A Knight and His Rose

by Catherine Kean

  Her grandmother.

  Violetta had unwittingly revealed who she really was. She clearly understood her mistake, for her throat moved with a hard swallow.

  Tense silence stretched in the cavern. Osric closed the box and stowed it in his bag, along with the goblets. ’Twas impossible to continue her deception now. How he dealt with the revelation, though, and what it meant for both of them, must be handled with care.

  He rose to standing, and his gaze locked with hers. “Your grandmother,” he said.

  Violetta’s grip tightened on her crutches, as though she intended to bolt. She must know she couldn’t possibly outrun him. If by some miracle she reached the rope and scrambled up without him catching her first, she’d have to face his guards waiting in the field.

  She sighed, a sound of grudging resignation. “Aye, my grandmother’s name was Jacqueline.”

  “And you are Violetta Molineaux.”

  Her chin nudged higher. “I am.”

  “At last, the truth.”

  Surprise flickered in her eyes. “How long have you known?”

  “I suspected the night we met at the stone circle. I only knew for certain after I had brought you to the castle. Crawford recognized you.”

  A cry broke from her. “Why did you not say something?”

  “And spoil your ruse?”

  “I feared for my safety!”

  “Ah. So you believed if I knew the truth, you would become my hostage, to be used without mercy to bring ruin upon your father?”

  “Exactly. After all, you were hardly pleasant when we met years ago.”

  Remorse flared. “You are right. I was unkind. For my behavior that afternoon, I apologize.”

  Her lips pressed together. She appeared uncertain, as though doubting the sincerity of his apology.

  “After your stay in my home,” Osric said quietly, “I trust—”

  “Trust? A curious choice of words, when our families have been at odds for years.”

  “They have indeed, and not just because of my relatives’ actions,” he reminded her.

  He sensed her struggling to hold back what she really wanted to say, and so, he waited, letting the potent silence lag. “What are you going to do?” she finally asked.

  If I had my way, I would keep you for myself. I would love you, cherish you, until the day I took my last breath.

  “Your father sent me an ultimatum. I am to return you to him by twilight, or face war.”

  Violetta moaned.

  “While I have skilled soldiers in my garrison—”

  “You cannot fight my sire.”

  Resentment simmered. “Violetta.”

  “Please. I am responsible for this situation. Oh, God, I should never have gone over the wall.”

  “To be honest, I am glad you did.”

  “Why…?”

  “If you had not, we might never have met.”

  Her eyes glistened, her expression a touching blend of anguish and yearning.

  He claimed the small space between them. She tried to hobble backward, but he curled his fingers into her silken tresses, halting her. She resisted his grip and turned her face away, keeping her mouth from his easy reach.

  Kissing the smooth plane of her cheek wouldn’t satisfy the desire smoldering within him. When they kissed again, ’twould be on the lips, and because she wanted it—wanted him—not because he’d forced her.

  “Osric—”

  “I like very much when you say my name.” He gently swept his thumb against her cheek.

  “You must let me go.”

  “Must I?”

  “Return me to my father. I will make sure there is no bloodshed, I promise.”

  Admiration for her skimmed his soul as he brushed his thumb against her skin again. “’Tis a generous and brave offer, but I have already made my decision.”

  “W-what decision is that?”

  To make you mine, forever. “I am going to send you home.”

  ***

  Thank God Osric saw the sense in avoiding war.

  If Violetta returned to her family, though, she might never see him again; her father wouldn’t allow it. She’d never experience the thrill of Osric’s heated gaze upon her again. Never kiss him again. She couldn’t bear such thoughts.

  His thumb swept her cheek once more, and her eyelids slipped shut as she gave in to her yearnings. How her heart ached to imagine this was the last time he’d ever touch her.

  He sighed, his breath fanning her skin, and her eyes opened. She turned her head a fraction to better see him and found him studying her intently.

