by Amy Mullen
Without securing the saddle, she beckoned the horse to follow her through the gate and out into the dark night. It was not a large or powerful horse, but it would do. She now needed to get away from the inn. Isabel led the horse slowly, and when they rounded a bend, she sent up a prayer of thanks that the saddle had not fallen. First, she rubbed the horse’s nose and then deftly secured the saddle. With what little strength she had left in her weary body, she mounted and headed out as fast as she could.
Slowly, the sky above her cleared as she rode. The clouds departed and the soft, faint light of the moon fell around her, mingling with the fog, giving the world a surreal appearance. Once the inn was far behind her, she stopped and dismounted. She made sure she had secured the saddle correctly then got ready to ride until she got home, no matter how long it took.
Isabel did not see it coming. Before she could mount the horse, a blinding pain shot through her brain as a board slammed into her forehead. The man before her grunted as his swing connected and she fell to the ground with a thud.
****
Nicholas approached Tenwick Castle with his men no more than a few paces behind him. It was late. The sun had set an hour before, and he had found no trace of Isabel. His tired destrier reared as the bridge fell, and the gate rose so he could enter. Lord Beret must have seen him coming. He hesitated and then gave his horse a tap with his heel, his command to move into the stronghold.
"Greetings, milord," a man shouted, moving toward him at a steady clip, flanked by two knights. Fighting off his reservations, Nicholas squinted to see the man’s face. It was indeed Irving Beret, Lord of Tenwick. Nicholas had not liked the man, but he had not feared for Isabel’s safety in his home. He now waited for the man to approach so he could find out exactly what had happened in the early hours of the morning.
Nicholas raised a hand in greeting but did not dismount. He had no intentions of staying any longer than he had to, as he wanted to rest and resume searching.
"I would have ridden to Blackstone the moment my men returned, but I knew you would come," Irving said, stroking his beard with his hand. "I received your message this morn about the attack and Constance’s whereabouts. I felt she was safe at Blackstone." The dark facial hair had been groomed to come to a point below his chin. He was nearly bald and had small, rather squinty eyes. Lord Beret was a fit man but short in stature and light on his feet.
"I can assure you your daughter is safe. My wife is caring for her. She is shaken and weary, but well. We are hoping she can aid in our quest to retrieve Isabel and bring her home. I hope you understand we must insist on her presence with us for the time being."
Irving’s forehead creased, and Nicholas detected a slight tick in the man’s temple, but it was gone in seconds.
"I fear that is not as I would hope, but I do understand your need for her assistance. May I assume she will receive the best of your hospitality, the same as Isabel enjoyed during her time here? I do not know why she insisted on returning to Blackstone. She was to stay here and await news of a betrothal. I fear she is quite willful."
"She was upset but did not offer any information. She will be cared for and returned when we can be assured she is of no further assistance to us. As for her return to Blackstone, I am unclear as well."
""Tis acceptable." Irving shifted from foot to foot, never breaking eye contact with Nicholas. "Would you care to come to the keep? I can have a meal prepared."
"Nay," Nicholas said. He let out a long sigh, studying the man before him again. "I simply wish to ask a few questions, if you would be so kind to allow it so I can be on my way."
"Of course."
"To start, I was assured of Isabel’s safety here. I was to come at dawn to take her home. Why did they leave early? Constance says ‘twas at your command."
"I do quite understand your confusion, as I am confused as well. Isabel was to stay until you arrived, yet my men took it upon themselves to escort the girls to Blackstone before the light of dawn. Constance did not have permission to go. I must see the girl wed, and I cannot do that when she is not here. Some of the men who took them out into the night have been … replaced."
"Indeed?" Nicholas asked as his eyebrows rose in surprise. "Replaced, you say?"
