Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(70)

Bran Cameron lifted one shoulder. “Out for a stroll.” He squinted casually up at the pinkening sky. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Look,” I said through my teeth. “Just get out of here. Leave us alone.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Could do that,” he said. “Or I could lend you a horse and a rope. As it happens, I have both.”

Suspicion twined with a cautious exultation as I remembered him charging his horse at Celia. “Why?” I said. “Why would you help us?”

“After you got away, my mother was . . . well . . . a tad miffed.” In the quickly strengthening light, I saw him press a hand to his side. “I thought it best to lie low, as it were, and spent a lovely night outside in a snowstorm, waiting for you to come out of Baynard’s. Once I figured out what you were up to, it took me the devil of a time getting inside the Tower after curfew. Had to give the guards most of my gold and my best flask of Tuscan wine, but it won’t hold them forever.”

He didn’t look at me as he brushed past and clicked his tongue. A gray horse stepped out from behind the corner. With quick, economical movements, Bran uncoiled a rope from the saddle and latched the attached iron hook around the bars.

He turned, his eyes intense on mine. “Shall we?”

I exchanged a look with Phoebe. Rage burned in her eyes as she gave a sharp shrug. Rachel just looked confused.

I nodded to Bran. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

With an impertinent wink, he turned and spoke quietly into the gelding’s ear. “All right, boy. Pull hard now.”

We stood back as Bran Cameron hauled at the horse’s reins. The animal’s muscles bunched. My body strained with it, urging it on. Go. Go. Go.

The creak of leather. The squeal of bending iron echoed against the walls.

We’re going to get caught. All of us thrown into cells to rot. Or hang.

Already I could feel the dank walls closing in, the scratch of rope around my neck as the gallows dropped.

Hurry!

With a horrible screech of metal, the entire unit of bars ripped from its moorings. One ragged edge slammed into the side of my calf as I leapt out of the way.

Bran didn’t waste a second. He unhooked the rope from the bars and tossed it down into the shattered window. “Can you climb, mate?” he called quietly down into the cell. “Do I need to come after you?”

In answer, Collum’s blood-caked blond head appeared in the opening. “No,” he said as he scrambled the rest of the way out. “And just who the bloody hell are you?”

“Shh.” I cringed as Collum’s hoarse accusation carried across the snow. Ignoring the question, Phoebe and I clasped him under the arms and helped him stand. “Be quiet. We have to—”

“Oy!” A shout boomed down from an arrow slit a few stories above. Silhouetted against the flickering light, the guard yelled, “You there! Halt!”

“Brilliant,” Bran quipped to Collum. “Since you’ve alerted the guard, I’d say this is no longer a clandestine mission.”

With a deft hand, Bran untied the rope, dropped it, and casually leaped into the saddle. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he leaned down and let his knuckles brush gently down my cheek. “I’ll meet you on the next block. I’ve taken rooms at an inn in Cheapside. They’re not the most luxurious accommodations. But they’re clean enough, and no one will ask any questions. Hurry now.”

He kicked his mount into motion, heading around the side of the building as the rest of us fumbled through the snow to the small postern gate. Muffled cries of alarm rang out behind us, but William Lucie was there to open the gate and hustle us through. He frowned when he saw Collum, but at a quiet word from Rachel only locked the small gate and turned away.





Chapter 35


WITH A GROAN, COLLUM PULLED HIMSELF ONTO PHOEBE’S HORSE. His voice was taut with forced control. “Who,” he said, “was that boy?”

Phoebe mounted behind me. Neither of us answered as we cantered away, leaving Collum to follow.

Dawn painted the tattered clouds in rose and lilac as Collum trotted up beside us. He hunched over his horse’s back, nursing obviously-battered ribs. In the pinkish light, I got my first clear look at him. I groaned inwardly at the sight of his broad face, a ghastly bloody mask of swollen eyes, bent nose, and horrific bruises. Behind me, Phoebe stiffened against my back.

Though she hid it like a trooper, I could feel the shakes rattle her small body as she quickly explained how I’d come up with the plan for the oil of vitriol.

Collum didn’t blink. “Answer the question.”

“Does it matter?” I said. “He helped us, didn’t he?”

Even as I said it, I still wasn’t sure of Bran’s motives. We could be walking into another trap. But something in his expression when he’d looked at me . . . I wanted to believe him.

Collum’s scraped knuckles gripped the reins too tight, making his horse nervous. “He isn’t from this time. I know what I heard. And though I may be a fool,” he said, “I’m no idiot.”

“You sure about that?” Bran nudged his gray gelding from a shadowed alley. “I’d say your idiot status is debatable at the moment. After all, who steals from the king at his own coronation feast?”