Chapter 5

D ONOVAN HAD BEEN ABOUT to pound his fists against the door once again with a fury.

To Kat's great pleasure, he nearly fell in, unbalanced when the door was opened as he had commanded.

He gazed past Marie to Kat, who sat calmly brushing out her tresses.

"Father! Goodness! You are in a hurry! 'Tis intriguing how guests behave these days!"

She could almost hear the irate click of his teeth. And still he controlled his temper—and his suspicions—and bowed deeply. "Ah, what great pleasure this gives me! It seems that you are ready—at last—to come join us again!"

There was never a man quite so cruel or cunning as a man of the cloth gone bad, she determined, but maintained her sweet and serene smile.

"Indeed, Father, I am," Kat assured him. She set down her brush and rose. "I have been told, however, good Father, that ladies must be indulged, the better to hostess their guests." The length of her hair swept behind her as she walked to join him. "Father?" She offered him her arm. Bowing slightly once more, he took it.

He led her down the stairway to the hall below. The Prince was indeed returned along with the others. Mortimer was sprawled before the fire, torturing her hounds by pretending to throw them morsels of the leg of meat he ate.

De la Ville, uninterested in food for the time, was far across the room, looking outward as if he could see into the growing shadows of the coming night.

Prince John had been seated at the table. He rose as Donovan brought her into the room. "Katherine. Forgive us. Our hunger grew. We began without you, yet felt such an emptiness despite the quality of your food and hospitality! We knew that it could only be fulfilled by the presence of our hostess herself."

"How very kind of you," Kat murmured.

"The Prince was beginning to suspect that you had deserted us, Lady Katherine," Donovan said. "I told him that it could not be so."

"Why Father, you must know that! You were seated here, before my door, the whole time!" she said sweetly.

Prince John's wife should have dined by his side, but since the lady was not present—and was with her husband as little as possible—and as it was Kat's home, she assumed the "honor" herself. When she was seated, John took his chair once again. Raymond de la Ville, with moody, brooding eyes, sat opposite her.

Mortimer kept his chair by the fire, where he could continue to torture the hounds. Father Donovan sat beside de la Ville and smiled.

"Indeed, you were absent from us quite some time," John said, watching her carefully.

"Was I? Forgive me—I had not meant to be so rude."

"You would not think to escape us?"

The question, asked by the Prince, was light. There was an underlying tone to it, though. Kat decided that it was a dangerous one.

"Why would I wish to escape you?" she asked. She offered him a sweeping smile, trying not to feel the heat in de la Ville's gaze from across the table.

"You are ever absent when I come," de la Ville told her.

Her eyes narrowed. "Ah, but be assured! Though I am absent, my lord, you are in my thoughts!" She turned back to the Prince, smiling. "Truly, Father Donovan sat in this very room, I do assure you, my guardian!" she said, and laughed.

"Ah, but I had begun to wonder myself!" Donovan said. He lifted his glass to her. "Perhaps your beauty is magical, as some men have said. And you are able to spirit yourself away."

"Father, you are a flatterer indeed."

"But you are a jewel in our crown, most certainly!" John said. As ever, he watched her. Slyly.

She turned to him with her most radiant smile intact. "A jewel in our good King Richard's crown then, sire, if you insist!" she proclaimed.

He didn't move or flinch, but she observed a mottled coloring come to his cheeks. He lifted his chalice. "Let's drink, men, shall we? To the astounding beauty of the Lady Katherine, indeed a jewel in my brother's crown!"

"Here, here!" de la Ville cried. She looked across at him. At the lust and fever in his eyes.

Marie might have been right. She should have bound up her hair and worn dingy gray!

But it was too late now. Raymond de la Ville's hand was stretching out across the table. His long hard fingers were twining around hers.

"A beauty with no peer!" he assured her.

She snatched her fingers back as gracefully as she could. "Messieurs, I think that you do me unjust homage. I thank you for it. Excuse me. As it seems that you have had your fill of meats and seek something else, let me see to the kitchens and some sweets to tempt your palates."

De la Ville caught her fingers again when she would have swept by him. She paused, staring down into eyes that danced dangerously. "There is only one sweet thing I desire, lady."

"Really?" she inquired coolly. "It was always my understanding that you desired several. A multitude even," she said, and spoke in so pleasant a tone that he had released her and she had left the room, before John broke into a gale of laughter.

