Tiny hairs prickled on the back of my arms as Bran and I exchanged a stunned look.
Had we changed history, or only aided in its inevitable outcome? If we had never traveled here, would Henry still one day call for Becket’s death? Or had we only changed the catalyst which would drive Henry to murder, pitting wife against friend? I had no time to process this. Eustace Clarkson had dropped the heavy beam across the door. Collum reached for the plain, serviceable blade Bran had procured for him. Bran withdrew his curved blades, while William lunged forward and seized Rachel’s tied wrists. With a twist, he wrenched her to her feet and flung her in my direction. I caught her, and in seconds Phoebe had sawed through Rachel’s bonds.
William ripped his sword from its scabbard as Eustace Clarkson’s eyes followed Rachel. When he yanked a heavy gladiator blade from his belt, the tendons in Collum’s neck went tight.
“That sword,” he said, “belongs to me.”
Eustace grinned, little baked-bean teeth showing between his thick lips. “Then come and claim it, thief.”
The world held its breath. Though dozens of candles lit the room, not even their tiny flames dared to flicker. I looked to the queen, who held the barely conscious Hectare in her arms. With a hiss of hatred, William Lucie launched himself at Eustace.
While Eustace parried the blow, Collum and Bran engaged the other guards. Sparks erupted where steel met steel. A table tumbled over. A writhing mass of limbs bashed into one of the large braziers, sending it hurtling to the ground. Red-hot coals skittered across the floor and smoked on the animal skins.
Eleanor dragged Hectare away from the fray, protecting the old woman as she shrieked for her guards, calling for help that would not come.
“Hope!” Phoebe raised my mother to her feet as the clash of blades filled the room. “We have to get Sarah out of here. Now.”
“What?”
I ripped my gaze from the fight to see my mother staring at me with terrified eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“What are you talking about, Mom?”
“There’s . . . there’s something I should’ve told you,” she said.
Too distracted by the battle being waged only feet from us, I didn’t have time for confession. I waved her off. “It’s all right, Mom.”
“No, Hope,” she urged. “You must—”
She cried out and bent double, hands white-knuckled on her bulging stomach. Beside me, Rachel made a low hum of distress. Jerking on my arm, she drew my attention to the floor beneath my mother’s feet.
I looked down. What I saw nearly sent me to my knees. There, spreading across the flagstones, was a growing pool of pink, watery fluid.
“Mistress Hope,” Rachel said. “The babe, it is coming.”
Chapter 39
NO. NONONO. NOT THIS. NOT NOW.
A shout jerked my attention back to the other side, where Bran had just sidestepped one of the guards. With his lithe cat’s grace, he spun and brought the hilt of his weapon down on the back of the man’s skull. The man dropped like a bag of sand. Collum was slashing furiously at a red-haired giant, who battered at him with superior muscle power.
Bran ran to Collum’s aid, and the two of them worked in tandem. The brutish guard leaped forward to smash a chainmailed fist into Bran’s left side. Bran yelped, and dropped to a knee. Seeing his advantage, the giant rallied. Driving toward us, he slashed and beat at Collum, who seemed to be tiring, his movements going sluggish.
Phoebe snarled, struggling to draw out her throwing blades. One arm still around my mother’s waist, she flicked one of the knives through the air. It whistled past Collum’s ear. The giant stumbled back, then slid down the wall, blood bubbling around the small blade protruding from his throat.
Both boys turned to Phoebe, Bran’s eyes wide in admiration. When Collum heaved him to his feet, Bran gave a low whistle and told him, “Remind me not to get on your sister’s bad side, mate.”
Across the room, the queen knelt near the bed, shielding Hectare’s body with her own, while Collum and Bran joined William who was battling the last, ferret-faced guard. They were winning, and I allowed myself a tiny bit of hope that we might get out of here after all.
But I’d forgotten about Eustace, who’d stayed by the door on the edge of the fray. Before I could call out, he dashed around the battling men and bolted across the room to where we stood near the far corner. He wrenched Rachel from our midst. Drawing her back up against him, he set the edge of his sword against her throat.
“Stop,” Eustace called out. “Or I slit the Jew’s throat.”