THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 33
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
Isabelle kicked, spat, and screamed like a
wildcat as the pair of guards hauled her back
to her suite. They emerged from the service
corridor in the vacant debutantes’ wing,
chucking Isabelle inside her chambers before
slamming and locking the door behind them.
Screaming mad, she sprinted for the service
door, trying each of the three in the suite to no
avail. Blinded by the sheer terror of being
imprisoned in the palace,
she tugged on the
call bell so frantically that Lissa came bursting
into the room, only for Isabelle to snag the
service door before it could close again. She
was halfway out when a liveried guard stepped
into her path, halting her progress and forcing
her back in.
“King’s orders,” the young guard said
apologetically. “I’m sorry my lady, but you’re to
stay in your suite.”
When he shut the door, Isabelle snapped.
“Lissa, go find Sam,” she said, staring at the
service door that had just been shut in her
face.
“But my lady, he-” Lissa started.
“I said go find him!” Isabelle screamed. “Papa
is dying, I can’t be imprisoned here!”
Lissa swallowed whatever protest she had,
bobbing a curtsey and knocking on the service
door. The same guard opened it hesitantly,
allowing only Lissa throu-ghbefore closing it
again.
Hurrying throu-ghthe darkened corridors, Lissa
hoped she wasn’t too late. What she’d tried to
tell her mistress was that Samuel Winters and
his men were leaving, if they hadn’t left
already. Cedric, Mr. Winters’ valet, had told her
as much over breakfast. The pair of them had
gotten used to sharing whatever palace secrets
they learned in their native,
Northern Gallic
tongue, so none of the other servants could
un-derstand. Cedric said that Sam had been
summoned home and had been instructed to
remain at the Winters’ city residence until the
rest of his father’s men had prepared to ride
for Umberwood.
According to Cedric, they were simply awaiting
one last delivery of provisions before they left,
a delivery they expected no later than sundown
that night.
Lissa ran, shoving past maids and earning a
few curses in her haste to find Cedric.
Normally, the valet would spend his time in the
servants’ hall, socializing with the others over
dinner while his master attended the ball. Now
that Sam had left the palace, Cedric had spent
all his time organizing the provisions for the
Winters’ men return north, barricaded in his
room as he pored over lists.
Bursting into the servants’ hall, she cursed her
luck when the ruddy northerner was nowhere to
be found among the diners.
“Have you seen Cedric?” she asked, following
one of the other valets as he pa-ssed her on
his way out.
“Last I heard he hasn’t left his room all day,”
the man said. “What’s the big hurry? Eager to
say goodbye to your beau before he flees
north?”
“Jealous doesn’t become you, Malcolm,” Lissa
said, swallowing whatever pride she had left.
“Show me to his room.”
Malcolm waggled his eyebrows, but complied
nonetheless.
Lissa could have fainted with relief when
Malcolm stopped in front of a door with
candlelight still flic-kering throu-ghthe crack. He
knocked, running a cheeky look over Lissa
before Cedric pulled the door open.
“What’s…Lissa?” he said, his brows creasing
as he took in the maid hovering in the mens’
dormitory.
“Where’s your master?” Lissa asked, charging
into the room to slam the door behind her.
She didn’t intend on airing her mistress’ news
before Malcolm’s listening ears. Cedric gaped
at her as she closed the door, but it was Lissa
who jumped when a voice spoke from the
corner.
“May I ask who you are?” Sam Winters asked,
rising slowly from the wooden chair in the
corner. She craned her ne-ck to gape up at him,
forgetting how tall the Winters men were. Sam
was dressed for travel in a heavy cloak and
sturdy boots, with a decidedly impatient look
on his face.
Lissa sent up a quick prayer of
thanks that she hadn’t been too late.
“It’s my mistress, Isabelle de Havilland.
Please, you must come quickly,” she said. “I’ll
explain, but you must hurry!”
Sam and Cedric exchanged a look before the
Northern lord’s son all but ran for the door.
Lissa led both Sam and Cedric back throu-gh
the service corridors, explaining her haste
along the way.
She told them about Isabelle’s
tear-stained face and the trio of guards posted
outside her suite – two in the hall and one in
the service corridor. Slowing them down with a
gesture as they approached the debutantes’
wing, she poked her head around the corner
only to see the same guard still posted outside
Isabelle’s door.
“Walk past him, turn him around, and get his
attention,” Sam whispered, peeking around the
corner to eye the guard as well. Lissa obeyed,
forcing herself to slow her steps and appear
every bit the weary maid, rather than the
nervous wreck she really was. She pa-ssed the
guard, who watched her if only because she
was the only other person in the corridor with
him. That he knew about, of course.
“I suspect you won’t have much to do tonight,”
she said, forcing a yawn as she paused just to
the other side of Isabelle’s service door. The
guard looked over at her, confused.
“How so?” he asked. Lissa for-ced herself not
to glance towards the stealthily approaching
Sam Winters, his boots nearly silent as he
crept down the hallway towards them.
