Read The Rose at Twilight for Free Online Page A

you have yourself to know the answer to the riddle, and though your father will not speak to me, he may speak to you.”
    A shiver raced up and down Alys’s spine at these innocent words. “I hope he may,” she said. “He spoke to me in the past only when I had misbehaved and was to be punished. Even though he now lies dying, I fear my tongue will fly to the roof of my mouth and cling there like it did then, and my lips will grow too stiff to move. He used to demand that I recite my misdeeds to him, and when I would be unable to obey, he would punish me all the more for what he called my ‘stubborn insolence.’”
    “Well, ’tis certain sure he will not like it that you have entered a house of sickness,” Jonet said wisely, “but if he is as ill as the Welshman says, you have no need to fear his wrath, and mayhap he will tell you what we want to know. But sithee, child, come now and sleep whilst tha’ may.”
    Alys nodded, then rapidly said her prayers and stood, letting Jonet divest her of the fur-lined surcoat and her overdress. Then, still wearing her linen smock, she crawled beneath the furs, and no sooner had her head touched the pallet than she was fast asleep.
    She resisted when Jonet attempted to waken her some hours later, but her henchwoman was persistent, stifling Alys’s protests with one hand while she shook her with the other. At last Alys stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes. The lantern had been put out, and there was scarcely any light within the tent. Nonetheless, she kept low when she climbed from the pallet and donned her overdress, fearing, however unreasonably, to cast a shadow that would be seen from outside. Not caring in the least now for fashion but only for ease of movement, she tightened her belt at her natural waist and bunched the top of her skirt up over it so that the long front hem would not trip her when she walked. Then she picked up Merion’s cloak from the floor, the icy chill in the air making it impossible to disdain its protection any longer, and stepped toward the entrance.
    Jonet stopped her with a warning hand to her elbow. “Sentry,” she whispered.
    Nodding, Alys turned to the rear of the tent and dropped the cloak to find an exit. Silent effort was required from both of them, but they found it possible to lift the rear wall of the tent enough to enable Alys first to make sure the way was clear and then to roll out. She refused even to contemplate the damage done to her gown by the muddy ground beneath her.
    Once outside, she took the cloak when Jonet pushed it out under the canvas, and got carefully to her feet. The fires in the central clearing had died to beds of glowing embers now, and the camp appeared to be asleep. Even as the thought crossed her mind, however, a movement to her left froze her in place. She held her breath until the sentry had passed the opening between her tent and the one next to it. As nearly as she could tell, he had not so much as looked her way.
    Moving as swiftly as she dared, she stepped away from the circle of tents, remembering that the horses and no doubt another sentry or two were on the opposite side. The mist had thickened overhead, and the moon no longer shone at all. Alys paused only long enough to don the cloak, which was long for her and brushed the ground; then she hurried on. The farther she moved from the camp, the darker it became. She could hear the river now, however, and knew she had only to keep it on her right as she moved uphill, away from the firelight. The dense, black bulk of the castle was barely discernible ahead, but it was enough.
    She stumbled over uneven ground more than once, and stiff bracken fronds tried to attach themselves to the hem of the cloak, forcing her to lift it higher, lest the noise of her passage draw attention. She wondered how many sentries there were and if there would be guards at the castle gates. There would be, she decided. That was not a detail Sir Nicholas would have overlooked. The