to move things along.
She thought about how Willa’s men eyed her when they heard her depraved plans. How much time do we have? A knot rose in her throat. They had to start digging from this end – right now.
The bottom door slat scraped open, and Gwen jumped. Half asleep, Adelaide sprang up, then scrambled on hands and knees to grab the things passed through, and Gwen had the presence of mind to study the layout of the cell while there was a little light.
“Please, I beg you,” Adelaide implored the jailer, her mouth near the slat. “You’ve given only one serving. We are two now.”
“That’s all you’ll get. Make do.”
“Wait, sir!” Gwen got down on the floor near the queen. “Please, we are both suffering with our monthlies.” Adelaide looked at her, startled, but Gwen shook her head and forged on. “We have need of rags and a bucket or two of water.”
The door slat closed.
“I don’t understand,” Adelaide whispered. “I’m not––”
“Shhh, I have a plan.” Gwen took the queen’s arm and moved her away from the door. “We have been tunneling. Father Warinus and two others are almost here. We must start from this end, near the back wall. We’ll use the buckets to dig – if we get them – otherwise, we’ll use our bare hands.”
“A tunnel? Almost here? Oh, bless you, bless you all!”
Gwen ran her hands over the flooring and found a seam, then started working at the grit and mortar between the stones, prying and digging with her fingers. Adelaide immediately joined her.
Whatever they’d been served smelled delicious, but it would have to wait.
*
Exhaustion overtook Gwen, and she slipped into a sweet sleep, dreaming of Alberto. She saw him on bended knee, his dark hair gleaming in a candlelit room, the stray silver strands in his hair catching the light and twinkling like stars, in magical effect. The stuff of dreams. He held himself proudly before someone, a helmeted man in full armor, receiving the tap of a broadsword on his shoulders, the mark of knighthood.
“Arise, Duke Alberto,” the man intoned.
Alberto stood and turned to Gwen, smiling, his dark brown eyes filled with warmth and love. Then they happily walked outside to a yellow sports car and drove away, Gwen at the wheel.
Soon, they were barreling down a two-lane road. Highway 1. The California coast. Blue-gray ocean beyond, sparkling sea green waters close to shore. Gwen reached over to Alberto. Her breath caught. The passenger seat was empty!
The car sped faster and faster, out of control, crashing through a fence and plunging over a cliff, careening toward the water.
Gwen felt herself falling, falling, a feeling of weightlessness in her gut. The ocean was coming straight at her, the waves rising to meet her, and she screamed. Just before hitting the water, her body lurched, and she jolted back to wakefulness, sweating, heart pounding.
She couldn’t let go of her fright, closing her eyes again and trying to relive the dream, to find Alberto and change the ending, but then she heard Adelaide’s gentle whisper, “Gwen, I am here. Fear not. We shall escape.”
“I know,” Gwen lied. I don’t know , she thought, still held prisoner by her nightmare, by time itself, by the lack of control she felt and the deep dread it had conjured.
*
Barca staggered into the small clearing where they’d made camp the night before, confronting Ranulf, who had an arrow trained at his chest. Father Warinus stood just behind, holding his sword.
“Barca!” Warinus exclaimed. “Where is Gwendolyn?”
“Help me, please,” he croaked, clutching his head, blood running between his fingers. He leaned against a tree for support, his knees wobbly, his stomach churning.
The priest scrambled to help, questions pouring out of his mouth. “You’re injured! Where is Gwen? What happened?”
Barca’s legs gave out, and he sank to the ground. “They’ve taken her up to the keep.”
“They’ve captured her?” Father
She thought about how Willa’s men eyed her when they heard her depraved plans. How much time do we have? A knot rose in her throat. They had to start digging from this end – right now.
The bottom door slat scraped open, and Gwen jumped. Half asleep, Adelaide sprang up, then scrambled on hands and knees to grab the things passed through, and Gwen had the presence of mind to study the layout of the cell while there was a little light.
“Please, I beg you,” Adelaide implored the jailer, her mouth near the slat. “You’ve given only one serving. We are two now.”
“That’s all you’ll get. Make do.”
“Wait, sir!” Gwen got down on the floor near the queen. “Please, we are both suffering with our monthlies.” Adelaide looked at her, startled, but Gwen shook her head and forged on. “We have need of rags and a bucket or two of water.”
The door slat closed.
“I don’t understand,” Adelaide whispered. “I’m not––”
“Shhh, I have a plan.” Gwen took the queen’s arm and moved her away from the door. “We have been tunneling. Father Warinus and two others are almost here. We must start from this end, near the back wall. We’ll use the buckets to dig – if we get them – otherwise, we’ll use our bare hands.”
“A tunnel? Almost here? Oh, bless you, bless you all!”
Gwen ran her hands over the flooring and found a seam, then started working at the grit and mortar between the stones, prying and digging with her fingers. Adelaide immediately joined her.
Whatever they’d been served smelled delicious, but it would have to wait.
*
Exhaustion overtook Gwen, and she slipped into a sweet sleep, dreaming of Alberto. She saw him on bended knee, his dark hair gleaming in a candlelit room, the stray silver strands in his hair catching the light and twinkling like stars, in magical effect. The stuff of dreams. He held himself proudly before someone, a helmeted man in full armor, receiving the tap of a broadsword on his shoulders, the mark of knighthood.
“Arise, Duke Alberto,” the man intoned.
Alberto stood and turned to Gwen, smiling, his dark brown eyes filled with warmth and love. Then they happily walked outside to a yellow sports car and drove away, Gwen at the wheel.
Soon, they were barreling down a two-lane road. Highway 1. The California coast. Blue-gray ocean beyond, sparkling sea green waters close to shore. Gwen reached over to Alberto. Her breath caught. The passenger seat was empty!
The car sped faster and faster, out of control, crashing through a fence and plunging over a cliff, careening toward the water.
Gwen felt herself falling, falling, a feeling of weightlessness in her gut. The ocean was coming straight at her, the waves rising to meet her, and she screamed. Just before hitting the water, her body lurched, and she jolted back to wakefulness, sweating, heart pounding.
She couldn’t let go of her fright, closing her eyes again and trying to relive the dream, to find Alberto and change the ending, but then she heard Adelaide’s gentle whisper, “Gwen, I am here. Fear not. We shall escape.”
“I know,” Gwen lied. I don’t know , she thought, still held prisoner by her nightmare, by time itself, by the lack of control she felt and the deep dread it had conjured.
*
Barca staggered into the small clearing where they’d made camp the night before, confronting Ranulf, who had an arrow trained at his chest. Father Warinus stood just behind, holding his sword.
“Barca!” Warinus exclaimed. “Where is Gwendolyn?”
“Help me, please,” he croaked, clutching his head, blood running between his fingers. He leaned against a tree for support, his knees wobbly, his stomach churning.
The priest scrambled to help, questions pouring out of his mouth. “You’re injured! Where is Gwen? What happened?”
Barca’s legs gave out, and he sank to the ground. “They’ve taken her up to the keep.”
“They’ve captured her?” Father
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