The Scoundrel by Claire Delacroix

Author:Claire Delacroix
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Published: 2012-11-03T04:21:22+00:00

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Fiona would have claimed the gem, of this I was certain. I had seen the greedy gleam in her eyes when the crucifix fell out of the package. She would have let no other lay a hand upon it.

I had only to find her. Gawain muttered a curse behind me. I smiled to myself when his footfalls echoed softly behind me, liking that I had not misread the gallantry he liked to hide.

I tiptoed through the hall, looking at this face and another, dodging dogs and bones left upon the floor. It was disgusting that the hall had been reduced to such squalor in a single night. My temptation was to rouse the lot of them and set them to cleaning their own mire.

I restrained myself with an effort, well aware of Gawain silently stalking me. He exuded exasperation and I feared his thoughts alone would wake those around me.

One man snored and rolled over, flinging his hand across the floor before me. I halted, heart hammering, fearing he was not truly asleep and meant to seize my ankle. A dog rose and shook itself, regarded us with disinterest, then trod circles in the rushes and went back to sleep with a sigh. The man slumbered even as I stepped carefully over his arm.

The sky had lightened and I knew I had not much time. Fiona was not in the hall. I glanced up the stairs, wondering whether she had been so bold as to take my own bed. She had made comments aplenty over the years as to the softness of its mattresses, always compared with the meanness of her straw pallet.

And why not? Who would halt her?

“No,” Gawain whispered urgently, evidently guessing my intent. I felt him snatch at my wrist, but I was gone, dashing up the stairs as quickly and quietly as I could.

I dared to glance back from the summit, and found him fast behind me, eyes flashing with rare anger. He caught me against him from behind and hustled me through the doorway at the top of the stairs, his words against my ear.

“Would you prefer to die?” he demanded. His arms were tight around my waist and we huddled together in the shadows pooled in the corridor. “I cannot believe you are so witless as to not understand the peril of our situation. There will be prices upon our heads as soon as our escape is discovered.”

“I must have the crucifix,” I repeated stubbornly. “I know Fiona will have it and I would wager that she has claimed my bed, too. If she wears the gem, you will have a challenge to steal it.”

“Ah.” Gawain smiled at the prospect, his eyes bright, then held up a finger to caution me.

We stood motionless for what seemed an eternity. Gawain left me, my back chilling with his absence, and moved with silent grace to the portal of what had been Fergus’ solar. He listened intently, then held up two fingers and made a gesture to indicate someone sleeping.

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