The Devil’s Due Boucher, Rita (ebook reader for pc TXT) 📖

“Other than the bedroom,” Kate conceded, “but unfortunately, it might be a trifle difficult to drive the goats up the stairs.”

“Aye, I suppose you’re right,” Daisy said with a sigh. “Bring the barnyard in then.”

Anne smiled in delight as the two women began driving the poultry in through the kitchen door, but she clapped her hands in glee when they tried to lead the goats, bleating and resisting into the servant’s hall. Kate was beginning to think that it would be impossible to move the stubborn beasts when Cur yapped at their heels. With the skill of a four-legged matador, the dog evaded William’s horns and shepherded the animals through the door in a matter of seconds

“Good dog,” Kate said, bending to pat Cur on the head.

Anne put her hands round the dog’s neck, burying her face in the tawny fur.

“And what about me?” Daisy grumbled. “Don’t I get a hug too?” Anne ran over immediately and threw her arms around the woman’s legs. Mollified, Daisy wearily lowered herself in a nearby chair. She jumped up abruptly at the cackle of protest and eyed the occupying chicken with disgust. “Came near to being a soup, you did, stupid feather-ball.”

Anne pointed and laughed, a loud gurgling noise that shook her small body. Kate looked at Daisy in wonder, sharing the miracle of her daughter’s laughter before joining in the infectious sound. Soon the three of them were erupting in torrents of giggles punctuated by barnyard noises which only urged them into further mirth. Anne sat in the chair watching them get the animals settled. By the time all was done, her eyes were closed, thumb firmly placed in the center of her mouth.

“You see, Daisy, nothing is without purpose. Even this,” Kate said, as she lit a candle and put her sleeping daughter on her shoulder. She gestured at the menagerie roosting and milling about her. “Anne laughed and now she is going to sleep smiling.”

“Aye, it was worth it, at that,” Daisy admitted, brushing a stray lock from the child’s head. “And I swear, if we could but get her to speak again, I’d live with the Tower with the royal lions, I would.”

“Perhaps . . . they say that time heals all things. Perhaps if we give her time,” Kate said, praying that it would be so.

. . .

“Tis, a lucky thing that you recalled the tunnel,” Fred said in a hushed voice, raising his candle. “Pity we got ‘ere well after dark. Now we don’t know how many of them there is ‘ere. Leastways we was able to get round the dog. Would ‘ave been a near thing, puttin’ it down afore it barked a warnin’.”

“The courtyard should be almost directly above us,” Duncan said, his palms cold and sweaty as he counted out the paces. Twenty . . . thirty . . . soon they would be inside the castle itself. The air was stale, noxious; the walls sheened with the slimy sweat of damp, far too reminiscent of the cells of La Purgatoire for his comfort. “The tunnel to the dungeons should be just ahead. We must stay to the right or we could find ourselves wandering for hours. This castle is riddled with secret exits, some that I likely dinna even ken to exist.”

Fred nodded at the wisdom of this. “Always a good idea to ‘ave a back door, I’d say.”

“Shh!” At the top of the stair, Duncan put a finger to his lips and silently counted ten paces. He felt for the lever in the wall, trembling inside when he could not find it immediately at hand. Think man . . .think . . . he told himself as his heart began to beat a panicked thrum. Man! No you were not a man in those days . . . think of a boy’s stride. He stepped back, heaving a relieved sigh as he felt the bar of pitted iron. The release clicked faintly. Hastily, Duncan blew out the candle. The panel swung open, the rusty hinges screeching like a hoarse banshee, causing Duncan to curse under his breath. Now it seemed that all their stealth was for naught. They might as well have arrived with trumpets blaring. For a few heart-stopping minutes, the two men waited in the corridor, but there was no sound, no sign that they had been detected. Finally, with a nod of his head, Duncan directed Fred toward the kitchen stairs.

Like a shadow, Duncan slipped through the darkness down the empty hallway. The dank chill of the stone floors pierced the worn soles of his boots as he paused at each open room, scanning the shrouded furniture for signs of occupancy. Clearly, things had been recently disturbed. There were footprints in the layers of dust, blocks of space marking the places of pieces of furniture that had been moved. As he left the old wing, Duncan found further evidence of intruders. The moist, moldy smell was diminishing as was the thickness of the dust. If seemed that his uninvited guests had a penchant for cleanliness, Duncan thought with a grim smile.

The soft glow of candlelight spilled from beneath the doorsill like a guiding beacon. Slowly, Duncan cracked the door glaring at the hinges as if daring them to make a sound. Hefting his knife, he slid into the room, edging around the pool of moonlight that flowed between the tattered remnants of the draperies. All the while, he kept his eye on the mound in the center of the bed, trying to detect any change in the rhythmic rise and fall of the heap of blankets. When he reached the headboard, he doused the guttering candle before pulling the covers aside with a swift motion.

The sudden shock of cold night air was like a slap, bringing Kate to instant wakefulness. Her startled scream froze in her throat as a hand clamped over her mouth and cold steel pressed against her throat.