Rhuddlan by Nancy Gebel Page B

shut with a jarring thud. She
whirled around in surprise and saw Roger of Haworth.
    Although it was disconcerting to discover
that Haworth had materialized before her, she wasn’t frightened.
She didn’t much like him because he had failed to rescue Eleanor
when she had begged him to and it was true she had never seen him
smile—in fact, he looked perpetually angry—but she had heard only
positive things spoken about him. His devotion to the earl was well
known and approved of, and even Alan had commented favorably on his
willingness to demonstrate his martial skills to all the squires
and young knights in the earl’s entourage at a moment’s notice.
“He’ll batter you around pretty well in a mock fight but you’ll
learn more in those five minutes than you will in a week with
someone else,” Alan had once told her enthusiastically.
    “He isn’t here,” Haworth said.
    Gwalaes was confused. “Alan d’Arques? I was
brought a message that he’d arrived…”
    “The message was false.”
    “I don’t understand…”
    Haworth started forward. “You were directed
here to get you out of the way,” he said. He spoke in a normal
voice with just the slightest edge of impatience to it.
    Gwalaes drew her breath in angrily. “Why?”
she demanded. “What’s he doing to her now?”
    Haworth hesitated, momentarily puzzled. Then
he understood what she meant. His lips twisted scornfully. “Is she
all you think about? You’re a very loyal servant.”
    Gwalaes’ chin went up. “I’m hardly her
servant,” she sniffed. “That’s the point the earl doesn’t
realize.”
    “But you’re wrong—he knows it too well,” he
said in a low voice, taking another step towards her. “And he
doesn’t approve.”
    It dawned on Gwalaes that it was she, and not
Eleanor, who might be in danger and suddenly her heart was pounding
faster. She looked behind Haworth and saw that he had dropped the
bar across the door. What was his intent? She thought furiously. If
the door could be barred from the inside then there must be another
way out, probably through the stable master’s rooms. She tried to
recall the layout of this particular corner of the ward without
luck.
    Haworth watched the girl’s expression change
from haughty disdain to fear. His own remained bland but his cold
eyes never moved from her face. Then she looked back at him,
suddenly wary, waiting for him to make his move like a caged bear
waiting for the dogs to come out and harass it. He snorted
contemptuously. “You needn’t fear I intend to ravish you. I
wouldn’t waste my time.”
    “Then, what will you do?” she asked in
a shaking voice.
    In reply, he reached behind his back and drew
forth a long dagger from his belt. The metal gleamed in the
torchlight and reflected briefly in her eyes.
    Several of the horses in the common stall
behind her began to stamp and snort, perhaps disturbed by the
glinting light. The noise spooked her into action. There were only
two directions in which she could run: a short passageway to her
left which led, it seemed in the murky half-darkness, to the tack
room, and a longer corridor to her right which ran past the stalls
and disappeared into black in the distance. She saw that Haworth
stood closer to the shorter passage, and her mind was decided.
Without warning, she turned and ran down the longer aisle.
    At first Haworth merely followed her at a
walk. He knew the way she’d chosen was a dead end; the joke wasn’t
lost on him. But she was a woman and apt to scream so he quickened
his pace. In the wall high above the passageway were narrow windows
through which the bright moon shone. The last few feet were in
darkness, but his eyes adjusted quickly as he came to a halt only
inches away from the stone wall which marked the end of the
building. Gwalaes was nowhere to be seen.
    He cursed audibly and looked around. He heard
nothing but the noisy breaths of the horses on his right. She must
be in the stall with them, he thought;