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None of it fit what I’d dreamed about since I was a child.
“There’s no honor in it,” Daniel said bitterly. “No pride. No end. And no winners, except whichever cruel overlord outlives the rest.”
With a little shove, he released me, and Charger broke into a trot. I stared after him, then slowly followed. Neither of us said anything for a long time.
Just before the gates, Daniel sighed and leaned closer.
“Watch what you say to Lady Thornton. She has the eyes of a hawk. The tongue of a snake. The soul of a demon.”
Of that, I had no doubt.
His voice went all raspy when he added, “And whatever you do, do not reveal anything about Robynne.”
His eyes flared, threatening fire and brimstone if I did.
I nodded firmly, adding Marian in my mind. I would conceal what I knew about her too. At the same time, I would glean what I could from Lady Thornton. What did she know? What did she have planned?
Daniel must have read my mind, because he cautioned me with a firm, “Careful. She can discover as much from the questions you pose as those you answer. Just look, listen, observe. And get the hell out of there the moment you can.”
We clip-clopped over the cobblestones of the city, heading for the castle, where he left me with a final, grim look.
“Oh, and watch out. That woman could seduce the Pope — or try to, at least.”
Ha. Well, not me. Not with Marian on my mind.
“Good luck,” Daniel murmured.
Malachi’s step faltered, telling me I would need it.
Chapter Nine
MARIAN
I didn’t sleep a wink, and by morning, the nervous energy that had kept me going through the night was rapidly petering out. Still, I pushed on with improvements to the defensive systems I’d created. Even when I kept still, my mind continued pacing, going over endless possibilities.
Was I crazy for remaining here instead of grabbing my chance to escape?
But wasn’t it my duty to do whatever I could to slow, if not halt, Prince John’s march to power?
There’s a thin line between bravery and stupidity, my father liked to say. And, boy. I was starting to see his point.
At the sound of a scratch at the back door, I leaped to my feet and grabbed my sword. The key ground in the lock as my mind slowly focused.
Back door…a silent visitor…Tuck?
“Wait!” I cried as the door creaked open.
“Marian?”
I froze. Wait. Not Tuck. A woman. Someone I knew…
“Willa!” I called. “Whoa — wait!”
I lunged forward to halt the bookshelf I’d rigged to topple if anyone arrived unannounced. It had been simple enough to lever it up on one side with a piece of firewood, wedge at a precarious angle with books, and finally connect to the door with braided fibers from my needlepoint project. But it was twice as tall as me and filled with hundreds of heavy volumes, so stopping it once the trap had been sprung was another matter.
“Help!” I squeaked.
Lord, the irony. I would be killed by my own booby trap rather than meeting a noble death in service of my country.
