‘Stinks a bit.’ Johanna screwed up her nose and set a hand on Ned’s broad shoulders, almost caressingly. ‘And it will be a tight squeeze. You don’t really intend to drop Mistress Gwenn down that, do you, Captain?’

‘I do.’

She drew her head back, revolted, and shook it decisively. ‘I wouldn’t go. What makes you think she will?’ Johanna’s jealousy had set Gwenn down as a vain, over-indulged knight’s daughter who’d not sully her clothes for anything.

‘She’ll go if I have to throw her,’ Ned said, ‘but I doubt I’ll have to resort to force.’

‘And you? Do you go too?’

‘Aye. I will protect her. And the children. Gwenn is my life,’ he declared with painful clarity.

A sharp cry and the pounding of a multitude of booted feet had his head twisting round.

Johanna swallowed down a rush of bile. Confronted so blatantly with Ned Fletcher’s blind devotion to Gwenn Herevi, she had no option but to concede defeat. Sourly, she reflected that from the beginning she had not had a hope of winning his affection. But while Johanna was able, albeit reluctantly, to dismiss her dreams of winning Ned Fletcher’s heart, she could not find it in her to like her rival. And she continued to love him. The privy shaft yawned, a hell of an escape route, but the only one he had. François de Roncier’s reputation being what it was, Johanna had little doubt that he would give no quarter to St Clair’s English captain. Count François de Roncier would have Ned Fletcher spitted on a sword sooner than he’d blink.

Holding Philippe fast in one arm, Johanna took Ned’s hand. Blue eyes met hers, and the fair brows lifted in faint surprise. Johanna shivered. She’d like to remember Ned’s eyes shining and bright, not clouded in death. Gently, for his hand was hurt and she was savouring the warmth his skin, Johanna guided the candle he was holding towards the unfinished privy shaft.

‘This privy’s a mite wider, Captain,’ she informed him, huskily, ‘on account of it not being finished. The carpenter has yet to fix the wooden seat. But I fear it is doubtful whether you would fit down even this one.’ Her eyes lingered on Ned’s face and shoulders as though she would brand an image of him in her brain for all time.

‘And as this one has not been christened, it’s clean,’ Ned pointed out with a wry grin.

‘I’m ready,’ Gwenn announced from the door arch. She had a bundle and sheets under one arm, and her sister was attached to the other. Releasing Katarin, she removed an object from her sister’s clutch.

‘What’s that?’ Ned demanded. They could only take what was absolutely necessary.

A stubborn chin inched up. ‘Grandmama’s statue.’

‘Jesu, Gwenn! We’re running for your brother’s life and you’d weigh us down with that millstone?’

‘The Stone Rose is coming.’

‘Jesu!’

Gwenn wrapped the statue in a torn sheet, stalked to the privy and without another word, lobbed both bundles down the half-constructed shaft.

Johanna’s jaw dropped. ‘You don’t balk at going down, mistress?’

‘To save him,’ Gwenn nodded at the babe nestling Johanna’s arms, ‘I’d spit in the Devil’s eye. But I’ll go down the new one, if you don’t mind, Johanna.’

‘Mistress?’

‘Stand aside, will you? You’re blocking my way. See, Katarin?’ Gwenn said, beginning to wind a sheet about her sister. Ned helped, tying the knots as securely as he could. ‘We’re going to climb–’

‘What about the rest of us?’ Klara wailed from the archway. ‘You’re not leaving the rest of us to be carved into pieces, are you?’ The other women crowded up.

‘Don’t leave us,’ Bella pleaded over Klara’s shoulder.

Ned looked impatient. ‘De Roncier’s not interested in you. It’s St Clair’s heir he’s after.’

‘But he’s murdering them all downstairs!’

Gwenn stepped forwards. ‘He’s trying to get to my brother, don’t you see? It’s vital we get Philippe out of here.’

‘Take us!’

‘I want to go!’

‘Damn,’ Ned muttered in an undertone. ‘They’d never keep up.’

