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well-guarded gate.
    “You're not thinking of trying to get in there?” Deliverance whispered.
    Luke didn’t respond but his gaze roamed the castle walls.
    “How much you sellin' them eggs for?”
    A woman's voice at her elbow startled Deliverance, almost causing her to drop the basket. A stout matron waited expectantly.
    “How many do you want?”
    “A dozen. Are they fresh?” The woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
    “Fresh today, lady,” Luke replied.
    “A shilling then, for a dozen,” the woman said.
    “Fine,” Deliverance agreed,
    The woman looked surprised. She had evidently expected to haggle. Deliverance concluded the transaction while Luke waited behind her. When the woman had gone away, evidently pleased with her bargain, Deliverance turned back to Luke.
    “Stay here and sell your eggs,” he said.
    Deliverance looked up at his determined, grimy and unshaven face, and a shiver of fear ran down her spine. She wanted to say, “Don't leave me here by myself” but that sounded childish. She had volunteered for this adventure and she would see it through with the true courage of a Felton.
    “Be careful,” she said.
    “If you sell all your eggs before I'm back, meet me in the porch of that church.” Luke indicated the spire of St. Laurence. “And if I'm not there before the clock strikes twelve, leave without me.”
    “Will an hour be long enough?” Deliverance looked around the crowded market square, noting the large number of soldiers in blue uniform coats.
    “It should be plenty of time.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Stay out of trouble, Mistress Felton.”
    She watched him walk away, her gaze following him until he was lost in the bustling crowd.
    Word had evidently got around that her eggs were cheap and Deliverance sold them all within half an hour. She wandered around the market square pretending to be interested in the produce, all the while watching for anything that might be of interest to Luke. She had been to Ludlow market many times in the peaceful years but now the familiar bustle of farmers and townsfolk had been padded out with armed troops who all looked better equipped than the rabble Farrington had set down in front of her gate.
    She looked up at the clock. The hour of twelve approached so she set off at a brisk pace to the church of St. Laurence, the beautiful medieval building, with a square tower that rose high above the roofs of the town. The presence of more soldiers surrounding the porch of the church and bristling with weapons and smart new uniforms, slowed her step. The church had evidently been appropriated for military purposes.
    “Now then, goodwife, move along,” one of the soldiers said as she hesitated at the gate to the churchyard.
    “I came here to pray,” Deliverance responded. “How dare ye turn a house of God into a ... what are you doing with it?”
    “Gunpowder store,” the man said.
    “Oh, that's shameful,” Deliverance said, guiltily recalling the chapel at Kinton Lacey, presently lined with barrels of powder. “And what need 'ave ye for such a large store? From what I 'ear tell in the market, there's only a handful of rebels in this county.”
    “Aye, and it's Sir Richard's intention to blast 'em to hell,” the man replied. “He's ordered a siege gun to deal with the bastards.”
    “A siege gun? And what's so special about a siege gun?”
    “Ah lady, ‘tis the length of two men with a mouth that a grown man can put his head in. God have mercy on the rebels, is all I can say.”
    Deliverance’s guts clenched. God have mercy on them indeed.
    “And when is this 'ere gun to arrive?” Deliverance asked.
    The men looked at each other. “Why it came yesterday, lady. Ye'll find it outside the town walls on the water meadow.”
    “Really?”
    “Aye. Not seen it myself but they say 'tis too big to bring into the town.”
    Deliverance glanced down the street and a wave of relief washed over her at the sight of a familiar greasy hat that