Desert Leopard by Doris Sutcliffe Adams

Author:Doris Sutcliffe Adams
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2016-06-07T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

“I led you like a collared hound”

In the weaving-house were comfort and peace and sanity like a glimpse of Heaven; the clear little flames of the rush-lights easting their mellow radiance over the bed; the dark heads of RoaId and Drogo side by side, and the lady grave and still and watchful on the bench beyond. Yet her bow rested against the bench by her left hand, strung and waiting; arrows lay by her knee, and as the door flung open she came to her feet, her hand at her dagger. He shut the door and leaned against the wall, his heart thumping hideously, his face sick and white with evil knowledge. They stared at each other, and Roald stirred slightly between them.

“What is it?” she whispered tensely.

It was difficult to utter the monstrous truth, and the words jerked painfully from his throat. “Treachery—Alain! He has strangled Avelina—Avelina—and sold us!”

“Alain—that gutted herring!”

It had been a mistake to despise Alain, a mistake to accept him as the spineless bungler he appeared to be. “He has sold us!” Milo repeated. “Embroiled us, lied to us, betrayed us to Denys’s brother! Will you not believe me?”

“I will,” said Roald calmly, lifting his head a little from the pillow. “What now, Milo?”

“We must take the manor. I have sent to warn Ancel. Quietly, if we can, before he learns that we know.”

“How many men has he ?” Roald went straight to the point. Beside him Drogo moved and muttered protestingly, in the deep sleep of childhood, and Lady Richildis came closer, her dark face hard and troubled as she looked from one man to the other.

“A score at least. Herfast’s routiers by their ripeness for a hempen halter. God’s Grace, if they fall on Ancel ere I can warn him—”

“They will not do that,” said Lady Richildis dryly. “In a strange hold, and suspicious already. Have no fear for Ancel.” Drogo muttered again, rolled over, and opened accusing dark eyes. He screwed them up against the light, blinked owlishly at his mother, caught sight of Milo and bounced from his bed in his skin with a squeal of delight and ran to him. Milo moved from the door to catch him, and hugged him in fierce protective tenderness, his whole heart going out to him, gallant and gay and loyal like young Hugh who had died in the woods. Some of the weight of horror eased then, as he looked on Roald, smiling and astonished, and the lady, steadfast and puzzled. Here were truth and honour, strong rock in the shifting morass of intrigue and betrayal and murder, and in the strong little body in his arms a spontaneous affection that Alain could not touch. He drew a long breath as he released him.

“Get you back to bed, imp,” he said softly. “This is no work for you.”

The boy drew back, held him by the arms and lifted his face. “Danger?” he asked, reading Milo’s white face aright. “Cousin Alain?”

“None other,” agreed Milo, praying that Ancel would make haste.

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