Untamed

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “Fatima is impatient,” Meg said, amused. “She senses that soon she will trail her jeweled jesses across Blackthorne’s sky.”

  “’Tis a fine day for it.”

  Meg looked out through the high, narrow window of the upper keep. Sunlight poured into the keep in a soundless yellow torrent.

  “Yes,” she said. “’Tis a fine day. Perhaps spring has finally thawed winter’s icy breast.”

  Yet something in Meg’s voice told Dominic that she didn’t believe winter’s grip had been defeated.

  The rhythmic beating of hooves in the bailey announced the arrival of horses and knights eager to go hawking. Dominic and Meg hurried to join them. But no sooner had the lord and lady arrived in the great hall than Eadith rushed up from the well room.

  “Lady Margaret, wait!” Eadith called.

  “What is it?” Dominic said impatiently. “We’re off to go hawking.”

  “’Tis Marie,” Eadith said. “She’s spewing her breakfast and groaning like a woman in childbirth.”

  “God’s teeth,” he muttered.

  Meg sighed. “I must see to her, lord. You go hawking.”

  “Not without my small falcon.”

  When Meg turned to go to Marie, Dominic was at her heels. Silently he watched while Meg questioned the sick woman. There was no doubt that Marie was in unhappy straits. Her skin was pale and dull and her normally red lips had no color in them at all.

  When Meg finished asking about Marie’s condition, Dominic raised one eyebrow in silent question.

  “’Tis likely a piece of spoiled fish,” Meg said.

  “Excellent. Leave Eadith with her.”

  Meg dismissed the idea with a motion of her hand. “Eadith is useless at sickbed. When the patient vomits, so does she. Go hawking. I’ll join you next time.”

  Dominic hesitated.

  Standing on tiptoe, Meg spoke softly into Dominic’s ear. “Go on without me, my warrior. It distresses Marie for you to see her like this.”

  With a muttered oath, Dominic turned and stalked from the room. Minutes later the clatter and shout of a hawking party leaving the bailey rang through the keep.

  Meg barely noticed. She was busy dripping medicine from a spoon between Marie’s pale lips. The task required patience, for half the time the drops got no farther than the leman’s tongue before she became sick all over again. Eventually enough of the medicine stayed with Marie that she vomited less frequently. Finally she gave a shuddering sigh and slept.

  A glance at the angle of the sun told Meg the hawking party would be too far away for her to catch up with them on her aged palfrey. By the time she reached Dominic, the hawking would be done and they would be on the way back to the keep. Sighing, Meg returned her thoughts to Marie.

  “Lady!” Eadith cried from the hall.

  The urgency in the handmaiden’s voice brought Meg to her feet.

  “What is it?” Meg asked as Eadith rushed into the room.

  “Lord Dominic’s horse fell and he was badly hurt. They fear for his life unless you come quickly!”

  For an instant the world went black around Meg. Then she forced breath into her lungs and thought into a mind gone blank with terror.

  Is this the danger I feared?

  “What are his injuries?” Meg asked tightly.

  “The squire didn’t say.”

  “Send for my palfrey to be—”

  “’Tis done,” Eadith interrupted.

  “Old Gwyn?” Meg asked as she rushed from the room.

  “I sent one of the kitchen girls to fetch her.”

  “Stay with Marie. If she vomits again, give her twelve drops from this,” Meg said, handing over a tightly stoppered bottle.

  Then there was a wild jangle of bells as she raced down the twisting stairway to the herbal. She grabbed medicines, wrapped them in rags against the hard ride to come, and ran from the room. When she reached the bailey, Harry was there. He tossed her up on the palfrey with a strength that belied his old injury.

  “The stupid squire bolted back to the hawking party as soon as he told me,” Harry said roughly. “Wouldn’t even stay to guide you.”

  “I know the land better than any of the newly come squires,” Meg said. “Where is my husband?”

  “The boy said the accident happened in the northern fen, just south of the cart road where the Holy Cross Creek comes out of the fen.”

  “So far,” Meg said fearfully.

  “Senseless place to go hawking for waterfowl. Any fool knows they have too much cover there for a peregrine to hunt well.”

