*
Wales
The weather that had been threatening for the better part of the day suddenly descended with blinding fury. Dennis and Charlotte were a couple of hours south of Abergavenny when the whole world seemed to come apart. Lightning and thunder filled the sky, and the chargers, exhausted from days upon days of endless work with little or no rest, were excitable. It was difficult for either person to keep their steed in check. Bucephalus seemed particularly agitated and Dennis struggled with the big horse.
The freezing rain and cold was barely tolerable, but when the wind began to pick up, it became apparent that they must seek some sort of shelter. Dennis was reluctant; every moment he delayed from reaching Cornwall was another moment that Ryan was at the evil mercy of Miguel the Pirate. He and Charlotte tried to slug through the vertical rain, foot by grueling foot, until the weather worsened and the need for refuge was immediate.
Dennis had taken this road before and he knew that to the south there was nothing for many miles. But there was a fork in the road about a half-mile from where they were, and he suspected there might be a small town or other structure somewhere along it. In fact he had heard the locals speak of a castle not far from Abergavenny; a peaceful place surrounded by a small village. He thought perhaps that this castle was along this eastern-heading road. The name of the place was Usk.
He tried to shout his intentions to Charlotte over the howling wind and rain, but she could not hear him so he merely gestured for her to follow. Prodding the horses as fast as they would go, they made it to the fork in the road, just as the freezing rain turned into sheets of snow. Dennis seriously wondered if they would make it to shelter before they froze to death. Bucephalus had icicles hanging from his hairy mane and bits of frozen ice on his whiskers, and he hoped the horses would not turn into blocks of ice anytime soon. Around them, the snow swirled into twisting clouds, buffeting them from side to side in a crazy fashion. It was difficult to see or breathe, and the road passed painfully slow as they made their way east.
The arduous trek was too much, and within an hour Charlotte was ready to give up. Her charger was nearly dead of frost and exhaustion, and Dennis had to kick the beast firmly in the arse to move it forward. Nearly frozen herself, Charlotte was having a difficult time staying astride her mount. Twice already, Dennis had been forced to give her a friendly smack on the back to keep her awake and alert, but she was at the point where she almost did not care. She was freezing and weary, and the lure of sleep beckoned, but then Dennis would come around and slug her and her irritation alone steadied her. How she wanted to slug him back, but she hadn’t the strength.
Finally, great frozen trees loomed ahead and Dennis was looking forward to receiving protection from the swirling wind. He was so focused on the prospect of shelter that he almost failed to notice the lump in the road before him, which had swatches of heavy brown material poking out from beneath a blanket of snow. Reining Bucephalus aside just in time, his watering eyes tried to focus on the obstruction. It took him little time to deduce that it was a body so he maneuvered his horse around it.
“Wait!” Charlotte called through the storm. “Shouldn’t we check to see if he is still alive?”
Dennis shrugged and pushed forward. No one could survive in a storm like this, and the body on the road had been there some time, he guessed, from the build-up of snow. Charlotte almost followed her brother, but a small inkling of compassion, and perhaps curiosity got the better of her, so she stiffly dismounted her steed. She was so exhausted that she did not truly know why she was wasting the energy to do a good deed. Placing her boot in the middle of the mound, she gave a shove to push the person out of the road.
Ryan rolled onto her back.
So severely startled was she, Charlotte actually fell to one knee, then completely pitched over onto her buttocks. She could not catch her breath, or even remember how to rationally speak, but she could most certainly scream.
“Dennis!”
He did not hear her. Seized with panic, Charlotte screamed again and again until finally, Dennis seemed to turn to her with agonizing slowness. All Charlotte could do was point at Ryan, lying frozen on the ground, and scream her name. Through the howling wind and snow, Dennis could not hear his sister, but he took the time to retrace his steps to see what she was so excited about. He was almost angry with her for involving him in something so mundane as a corpse. But even as he stared down at his wife’s white face, the actuality of what he was witnessing did not register. And then, slowly, it began to sink in.
