smashing against Gisbourne’s temple, with enough force to send the black eyes rolling up beneath the lids, vouchsafing his inability to sound any alarms for the rest of the day.
The two brothers stood side by side, staring down at the broken sprawl of Gisbourne’s body, both of them wincing at the damage wrought by Robin’s dagger.
“Killing him would have sufficed, little brother,” Eduard mused.
Robin drew a shaky breath and flung the bloodied knife onto the floor. “At least he will have something to remember me by.”
“Remember you? I would hasten to suggest you never cross his path again. I would also suggest we waste no more time in pleasantries. Hopefully, by the time we hide these two and return to our own chambers, Eleanor and Marienne will be there, waiting for us.”
Robin nodded, managing to hold down his gorge while they dragged Gisbourne and the whore into the bedchamber and arranged them under blankets and furs to look as if they slept in blissful exhaustion. There was a deal of blood on the floor of the anteroom, but it could not be helped. A last glance and Eduard pulled the door shut behind them, clapping his arm around Robin’s shoulders as they headed swiftly for the stairs.
Chapter 22
After Henry, Eduard, and Brevant had left her, Ariel made a quick search for spare clothing and came up with what she supposed would have to do for two complete outfits. She took Eduard’s only extra shirt back to her chambers with the rest of the bundled clothing, and for some inexplicable reason, felt better for wearing it in place of her own long linen bluet. She did not have much in the way of spare belongings herself, only the velvet gown and silken undertunic she had ruined in the rain last night. Both had been torn by haste and rough treatment and, rather than simply leave them by the hearth or pack them to have to explain their condition at a later date, she rolled them in a tight ball and thrust them into the fire. A few sticks of kindling and a spill of candlewax supplemented the curling heat from the bed of coals, and she finished dressing in the bright blaze of the burning garments.
Her hair required the perseverance and vocabulary of a Flemish foot soldier to unsnarl and tame into a manageable braid. The heat of sheer frustration was still fuming in her cheeks when the outer chamber echoed with the sound of hurried footsteps. Henry was back to collect their equipment and, barely a minute later, Captain Brevant arrived, striding into her bedchamber with two slender, clinging shapes in his shadow.
“My lady; I see you have responded well to the need for haste. As you can see, I have accomplished the first half of my task. My lord”—he looked to Henry—“you have seen to the horses?”
Henry nodded. “Sedrick has it well in hand. I came back to see if I could be of further use.”
“You can,” Brevant grunted. “You can guard our charges until the final preparations are made. My lady—were you able to find suitable clothing?”
Ariel moistened her lips and glanced at the bed, where she had deposited her scavenged findings.
“Good,” Brevant nodded. “I will leave you to it then. As soon as all is ready below, I will return to fetch you. Remain here until I do so.”
Marienne, hailed from a troubled, anxious sleep, flinched aside as Captain Brevant exited the room as abruptly as he had entered. She looked even younger, paler than she had the first time Ariel had seen her, and the folds of her worn, patched night tunic trembled visibly against her body.
The second figure could not flinch from what she could not see, but she shook with equal vigor, her fear the result of being roused from her tower and led she knew not where for a purpose which had not yet been explained. She knew it had been Jean de Brevant coaxing her to haste and silence, and she knew Marienne was blatantly terrified. Part of the reason for their terror and uncertainty was that they had not made their way to this place without incident. Twice they had been cautioned to press into a corner of the passageway while Brevant’s sword had made short work of queries by other guards as to where they were going at such an ungodly hour.
Eleanor could also smell the rank odour of scorched velvet, mingled with the vague, distinctly feminine scent of rose-water.
“May