Warrior's Moon A Love Story

by Jaclyn Hawkes

The extra time foraging had been an undue physical strain on Isabella and it was near every afternoon that Chantaya bade her lie down to rest as Chantaya went in to help Cook with making the manor’s supper. On these days, without Conrad’s care, Chantaya fairly ran between the stable and kitchen, and tried to make sure Cook was already in the kitchen when Chantaya arrived there. But it didn’t always work out that way as they all had extra duties what with trying to store the fall’s harvest as well.

  One afternoon, when the low gray clouds threatened to bring more cold rain, Chantaya arrived at the kitchen door in a veritable burst of leaf laden wind to commence with the household’s evening meal. She came in the door and then had to literally lean against it to get it to close against the buffeting gusts. Breathing a sigh of relief, she leaned against the door for a moment, enjoying the relative coziness of the kitchen before going to take her cloak off, but then looked up to see Damian standing in the doorway to the manor house with his disgusting meat-eating gaze.

  Chantaya glanced around the kitchen in a moment of panic, hoping desperately that Cook or Conrad or even a housemaid would miraculously appear, but there was no one and nothing except Damian’s wolfish smile as he almost lazily began to walk across the kitchen.

  Strangely, he didn’t say anything as he moved toward her, but even the near silence was incredibly frightening as he came closer. Without even realizing it, Chantaya backed up until she was halted by a set of shelves that held dishes and food stuffs against the wall. Still, Damian came on, raking his eyes over her in a manner that brought back the fear that had nearly choked her the very first day he had ever seen her. Without even thinking about it, she began to pray, and then glanced around almost feverishly for something she could defend herself with.

  She could almost hear Mordecai speaking of anything being a weapon and then Peyton’s voice seemed to come to her to use her head and think. She thought of the dagger in her boot and then discarded the idea the moment it came to her. Damian would just overpower her and use it on her. She grasped for anything on the shelves behind her and found nothing she could conceive of using to stop him.

  Just as he reached for her, she tried to dart sideways away from him, but he only thrust out a hand and caught her by the sleeve to pull on it viciously. It tore away from the body of her dress, taking a portion of the collar and bodice and the last of the scab from the sword fight injury on her shoulder with it.

  She almost lost her footing with the force of the jerk and she fell against him as he took in the bareness of her shoulder and chest, and the blood that began to drip from the scab. The look in his eyes brought terror as he seemed to catch his breath and become near entranced.

  Reaching up, he pulled a pin from her hair, and then another as she watched him. She fought the panic that welled inside her and tried to listen for Peyton and Mordecai’s voices as she looked around again for something to fight him with. Damian pulled yet another pin and her hair cascaded down from the twist it had been held in. His chest began to rise and fall in a rhythm that mimicked her own racing breath. Reaching again, he grasped the loose mass of dark curls that fell down her back and pulled her against him as she finally screamed for all she was worth.

  Instinctively, she raised a knee, but he simply sidestepped it. She stomped down on his foot with her boot heel and heard him groan as he hauled brutally on her hair and brought her face to his, swearing against her mouth as he roughly went to kiss her.

  Fighting him with one arm and still trying to scream, Chantaya reached behind her for anything to hit him with. All she succeeded in doing was knocking a crock of dried beans to the stone floor. It shattered on impact and beans flew in every direction, but it didn’t cause Damian to stop his brutal attack on her mouth. In desperation, she bit him.

  Raising his head, he snarled as he put a hand to his mouth where she’d drawn blood. Upon seeing it on his fingers, he backhanded her across the mouth viciously, the fury in his face, terrifying.

  Suddenly, there was a scream, and then, almost simultaneously, the sound of metal clanging. Damian loosened his grip and took a step back, still snarling and Chantaya realized her mother was standing next to them with an iron skillet in her hand. The fury in Damian’s face seemed to compound and he pulled even harder on Chantaya’s hair. He raised a hand to hit her mother as well, but Chantaya caught at his arm in time to stop him just as her mother took another swing with the pan. The clang sounded again. This time, Damian went down in a heap into the glass and beans from the shattered crock, nearly taking Chantaya with him.

