MATHEW ESCORTED LADY Mary through the predawn streets to Johnas' door, keeping close to her side as she raised the heavy knocker.
They could hear Bertha shuffling slowly across the entry hall as she made her way toward them. When the door finally opened, the old housekeeper's eyes lit up at the sight of Mary and Mathew standing upon the stoop.
"My Lady!" she exclaimed, her face brightening with relief.
Mary rushed forward to embrace her, nearly knocking Bertha off her feet in the process.
When she finally stepped back, she gasped as her eyes fell upon the dark bruise on the old woman's cheek.
She reached out at once, touching the housekeeper's face gently with her hand.
"What has happened?" Mary asked, already knowing in her heart what the poor woman had endured from her own past experiences of Mowbray's temper. Her eyes narrowed, outrage flashing across her face at what he had done to the elderly housekeeper, while, no doubt, the coward Johnas had stood by and done nothing.
"Oh, this?" Bertha replied, waving a dismissive hand. "'Tis nothing. You should see the other feller."
A slight chuckle escaped her as she recalled how she had bested the bastard who had struck her.
Mathew's eyes narrowed to slits as his fury rose.
"Who did this to you?" he growled.
Bertha gave him a knowing look.
"Does it matter? The bastard got what he deserved." Despite himself, Mathew's mouth twitched at the corner. "I should like to have seen it."
"You would have been proud of me Mathew," Bertha replied, her smile widening. "He certainly wasn't."
Bertha chuckled.
Mathew made a move towards the stairs before Bertha placed a restraining hand on his massive arm.
"Now, now, Mathew, don't you worry yerself about me. 'Tis not as bad as it looks, and believe me when I tell ye that I have been struck harder, by rougher men than Mowbray in all my long years upon this earth," she said by way of placating his anger.
"Besides, I need you to take an urgent message to the healer woman, and ye can't be of any service to either of us if yer locked up in the Gaol."
Mathew's jaw clenched, though some of the fury in his eyes eased at her words.
"What message?" he asked.
Bertha glanced toward Mary before lowering her voice.
"Tell her that I overheard the two of em talkin' to the man locked up in the cellar, and what they were sayin caused the hair on my head to stand right straight up. I think they mean to use some of Johnas' torture devices on the poor soul, and by gorry, she needs to come for him quick afor they do." She crossed herself at the thought of what they had planned.
Mathew turned on his heels hurrying away, leaving the two women standing upon the stoop watching as he disappeared down the street.
Bertha turned to Lady Mary.
"Well," she muttered, "I'd best be getting ye inside and up to yer room afore Johnas and Mowbray come down for their breakfast. I canna wait to see the looks on their faces when they see thee have returned," Bertha said with a chuckle.
Mary smiled nervously, and followed the elderly housekeeper across the threshold.
As Mary changed out of her mud spattered clothes she could not say that she was as certain as Bertha that Mowbray would be surprised to see her.
After all, his network of spies had never before failed to keep him informed of her comings and goings at court. And although she had attempted to remain well hidden while staying in her rooms at the tavern, the presence of so many of Mowbray's mercenaries gave her pause.
If they had been watching the tavern, how long would it be before word of her return reached him?
Mary glanced towards the window, a sudden sense of uneasiness settling over her.
Perhaps the surprise would not be all hers after all, she thought spying one of Mowbray's men standing beneath the half bare branches of a large oak across the street.
A shiver ran down her spine at the sight of him.
* * *
From his prison in the cellar Vincent could hear the voices coming from above him. He recognized Mathew's booming voice, and that of the old housekeeper who had bested Mowbray with her defiance to speak, but he did not recognized the voice of the other woman.
He could sense however that her arrival had not been expected by the old woman.
Vincent frowned, straining to hear her words through the floorboards.
He did not recognize it, yet there was something strangely familiar about the sound of it.
Then realization dawned on him, it was the voice of the woman from the clearing.
Though she had spoken only a few words during their encounter, now, hearing her voice again, Vincent recognized it.
