A desperate glance around the chapel interior revealed one possible means of escape: a window in the west wall. But it was shuttered and he'd never get it open in time, Retreating into the middle of the room, he experienced a moment of utter despair. Then he saw the outlines of another door. Reaching it in three strides, he dived through into blessed darkness.
A small, windowless room, it was blacker than pitch, blacker than sin. He guessed it must be the sacristy. It would be an even more deadly snare than the chapel, but for now, it offered a chance of salvation. He left the door cracked open; if he went down, by God, he'd go down with answers. Torchlights spilled through the chapel doorway, brighter than the sun to moles and bats and Justin, who had to shut his eyes against the glare.
"I will await him here." Emma s voice indicated she was addressing her inferiors; she was very much the lady of the manor again, adding coolly, "I hope it will not be long."
So did Justin. As he'd been able to envision the panic of monks and lay brothers, so, too, could he imagine the fear felt by a cornered mouse with a cat on the prowl. He'd never been uncomfortable in small, confined spaces… until now. His back to the wall, he reached under his mantle and let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword.
The sound was a soft one, barely carrying to Justin's ears. But it set his heart to thudding against his ribs, for it had come from a far corner of the sacristy. He stood very still, every sense alert, his eyes probing the chamber until he could peel away several shadows from the obscuring darkness. His mouth went dry with the realization that he was sharing his sanctuary. Almost at once, though, he recognized these new adversaries for what they were: fearful lay brothers who'd taken refuge in the safest place they could find, God's House. He wished he would whisper a reassurance, vow that he was not their enemy. But he dared not risk it, not with Emma pacing impatiently on the other side of that thin, wooden wall.
"Go and seek out their buttery, Oliver, You look like a man desperately in need of a drink." When Oliver said that he did not think the Cistercians allowed wine or ale upon their granges, Emma retorted, "Now why does that not surprise me?" in an acerbic tone that spoke volumes about her feelings for the White Monks,
Justin could not blame her for her animosity, for it had to rankle that the White Monks would bar even their prince's consort from their guest halls. Oddly enough, he was finding this new Emma more sympathetic than the pampered princess he'd seen on display at Rhuddlan. This woman might be in collusion with the Devil for all he knew, but she was showing commendable courage, obvious affection for Oliver, and a steely resolve that put him in mind of his queen.
"The monks must have a lit fire somewhere, if only in the kitchen. Go find it, Oliver, and thaw out." Oliver protested that he did not want to leave her, confirming Justin's suspicions that he was an old family retainer when he spoke proudly of serving her lord father, that prince of blessed memory, Count Geoffrey. But Emma insisted, and Oliver dutifully departed. Almost at once, though, he was back.
"My lady, he has come!"
"About time," Emma muttered, not sounding much in awe of her clandestine partner in crime. She'd begun to pace again, her footsteps echoing as far as the sacristy door and then away. Justin blew on his hands, trying to warm them. In the corner, the lay brothers still huddled, or so he assumed, for they were all but invisible in their dark brown habits. For the first time since taking cover in the sacristy, Justin could feel the excitement throbbing through his veins. Close, so close to learning the truth about this tangled spider's web of conspiracy and intrigue!
Others were entering the chapel. After a murmur of voices, light squeezed through the cracked door of the sacristy, and Justin guessed that a wall sconce had been lit. The temptation to put his eye to that arrow-thin opening was considerable. So far Justin was resisting it.
"I want no witnesses to this meeting," Emma said, and Justin wondered how many of these men knew her identity. Cloaked in a dark, hooded mantle, she thwarted recognition by even her near and dear ones.
"Your wish is my command, my lady." This voice had the distinctive intonation of the highborn, that unmistakable blend of education, expectation, and arrogance. It was also a familiar voice to Justin, one he'd heard all too often at high-risk moments in the past year. He refused to believe what his brain was telling him, though, for that voice belonged to a man who was hundreds of miles away, on the other side of the English Channel.
There was the sound of retreating footsteps, a closing door, and then that silken, sardonic voice again, calling Emma "My dearest aunt," and a stunned Justin could no longer deny that Emma's ally was Queen Eleanor's faithless son, John.
Chapter 13
August 1193
Rhuddlan Castle, Wales
"We would be more comfortable in the Grange's hall Aunt Emma"
"No… privacy matters more to me than comfort."
Justin was startled by how clearly audible their voices were. This was working out even better than he'd dared hope… so far.
"When I heard that you'd left England, I was not sure you'd be back, John."
"Going to Paris is not like going to Hell, Aunt Emma. Men have been known to return from France." John's footsteps neared the sacristy door. "How long has it been since we last met? It has to be a few years… I think when Richard made his pilgrimage to St Winifred's Well? But you've not aged a day that I can see. No wonder other women like you not."
"You need not waste gallantry upon kinswomen, John. There is no profit in it."
John laughed. "Just out of curiosity, do you ever let anyone else see the side of you that you show to me? I do not blame you for being vexed with my abrupt departure for the French court. It could not be helped, though, and I did keep my promise. I came back."
"I was not so much vexed as concerned lest all our planning be set at naught. I knew from the moment I learned of Davydd's mad scheme that this was an opportunity that would not come again. Thankfully we had such a reliable emissary, or all would have been lost as soon as you sailed from Southampton."
It was becoming clear to Justin that their plan had been in the works for months, long before the actual robbery. He assumed Thomas de Caldecott was the "reliable emissary," but John disabused him of that notion by saying, "Yes, the Breton was a godsend… or devil-sent, depending upon one's point of view." Justin frowned. Who was the Breton?
"It was inspired to suggest him as go-between, Aunt Emma. Neither of us would have been foolhardy enough to commit much to letters. I suppose you met the Breton whilst he was in my father's service?"
"Yes."
"You are not the most forthcoming of allies." John was sounding amused again. "There is much I still do not know about this plot of yours. Such as how you found out about Davydd's plans."
"Does it truly matter? If you must know, Davydd told me. He boasted of it, in fact, said he'd be catching two rabbits in one snare, gaining Richard's gratitude when he recovered the ransom whilst ridding himself of a troublesome rival."
John chuckled. "Is that a Welsh saying… catching two rabbits in one snare? I like it, for that is what I am doing myself with this return to England. I, too, am capturing two rabbits in one snare, and what makes it so sweet is that both rabbits belong to Brother Richard!"
"I do not understand that, nor do I want to. Whatever else you have in mind is between you and the Almighty."
"Such righteousness does not become you, Aunt Emma." John's voice had taken on a discernible edge. "It is not as if your hands are not bloodied, too. It is my understanding that three men died in that robbery. And lest we forget, that Cheshire knight who was found dead in your chapel under such odd circumstances."