  Chantaya caught herself and disentangled Damian’s hand from her hair, then turned to her mother who was sobbing and hitting Damian over and over with the heavy pan. Chantaya reached to stop her, but she had to nearly tackle her mother with both arms to control her.

  Just then the kitchen door flew open and Cook came in, followed by two of the housemaids. The three of them stood there staring and finally, Cook whispered, “Lord help us.” She came inside, stepping gingerly over the spilled beans, glass and blood from a cut on Damian’s head and came to Chantaya. She ineffectively pulled the remnants of the bodice of Chantaya’s dress back up to try to cover her shoulder and bosom. Then wrapped an arm around Isabella, who was still fighting Chantaya and continuing to cry from fury and heart break with Chantaya fighting tears right along with her. Cook patted Isabella’s back and said resolutely, “I don’t blame you, sweet Isabella, but 'tisn’t you to want to maim. Calm yourself now. Calm. Calm yourself.”

  Over Isabella’s shoulder, Cook said to one of the maids, “Go quickly to the men and fetch Conrad! Quickly! 'Twill be that we’ll need his savin’ strength for Isabella, and from the master, I expect. Run now! All the way!”

  The maid scurried out and Cook asked the other one, “Is the young master still breathing then? Can you tell?” She continued to pat Isabella for a moment, and then turned and leaned herself next to the maid to feel for a heartbeat and breathing from the young lord. She gave a sigh that seemed an affirmative and then stood again just as the door opened and Lady Rosskeene stepped inside.

  She gasped as she took in the situation and then began to scream even louder than Chantaya had screamed when she saw Damian lying there amidst the crockery shards and beans and blood with Isabella still wielding the pan.

  Cook’s eyes met Chantaya’s for one exasperated second before she left Isabella and turned to Lady Rosskeene and began to reassure her that Damian would be fine and to calm herself, much as she had spoken to Isabella. Lady Rosskeene got only more shrill if anything, and it wasn’t but a minute before the kitchen door came open again and Lord Rosskeene himself stepped in. His eyes widened as he took in the scene and then the door from the garden opened. Conrad and three of the men came inside the now crowded kitchen as well.

  Upon seeing the men, Chantaya attempted again to pull her dress back together as Lord Rosskeene began to glower and then Lady Rosskeene, still screaming like the banshees were after her, threw herself against Lord Rosskeene. He rolled his eyes and shook his head behind her as the glower deepened. When yet another maid entered, Lord Rosskeene pushed his wife toward her and said, “Take her ladyship upstairs and bring her some tea. No, make it brandy. A good shot of it and then stay there with her. Go.”

  The two women went out the door and the resulting drop in nerve grating sound was a small relief until Lord Rosskeene looked around, taking in the mess, Chantaya’s disheveled hair, swelling face and blackening eye, torn dress and blood, and that on Damian and the floor. Angrily, he demanded, “What on this earth goes on here? What has happened to Damian? Who has harmed him?” For a moment, the others didn’t answer and he shouted more loudly, “Who did this? Is he dead? Who did this?”

  Cook shook her head. “He’s not dead, m’lord. Simply out cold, he is.”

  Isabella stepped forward, still clutching her iron pan and the heartbreak in her face eased as the fury there made her almost regal. “I did it! And if he’s not dead yet, I’ll do it again!
And then I’ll come after you, you dastardly beast! I may have had to take your abuse in a much younger, much more naïve time, but I’ll die before I stand by and watch the spawn of a monster like you abuse my daughter!”

  She raised the pan toward him and he actually took a step back from her before the anger rose in him to match hers. Chantaya could see the furious clash coming and she stepped out between them just as Conrad made the same move from near the outside door.

  Lord Rosskeene raised his hand to strike Isabella but then there was a sound from Damian at their feet. As one, they all looked down and Lord Rosskeene bent to him. As Damian groaned and turned his head slightly, Cook leaned to move the broken crockery nearest him as Conrad whispered something to Isabella. He tried to ease the pan from her grip, but she refused to let him and instead, turned to Lord Rosskeene and spat, “Cook your own food and be damned, Lord Rosskeene! My daughter and I will go to prison and gladly, before being treated as she was treated here this even!”

