Chapter 21

21

S abinius's room was stuffy with heat and ripe with the tang of camphor. He was propped upright on the bed, his back and head supported by several thick bolsters. He wore a clean nightshirt and had his nightcap on, the rim pressed down so far it caused the tops of his enormous ears to fold outward between sprays of wiry gray hair. The crone was seated beside the bed, a bowl and spoon in her gnarled hands and it was obvious, from the way Sabinius's arms were crossed and his lips were pressed into a thin white line, that he was refusing to take any more of the broth.

He looked decidedly more alert; the dull glaze of fever had left his eyes. They opened out of their creases when he caught sight of Ellyn in the doorway.

"Enndolynn, my dear. Come and sit by me. Give an old man the pleasure of gazing into a pretty face instead of an old wrinkled sack who seems to be doing her damnedest to poison me."

The crone rose, muttering under her breath as Ellyn approached the bed .

"Give that to me," Ellyn said, taking the bowl and spoon from the old woman's hands. To Sabinius she scolded, "You must eat all of this broth, my lord."

"Bah! The taste has not improved over the hours, nor has it aided in my recovery. It causes great combustious gasses that I fear are not always vapours alone. Can you not see I am much improved?"

"You do look better, my lord," Ellyn agreed. "But you will not keep improving unless you eat the rest of the broth in the pot. When it is gone, we will consider something else."

"Venison? Mutton?"

"Porridge."

She dipped the wooden spoon into the bowl and extended it to Sabinius's downturned lips. She held it there, her expression as resolute as his own until he finally gave her another "Bah!" and slurped the contents into his mouth.

He grumbled through the rest of the feeding but finished it all and let her gently blot his chin and beard with a damp cloth.

"You have a glow about you, my dear. What has put this newfound blush in your cheeks?"

Startled, she almost dropped the bowl.

"Are you hoping to put your bow arm to good use again? From what Rennwick has told me, I wager Nottingham does not have any archers in his midst who can match your skill. He arms them with crossbows, which are feeble cousins of the Welsh longbow you favor."

Relieved that she had misread his meaning and that the entire castle did not know about her visit to the bathhouse last night, she set the bowl aside. "I take no pleasure in shooting at human flesh, my lord. At the same time, I would not shy from it if necessary."

"I can assure you it will not be necessary. The High Sheriff of Naught can strut and prance and wave his pennons all he likes, but that is as far as his arrogance will get him. A dozen good men on the walls can hold this castle for a year."

"Does it not worry you that he has come on the king's orders?"

"He could come from God Himself, my dear, and I would not let him through the gates. Nor would he find it an easy task, had he ten times the number of men in armor, to breach these walls. The moor, especially after a heavy rain, is completely impassable for man or beast. The moat is flooded and there are spiked timbers submerged along the bottom and sides. The draw is solid oak timbers two feet thick and even supposing an enemy could keep a fire lit long enough to undermine it, the portcullis, when dropped, requires a team of six draft horses to raise. No, my child, we are quite secure within these walls. I have held this castle against far better men than Harold Falconard. You need not worry he will get his filthy hands on you again, not while I still breathe. Even after I am gone, Bloodmoor will continue to stand strong against the tyranny of the crown."

"You have sons who will inherit, my lord?"

"I have two, God grant you grace for asking. Neither have any interest in serving an English king. However, they will do their duty if called upon. My eldest, Aylwin, currently oversees our family lands in Lavigne and begs me yearly to come home so that he might go off and flail his sword at Infidels. My other son, Roldan, aspires to wear the red robes and resides in Rome reciting prayers from Prime until Vespers. I also have a daughter, Enid, married to a wine merchant who keeps these cellars full of barrels of fine Italian wine, some of which is in yon flagon begging to find its way into a cup. "

She smiled at the lack of subtlety and nodded at Bethy to fetch the flagon and two wine cups. She filled both and handed one to Sabinius.

