Page 60 of Lord of Deception

Norris brought them in via the postern at the Develin Tower, and they made their way alongside the wall enclosing the royal gardens and up into the Lanthorn Tower, topped with the sculpted pinnacle that gave it its name. It was thrilling to see places she’d only read about in books, but there was no time to dally and admire.

Norris walked confidently just ahead of her, greeting anyone who looked directly at him, whispering to anyone who seemed about to oppose him, and pressing unseen bounty into their hands. In this fashion, they made their way along the crenellated inner wall to the Salt Tower.

“Why, it hardly looks like a prison.” There were stores, and bags of flour on the floor below, just like any cellar in a country house.

He made no reply but led her by the hand towards the iron-studded door. The single guard, much occupied in paring his fingernails with his knife, came stiffly upright when hailed by Norris.

She waited while the usual negotiations took place. This guard was the most reluctant they’d encountered yet, claiming that the prisoner within was accounted particularly dangerous, for all she was only a woman. Norris emptied his purse into the fellow’s hand, but the man just stared at the coins, then rubbed his thumb thoughtfully along the hilt of his knife. Alys snatched up her purse and began counting out coins.

“No time for that.” Norris grabbed and jerked at the purse so hard, the thong securing it to her belt broke. He stuffed the whole bag into the guard’s hands, then before the fellow could blink, caught him by the front of his doublet and brought a knife up to the man’s throat.

“No more delays. The sum is enough. You will let us in and lock the door upon us, admitting no one else. No one, do you understand? When I knock thrice from inside, you will let us out. Don’t try any trickery—I have powerful friends.”

The threat had the desired effect, and the man stood aside. It impressed Alys that Norris could be so fierce, but the discovery was not a comfortable one. Nor was the realization that he’d emptied his purse, and she ought really to repay him. But how could she, when she had not a penny to her name?

They were now in one of the tower rooms. She saw stout stone walls, a magnificent window overlooking the river, and a great hooded fireplace with a woman standing beside it. The thick door swung shut, and the key turned in the lock.

Norris turned to Alys… and struck her.

The powerful blow crashed into her jaw, slamming her back against the unforgiving stonework. Her head hit the wall with a sickening thud and, knocked almost senseless, she slid down to the floor, her stomach rising up in revolt. Through the mists of pain, she gazed dully at the pair before her. And discovered she’d made a fatal mistake.

There stood Kate, clothes stained and worn, her hair dirty. Her sufferings had left their path on her face, edging her eyes with dark shadows, wrinkling her brow with worry. There was a feverish look in her eyes, and her mouth was stretched wide, leering.

Norris took Kate in his arms and kissed her. She welcomed him, then stared past his shoulder at Alys, mockery on her face. Sick with fear and shock, Alys had no doubt these two were lovers. Norris’ hungry kisses soon gave way to a fevered exploration of Kate’s body as his lips moved down to caress her neck and breast.

Alys tried to struggle to her feet, but waves of nausea held her down. Norris turned at the sound of her whimper, his arm clamped possessively around Kate’s waist.

“Thank you, Mistress Barchard.” He bared startlingly white teeth at her. “You have given me everything I need.”

She leaned forward, her stomach heaving.

“No, you don’t. We can’t have you soiling that fine cloak I gave you.” He dragged the cloak from her, sending her sprawling against the wall. Then, as calmly as if Alys weren’t there, resumed kissing Kate.

Alys retched onto the floor, her gut in knots, her head buzzing. She remembered, with a clarity that killed all hope, that she had seen Norris before. He’d been swathed in a dark cloak, hurrying away from Selwood towards Cheyneham. He’d dropped a bead, which Kit had identified as coming from a rosary. He’d believed the so-called cunningman must be a Spaniard.

In that, he’d been mistaken. Norris was an Englishman and a traitor. And she’d just played right into his hands.