Колин Глисон: Sanctuary of Roses

Tavis raced out of the room, humming gleefully, but the other man stayed behind. Tricky watched as he approached Madelyne, stiffening as she saw him bend toward her face.

“Madelyne,” he whispered, reaching to touch her face. “Madelyne…are you awake?” He glanced at Tricky and in his face she saw concern. “Do you not speak or I’ll leave you here for Tavis,” he snapped at her, then returned to the prone figure before him.

“Madelyne, can you hear me? Your husband’s man has arrived…he’s in the keep and has been found out.” He glanced at Tricky, who gasped.

“Clem! They have Clem?” she asked, struggling to loosen her bonds.

The man strode over to her, glanced at the closed door, then glared down at her. “Who are you and what do you know about this? Speak, woman, for we haven’t much time!”

“I came here with Clem…we were to find a way in and… ” she stopped, gulping. Was this a trick?

“What, woman? What is it? If I am to help you, I must know all!” Angry spittle came from his mouth and urgency curved in lines about his lips.

From the table, Madelyne groaned. “Tricky?” Her voice was barely audible, but her maid heard and understood. “Seton?”

“Aye, Madelyne.” Seton rushed to her side, stroking her face and offering her a sip of water. “Sweetling, they have one of your husband’s men and will no doubt be scouring the keep for the rest of them. I must get a message to them… ”

“Tricky…tell him… ” she moaned. “He…can…be trusted. He…can…help.”

Tricky glanced at Madelyne and then back at the man called Seton, who now stood glowering over her. She had no choice. Clem was taken. They would miss their meeting with Gavin…and this man might be able to help. Madelyne trusted him. “We were to meet Gavin and his men at the oak tree behind the hill on the west side of the keep at sun down,” she told him. “We were to find a way to sneak them into the keep. I know nothing else.”

Seton nodded. “There are more men. Aye, that is good.” He returned to Madelyne. “What can I tell your husband that he will trust me? I’ll meet him and bring him in. We will get you safe from here tonight.”

Tricky could hear her mistress’s sigh from her own perch and wished she could minister to her. What had they done to her?

“Quickly, Madelyne… they will come back at any moment!” He leaned toward her, and although Tricky could not hear what Maddie told him, he pulled back, nodding, and satisfied.

Just as he turned away, the door from the stairway flung open and in stumbled Clem, arms bound, followed by Fantin and Tavis.

Gavin paced in the wood just in sight of the oak tree, his stomach twisting in nauseating knots. The sun was nearly gone, and no sign of Tricky or Clem. He clenched his fists, knowing that their failure to appear was a sign that something had gone severely wrong.

The gray shadows were long and just turning to black when he saw the shift of a shadow from the hill beyond the oak tree. It was too slight to be bulky Clem, and much too tall to be Patricka. Gavin clenched his hands over his sword and waited, holding his breath.

“Mal Verne?” The sound of his name wafting over the cool summer air reached his ears. “I come to help.”

Gavin did not move. He held his breath again.

“Mal Verne.” The man moved closer to the oak tree, his hands held out in front of him so that even in the darkness, Gavin could see that he held no weapons. “Your man, Clem, is taken…and the girl is taken as well.” He paused as though to measure any effect his words might have. Gavin remained silent, though he took a silent step forward.

“I’ve spoken to Madelyne,” the man continued. “My name is Seton de Masin… she knows me from when she was a child… Her message is that you may trust me. You will know this by the words I am now to speak: Madelyne gave you prayer beads made from rose petals when you first came to the abbey, and you still carry them with you. And she means you to know that she loves you.”

Gavin stepped from the shadows, his suspicions allayed. He had told no one about those beads. Even Madelyne had not known he still carried them until after they were wed and sharing a chamber. “De Masin.” He thrust his hand out and they shook. “She is alive? Is she hurt?”

De Masin hesitated, and Gavin’s stomach pitched. “She is alive, she can speak, but she is injured. I could not keep them…from her…last night. She will be well if we can get her from that place.”

Gavin struggled to control the frantic pictures and thoughts in his head. He must focus and stay clear headed if he had any chance of saving her. “Can you get me inside? I will have Fantin’s head on a platter. Nay, he will die a painful death…slow and painful… ”

“Aye. How many men do you have?”

“Five, plus myself and my man within.”

Seton nodded once, then beckoned. “Come, let us go. We have very little time.”

Madelyne forced her eyes open.

The acrid burn of candles, other smells she did not wish to define, and the throb of pain throughout her body assaulted her senses. The taste of the last bitter, putrid liquid that had been forced down her throat still surged in her empty belly. She couln’t keep back a moan, and was rewarded when her father’s face came into focus in front of her own.

Stifling a shriek, she closed her eyes and turned away from his face, the image now implanted on her brain: empty eyes with tiny pinpoints of black in the center, a wide, grinning mouth, and a mass of white hair as uncontrolled as the joyous laugh that erupted from his lips.

She was against the wall again, taken from her prone position on the table and re-strapped to the cold stone. The rough edges of the blocks behind her chafed her bruised skin, and her arms, stretched to their limits, had no feeling in them. She could barely keep her head raised, but with an effort she lifted it as Fantin’s laugh stopped abruptly.

“What is it you say?” He turned and screamed at someone. “That cannot be!”

Madelyne tried to focus and looked around the room, her muscles cramping, her arms jerking involuntarily. She vaguely remembered speaking with Seton again, and talking of Gavin and her love for him…a sob clogged her throat that had naught to do with the pain in her bones, but the pain in her heart. She might never see her husband again.

As she looked about the chamber, Madelyne froze, staring in disbelief. Tricky? Dear Lord, how did Tricky come to be here? Her maid was slumped on a stool, her clothing mussed, dirty and torn, and her hair straggling about her.

Fantin screamed more profanities to some unseen messenger, then, with one last glance at his prisoner, turned to rush from the chamber—his robes flowing behind him. Tricky and Madelyne were alone and safe, for a time, from Fantin’s rage.

“Tricky!” Madelyne hissed.

Her maid shook her head as though to clear the fog and slowly turned to look at her. “Maddie,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

“I am alive and thankful to be so,” she returned. “And you? How came you here?”

Tricky explained quickly, and then gestured to a dark corner. “They have Clem over there. I cannot tell if he is hurt. He’s not moved since they hit him on the head.”

“Can you move on that stool?” Every word was an effort, but Madelyne forced them out. For the first time, she felt a ray of hope that escape might be possible. “Those shards from the broken bowls…mayhap you could cut… ” her voice gave out, the words would not come…but Tricky knew what she meant to say.

“Aye.” Tricky rocked on the stool, side to side, and managed to tip herself over. She rolled on the floor and Madelyne could not tell if she was successful in grasping a piece of broken crockery. Silence reigned but for the grunts and groans of exertion from her maid.