by C. C. Wiley
Chapter 1
The biting wind, heavy with moisture from an approaching storm, tore at Sabine’s hair. She swiped at the bits of dried vegetation stuck to her cheek and drew the bundle closer to her chest. As she wove her way through the stand of trees, she prayed the thin woolen cloak would muffle the babe’s cry.
Fear that she had waited too long deepened with every step that brought her closer to the hermit’s cottage. Lady Elizabeth must have led Vincent DePierce’s mercenaries to the tiny island. How else would they have found this deserted pile of rocks hidden off England’s shores?
Sabine stopped in front of the gnarled bushes. There, in the shadows, hidden by brambles and twisting branches, stood the entrance to the cottage she had called her home for nearly a year.
She waited in the storm, listening for a careless hunter’s footsteps, and checked the many traps set around the building. After making certain she was not being watched, she slipped inside and kicked the door shut.
Exhaustion turned her trembling legs to water and she slid down the door.
How had it happened so quickly? The men must have known Elizabeth was there and lay in wait, stalking the new mother until she was alone.
Sabine rubbed her forehead. She should have followed closer. Found a way to stop them.
The scene exploded behind her eyelids. A flash of lightning. Shadows reaching from behind. A cry for help. And then the babe’s mother disappeared over the cliffs.
Despite the slippery footing, Sabine had tried to see over the edge. The crashing waves had pummeled the shore below. Watching for signs of life. No matter how long she stared into the blackness, the rocks and water refused to release their hold. Elizabeth was gone. And the newborn baby remained hidden in the brush, out of sight and protected from DePierce’s mercenaries.
Sabine pressed her palm to her forehead and tried to erase the horrid memory to no avail. Her thoughts returned to the cliffs and the lives that had been altered in an instant.
* * *
Sir Darrick of Lockwood bunched his fists in frustration. Their travels from France to England’s southwest coast had cost them precious time. He had prayed that when he arrived at the cottage near Balforth Castle, Elizabeth would run out to greet them, her laughter ringing out at the lark she had played on her older brother. ’Twas as their mother feared: His sister had disappeared somewhere between Lockwood lands and Balforth Castle. His heart clenched. Elizabeth was in trouble.
He stared down at the injured man lying on the bed. The villagers said the clergyman called himself Rhys, and they placed little trust in the man of the cloth. Although there were few signs that he’d been beaten, he had yet to stir from his deep sleep, not even waking when Darrick and his soldiers rode in that morning. But his mother, Lady Camilla of Lockwood, was confident Rhys had vital information.
The longer they waited, the colder the trail.
Darrick swatted his gauntlets against his thigh. He needed the answers to Elizabeth’s disappearance. How was he to awaken the clergyman from his deep sleep?
Darrick turned as Sir Nathan Staves entered the musty room. Nathan’s massive body, formed from years swinging a battle sword for King Henry, blocked what little light the torch produced. He bent, narrowly missing the low wooden beam hidden in the thatched ceiling.
“Sir Vincent DePierce, Lord of Balforth, insists Elizabeth never arrived at his castle gate,” Nathan said. “He professes that his men scoured the countryside, searching for signs of his nephew’s wife. Claims they returned emptyhanded. She has simply vanished.”
Darrick grunted, not bothering to voice his disgust with DePierce’s ridiculous theory. Instead, he lay out his own report. “A few of the servants hiding on the neighboring lands say that when Hugh left for France, he took with him a vast number of soldiers still riding under the old Lockwood banner.”
“That would leave Lockwood and Elizabeth virtually unprotected.”
“Unprotected and without an heir. I’m told a recent missive reported Sir Hugh’s disappearance from his command.”
“And there were orders from Hugh that should harm befall him, Elizabeth was to make haste to Balforth. To his uncle, DePierce,” Nathan added.
“Someone used Hugh’s death as bait to draw Elizabeth from Lockwood’s safety?” Darrick nodded as if answering his own question. “We find the one who did this, we find Elizabeth. Then we grind him into the ground.”
Nathan’s green eyes shimmered with vengeance. Darrick could almost see the plans forming inside his friend’s head. He would do well to keep his tall friend out of trouble and still manage to find his sister.
“What of the runner we intercepted?” Nathan asked.