  “You surprise me,” he murmured, his attention shifting to her mouth. Her lips tingled, as though recalling their passionate kisses.

  “In what way do I surprise you?”

  “I thought you would be thrilled to be going home.”

  “I am,” she said, “but….”

  “But?”

  But, of all astonishing things, I think I am falling in love with you.

  Violetta didn’t dare voice such thoughts. “I would like what has happened between us…to have importance.”

  “It did. Does. At least, to me.”

  Hope flickered within her. Facing him, she asked: “Enough importance to end the feuding between our families?”

  “That, I cannot promise.”

  Her hope wavered.

  “For any progress to be made, your sire must want the situation to change, too.”

  “I will do all I can to convince him.”

  “You can try. I do hope he will appreciate that I treated you with honor.”

  Indeed, Osric had. However, what they’d found hidden behind the stone suggested that their families—some members, anyway—hadn’t always been foes. “As soon as possible, we must tell Father what we found in this cavern.”

  “Will he believe us?” Osric asked, sounding doubtful.

  A fair point. Her father could be rather obstinate.

  “Your sire may insist what we found is a hoax, love, placed in this cavern by a conniving trickster.”

  “True. The stone with the rose symbol was well secured in the wall, though, was it not?”

  “Aye. The roots and dirt around it hadn’t been disturbed in ages.”

  “Also, until I fell into the tunnel, I doubt anyone else had been inside it for years—at least not this part of it.”

  “I agree.”

  She frowned. “I wonder…. Could anyone at Coltingstow confirm what happened between William and Jacqueline?”

  “Possibly, although my grandfather died years ago. Most of the servants who worked for him are also dead.”

  “Jacqueline died several summers past,” Violetta said with a sigh. “I still miss her.”

  “If William and Jacqueline were in love, ’twould explain the blue rose.”

  Violetta nodded. “I do not believe ’tis a coincidence.”

  “‘When a blue rose blooms, enemies will become lovers.’” Osric said. “’Tis what I was told when I was a boy.”

  Smiling, Violetta said, “I heard the same as a child. When I asked how we came to have blue rose bushes in our garden, my mother said Jacqueline was given a cutting by a suitor. She must have brought the bloom to the cavern.”

  “Not necessarily. There are three blue rose bushes at Coltingstow.”

  “Three? Do you think Jacqueline received her cutting from William?”

  “’Tis entirely possible.”

  Now, if only they could confirm what had taken place long ago; the truth about William and Jacqueline had the potential to change everything between the Seabrook and Molineaux families. “Oh! I just remembered. Your healer—”

  “Shelley?”

  “Aye. We must speak with her. She knew who I really was.”

  “That is because I told her I suspected—”

  “She said I resembled my grandmother.”

  Osric’s eyes widened. “God’s blood. I did not realize she had known Jacqueline.”
>
  “We must speak with Shelley as soon as we leave this tunnel.”

  “We will, love.”

  Once they returned above ground, though, Violetta might not have another chance to be in the passageway. “Should we search some more and see if we find any other secrets?”

  “I was about to suggest the same.” Osric’s hand dropped away from her face; how she missed his touch. “I will explore the back half of the cavern, you the front.”

  “We still might find ancient bodies,” she teased.

  “We might. If there are any here, I am going to find them first.”

  Ha! “Is that so?”

  “Aye.” He winked.

  Violetta adjusted her grip on the crutches. “I take your words as a challenge, Lord Seabrook.”

  He grinned. “So be it.”

  ***

  Osric examined the tangle of roots and stone as he made his way along the rear wall. He was going to miss having Violetta at Coltingstow. He enjoyed their conversations, her curiosity and intelligence, and her strength of will. If he’d met her at a feast or festival, he’d have liked to court her.

  By the day’s end, though, she could well be his enemy again. Judging by her father’s missive, Molineaux wouldn’t easily accept the secrets revealed by the box. He’d demand irrefutable proof. Shelley might provide the answers they sought, but if not, Osric would question every one of his servants, then the folk in the town and the villages beyond, until he’d found the evidence he needed.