He took a long sip and sighed. "Ahh. It flows like the sweetest honey down the throat, does it not?"

Ellyn sipped and agreed. "It is robust and sweet, my lord."

After a moment, a thought drew her brows together. "If the draw is up and the walls are so secure, does it not stand to reason that if Nottingham cannot get in, then no one can get out?"

"I was going to ask that very thing," said a voice from the doorway.

Sabinius squinted to see into the gloom where Rennwick and Roger were standing. They gave no indication how long they had been there or how much of the conversation they had overheard.

"Come closer, come closer the pair of you," Sabinius grumbled, waving his free hand. "Mine eyes are poor enough without everyone standing or sitting in the shadows. Enndolynn, if I might beg you to throw open the curtains and shutters. I do not even know if it is day or night."

"Opening the shutters will do no good, for it is gloomy and raining and the only thing you will let in is the dampness and chill," Ellyn said. "The chapel bells were tolling the hour of Terce when I came in."

"Not quite morning, not quite noontide, but still dark as sin. Such are the storms on this dreary, forsaken moor." Sabinius sighed and waved his hand again. "Light more candles before the Devil takes advantage and creeps up on me unawares."

Ellyn lit a taper from the solitary candle that was burning and touched the flame to a tall four-pronged iron candelabra standing at the bedside. Rennwick obligingly did the same on the opposite side of the bed and when they both turned back, their eyes locked and there was a palpable stillness between them. His hair was wet from the rain and framed his face in tight coils, much like it had in the bathhouse, which did not help to bring her thoughts back to the present. She was aware that his gaze lingered on the golden cloud of her hair, and when it traced the curves Bethy had sought to emphasise, the soft flush that warmed her cheeks had nothing at all to do with the heat in the room.

Roger, seeing the two staring at one another and knowing full well what had happened in the bathhouse during the night, broke the silence.

"My lord, you extol the virtues of the castle's defenses, but surely there must be some clever way out that Nottingham might not be aware?"

"Indeed, there was a postern gate at the base of the west wall, but alas, it was sealed when the moat was filled. Even if you could break through, the undercroft would flood and you would drown."

"And you know of no other way? No secret gate? No smuggler's entrance?"

"None that are practical. Or safe."

Renn tore his gaze away from Ellyn. "Are you saying there is an impractical way that is not safe? Baldor has already informed us he will not scale a cliff wall; the rest of us are none too keen at the idea either."

Sabinius took another sip of wine. "If castle whispers are to be believed, there is a sally-port somewhere in the undercroft, but I have been castellan here for ten years and have never seen it. Mind, I have never looked either, for it is—or was—located somewhere in the dungeons, where it was used for tossing away the bodies of tortured prisoners. Before your hopes arise, however, I must also say that the entrance to the old dungeon has been sealed with block and mortar these past fifty years or more."

"Sealed?"

"There was a fire," said a soft voice behind them. "Twenty prisoners burned to death and the room was sealed and became their crypt."

All eyes turned toward the fireplace where Bethy was tending the pot of broth. Her eyes grew owlish as she realized she had spoken out loud, and she moistened her lips before acknowledging the question on their faces.

"My mam told me, an' her mam told her. We… my brother and me… we thought it were a story made up to scare us and stop us from going down into the undercroft. But Aldredd, the miller's son, he said he weren't afraid and he went. Said he near messed himself on account he got lost and wandered into the family crypt by accident, but then he said he saw where the wall might have been patched over. Saw rats as big as dogs too."

"Where is Aldredd now? Can we speak to him?"

"He is dead, my lord. Fell off the wall of the bailey and broke his neck."

"How certain are you that he was telling the truth," Roger asked gently. "He might just have been spinning a boastful tale to impress a pretty girl."

If Bethy's eyes opened any wider, they would have popped out of her head. "I had no reason not to believe him, my lord, not when he admitted he nearly messed himself."

