“He should not,” echoed Shamus. “He should have stayed home.”
Ailbe shook her head. “You didn’t,” she said. “Can’t expect him to if you didn’t.”
“He could have come back,” said Shamus. “He should have just come home.”
“I know,” said Ailbe. Her shoulders started shaking again, and the tears began to flow hard. “Oh, he should not have died like that!”
Thomas felt suddenly, extremely awkward. The weight of a past about which he knew nothing filled the room. He looked for something to say, but could find no words. George was looking at the ground, his expression mirroring Thomas’s feelings. Eileen had tears on her face.
Ailbe rubbed hard at her face. “I’m tired,” she said from between her hands. “I’m tired and my heart hurts.” She stood. “You should stay,” she said to Thomas. “All three of you. In the morning we’ll talk more about…”
She lost her voice. Shamus rose and went to her, holding her in his arms. She let him for a moment, then stepped back and turned back to Thomas. “There’s blankets in the chest in there,” she said, gesturing with her chin at a curtained doorway. “You can sleep on the porch.”
“We will,” said Thomas. “Thank you.”
Eileen rose to her feet and went to fetch the blankets. George gathered up his and Eileen’s bags and stepped outside. Thomas picked up his own bag and headed for the door.
Ailbe reached out and caught the edge of Thomas’s shirt. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Are you sure the bishop had him killed?”
Thomas nodded. “I am. I’m sorry.”
Ailbe nodded and turned her face away. “In the morning.” she said her voice breaking. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Thomas nodded then stumbled outside to the porch. George was already there, setting his and his sister’s bags down against the stone wall of the house. Thomas tried to think of something to say, but could find nothing.
Eileen stepped out of the house, loaded down with blankets. “I have never felt so awkward in my life,” she whispered as she handed blankets to George and Thomas. She put her own down against the wall of the porch. “Ailbe’s gone to bed,” she said. “Shamus went with her.”
George put his blankets down beside his sister’s. “Just as well,” he said quietly. “She’s had a nasty shock.”
Thomas let his blanket fall in a pile on the other side of the door and took off his sword belt. He laid it on the porch floor then sank down beside it, feeling his stiff, sore body protest the movement. Dim light from the fire inside came through the shutters, casting a thin orange glow out onto the porch. “I shouldn’t have told her like that.”
“You didn’t really have a choice,” said Eileen.
“It’s still no good.”
“Aye,” said George, putting one blanket onto the porch floor. “Well, it sounds like she believes you, anyway.”
Thomas nodded. “Aye.” He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. “Now if I could get you two to believe me…”
“We are trying,” Eileen said. “It’s just…”
“Not easy to believe,” finished George. He lay down and wrapped himself in his second blanket. “Where do you think the bishop is?”
“I don’t know,” said Thomas. He sighed. “He should have gotten here before we did.”
“Maybe he had somewhere else to go.”
“Maybe.” Thomas looked out into the night. The clouds still covered the sky, blocking any of the light from the heavens that might have shone down. All he could see was darkness and the thin, grey shapes of the trees. A long silence fell.
“Aren’t you going to sleep?” asked Eileen.
“I don’t think I can, right now,” Thomas said.
There was quiet for a time, then the rustling of blankets.
“Hey,” said George, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m sitting with Thomas for a while.” She stepped across the porch to him. “If that’s all right?”
“Aye,” said Thomas, surprised. “But I’m not going to be good company.”
“Neither am I,” said Eileen, putting a blanket on the floor beside him, then wrapping another around her shoulder. “But I’m not tired yet and I don’t want to lie awake alone in the dark.”
“Hardly alone,” said George.
“Being awake beside someone asleep is as bad as being alone,” said Eileen. “Thomas will at least be awake.”
“Fair enough,” said Thomas. He looked over at George, who was eyeing them with uncertainty. Mindful that Eileen was George’s sister, he asked, “Do you mind, George?”
George eyed the two of them, then said, “No. I don’t mind.” He rolled over, wrapped himself tightly in his blanket. “Just don’t tell Mother I let you alone to talk to a boy at this hour of the night.”
Eileen sat down beside Thomas, far enough away that they weren’t touching, but close enough that they could see each other’s faces clearly in the near-darkness. Thomas leaned back against the wall and turned his gaze back out to the clearing, half-expecting to see the bishop and his men coming.