  But Harry was talking to himself. Meg had startled the old palfrey into a canter and was clattering out across the drawbridge. She went up the lane with a speed that scattered chickens and people alike. When vassals called out after her, she ignored them.

  Only one thing mattered to Meg. Her husband was lying badly injured somewhere ahead. He needed her, and she was not there.

  Grimly, Meg kept the old horse at the best pace it could manage while fields and dry-stone fences flew by on either side. By the time the last of the cultivated lands had fallen behind and no more distant cottages remained, the palfrey was sweating. When the way turned more steep and forest closed in, the horse’s breathing became deep and hard. Lather gathered on its flanks and shoulders.

  Reluctantly Meg allowed the beast to slow for the worst hills. As soon as possible, she demanded more speed. At a normal pace it would have been at least an hour’s ride to the place where the accident had occurred. She had no intention of taking that long. Eadith’s words were like a knife turning in Meg’s soul.

  Your husband’s horse fell and he was badly hurt. They fear for his life unless you come quickly!

  The most steep incline lay just ahead. The way was rough and the forest crowded in on either side of the cart road. Unhappily Meg slowed her horse again.

  Reevers galloped out from hiding in the forest, surrounding her before she could flee. She yanked the reins to the right, launching the palfrey at an opening between two knights.

  The old horse was too slow. The Reevers spun their agile war-horses on their hocks, closing the opening before the palfrey reached it. Though Meg spurred her mount forward anyway, the Reevers’ battle stallions simply braced themselves as they had been trained to do, ready to take the shock of the palfrey’s charge.

  From the corner of her eyes, Meg saw other men closing in behind her. In a last, desperate attempt to break free, she yanked the reins hard to the left. Before the winded palfrey could respond, a charger leaped forward and knocked the old horse aside.

  Even as the palfrey went to its knees, a Reever snatched Meg from her horse’s back and set her astride in front of his saddle.

  “Nay!” Meg screamed, turning to claw at her captor’s unprotected eyes. “My husband is hurt! I must go to him!”

  A casual backhand from a chain mail gauntlet sent Meg’s senses spinning. By the time she recovered, she was pinned facedown over a Reever’s thighs while the charger thundered at a dead run through the forest.

  Dominic! My husband, my warrior, what have they done to you?

  There was no answer save the drumroll of hooves and the terrible realization of a Glendruid dream come true, danger all around, chilling Meg to the marrow of her bones.

  In the silence of her soul, Meg called again and again to the man who had become a part of her.

  “GOD’S teeth,” Simon snarled to Dominic. “You’re like a cat walking on wet grass. What is wrong with you? Fatima has flown splendidly.”

  Dominic gave his brother a narrow sideways glance, then resumed watching the eastern fen with cold eyes. Fatima rode calmly on a perch secured to Dominic’s saddle. Sunlight caught the soft, gold-embossed hood over her head, bringing the Turkish designs on the leather into fiery life.

  “I can’t shake the feeling that we should have ridden war stallions and dressed in hauberks,” Dominic said after a moment.

  “Why? Do you think Duncan will go back on h
is vow?”

  “If I thought that, I would have killed him two days ago.”

  Simon grunted. “When Duncan left yesterday for his estates in the north, he took the best of his knights. The Reevers are little better than bandits now.”

  “Aye.”

  “Rufus is no leader,” Simon continued. “In a fortnight, the Reevers will be dispersed like chaff on the wind.”

  “I told Meg the same this morning, in the dark hours before dawn.”

  “And?”

  “She wasn’t consoled.”

  Simon muttered something about Glendruid witches and the difficulties they gave to the men who married them.

  “There are rewards,” Dominic said, smiling to himself.

  One of them was that Meg’s hair looked quite beautiful by candlelight, fanned across her husband’s body as her soft mouth taught him that the falcon also flies its master. The sensuous experience had been extraordinary, for both of them.

  Abruptly the sense of wrongness that had been plaguing Dominic crystalized into a need to see his wife once more. Without thought, Dominic turned his horse back the way they had come. The gray stallion responded instantly. Though not the size of Crusader, this horse was faster and easier of gait, an ideal mount for hunting or hawking.