  While he’d let Violetta return home for now, he wasn’t going to relinquish her forever.

  He took another sideways step and heard the patter of dirt from across the chamber; Violetta had poked at a spot with a crutch. His attention shifted to the large stone above and behind him, the monolith that had tilted over the years. At some point, the stone would collapse inward and earth would fall into the cavern—and with it, the large stone. Part if not all of the cavern would become impassable, its secrets lost.

  Not yet though. The monolith appeared well enough anchored for now.

  When he raised the torch to better illuminate the side of the stone, he spied something tattered and brown in the root-covered dirt above it.

  The tattered material looked like…cloth.

  “Violetta, come and have a look.”

  She hobbled over, and he gestured to the spot of interest. Her eyes bright, she asked, “What is it?”

  “I am not sure.” He wished he could get closer to it, but ’twas just out of his reach.

  As though sharing his thoughts, she handed him a crutch. “Try this.”

  “All right. Stand back.”

  She hopped back out of the way. He secured the torch in the wall and then, raising the crutch, carefully touched the cloth with it. The fabric split apart.

  Earth rained down into the cavern. Metal clinked.

  When the haze of fallen dirt cleared, he stooped and picked up a tarnished object on the ground: a buckle.

  “Osric.” Violetta’s voice sounded strained. “Look up.”

  Something slender and white poked out of the soil above the monolith.

  Bones.

  Chapter Nine

  “We may have found a body after all.”

  “A skeleton, at least,” Osric said. “I believe those are the bones of a hand.”

  Violetta tried to visualize what was in the field above them. “Did you say we are almost underneath the ancient circle?”

  “We are. Mayhap the bones belong to the legendary thief.”

  Excitement quickened Violetta’s pulse. “If so, there might be treasure in the dirt.”

  Osric’s expression turned grim. “We cannot tell anyone of this discovery, not until the local sheriff has investigated. Otherwise, the tunnel will become overrun by folk wanting a share of the riches.”

  “As lord, you could order people to stay away.”

  He laughed, the sound wry. “I cannot even keep my enemies away.”

  His words stung. Was he referring to her? Did he still think of her as his enemy? Anguish welled, but she couldn’t deny there was much to resolve between their families.

  Osric crossed to her and handed back the crutch. As Violetta tucked it under her arm, he said, “We must delay exploring any more of the passageway. The sheriff—”

  “Milord!” The captain-of-the-guard’s voice came from back down the tunnel.

  Osric touched her arm. “Excuse me a moment.” He strode past her. “Aye, Lane?” he called.

  “Riders are approaching Coltingstow. At least twenty men-at-arms, along with Lord Molineaux.”

  Violetta gasped. “Father?”

  “More soldiers have gathered on Molineaux’s estate.”

  “I will return aboveground,” Osric shouted to the captain-of-the-guard.

  Violetta reached Osric’s side. “I do not understand. You said I was to be returned home by the day’s end.”

  “’Twas the agreement. I confirmed it by letter.”

  Misgiving rippled through her. “Are you certain Father got the letter? He is a chivalrous man. He would never betray such an arrangement.”

  Anger tautened Osric’s features. “Come. We cannot resolve the situation down here.”

  He strode toward the hole in the ground, but she didn’t budge. “What are you going to do?”

  “Meet your sire,” Osric said, without glancing back.

  “And then?”

  He halted, set his hands on his hips then faced her. “What happens next will depend on your father. If you would attend my discussion with him, I would appreciate that very much.”

  “I will. I shall do all I can to help.”

  “Thank you.”

  She managed a smile. “You can thank me later, with kisses.”

  He smiled back, but she saw regret in his eyes, as though he wasn’t certain they’d ever kiss again. “Come. I do not want to keep your father waiting.”