"A valid point." Roger held her gaze for a moment longer then turned to Renn. "It might be worth a look. "

Renn shook his head. "To what end, if it was only used to throw bodies off the cliff?"

"Nay, not only that." The old crone cackled and it was her turn to draw everyone's attention. "There were a path down side of cliff. Goat's path down to Eagle's Eyre, an' ayont from there down to the sea."

In the absolute silence that followed, she was surely aware of everyone staring at her but she continued to sort through the piles of soiled linen, separating them into two big baskets to be taken to the wash house.

"O' course, it mout be jest anither tall tale," she said to no one in particular, lisping heavily due to a lack of any front teeth. "But I trow it were there in the time o' the dragon laird. It were used as a prison cell fer special prisoners, a hellish place where none would think to look. ‘At's why dungeons were sealed," she added, winking a rheumy eye at Bethy. "So no one could use ‘em or the Eyre again."

Roger glanced over at Rennwick. "I will go and find Baldor and Terrowin."

"I will meet you in the courtyard. Four sets of eyes will be better than three."

"Five even better," Ellyn said.

"If the old dungeon was near the crypts, Bethy can show you the way," Sabinius declared. "Save a deal of time searching."

Bethy whimpered, for crypts were places where tormented spirits were known to linger.

"Come now, girl," Sabinius said. "You will be in the company of four stout knights. And best you get accustomed to their presence, for you will be sailing to France with them."

"I will?"

"She will?" Renn frowned .

Sabinius tipped his head back against the bolsters and closed his eyes. "You may be sure that once Falconard realizes the bird has flown the nest, he will alert his spies in every port along the French coast. With luck, they will not look twice at four monks travelling with two young acolytes."

Bethy looked from Rennwick to Roger. "I have ne'er set foot outside Bloodmoor, my lords."

"Then it will be a grand adventure," Sabinius declared through a wine-scented yawn.

Renn was less than pleased at this new, added responsibility. "As soon as the storm passes, Harold will be dispatching a white flag, asking for a parlay. Hopefully we can find this path and see if it is accessible before then."

"Time," Sabinius said on a long sigh. "The enemy of us all, I fear."

"Then we had best not waste any more," Renn said.

The entrance to the undercroft was gained through a small courtyard. A short flight of stairs ended at a locked iron gate, the key for which Sabinius had given to Renn. The hinges were well rusted and screamed like a pair of banshees, setting everyone's nerves on edge. Inside the gate there was a guard station comprised of a table and chair and a barrel stocked with unlit torches. There was no guard present, no one to guide them through the honeycomb maze of storage rooms. Every able-bodied man had been sent to patrol the wall-walks around the castle hoping to give a show of strength to the observers on the moor.

The four knights each took a torch and lit them. The ceilings were low, with arched concrete supports every dozen paces or so that forced the men to duck their heads as they passed. There were no candles, no lamps, no lights burning in the sconces to relieve the utter and complete darkness. Nothing to show where they were going or where they had been.

Renn looked expectantly at Bethy.

"To the right, my lord," she whispered. "See there, the cross on the wall? There will be similar markings at each juncture that show the way to the crypts."

Renn nodded and smiled gently. "You are being of great help. I thank you. You can wait here or go back now, if you like."

"I will stay with my lady," she whispered.

The torches left trails of black smoke above their heads as they made their way into the tomb-like silence. Their own misshapen shadows followed them, leaping from arch to arch, stretching up to the ceiling then slinking into a recessed niche.

Rennwick and Roger were in front; Baldor and Terrowin were behind, each carrying heavy iron hammers taken from the castle smithy. There were locked doors every few paces, most with a wooden sign nailed to the front to indicate there was corn or wheat or casks of ale stored inside. At every junction where corridors branched off, there were lanterns hung on the walls, each with fat tallow candles that they lit to give some relief to the darkness and to show them the way back. Renn gave one of the lanterns to Ellyn to carry and another to Bethy in case, he whispered, they encountered a ghost.