"Truly, de la Ville! I do not know if you deserve her or not! The lass is worthy of some fine noble knight—one to understand and parry such a tongue!"

"I'll parry her tongue all right," de la Ville muttered darkly, evermore aggravated by John's amusement at his expense. "I shall parry it from here into eternity—until death do us part!"

John speared a small leg of a fowl on the end of his knife and brought it before him, apparently studying the morsel of food. He was still delightfully entertained. "It will be interesting to see just who parries who unto eternity, de la Ville. This is no meek, frightened maid you seek."

De la Ville leaned hard across the table. "Are we forgetting something, my Prince? We seek land, and we seek riches, and men-at-arms. Do we not?"

John delicately bit off a piece of the meat. He was not against tormenting his own followers.

"I feel, de la Ville, at times, that I have set an emerald before you when a piece of dusty rock would have done just as well. A rare emerald. One with brilliance and a shimmer that is strong and unique."

"Bah!" de la Ville said impatiently. "One woman is the same as another!"

"Blind!" Mortimer suddenly spoke up from his seat before the fire. He was half gone in his cups. "'Tis true! You give him a fine filly, when what he craves is a team of oxen!" He broke into bellows of laughter.

De la Ville stood with abrupt fury, drawing his sword.

"Mortimer!" de la Ville growled. "I'll skewer you through like so much meat!"

John flicked away a piece of meat from his sleeve with distaste. "Sit down, de la Ville! You might be better off with a team of oxen. This emerald we speak of has a temper, and a will."

"That will can be bent to mine! Her temper will be broken!" He smashed one large fist against the other. "I will see to it!"

"And that may well be a pity," John said idly, his light eyes narrowing. "Perhaps we should look elsewhere, since—"

"Nay!" De la Ville was sitting again, his sword sheathed, but his fist slammed the table with a vehemence that sent the Prince's platter jittering.

John stared from the platter to the man. "What a shame that I am in need of your sword arm, de la Ville!"

"You promised her to me!"

"Alas, alas! Ah, but I want the maid myself!" John said, purposely stoking some of the fire within de la Ville. "She is worthy of a man who will be King, don't you think?"

"But—" de la Ville began.

"If ever a maid were worthy to be concubine to a King! Pity that she isn't a princess, eh? Pity that I have a wife!" he added, with a touch of true passion. "And still, at times, I do entertain thoughts …"

De la Ville was on his feet again. "You promised—"

"Sit down!" John spat out again. Then he laughed. "There, there, then. You shall have her." John suddenly folded his hands, set his elbows on the table, and leaned close to de la Ville. "Now listen, dear brute, for if you would snare this prey, you'll have to have some sense of delicacy. Mind your manners for the moment, and we will speak gently to the maid."

"She will refuse me," de la Ville muttered.

"Maybe—maybe not. She is not a fool. But whether she says aye or nay does not matter. We will see the situation solved. We will wrest a promise from her this very night—you will see."

De la Ville said something in return. What it was, Katherine did not hear.

She had not really left the men, but rather had lingered in the hall. Marie stood beside her now, listening, while Howard had been sent to fetch some pastries and cakes and sweetmeats.

"What in God's name are they saying!" she moaned softly to Marie. Now Mortimer had actually risen from his seat and stood at the end of the table, listening attentively. Father Donovan had his head bowed closer, and the four of them, hovering so close and furtively over the table, resembled nothing more than a set of cutthroats and thieves.

They were cutthroats and thieves, Kat reminded herself.

And very, very thick at the moment!

"Something foul, assuredly!" Marie murmured. "What will you do? Oh, Lady Katherine, what will you do? The Prince means to have you agree to marry that lout tonight!"

"But I am Richard's ward," Kat said bleakly.

"That argument will not sway him," Marie warned her.

She didn't need the warning. She had known. She had known this afternoon just what was afoot. Now she had to play the game.

"It's all right," she told Marie. "I can take care of myself. Truly I can." If only she were certain! Or if only she had managed to hear everything that they were saying! She would be better prepared.

"Wish me luck!" she urged Marie suddenly, squeezing her servant's hand warmly. Then, before Marie could stop her with any more words of wisdom or warning, she regally sailed back out to meet her guests.

"The sweets shall be along almost instantly, Father, my lords, Your Grace," she said, nodding to each man in turn, a calm and beautiful smile on her face. She took her seat at the head of the table, feeling as if vermin crawled on her as Raymond de la Ville's arm came close to her own.