He went through several different stages all in a fraction of a second. Shock, terror, and utter fury were replaced by a panic so deep, so painful, that Dennis nearly broke his neck trying to dismount his charger. He slipped on the ice, landing heavily next to his wife even as his arms reached out to hold her.
“Christ!” he croaked. “What… what is she doing here?”
There were tears on Charlottes face as she struggled to remove her frozen gauntlets. “I do not know,” she gasped. “God, I do not know!”
Dennis had a grip on Ryan’s frozen, wet clothing. “But… here!” He could not describe their location any better than that at the moment. “What in the hell is she doing here?”
“Dennis, I do not know!”
With a whimper that sounded more like a sob, he pulled Ryan against his frozen chest armor and at the same time wrestled to pull off at least one glove. “God, do not let her be dead, please do not let her be dead,” he chanted over and over. Finally the glove came off and he touched her neck; her pulse was very weak, but she was alive. His desperate panic transformed into something calmer, yet far more determined. “We have got to get her to shelter immediately, Charls.”
Charlotte had run back to her horse to remove a cloak from her saddlebags. Returning, she slipped along the icy road and fell beside her brother and his wife. “Where, Dennis?” she demanded as she wrapped the dirty wool around Ryan. “There’s nowhere…”
“There’s a damn castle around here, somewhere!” he shouted at her. “We must find it!”
Dennis never yelled. Charlotte could feel his pain, his confusion and horror, as they wrapped Ryan tightly in the cloak. She was, in fact, warmly dressed, but the weather must have simply overwhelmed her. But where had she come from? Where was she going? There were so many questions and not nearly enough answers. Dennis swaddled his wife and then stood up, unsteadily, with her in his arms. His face, always so controlled and calm, was lined with grief and astonishment.
“Usk has got to be around here, somewhere,” he said hoarsely. “We must find it and get her out of this weather.”
Charlotte was shaking with emotion and fatigue. “Let’s keep going. Perhaps it is somewhere down this road, as you have suspected.”
Dennis lumbered to Bucephalus, somehow mounting with Ryan in his arms. She was so terribly white and unresponsive, and it was difficult for him to bite back the tears. With as much confusion as was spinning through his mind, he knew one thing for certain; unless they found shelter very quickly, Ryan wasn’t going to make it. The mercy and grace of God occurred to him as he spurred his charger through the snow, and he knew that the snowstorm had been sent for a reason. Everything had been orchestrated for him to find Ryan, and he knew that God was trying to tell him to never leave her alone again. It was clear that they could not survive without one another, and he swore at that moment he would never again leave her side.
His lips brushed against her frozen cheek, and he could not stop a few hot tears from falling. The anguish he was feeling was overwhelming. “I am here, love,” he murmured. “Everything ’twill be all right, I swear it.”
She did not move.
They traveled for another hour in the terrible snow. It was the most miserable hour of Dennis’ entire life. Finally, off to the north, he could see the outline of a great structure through the hazy white mist. It did not matter if it was Usk or not; shelter was shelter at this point. Turning toward the ghostly
shape, he kept the cloak pulled up over Ryan’s face to protect her from the driving snow. Step by weary step they plodded onward until they reached a moderately-sized gatehouse with a small portcullised entrance. Dennis unsheathed his sword and, in a complete breach of knightly protocol (since a broadsword was to be used only for fighting) he rattled his weapon across the portcullis so loudly that it was only a matter of minutes before a tiny old man suddenly appeared from the bailey within.
“Open your grate!” Dennis bellowed. “My lady is ill and the weather is foul!”
The little man hesitated only a moment before retreating into the wall of the gatehouse. Then, very slowly, the portcullis began to rise. Charlotte slid off her steed and ducked beneath the lifting portcullis, disappearing into the gatehouse. Very shortly, the portcullis began lifting by leaps and bounds and soon Dennis was able to pass beneath it. Charlotte reemerged, gathered her horse, and followed her brother into the snowy ward.
The old man skipped after them. He was poorly dressed against the cold, and he seemed very frightened in the presence of Dennis and Charlotte. Ignoring the servant’s terror, Dennis dismounted and made haste in heading for the keep.