There was no sign of them, of course, and no sound from the cabin. Thomas expected his mind to go wandering off in all directions. Instead, it went to the girl sitting at his side. He felt awkward, all of a sudden aware that she was a very pretty girl, with a very big brother sleeping on the other side of the porch.
“Thomas,” Eileen began, “are you all…” She stopped a moment then started again. “How are you?”
Thomas thought about that question. Part of him wanted to just say ‘all right’ and leave the matter alone. Instead, he said, “Honestly?”
Eileen nodded. “Honestly.”
“Tired. Sore. My face hurts, my ribs hurt. Worried about Ailbe. Scared of the bishop. Scared for my father. Scared that everything I wanted is going to be taken away from me.” Thomas stopped, the welter of emotions threatening to rise up and overwhelm him.
Eileen hesitated. “Maybe you shouldn’t go home. After we’re done here, I mean.”
“I have to.”
“But, if your father’s going to disown you—”
“He’s going to do that anyway.” Thomas looked at Eileen, her face barely outlined in the dim glow coming from the cabin. “The Academy is everything I ever wanted. If I run away, I don’t get to go back. I don’t get to read philosophy or study law or be anything. I’ll end up as a secretary to some merchant if I’m lucky!” His voice was getting loud, he realized, and he stopped talking. The weight of his feelings was crushing him. Rage and fear held onto him like a weight in his chest. He looked back out into the darkness beyond the cabin. His voice was a whisper when he said, “It’s all I ever wanted. I’m not letting him take it away.”
Eileen said nothing and sat still for a time. Then she took the blanket from her shoulders and spread it across their legs. Before Thomas could ask what she was doing, she grabbed the side of his, put it over her own shoulders and moved in close enough that her shoulder pushed against his. “Better?” she asked.
“Um… yes,” Thomas said, not sure what she meant.
“Good.” She leaned her shoulder against his. He took comfort from her warmth and her presence, even though he didn’t dare move. “It will be all right,” she said. “You’ll see.”
He felt a lump forming in his throat. He tried to swallow it. “Thank you.”
Eileen didn’t reply, but left her shoulder where it was, and stayed beside him. Thomas stared out into the woods, searching for something to say, but not finding anything. Soon he felt Eileen’s head leaning gently on his shoulder, her breathing soft and regular. Part of him knew he should wake her up and send her back to her brother. The rest of him just wanted to feel someone close by. In the end, he left her alone, drawing what comfort he could from her presence beside him.
Chapter 11
Thomas woke hard and fast as a hand blocked his mouth shut and shoved his head against the wall. The pain jolted him and sent spots of light spinning in front of his eyes. A knife appeared, hanging in the air, its wielder near-invisible in the darkness. He looked past the blade, followed the arm to the face of the man holding his mouth shut. “Make a sound and you die,” the man hissed. Thomas recognized the voice at once. He had heard it before, at Timothy’s wagon and at his father’s house. The man shoved his head against the wall again. “And so does the girl.”
Thomas risked a glance at Eileen. The second of ‘his Grace’s’ men had a knife at her throat. His other hand had pushed away the blanket, and was fumbling with the edge of her dress. Eileen was rigid; her breath was short and ragged with fear and anger, and her legs clamped hard together. From the other corner of the porch, a near-animal growl followed by a whispered reply told him that the third man had George. He turned his eyes back to the man in front of him, nodded his understanding.
The man took his hand from Thomas’s mouth and wrapped it around his throat. “His Grace wants to see you.”
“I won’t go.” The words came of their own accord.
“You will go.” The floating knife suddenly pressed against his cheekbone, “And you will go quietly, or my friend will cut the young lady’s throat. Understand?”
The man holding Eileen had found the bottom of her skirt and was moving his hand slowly up her leg. Thomas answered quickly. “Aye.”
“Good.” The knife flicked back from his face, the edge dragging along his cheekbone and cutting the flesh open. Thomas hissed and twisted, but managed not to cry out. His movement brought his legs up against his sword belt, hidden beneath the blanket. Keeping the rest of his body still, Thomas shifted his hand, still under the blanket, towards the hilt of his dagger. “I’ll do what you want,” said Thomas. “Just leave her alone.”