"Aye, they have been relieved of their duty. Though some have disappeared entirely. They will not be welcome back. When a few of the men returned, they were quite worried. In fact, they left Constance on her own. There is no place for such men within Tenwick. For every ten men I have, there are twenty willing to take their place here. I sent more men out to find her, yet they did not return. Only the last man I sent came back, reporting Constance had been found but was in your company. Thus I knew her to be safe. Then your message arrived, assuring me this was true."
Nicholas’ stomach tightened as the man spoke. Something did not sound right. This man was lying, or he cared little about what happened to his daughter. Either way, had it been one of his own daughters missing, he would have led the charge to find her. He would not have relied on his men to search.
"So I am to understand you have no idea why they left so early when I made it clear I would retrieve Isabel?"
"Indeed. I am sorry for the confusion. If you wish to question the men I released, I would well imagine they might be soaking up the comforts of one of the village inns nearby, or mayhap they have moved on quickly to seek other employment."
"It did not occur to you to hold them for questioning? I would be most curious to see what they had to say for their actions," Nicholas replied, becoming angrier as the discussion continued.
"In hindsight, aye, I should have held them here. I was angry and worried, thus I acted rashly, only wishing to see them gone. They were idiots, milord, unable to follow simple instructions."
"I shall take my leave then," Nicholas said, sighing deeply. The story did not sit right, and the small man seemed to be agitated. Not one of the men standing beside Irving had taken their hands from the hilts of their swords, indicating they had been warned to be ready to fight. This did not sit well with Nicholas, and he now knew Isabel was probably in more danger than he first thought, though why, he did not know.
He rode off, returning to Blackstone within an hour, ready to talk with his wife. She had planned to question Constance more to see if anything new came from her lips. Gemma was a wonderful hostess, but she was a powerful protector of all of her family. Constance would never suspect what was coming her way, should it appear she was hiding something. Even Nicholas knew not to push his beautiful wife too far.
Gemma and Constance should have been abed, but they were not. Constance was sitting near the fire in the great hall and Gemma, he was told, was in the solar seeing the children to their beds. Nicholas nodded to Constance as he rushed to find Gemma. Running, he took the stone steps two at a time to the solar and found her almost immediately.
"I am anxious to go out again. Many men are out looking for Isabel, but I do not feel right not being among them. The girl," he said after planting a lingering kiss on his wife’s lips, "has she said anything useful?"
"Nay," Gemma replied, shaking her head, "she has not. Constance is more frightened than anything. She is also quite angry. Her father’s men left her, and he did not come for her. I have a feeling she is safer here than anywhere else at the moment."
"Lord Beret gave some weak excuses, and I, too, fear Constance is safer with us, though I do not rule out she may know more than she is letting on. At first, I thought highwaymen had a hand in this, but my instinct is that Isabel, even if she managed to escape the men, is still in danger."
"But from whom?" Gemma asked, her voice icy and clipped. "It has been so quiet here. Our children have grown in relative peace. The Bigods are gone and forgotten, save for Turstin. By all accounts, he is happy with the match, and I see no reason for him to have her disappear. She ensures he gets Renoir, so it cannot be him. Who else, then? Isabel is of little use as a political marriage. Should Henry wish to marry her off to some
lord in a distant land, he would have done so. Instead, he simply wished to unite her with Turstin. No one has offered for Renoir and the lands. They have sat barren for nine years. That cannot be the reason."
"Aye, Renoir became ours when Hugh was hanged. No one has inquired about it, and Henry left it to us to do with as we please. We could have accepted a sale, and Isabel would have been fine with it. I do not think she relishes the idea of living there after what happened to you."
"What happened to me has changed her. I cannot imagine how frightened she must be right now, out there alone. She had grown more timid, and it worried me. I had hoped fostering her at Tenwick would give her some of her old spirit back, but I am not sure it worked. We must find her, Nicholas. I can leave the children with Hesse, and we can be on our way on the morrow."
"Nay, darling wife, you’ll not set foot outside of Blackstone. I will take men but leave many here. I will not chance something happening to you or the children in my absence."
