Rob looked up at the sky; dawn was only an hour away. "Where goes the finest horseman in all of Florence?"
"Back to Italy, I hope." Harlech spit on the ground. "If he does not first fall in the lake and sink like a stone."
Rob saw Skald's mount change direction and grew thoughtful. "Harlech, saddle that ivory gelding Byrne refuses to sell to me."
Even in the dark, the destrier's tracks were plainly visible, so Rob simply followed the trail. Skald had rounded the lake and disdained the riding paths for the north shore of the lake. Rob caught sight of him just after the small man had dismounted and was struggling to loop his mount's lead around the lower branch of an orange tree.
Rob tugged the gelding to a stop and surveyed the area. At first he saw nothing of curiosity, only the lake's edge, the citrus grove, and the taller black oaks and scrub pines behind it. Then Skald hurried over to a patch of cleared land beside the grove, and Rob spotted the dark scar in the center of it.
He secured his mount and walked over to stand behind Skald at the edge of the yawning gap.
"It's a sinkhole," he said, making the seneschal jump and whirl around.
"My lord Locksley." He sheathed the ornate dagger in his hand. "You alarmed me." He gestured toward the hole. "My master bade me ride out to find Lord Byrne. I heard a voice call to me, and saw this."
"The land here has loose pockets and sometimes collapses in on itself," Rob told him. "The 'voice' you heard was likely some rocks striking one another."
"Forgive me, but I am sure it was a man." Skald gingerly approached the edge. "Hallo? Is there anyone down there? Do you require assistance?"
"What do you think, you daft prick?" Rob heard Byrne's voice call back.
"Aedan." Rob went to crouch at the edge. Forty feet below, a bare-chested Byrne stood holding Jayr, wrapped in a tattered shirt, in his arms. His heart clenched. "How badly is she hurt?"
"She must have tried to climb out while I slept, and fell," Byrne told him. "She's banged her head, her shoulder's wrenched, and she's lost too much blood for me to replace. I've got to get her back to the keep."
Rob looked at Skald. "Ride back to the stables and tell Harlech what has happened. Have him send rope and men to help me pull them out."
"At once, my lord." Skald started for his horse, and then hesitated and faced him. "I found this near the edge." He handed him an arrow.
"Fine." Rob tossed it aside. "Go quickly."
While he waited for help to arrive, Rob walked the perimeter of the sinkhole. Fissures and depressions on the surface formed a complete web two to three feet around the edges.
Byrne watched him. "How bad does it look?"
"Wretched. This damned ground is unstable; any sort of pressure on the walls could cause another collapse." He measured the gap. "If we can set up a frame rig of some sort over it—"
"There's another way," Byrne told him. "You've got your phone with you?"
He checked his pocket. "I do."
"Call Scarlet. Have him send Nottingham down here."
"I will be happy to throw him into the pit," Rob said. "But first let me get the two of you out."
"The soil near the lake is always saturated," Byrne reminded him.
Rob saw his reasoning, took out his phone, and called his seneschal. To his credit Will didn't question his orders, and grimly promised to drag Nottingham by his testicles to the sinkhole if he refused to come voluntarily.
Harlech and his men came within a few minutes, as did Cyprien and Alexandra. The doctor had brought a folding stretcher, and spoke to Byrne about Jayr's condition. She also tossed down a bag of blood for him to give to her. Nottingham, followed by Will Scarlet, was the last to arrive.
"Seigneur." Nottingham bowed to Cyprien, and then pointed to Scarlet. "This man insisted I come here. I understand that Suzerain mac Byrne has fallen into a hole, but I fail to see what I can do about it."
Rob came to stand beside Michael. "Use your talent on the ground."
Nottingham looked down his nose. "Are you addressing me?"
"Unless there is some other idiot here who can turn things to ice with his touch," Rob said through his teeth, "I am."
Cyprien stepped between them. "Ganelon, he is right. If you can freeze the water in the soil, it will keep the walls from caving in while we pull them out."
"Very well, I will do it. For you, seigneur." Nottingham stripped the black gloves from his large white hands. He gave the men around him a contemptuous look. "Unless you wish to become statues, I suggest you move back to the trees."
"Freeze the ground," Rob told him before he retreated, "Nothing else."
Nottingham waited until they were clear and then crouched down, sinking his fingers into the earth.