She swallowed hard. How would she play this game? Was he senseless, mindless? His father had threatened hers!

And he had been there, learning his cruelty from that man!

She forced herself to speak. "And I've a surprise for you. A special coffee, from the Holy Lands. I'm sure you've had it many times before, Your Grace, but my traders have managed to procure an enchanting blend from some merchants just returned with a score of injured knights."

"Coffee! That heathen brew! Why, give me good French wine every time!" de la Ville said flatly.

The Prince picked up Kat's hand, rubbed his fingers over the pads of her own, and pressed a kiss against the back of them. "I shall be pleased to try your brew, Countess."

She nodded, bowing her head slightly. John leaned back and waved a hand in the air. "Have your servants bring us the last course now. We've business to discuss!"

Delicately, Kat arched a brow to him. "Of course, Your Grace," she said evenly. She rose and clapped a hand.

Instantly, Howard appeared with several young maids who worked in the kitchens. She clenched her teeth as she saw de la Ville size up every girl who entered, the younger the better, so it seemed. She was sure that he would have reached out to touch—had not the Prince frowned at him so fully.

"I shall serve the coffee myself," she informed Howard, inclining a head that he should gather the others and leave. She stood, serving the hot brewed Arab drink from the shining copper pot into delicate porcelain cups, passing one to each man—except for de la Ville to whom she offered more wine. Then she sat and smiled at John. "Your Grace, what is this business you would discuss with me?"

John didn't hesitate. Staring at her gravely, he replied, "Marriage, my dear."

"Marriage? But my Prince," she reminded him, as if she were troubled, "I am Richard's ward. Certainly I cannot marry without him here. Not in good conscience." She gazed innocently at Father Donovan. "Would such a marriage even be legal, Father?"

Donovan seemed to know that there was nothing innocent about her question at all. "Richard is not here, my lady—God bless the King, but he is absent. Therefore, in that absence, Prince John must act for your well-being."

"Ah, I see!" Kat murmured. She frowned. "And still, marriage must be legal. Else all that I possess could not pass to my husband. And what man would not want control of this castle? I believe I would do any man an injustice to wed him without Richard here, no matter how … noble … a prince his brother might be! In such a case as mine, it is most likely that the King would reward a noble knight from his field of battle with marriage—and this castle. What is done here could too easily be undone."

"Control is in the holding!" de la Ville announced. Then he grunted suddenly.

John must have kicked him beneath the table, Kat decided.

John lifted his hands. "Richard is very far away. His knights cannot help you from the Holy Lands, lady, while there sits in this very room a man so enamored of you that he cannot speak his own suit. He is a man who is … er, dear to my own heart. And one quite powerful enough to hold this castle. For you, of course."

"For me. Of course."

"He heartily desires your hand in marriage. And he has my blessing, and approval. In fact …" John moved closer to her, smiling a smile that was a warning. "I ask you, as your Prince and guardian—in lieu of my brother, of course—to accept this suit. I know that you will be well guarded and safe from the realm of banditry!"

They all waited—certain that she would refuse.

Dear God, she did long to do so! With every aching fiber in her body! She longed to leap up, to tell de la Ville that she would die a thousand times over before letting him touch her with his bloodstained hands.

She dug her nails fiercely into her palms beneath the table. She did not leap up. She maintained her air of innocence. "Well, Your Grace, I would not presume to become a Princess, even were you free, sire. And," she continued softly, with a slightly wicked smile, "it cannot be Father Donovan who seeks my hand. So, who, Your Grace, does me this honor? Gerald Mortimer or Raymond de la Ville?"

Mortimer almost spewed her sweet brewed coffee from his lips. De la Ville choked on his wine.

John, bemused, sat back, then indicated de la Ville with a wave of his hand.

"Raymond de la Ville seeks your hand in marriage, my lady. What say you?"

She allowed the flush of fury to stain her cheeks, and quickly lowered her eyes. "I say that it is a great honor, my Lord de la Ville. I say also that I am still troubled by Richard's absence, but that—with the grace of a few months' time—I might well be persuaded to accept a betrothal to such a … unique man."

John's eyes narrowed. "You will have a few days' time, my lady."

Her eyes were flashing with hatred, and she had to keep them lowered, lest the Prince see that anger. "As you wish it, Your Grace," she said sweetly. She rose, afraid that she would scream out loud and rant and rave if she were left with them a single second longer.

