“I dunnae want anything to drink,” Godfrey answered, voice unbending.
“As ye wish,” Maria murmured.
Marsaili’s heart raced as Godfrey led her to the chair. When they were almost there, she said, “Ye may release me now. I’m feeling much better.”
Godfrey gave a clipped nod and relinquished his hold on her. The moment he did, she cried out, “Oh my,” swayed on her feet, and crumpled forward to her knees. Immediately Godfrey’s hand came to her shoulder.
“My lady, are ye—”
The loud crack of the iron knocking against the man’s skull resounded in the room.
“Watch out!” Maria called. As Marsaili scrambled to lunge out of the way, Godfrey’s falling body brushed past her, and he fell forward and hit the floor with a hard thud.
She sucked in a jagged breath as she scampered back and then upright. Maria was standing beside her, heaving breaths, her hand still clutching the candelabra, before Marsaili had even fully regained her balance. They stared at the fallen man in silence. His face was turned to them, eyes closed and mouth parted with a line of drool already starting to run from his lips. A bright trail of blood from the cut on his head trickled across his cheekbone and dripped off his chin.
“Do ye think he’s dead?” Marsaili asked. She’d never killed anyone, and she prayed Godfrey was not the first. Though the man had intended to take her to the earl, he was only doing his lord’s bidding.
Maria’s answer was to nudge the man in the shoulder with the tip of her shoe. When he did not move or make any sound, she bent over him and pressed her fingers to his neck.
“What are ye doing?” Marsaili asked.
“Seeing if his heart still beats.”
“Does it?” Marsaili tried to catch her breath while waiting for the answer.
“Aye,” Maria said with a satisfied nod. She stood, brushed her hands down her skirt, and then dashed across the room to a table littered with herbs. “Help me,” the woman said, gathering the herbs into her hands and putting them in a leather satchel. “We may need these.”
Marsaili hurried to Maria and shoved several handfuls of the herbs into Maria’s bag. “We have to flee,” Marsaili rushed out, her gut knotted with tension.
“Aye.” Maria glanced around the room. “I wish we could take bundles, but we kinnae chance being seen with them. It would cause suspicion.”
Marsaili nodded. “At least the cold nights of winter are behind us. Do ye have any weapons in here?”
Maria offered a sly smile before drawing up her skirts. She took a dagger from a holder strapped to her right leg. “Ye can have this one. There’s also one on my left leg.”
Marsaili took the dagger with a smile, lifted her own skirts, and put the weapon in the empty holder tied around her calf with a bit of rope.
“Are ye always prepared to carry a weapon?” Maria asked with a snigger.
“Aye. If only I always had a weapon to carry. I’m certain a lot of what has befallen me could have been avoided that way. Come. We’ll take the woods to the west of here so that we dunnae have to enter the castle again.”
“Agreed,” Maria said, and without any more talk, the women departed the healing room and headed for the dark tunnels instead of the stairs. Marsaili had always avoided the tunnels when she lived at the castle because they were filled with mice, spiderwebs, and snakes, and today was no exception. Mice scampered across the ground as they ran, and she broke through more than one spiderweb. By the time they exited the tunnel, webbing clung to her face, her hair, and her arms. She shuddered, pausing to pull it off her when Maria suddenly clutched her.
“Down!” Maria hissed. Marsaili started to ask why, but then she heard men’s voices.
They both dropped to their hands and knees, and crawled quickly toward a tree. Just as they hid behind it, two of her father’s guards rounded the corner from the direction of the stables. Once they passed and were out of sight, Marsaili and Maria ran for the woods, and just as they reached the thick brush, one of her father’s men stepped out of the copse of trees, tugging up his pants.
She didn’t recognize him, and by the grin he gave her, he didn’t know her, either. “Maria,” he slurred, obviously having imbibed in too much drink, “who is the fetching lass ye have here, and where are the two of ye off to?”
Maria smiled, tugging her bodice low as she had before, which drew the man’s gaze and offered Marsaili the opportunity to discreetly lift her skirt and retrieve her dagger as Maria spoke to the guard.
“So,” Maria finished, drawing out the word, “we are heading to pick those rare flowers.”
The guard’s brows drew together. “I kinnae let ye enter the woods alone. I’ll attend ye.”
“That will nae be necessary,” Marsaili said, which got the guard to turn toward her. At the exact moment he did, she knocked him above the eye with the hilt of her dagger, but the man did not crumple as she had hoped he would. For one breath, he appeared shocked and then anger swept his face. He reached for his sword, and as he did, Maria, who had moved behind him, hit him over the head with her own dagger. He fell to one knee, sword in hand, and though it turned Marsaili’s stomach to hurt him, she knew he would foil their plan of escape if she did nothing. She knocked him over the head once more, and he fell forward into the dirt.
She and Maria exchanged a long look as he lay there motionless, and with a thumping heart, Marsaili dropped to the ground and started trying to roll him toward the thick brush to hide him from the other guards.
