Timeless Tales of Honor

by Suzan Tisdale

  "What are you going to do with me?" she asked softly, resisting the urge to struggle against him. She had, after all, promised not to resist in lieu of sparing Mossy's life.

  "That is not for me to decide, princess," Lyle replied, his eyes alert for any movement that might interfere with their progress.

  Arissa tripped on her own feet, nearly falling to her knees had it not been for Lyle's powerful grip. But the impact of his words settled, including the title of respect he had used. Not simply my lady, but princess. Puzzlement invaded her expression.

  "Why.... why do you address me in such a fashion?"

  He did not answer her as he pulled her through the gallery and prepared to enter the kitchens. "Enemy or not, I will address you with due respect."

  She gazed up at him as he paused near the threshold leading to the kitchens, completely confused.

  "Due respect? I do not understand. I am a mere lady, the earl's daughter. But you know that, lest you would not be abducting me," she was somewhat calmer than she had been earlier, although she knew not why. She assumed that if the large soldier was intent upon harming her, then he would have done so by now. "Why does Ovid want me? To lay a trap for Richmond?"

  The soldier was distracted by her words as he scanned the dim kitchens beyond for signs of danger. Irritably, he glanced at her. "I do not know of whom you speak. Who is Ovid?"

  Her eyes narrowed curiously at his lack of understanding. It never occurred to her to refrain from elaborating. "Lord de Rydal. You are with his army, are you not?"

  Satisfied that no threat lay beyond in the yawning room, Lyle turned his full attention to her. "I am not English. I serve Owen Glendower."

  Arissa blinked in confusion. "Who is that?"

  He cocked his head, less concerned with making it to the servant’s entrance as he found himself interested in their conversation. "The Welsh prince opposing your father. Surely he’s told you of his bloodthirsty quest to maintain a captive Wales?"

  Arissa's eyebrows rose in surprise. "My father is intent on maintaining Wales?" she repeated, surprised. "Good sir, my father is an earl, and we are easily fifty miles from the Welsh border. You must have him confused with someone else. Perhaps you have confused me with someone else."

  Lyle gazed into the pale green eyes, wondering how on earth she could be so dense. Either that, or she was an accomplished liar. The mere fact that she was a woman made him opt for the latter.

  "No more talk," he grip on her arm tightened in a display of irritation. "You must have little respect for my intelligence to plead innocent of your heritage"

  Arissa gasped as he swung her through the kitchens. Turning a sharp corner, they were confronted with five dead bodies and an open door. The hellish weather beyond beckoned viciously, calling them forth into her freezing embrace.

  Lyle attempted to move Arissa forward over the corpses, but she cried and squirmed, resuming the struggle she had pledged to cease.

  "Quit your wrestling, wench," he snapped.

  She gasped and nearly swooned when one of her flailing feet came into contact with a bloodied head against the stone. "I.... I need my cloak. Oh, please, allow me to retrieve my cloak!"

  Lyle glanced at the pouring rain, thinking that a cloak would be a wise acquisition in light of the weather they would be facing. 'Twould not do to have the princess die of illness before they reached Wales. But returning to her chamber to retrieve a heavy cover was out of the question; instead, he glanced about quickly and was not surprised to see that both dead women were wearing protection against the elements.

  Releasing Arissa's arm, he snatched a heavy woolen cloak from one of the deceased women and shook it out sharply, tossing it at Arissa. She barely caught it, her hands shaking from disgust and fear as she slung it about her narrow shoulders and secured it tightly. Pulling the brown hood over her head and praying there weren't lice nesting inside, she did not resist when Lyle grabbed her once more and thrust her into the driving weather.

  In spite of the fact that the wool cloak stank to heaven and scratched her tender skin, it was warm and thick and offered a good deal of protection. Lyle pulled her through the muddy pond that had once been the kitchen yard, his eyes alert for any soldier or servant that might alert Lambourn of the princess' abduction.

  Even though the sounds of fighting were loud and fierce, he caught a glimpse of only a few soldiers, and those men were engaged in mortal combat with enemy warriors. Not one bothered to pay attention to the unfamiliar soldier leading a small figure toward the servant’s gate. Additionally, the pounding rain offered a shroud to partially obscure them against alert gazes.

  Already, Arissa's feet were soaking through. Her hide boots were not meant to be submerged in water for any length of time and were saturating quickly. Lyle, however, was oblivious of her discomfort as he hurried her toward the wall. The closer they drew, the greater his sense of urgency.

  They were almost free. Soon, Wales would loom before him in all her glory and Owen would be most pleased to discover Henry's bastard daughter within his midst. Mayhap she would be the leverage he was looking for, the key to bargaining with Henry. The surprise element the English king was not counting on.

  The gate was within his grasp. He reached out to touch it, feeling its iron comfort him, assuring him of his successful mission. He gained strength from the gate, even as he pushed Arissa through it, knowing the satisfaction of a task accomplished. The princess was his.

  But his satisfaction was the last positive emotion he was to feel. As he was preparing to enter the gate himself, a loud crash sounded directly over his head as something heavy slammed into the stone of the wall. Instinctively, Lyle ducked as a heavy mace came crashing down on his helm. Had it not been for his head protection, he would have been knocked unconscious. As it was, his ears were ringing as he whirled to face his accoster.

  It was his worst nightmare come to life. Through the sheet of driving rain, emerging from the very bowels of hell, was a figure so massive and terrifying that Lyle could scarcely believe it. He knew it would be of no use to run; he would simply be caught and killed. But he knew in the same breath that he was going to meet his demise regardless, for the figure approaching had sent many a man into the depths of the underworld.