“But I’m enjoying her,” whispered the man holding Eileen.
George’s growl shook the darkness, “
Don’t
you touch her.”
“Shut up!” whispered the third man, and George grunted in pain. The man holding Thomas turned to look, and Thomas took the moment to wrap his fingers around the grip of his dagger.
“Enough,” hissed Thomas’s captor. “Knock the girl out, then go get that wench from the house.”
From across the porch came a sudden, meaty
thud!
and the sound of a body going sprawling. The man holding Eileen yanked his hand free from her skirt and jumped to his feet.
Thomas took the moment, pulling his dagger from beneath the blanket and slashing the edge of the blade across the underside of the wrist that held his throat. The man let out a startled, pained shout and jumped away. Thomas rolled clear of the blankets and to his feet, pulling his sword out of the sheath and nearly falling off the edge of the porch. He could just make out George, moving with the speed that had nearly defeated Liam, rolling over and straddling his attacker, grappling for something Thomas couldn’t see.
Eileen delivered a vicious kick towards the knee of the man in front of her, buckling it and making him stumble backwards, as she scrambled to her feet.
“You son of a whore!” she screamed, throwing the blanket at him and pulling at her own dagger.
“Get away!” Thomas yelled.
Eileen ignored him, swore viciously and swung her dagger. The man moved to the side, his own blade flashing out. Eileen screamed, short and harsh, then hit the ground. George let out a terrible bellow and drove his fist into the face of the man beneath him with a sound like a cabbage being hit with an iron hammer.
The man Thomas had cut slashed at him with his dagger. Thomas twisted away from it, then thrust with his rapier, sinking it into the other’s flesh. Thomas twisted the blade and pulled it free. The man fell off the porch and to the ground with a mewling sound.
Eileen’s attacker jumped off the porch and stumbled, limping into the night. Thomas took off after him. The man reached the edge of the woods just steps ahead of Thomas, then dodged to his left. Thomas saw why and just managed to change his own course. Steel ripped the cloth of his shirt, but missed flesh. Randolf, the bishop’s black-clothed familiar, stepped out from the cover of the trees and thrust again.
Thomas, unable to stop his momentum, dove to the side, rolling and coming up with his blades towards the man. He thought he could see a sneer on the other’s face, but the dark made it impossible to be certain. The man attacked again. Thomas parried and fought desperately back.
The fight was rough and awkward. Neither could see the other well. They thrust and parried, half-seeing, half-guessing where their opponent was. Randolf kept Thomas on the defensive, his blade nearly finding flesh again and again.
From behind Thomas came a sudden light, throwing the black-clad swordsman into sharp relief. Thomas thrust forward and was parried. Randolf launched a sweeping cut at Thomas’s neck, making him parry wildly and retreat into the yard.
The familiar, the sneer on his face clear in the yellow light, turned on his heel and ran into the woods. Thomas, breathing hard, nearly gave chase. He wanted the one who had cut Eileen, but knew Randolf would be between them. The man was very good. He had nearly killed Thomas half a dozen times in the few moments they had fought, and not by luck, either.
“She’s bleeding, Thomas!” cried George. “Help me!”
Thomas raced to the porch. Shamus was standing in the cottage doorway, a warrior’s axe in one hand, a torch held up in the other, his eyes going to George and Eileen, then the bodies on the ground. “What the High Father’s name is going on here?”
Thomas ignored him and knelt by Eileen. “Where is she cut?”
He cast his sword and dagger aside and tried to make her uncurl. His hand touched her stomach and came away sticky. Eileen cried out.
“Hold her still,” said Thomas. George grabbed his sister’s shoulders and tried to hold her down. Thomas took Eileen’s hand. “Eileen, you have to stay still, do you understand? Lie back and stay still!”
Eileen made a keening sound between gritted teeth, but uncoiled her body and did as Thomas asked. George looked to the Shamus. “Help her!”
“I’ll help her,” said Ailbe, stepping out onto the porch. “What happened?”
“They attacked us,” Thomas threw a hand in the direction of the bodies, his eyes on Eileen’s stomach. The knife had left a long tear across her flesh. “Oh, thank the Four.”
“What do you mean, ‘Thank the Four’?” demanded George, and for the first time Thomas noticed the blood pouring from his friend’s ear. “She’s bleeding! Help her!”