The earl had reared back, his sex held in his own hand to guide himself into her, and the blow struck the side of his head. The pain was searing and it rattled him. He fell sideways, still pinning her beneath him. She heard him groan, then fall silent. She struck him again and felt a slight shudder go through him. Then she dropped the candlestick. She tried to push him off her. She heaved and prodded, but she couldn’t move him. He was deadweight on her.
She felt tears sting her eyes. She was so close to escape and she was still trapped by him. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t . . .
“What in God’s name have you done?”
At the sound of Roland’s low voice, her tears dried, though she still wanted to cry, but in relief. “Please, hurry, get him off me.”
Roland quickly pushed the earl off her and let him roll onto the floor. He saw that her gown was shoved up to her waist and that her legs were parted and bare. He didn’t want to ask, but he did. “Are you all right? Did he—hurt you?” His own voice flattened, for he’d been late, mayhap too late to help her. The earl had been over her and she’d been naked and. . . . When she shook her head violently, he felt such relief his belly cramped.
She was very pale and shaking. He still looked at her, wondering what to say, wondering if he should stick his dagger into the earl’s heart, for it was what he wanted to do. He’d prayed he wasn’t too late as he’d rushed up th
e narrow stone stairwell, prayed more devoutly than a Benedictine priest would have done.
He shook his head. He, her rescuer, hadn’t done a bloody thing. She’d saved herself.
“Quickly, Daria, rip up your gown. We will bind him and gag him. Hurry, we don’t have much time.” She didn’t hesitate. She ripped off wide pieces of the precious dark blue wool, watching Roland from the corner of her eye as he bound the earl tightly.
Once the gag was in his mouth, Roland rolled him unceremoniously under the narrow bed.
“Now,” he said, rising, “nearly done. You must change now, quickly.”
Daria stared at the boy’s clothes he thrust into her hands. Then she smiled.
“Hurry, we haven’t much time,” He lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. “I know things are moving quickly, but you will be safe now. We will speak later.”
He turned his back to her and stationed himself at the open chamber door. He wanted to close the door but knew she needed some light to dress herself in the unfamiliar clothing. He heard her breathing, her clumsy movements. He kept his eyes on the steep circular stairwell just across from the bedchamber. He’d drugged the supper ale in its wooden kegs, but still he couldn’t be certain that all the earl’s men had drunk enough to knock them out. To his enormous chagrin, the earl hadn’t touched any drink. He’d been too intent on getting to Daria. He hadn’t wanted to risk impotence with her. Roland listened. It was quiet as a tomb, ominously quiet to his ears.
“Are you dressed yet?”
“Aye,” she said, appearing suddenly at his side. Roland turned to look at her. The boy’s clothes disguised the woman’s curves of her body but she still looked very much a female. Quickly he sat her down on the bed and braided her hair. He tied it with a bit of cloth from her shredded gown, then thrust the boy’s cap over her head, bringing it nearly to her eyebrows. He removed a wrapped cloth from his tunic and she saw that it contained mud.
He smeared the mud over her eyebrows to make them black slashes across her brow, then daubed more mud on her face. He grinned. “Wondrous filthy you are now, my lad.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. “Listen to me carefully, Daria. You will not open your mouth. You will keep your head down and stay close behind me. When I tell you to do something, you will do it quickly and silently.”
It was then she saw that he was still in his priest’s garb.
“I’m ready and I will do just as you say.”
He patted her filthy cheek, nodding. He’d never in his life rescued a female and he wasn’t certain what she would do, or how she would respond. Mayhap faint at a critical moment, mayhap shriek. But Daria appeared to have herself well in control, at least for the moment. He looked once again at the steep shadowed stairwell, then motioned for her to follow him.
When they reached the bottom steps, Daria stared around the great hall. Scores of people were snoring, filling the hall with a low rumbling sound, the ones who sat at the trestle tables slumped forward, their heads beside their trenchers.
“Will they die? Did you poison them?”
He shook his head. “I but drugged their ale. They sleep like innocent babes. They’ll awaken on the morrow with aching heads but nothing more. Hush, now.”
There were some who were awake, but their eyes were vague and they gave only cursory glances at the priest and the dirty boy with him. One man even called out, his words slurred, “Father, bless me for I have drunk too much and all I see are vipers and they rollick and twist around me. They are evil, Father.”
“Bless you, my son, but you deserve every viper that strikes at you. At least you are still awake, whilst your friends have succumbed.”
The man looked puzzled, then quietly he fell forward, knocking himself out with the blow, and Daria wondered if he’d cracked his head.
But outside there were many who were fully alert. Roland slowed his pace. He nodded and spoke to the men who crossed his path, seemingly at his ease, taking his time. He saw several of the women look at him with eager invitation and he made his expression austere.
“Where do you go tonight, Father?”
It was the head stableman and he was looking curiously at the filthy boy who was trailing after the priest.