loaf.
With his hand cupping the newly lit flame, he passed through the door and drew it shut behind him. He could not see much beyond the weak yellow flare he held in his hand, and he went so far as to curse himself for blinding his own eyesight by trying to stare through the light. He raised the stub over his head and found he could see modestly farther. The stone walls, cracked and slimy mortar looked no different from the passages he had already traversed, yet he felt a quickening sensation come over his body, a sense of expectation as if he was very close to what he sought.
A mere dozen paces brought him to a solid wall. The passage ended here, with no visible means for Marienne to have exited.
Eduard whirled around and retraced his steps … and saw it. A large black maw yawned in the passage wall and as Eduard moved the light toward it, he had to quell another flush of excitement as the shape of stairs emerged from the blackness. Marienne had not troubled herself to take a candle into the darkness; she must have known the way well enough to dispense with lighting the stub that was obviously kept at the guard post for that purpose. There was waxy evidence spattered around the floor to prove that others saw a greater need, and Eduard remembered Brevant saying the princess was allowed to descend out of her tower twice a day to see her confessor.
He started up the spiral staircase, taking the steps two at a time. There was no change in the quality of the darkness until he had climbed a goodly forty feet into the tower. When the walls higher up began to take on shape and substance, he doused his own candle and slowed his steps, taking caution with his boots and his creaking leather belts again as he rose steadily toward the soft bloom of light.
Marienne, unaware of the shadow that had stalked her through the underbelly of the castle grounds, had gone directly to where Eleanor was kneeling in prayer before the nave.
A hasty amen ended the devotions as the princess turned and grasped her hands.
“Did you see him? Did you speak to him? Is he well? How did he get inside the castle walls? Tell me all. Everything. Word for word.”
“I saw him. I spoke to him … and … and I am shamed to say I wept like a child when I first went into the room.”
Eleanor smiled and drew the girl into her arms. Marienne was barely more than a child, but she did not point this out. Instead she gave quick thanks that God had given her such a brave, dear friend. She could not have endured these months alone. Nor would she have had the courage to face the future alone and for that she would be everlasting grateful.
Eleanor stroked her hand down the curly tousle of Marienne’s hair. “How does he look? Is he as handsome and roguish as ever?”
Marienne sighed. “He is even more handsome than I remember. Lord Robert is with him too, and he … he …”
Eleanor smiled and rested her cheek on the top of Marienne’s head. “He is as big a rogue as his brother when it comes to stealing hearts. And as big a fool, I warrant, for following him here.”
“Lady Ariel was with them, and in truth, she is not what I expected.”
“How so?”
Marienne frowned. “Well … perhaps because she is the niece of William Marshal, I thought she might look somewhat like him—gruff and comely, big-boned and leonine.”
“You are the marshal’s daughter and you are none of those things,” Eleanor pointed out.
Marienne considered it a moment. “She has a stubborn jaw, however … and her hair is a most shocking colour of red. Because she is the marshal’s niece, does it not mean she and I are cousins of a sort?”
“Cousins,” Eleanor nodded. “Which means you must not judge her bravery and courage on appearance alone. She must have a good deal of both if Eduard trusts her.”
“She is very beautiful,” Marienne allowed. “And she could scarce keep her eyes off him all the time I was there.”
“Eduard? And the marshal’s niece?” Eleanor leaned back. “Perhaps you should, indeed, start at the beginning. Marienne? Marienne … what is it?”
The maid had gone suddenly rigid in the princess’s arms. She was staring past Eleanor’s shoulder—a shoulder that had moved a moment ago to reveal the black-clad