But she didn't need to fear. The Prince rose, too, and with him Donovan, de la Ville, and Mortimer.

John told her, "We will thank you, my lady, for your most gracious hospitality. And we will take our leave."

"So soon?" she breathed.

De la Ville took her hand. His lips brushed over her fingertips.

"The sooner to return!" he told her huskily. Again, she felt as if all manner of evil, slimy creatures crawled upon her. Odd. He was a handsome man—but so wretchedly cruel and odious. A touch of his perversion seemed to permeate even his voice, and the tips of his fingers.

"I am ever your servant," she murmured, and drew back quickly.

John bade her goodbye with kisses on both cheeks—thankfully, neither Donovan or Mortimer made any attempt to touch her.

And again, she had only to lift a hand to have her servants hurrying about. The hounds moved among the people as the castle villeins performed their duties, bowing low as they brought the Prince and the others their cloaks, and following behind Kat as she saw them from the hall to the courtyard, where other men quickly procured their horses. When they had at last ridden away, the frozen smile was wiped cleanly from Kat's face. "Close the drawbridge!" she ordered, choking on the words. And even as her command was obeyed, she ran back into the castle, and quickly up the stairs.

Marie followed her and found her in her bedroom, pacing the floor in a fury.

"Oh, what will you do, what will you do?"

"God's blood, I know not!"

"A few days' time! Richard will not return in a few days. There is nothing left for you to do! You cannot marry this horrid man. You must run. You must ask Robin for help, and flee this country."

"Oh! That's perfect!" Kat cried, relieved at last. "That is it! Oh, Marie, you are a dear!" She caught her servant's round cheeks between her hands and kissed her on the nose. "A few days … tomorrow I will get my things in order. I will see that the castle is emptied, and that my men are sent to other households. Then I will slip away myself. I will follow Richard to the Holy Lands!"

"Aye, aye!" Marie said. Then she frowned. "Nay! That is too dangerous. You must go on to Normandy, but then move no further."

Kat shook her head, her eyes wide and bright with excitement. "Nay. I shall go all the way to Jerusalem!"

"Lady Kat—"

"It is settled. And you'll come with me."

"Me! In that land of heathens! Oh, nay, nay, nay, my lady! Pray, think on it! Sleep on it!"

Kat smiled slowly, truly relieved for the first time at last.

The worst was happening. She had no choice but to escape it.

She could even sleep very well, she assured herself. "Help me off with my tunic and underdress and see that they are packed very carefully. I will take just one trunk, I think. I will travel light."

"But Katherine—"

"Eleanor of Aquitaine went on Crusade. There is a precedent for women other than camp followers to do so," Kat said, determined.

Marie groaned, collecting the clothing that Kat tossed about.

Slipping into a nightgown, Kat spun around to her. "Would you rather I wed de la Ville?" she demanded huskily. "Don't you see, Marie? I have to reach Richard. He is my only safety!"

"Mother of God!" Marie whispered, crossing herself. She remained there, holding Kat's clothing, looking up as if she could truly address the Blessed Mother. "Madame, assuredly my place in heaven is guaranteed for my years with this wayward girl!"

"For your years with this countess," Kat reminded her with a sigh for her dramatics.

Marie ignored her. "Holy Mother, please intercede! Don't let this foolish … countess … throw away both our lives in some distant desert, I pray you!" She crossed herself again, then smiled to Kat. "She will intercede!"

Kat felt a bubble of laughter rising within her despite her annoyance. "And I shall throw something at you quite shortly if you don't behave like a good lady's maid and pay heed to my words!" She caught her lower lip lightly between her teeth. "Marie, go now. I must get some sleep. I shall never sleep! Nay, I must sleep. I will need all my wits and all my strength!"

"Humph!" Marie responded. She hurried to the door and then waited. "Humph!" she repeated.

"Good night, Marie."

"Humph!" Marie said, making her disapproval as obvious as she could. But then she sighed deeply, and made her mutterings into more disapproving sounds. She went to the door, repeated a "Humph!" and then left Kat at last.

And Kat lay down on her bed, her mind in a whirl.

Dear God, it would be dangerous. She had to be so very, very careful! If she were caught …

If she were caught, what did she have to lose? No fate could be worse than marriage to a man like de la Ville!

Nay, she had nothing to lose.

