“Which was probably why the Dragon put her where he did.”
“Nonetheless it was a brave thing Biddy did, and she deserves more than just my thanks.” He glanced up from under his brows and found where Sparrow was hunkered down in the shadows. “Perhaps I will make a gift to her of young Woodcock.”
Sparrow’s tousled cap of brown curls jumped as he whirled around. “You would do that to me?”
“If I thought the challenge of clipping your wings would help her recover sooner, aye. Gladly.” The Wolf’s grin faded and he looked at Sir Roger. “You are certain she is safe enough?”
“She is safe,” De Chesnai nodded grimly. “You would be disturbed to know how many of the castle’s inhabitants care naught for the name of Lucien Wardieu.”
“A situation we shall do our damnedest to rectify,” the Wolf promised tersely.
“You can start by telling us exactly where this eagle’s eyrie is,” Alaric said, his brow knitted in a frown. “The longer you delay, the more my neck itches and tells me I should have remained a Benedictine.”
“The eyrie is on the cliffs, my lord,” Eduard volunteered. “Halfway down to the sea. The cell itself is no more than a crack in the rocks, and the path leading down is scarcely wide enough for one man to pass another. Of course”—he overcame a tremor in his voice and squared his shoulders manfully—“I have climbed down several times and will do it gladly again for the chance to help rescue Lady Servanne.”
Lucien strained to see the boy’s face through the shadows, wondering again at the madness and hatred that had conspired to bring them all to this point in life. Eduard was his son. A man nearly grown and him not even knowing there had been a seed sown.
“How is your leg, boy?”
Eduard smiled lamely, feeling his pulse quicken at the sound of the Wolf’s voice. This tall, fearsomely bold knight was his father—a stranger, yet one who brought a calming, deep-felt peace to a heart that had always reviled in the notion of carrying the Dragon de Gournay’s blood.
“M’sieur D’Aeth unknowingly did me a service by plying the hot iron to my wound. The bleeding was stopped and the flesh sealed. I can use the limb, my lord, and will do so as required.”
“What is required,” Lucien said slowly, “is a quick way out of here. We have men camped nearby in the woods—men with strong bow arms and tempers frayed from inactivity.”
“If they could be gotten to,” Sparrow contributed eagerly, “they could certainly put a burr up the Dragon’s arse and distract his attention away from our true purpose.”
“And let us not forget the rabble outside the gates. They were strongly in favour of Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer and could easily be roused into keeping the guards on the walls looking out to the moor.”
“My lord?” It was Eduard again. “I think … I mean, I am convinced there is a way to get out of the castle unobserved.”
All eyes turned to the young squire, who wiped his cuff across his mouth to dry the sweat beaded on his upper lip. “There is a small, seldom-used gate in the east wall which opens out onto the lower slopes of the sea cliffs. The fishermen sometimes use it when they need more fish than the seneschal allows them to catch, and it gives access to smugglers too, those who cannot gain entry by the main gates.
The keeper can be rendered deaf, dumb, and blind for the proper amount of coin, and since he knows me well enough, he would not ask too many questions, nor look too closely at any companions I might have with me.”
Lucien regarded the boy with a steady eye.
“It would be dangerous to move the wounded out that way,” Friar said quietly. “But better than waiting to be picked off here like overripe fruit.”
Sir Roger de Chesnai, cradling his injured arm, stood up. “My shoulder makes me near useless as far as wielding a blade or a bow, but my legs are strong enough to carry me all the way to Lincoln if need be. I will take my chances with the gatekeeper’s sight, but I hesitate putting the same faith in your men—if and when I find them—or to count upon them holding back their arrows long enough for me to explain why they should trust me.”
A long, drawn-out sigh of exasperation drew attention to Sparrow. “Mor dieu! ’tis true, they