Chapter 274: Keep Your Head Down
"My lady," he said, his face brightening. "Lord Ashcroft."
"Master Hartwell," Livia replied softly.
Lionel pointed towards a narrow row of shelves screened from the main desk by a cabinet of old chronicles. "There."
Livia nodded and slipped between the shelves. She pulled on the guard’s doublet. The leather was too broad in the shoulders and too stiff across her chest. The hose and boots were awkward, and she had to bind her hair tightly beneath the cap until her scalp ached. When she fastened the short cloak and looked down at herself, she almost laughed. She did not look like a guard.
A few minutes later, she stepped back into view. Master Hartwell looked up. His mouth opened. Lionel turned his head slowly and gave him one fierce glare.
Hartwell immediately lowered his face to his notes.
Lionel moved to the door first. "Keep your head down. Walk like you are bored."
"That explains many of your expressions."
Lionel opened the door. "Walk."
Livia followed. In the corridor, Lionel took the lead. Livia walked behind him with her head slightly lowered, one hand near the belt where a short blade had been placed for appearance rather than use. Another guard trailing Lord Ashcroft through the palace at night did not invite curiosity. People glanced, recognised Lionel, and looked away.
They passed the gallery, and the corridor that led towards the outer court. Livia’s palms grew damp inside the gloves.
They reached the courtyard. Cold air touched Livia’s face, and she nearly faltered. The sky above Whitehall was dark and wide, freedom felt close enough to taste. The outer gate stood ahead. Men moved near it with lanterns, changing watch, speaking low.
Livia had not expected to feel sad. Yet she did. The other women were still inside. Livia told herself that if she escaped, the entire arrangement might stumble. If Theodora found her missing, perhaps the proceedings would halt. Perhaps the women would be spared for one more day.
They crossed the courtyard, and for the first time that night, Livia began to believe that the plan might work.
The great gates of Whitehall gave way with a low groan. London waited outside. She stepped through after Lionel with her head bowed beneath the guard’s cap, her heart pounding.
No one stopped them. Not at first. Livia whispered a quiet thank you to God. She and Lionel had taken only a few steps beyond the gate when a voice rang out behind them.
"Halt!"
Lionel glanced over his shoulder. The change in his face told Livia everything before she turned. Her Grace’s personal guard stood just inside the gatehouse, one hand raised, another man beside him already pointing towards them. Theodora had known. Or she had guessed. Or she had simply watched.
Lionel seized Livia by the arm. "Run."
There was no time to argue. They ran. Whitehall erupted behind them. Shouts rose from the gatehouse. A bell clanged somewhere inside the yard. Men began calling for horses.
Lionel dragged Livia into the street. The borrowed uniform betrayed her almost immediately. The doublet pulled across her chest. The belt dug into her waist. The boots, too large and too stiff, made every stride clumsy.
This was not an experience she would recommend. Lionel kept hold of her, half guiding and half carrying when her pace faltered.
Behind them, the sound of hooves struck the road. Livia’s stomach dropped. The hooves grew louder.
They turned down a narrower lane, splashing through mud and filth near the gutter. A drunk man stumbled out of a doorway, took one look at Lionel’s sword and Livia’s ill-fitting uniform, and wisely chose to fall back inside.
"Lord Ashcroft!" one of the pursuing guards shouted.
Lionel did not answer. He pulled Livia around a cart abandoned near the side of the lane. She nearly slipped, and he caught her before she fell, hauling her upright with such force that her shoulder burned.
"I cannot run in this," she breathed.
"You must."
The horses were too close now. Steel rang behind them as one rider drew his sword. Another shouted to cut them off at the next turning. Lionel looked ahead, then to the side, and Livia saw the calculation in his eyes. They could not outrun mounted men.
He released her arm, drew his sword and stepped in front of her. "Run, my lady."
"I will not leave you."
"You will obey me this once." He faced the oncoming guards, placing himself between her and the horses. "Run."
The first rider reached him. Lionel struck upward, forcing the man to pull hard on the reins. The animal reared, iron shoes flashing in the lamplight. Lionel moved aside just enough to avoid the hooves and slammed the flat of his blade against the rider’s arm.
Another guard dismounted. Then another. The lane filled with bodies, blades, and shouting. Livia took a couple steps away. Then she stopped.
If Lionel was taken after drawing his sword on palace guards while helping her escape Whitehall, Theodora would not need much imagination to destroy him. The charge would write itself. Treason. Assault upon royal officers.
No.
Livia turned back. Lionel was fighting with brutal restraint, which looked more exhausting than killing. He was not trying to cut the men down. He was trying to hold them off, to stop them from passing him, to buy her time without spilling blood that would make his position even worse. One guard lunged; Lionel parried and shoved him back with his shoulder. Another tried to circle him; Lionel turned sharply and blocked the path, forcing him away from Livia.
He was giving her a chance. She could not take it.
"Enough!" Livia yelled.
The clash of swords faltered. One blade remained pressed against Lionel’s. Another guard looked past him towards Livia. The horses stamped and snorted, restless under the harsh grip of their riders.
Lionel turned his head. The fright in his eyes was plain. He looked at Livia as if she had stepped willingly into a grave he had spent the night digging her out of.