But as Kit had admonished her time and again, even trained scouts ran into fatal trouble sometimes.
The next morning, they took Kynan away. He was gone all day, put through the same ordeals she’d been through. When the lock finally grated open and Kynan was thrust bodily inside, he was pale. In his bad English, he said, “Is not good. Portuguese scared. Mad Not good.”
”No. It isn’t good. I’m…” She hesitated, then said it anyway. “I’m scared.”
He took her hand, holding it gently. “Yes. Margo is brave. Brave have fear. Is true.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes. Very true.”
He managed a rueful smile. “In Orleans, Kynan fear. Fear French. Fear Margo. True.”
She started to laugh and ended up crying on his shoulder. If he thought less of her for it, he didn’t let it show.
During the night, more screams and gunshots rang out. Margo started awake, then muttered, “Good!” and heard an answering grunt from Kynan. No one shouted for Kit or Malcolm, though, so no one must have died this time. The next day-the day the gate was supposed to reopen-the Portuguese brought them both out to hear the “testimony” of their accusers. Not that it did Margo or Kynan any good. The testimony was all in Portuguese. But the angry, fearful looks sent their way and the sleepless hollows under most eyes told Margo that Kit and- Malcolm’s plans were bearing fruit.
Given the shouting match and fist fight that ensued during the afternoon, the Portuguese had begun to accuse one another of witchcraft charges. Kit ordered Margo and Kynan locked up while the soldiers broke up the vicious little fight with blows from the butts of their arquebuses. Margo wondered when Kit would make his move. They were running short on time. The gate would be opening in just a few hours if it opened at all.