"I knew you would say that," Gemma replied and then sighed. "I have proven myself foolhardy in the past."
"Nay, not foolhardy. Mayhap a little naïve, is all. You know ‘tis not wise now, aye?"
"Aye, especially now that another little one is on the way," she said as she patted her still slender midsection. Nicholas wrapped his arms around his wife, lifting her gently from the floor. "You gave me more than worries, little one. You shook me to my core. Let us not return to those days."
"Nay," she whispered. "I will stay with the children. I trust you will find Isabel in all due haste, and you will return her to us."
As Nicholas’ lips met his wife’s for a slow, lingering kiss, a noise near the door alerted them to the presence of another.
It was Miles.
"Father," he said, clearing his throat, "Sydney and Emme are abed, and I am ready to go."
"Go? Why are you still awake?" Nicholas asked, setting his wife down gently and turning his attention to his son.
"Aye, I will ride with you to find Aunt Isabel." The boy stood as tall as he could, his hands planted on his hips and his chin thrust into the air.
Nicholas heard a stifled giggle from his wife. He glanced at her briefly to see her balled-up hand covering the tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips. His eyes narrowed in a silent warning to stay still.
"Son, I cannot in my right mind take you with me. You have yet to learn all of the skills you need to defend yourself, should something happen along the way."
A dark look crossed the boy’s face, reminding Nicholas of a look his wife had given him many times in the past. Miles had already declared his desire to be a knight, and by Matthew’s word, the boy was excelling. He had also shown a fair amount of stubbornness, a gift from his mother.
"I want to save Isabel! ‘Tis my duty."
"Your duty is to stay here."
"I don’t want to stay here and play with the girls. Father Darius is ill, and the new priest is trying to teach me what I already know. I learn nothing of value with him anyway. I want to be like you, Father. I shall fight for the honor of the king as you did."
"And you may, one day," Nicholas said. "But do not dismiss your lessons. A brave knight must also understand words and figures. A brave knight also knows where he is needed the most."
"My handsome boy," Gemma said, finally stepping around her husband to face her son. "You are brave, and I need you here. I must stay, and you must help me keep your sisters safe. I need you to stay with me. Oliver and Willis will ride out with your father again after they get some rest. You mustn’t worry."
"But Oliver is old," Miles said, stressing the last word. "He does not do much as of late but sit and whittle wood."
"Oliver is still an important member of this household, and he will want to see Isabel safe. He knows the lands around here better than anyone. We will have Willis as well, and you know he is committed to our family."
"Willis has a baby due," Miles said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I heard him say the first was hard on Helena, and he does not wish to leave her side."
Nicholas said nothing as he stared at his son. He was more and more like his mother every day. Now it appeared he was eavesdropping on private conversations not meant for his ears.
"Helena will be fine, I assure you," Gemma said, resting her hand on her son’s shoulder. "We shall take care of her. She could give birth any day now, but I think they will have returned Isabel long before then. Not to worry, please, my son. Please listen to your father. ‘Tis high past time you were abed."
The boy’s frustration was noticeable as he nodded and walked stiffly away.
"I must go," Nicholas said. "I have tarried too long. I will rest a few hours and be on my way."
"Aye, may God go with you," Gemma said, kissing her husband hard on the mouth. "I will wake with you and see you off, and then we will await your return."
Nicholas did not hesitate a moment longer. He went to their quarters to get some rest so he could ride again.
Chapter Nineteen
The throbbing pain in Isabel’s head grew worse as she opened her eyes just enough to let a little light show between her heavy lids. She remembered nothing after leaving the stable with the horse. Her legs were again tied and her arms, pulled tightly behind her back, were bound to a pole. Her lips were so dry she feared they would crack open and bleed. What had happened? Freedom had been in reach and then, nothing.
Terror began to well up inside her as she opened her eyes fully to view the dimly lit room. The air was stale, and something nearby stank horribly. She was moving, or rather, the room she was inside of was moving. Not moving. Bobbing. It was not a room. Isabel was on a ship.
