Page 59 of Lord of Loyalty

“I’m Yoori… ’tis I.”

“Orpheus. Come and fetch me—your Idiocy awaits you.”

“I’m your Medici, sir, I’m the one you seek.”

The poor wretches’ attempts to pronounce the name were so ridiculous that Will nearly laughed aloud. Then he drew his hands over his face, and groaned inwardly, realizing he must be patient and await the return of Goodwife Cartwright. There was nothing he could do alone.

A movement caught his eye. Someone in a cell at the far end of the room had pushed their fingers between the bars. He could just make out a gold ring on one finger. Odd—because none of the inmates he’d seen thus far had any personal adornment.

His heart beat a rapid tattoo in his chest. The little circle of people surrounding him scattered as he raced the length of the room. One glance at the ring was all he needed.

Isobel clung to the bars in her door, her green eyes filled with tears.

“Will? Oh, thank God! Is it really you?”

He kissed her fingers. “Get this door open, someone!” He looked over his shoulder and saw Goodwife Cartwright bearing down on him, clutching a ledger in her hands.

“Goodwife, I’ve found her. Now, where is that benighted key?”

“I cannot just let you—”

“The key, Woman.” He had to get Isobel out of here—the sight of her in her tiny prison, like a rat in a trap, was killing him.

When Goodwife Cartwright looked as if she were about to refuse again, he growled at her. “Open this door, and you get a whole angel. Open it not, and I’ll see the queen’s closest ministers are informed, as this woman has been unlawfully confined. You’ll lose your position—as will your husband.”

After barely a heartbeat, the key was produced, the door opened, and Isobel was in his arms, clutching at him like one drowning. She held him so tightly that he could hardly breathe.

“Isobel.”

“Will.” She was running her hands over his face, stroking his hair, her green eyes wide with wonder and relief. He couldn’t stop grinning.

“You seem pleased to see me. Does this mean I’m forgiven all my sins?”

“I can’t for the moment remember what they were. They drugged me again, you see.”

“So, there’s hope for me yet.” Hope that blazed like the sun in his heart. Forgetting the many eyes trained on him, he sought Isobel’s lips in a frenzied kiss.

She stilled against him, her hands settling tightly around his waist as she opened her mouth to his and drew him in, drinking from his lips as if she would never be satisfied. He rocked her, clung to her, and kissed her. When he felt moist tears on his cheek, he knew not from which of them the tears had come.

Gradually, a sound began to filter through his miasma of joy—a strange, happy gurgling sound. Reluctantly, he dragged his lips away from Isobel’s and stared around. All the inmates in the cells had their faces pressed against the bars, some grinning and laughing, others open-mouthed in shock.

Will’s little group of admirers was bearing down on him again.

“Let us conclude our business outside.” A red-faced Goodwife Cartwright led them back to the main door and called for a servant to go in and quieten everyone down.

As the clamor of the inmates faded behind them, Will kept tight hold of Isobel’s hand. After so many frustrating days of searching, he wasn’t sure he could ever let it go again.

Goodwife Cartwright took them into a small building on the opposite side of the exercise yard.

Eager to avoid any further delay, Will said, “I’ve found what I came for. What do I need to sign?”

The keeper’s wife ignored him and turned to Isobel. “Do you know this gentleman?”

“I most assuredly do.” Isobel’s voice sounded weak, shaking with emotion.

“He wants to take you away from here, without your family’s consent, and before you are well. It is most irregular.”

Isobel’s head snapped up. “There was never anything wrong with me. I kept telling you, but you refused to believe me and continued pouring some kind of soporific elixir into my ale. How much did Hubert Pike pay you, I wonder?”