Knight's Rebellion. Suzanne Barclay

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      “Aye.” Clive had stood by as Ranulf’s executioner tortured a young farmer into confessing just that.

      “What I need to do is turn them against him. I need to make them see he is the villain, not me.” Ranulf drained the cup the steward had refilled, then stared into the fire. The leaping flames cast wild images across his face, igniting an odd light in his dark eyes. “If only Lord Gareth had been willing to declare him an outlaw, but no, he wanted more proof. But now…” Ranulf sprang from his seat, the silver cup rolling across the floor and into the ashes. “That’s it!”

      “What is?” Clive retreated a step, for Ranulf was known to kick out at those about him when something went amiss.

      “Her father will be only too quick to sign a writ when he learns how his daughter was killed by that heinous criminal.”

      “Killed? But we do not know that, milord. It is possible she was taken prisoner.”

      “She’s as good as dead to me,” Ranulf snarled. “Think you I’d wed with her after Gowain has used her? Nay, but…” He stroked his grimy chin and began to pace. “You are right about one thing, though. We must convince her father she’s dead.”

      “Wouldn’t it work just as well if he thought her kidnapped?”

      “Rumor has it these Sommervilles are soft where family is concerned…even their womenfolk. I saw for myself that he’s the type to talk his way around a problem. He’d send messages to Gowain offering to ransom the girl.” Ranulf shook his head. “Besides, there isn’t time. The next shipment of Blue John is due to leave Malpas in a month’s time, providing the roads are safe and we get more workers for Bellamy. Have you seen to it?”

      “And where am I to get them?”

      “Raid the farms. Clear the streets of Eastham village.”

      Clive frowned. “If we take people so close to home, questions will be raised.” The mining of a rich vein of costly fluorspar had remained secret thus far because they’d sealed off all communication with the keep and village. The gemstones were worth a fortune to Ranulf, and he’d promised Clive a fat bonus. “If we took folk from hereabouts and one alarmed relative followed our men, they’d know what we were doing.”

      “All right.” Ranulf raked a hand through his fair hair, grimacing at its sweatiness. “Send a patrol to the west of here. They’re to attract as little attention as possible. Raid what farms they can and bring back every able-bodied youth for immediate transport to the mines.”

      “What if they run into Gowain’s men? They may look like an undisciplined mob, but they fight like seasoned warriors,” Clive said with grudging respect.

      “Damn. He is a continual thorn in my side. He not only starves us by stealing our supplies, he threatens my plans. Well, I won’t have it,” Ranulf snarled. “I’ve worked too bloody hard at this scheme to let that bastard ruin it.”

      “Shall I hire more men to guard the roads?”

      “Nay. There’s no time. Find me a body.”

      “A body?”

      “Aye. Young, slender and blond. It will have to be suitably marred, of course, so no one will realize it isn’t Lady Alys.”

      “What isn’t?”

      “The body in the casket, you idiot.” Ranulf whirled and studied the cowering servants again. “You there, all who are between the ages of thirteen and twenty and fair, step forward.”

      No one moved.

      “Clive!” Ranulf growled, fixing him with that wild, piercing stare of his. “See to it.”

      Clive looked from his lord’s implacable expression to the servants’ terrified ones. He couldn’t do this. But he’d not live if he didn’t. Well he recalled the long, lingering death of the man who’d been reeve of the mine before Bellamy. Black Toby had foolishly thought to skim off a bit of Ranulf’s mine profits and been skinned alive as punishment. Clive’s own back crawled, then he recalled Janie weeping over the death of a childhood friend. “I have heard that a young woman died in childbed a few days ago,” he murmured. “Let me go into the village to ask the priest what she looked like and if she has yet been buried.” Lowering his voice further, he added, “Why deprive yourself of a servant if a body is to be had?”

      Ranulf nodded. “Aye, I’ve few enough to serve me as it is, what with those faithless jades who’ve run off to join him.” His fist clenched. “Gowain must be eliminated before he grows stronger. Go at once to the village. When I’ve washed away this filth and rested, we’ll make plans for the sad journey to Ransford to inform Lady Alys’s family of her unfortunate demise.”

      

      Alys tucked the rough blanket under Dickie’s chin and sighed. He looked so still and fragile.

      “You’ve done all you can for him, Sister,” Bette said.

      “Pray God it was enough.” Alys stood, arching her back against the ache put there by hours of bending over her patients.

      “Ach, you’re that done in, up most of the night. Let me show you to your bed,” Bette said. “Bab, that’s my oldest girl—” she nodded in the direction of a capable young woman sitting beside Martin’s pallet “—she and Dame Dotty will watch the lads. If only there was some way we could show our gratitude,” she went on. “But our caves are short on comfort, I fear. Still, you’ll have a chamber to yourself with a brazier to warm it.”

      “Thank you.” Alys smiled at the woman who’d stayed by her through it all. Primitive the caves certainly were, but the womenfolk who’d helped her tend the wounded had been unbelievably kind and compassionate. Not at all the rough criminal lot she’d expected. Their clothes were worn, their supplies limited, but their capacity for giving had surprised her.

      “Come, I’ll show you the way. These tunnels are so vast and winding even I sometimes get lost.” Bette shoved aside the blanket that served to cover this chamber’s doorway.

      Numb with fatigue, Alys ducked under it and into a gloomy corridor, lit only by a single torch. The rough stone seemed to ooze damp chill. Shivering, she chafed at her arms. “What I’d really like is a hot bath.”

      Bette brightened. “That we can supply.”

      “Really?” Alys glanced down the dank hall. It stank of smoke and past meals and too many people living close together.

      “Hot springs within the mountain. Gowain discovered it shortly after he joined us. ‘Twas he decided ‘twould make a good place for us to wash clothes and such. He and Darcy like to soak in them,” she added as she lit a torch from the one on the wall and started down the hall. “Me, I’m not much for such things.” Light flickered as she shivered.

      “The others must share your opinion,” Alys said dryly.

      Bette chuckled. “It does smell a bit ripe when you come in from the outside, but after a bit, the nose gets used to it.” She tromped on in silence through the complicated maze of tunnels.

      “Do you know what time it is?” Alys asked.

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