The hard deck beneath her legs was splintered and worn. She tried to twist her legs from the odd position they were in—stuck beneath her and bent at the knees—but the bonds holding her were tight, and she could not move.
Her vision dimmed, and her breathing came in sharp, rapid rasps. She struggled like a wild boar, yet got nothing but pain for her efforts. No one came. Squeezing her eyes shut, she imagined Hesse, teaching her to breathe evenly, to hold her breath and then let it out slowly, and to believe it would all go away.
Sounds came into focus around her as her heart settled, and her episode passed before it truly began. She heard a few moans and some quiet sobbing. Looking next to her, she saw a woman bound just as she was. The woman’s hair was twisted and matted, and her face was red and swollen as if she had been beaten. The stranger did not say a word as she stared straight ahead. Across from her, a boy no more than twelve or fourteen years was likewise bound. His face showed no signs of a beating, but his eyes were dull and lifeless.
Slave. The word tumbled into her mind. She was going to be sold as a slave. In the dark corners of Tenwick, where the soldiers sat and told stories, she had learned. They whispered, or at least they thought they were whispering. Ale tended to loosen their tongues and heighten their voices. The slave trade was alive and well, they had said. It was not legal, of course, but it existed. One of the burly men known as Duma had insisted that his brother had been taken but had no way to prove it. Slave traders came and went. There was no schedule, no warning, and few were ever caught.
Isabel wanted to scream. Duma may have been right. There was no other explanation. She was tied to a pole against her will on a ship that had seen more prosperous days. Indeed, she would never see her family again.
"I said you will let me aboard, or I shall summon the king," a deep voice shouted in the distance. "We can do business, or I can see to it you never do business again."
A vague sense of familiarity came and faded as Isabel tried to hear more. The voiced that answered was not as loud, and she soon lost interest. She was tired and weak, and the meager light was fading before her eyes. Isabel fought to stay awake. Fight. It was the only thing she could do. If she slept, she would never be free.
All these years, she had feared this moment. Nicholas and Gemma had both urged her to overcome such
fears and live her life. They had been wrong, and she had been right. Right to be fearful, right to worry—she had been right. The world was a horrible place, and the darkest corners had reached out to claim her. But this time—maybe not in this moment, but soon—she would fight to be free.
The darkness won, and she passed out again.
****
Turstin stepped up on the deck of the ship. It was the fourth he had tried in an attempt to find Isabel, and hope was fading fast. Instead of remaining on the path northward, he had followed his instincts and moved toward London. Though it had taken most of the night, he had arrived in good time. There were places where people disappeared, and he knew where those places were. His father had spoken of them in great detail, for the younger Hugh had gone there with his father when he was young.
There was a settlement east of London, populated by the poor, the forgotten, and the desperate. It was so near the city but yet so far away. He did not know if it still existed, but Turstin had found it quickly. Entering was far more dangerous than any battle, but it was a place he wanted to rule out before searching elsewhere.
This area was seldom spoken of by most. Those at Henry’s court would never admit such a place existed, but they all knew it did. Turstin searched in a place where even he knew fear. The insane, those with nothing left to lose, and those born without a heart were the most common within the district. Thieves and killers roamed around in the light of day, knowing few dared to enter.
Isabel could be anywhere, so he chose the vilest place first. Better she linger where she was not in danger than to miss the opportunity to find her here. He had recklessly searched the town and now the ships. The words his father spoke echoed in his mind. This was where people disappeared, never to be found again. If she was here, he would find her.
Though he felt exhaustion, he carried on. He found no trace of her in the broken hovels and stench-filled lean-tos. With determination, he searched the area into the night and finally gave up, but only so he could sleep a few hours. Once he rose, he continued to look for Isabel. Turstin could not be sure, but it appeared no one had seen anyone resembling her, or if they had, they were not speaking.