An Uncertain Choice(66)

I had to get away. I wouldn’t be able to help Trudy or myself if I was locked in the convent. In fact, perhaps that’s what the abbot intended all along. Maybe he’d never planned to let me rule in my own right when I turned eighteen.

The long corridor ended and opened into a covered walkway that passed through the courtyard. I paused and glanced to the monk kneeling in the flowers, pulling weeds.

Shouts echoed behind me. I had to find a way out of the convent. Perhaps the secret gate I’d once used to sneak inside?

I sprinted down the covered walkway, heedless of the monk stopping to watch me with a curious stare. Ahead loomed an arched door with a stained glass window above it.

The chapel.

If I could make it through the chapel, I would find the door that allowed the public to come and go into the sanctuary. I would be able to slip outside and command someone to take me back home, to Derrick.

Chills shook me, as they did every time I allowed myself to think about what the abbot had planned for him. Drawing and quartering was one of the most gruesome of torture methods, surely invented by the devil himself. Why would the abbot do such a thing? The idea of my wise counselor purposefully planning to harm Derrick revolted me.

I’d trusted the abbot these past years, and my heart ached to think about how he’d kidnapped me and locked me up. And now he was planning to torture the man I loved? How could he? Especially when he knew exactly how I felt about using torture methods?

I reached the church door and paused, gulping down a ragged breath. The shouts coming from the dormitory echoed again and spurred me forward. I yanked the door open and stepped through.

The high arches and tall pillars of the nave rose above me along with the stained glass windows. The candelabras near the altar were lit. But the glorious building was strangely quiet and deserted.

I slipped along the wall, seeking the front double doors that would take me to freedom.

“Ah, there you are, your ladyship.” The abbot’s voice echoed through the sanctuary.

I halted and located him at the front of the crossing, standing in his best robes near the chancel door, the Book of Prayers open in his hands.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” He stepped to the base of the altar and scrutinized me across the span of columns. “But why aren’t you dressed in the white robe I sent to you?”

I spun away from the abbot. With a new burst of panic, I bunched up my gown and ran straight for the door. I didn’t stop to think. All I knew was that I must escape. Trudy had put her life in danger for me. And now I must find Derrick. If I could get to him before it was too late, then together we could come back to rescue Trudy.

I fell against the carved door. My fingers grasped the handle, and I lunged forward only to fall short.

The door didn’t budge. I rattled the handle, desperation pouring into my chest. It was locked.

With a bolt of panic, I pivoted and ran back toward the side door I’d just entered. But it opened with a resounding bang, and several breathless guards raced inside with their swords drawn.

I stopped and swiveled, searching for another escape route.

“For the love of the sun, moon, and stars,” came another voice behind the guards.

Trudy.

I stared as the same guard who’d come to our cell now strode into the center of the sanctuary, dragging Trudy next to him, heedless of the foul stench that accompanied him. At the sight of his dagger pointed against Trudy’s chest, I cried out, “No! Don’t hurt her!”

The sanctuary echoed with my cry.

The abbot smiled, but the motion lacked any warmth. “Fetch the tongue ripper.” He motioned to one of the guards. “I’m sure her ladyship will cooperate more fully with taking her vows if she sees the instrument in place inside the mouth of her beloved nursemaid.”





Chapter

23




I SUCKED IN A FORTIFYING BREATH AND WHISPERED A SILENT plea of forgiveness in advance for all I was about to do.

The guard bent his head to slip the keys into the lock, and I jolted forward. Before he could react, I snaked my arms through the bars and wrapped my tunic around the man’s neck, twisting him around.

The guard managed a strangled cry, but I yanked the cord tighter, enough to strangle the air from his lungs.

With a roar, the other guard lunged toward me, his sword aimed to plunge through my body.

But with the strength born of practice and endless training, I positioned my leg through the bars and leveled a swift kick into his stomach with enough strength to send him reeling back against Bartholomew’s cell.

With surprising quickness, Bartholomew looped his tunic around the guard’s throat and twisted it into a slipknot.

I felt a sudden plunge of burning pain rip into my leg and realized the guard I was holding had slipped his dagger out of its sheath and had swung it back, grazing my outer thigh.

The man jabbed again, and this time I darted out of the way, grabbed the guard’s arm, and yanked it behind his back into a painful upward hold that forced him to drop his weapon.

From the flares of torchlight, I could see Bartholomew struggle to avoid the blade of the sword that his prisoner was swinging wildly backward in an effort to free himself from the deadly hold around his neck. But due to the length of the sword, the guard was having little success.

I knew I didn’t have time to spare. If Bartholomew lost his grip on the guard, the job of freeing us would grow slightly more complicated. With a swift yank, I brought my captive’s head back and banged it against the bars hard enough to knock him unconscious. As the guard slid down to the floor, I pried the keys from the man’s fingers before they fell out of reach.