Rescue for a Queen by Fiona Buckley

Author:Fiona Buckley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Suspense
Publisher: Creme de la Crime
Published: 2013-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

The Third Wine Cellar

Anne Percy had once been – indeed, theoretically still was – the Countess of Northumberland. She was accustomed to houses with great halls approached through ante-rooms, long galleries and a choice of parlours according to the weather or the importance or otherwise of visitors. She was used to private chapels, warren-like kitchens full of cooks and scullions on whom she never set eyes, and deer parks in which to ride and hunt.

The furnished house she had rented in the town of Bruges must have felt to her like a hovel.

It did have an arched street entrance leading into a small courtyard, but this was so very small that plain yard described it better and it was overlooked by taller houses opposite and to either side. I was pulled off my horse at the foot of the steps to the front door proper, and marched inside, to find myself in what most people would call an ordinary-sized house, though I didn’t think Lady Anne of Northumberland would agree with them.

Through a half-open door I glimpsed a cramped and sparsely furnished parlour, though the small hearth had a cheerful fire and I caught sight of a spinet. I couldn’t see where the kitchen was but I smelt onions cooking and bread baking. Somewhere, a child was crying and I thought I heard a girl’s voice soothing it. A maidservant scurried down a flight of stairs and crossed our path, giving me a quick, furtive glance on the way and I saw a couple of faces peering inquisitively over a gallery at the top of the stairs. My arrival had been expected, of course. The young messenger, whose name I never heard, had ridden on ahead during the last stage, to announce that we were coming.

Ulverdale was my escort as we went through the house, gripping my left arm in strong and unkind fingers. My bonds had been removed at the front door but I had been roped during the ride to Bruges, elbows bound to sides and feet tied to stirrups. We changed horses twice, in order to keep up our speed, Ulverdale said, and then I was lifted down outside the gate and kept out of sight of inn and stable staff. I told Ulverdale that my original horse was Ridolfi’s property. ‘It will be returned to him. I am not a horse thief,’ said Ulverdale curtly.

It was over fifty miles to Bruges and it took us seven hours. The man that Brockley had wounded managed to ride with us for some distance but was left at the inn where we first changed mounts. Ulverdale, his undamaged colleague and the young messenger snatched some food and drink at the inns but they didn’t give me any, and once, when it was imperative that I should dismount and be private for a few minutes, I had to argue with them before, reluctantly, they helped me down and undid my bonds while I withdrew behind a tree. They were waiting, ropes in hand, when I emerged.

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