  ***

  Osric spurred his destrier over Coltingstow’s drawbridge, two of his men-at-arms riding close behind. Lane and two other guards had stayed at the entrance to the tunnel, while Osric had sent the remaining man-at-arms to the town to fetch the sheriff.

  Violetta sat in front of Osric, facing forward, while he supported her with his arm around her waist. He’d debated whether ’twas a good idea for her to ride with him on his horse, for her father would doubtless not approve, but Osric had been reluctant to assign her welfare to one of his men. As lord, he was responsible for her. Until she was safely with her sire, Osric would keep her close to him.

  As they rode out from the shadows beneath the gatehouse, the clatter of hoofbeats carried into the bailey. When they’d ridden out earlier, the bailey had echoed with the sounds of servants busy with the running of the keep. Now, ’twas eerily silent. Castle folk, their expressions watchful and fearful, stood back against the mortared walls and in open doorways.

  By the stables, a large group of armed men on horses waited. At Osric’s approach, a silver-haired lord wearing a pewter-gray cloak nudged his horse forward a few paces to distinguish himself from the others: Molineaux.

  Osric halted his destrier facing the older lord’s. The man scowled, and Violetta shivered against Osric. She didn’t, though, try to push away his arm or get down from the horse—small but gratifying signs of her support.

  “Good day, Lord Molineaux.” Osric intended to keep the conversation amicable as long as possible.

  The older man’s scowl deepened. “I see naught good about this day.”

  “May I ask the reason for your surprise visit? If I had known you were coming to Coltingstow, I would have been here to greet you properly.”

  His lordship’s narrowed gaze shifted to Violetta. “Are you all right, Daughter?”

  “I am fine. Osric has been very kind to me.”

  Molineaux’s lip curled. “Dare I ask just how kind? I notice you address him by his first name.”

  Osric’s jaw clenched. What was his lordship i
mplying?

  “I call him by his given name, Father, because he is a nobleman and also my friend.”

  Fury gleamed in his lordship’s eyes. A sense of imminent peril permeated the air.

  “Milord, I have enjoyed getting to know your fair daughter,” Osric said. “Since ’tis the first time you and I have met, shall we retire to my great hall? We can become better acquainted while we drink—”

  “I will not drink with you.”

  “Father!”

  Molineaux hadn’t even tried to hide his repugnance.

  Osric’s grip tightened on his horse’s reins. He would not give up on his attempt at diplomacy. Not yet. “Milord, with respect—”

  “Respect?” Molineaux growled. “What irony, for that word to pass your lips.”

  Enough. “What reason do you have to say such?” Osric shot back. “I have endeavored to be chivalrous.”

  With an angry snarl, his lordship reached to his belt and withdrew a crumpled parchment. “This was an insult, as I am sure you intended.”

  The parchment appeared to be the sort Osric used, but he needed a closer look. He signaled to a lad standing nearby, who hurried to Molineaux, took the missive, and brought it to Osric.

  He held the top edge of the document while Violetta unfurled the rest. Without doubt, the tidy, precise handwriting was Crawford’s.

  Lord Molineaux,

  Your daughter will be returned safely, provided you meet my demands. You will surrender your castle and its surrounding lands to me.

  Signed,

  Osric Seabrook

  A shocked cry broke from Violetta.

  “God’s teeth,” Osric muttered.

  Violetta glanced back at him. “Did you write that letter?”

  “I did not. I swear to you—”

  “Do you deny it came from your household?” Molineaux shouted.

  “My household, aye, but—”

  With a ferocious growl, Molineaux reached to draw his sword.

  “Nay!” Violetta cried.

  “These are not my words,” Osric yelled, relieved that his lordship and his men stilled; their weapons remained sheathed. “They are not what I instructed my steward to send.” Glancing at the folk gathered in the bailey, he said, “Find Crawford. Now.”

  As servants hurried into the keep, his lordship sneered. “You are bold to put blame upon your steward.”