Darrick placed a hand over his heart, quoting the missive they had taken from the messenger. “ ‘After a lengthy search, it is with our deepest regret that we failed to find the remains of Sir Hugh DePierce, Lord of Lockwood.’ ” He paced the confining cottage. “My God! Vincent DePierce’s nephew, Hugh, now Lord of Lockwood. Indeed, it still burns my throat to speak of another man’s name attached to my ancestor’s home.”
“I fear it will not bode well for the servant who misplaced his lordship’s body.”
“A man of Hugh’s ilk will turn up, whether you like it or not,” Darrick said with a thin smile.
“You doubt his death?”
“Until I see his body, I advise we embrace caution while we travel upon these lands.”
Nathan nodded at the wizened lump lying motionless in the bed. “What of that one? Have you been able to shake him awake? Question him about what he knows?”
Darrick straightened his shoulders. “ ’Tis useless. For now, we’ll put the hounds on the trail again.”
Nathan scrubbed at the stray whiskers on his jaw. “Did you note the fear in the villagers’ eyes? None would mention your sister’s name. Perhaps if I speak with them without the lord of Balforth by my side, we will discover where he has hidden Elizabeth.”
“’Tis imperative we find her. Without Elizabeth to claim Lockwood from the king, DePierce may stand to receive all the lands held in Hugh’s name.”
“You’re in Henry’s good graces. Surely Elizabeth’s rights as heir to Lockwood will hold.”
“Unless DePierce claims Elizabeth as his latest wife and declares Lockwood as his own,” Darrick said.
He leaned forward and pressed his ear close to Rhys. Nothing more than the sound of labored breathing came from the clergyman’s cracked lips. Darrick spoke over his shoulder as he continued to watch the little man. “Would that I could leave this bedside and join you, Nathan. Once again, I must ask you to put yourself in danger and see what you can learn from the people of Balforth.”
Nathan flexed his shoulders. Restless, he strode to the window and looked out. “You know I stand for you. Have done so since we were children playing knights protecting our king.”
“In truth, you are part of my family,” Darrick said. “More so than those of my blood.”
Nathan nodded. “Knights of the Swans until the day we die.”
Darrick’s gaze shuttered. “Perhaps those are memories left for another time. You know the consequences.”
“Let us away from these lands,” Nathan said. “Ignore those who’ve turned their backs on you! An eye for an eye. Turn away from the lot of them.”
“You know I could never do that,” Darrick said. “ ’Tis certain DePierce has drawn Elizabeth into his greedy clutches. I am honor bound to find her and ensure her safety. Try as I might, I cannot ignore my family’s call for help. No longer can I let the threat to Lockwood run free.”
“So be it,” Nathan relented. “I honor your decision.”
Darrick frowned. “Be safe, my friend,” he warned.
Nathan moved to carry out his orders. He paused in the doorway. His indecision was apparent, as he wrestled with his thoughts. “You know Elizabeth already may have succumbed to his treachery.”
“We must continue to hold the hope that she will be fou
nd alive and well,” Darrick said. “I’ll have the men prepare to ride as soon as we learn anything new.” He paused when he felt a tug on his sleeve.
“I must know,” Rhys whispered, his voice as hoarse as flint scraping across a rock. “In truth, do you intend to help the Lady Elizabeth?”
Awash with relief, Darrick leaned forward and pulled the little man upright. “Tell me what you know!”
Rhys’s beady crow like eyes stared into his face. “I see now that you, too, have your father’s eyes. The bards didn’t exaggerate their tale when they likened them to the strength of steel.” He stopped his efforts to pry Darrick’s hands from his clothes. “Be a good soul. Pour me a drink from yon jar. See there. Sitting on the shelf . . .”
Darrick unlocked his fingers and let Rhys fall back to the straw mattress. He snatched the jar with one hand, grabbing the wooden vessel that stood beside it with the other. Thrusting it into Rhys’s hands, he waited impatiently for the man to continue.
After sipping the elixir from the wooden cup, Rhys spoke slowly. “I arrived at Balforth after I left your father’s side. They had need of both healer and clergy at the castle.”
Darrick waited as Rhys took another slow, laborious swallow. The little man made a show of letting the soothing liquid trickle down his parched throat. Testing Darrick’s patience further, he took another drink before continuing.
“Unfortunately, the wives of Lord Balforth have been beset by poor health.”
