Once Upon a Star

by Nora Roberts

  Stunned and sick, Lianna struggled to her knees. Beorn spun back from the edge of the cliff and came toward her, his face wearing a triumphant sneer.

  “That takes care of that, my lady,” he said pleasantly. He was deadly calm, scarcely out of breath. The sun glinted off his bright gold hair. “Now it’s time to take care of you.”

  Marthe’s scream was a hoarse, rusty sound that grated through every corner of the kitchen. The peddler and his wife, eating bread and cheese at the table, stared in terror at the serving woman who stood at the door, her mouth open, and terrible low keening sounds emerging as though she were gazing at the devil. Half a dozen other servants stood rooted to the spot, petrified that the woman who had never uttered so much as a whisper had let out that bloodcurdling scream.

  The peddler’s wife was the only one to move. She rushed to the door. “What? What is it?” she demanded.

  Marthe lifted an arm and pointed.

  When the woman looked up, she could just make out the rocky outcropping where someone—a dark-haired woman in blue—lay sprawled upon the ground. And at the same time, she saw a huge broad-shouldered man toss another man into the sea.

  “It’s my lady! That’s her—up there!” she shrieked.

  A commotion began in the kitchen, an uproar of shouts, prayers, questions—with everyone shoving toward the door. Suddenly Duke Ambrose strode into their midst.

  “What goes on here?”

  “My lord!” The peddler’s wife stumbled toward him and fell to her knees. “I beg you—my lady is in danger!”

  “What are you talking about, woman? Do you mean my wife?” Ambrose grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet. “Where? Where is Lianna?”

  “Upon the…ground…my lord.” It was Marthe who answered him, slowly, in a rasping whisper, each word a struggle. He turned in shock to stare at her. “The…cliff—up there…a man…hurt her. He…killed the man…threw him over…”

  Ambrose’s skin turned ashen. Fear churned through him, stronger than any emotion he’d ever known. “Where, Marthe? Show me where, damn it!”

  The peddler’s wife rushed back to the doorway. “There—she was there! You see? The gray rocks, above the gardens—I saw it, too—the man who threw the other into the sea—”

  She broke off, trembling, lifting terrified eyes to the duke.

  Ambrose’s keen stare raked the cliffside. His blood froze in his veins. No one was there.

  8

  “YOU’RE MAD.”

  “Mad, is it? Think what you want, Princess. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  Beorn suddenly dragged her off the path he’d taken and pushed her across a small ledge toward what she saw was the entrance to a cave.

  “This is where you’ll be staying until all the fighting’s done. Then the new duke of Blackenstar will be back to claim you.” His mouth curled into a smile. “As a royal bride, you’ll serve me every bit as well as you did Ambrose.”

  “You think that you are going to become the new duke of Blackenstar?” Lianna’s throat closed with horror. “You mean to kill Ambrose, don’t you?” she whispered, a sick panic washing through her.

  “I wouldn’t put that fine a point on it,” Beorn growled. “I only mean to see to it that he dies in this battle with Constantine—one way or another. Ah, yes, my lady.” Beorn’s lips curled into an ugly smile. “I followed you and that old knight, heard most every word. This attack planned by Prince Constantine—it’ll serve me. Aye, it’ll serve me damned well.”

  “Traitor,” she whispered, her fists clenching at her sides.

  Beorn shrugged. “It’s his own fault—naming William captain-of-arms instead of me. He granted William land and a title. Not me. I’ve served him nearly thrice as long, and this is the way I’m rewarded? Assigned to protect both of his wives, a lady’s guard.” He snorted contemptuously, but beneath the scorn there was raw fury blazing in his eyes.

  Her arms were bruised where he had grabbed her, held her helpless as he’d forced her away from the cliff and along another twisted path that wound back into the mountain along the coast and near the cave. If only she could get past him, back to the path. She could scream, try to rouse the attention of the guards, or someone at the castle, though the roar of the sea and the squawking of the crows might well drown out her cry. But as Beorn pulled a length of rope from the pocket of his heavy green cloak, she shrank back.

  “You can’t tie me up and leave me here, cave or no. I’ll freeze!”