‘Listen, Klara,’ Gwenn said. ‘I can’t stop you following us, if you want to try and escape. But I swear de Roncier won’t harm you. And it would help if you’d stay and put him off the scent.’ Deliberately, she turned her back on the archway and the muttering women, and held out her hand to her sister.

Katarin stood dumb, thumb filling her mouth.

‘She seems to have lost her tongue,’ Gwenn sighed. ‘Send her after me would you, Ned?’

‘Perhaps I should go first,’ Ned said. He had estimated the drop to be fifteen, perhaps twenty feet at most. ‘Then I could catch her.’

A frenzied pounding heralded the beginning of the assault on the solar door. ‘No, Ned. Me first. Then Philippe, I know I can catch him. Then you, and Katarin last. It will reassure her to see her brother go down before her.’

‘Aye. I trust the Count would spare her, if he broke in before we got her away.’ Ned shot an agonised glance at the beleaguered door.

Johanna watched as Gwenn lifted her skirts and swung slim legs over the rim of the shaft. She would never understand why Ned Fletcher had taken a fancy to such a skinny girl. A woman’s thighs should be soft, not firm and muscled like a boy’s. It must be something to do with all that riding the girl did.

Ned stretched his long length on the floor beside the opening. He grasped Gwenn’s hands. ‘I’ll lower you as far as I can, Gwenn, before I let you go.’

His brow was puckered with worry for her. He had called her Gwenn. Johanna’s heart ached. And because she couldn’t bear to see the pain on Ned’s face, she occupied herself with swaddling the infant as securely as she could in a coverlet taken from his cradle.

‘See you in a minute, Katarin,’ Gwenn said brightly. ‘Goodbye, Johanna.’

Johanna looked up, ‘God speed, mistress.’

And then Gwenn’s head ducked out of Johanna’s view, and so, for a moment, did Ned’s. There was a pause while he released Gwenn and strained his eyes after her. Johanna stared longingly at his back.

‘Hell, I can’t see her. Where’s that light?’ he demanded, harshly. Johanna slid it across with her foot. Ned cupped his hands to his mouth, ‘Gwenn! Gwenn!’

A groan. Scuffling. It occurred to Johanna that in all likelihood she would never see Gwenn Herevi again. ‘Sounds like rats,’ she said.

‘Gwenn!’ Ned repeated, desperately. ‘Gwenn!’

‘I’m down safe.’ Distorted by twenty feet of rock, Gwenn’s answer was hollow, but firm.

Ned’s brow cleared. ‘She’s safe,’ he said, and smiled at Johanna, expecting her to share his pleasure.

Johanna might never see him again, either. ‘Aye,’ she said, with a wan smile and bent her head over Philippe. She had left a small portion of the infant’s face showing. Feeling as though her chest would burst, she dropped a farewell kiss on the tiny nose before folding the last corner of the coverlet over his face. He was wrapped as neatly as a butterfly in its cocoon.

‘Hand me the babe.’

Philippe began to squall. Johanna hesitated.

‘Hand me the babe.’

‘He feels suffocated.’

‘It’s only for a moment. Here.’ Striding over, Ned relieved Johanna of her precious burden and set him in the hollow of a looped sheet. He leaned over the shaft. ‘Ready, Gwenn?’

Back came the hollow answer. ‘Ready.’

And then Philippe was gone. Johanna’s vision swam.

‘Johanna!’ Ned was bending over her, gripping her arm.

She wiped her face, sniffed. ‘Aye?’

The battering continued. Ned flung a harried look across the solar. ‘Holy Mother, they’re almost through. Listen, Johanna. It’s my turn. I’m relying on you to send the child after me.’ He was at the head of the shaft.

‘I will. No sheet for you, Captain?’

‘No time. Besides, you couldn’t bear my weight.’

Ah, would that I could... He was going. Johanna knew they would never meet again.

‘Farewell,’ Ned said over his shoulder, and peered down the pit. ‘All’s well, Gwenn?’