Neither of the girls was amused.

After four turns where the shortest corridor was only twenty paces less than the longest, they came to a wide hub, like the centre of a wheel, with a dozen tunnel-like hallways leading off like spokes. In the middle was a cistern well, which told them they were well and truly into the bowels of the undercroft, where the only sound was that of dripping water and rats scurrying away from the flickering glow of the torches

Renn walked in a slow circle, his torch held high to read the signs scratched into the walls. When he found the one he sought, he beckoned to the others.

"This way," he said, his voice echoing in the tomb-like silence.

Ellyn followed as close behind Rennwick as she dared without walking up his heels. Her skin was clammy, her heart was pounding in her chest, her eyes were stinging from the acrid smoke. The farther they walked into the honeycomb, the more she did not want to be here. She did not want to find any damned sealed entrance; she did not want to think about climbing down the side of a cliff. She did not even want to get on a ship and sail to France.

Yet here she was, every hair on her neck standing on end. Her teeth were clamped so tightly together it was a wonder they did not snap off at the gums.

Following the markings on the walls, they eventually came to a second guard station, unmanned like the first, though with the addition of a dozen or so empty jugs and bottles of wine gathering dust on the floor. There was a candle on the table and two chairs, and a few steps beyond, an iron gate that barred the way through a stone archway. Flanking one side of the arch was a tall marble statue of the Virgin Mary, her head bowed, her hands clasped in prayer; on the other side, a large stone cross.

"The crypts," Bethy announced through a shiver.

The ring of keys jangled in Renn's hand as he searched for the right one to slot into the lock. While he was doing so, Ellyn felt a prickling sensation across her nape and looked to the right and to the left, trying to see down the two dark corridors that led away from the crypt chamber. The light thrown by the torches only reached a few paces into each black maw, so she lifted her lantern high and started walking along one.

The prickling across the nape of her neck faded after a short way, and she stopped.

Renn was cursing at the twenty keys he was having to try one by one, Terrowin and Roger were discussing what they should look for once they were inside. Baldor had crossed himself half a dozen times when they came to the iron gate and he was crossing himself again as Ellyn retraced her steps then walked past him down the other side of the corridor.

There were no doors along this section of the corridor, thus no storage rooms leading off it. The hall itself followed a curve for twenty or so paces, then ended abruptly at a blank wall.

A small cheer behind her told her Renn had found the right key, but as she started to walk back, she felt something tug at the hem of her skirt.

Startled, she jumped back and looked down, but there was nothing there. She whirled around in a full circle, throwing her light into every dusty, cobweb-laden corner but there was nothing to see aside from dust and rat-droppings.

She started to hurry back to rejoin the others, but stopped again and turned slowly to stare at the blank wall. It was built of blocks, roughly coated in a layer of mortar, like most of the other walls and archways, but the lanternlight, when she raised it and held it close, revealed faint bumps and impressions showing uneven surfaces and patterns beneath .

She reached out and laid her hand flat on the wall and it was as if the mortar melted away and she could see inside. A narrow spiral staircase led down into a cavernous stone chamber, the walls stained black and covered with mold from the moisture that leaked through the slime. There were several thick candles burning on tall iron stands, the glow barely lighting the vaulted gloom. A large table stood in the center of the room had a body spread on top, arms and legs stretched to the sides with chains and manacles pinning him flat. Over his head, a rack was hung with knives and iron pokers, tools with jagged edges and others with sharp jaw-like pincers devised to cause unimaginable pain. A shadowy figure was in the corner, hunched over a brazier filled with a glowing bed of hot coals. There were more implements thrust into the coals that he turned and tested with spit, satisfied that the ends were red hot and sizzling. There were more skeletally thin bodies slumped against the wall, wrists and ankles chained to thick iron rings bolted to the floor. Alongside them, a row of what looked like mouseholes, tall enough for a man to fit through, were carved into the solid stone and had iron bars caging whatever was moaning inside.

