Nor, thank the Fates, was anyone taking an inordinate interest in the man at her side, too engrossed in their own purposes to pay others much heed. While he doubted many of the castle folk would recognize him, he longed for the concealment of his hooded cloak, which, along with his horse, sword, and money pouch, he hadn’t seen since yester noon.
Resigned to the loss of his belongings, Rhodri gave thanks for the one possession they’d allowed him to keep with him, his harp. Which he’d feared he might lose, too, until Nicole rescued it from the tower’s guard.
And he’d repaid her by threatening to break her neck. With a wince, he admitted his hastily devised plan for escape had been roughly executed and smacked of dishonor.
Still, the scheme had worked, and he didn’t give a damn about what the captain thought of his methods. However, Nicole was probably due an apology for his uncouth manner, especially for the celebratory kiss he shouldn’t have stolen.
Nicole hadn’t seemed to mind his forwardness overmuch. He’d startled her as much with the kiss as when he’d grabbed her in the cell. The kiss had been quick but long enough for him to enjoy the sweet taste of her mouth. Her surprise hadn’t been so acute to prevent her from kissing him back.
While he didn’t know precisely what had ailed her so intensely in the tower, she now seemed to have recovered from both the ailment and the kiss.
Determined to put both disturbing events out of mind until he and Nicole were well out of danger of capture, Rhodri cautiously glanced up at the wall walk, noting the garrison hadn’t yet been alerted to his escape. However, someone would soon hear the captain’s shouts and the soldiers would swarm the wall walk and bailey.
“Do we merely walk through the gatehouse and over the drawbridge?” Nicole asked, her uncertain tone at odds with her confident stride. “Escaping cannot be that simple.”
He could see the gatehouse now, and the throng of people passing through, some leading oxen-yoked carts.
“’Tis possible. Until the garrison is alerted to our flight from the tower, they will not be looking for us. If we edge through alongside one of those carts, the guards might not notice us at all.”
“What if they stop us?”
He briefly considered drawing from his boot the dagger Nicole had given him. A fine, solid weapon she’d claimed once belonged to her brother, William. One had to wonder why she possessed the dagger at all. ’Twas hardly the type of thing a woman needed in an abbey.
He was glad to have the weapon at hand, but best to leave it be, for the nonce. No sense drawing attention by carrying the blade openly.
“The guards do not seem to be stopping anyone. If we give them no reason to do otherwise, they should leave us be. How many gates in the city?”
“Seven. Two to the south, one east—”
“Lady Nicole!” hailed a female voice.
Nicole slowed and began to turn her head. Rhodri put a hand on her back to keep her moving.
“Do not stop.”
“But Lucy—”
“There, the cart stacked with sacks of grain. Get beside it.”
“Lucy may follow me.”
In the shadow of the stack of grain sacks, Rhodri slowed to keep beside the cart, hoping that whoever Lucy was she had the sense to believe Nicole hadn’t heard her. The rumbling cart churned up dust, the grit invading his nose and eyes, but not so badly that he couldn’t see and smell freedom but a few steps ahead.
From the wall walk above came the sound of men running. All hope of uneventful passage through the gatehouse fled. His heartbeat rising in rhythm with the increasing danger of capture, Rhodri grabbed the harp’s sack from Nicole and slung it over his shoulder.
“The garrison has been alerted. If we do not pass over the drawbridge quickly, they will be on us.” He reached for her hand, which she immediately took. “We must run. Stay close.”
“Lord have mercy,” she muttered. “I knew we should have waited until nightfall.”
Rhodri saw no sense in arguing. He took advantage of a narrow opening in the throng to break into a long stride, pulling Nicole behind him. They passed under the gatehouse to a shower of shouts to halt. The guards’ cries grew more insistent when Rhodri’s boots hit the plank bridge.
“Left!” Nicole ordered.
Deciding she must know where she was going, and in no position to question her now, Rhodri turned left at the end of the drawbridge, running as fast as he could without overly straining Nicole’s shorter stride.
He recognized the broad street that ran east and west through town as one he’d been on yester noon. Naturally, they drew a few stares from the townspeople, but Rhodri chose to ignore discretion in favor of speed.