It belonged to Mowbray's wife, Lady Mary the very woman he had used as a mallard decoy to lure him into his trap, expecting Vincent to feed upon, and then kill.
Vincent's jaw tightened.
So she had survived, and now she was here, but for what purpose?
Suddenly Vincent heard Eldra's name spoken above him.
He sat up straighter, straining to hear what was being said.
Though he could not make out every word, he heard enough to realize that Eldra was still in the village.
No doubt Mathew had ferreted her away somewhere, in some undisclosed location where Mowbray's men would not find her.
Vincent cursed the priest under his breath.
He had specifically instructed Father Thomas to make certain Eldra left the village, putting as much distance between herself and Mowbray and Johnas as possible.
Then another thought occurred to him.
If Eldra did not wish to be moved, she could not so easily be made to do so.
He knew his little raven all too well. A rye smile spread across his lips.
Knowing that once Eldra had made up her mind to do something, there were few in this world who could persuade her otherwise.
It was one of the things he loved the most about her, but also the one thing that he knew would put her in grave danger.
Vincent settled back against the stone wall, wondering why the lady had returned.
His gaze fell to the wounds left by the blessed chains, as he examined them carefully with his finger tips.
Already, the flesh was beginning to heal, the blackened edges slowly closing.
Yet beneath the healing skin, he could still feel the unnatural burn of the holy water lingering within them, as though the blessing itself had left some residue behind.
Vincent clenched his jaw against the pain as he struggled against the chains, testing their limits once more, before collapsing back against the wall when the pain became unbearable.
He cursed Mathew for his skills as a smithy.
He had never encountered such well made chains, so well made in fact that they were impossible to escape.
Usually, with enough strength and patience, he could find some weakness in the links until it yielded.
Vincent glared down at the iron links, anger simmering in his silver-blue eyes. For the first time in many centuries, he found himself wondering if he had finally met a prison he could not escape.
* * *
Lady Mary could hear the men's voices speaking in conspiratorial tones as they ate breakfast.
She paused at the top of the stairs, drawing a slow, steadying breath before descending.
Forcing her face into an expression of studied neutrality she entered the dining room without looking at either man, taking her seat, she reached for the bell giving it a sharp shake, summoning Bertha from the kitchen.
The conversation ceased at once.
Lady Mary folded her hands neatly in her lap, keeping her expression neutral as she waited.
She could feel the weight of their eyes upon her, though neither man spoke.
Then Bertha appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands upon her apron.
"You rang, my lady?"
"Yes, Bertha," Mary replied calmly. "I believe I am ready for my breakfast."
Taking great care to keep her voice from trembling, determined that neither man would know how much she had heard.
Bertha retreated through the entrance to the kitchen to prepare the lady's breakfast, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
She had seen the shocked expressions that had crossed Mowbray's and Johnas' faces when Lady Mary entered the room.
For a just moment, Bertha lingered just beyond the doorway, hidden in the shadows, watching the two men carefully.
Neither seemed to know what to make of the woman who had suddenly reappeared before them.
And Bertha, who had never been one to miss a thing, found their discomfort rather delicious.
"Ah. I see you have found your way back to us, my dear," Mowbray said, carefully keeping the anger from showing in his voice.
He had hoped she had run afoul of some beast in the forest and perished.
The sight of her sitting before him, alive and apparently unharmed, was a bitter disappointment.
Still, he forced a thin smile upon his lips, masking the murderous thoughts that churned beneath his carefully composed exterior.
"I do believe that you have forgotten what transpired the last time we met." Lady Mary looked up at him, her expression scathing. "But I assure you, my memory is not as short as yours seems to be. And should you attempt to rid yourself of me again, know that I have made arrangements for a letter to be delivered directly to the Queen, informing her of certain details of that meeting that I am sure you would rather not reach her ears, my dear husband," she spat, holding his gaze, refusing to look away.
Though it was a carefully constructed lie.
