I kissed her cheek. “Let me entice you further.” I kissed again, and she turned to me, and was about to kiss again, but the horn blew in the camp, and she put two fingers on my lips and gently pushed me away.
“You’re called to supper,” she said. “Don’t be late.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow? So I can collect my kiss?”
A smile crossed her lips. “I promise that I will see you.”
I laughed. “We’ll meet at the fountain of the little goddess. Perhaps we can bathe, and to preserve our modesty each can pretend the other isn’t there.”
I dropped to the ground, picked up my overcoat, and walked with a light heart along the stream, turning every so often to wave, until she disappeared behind the golden screen of the osiers. Dorinda growled at me for my tardy arrival, and beat me thoroughly with her ladle as I served stew to the bandits, and then cut up the lords’ meat and handed it to the outlaw wife who carried the platter to the Oak House. I barely felt the blows.
After my own hurried meal, and the cleaning of the bowls and spoons, I shuffled down into the dungeon with the rest, and made a pillow of my overcoat. The rich scent of her hair still floated in my memory.
Smaragds, I thought ridiculously, and was soon asleep.
I awoke to the fragrance of her hair, and a soft kiss on my lips.
CHAPTER NINE
“Come now, and quietly. I can’t set all these people free, only you.”
I came to my feet swiftly, my overcoat in my hands, suddenly awake and half delirious with joy. She put a finger to her lips to signal silence, and then took my hand and led me through the room toward the stair.
Around me men snored, the rumbling filling the air. Though some stirred uneasily, none woke as I passed. I wondered if I was still dreaming, if this were all some midnight phantasie.
Orlanda went silently up the steep stairs and I followed, and then we were out of the noisome pit and into the realm of cool, fresh air, heavy with dew. The thick cellar door hung open, and Orlanda turned to hand me the lantern and push the door once again into place. I heard the heavy wooden bar nestle into its home, and then Orlanda took the little lantern and led me out of the castle, toward the camp.
“Where are the guards?” I whispered.
“In their beds. Once the prisoners are locked in, there is nothing to guard.”
“We’re going to the camp? Why?” I pointed to where the stream emptied into the valley below. “Why not to the vale?”
Again Orlanda put a finger to her lips, and I fell silent as we padded among the rough dwellings at the foot of the cliff. To my surprise, the dogs of the camp were silent. My heart gave a leap as she paused at the wicker gate to the bandits’ treasury.
“Nay,” I whispered. “The wyverns will tear you to pieces!”
She ignored me and pushed the gate open, and I readied myself to fight murderous animals trained to tear and roast human flesh. But Orlanda passed into the enclosure unmolested and walked onto the portico of the old temple. I followed, saw the monsters lying together in a corner of the yard, and decided Orlanda must have poisoned them.
I didn’t see what Orlanda did to the lock, but I heard it clack open, and then Orlanda pushed into the temple itself. I followed, and in the dim light of the little lantern saw chests and bags set on tables.
Orlanda shoved a leather rucksack into my arms. “Hurry!” she said.
I opened chests and saw silver crowns neatly and lovingly stacked. I found a small coffer with gold royals, and another coffer that held miscellaneous jewelry, among which I recognized the gold chains of Ethlebight’s aldermen. I first emptied the gold royals into the rucksack, then a chest filled with crowns. Overspilling, silver crowns rang off the stone floor.
“No noise!” Orlanda hissed. I took more care with the next coffer, and shook the contents carefully into the rucksack until it was nearly full. Then I poured the jewelry on top and tied down the rucksack’s flap with its leather cords.
“A pity to leave so much behind,” I said.
“Come.” Orlanda led me out of the old temple, and as I shrugged into the rucksack, she turned to lock the door.
The rucksack was heavy, but I knew it held my fortune, and felt willing to bear it to the ends of the earth. While I was adjusting the straps, I heard one of the wyverns give a kind of snort. There was a brief flash of flame, and I almost leaped out of my boots.
Not dead, then, but sleeping. Drugged, presumably, but not to death.
I still felt as if possessed by a dream, as if freedom and fortune were a fantasy that would vanish with the dawn. Orlanda and I left the enclosure, and Orlanda fastened the gate and led me between the treasury and Sir Basil’s house. I walked with care and held my breath, and I did not hear the outlaw stir. We came to the base of the cliff that surrounded the corrie.
“This path goes up to the rim,” Orlanda whispered. Her light played over the stones, and I saw a narrow path I hadn’t noticed on my previous investigations of the scarp.
“There are no guards on top of the cliffs?” I asked.
“Nay,” she said. “Why would there be?”
I followed her and the bobbing light up the trail. The route would have been easy enough in daylight, but at night it was challenging, the path having to twist around large columnar rocks that stood like sentinels over the valley, and which sometimes had to be climbed directly. Pioneers long in the grave had cut hand- and footholds in the rock, and Orlanda was careful to shine the lantern on the hollows that would help me set my hands and feet. There was only one moment when I nearly fell, as the weight of the rucksack threatened to topple me backward while I edged around a column of basalt. One arm flailed, and vertigo clutched me by the throat as I realized I was about to fall, but Orlanda seized my arm and steadied me, and I recovered and, after a moment to catch my breath, continued the climb.
By the time I reached the top of the cliff, any sense that I inhabited a dream had vanished. My chest heaved, and I gasped in cold air scented with the pines that rimmed the corrie. My legs felt like water, held upright only by a fierce act of will. Orlanda waited, a little impatiently, for me to get my breathing in order, and then led me along the ridge that walled the corrie until she found a trail. Our footsteps were muffled by pine needles, and a gentle wind whispered through the spreading boughs overhead. Ahead of them, a grazing hind raised her head in surprise, then bounded away.
“The moon will rise soon, and we will better see our course,” Orlanda said.
“Let us tarry a while,” I said, and caught her hand.
She turned. “Are you still fatigued?” Starlight glittered in her eyes.
“No, mistress,” I said, and took her in my arms. “I desire only to kiss you, and to thank you for my liberty.”
I kissed her gently, then with greater ardor. Her body warmed mine. Her breath had a bright, fresh taste, like juniper berries, and the earthy scent of her hair swam in my senses.
She gave a gasp, then drew away. “Come.” Taking my hand. “We have a long way to go, and Sir Basil will pursue you to hell itself for the sake of the silver on your back.”
We walked along the ridge above a valley, then down into the vale and across a stream. The moon rose and limned the path ahead with delicate traceries of silver, and Orlanda blew out her little lamp. Night birds called, and deer drifted through the night until they were aware of the humans among them, and then fled, bounding. Agile foxes and grumbling badgers crossed our path.