Nothing at all. De la Ville was the epitome of everything she hated. Truly, death would be preferable. She had to escape. It was solved. It was easy. There was simply no other choice.

That thought, in the end, was the one that allowed her to begin to drift into the sleep she so desperately needed to function well in the morning. She did so with a half smile, curved with just a touch of bitterness, on her lips.

She was no different than the girl in the woods. A toy to de la Ville. Some poor maid, to torment and ravish. The only difference would be that she happened to come with a castle.

Yet no knight would come to carry her away. She was on her own. A damsel in distress indeed, yet a damsel on her own.

She would prevail, she promised herself.

She would prevail, because she must.

She would indeed, but the path she was destined to take was not the path that she was recklessly determined to follow.

Not far from the castle, Robin felt the same cool swirl of the wind that had so touched Katherine before.

The wind had picked up, as if a great giant had suddenly leaned down to the earth and blown out a cold whistle of breath. It churned up the leaves at his feet, and the dust there, and it all swirled around them. He closed his eyes and listened to the rustle of the leaves.

This was a strange night, a dark night. Clouds played before the silver of a moon.

It was a night for the ancient gods, he thought. Christianity might be many centuries old here now, but there were still those who believed in the ancient gods, and the ancient superstitions. Why not, he thought with a smile. For they all still played around Maypoles on May day; and on Hallow's Eve, men crossed themselves and stayed far away from burial grounds. Tonight was a night for the old gods, indeed.

And for demons. The kind who came from hell below, and the kind who walked the earth in human form.

A night for …

There was a flash of silver in the trees. Robin smiled, and waited. He had been right. He had come to the cove here on purpose, and he had waited, certain that he was right.

The leaves rustled more loudly.

And a huge black horse stepped into the clearing, ridden by a tall man in silver mail and a black cloak.

"You are back!" Robin called delightedly.

The man dismounted from his horse and greeted Robin, warmly clasping the hand offered to him. The two men greeted each other with smiles: relations by birth; old friends, good friends, by choice.

By birth, they were different men. In their hearts, they were very much the same.

Just as Kat's father had inadvertently given birth to the Silver Sword, the Silver Sword had aided his younger relation in his own quest. He had been disturbed at the young man's determination to be the best bowsman in the world at first.

But as time had gone by, he had known that Robin, the young Saxon heir to Locksley, would be fighting all of his life.

He had best fight well.

And so he had taught Robin. And Robin had come to surpass him with a bow, even though the Silver Sword maintained his standing as the more accomplished of the two with a blade.

"Jesu! I believe in miracles!" Robin said. "How can this be?"

"A somewhat long story, I'm afraid," the man said.

"I heard about your adventure this afternoon."

"You did? How?"

"You forget. I have eyes all over the forest."

"Ah! Then I needn't have made my appearance. Your men would have intervened—"

"Nay, without you there, the lass would have been raped, tortured—perhaps even killed. De la Ville is a careless brute," Robin said dryly.

"Aye, a cruel one."

"But maybe he is a man who can now be kept in check."

"Indeed. Lord Montjoy has been sent home for that very purpose in mind."

"Is that true? The Lionheart has sent you home?" Robin demanded. And then he smiled, and looked to heaven. "Thank you, God above! Oh, thank you!"

"Well, I hope that you will still feel that way when I tell you the rest," Damian said, a frown furrowing his brow.

"Tell me!"

"As Lord Montjoy I carry papers and dispensations to immediately take the Lady Katherine de Montrain to wife, and assume control of the castle."

"Jesu! "Robin breathed. "Montjoy! To have Kat!" Then he started to laugh softly. "That's wonderful!"

"Well, I don't believe that the lady will think so."

Robin shrugged. "Well, admittedly, Montjoy is among her least favorite knights. But then she really doesn't know him very well. And she might not be pleased with Montjoy, but—she'll have to be pleased that someone has interceded. You see, John has other plans for her, it would seem."

"De la Ville," Damian said softly.

"Aye! And you cannot imagine how she hates de la Ville."

"Aye, but I can!"

There was a silence between them. They could both look back over the years.

And indeed, the three of them shared a hatred of de la Ville.

"I am glad," Robin said. "Deeply glad. I've spent endless nights worrying for her. She is so passionately involved with the people here. I had feared for her."

"Well, she may consider Montjoy one of her own deepest fears," Damian said.

"Aye. It may be rough going!" Robin warned.