Ellyn jerked her hand away, breaking off the image. She staggered back so quickly, her lantern swung and struck the opposite wall. It was knocked out of her hand and fell to the floor with a loud clatter, dousing the candle, leaving her in darkness.

A few seconds later there were footsteps coming toward her, preceded by the bright light of the torch held in Rennwick's hand.

"Are you hurt? What happened? I thought you were right behind us when we went into the crypt."

She shook her head, too shocked, too dazed to do much more than whisper, "It is here. The entrance to the dungeon is here."

He looked around. "Here? Where, here? There is nothing but a wall and a dead end."

She stretched out her arm and pointed. "It is there. I saw it."

Renn lifted his torch so the light flooded the wall. "I see nothing. There is nothing to see. The darkness and the notion of searching for a crypt must be playing tricks on your mind."

She lowered her hand, but only far enough to grasp the hilt of the dagger he wore sheathed at his waist. Before he could react, she drew it out and swung the blade, striking at the layer of mortar, breaking a chip the size of her palm off the wall. She struck again and again, until she had cleared enough that he could see the partial shape of a gray stone lintel and a row of clay-colored bricks beneath it.

She would have kept swinging, kept chipping away, but he caught her wrist and took a small axe out of another loop on his belt. He gave her the torch and bade her stand back to avoid the flying chips as he hacked at the mortar and cleared a section as wide as his arm was long.

"By God's rule, you were right. There was a doorway here that has been filled in. I pray you go back and tell Roger and the others to bring their hammers. We have found it." He stopped and looked at her, his eyes glittering with a mixture of admiration and confusion. " You have found it though I will be twice damned to an eternity in hellfire if I want to ask how you knew where to look."

It took an hour for the men to break through the sealed entrance. It had been necessary for Bethy and Ellyn to stand back ten paces, then fifteen to avoid the great clouds of dust as the bricks and rubble were smashed away. Baldor did most of the hammering, the wall resisting the sledge swing after mighty swing until a loud crack saw the bricks start to break apart. Once a gap was opened, the others took a turn and by the time they had cleared a wide enough hole to duck through, all four knights were covered in gray dust.

"There is no need for you to come through," Renn said to Ellyn. "From the smell alone, I would advise you and Bethy to wait here."

Bethy was quick to nod at the suggestion, and looked to Ellyn with pleading eyes. "Oh yes, my lady. We should wait here."

Ellyn thought of the scene she had seen through the wall and felt no guilt whatsoever in agreeing. "Yes, of course. We will wait here. In fact, I think I saw a wine cellar not too far back along the way we came. No doubt your throats are dry from all the dust."

"A welcome thought," Renn nodded. "Hopefully we will find the sally-port right away and be back with you in a trice."

"Have a care when you enter the dungeon," she said in a low voice. "There is a very steep, narrow staircase on the right. The fire burned away some of the steps, and some of the supports have pulled away from the wall."

He frowned then leaned forward and took her ice-cold hand into his, brushing his lips across her fingers. "I will not ask how you know that, either. But I will heed your warning."

The four men took up their torches again and one after another, ducked through the hole they had opened in the wall .

The descent into the dungeon was, indeed, reached by way of a narrow stone staircase that followed the curve of what Renn suspected was the foundation for one of the towers. The sight of the staircase caused the fine hairs on his arms to bristle upright. Not because it was steep or dangerous—which it was, for some of the wooden supports had rotted away and the rest wobbled under their weight—but because Ellyn had described it perfectly.

At the base of the stairs was a vast, cave-like chamber that looked as if it had been undisturbed for decades, yet still smelled of death and fear. Their torchlight revealed the dull glint of chains hanging from the ceiling beams and beneath them, a jumble of charred wood and misshapen metal melted together. There were iron rings bolted to the walls that led to manacles still chained to the wrists of two scorched skeletons. There were cobwebs covering everything in ghostly cauls, and they could hear rats scurrying through the ruins as if they still searched for some morsel of living flesh to chew on.