  “Dominic?” Simon called, surprised.

  “I’ve had enough of hawking for the day,” Dominic said flatly. “’Tis time to check on my own small falcon.”

  “God’s blood. Can’t you trust the wench out of your sight?” Simon muttered.

  Without answering, Dominic urged Fatima onto his wrist and spurred his mount into a canter. Cursing, Simon put his own hawk on his wrist and turned to follow. The three other knights and six squires rapidly followed suit.

  When the hawking party finally came cantering past fields and between dry-stone fences, peasants dropped their tools and stared at the lord of Blackthorne Keep as though he were a ghost.

  The first time it happened Dominic thought little of it. But when more and more people stopped work at the sight of their lord riding by, Dominic and Simon exchanged uneasy glances.

  “What is it, man?” Simon called to a shepherd. “Why do you stare so?”

  The man crossed himself, turned, and fled. Nor would any other vassal come close to the riders. In fact, they seemed terrified of Dominic.

  “I like this not,” muttered Simon.

  Dominic simply urged his horse to a faster pace. Not until he was at the drawbridge did he rein in.

  Suddenly Harry limped out of the gatehouse, stared in shock at Dominic, and grabbed at his hand as he rode by.

  “Thanks be to God,” Harry said fervently. “I knew the lass would save you!”

  “Save me? From what?”

  Harry started to speak but no words came. He simply stared, slack-jawed, at the man who bore no marks of injury of any kind.

  “The mistress…” Harry struggled to swallow.

  “Lady Margaret?” Dominic asked sharply.

  Harry nodded.

  “Speak, man,” Dominic commanded. “Where is Meg?”

  “A squire came. He said you were sore injured near the northern fen.”

  Simon started to speak. A curt gesture from Dominic cut off the words.

  “As you can see, I’m not injured. Where is my wife?”

  “She went to you, lord. To care for you.”

  “To the northern fen?” Dominic demanded. “That’s halfway to Carlysle Manor, isn’t it?”

  “Aye.”

  “Who went with her?”

  The look on Harry’s face told Dominic more than he wanted to know.

  “God’s blood,” he snarled. “You let her ride out alone?”

  A woman screamed from the bailey. The high, despairing cry made the hair on Dominic’s neck rise. He turned and saw Eadith running toward him across the cobbles of the bailey as though pursued by the fiends of Hell.

  “Lord,” Eadith sobbed, throwing herself at the feet of Dominic’s mount. “Don’t have me whipped, lord! I did my best but I couldn’t talk her out of it!”

  Dominic started to speak, but Eadith’s sobbing words never paused.

  “She has loved him since she was a child. She was determined to follow him. She wouldn’t listen to me! I tried, lord. God knows how I tried! But she wouldn’t listen to me!”

  “What are you saying?” Dominic asked in a deadly cold voice.

  “She knew she would never be allowed out alone, so she paid a boy to come running up with a tale of injury to you. In all the turmoil, she simply got on her palfrey and ran off!”

  “How long ago?”

  “Noon, my lord.”

  Dominic turned to Simon. “We can overtake her before supper. She couldn’t have gotten far on that nag of hers.”

  Simon looked dazed. “I wouldn’t have thought it of Meg. She fought for your life as though it were her own. Do you really believe she—”

  “I believe she isn’t here,” Dominic said in a voice that chilled everyone who heard it. “Do you believe otherwise?”

  Simon looked at the fear on the faces of the people of Blackthorne Keep. They had no doubt that disaster had come to them once again.

  “No,” Simon said. “I believe she is gone. May God damn her soul to ever—”

  A single look at Dominic’s face cut off Simon’s curse.

  Eadith looked from one man to the other.

  “Waste no time, lord,” she said urgently. “’Tis true, Lady Margaret’s palfrey is old, but like as not Duncan will have a better horse waiting for her on up the road.”

  Dominic gave Eadith a glittering glance before he turned to the mounted men behind him and gave crisp, succinct orders. Men obeyed instantly, for none could meet their lord’s feral eyes. They had not seen him look so savage even when they had pulled him from the ruins of the sultan’s palace with the wounds of torture still fresh and bleeding on his body.