  Isabella cast him one last shriveling glance and then wrapped an arm round Chantaya’s shoulders and pushed her toward the door. Chantaya, still unable to control her tears, was grateful not only to get away to where she could change out of the ruined dress, but also to where she could try to speak to her mother. Damian’s behavior tonight had indeed been heinous and she had begun to shake as reaction set in, but she couldn’t let this make her cave now. Too much was at stake. She knew it instinctively.

  ‘Twas critical that she find out what Lord Rosskeene was planning. Time after time lately, as she listened, he had spoken of when he held the crown. Whatever it was, he truly believed it would be the end of King Dougal’s reign and she couldn’t leave today. Not until she understood what he intended. She couldn’t! Not even at the risk of her very person. ‘Twas too important to the kingdom and everyone in it! But how to explain that to her mother?

  When they reached their little room in the stables as Isabella barred the small door, she broke down into tears again. The two of them hugged each other and cried and clung together. At length, Isabella whispered, “Oh, Chantaya, I’m so sorry. So sorry to have brought you into all of this.”

  Chantaya shook her head and said through her own tears, “Mother, you are not the one responsible for any of Lord Rosskeene’s behavior. Nor that of his son. Don’t apologize, Mum. This is none of it your fault. None.”

  Still sobbing, Isabella said, “But I shouldn’t have brought you here. I shouldn’t have let you come. I should have left you with Rose and Willem.”

  Surprisingly, this was just the tact that Chantaya needed at this moment and she looked up into her mother’s eyes and replied, “Maybe ‘twasn’t you at all who brought me here, Mother. Brought us both here. Maybe ‘twas God himself who brought us here.”

  Isabella eyed her for a moment, reached out to gently touch the swollen spot on Chantaya’s cheek and mouth and then collapsed into tears again with a shake of her head. “No. No, God would never work that way. He wouldn’t put you in harm’s way for his purposes. I don’t believe that.”

  Chantaya hugged her and rubbed her back as she said, “Don’t you suppose, Mum that at some point, before we came to this life, we agreed to the trials we would face here? God knew what would happen to us. He knows all. I’ll bet we agreed with our earthly fates before we ever came down here. But God hasn’t put us in harm’s way. Rosskeene did that. And I’m fine, Mum. A bit sore, but, still mainly intact. ‘Tis God who has kept us safe, in spite of what Rosskeene intended. And ‘tis God who is using us to help King Dougal. It is. I know that it is. If you think about it, you know it as well.”

  Isabella only hugged her tighter and sniffled and Chantaya asked quietly, “Do you feel it as well, Mum?”

  Her mother stilled for a moment, but then said, “I’ll admit that I feel it, daughter. ‘Twas even a feeling that sent me into the kitchen tonight to see about you, but I can’t do it anymore. Whether God wills it or not, I can’t stand by and watch what happened tonight. I can’t. Some may be able to sacrifice their child for the greater good. But not I. No more. We’re leaving. In fact, we haven’t a choice anymore. After what I said to him tonight, probably both of us will be in debtor’s prison within a day’s time. He has a furious temper. I know that from before. He’d never take what I said without making us pay.”

  Leaning back for a moment, Chantaya gave a small smile through the tears that still refused to abate, and said, “Where’s your faith, Mother? ‘Tis a plan the good Lord has. And yes, you can keep to the faith. ‘Tis well enough I know it. After all, you’re the one who taught me. Together, we can do whatever He will ask. And He will ask. Whatever is afoot here just now is huge. Rosskeene truly thinks he will be king within the week. We have to stay long enough to find what he’s planning. Just that long.” She gave her mother another small smile. “Then we’ll go to debtor’s prison together.”

  Her mother closed her eyes. Tears seeped out and down her cheeks and the proud and angry woman who had spoken so surely to Lord Rosskeene only moments earlier was completely gone. Sighing silently, Chantaya turned aside to find more hair pins and take out another dress.

  Before she had even gotten the dress out, there came an angry knock at the door. Chantaya took a deep breath, pulled the torn dress back up over herself and squared her shoulders to open it. There was little doubt who stood on the other side from the demanding sound of that knock. When she opened it, she was surprised to see that not only was it Lord Rosskeene, but also Conrad and his three helpers and Cook herself stood there.