“Plague?” Darrick asked.
Rhys looked up from under a ragged hank of hair. He took a deep, rattling breath, and added, “Nay,” he said. “The marriage bed.”
“You forget, old man, Elizabeth is not Lord Balforth’s wife.”
“Not yet,” Rhys mumbled under his breath. “When I heard your sister was widowed and traveling to Balforth, I tried to watch over her. As a favor to your father.”
Nathan returned to the cot. “How did you know of Hugh’s death so soon? ’Tis only recently that official notice was delivered.”
Rhys glanced back at Darrick. Shrugging, he waved aside Nathan’s question with a pale hand. “ ’Tis of no importance. Perhaps a loyal retainer came with the report. I don’t recall.”
“Quickly, old man, where is she?” Darrick asked.
“Vincent DePierce was most displeased when your sister arrived at Balforth Castle. You see—”
“You saw her?” Nathan pressed closer. “She arrived at Balforth?” He turned to Darrick. “I knew it. We’ll tear Balforth apart.”
“Please continue with your tale. Where is my sister?”
“She hides on a small island off the west coast. Few people know of its existence.” Rhys hesitated before continuing. “Should have found safety there. Until today. No one knew where she was. Save myself and the maiden I sent with her to tend to her needs.”
Darrick cursed the delays he and his men had met with every step of their journey. “Continue,” he ordered.
Rhys bowed his head. “May God forgive her. The serving girl did not stay as instructed. Fears of the old hermit hiding on the island were too much for her. She deserted your sister to fend for herself.”
“Where’s the servant now?” Darrick asked.
Rhys’s gaze rose from his lap. He studied the men before giving them his answer. “She was reported missing at the same time as Lady Elizabeth. The DePierce mercenaries were waiting. Her arrest came as soon as she returned home.”
Darrick searched the man’s face for truth. “Damn it, man! How is this possible?”
“You must understand! The soldiers of Balforth are very efficient. The maid did not have a chance.” Rhys’s eyes shifted away. “Even now, I fear they are on their way to ferret out the safekeeping of the two women and end their lives.”
Darrick leaned over, his face close enough to smell the pungent odor of wild onions on Rhys’s breath. “Are your brains addled? You just said the other woman is no more.”
A flash of impatience burned in Rhys’s eyes before he hid them behind heavy lids. “Nay, ’tis true!”
“There is another?” Darrick asked.
The thin blanket bunched under Rhys’s gnarled fingers. His voice continued to rise in agitation. “Aye, the stubborn wench. Too headstrong for her own good.” He wiped the spittle from his mouth and motioned toward the door. “You tarry long enough. Leave tonight for the island. I pray you are not too late.”
Nathan grabbed Darrick by the front of his gambeson. “You cannot mean to go there alone.”
Darrick shrugged free. “I am capable of handling two women. ’Tis you who enters into Balforth’s den of vipers. Don’t draw attention until we station more men.” He nodded toward the rumpled clergyman. “Watch him closely.”
“Hear me, Rhys,” Darrick called from the doorway. “If what you say is true, I owe you a debt of gratitude. To be paid upon my return. However, should you play me false, know that I’ll be on your trail. And I will find you.”
Acknowledgments
I am grateful for so many wonderful people who support me in this wild writing life.
Raisa Allison, my sister, I thank you for being you. Your strength inspires me.
And to Cindy Jackson, my lifelong friend, and warrior, I thank you for giving me courage to reach beyond the stars.
Once again, a huge thank you goes to my friend and super beta reader, Susie Fourt. And many thanks to my critique partner, Kimberley Troutte, who always talks me through the crisis. Thanks for reminding me to breathe.
Last, but certainly not least, to my darling husband, knight in shining armor, and best friend, I thank you for helping me to believe. PS: I love you more today than I did the day before.
C.C. Wiley is a longstanding member of the Romance Writers of America, and a published author. She lives in Salt Lake City with her high school sweetheart of over thirty-five years and their four wacky dogs. When given a choice, she prefers a yummy, well-written, historical or contemporary romance that is chock-full of hope, love, and a Happy Ever After. She believes there are wonderful courageous characters waiting for someone to tell their story. It’s her hope that each adventurous romance she writes will touch the reader and carry them away to another place and time, where hopes and dreams abound.