She had made no such arrangements, nor had she written any letter, but holding Mowbray in checkmate seemed her best option to keep her safe, now that she knew what his intentions toward her were.
If he believed that her life was no longer entirely within his power to take, perhaps he would think twice before attempting to rid himself of her again.
Hatred burned within Mowbray's eyes as she stared at him, though he was not certain that Mary had done as she claimed he could not take the chance that her words were untruths.
Mowbray rose angrily from the table at her words, throwing down the spoon with which he had been eating his pottage.
It landed with a wet splatter, sending a smear of porridge across the white cloth that covered the table.
Without another word, he stormed from the dining room.
Mary heard the unmistakable clatter of the decanter of whiskey being unstoppered in the study.
Bertha returned from the kitchen carrying a bowl of pottage and placed it carefully before Mary.
She glanced toward the doorway through which Mowbray had disappeared, then back at her ladyship.
Johnas sat in silence for a moment, his eyes darting between Mary and the study.
At last deciding that he would rather join Mowbray in the study than remain in the uncomfortable silence of lady Mary's presence, he pushed himself from the table and followed Mowbray into the study.
Mary and Bertha exchanged a bemused look behind his back as he left. For several moments, neither woman spoke.
Then Bertha's lips twitched into a smile.
"Well, my lady," she murmured, "I do believe you have spoiled their breakfast."
Mary smiled at the woman, then motioned for her to come closer.
"Do you know if there are any plans for them to leave the house today?" she asked, quietly.
Bertha leaned in close and lowered her voice to a whisper.
"The Master and Mowbray have absented themselves from the house for several hours each of the last two days. Where they go, or what they do whilst they were gone, I do not know."
"Good." Mary nodded, her expression becoming more serious. "I shall retire to my chamber. Please come to me when they have left. I have a great need to speak with the man they have caged within the cellar."
Bertha's eyes widened slightly at this, but she asked no questions.
"Of course, my lady."
Mary thanked her and rose from the table, returning to her chamber with as much dignity as she could muster.
Bertha watched her go before turning her attention to the ruined tablecloth. She stared at the great smear of pottage Mowbray had left across the white cloth and muttered a curse beneath her breath.
"Blasted man."
Gathering the dishes, she carried them into the kitchen and placed them upon the stone sink, but as she did so, her mind remained fixed upon the words Lady Mary had spoken.
The man in the cellar.
Bertha glanced toward the kitchen door, and wondered why her ladyship should need to talk to the man in the cage.
Mary stood watching the man who still lurked beneath the shadows of the great oak tree across the street, as he stared up at the house, his presence making her uneasy.
She remained behind the curtains of the window, careful not to draw his attention, while listening to the muffled voices of Mowbray and Johnas arguing in the study below.
Then she heard the entryway door open.
A moment later, it was slammed violently shut behind them as the two men departed the house.
Mary waited a moment before turning from the window. There came a soft knock upon her chamber door.
"My lady?" Bertha called.
Mary let the curtain fall back into place and crossed the room, opening the door.
"The men have left," Bertha whispered. Mary smiled faintly.
"Thank you, Bertha, but I heard them go."
Bertha gave her a sheepish look.
"Well, my lady, I could not imagine how you might have missed it. Mowbray slammed the door hard enough to shake the whole damn house."
Mary gave a quiet laugh, though her amusement quickly faded as she glanced toward the window.
"Take me to the cellar." Mary said.
Bertha's face held a concerned expression, then she led Mary down the stairs and to the locked cellar door.
* * *
Hearing the lock turn in the door at the top of the stairs, Vincent slunk back into the shadows.
Try as he might to keep his courage alive, Mowbray's threats from the night before still haunted him.
He heard soft footsteps descending the stairs.
Not the heavy stomping gait of Mowbray or Johnas, but neither were they the slow, halting steps of the old woman.
He could only assume they belonged to the woman who had arrived in the early hours of the morning with Mathew.
Vincent remained motionless in the darkness, listening as the footsteps drew nearer.
