She was heading towards the great hall, between the rows of horses and carts. Beyond her, the tunnel led through the twin-towered gatehouse to the outside world. The portcullis was still raised to allow any last guests to enter. The two guards on watch had their backs to the courtyard and were leaning against the wall in conversation. Sprinting faster, breathless after so many weeks idle in the tower, Robert raised his hand as the woman turned; a desperate gesture of silence. Even as he did so, he realised it must look as though he were going to attack her, the blade rising in his grip. Her scream pierced the evening. The grooms by the stables looked up, startled from their tasks, and the two guards whipped round. Robert charged, meaning to give them no time to defend themselves, but three more emerged from the gatehouse, alerted by the scream. Robert brought himself up short, taking in the line of men. As the guards drew their broadswords between him and his escape, he switched direction and lunged for the young woman, who was rooted to the spot.
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