“Tell your lord that Lord Dennis d’Vant seeks shelter from the weather,” he said. “We require food and a warm fire immediately.”
The old man tripped and Charlotte stooped to pick him up. “Our lord is in a foul mood, m’lord,” he stammered. “He will not take kindly to yer visit!”
Dennis did not care about the man’s mood. He’d beat the door down if he was refused entrance. “That is not my concern,” he said. “You will tell him that I am here.”
The old servant was clearly upset. He ran alongside Dennis like an eager child. “But… but he had a prisoner escape this morn and he’s beaten every servant in the keep because of it!”
Dennis had no patience. He continued to march toward the entrance, hoping the lord would not be stupid enough to deny him shelter in the state he was in. He would hate to have blood on his hands. As they reached the forebuilding leading to the entry, a gust of wind caught the brown cloak and it fell away from Ryan’s face. The old man looked down at her and his eyes bugged.
“The prisoner!”
Dennis froze. Looking down at his wife, it took a moment for the servant’s words to sink in. He wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “What did you call her?”
The old man’s agitation grew. “It… it’s the lord’s prisoner!” he gulped. “She ran away this morn and he’s been frantic for the want of her!”
Dennis could feel the veins in his temples begin to throb. One massive glove reached out to snatch the old man by the throat.
“Your lord has been keeping her prisoner?” he hissed. “Are you sure?”
The aged servant was beside himself. “Do not kill me, m’lord!”
“Are you sure?”
The man’s feet were hanging off the ground. “Aye!” he screamed. “Aye, it’s her!”
Dennis was vaguely aware of Charlotte pulling the servant away from his death-grip. “Dennis, do you realize what that means?” she gasped. “Miguel is here!”
Dennis’s face was a mirror of rage and confusion. “None of this is making any sense,” he said through clenched teeth. “What in the hell is Miguel doing here, at Usk?”
“Does it matter?” Charlotte shot back softly. “We have got to get Ryan away from here!”
Dennis looked at her as if she had gone mad. “My wife stays with me,” he dared her to contradict him. “And now that I am here, I intend to have a discussion with Miguel.”
Ryan suddenly stirred in Dennis’ arms and he cooed to her sweetly, trying to rouse her. She opened one groggy eye at him but he was unable to get a coherent response. He tried not to let himself become too consumed with the need for vengeance over the concern for his wife’s health. “Let’s go, Dennis,” Charlotte was tugging at him. “We must take Ryan to a safe place. Then you can come back and kill Miguel.”
The old servant, rubbing his neck and cowering several feet away, suddenly looked at the portcullis and howled. “Saints have mercy, another knight comes!”
Charlotte unsheathed her broadsword, fully prepared to protect her brother and his wife. But the bulky, snow-covered figure riding through the open portcullis was so familiar that she instantly dropped the weapon, with an expression of supreme astonishment on her face.
Clive flipped up his visor, his stubbled lips smiling gently as he beheld Charlotte’s chapped face. “Now, before you become angry at me and raise that sword again, let me tell you that I have had just about enough nurse-maiding for the day,” he said flatly. “Riston and I agreed that I should trail Dennis to protect him from himself, but this snow has my joints aching and I am finished playing the tag-along child. I am here whether you want my help or not. Now, strike me down if you have a mind to, but…” he suddenly caught sight of the bundle in Dennis’ arms. “Christ, what’s all this?”
Charlotte was standing beside him, her big hand on his leg. She was so tremendously glad to see him, but her concern for Ryan and Dennis had the better of her. “It’s Ryan,” she said grimly. “We found her lying on the road outside.”
Clive’s eyes bulged and he bailed from his charger, but not before he grasped Charlotte’s hand firmly. He pulled her with him as he marched to Dennis. “Ryan?” he bellowed. “What in the hell was she doing out there? Where did she come from?”
Dennis could not speak. He could not even become angry at Clive for following him. The man meant well, he knew. But as Charlotte explained to Clive their precarious predicament, complete with Miguel inside the structure of Usk, Dennis pulled Ryan closer, and placed his lips on her forehead as he pondered the situation. Ryan stirred again, involuntarily, and he kissed her gently on the lips. Gazing down at her, he could only believe that she would pull through. Ryan was too strong not to survive a bout with the snow, as he had seen her pull through worse things than this.
