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“I demand to see the abbot. You have no right!”
“We are here to do the Lord’s work, I assure you, miss.” The key disappeared into his robes, and he placed his palms together in a manner of prayer. “Good evening.”
With that, he padded down the stairs.
I could have screamed in frustration, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I slammed the peephole shut and backed away.
Fine. There was still the rear door. I ran over, then cursed. That must have been the key I’d seen him pocket, because it was gone, and the door was locked. On the other side was the spare key Tuck used, but I couldn’t reach it. I checked the windows next, but it was a long, long way down to the ground. The library took up the building’s third story, but high ceilings made it more like four or five stories.
A whinny sounded from across the way — Snow, in the barn, sensing my panic. Moments later, the other horses joined in, whinnying and kicking in their stalls. The red glow of sunset bathed the monks who ran to see what was amiss. Was Tuck among them?
I backed away from the windows, forcing myself to exude calm. If Snow and the other horses kept up that ruckus, they were bound to hurt themselves.
I’m all right, I willed them to hear. Everything is all right.
But, mistress, they cried back. All of them, not just Snow. What has threatened you?
Horses didn’t talk so much as listen — and boy, did they listen. That made them highly attuned to emotions, especially when it came to members of the noblest family lines, like me. But our numbers were dwindling, and our unique heritage was our deepest, most precious secret.
Everything is all right, I assured the distraught equines. I’m sorry to have alarmed you.
Slowly, I sensed them settling down — all except Snow, who knew me best.
Mistress, she called, still on edge. What is it?
A complication, I admitted, though only to her. But I can handle it. If I need help, I’ll alert you.
Snow, like me, had been trained for various emergency scenarios. If she had to kick her way out of her stall, she could do it. But a horse wouldn’t be much help in obtaining a key and turning a lock, only for a quick getaway after I broke out of the library.
I took a deep breath, considering how soon I might need that quick getaway.
It’s all right, Snow. Be still now. But be ready.
She nickered in my mind, then faded to the background as I considered my situation.
I’d come to Winslow Abbey because the abbot was a staunch supporter of King Richard and, thus, of my family. But I hadn’t been counting on the likes of Father Benedict. Was he allied with Prince John? Or was he a man of no particular conviction, ready to sell me to the highest bidder?
Either way, it hardly mattered. I checked the weapons concealed among my garments and placed my sword beside the door. Then I took my extra weapons from my bag and distributed them in strategic places. I even placed the long needle of my project in such a way as to make it easy to grab in case of emergency. The next time Benedict — or anyone else — appeared at the door, I would be ready.
Until then, I paced, wondering, worrying.
* * *
Night fell. The monks were called to evening prayer. When they finished and filed out again, the abbey settled into its normal nighttime silence.
Silent but for my footfalls, padding back and forth across the length of the library.
An hour later, I halted in my tracks, hearing a different set of footfalls on the rear stairway. I drew my longest dagger and stood, waiting.
Metal scraped. The lock turned. The door creaked open. Beyond it, darkness.
“Marian?” someone whispered.
Relief washed over me, and I dropped my defenses. “Tuck!”
He stepped cautiously into sight — smart man, given our first encounter — and I nearly launched myself into his arms.
And, oops. I did launch myself into a tight hug. For a moment, he stood there, surprised. Then he slowly wrapped his arms around me and hugged back.