They’d gone no farther than a few blocks when Nicole again ordered him to turn left, onto another broad street. He almost hesitated, knowing that if they turned right, they’d come to the southern gate through which they’d entered Oxford. But again he obeyed, trusting she had a plan in mind.
Not until a bit farther on, when she tugged him onto a narrow lane, did he begin to question her intent. Before he could ask where she was headed, she slowed, nearly jerking him off balance.
Nicole pulled her hand from his.
“There, the cobbler’s shop,” she said, moments before she ducked through the shop’s door.
What the devil was Nicole about? They didn’t have time to have a sole mended or heel repaired! He entered the shop after her to hear her address the young man seated on a stool, a boot with the heel up between his knees, an upraised hammer in his hand.
“Are you descended of John the cobbler?” she asked.
From a mere step inside the doorway, Rhodri glanced back down the lane, looking for signs of a patrol.
“I am,” the man answered, setting aside the boot and hammer. “John was my grandsire, may he rest in peace.”
“Was your grandsire a forgiving man?” Nicole asked, much to Rhodri’s confusion.
The cobbler’s brow furrowed. “He was a God-fearing man. Why do you wish to know?”
Precisely Rhodri’s question, too!
Nicole shot Rhodri a disturbingly anxious look before she blurted out, “Had your grandsire lived, would he have been able to find the mercy in his heart to forgive Thomas Thatcher his unfortunate misjudgment and allow Thomas’s soul to rest in peace? Can you?”
The cobbler’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Forgive the friend turned murderer? I hope he suffers the fires of hell!”
“Thomas meant to express his deep sorrow over what happened, but he died before given the chance. I assure you he is eternally sorry for the unintentional wrong done your grandsire and your family. Pray, sir, is there no mercy in your heart?”
“Hrumph. You would receive a better hearing from my mother. She forgave her father’s murderer—”
“She did? Why, that was most kind of her! Pray thank her for her understanding.”
The poor cobbler looked as dumbfounded as Rhodri felt.
Nicole had acted strangely in the tower, and now… he shouldn’t have held her throat so tightly, tilted her chin so high. Surely he’d deprived her of enough air that it had affected her wits. God forgive him, what had he done to her?
The cobbler’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you, milady? Why your concern over my family and matters best left in the past?”
Rhodri understood none of this, but he’d heard enough. He lunged for Nicole’s hand and hauled her out of the shop.
She was smiling. “In which direction do you wish to leave Oxford?”
Rhodri took a deep breath, guilt over the instability of Nicole’s mind weighing heavy on his soul, unsure if he could trust her mind at all.
“The nearest gate will do.”
She pointed northward. “That church spire is St. Michael’s-at-North Gate.”
Rhodri squeezed Nicole’s hand. “You are sure?”
“Certes. Should we not hurry?”
He feared they’d stopped too long for speed to do them any good. Surely by now the castle garrison had altered the guards at the city gates, which might explain why no patrol had come down the lane. The soldiers would ensure the outer gates secured before beginning a search in the town.
Still, he set a quick pace, winding through the unfamiliar, narrow lanes. Both he and Nicole breathed rapidly before he stopped within sight of North Gate. As he’d feared, the guards were many and halting everyone who wished to pass through, going so far as to search the carts.
Were he alone, he’d push through the crowd and take his chances with the guards. But he wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t about to risk either Nicole’s safety or chance them being parted.
“I fear we must abide for a time,” he told Nicole, glancing around for suitable shelter. Hell, any unoccupied building would do for the nonce while he came up with a less risky plan to escape Oxford.
“When King Stephen burned the city several years ago,” she said, “the area around St. Ebbe’s suffered the worst damage. Recent flooding has taken a toll, too. Most of the buildings left standing are in ruins and for the most part abandoned. We might find a place there to hide.”
Nicole seemed so reasonable now, when only a short time ago she’d been speaking nonsense. Perhaps her ailment wasn’t permanent. Maybe he hadn’t done her irreparable harm. A few hours’ rest might do her good.