At first nothing happened, and then Rob heard the sound of ice cracking. Narrow rings of white frost encompassed the ground around the Italian's hands, and the scent of aniseed grew thick. The rings expanded, sending out fingers of ice that crystallized everything in their path. The gentle sound of lapping water stilled as ice formed on the edge of the lake.
Small thuds made Rob turn around to see oranges, coated with thick, spiny frost, dropping from the trees.
Cyprien's breath painted the air white as he murmured, "Incredible. He's as powerful as Lucan."
Nottingham stood and drew a lace-edged handkerchief from his vest, daintily wiping the dirt from his hands on it. "The surface frost will begin to melt as soon as the sun rises, but unless the temperature changes, the ground will remain frozen for twelve hours."
"That is more than enough time," Cyprien said. "Thank you."
Nottingham turned and strode away.
Rob went to the edge of the sinkhole, where Alexandra joined him.
"Aedan?" she called down. "You two okay?"
"'Tis cold," the suzerain called back, "but we are not frozen."
Cyprien tested a patch of soil near the edge. "It feels like concrete."
"Bring the ropes," Rob called to Harlech.
They first lifted out Jayr on the stretcher by lowering it to Byrne, who tied her to it and secured the ends with two separate ropes. Robin grabbed the edge of the stretcher as soon as it was within reach and lifted Jayr up and out.
The knot in Rob's chest eased as he looked down on her, until the scent of heather filled his nose and he saw that the only garment she wore was Byrne's shirt.
Alexandra knelt down beside the unconscious seneschal and carefully checked her head. "No skull fracture that I can feel, but I'll feel better with an X-ray. Let's get her back to the infirmary." She gestured to two of the men, who picked up the ends of the litter and carried it to a waiting Land Rover.
Rob didn't have time to pull Byrne out of the pit; as soon as the rope was tossed to him he used it to climb out hand over hand.
"Jayr." Byrne hoisted himself over the edge. He smelled more of tansy than heather. "Where is she?"
Rob gave him his hand and helped him up, and then punched him in the face. Feeling his knuckles split as they slammed into the Scot's jaw gave him vicious pleasure.
Cyprien grabbed Byrne before he fell back into sinkhole. "Locksley."
Robin ignored Michael and glared at the man who had been his best friend. "I can smell her all over you. She was hurt, but you still couldn't leave her alone, you coldhearted bastard."
Byrne rubbed his jaw. "That is between me and Jayr."
"I think not." Rob turned to Cyprien. "I want this jardin. I will do whatever you say to have it. If you do not think me capable of ruling two suzerainties, I will turn over Atlanta to whomever you choose. You have but to say the word."
"You can have the Realm," Byrne said softly from behind him. "But she belongs to me."
Rob turned to lunge at him, but the seigneur put himself between them and pushed Locksley back.
"I will take what you have said into consideration," Cyprien said, his expression shuttered as he looked from Rob to Byrne. "Enough harm has been done on this night. Return to the keep."
"Seigneur." Skald came and held out a handful of arrows. "I found more of these."
"You." Byrne grabbed him by the front of his florid tunic and lifted him off his feet, shaking him like a dog would a rat. "You played a part in this." He looked at Cyprien. "He brought me a message from you. He told me that you summoned me here."
"I sent no such message," the seigneur said.
"I am innocent, my lords!" Skald protested. "I did not know the message was false."
"Who bade you to do this?" Rob demanded. "Your master, perhaps?"
"No, my lord." The seneschal swallowed. "I received the instructions from Jayr. Your seneschal gave me the message."
Byrne's eyes flared red. "You lie."
"I swear by the Virgin, 'twas she who bade me come to you." Skald gestured wildly toward the keep. "It was just as I had risen to attend to my duties. I always rise early. She was leaving the keep and said she had no time to deliver it herself."
"Put him down, Aedan," Cyprien said, and bent to pick up the arrows Skald had dropped. "I've seen these before, but I cannot recall where."
The scrolled mark on the arrowheads made Rob seize one and examine it. "These were stolen from the ranges."
"How do you know?"
"Because I made them myself last summer," Rob said, and pointed to the star he had etched into the arrowhead. "That is my mark."
"But these do not look like your arrows, my lord," Skald put in anxiously. When everyone stared at him, he added, "I was admiring Lord Locksley's quiver during the competition. All of your arrows have brown feathers, my lord. Not white."
"They're not mine." The arrow snapped in half as he closed his fist. "They were stolen, Michael. Someone wishes to blame this attack on another."