  Before Chantaya could say anything, Isabella moved her aside, stepped out and asked Rosskeene brusquely, “What do you want?” Quietly, Conrad moved to come and stand near Isabella, casually leaning on a pitchfork he’d picked up on the way out, facing the nobleman.

  Surprisingly, the other three young men came just as casually to side him, all of them carrying an implement as well, and Cook, on the other side said in a peace loving tone, “Now remember, m’lord. Remember the quality of your supper since Isabella’s been here. Not a one of us truly wants her to be leaving us. We don’t. Don’t let your temper rule your belly. Forget all this rumpus and let’s go see to the boy. Master Damian needs his father. And you have your business dealings to see to. No sense in bothering with this nonsense.”

  Isabella’s pretty brow wrinkled in confusion as she looked about, wondering why all the others had come as well and Conrad gave her a calming, encouraging glance before turning back to Rosskeene. Lord Rosskeene himself glanced around in concern at the others before turning to Isabella and looking her up and down.

  At his look, she stiffened and said almost as if she was the noble and he the servant, “Well?”

  At that moment, another man, one of those of evil ilk who was involved in whatever it was that Rosskeene was planning walked into the stable and sauntered up. Slowly, as Rosskeene’s evil face watched Isabella, the seething anger seemed to dissipate, to be replaced by impatience. He pulled his pocket watch to look at it and then growled at Isabella and Chantaya. “I haven’t the time to waste with this foolishness. Pull yourselves together and get the supper made. I’ve company waiting.”

  Isabella shook her head and said staunchly, “No, Rosskeene. My daughter isn’t going near your kitchen again. Not so long as your son resides there, thinking she is his crumpet for the taking. We’ll go to prison.”

  His eyes narrowed and he threatened, “You’ll do as I say, woman. How dare you challenge my authority? I’ll see to my son.” Isabella only shook her head and he added, “I give you my word.”

  Again Isabella shook her head and said scathingly, “Your word. Your word is nothing!”

  The anger flared again in his eyes, but then, surprisingly, he chuckled, glanced at Conrad and the others and turned his back. As he walked away, he said, “I always enjoyed that bit of fire you have to you, Isabella. Today, I’ve got more pressing issues than your ridiculous concerns. Damian may not even live. Bring Conrad to the kitchen with
you for assurance. I’ve things to see to.”

  As he walked through the stable, the pigeons in the rafters warbled softly and he paused and looked up. The wooden crate sat among the other birds resting there. For a moment, he looked puzzled, and then thoughtful. He turned back around, glanced at the man with him and then back at the birds. Then, he studied each Conrad, Isabella, Chantaya and the young men in turn, looking more thoughtful with each one. Finally, still creasing his forehead in question, he silently turned with his associate and went out of the stable.

  The servants stood looking at one another in open amazement and at length, Cook said, “Well. All righty then. Who’d have ever believed the master would just walk away like that?”

  Conrad only shook his head, mumbling under his breath in disgust as he looked at both Isabella and Chantaya in pity and then herded his helpers away from where Chantaya’s dress still exposed parts of her shoulder and bosom.

  Cook made a comforting sound, then gently smoothed the dress again and pressed the two to step back into their room and said, “I wish I could stay here and help you, but I’d better get ‘is supper while the sun still shines wi’ ‘im, I say. Stay here together and take comfort in each other. Chantaya, should I send the physician out here when ‘e’s done wi’ the young master? How . . . How badly did he hurt you? Did ‘e? Did ‘e? Uhm . . . ”

  Chantaya shook her head and interrupted as her tears welled over again. “No. He didn’t. He had just come in when Mum arrived. I’ll be fine. No physician. Just let us know how badly injured Damian is, please.”

  Nodding, Cook said, “And some tea. I’ll send Conrad wi’ some tea. Take care now.” Still making the sound of pity with her lips, Cook bustled out. Isabella shut the door with a huge sigh and turned to Chantaya again. The two of them looked at each other and then almost in unison, turned to go rummage for clean clothing for Chantaya. That was the first thing they both wanted to do. Get rid of the glaring evidence of just what Damian had intended to do to her.