Baldor made another rapid sign of the cross and invoked God's help to assuage any spirits who might yet linger in the ruins.

Rennwick picked his way carefully through the rubble, avoiding shards of broken glass, pointing out warnings to the others to watch for sharp edges of metal. There were six barred cells along one wall, which he crouched before and thrust his torch through the low openings to see the interior. The cells were hewn out of solid rock, barely tall enough for a man to sit without hunching over. The walls were covered in slime and ceilings dripped with moisture that pooled at the base before finding a crack to seep out again.

Each cell was the same, save one that had a wall made of blocks, with one of them pulled out to reveal a space behind. Gritting his teeth, Renn crawled into the cell and stuck the torch through the hole to fry any creatures that might be lurking there. He heard the squeal of bats from higher up and narrowly missed being clawed by a rat scurrying past when he poked his head through, he saw a faint square of daylight high above. It was not a sally-port, but there were shallow hand and foot holds carved out of the sides of the chimney by some enterprising escapee.

He retreated to the main chamber and brushed the webs and dirt off his tunic, out of his hair.

"Over here!"

Terrowin was standing in a doorway that had been partially concealed around the curved wall.

When the others joined him, they found themselves in an anteroom that had likely served as a guardroom. A table close to the door had been scorched by fire, but there were coils of heavy rope piled in a corner along with rotted blankets full of rat droppings, cups and utensils, lanterns and a barrel that held staves and torches.

"There is your portal," Terrowin said, pointing to a door made of solid, wide planks of oak banded with black iron strips. The escutcheon plate was as big and wide as both of Baldor's hands placed flat with the fingers spread; the bolt it housed was as thick as the staff of a pike.

Rennwick rattled the bolt in an attempt to pull it back, but it was rusted solidly in place. He stepped back and nodded to Baldor, who, with two mighty swings of the hammer smashed the bolt from its seat. After a minor struggle to pry the swollen wood open, they were met with a blast of cold, wind-driven rain.

Terrowin stepped out first and found himself on a flat stone ledge about six feet wide. There was no raised lip around the edge to guard against a misplaced foot. A cautious lean enabled him to peer over the side where he saw a six-hundred-foot sheer drop straight down that nearly brought the knight's stomach up into his throat.

Leading away from the ledge there was a path of sorts that led downward.

"Wait here," Renn said. "I will follow this a short way to see if it is passable."

"I will come with you." Roger stepped up behind him. "If I can traverse it with one good leg, the rest of you should have no difficulty."

Renn hesitated, then nodded and the two set off down the path, disappearing from view almost right away.

"Any man who climbs down that goat path in this weather has to be a madman," Baldor declared. "Carrying armor and weapons, no less."

"Aye," Terrowin agreed. "We will have to give that some thought."

"I doubt we have enough thoughts between us to work that one out, my friend."

Outside in the corridor, with Bethy talking constantly to keep ghosts and creatures and whatever else might be lurking in the cellars at bay, Ellyn paced and counted out the minutes until a full hour had passed.

Earlier, the two girls had retraced their steps to where they had seen a door marked with a large barrel. Inside, they found a score of huge casks lining one wall and a rack with smaller jugs on the other. Bethy had taken down one of the jugs and checked that the wax seal was not broken, then walked with Ellyn back to the guard station outside the crypt.

She wiped the dust off the crock with the hem of her tunic then peeled away the wax and uncorked the top with her teeth. She took a wary sniff at the contents then, satisfied the wine had not turned to vinegar, further tested it with a much-needed swallow before passing the crock across to Ellyn.

"No cups, I fear, not that I would likely want to drink from one the rats have been living in," she said with a small shudder. "But the wine is sweet and strong."

Ellyn tipped the jug and filled her mouth. Her throat and tongue were so dry she feared she might not be able to swallow, but did, then took another swig. And another.