"I'm sure that Lord Montjoy will manage," Damian murmured flatly.

"Ah, yes, he's dealt with the infidels. But he has yet to deal with a Kat!" Robin smiled, but then his smile faded. "Be gentle, for I love her dearly." He hesitated. "And you do not. Everyone is aware that Montjoy still mourns the fair Alyssa."

"I intend to be gentle, Robin. Yet in fairness I tell you—if given a wife, I shall have one."

"In fairness, I accept that."

"One that I would die to defend, as well."

Robin smiled. "If only you knew one another as I do!" he said. Then he added hurriedly, "I think that you've truly come in just the nick of time. And thank God, indeed! Now I am absolved from breaking a promise. And you, Silver Sword, are in a good position to protect the property granted by Richard to Lord Montjoy."

"How so?"

"I am afraid, dearly afraid. John and de la Ville were at the Lady Katherine's castle this very day, putting forth the Prince's proposal. Kat was certain that she would be safe, since Raymond de la Ville would need a true marriage to take hold of her property. And one would think that the Prince would not dare anything too open, but then again …" His voice trailed away. "I had meant to keep guard over the castle tonight myself, but Katherine made my plan very difficult for me."

"How so?"

"I gave my word that I would not come to the castle. I didn't mean to do so, but she forced me."

"Robin, my dear fellow, you do not know how to handle women."

"Nay? Do you think you will do so much better?"

"Indeed, my friend. My wishes will be law in my household."

Robin smiled. "Well, we shall see." His smile faded. "I am worried."

"Then so am I. But you needn't fear longer. You may keep your word and still know that the castle is well guarded." He stepped forward again and offered his hand once more in a sure clasp.

"I'm glad you're back!" Robin said. "It hasn't been the same without you."

"I had to go. You know that."

"I do. You are rightly Richard's man."

"Despite that, we may both still hang."

Robin grinned. "Aye, we may. But we'll have taken a lot of them with us down to our fiery hell!"

"Aye, that we will have done!"

Robin stepped back, watching. The Silver Sword mounted his ebony-black steed and rode into the darkness of the night, a ghostly shadow of silver and gray, glimmering, disappearing, beneath the pale glint of the moon.

Robin watched after him for a moment, musing.

Would Kat be any more pleased with this choice of Richard's for her hand?

Nay …

She would not! He smiled, thinking of the way Kat said Montjoy's name ever since he had accosted her in the forest—or ever since she had accosted him, whichever.

Damian, it seemed, was equally hard on Kat. He was careful when he spoke to Robin, but he found her reckless and headstrong and not at all the demure young chatelaine she should be. Damian would certainly be an honorable husband. He would never hurt Katherine, and in truth, he would protect her unto death. But he didn't really know her. He didn't understand her.

Kat didn't begin to know or understand him.

And Robin, well, Robin loved them both.

Perhaps Kat would learn …

Or perhaps Kat would teach Damian a thing or two.

They were both his friends, and both his kin, from opposite sides of his family.

He grinned broadly, then laughed into the night.

Indeed, fire would fly.

His laughter faded abruptly. Fire would fly—if the Silver Sword could keep her safe this night! It was becoming such a strange night. The wind was rising. Rustling through the trees. Swirling up the dirt and leaves at Robin's feet. Whispering … a warning.

Closer to the castle, the Silver Sword felt the same curious shift in the wind, the whisper on the air. Seated on his ebony-dark horse in the shadows before the castle, he, too, heard the rustling, felt the coolness of the night sweep around him.

Felt the swirl. Lifting, curling, causing a ripple in the leaves, forcing the boughs to bend. It was a breeze that whispered out warnings, that whispered of danger.

Clouds again covered the moon. The wind caused the water in the moat to ripple like quicksilver.

For a moment the clouds lifted from the surface of the moon. He could see the castle, tall and formidable and stark in the night. Stone upon stone, independent, defiant. Like a painting, it was cast there, still and silent.

His horse pawed the earth, anxious. The animal worked the bit.

"Not yet!" he said softly in the night. "Not yet!"

Then, even as he spoke, the stillness of the night was suddenly shattered.

A screech of metal sounded.

The drawbridge was being lowered, gears cranked against gears.

Then a raw cry rose high in the night. Riders surged out of the forest, and from the parapets high above the castle walls, a guard suddenly plummeted to his death, an arrow through his heart.

"Now!" he told his horse, and gave the animal free rein.