  Within moments a long-tongued hound came dancing from the kennels. When shown the tracks of Meg’s palfrey, Leaper took off immediately, following the horse’s trail. Simon and Dominic pursued at a gallop. The other knights remained at the keep, carrying out their liege’s orders.

  When Leaper finally came to the steep incline in the forest, she didn’t slacken her stride until she discovered the place where the palfrey’s tracks were churned and overlaid by the prints of other horses. In a tense silence, Dominic and Simon reined in their hard-breathing horses until Leaper picked up the trail in the forest. The men spurred forward between trees at a reckless pace.

  “I see it!” Simon called, urging greater speed from his horse.

  Dominic didn’t bother. He, too, had seen the palfrey. He had also seen that her rider was nowhere in sight. Eadith had been correct.

  Someone had waited in the forest with a fresh mount for Meg.

  Barely able to leash his savage temper, Dominic looked back to the road where the tracks of many horses had churned the earth. There was no way to tell which horse Meg rode now. Nor was there need. Only one thing lay ahead on the cart road. Duncan of Maxwell’s new estates.

  The palfrey trotted toward Dominic. The golden chiming of bells followed every step the old horse made. Dominic spurred his mount forward and grabbed the palfrey’s reins. Tied to the saddle was a rolled piece of parchment and a note written in a priest’s fine hand.

  Dominic read it with a single, consuming glance. When he looked up, Simon sucked in his breath. It took no great wit to realize that Dominic would sooner kill than speak at the moment.

  “Back to the keep,” Dominic said flatly.

  Simon asked no questions. He simply followed his brother to Blackthorne Keep. No sooner had the horses clattered over the drawbridge than Dominic began looking into the faces of everyone who ran out into the bailey.

  The face he was searching for was not there.

  “Send for Eadith,” Dominic demanded.

  A stirring went through the gathered servants, but no one spoke until Old Gwyn
stepped forward.

  “Eadith is gone to the Reevers.”

  Though Dominic had expected as much, he couldn’t prevent the icy rage from vibrating in his voice.

  “Did she leave a message?” he demanded.

  “Aye. If you don’t wish your wife to become whore to the Reevers, you will deliver the ransom by moonrise tomorrow.”

  When Dominic neither moved nor spoke, an uneasy murmur rose from the people gathered in the keep.

  “Do they have her, lord?” Gwyn asked.

  Dominic’s clenched fist opened, revealing fragments of the golden jesses his own small falcon had once worn around her ankles.

  “Aye, old woman. She is taken.”

  “What price?”

  For an instant Dominic’s eyes closed. When they opened, the people closest to him stepped back, instinctively seeking to widen the distance between themselves and the man whose eyes promised all Hell let out for holiday.

  “Thrice her weight in gold and jewels,” Dominic said distinctly.

  “God’s blood,” Simon said, stunned. “He can’t mean that. It would beggar Blackthorne Keep!”

  “That is the point,” Dominic said. “I am to be stripped of my ability to support my knights. Without them, the keep will soon fall. Not that I will know it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have been instructed to deliver the ransom with no more than one knight to attend me. It is reasonable to conclude that I will be slain despite the good priest’s protestations to the contrary.”

  “You can’t do this. ’Tis madness!”

  “Aye,” Dominic said savagely. “’Tis madness indeed.”

  27

  WHEN MEG FINALLY WAS PERMITTED to dismount, she was sore and stiff from the brutal ride. Surreptitiously she glanced around at the Reevers’ illegal keep. Nothing she saw reassured her.

  There were more than twenty men lounging around the rude forest bailey. Only one man wore the expensive trappings of a knight, and it was obvious that the battle gear had seen better days. The remainder of the men were little more than bandits, poachers, and felons.

  Guards sat idly along the edge of the ragged palisade that ringed the bailey. None but the knight had ever been numbered among Duncan’s companions. Rough of manner, raggedly clothed, only the Reevers’ weapons seemed to have received any care. Swords and knives gleamed in the light from a bonfire that served the needs of both warmth and cooking.