"Do you suppose they found it?"

Ellyn shook her head. "I cannot say."

"The crash we heard—?"

Was them breaking through the sally-port, Ellyn thought, but how she knew that, how she had known where the dungeon was, how she had seen what she had seen through a solid wall…?

An hour later the jug was a third empty and Ellyn was bolstered enough by the contents to take up her lantern and start toward the hole in the corridor wall. She drew up short as a glow of yellow light bloomed from the hole and one by one the men emerged.

"You found it?" she asked Rennwick. "You found the way out?"

"Aye. We found the sally-port."

"And? Is there a path down to the bay?"

"There is a path, if you can call it that. It is perilously steep in places to be sure, but in others, it was shielded behind sheets of rock that likely make it invisible from the sea."

Bethy came up behind them, carrying the jug of wine.

"Ahh, a godsend," Renn said, lifting it and drinking eagerly. He passed it to Roger, who drank and passed it to Terrowin, who gulped and wiped his mouth with a satisfied sigh before giving the jug to Baldor.

"Any captain would have to be a madman to sail his ship into that bay in such a storm," Baldor muttered between mouthfuls.

"As mad as anyone who climbs down that cliff and rows out to meet it," Terrowin agreed, snatching the jug back before the big man drained it. "But I gather that is exactly what we plan to do?"

"Unless you can devise another plan?" Roger reached for the jug. "Or find another way out of the castle."

Terrowin sighed and took a deep draught. "The goat path it is."

"We will agree to the parlay with Falconard," Rennwick said to Roger. "Perhaps it will buy us a little extra time if he thinks we are considering handing the girl over."

"He will likely make us a tempting offer."

Renn nodded, "And by that offer we will know just how badly he wants her."

"Agreed. Double it and we will know how badly the king wants the girl."

" The girl … is standing right here," Ellyn said.

Both men turned to look at her.

"Yes. You are," Renn said after a pause. "My apologies. Searching dungeons and the prospect of clambering down cliffs in a storm tends to erode my manners. We should head back now. Sabinius will want to know what we have found."

He signaled to the others and started walking back toward the central hub of the undercroft. In his hand, he carried a charred stick, the purpose of which became clear at each junction and turn where he scraped a black arrow onto the gray stone. At the main entrance, they doused their torches and climbed back up into the natural daylight. As gray as the sky was, it was a welcome sight and each of them drew in large, cold lungfuls of air as they dashed across the courtyard and entered the castle.

When they were outside Sabinius's room, Rennwick drew Ellyn aside.

"You would do best to get some rest while you can. Eat. Try to get some sleep. It will not do you in good stead to try to climb down a cliff if your stomach is rubbing on your backbone and your eyes want to close. When I know more about what is happening, I will come and fetch you."

Ellyn moistened her lips. "Will you tell him… how you found the dungeon?"

There was a look of quiet contemplation in his eyes as he drew a breath and slowly exhaled it. "As I recall it, and as I told the others, you stumbled and your lantern struck the wall, dislodging a layer of the mortar."

The tense lines around her mouth softened. "Thank you."

"That does not mean you do not owe me a better explanation."

"And if I cannot even explain it to myself, sirrah?"

His dark eyes searched hers so intently she felt their heat wash through her body, leaving her deepest secrets and truths exposed. There was no attempt to deny him, no effort made to conceal the dread that he might find those secrets repugnant… or that truth frightening.

But she saw neither reaction, and after the longest minute of her life, he laid his hand gently on her cheek, cradling it, drawing her slowly forward, almost… almost kissing her. The scrape of a footstep had him glance past her shoulder as Roger came up behind them .

"Get some sleep," he said to Ellyn, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "Tomorrow will likely be a very long day."

He smiled faintly then walked past her and nodded to Roger as he went into Sabinius's room.

Roger held her gaze a moment longer, then followed Renn inside.