  “That’s a chance we’ll have to take, won’t we, my lady?”

  He advanced on her.

  “Why?” Lianna forced herself to hold her ground, to stand firm as he approached, swaggering a little in his eagerness.

  “Why must you betray Ambrose in this way? If you want recognition for all of your service, I can help you. I’ll speak to Ambrose on your behalf. He’ll listen to me.”

  “Aye, he’ll listen to you. He has a soft spot for you, that he does.” The gold-haired soldier nodded, his voice thick with contempt. “Not like that other one, the poor stupid wench.”

  “Madeline?”

  “It’s her fault, all this.” Beorn grimaced. “If she hadn’t taken those potions and gone mad like she did—trying to fly off the parapet—I’d have been captain-of-arms instead of William. Ambrose held me accountable for her dying. He didn’t say it.” His eyes glittered. Black rage thrummed through his voice. “But I know he did.”

  “That’s not true—he would have told you if it were. He thinks highly of you. He set you to guard me. He wouldn’t have entrusted you with the care of another wife if he didn’t trust you. After all, I escaped Sir William only days ago. He has not been faulted—”

  “You didn’t die after escaping the guard of Sir William,” Beorn snarled. “If you had, it would have gone badly for him.”

  “But now…if I disappear,” Lianna rushed on desperately, “Ambrose will hold you responsible once again. You were set to guard me today. He’ll question you. You can’t possibly get away with—”

  “I’ll tell him that your father’s men overpowered me and ran off with you. By then, word of the coming attack might well have reached him, and he’ll realize you betrayed him.”

  “I haven’t!”

  Beorn continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “He won’t want you back, my lady,” he said softly. “He’ll want you dead. Along with Constantine—and your father. Ambrose doesn’t like betrayal.” His green eyes shone. “You ought to be glad. It will make Constantine’s job easier for it. Ambrose never was one to let himself get tied in knots over a woman, not him—not even when Madeline died, much as he regretted that. But he will, I would wager, get tied in knots over you. He’ll be distracted in battle, as he’s never been before. And I’ll see to it that he finds himself in harm’s way, with men loyal to me surrounding him, men who will let him be outnumbered and fall.”

  “How can you hate him so?”

  “I didn’t always hate him,” Beorn told her, lifting the rope, stepping closer. “I admired him. Until he promoted William over me. Until he went soft—over you.”

  Suddenly he ripped the star-brooch off her cloak and clenched it in his fist. “He wore this always. Always. A symbol of Blackenstar. Until he brought you here. When he gave you this brooch, as a symbol that you were under his protection, I knew something had changed with him. He never gave it to Duchess Madeline. He cared for you even then, when you first reached Blackenstar. More so now. I’ve seen it when he looks at you. You are his weakness. Now you are my hostage.” His lip curled. “And soon you’ll be my bride. You, my lady, will help me forge a treaty with Constantine and with Penmarren, and then you will remain by my side, adding legitimacy to my reign.”

  Lianna snatched the brooch back from him, holding it tight within her hand. “I’d rather jump into the sea and sink beside Sir Gryford than help you in any way!”

  “No, my lady, you would not. For if you don’t cooperate with me, your precious father will die
. And that nurse you’re so fond of. I have men in place inside Penmarren even now,” he sneered. “On my orders they’ll kill those you hold dear. Only if you do my bidding will they be safe.”

  A red fog swirled before her eyes. She struggled to remain calm, to think clearly. “Monster!” she gasped. Her hand plunged into her cloak pocket for her dagger, but Beorn only laughed aloud. “Drop it to the ground,” he ordered. “If you don’t obey me, I’ll send word for those you love to be killed.”

  She gripped it still.

  “Drop it now.” His scarred face flushed. “The duke might have patience for you, Princess, but I do not. If you don’t value their lives…” He shrugged.

  Biting back a sob, Lianna dropped the dagger. It clattered down among the rocks.

  Suddenly there was a great noise below. Horses, shouts.

  Then Ambrose’s voice rang out—he sounded as if he were on a path nearby, just below the cave.