“My lady is dreadfully upset,” Lissa explained,
leaning in and dropping her voice to be sure
she had the guard’s full attention. “Some bad
news from home, you see. That’s why I’m
guessing they posted you-”
She trailed off as Sam wrapped an arm around
the poor, unsuspecting guard’s ne-ck. The guard
flailed, clumsily trying to draw his sword
before Sam lifted him off his feet. He writhed
for a few moments before going slack. Lissa
clapped her hands over her mouth to keep
from screaming, just as Cedric rushed up
behind Sam.
“He’s not dead!” Cedric hissed, as Sam laid the
guard out on the floor.
“It’s how my Da stopped me and my brothers
from killing each other,” Sam explained. “He’s
unconscious.”
Sure enough, as Lissa bent closer to examine
him, the young guard’s che-st was still rising
and falling, but he didn’t stir even when she
poked him in the face. Sam wasted no more
time with him, however, throwing open the
service door to Isabelle’s suite.
Isabelle was on her feet in an instant, leaping
off the love seat. She’d chewed her thumbnail
nearly to the quick as she’d watched the time
pa-ss on the mantelpiece clock, but the relief
that flooded her upon seeing Sam brou-ght new
tears to her eyes.
She threw herself into his arms, sobbing as he
asked her what had happened.
“Papa’s dying,” she managed finally. “I need to
go home.”
Pulling her back, Sam held her at an arm’s
length. She looked downright pitiful in her
wrinkled ballgown, her eyes red from crying
and wide with terror. But he’d made a deal with
the crown prince. If he took Isabelle with him,
the king would penalize Umberwood with the
crushing taxes his father had warned him that
they couldn’t afford.
“I can’t,” Sam said, hating himself for his
words. He owed no loyalty to that trickster of
a prince or his manipulator of a father, but he’d
given his word. An Umberwood man’s word
was as good as any written contract.
Isabelle’s sobs ceased as she blinked up at
him, first with confusion then with dawning
comprehension.
Her eyes flic-kered towards the
suite door for the ba-rest of instants before
returning to him, filled with a glacial rage.
“You will take me with you, Sam Winters. I
don’t care what he made you promise,” she
said, seizing his cloak in an attempt to shake
him. It didn’t do much against his bulk, but the
desperation of the action cut him to his core.
“Izzie…” he started,
gently attempting to detach
her hands. But she wouldn’t let go. As soon as
she realized that she wasn’t going to sway him,
she burst into tears again.
“Sam,” she said, her voice breaking. “Sam, he’s
dying. I have to see him again.”
Samuel Winters looked down at the future
Duchess of Kentshire, utterly torn. He had
sworn an oath to the future king of Pretania,
but Isabelle was one of his oldest friends.
Helping Isabelle meant hurting Umberwood,
but hurting Isabelle meant far worse. He’d
witnessed what had happened to her after her
mother’s death. To lose her father…
Sam Winters made his decision. de-eper in his
bones, he knew it was the right one, the
honourable one.
The one that his father would
have made if he’d found himself in a similar
situation.
They could scrounge for gold. They could
empty their coffers and prepare for a lean
winter. But if Duke Francis was indeed dying,
he could not give Isabelle more time with him
if she didn’t leave that night.
His king had
never done anything for him, besides fling
threats and levy taxes. The battle between
loyalty and friendship had been waged.
Friendship had won.
“All right,” Sam said. “Cedric, run and fetch
some of your clothing. And whatever empty
saddlebags remain.”
His valet bowed, disappearing into the service
corridor. Isabelle was still staring at him, wide-
eyed, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she
was hearing.
“Gather anything of value, especially the
heirlooms,” Sam said,
turning to Isabelle’s
maid. “Take only what is important, we don’t
have much time.”
He was impressed when she maid hurried into
Isabelle’s bedchamber without so much as a
question.
“Sam…” Isabelle said, her voice little more
than a whisper. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to smuggle
you out of this forsaken palace,”
he said.
Cedric returned quickly, nearly breathless,
carrying a spare set of clothes and
saddlebags.
“Change into these,” Sam said, handing
Cedric’s spare shirt and trousers to Isabelle.
“And mind you wrap up in something warm,
we’ve a long ride ahead of us.”
Sam and Cedric kept an eye on the
unconscious guard as Isabelle changed and
bundled herself in her warmest cloak and
sturdiest boots. She gathered her warmest
travelling attire, hoping her fur-lined gloves
wouldn’t ruin her masculine disguise. Once
Lissa had finished stuffing the saddlebags with
whatever valuables would fit, she pinned
Isabelle’s hair up and out of her face so it
wouldn’t tumble free and give her away.
“At first light tomorrow, leave the palace on an
errand,” Sam said to Lissa, before turning to
his valet. “Cedric, you will meet her a block
away and ensure she has a place on one of the
provision wagons. Stay in the palace for the
night, but leave for the city house as soon as
they rotate the gate guard. Send half the men
home to my father, but send the quickest to
Kentshire. I’ll try to pa-ss Isabelle off as my
valet tonight, but you ought to stay with…”
“Lissa,” she said, as Sam gestured for her
name.
“Stay with Lissa in case we meet any trouble.
They’ll ask for her maid, which means she’ll
have to hide until you can get her out. Is that
un-derstood?” Sam asked.
