“How d’you know?” Olivia raised her head and half turned toward Portia, although she remained hunched into the corner.
“Shrewd deduction,” Portia said. “One minute you’re eating your breakfast, merry as a grig, and the next, at the mere mention of this Mr. Morse, you’re beating a retreat as if all the devils in hell were on your heels.”
“He is the d-devil,” Olivia stated with clear, unadulterated loathing. A shiver went through her and she leaned forward to the fire.
“What did he do?”
There was a moment’s silence, then Olivia said, “I c-can’t tell you. I c-can’t find it.”
Portia pursed her lips, trying to make sense of this. “You mean you can’t remember?”
Olivia nodded. “I just have this t-terrible dread when I think of him.”
“Nasty,” Portia muttered with feeling. “I’ve met a few men who’ve made me feel like that. Nasty, slimy creatures.”
“Yes!” Olivia sat up straight, bringing her body forward again. “Exactly. He’s a nasty, slimy snake.” Then she hunched over again and said in a near whisper, “I won’t b-be able to bear it if he c-comes.”
“But I’ll be here,” Portia said bracingly. “I’ve learned a trick or two when it comes to dealing with the snakes of this world.”
Olivia managed a watery smile. “I c-can’t imagine how I ever lived before you came, Portia. I’ve never had a friend b-before.”
“Well, you have one now,” Portia said with a grin. She slipped off the seat and stepped back into the chamber, which seemed like an ice box after the heat of the inglenook. “Come on,” she suggested impulsively, “Let’s go skating. The sun’s shining. The ducks’ll be hungry and it’s far too beautiful to be cooped up inside.”
Olivia’s throat felt hoarse and scratchy as if she’d been screaming at the top of her lungs for the last half hour, but the nameless dread was receding. Maybe Brian wouldn’t come after all. Her father had thought it a possibility. Maybe he wouldn’t come. Wouldn’t come, wouldn’t come, wouldn’t come. She repeated it to herself like a mantra until the words filled her head and banished the last tendrils of fear.
“We’d best creep out in c-case we meet Diana,” she said. “She’s in such a foul mood, she’s b-bound to think up something horrible for me to do this morning if she catches me.”
“And if you lend me a cloak, then I won’t have to go and fetch my own and risk bumping into Janet.” Portia went to the door and opened it a crack, peering out with an exaggerated conspiratorial air that made Olivia chuckle despite herself.
“Have this one.” Olivia unhooked her cloak from the back of the door. “I’ll wear my b-best one.” She fetched it from the armoire and clasped it at her neck; her hands were now perfectly steady when she drew on her gloves.
“Ready?” Portia drew up the hood of her cloak.. Olivia nodded.
They hurried along the passage, took the bridge to the battlements, and climbed down a night of stone stairs that took them safely into the outer ward, where neither Diana nor Janet Beckton would be likely to venture.
The outer ward was busy, troops hurrying between the stables, the armorer, the blacksmith, the farrier. A wagon full of supplies was being unloaded outside the granary, another with kegs of ale and barrels of wine stood before the ramp leading down to the cellars.
“Why is my father b-bringing in so many supplies?” Olivia asked.
“Probably preparing for a siege,” Portia replied as they entered the stables to pick up their skates and stuff their pockets with grain for the ice-bound ducks on the moat. “There’s not much fighting in dead of winter, but once spring comes, the fun really will begin. And Castle Granville is such a powerful fortress, and your father has raised such a large militia, it might well suit the king’s men to besiege it… keep your father and his army out of the fighting.”
“Oh.” Olivia absorbed this. She hadn’t really come to terms with the idea of the war, let alone its reality. It didn’t really touch her in the family security of the donjon, except that she was forbidden to leave the castle to ride or go hawking, or even visit the village of Granville that nestled at the base of the hill. But the weather had been so foul, she hadn’t really noticed the restrictions too much. Come spring, she would.
She hurried after Portia onto the drawbridge, her bone skates clutched beneath her arm. Skating on the moat had become perforce their favorite outdoor activity, since anything else outside the battlements was forbidden.
Portia was already halfway down to the moat, climbing down the iron ladder from the drawbridge. She sat on the ice to strap on her skates, then rose easily, much more surefooted now than she had been a short while ago.
She skated into the middle of the moat while Olivia fastened her own blades, and tried an experimental twirl, her eyes seeking and finding the darker line in the stone beneath the drawbridge that indicated the secret door. Maybe tonight, if there was no delivery, she would see if she could open it from the outside. It must connect with some passage within the walls, but her chances of finding that from within the warren of the battlements were not good. There must be a catch or lever in the stone… unless, of course, it couldn’t be opened from the moat…
“There they are. Just the same as yesterday.” George pointed down to the moat. The eyes of his two dark-cloaked companions followed his finger. They were concealed in a thicket of bushes on a small knoll across from the drawbridge, and they were all aware of how dangerous was their position, a few hundred yards from Castle Granville, on a bright sunny morning.
“But just ‘ow are we to pluck the lassie off the ice under the eyes of them there watchtowers?” mused a short, thickset man with a grizzled beard.
“Watch and see, Titus,” George instructed with something approaching a grin. “If they do like yesterday, they’ll be skatin‘ aroun’ t‘ moat to feed the ducks on the island. An’ on t’other side of the little island they’ll be out of sight of the towers fer a few minutes. We can lift ‘er off the ice there easy as pie.”
“Which one’s ours?”
“Lassie in t‘ blue cloak. Master watched ’em on the moat when ‘e went in to the feast… Ah, there they go! Let’s get on wi’ it now.” George was impatient. Every minute they hung around put them in danger of a noose on the battlements of Castle Granville.
The three Decatur men moved stealthily forward, keeping within the concealment of the bushes, following the skaters as they circled the moat.
The island on the far side of the castle was a small, treestrewn rock sticking up out of the ice. Ducks gathered on the edge, looking mournfully at the frozen surface of the water. When the skaters came into view, they launched themselves skittering onto the ice, their raucous squawking filling the air.
George and his men were close to the edge of the moat now, in the lee of the island. The noise of the ducks would drown any sound of their approach, and, as George had noted, at this point they were shielded by the island from the castle sentries.
The two girls were surrounded by ducks as they scattered grain on the ice. They had their backs to the shore, and when the three men darted, crouched low and utterly silent, across the moat, Portia and Olivia were aware of nothing but the excited waterfowl.
Until something alerted Portia, some atavistic warning of danger. She whirled around just as the thick blanket fell over her head, plunging her into a suffocating darkness, tangling her limbs, throwing her off balance, so she would have fallen had she not been grabbed up off the ice, the blanket wrapped securely around her, trapping her in a tight cocoon. She heard Olivia’s scream somewhere outside the stifling blackness, and then she was aware only of being carried at a loping run.