Page 63 of The Earl

Chapter 26

“Oh dear.”

As the outer walls of Heath Castle came into view, Cait’s bravado of the past few days began to wane. Although the castle itself was most impressive, it wasn’t the structure or its proximity to London that gave her pause.

Bright white tents littered the landscape for as far as she could see. Not even the battle at Dromsley Castle had prepared her for this sight.

“There must be . . .”

She could not guess.

“Over a thousand men,” Conrad finished for her. “And more are striking southward toward the Sussex coast. We’re prepared to seize a port where our foreign allies may land.”

She slowed, her hands shaking.

“Conrad . . .”

It had not precisely felt real until this moment. She’d only seen this many knights and warriors in one place on one previous occasion.

And that had not ended well. Not at all.

“We have been preparing for this for a long time,” Conrad said softly, his tone encouraging. “All has gone according to plan.”

It wasn’t true, of course—neither of them had forgotten about the bishop’s disclosure. Her father and brother had regularly downplayed the danger of their missions, something she and her mother had bemoaned together.

But if it allowed Conrad some measure of peace, to imagine she believed all would be well, then she’d not chastise him for it.

“I know you have,” she said, reassuring him more than herself. “But . . .”

Though the dirt road on which they traveled remained clear, they were surrounded by the clashing of swords and shouting of commands. It was impossible to forget what had brought them here.

And then it began.

A low murmur at first, Cait not understanding what was happening.

It became louder and louder, the chant clearer with each step forward. Could it be? Did her ears deceive her?

When Conrad raised his fist in the air, a cry went up that nearly unseated her.

“Licheford!”

They were calling his name.

And why not?

Conrad and a few important rebels had made this happen. She looked over at him again, attempting to reconcile the man, chin raised, jaw locked, with the one whose arms she’d slept in these past nights.

She could not do it.

“Licheford!” they cried, the name echoing into the early evening sky. Cait shuddered as the drawbridge was lowered for them.

Lord Sarnac, former constable of the Tower of London and one of the order’s earliest supporters, greeted them just inside the gates. At least, she assumed the man sitting atop one of the largest destriers she had ever seen was their host.

She shuddered again.

Conrad had described the lord of Heath Castle to her, but the man looked much more ferocious in person, his long, dark hair as straight as his horse’s mane.

Thankfully, he appeared to be alone.