Tori Phillips - The Dark Knight

Though Lucy’s account was dire enough, Celeste felt a small relief that no mention had been made of the Cavendish’s Plantagenet heritage. “Surely, ’tis no treason nor witchcraft to pray to God. What fault could they find in that?”

Lucy’s voice sank into a hoarse whisper. “They accused us of being Catholics, of practicing an outlawed religion and going against the express decrees of the King.”

“And thereby you could be called traitors,” Guy rumbled. “But you are free now. Why not our Tonia?”

At the mention of her friend’s name, Lucy’s eyes again filled with tears. “Alas, they convicted her, Sir Guy! They said that since she was the eldest one of us and because she came from a great family, they would make an example of her to discourage any other members of the nobility who had popish leanings. Those horrible judges condemned sweet Tonia as a traitor and sentenced her to death.”

Celeste sank into her chair, and ice encased her heart. “Mon Dieu, say ’tis a trick. ’Tis a lie.”

Lucy’s tears spilled down her cheeks. “Not so, good lady. Afterward, the soldiers turned the rest of us out into the street without so much as a groat among us, but not Tonia. The last I saw of her, they led her through another door and I know not what they have done with her.”

Celeste swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I pray God that she still lives. They would not dare to execute the niece of the Earl of Thornbury—not without hearing an appeal for her defense.”

Guy stood. “Young King Edward thinks he is doing God’s will by cleaning out so-called popish heresies, but the conniving scullions who whisper in his ear know better. ’Tis earthly power they crave, and they seek to wrest it from the nobility by skullduggery, lies and intimidation. There is no gutter too low for them to wallow in.”

“And Agatha, Margaret and little Nan? Where are they?” Celeste asked, though her thoughts rested only on her daughter’s fate.

“We were taken in by Margaret’s cousins who live in York, though that family gave us grudging hospitality, lest we infect them with our shame.” Lucy drank the rest of her cooling ale. “They supplied us with enough coin to hire horses and escort to see us home. I came directly to you, Sir Guy. Mayhap, there is still time to save Tonia.”

“If not, then I swear there will never be world enough or time to slake my vengeance,” he muttered.

The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes frightened Celeste almost as much as her fear for Tonia. If Guy is rash, I could lose both husband and child within the month.

Leaving Celeste to care for Lucy, Guy sent messengers to the nearby homes of his son, Francis, and his nephew, Kitt, heir of the Earl of Thornbury. Guy chose not to involve his powerful older brother just yet until he knew further particulars of Tonia’s whereabouts. What Guy needed now was the youth, strength and stamina of the younger Cavendish males. He intended to be on the road to York by dawn’s light. Based on Lucy’s account of the time that had elapsed between her release and her arrival at Snape Castle, he reckoned eight days had passed since that farce of a trial. Time enough for Tonia’s execution. He buried that possibility in the depths of his mind. She was still alive, he told himself, as he sharpened his sword. He would have received word by now if she were not.

If Tonia is indeed dead, falsely accused and even more falsely murdered, then God save the King—from me!

The rattle of the key in the rusty lock of her cell door woke Tonia with a start. A thin stream of early morning sunlight filtered through the arrow loop window. Sitting up on the cold floor, Tonia massaged the crick in her neck where she had fallen asleep against the stool. A sudden rush of adrenaline shot through her. ’Tis morning and he’s come for me! She struggled to her feet before the executioner could open her door. She must present to him a cheerful face and as much bravado as she could muster.

When the man stepped inside her chamber, she saw that he still wore his black hooded mask though he had doffed his huge cape, making him look a little more human than an avenging dark angel. Despite the morning’s chill air, the sleeves of his muslin shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing deeply tanned skin the color of acorns. Droplets of water dripped from his hands, indicating that he had just washed. Her gaze locked on to the slim dagger in a leather sheath that was strapped on his left forearm. She gulped.

Glossy black hair curled from under his hood and a single golden loop winked in the light from his left earlobe. Around his neck, he sported a jaunty red neckerchief made from a piece of ragged silk that she had not noticed last night. The spot of bright color cheered Tonia a little, giving her the courage she desperately needed.

She swept him another low curtsy. “Good morrow, Master of Death.”

He halted at her greeting. “Good morrow, my lady.” He crossed his arms over his chest but said nothing more.

Does he expect an invitation to strangle me? Tonia’s taut-strung nerves almost made her titter at the idea. Two can play at this game. She folded her hands in a pose of tranquillity that was at odds with her true feelings, and waited. For several eternal minutes the two stared at each other across the width of the small room.

Just when Tonia began to despair of this ploy, the executioner looked over her head at a spot on the bare wall and spoke. “’Tis daybreak, my lady,” he informed her in a low gruff tone.

Please, dear Lord, soften this man’s heart. Tonia feigned indifference. “Truly? I cannot tell. The window is too narrow and high for me to see out.”

“The sun has risen over the mountain,” he muttered, still not looking at her.

Methinks he is as nervous as I am. She gave him a little smile. “I long to see that glorious sight just once more.”

He pointed to her window. “Stand on the stool and look for yourself.”

Tonia took a deep breath. “Is there a walkway that faces east?”

He nodded once.

“Gentle headsman, pray escort me there that I may see the sun as a free person sees it and not through bars like a caged sparrow. ’Tis a little thing I ask.”

He said nothing, nor did he move.

Tonia braced herself in case he should suddenly spring at her and choke her before she could evade him. She was a Cavendish and would not easily yield up her life no matter what that piece of royal parchment decreed.

When the silence between them had stretched to the breaking point, Tonia continued. “If you were me, wouldn’t you desire one last taste of freedom?”

Finally he turned his masked face toward her and dropped his arms to his sides. “Aye, that I would.” He swung the door wider. “Come, then, lady, and look your last, but walk softly, the walls of Hawksnest are old and crumble easily.”

Now she laughed aloud. “You are afraid that I will fall and break my neck before you have the chance to do it?”

“The fall would frighten you, my lady” was his only reply. He held the door for her as if he were escorting her to a banquet instead of to her doom. As she passed him, he touched her elbow lightly. “To the left.”

Her skin prickled at his touch.

It was after nightfall when Tonia had been brought to this ruined fortress. Since then, she had never been allowed to leave her cell. As she walked toward the spiral staircase at the far end of the corridor, her spirits grew lighter with each step. She had not realized how much she had missed the fresh air and the warming rays of the sun until this moment. Savoring the morning’s light, she slowly mounted the winding stairs until they suddenly opened onto a parapet. As she stepped out onto the narrow walkway a strong arm around her waist checked her progress.