  “Lianna!” The urgency of his tone sent a sharp wave of love through her. “Lianna—answer me!”

  In a flash, Beorn had her imprisoned, his huge hand pressed against her mouth, preventing her from crying out, while his other arm clamped her body to his. Uselessly she struggled to free herself, but was unable to budge him.

  “Duchess Lianna!” Another voice called out, more distant.

  And another. “Are you hurt? Duchess Lianna!”

  The shouts of Ambrose’s knights drifted to her above the frenzied roar of the sea, and tears stung her eyes at her helplessness to answer.

  Then Ambrose’s voice came again—he sounded as if he were now directly below the ledge, on the path that wound around the cliff.

  “Lianna!”

  She heard the fear, the desperation underlying his commanding tone, and her heart broke in two.

  Suddenly she remembered the star-brooch clenched in her fist. With all her strength she hurled it toward the tip of the ledge that overhung the path. It struck a rock, rolled, then tumbled over the edge, glittering in open space for one heart-stopping moment before it disappeared from sight.

  Ambrose heard a slight clatter and glanced up. A small glimmering rock hurtled down toward him. On instinct, his arm shot out and caught the shining stone.

  Only it wasn’t a stone. It was a star. The star-brooch he had given to Lianna.

  His mouth grim, he wheeled his destrier toward the path leading to the upper ledge, dropping the brooch into his pocket.

  Sounds of a scuffle reached him as he drew near, and he spurred the destrier on. Reaching the path, he saw Lianna struggling mightily as Beorn attempted to drag her into a cave.

  “Release her!” He was already swinging out of the saddle, striding toward them. “What the devil are you doing, Beorn? You were set to guard her, not to—”

  Only then did he see the stark terror upon Lianna’s face.

  “What have you done to her?” Ambrose’s stride quickened. His eyes were dark as thunder. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

  But before he could reach them and tear Lianna from the soldier’s grasp, Beorn hurled the woman away, straight at Ambrose. Ambrose caught her and held her steady.

  “You dare treat my bride this way? Beorn, have you gone mad?”

  He glanced down at Lianna, trembling like a spring leaf in his arms. “Whatever has happened,” he said in a quiet, soothing tone, “I will make him pay. Stand aside now while I deal with him—”

  He broke off as he saw that Beorn had drawn his sword. With his face taut and determined, the gold-haired soldier advanced.

  “Deal with me, Ambrose? You think you shall deal with me? I, my lord duke, am going to deal with you. I’ve been wanting to do this ever since you passed me over for captain-of-arms. This isn’t exactly the way I had planned things, but it will give me great pleasure to run you through here and now.”

  Ambrose thrust Lianna behind him and regarded the other man with steely eyes. “So you were the traitor. I thought of others, Beorn. Never you.” His sigh was heavy. “You alerted Sandar when I went to Penmarren. You told him how my troops were dispersed, where and when we might be vulnerable to attack. Tell me, what did he promise you?”

  “He promised me captain-of-arms of his whole army, for one thing—but that’s not all. The kingdom of Pye for my own!” Beorn bragged.

  “Too bad he failed. But even if he hadn’t, you’re not going to be alive long enough to have enjoyed any of it.”

  “Don’t count on that.” Beorn gripped his sword tighter. “I am a match for you, whether you know it or not. I know your skill, your great skill,” he mocked, “and I’m not afraid to fight you. You’ll be afraid before we’re done. But first there is something you should know,” he added slyly. “Your lovely bride has been conspiring with your enemies. Even now an army is marching on Blackenstar.”

  “No!” Stepping up beside Ambrose, Lianna clutched at his cloak. “I did not conspire! Not…exactly. I can explain…”

  She broke off, her heart sinking at the expression on his face. Shock. Pain. And then a coldness unlike anything she had ever seen. His gaze flicked back and forth between her and Beorn, sharp as a hawk.

  “Ambrose, let me but explain,” she begged. “There is not much time.”

  “That’s true. Even as we speak, her cousin, Prince Constantine of Wyborn, is coming to rescue her from the barbarian duke of Blackenstar!” Beorn’s mouth twisted. “She would see you dead. And now, yes, indeed she will—but not at Constantine’s hand. At mine!”