Cedric didn’t hesitate before he agree, while
Lissa swallowed, but nodded nonetheless. In
the service corridor, the pa-ssed-out guard
groa-ned.
“He’s coming to,” Cedric said, pointing out the
obvious.
“Do any of these doors lock?” Sam asked
Isabelle.
“They never gave me the key,” Isabelle said.
“We could hide him in the bedchamber
closet?” Cedric suggested. Before either
Isabelle or Lissa could offer any other
solutions, the two men had returned to the
service corridor, heaving the unconscious guard
between them. They deposited him in among
Isabelle’s dresses, closing the door before
dragging an entire wardrobe in front of it.
“It won’t hold him for long,” Cedric said, once
again pointing out the obvious.
“Which is why we’ll hurry,” Sam said, hefting
the saddlebags over his shoulders. They
clanked and jangled, containing mostly
Isabelle’s jewels and family heirlooms. Her
gowns wouldn’t fit, but they were far more
replaceable than jewelry.
When she’d stri-pped out of her ball gown and
dressed herself as a man, Isabelle had sli-pped
the sapphire ne-cklace and its matching
earrings and ring into the bag. She’d sp-otted
Leopold’s engagement ring jumbled among the
other jewelry and had immediately fished it out
and shoved it back inside the jewelry box.
There was no way she’d allow that cursed
diamond to follow her home.
“Travel safely,” Lissa said, wrapping her
mistress in a hasty hug as Sam tapped his
foot impatiently.
“You as well, make sure you leave here as
soon as you can,” Isabelle said, hugging Lissa
back. She didn’t dare think of what might
happen to her maid if she was still in the
palace when Isabelle’s flight was discovered.
“She’s safe with me,” Cedric a-ssured her, as
Sam hurried the four of them into the service
corridor. They parted ways in the darkness, the
distant music of the ball filling the silence.
Sam and Cedric clasped hands while Isabelle
and Lissa hug-ged one last time. Cedric led
Lissa away towards the servants’ quarters,
while Sam hurried Isabelle in the opposite
direction.
Try as he might to move quietly, the jewelry in
the saddlebags kept clinking and clanking.
They made it outside, a gust of wintry air
lifting Isabelle’s cloak as she fought from
shivering. Sam led her towards the stables,
gesturing for her to wait outside with the noisy
saddlebags. He sli-pped in, silent as a rabbit,
before the sounds of a scuffle reached
Isabelle’s ears. A horse whickered as leather
creaked, its hooves clopping loudly on the
stable floor.
“I figured Alabaster was a better bet than
Cedric’s Meridian,” Sam whispered as he
emerged, leading his own ma-ssive stallion
beside her Ba-ss.
“They’ll know it was me and not Cedric when
they find Ba-ss missing!” she hissed as Sam
hoisted the jewel-laden bags onto Alabaster’s
saddle. They jingled and tinkled again, the
sapphire ne-cklace spilling out onto the
cobblestones.
“Which is why we’ll have to ride quickly,” Sam
said, as Isabelle scooped up the ne-cklace and
jammed it back into the bag, refastening the
straps. “I had to subdue the stableboy, but he
might be discovered when people start to
leave the ball. I tried to make it look as if he
were sleeping, but I doubt that our luck tonight
will be so boundless.”
He helped Isabelle into the saddle, instructing
her to tug her hood over her face. They set a
sedate pace towards the guardhouse, Sam
launching into a monologue about horses, men,
and provisions in a further attempt to make it
appear that Isabelle was his valet and not a
fugitive debutante.
“Whatever happens, don’t speak a word,” he
whispered as they approached the circle of
torchlight, before raising his voice to salute the
guards.
“Good evening, Mr. Winters,” the guard said,
recognizing him. “Leaving so soon?”
“No appetite for a ball, boys,” Sam said. “We
ride north in the morning, now that Cedric’s
finalized the provisions.”
Isabelle held her breath as the guard looked
over at her.
“Always tallying men and food, eh Cedric?” the
guard joked. Isabelle swallowed, inclining her
head so she wouldn’t have to speak.
“He’s in a bit of rou-ghshape,” Sam put in
quickly, reaching over to clap Isabelle on the
back. “Thought he had one last night at the
palace.”
The guard guffawed as Sam p@n-tomimed
swigging back a jug of ale, but waved them
throu-ghwithout further questioning.
“Safe travels, Mr. Winters,” the guard called
after them.
As soon as they pa-ssed un-derneath the
archway, out of the palace grounds and into
Highcastle, Isabelle felt the crushing weight of
imprisonment lift from her shoulders. She
fought back the urge to kick Alabaster into a
gallop, following Sam’s steady pace. Now that
she had managed to escape the palace walls,
all she could think about was hastening to
Kentshire, but they weren’t beyond detection
yet. Sam walked his horse until they turned the
corner towards the Winters’ city house.
“Now we run,” he said to Isabelle, spurring his
horse to a gallop as soon as they were out of
sight of the palace. Alabaster followed suit, the
pair of horses racing throu-ghthe city in the
dead of the winter night.
To be continued……