Aye, Ryan was going to be fine. Now that he had found her, he realized that it did not matter if he ever punished the earl, or Miguel, or even if he ever regained St. Austell. The only person who mattered to him was in his arms at the moment, and he could be as poor as a pauper the rest of his life, as long as he had his wife.
But the fact remained that Dennis wasn’t a coward, nor did he run from a confrontation. The Earl of Cornwall had waged a campaign of evil against Dennis, for no other reason that Dennis could guess, and it was the utter conquest of St. Austell. And Miguel was an integral part of the earl’s scheme. Dennis thought and thought, and as the snow whirled and time passed, a plan began to form in his mind.
He wasn’t pernicious or vindictive by nature, but he had to do something to stop the earl’s campaign against him. Maybe that had been his problem; perhaps he had been too casual all along and hadn’t showed the aggressive response he should have. He’d already tried a marriage of alliance, but that wasn’t enough. If he truly wanted peace, then he knew he had to play the earl’s game of cunning, lies and brutality, and he had to win.
“Knock on the door, Charlotte,” he said softly. “I would speak with Miguel.”
Charlotte paled. “What are you going to do, Dennis?”
“That is between us. I would have you tend to my wife while I conduct business with Miguel.”
Charlotte did not know what to say. She feared her brother had suddenly gone mad, but she did not argue further. He had always been the calm, sensible one and she would have to trust him. Rapping on the door, they waited some time before a house servant opened the great oak panel. Charlotte did not utter a word; she and Clive pushed their way into the warm, stuffy keep, making a path for Dennis and Ryan. The serving woman fell back with a shriek, causing other servants to come running.
Dennis gently handed Ryan over to Clive while Charlotte turned to the frightened servants and began snapping orders. While they flew about in a frenzy to bring warm food and blankets to the limp lady, Dennis moved into the great hall.
“Where is your lord?” he boomed to the servants.
His question was met by titters and fearful whispers. Annoyed, Dennis decided to take to the third floor of the keep when a great commotion suddenly rose from the gallery above the hall. Glancing up, he saw a short, older man in hose and a tunic hanging over the oak banister. The man gazed down at him, a pewter flask in his hand and expression of sheer loathing on his face. He was weaving dangerously, and Dennis could smell the liquor on him from where he stood.
“Who are you?” the man demanded in a thick Spanish accent.
Dennis knew who he was immediately. He had never seen Miguel the Pirate, for when Rodrick had negotiated a peace, he had done it on board the Gemini. But the accent told him everything he needed to know, and he felt his blood begin a slow, angry simmer.
“Someone you are undoubtedly well acquainted with,” he replied evenly. “Should I come up there or do you intend to come down here and speak to me face to face?”
Miguel was terribly drunk, an unusual state for him indeed. He, like Dennis, was normally quite in control of himself. But Ryan’s disappearance had upset him so terribly that drink seemed the only way to ease his anguish. As he gazed down at the massive knight in his hall, he truly had no idea who he was and his irritation was fed.
“I do not know you,” he muttered. “What is your name?”
“Come down here and I shall tell you.”
“Tell me now or I shall run you through.”
“You shall have to come down here in order to run me through.”
Miguel’s eyes narrowed. “Insolent bastard. Tell me your damn name or I shall… I shall…!”
“You shall… what?”
Miguel froze for a moment, as if actually startled the knight would challenge him. But it was indeed a challenge, and with a growl of frustration he tossed the pewter flask aside and hurled himself down the spiral stairs that led from the gallery to the hall below. As he marched upon the knight, it occurred to him that he was easily a head and a half shorter than him; Miguel hadn’t realized the knight was so tall from his perch above. Additionally, the man was as wide as a door. Miguel had been determined to thrash the knight soundly, but now he came to a halt and unsteadily scrutinized the warrior. There was something to the shape of his eyes that was indeed familiar, but he could not place him.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 155