Besides, they truly had no choice but to hide if they were to avoid capture. Since he didn’t have the vaguest notion of St. Ebbe’s location, once again he must trust Nicole to take the lead.
With too many misgivings to contemplate, he reluctantly said, “Lead on, my lady.”
S
heltered in a burned-out, abandoned building in an almost equally deserted area of Oxford, Nicole used a stick to draw a large oval in the dirt floor—a rough map of the high, thick stone walls that fortified the town.
“’Tis simple, really.” She drew an X with a circle around it on the far west end. “This is the castle. The town has two main roads. One runs through the middle of town from the castle to the east gate. The other cuts the town in half north and south. At the end of those streets are the larger, most-used gates. The smaller gates are here.”
Nicole drew several more X’s, one of them in the southwest corner of Oxford, not far from where she and Rhodri took shelter.
“The bridges?” he asked.
Outside of the town’s walls, she drew a long, winding line—the river Thames—and marked, to the best of her memory, the bridges’ locations.
She glanced up at Rhodri, who loomed over where she’d hunched down, his arms crossed, frowning mightily.
He’d been frowning since leaving the cobbler’s shop. Understandable, she supposed. She’d cost them time, and Rhodri certainly didn’t approve of what she’d done. Nor did he understand why she’d done it.
She should probably explain the importance of her errand on Thomas’s behalf, but first they must decide how to get beyond the city gates. If they didn’t escape Oxford, naught else mattered.
“Will they set guards on the bridges?” she asked.
“Not likely. They will hope to catch us at one of the gates. Once the gates close for the night, they may begin searching the town.”
Nightfall wouldn’t come for several hours yet. The small building Rhodri had chosen as a hiding place, with its gaping holes in the walls and blackened support beams, probably wouldn’t fall down in the next few hours. Still, she would prefer not to remain in this part of town any longer than she must.
Among the charred and rotting shells of former dwellings lurked many of the town’s disreputable folk, the beggars and brigands who would as soon rob you of your boots than earn an honest wage to pay for them.
Nicole dropped the stick in the dirt before rising and dusting her hands together. “Which gate do you think best?”
“I wish I knew which gate was the least guarded.”
She had no notion of how many guards were posted at any of the gates.
“Would our chances of getting through be better at a gate with fewer guards, or at one with more people passing through so the guards’ attention is more divided?”
“Truth to tell, both would give us a better chance to slip through. However, I would not wager a halfpenny that we would be so fortunate.”
Not that either of them had a halfpenny to wager. In their haste, they’d left most of their belongings behind, and right now Nicole would give most anything—except capture—to retrieve a few of those possessions.
“I wish we had our cloaks. They would afford us a measure of protection.”
“How so?”
“As a disguise, if only to cover my hair and gown.”
“Aye, that gown is rather noticeable, is it not? ’Twould be best if you still wore the habit.”
Heretofore, Rhodri had given no indication he’d noticed her change of garb, or whether or not he liked the difference in her appearance.
Unwarrantedly peeved at his lack of appreciation, Nicole was forced to agree with his assessment. In a habit she would be far less noticeable.
“Mayhap we could disguise ourselves in some way.”
“With what?”
She tossed her hands in the air. “I do not know, but at least I am trying to find a solution to our dilemma! If you have one, pray share it with me!”
“Not as yet.”
Which she took to mean he hadn’t thought of a good plan, either, and so had naught to share. Infuriating man.
Disgruntled, Nicole glanced around for a length of wall she deemed solid enough to lean against, plopped down in the dirt, and shifted to get comfortable, thankful the building had burned so long ago that it didn’t stink of smoke. A small thing to be thankful for—and that apparently no spirits lingered in this place. The very last thing she wanted to deal with was another spirit.
She wrapped her arms around her upraised knees, wishing she could have another talk with Thomas, but she dared not return to the tower to find out if he’d passed on or not. All she could do was hope he knew the cobbler’s mother had forgiven him and that the woman’s forgiveness was enough to allow Thomas to finally rest in peace.
“Nicole? Are you all right?”
The concern in Rhodri’s voice was as genuine as before. This was the second time today he’d asked that particular question. The first time she’d assured him nothing was wrong.