  He lunged forward so swiftly that Lianna screamed.

  In a blink Ambrose thrust her aside and drew his sword. Even as Beorn closed in, Ambrose swung the glittering blade. The swords clashed. Beorn laughed.

  Lianna gasped as she watched Ambrose cut his sword again, even more fiercely, at the soldier.

  They fought ruthlessly. Single-mindedly. Grunting, dodging, charging, parrying with blinding speed. The blades glittered in the sunlight, and Lianna watched in horror as Beorn’s thrust nearly went home, and then Ambrose drove forward with impossible strength and dizzying speed, and only narrowly missed running the gold-haired soldier through.

  The sun dipped and faded in the graying winter sky, the crows flapped their great black wings and squawked, and the two men struggled and grunted and circled one another on the rocky ledge high above the sea. Ambrose fought with savage, dazzling skill and a strength that would have terrified any other man, while Beorn thrust and parried with a rough-edged skill every bit as ruthless and unrelenting.

  It ended as suddenly as it had begun. A mighty thrust, a groan, blood spurting like a fountain. Beorn toppled over, sprawling across the ledge, his green eyes staring sightlessly toward the heavens as Ambrose slid his bloodied sword out of his enemy’s chest.

  Slowly Ambrose turned to Lianna.

  “You’re hurt.” She started toward him, distraught by the blood staining his cloak, but he pushed her away.

  “Is it true, Lianna? What he said? Did you conspire against me?”

  “Yes.” There was a dull roaring in her ears. A crushing anguish in her heart. Never had she seen such pain as she saw now upon his lean, handsome face. “But it isn’t what you think,” she rushed on, her voice trembling. “I knew that Constantine was raising an army…”

  “Duke Ambrose!” A flame-haired knight on a gray horse charged into the clearing. “A scout has just ridden in from the west country. A great army is on the march—making its way, he believes, toward the Hill of Rivalen. A thousand men, armed to the hilt, with giant horses and—”

  The knight broke off, staring in stupefaction at Beorn’s bloodied form and then at the tall, hard-eyed duke.

  “Call every man to arms. We will assemble at Lansdowne Point and stop them there. Send word to Masson in the south and to the troops quartered in the Low Country.” Ambrose fired off his orders in a tone of deadly calm. “We ride within the hour.”

  He wiped his bloodied sword on his cloak. When the man continued to stare at him as if dazed,
Ambrose shouted, “Ride, man! Ride!”

  The knight disappeared in a spray of small stones, and Ambrose returned the sword to its scabbard and silently mounted his horse. Her heart breaking into a thousand pieces at the sight of his grim, weary face, the heaviness of his shoulders, Lianna stumbled forward.

  “Wait. Ambrose, please. Wait! I can explain.”

  “Explain? There is no need. You have what you want, Princess. This might well mean the destruction of the House of Blackenstar. You can go home to Penmarren and leave us to be picked apart by the crows and whatever other scavengers happen by. But I vow it will not happen while I still breathe,” he growled, a terrible icy fury claiming his features.

  A sob broke from Lianna, but Ambrose wheeled his horse away, and even as the horn sounded from far below, trumpeting the alarm, and the clamor to arms began in the bailey and all through the keep, he charged down the path toward the soldiers gathering in the yard. It was her last glimpse of him—a tall, strapping giant sitting straight in the saddle, galloping away from her and toward the coming battle.

  9

  “HELP ME, SIR Emmett! Quick, help me to mount that horse!”

  Lianna flew toward the young knight from her father’s court as he stared at her in astonishment, scarcely recognizing the dignified princess he had known in Penmarren. Her hair had tumbled down from its stiff coronet, her face was streaked with tears and dirt, and the hem of her gown was torn.

  “Princess Lianna—what are you doing—”

  “Help me!” Lianna commanded as she skidded to a halt before Sir Gryford’s dun. Frantic, she sprang into the saddle with the knight’s assistance and spurred the horse forward, leaving the stunned knight to vault onto his mount and follow as best he could.