At last, the woman reached the bottom step.
She paused for a moment before moving across the stone floor toward the cage where he was imprisoned.
Vincent slowly emerged from the deep shadows in the corner, his eyes narrowing as he watched her approach.
He did not know why she was here, though he recognized her face, and for the first time since his capture, he held some small measure of hope that she was here to free him.
Mary cautiously approached the cage, her eyes fixed upon the man within. As she drew nearer, she noticed the deep wounds where the chains had burned into his flesh. The sight of them made her breath catch in her throat.
Every instinct warned her to keep her distance, yet pity overcame her caution.
She rushed forward and reached through the bars, her fingers moving instinctively toward his wounded arm.
Vincent flinched violently away from her touch. Mary froze.
For a moment, she simply stared at him, then slowly withdrew her hand.
"You poor man!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking as she saw the fear in his eyes.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she studied the terrible wounds upon his flesh.
She chastised herself for trying to touch him as though he were some broken bird she might soothe with a gentle hand.
"I am sorry," she whispered. "I should not have touched you." Vincent watched her silently.
Mary moved toward the door and found the padlock that secured the cage. She grasped it in both hands and twisted it, though she knew she had no hope of opening it without a key.
Mary returned to where Vincent sat, his head hanging low against his chest.
She hesitated before reaching through the bars once more.
This time, she gently placed her hand beneath his chin and tilted his head upward so that she could see his face clearly.
Vincent did not resist her touch as he had before.
There was a tenderness in her hand, a gentleness he had not felt since being imprisoned, and after the cruelty of Mowbray and the agony of the chains, her simple act of kindness felt almost foreign to him.
Mary gasped when she saw the deep cut from Mowbray's blade across his cheek.
Her eyes lifted from the wound and met his, and for a moment, she found herself lost in their strange, silver-blue depths. There was pain within them, but also something else, something that made her forget, for a fleeting moment, where she was and why this man had been imprisoned beneath the house.
Then, almost startled by the intensity of the moment, Mary broke their gaze and withdrew her hand.
" You have suffered more than any mortal man could endure," she said softly, "I know what you are, and have come to bring you word of your love. Your Eldra."
Vincent surged forward at the mention of her name, straining against the chains, and his eyes flared crimson for a moment before fading back to their familiar silver-blue, causing Mary to quickly retreat back from the cage.
"Please, calm yourself.
I only came to tell you that she is safe, and that she has friends, myself included, who are helping her make plans to rescue you," Mary said, cautiously moving closer once more.
"Tell Eldra to leave," he said flatly.
He reached through the bars and grasped Mary by the wrist, pulling her closer.
"Tell her not to risk her life to save me. I have come to the end of my life at last, and I will not have her foolishly risking hers for mine."
Mary stared at him, her heart aching at the despair in his voice.
"You speak as though you have already accepted your death," she whispered.
Vincent's grip loosened around her wrist.
"I have," he replied quietly. "But Eldra must live. Go to her and tell her to let me go, that she cannot save me."
Mary straightened and stared into his eyes, a look of determination settling upon her face.
"No," she said firmly. "As long as you live, there is hope, and I will not dissuade her from her course."
She gently freed her wrist from his grasp, but did not retreat.
"Mathew, myself, and others. Even Bertha, Johnas' maid, have sworn to help her. No matter how many lives may be lost, we shall fight." Her voice softened as she looked at him.
"For true love is worth fighting for, after all. And even though I have never experienced it myself, I will not stop until you and Eldra are reunited."
Mary held his gaze, her determination unwavering.
"This I swear to you," she said softly, reaching out her hand to gently touch his.
Vincent smiled sadly, a faint glimmer of warmth touching his weary features.
"May the gods save me from the determination of women," he murmured.
For the first time since his imprisonment, Mary saw the faintest hint of humor in his eyes.
She smiled in return.
" Do not give up hope my friend," she replied, then rose from the stone floor and made her way back up the stairs to where Bertha waited for her.