In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,124
do you credit to go to him with the lord and lady’s identity and inform him they are in possession of letters, signed by the earl himself, granting her safe conduct and all due courtesies on her journey north to be united with her groom, the king’s own loyal vassal, Sir Reginald de Braose.”
Brevant grasped the hilt of his sword in a hand that could have crushed it. “You are mad, my bold fellow. Old Swill has no sense of humour and if he thinks, for one instant, the letters are a ruse and the lady is none other than Mistress Waycock from Strumpet Row—”
“The letters are genuine,” Eduard said evenly. “As will be Lord Henry’s wrath if he hears you have called his sister, the earl’s niece, a whore.”
Brevant expelled all the air from his lungs, sending a wave of heat blasting past Eduard’s face. “Perhaps you have no knowledge of the man who governs Corfe Castle. I do not call him Old Swill out of fondness, but because of the quantities of ale and wine he consumes each day in order to sleep through the screams of his prisoners at night. He was once one of John’s champions, you see, who gained some prominence in the lists as a man who rarely carried a blunted sword into matches and who had no qualms about striking a man when his back was turned if it was the easy way to victory. He also managed to expand his holdings in Nottinghamshire through several favours he did for the then prince regent—a few quiet assassinations for parcels of land here and there—and set his ambitions toward becoming sheriff.
“When Prince John became King John, our bold but foolish Sir Guy of Gisbourne jokingly made reference to some of these past favours he had done, fully expecting his services would be rewarded by his appointment to the king’s judiciary court. He was appointed here instead, with the promise of Nottingham’s seat if he could prove both his deservedness and his ability to keep his mouth firmly shut.” Brevant paused and drew another deep breath as if to cleanse his lungs of some unknown foulness. “Gisbourne has been governor here at Corfe for two years, and has been striving to win his way back into the king’s good graces ever since. He is especially vindictive and especially creative if he thinks he has a victim in his claws whose screams of agony would put a smile on the king’s face.”
Eduard’s pulse was hammering in his throat. “This Gisbourne … he has not been near the guest in the tower cell, has he?”
“No. Not because he does not think the king would grin ear to ear, but because … he is not so foolish as to think he would sleep long without a knife cutting across his throat if he did dare to go near her.”
Eduard felt a mild flush of encouragement. It was not much, but it was an indication that there was a vulnerable chink in Brevant’s armour. If he could widen that chink, expose more of that vulnerability, maybe … just maybe there was a way to help Eleanor.
“Will you do it? Will you present our letters to Gisbourne?”
Brevant looked away and snarled. “If I did …if, mind … just how long would you be planning to play fancy with Gisbourne’s hospitality?”
“If the king is expected in four days’ time, we will be gone in three.”
Brevant rumbled again and turned, pacing several ground-shaking steps into the shadows before stopping and pacing back. “Once inside … what then? What do you plan to do?”
“The maid—Marienne—she is not a prisoner, is she? Can she move freely about the castle?”
“Aye,” Brevant nodded warily. “What of it?”
“I would see her then, and speak to her face to face. If I am convinced the one she serves is genuinely content with her fate, I will say or do nothing more.”
It was on the tip of Brevant’s tongue to tell the rogue knight exactly why the lady would probably prefer to stay where she was, but it was not his place to reveal such things. Moreover he suspected even if he did tell the rogue of the lady’s plight, he would only tear a hole in the walls block by block to get at her to see the truth for himself. Let him come into Corfe, Brevant decided. Let him come and see for himself, if that was what he wanted … if he dared.