
Relief washing over him when he recognized Eldra's face on the other side of the pane.
He quickly opened the door and pulled her inside before glancing back across the graveyard to make certain no one had seen her.
"What brings you here at this hour, my child?" he whispered, closing the door behind her.
"I need you to do me another favor father," she said. "Lady Mary has returned to Johnas's house, to keep a watchful eye on Vincent. Though she believes that Bertha's presence in the house will protect her from harm, I am worried for her safety. Would you pay her a visit later this afternoon to make sure that she is faring well?"
Father Thomas rubbed his balding pate with his hand, pondering the possibility.
"I Shall try my dear, buy as you know All Hollows eve is tomorrow and I have much to prepare before the services tomorrow night," he replied, seeing Eldra's face fall.
She had not even realized that tomorrow was All Hollows Eve and her date of birth.
Her mother had always made much of the occasion by taking her Souling and preparing her favorite food for their supper.
Seeing the look upon her face Father Thomas took her hand in his, patting it gently.
"I will make the time my child. Please do not cry," he said in a soothing voice.
" Oh no father it is not that, though I thank you for agreeing to visit Mary. It is just that I had not realized that tomorrow was All Hollows Eve. It is also the anniversary of my birth, and the first since my mother died." She sniffed back her tears.
"I am very sorry to hear that my dear, but, here, you must have a special gift for the occasion."
Looking around the sacristy, he spied a box containing Guising masks meant for the village children. Pulling a finely decorated one from the box, festooned with brightly dyed crimson turkey feathers, he handed it to her. "Thank you, Father," she said, turning the mask over in her hands. The sight of it stirred a distant memory of one much like it that her mother had once made for her.
Though the feathers on her mother's mask had been dyed a bright yellow, using dye made from freshly harvested yarrow from her mother's garden.
A sad smile touched Eldra's lips at the memory.
"Thank you for the gift, Father," she said again before leaving the sacristy as she had entered it.
Pulling her hood lower over her face, she made her way past the headstones that stood in uneven rows in the graveyard, like war weary soldiers standing at attention, before climbing over the low stone wall, and making her way back towards the tavern.
By the time Eldra had returned to her room in the tavern a plan had started to form in her mind of how she may be able to rescue Vincent, but first she had to speak to Mathew, as she would require his assistance if her plan were to work.