  Lyle was gazing into the face of the Devil's own ferryman. Surely Charon hadn't driven as many souls into the maze of Hades as this man before him had. Terror filled his heart. There was no escape.

  Death was approaching.

  Eleven

  Richmond le Bec raised his sword, the razor-sharp tip aimed at Lyle's throat. "You will release her."

  Struggling against his natural fear, Lyle's grip tightened on Arissa's soft arm. "Owen knows she’s here, le Bec. If you kill me, more will come for her and still more until she’s within the heart of the Welsh resistance. We will not stop until we have her."

  As the soldier spoke of crazy misconceptions, Arissa heart was soaring with hope. Somehow, Richmond had sensed she was in danger; she did not know how he had come to discover her predicament, but the reasons behind his knowledge were of little concern. The only factor of import was his timely arrival

  “Richmond!" she cried. "Thank God!"

  Richmond heard her voice, filling him with sweetness and longing and utter elation. But the soldier's words were rattling about in his weary mind and he couldn't shake the impact; Owen was aware of Arissa's identity. It did not matter how the man knew, only that he was in possession of knowledge very few people were aware of.

  Suddenly, the growing Welsh rebellion was striking far too close to his heart and Richmond was filled with panic and rage. Tightening the grip on the hilt of his powerful broadsword, he resumed his advance with a vengeance. Owen couldn't have Arissa; if he had to kill every rebellious Welsh bastard personally, he would not stop until all hazard to Arissa's safety was vanished. And he would begin with the idiot before him.

  "You cannot have her," he growled as he closed the distance between them. "You sha
ll pay for your foolish folly with your worthless life."

  Lyle, still gripping Arissa, backed away from Richmond's approach. "That may be, but heed my words. We know her to be Henry's daughter and Owen means to have her."

  Arissa, bewildered and apprehensive, began to struggle wildly within his crushing grip. Shrieking and gasping, she tugged against his hold and took to pounding him on the shoulder. A well-aimed fist caught him in the face and, for a moment, Lyle was distracted.

  Emitting a roar of fury borne from fear and anger, Lyle thrust Arissa away from him savagely. With a yelp, she went stumbling away in a reckless reel of force. Before she could stop her momentum, the fortress wall was suddenly in her path and in a blinding flash of pain, the entire world went black.

  Richmond's brittle composure very nearly shattered as Arissa smacked her head against the stone wall, crumpling to the swampy mud. But Owen's soldier had assumed an offensive stance and he raised his sword, charging the foolish warrior with all of the fury and strength he possessed.

  Coming together in a clash of metal and flesh, Owen's soldier tumbled onto his back from the potency of Richmond's frenzy. But Lyle was amazingly agile and managed to roll to his feet, regaining his balance and meeting Richmond's strikes with a good deal of skill. As their battle ensued across the muck-choked yard, Arissa lay unconscious in several inches of freezing, dirty water.

  Richmond felt a desperation he had never before experienced. He couldn't be sure if Arissa was even breathing and the need to dispatch his opponent was greater than any he had ever known. But the soldier was fresh, unhindered by the hours upon hours of endless fighting that Richmond had experienced. Knowing it was his age draining his stamina, Richmond struggled against a lesser opponent to overcome the most serious threat to Arissa's life that he had yet to face.

  Unfortunately, Owen's spy showed little sign of defeat and the battle lengthened. Richmond's panic began to rise, for Arissa had yet to move a muscle and he began to seriously consider his limited options. It almost did not matter whether or not he killed his opponent; of surmounting importance was that he must reach Arissa.

  She needed him desperately and anger anew swept him. He refused to believe that he had witnessed her demise as her head crashed against the stone, or as she lay drowning in the mud at this very moment. He simply could not dwell on the sheer horror his frantic thoughts provoked, 'else he would lose his concentration and they would both be lost.

  Just as he managed to corner the Welsh soldier against the fortified wall, Gavan suddenly rounded the corner of the kitchen astride his striking red charger. Richmond exerted a hard blow against the soldier, his heart soaring with hope and relief as he laid eyes on his second in command.

  "Get Arissa!" he bellowed.

  Gavan was off his horse before the words were out of Richmond's mouth. Over three hundred pounds of flesh and armor made haste to Arissa, scooping her out of the mud and filth. She was alive, but gray and soaked to the skin. Even as Gavan moved for the kitchen entrance, he was shouting urgently to Richmond.

  "I am taking her inside!"

  "Is she alive?" Richmond took a hard blow, answering with the same.

  Gavan muttered something Richmond did not hear. In a panic, he delivered several bone-shattering thrusts that sent the enemy soldier to his knees. As the man raised his sword to defend himself, Richmond's weapon cut through the freezing rain and air so forcefully that Lyle's blade was jarred from his grip. The Welshman watched with horror as his sword landed several yards away.

  Richmond did not pause in his onslaught. Kicking his opponent squarely in the chest, he sent the man to his back. Lyle gazed up at Richmond, amazingly calm in spite of the fact that he knew he was breathing his last. He comforted himself with the knowledge that David would deliver the news of the princess' whereabouts to Owen and that factor alone was more important than his own insignificant life.

  "They shall come for her," he said hoarsely. "You cannot protect her from all of Wales."

  Richmond put the tip of his sword to Lyle's throat, his body quivering with fatigue and emotion. Since there was no use in denying Arissa's roots, he did not attempt the effort. Instead, he turned the tables. "How did he know?"

  Lyle cocked an eyebrow. "You are about to kill me, le Bec. I do not presume to believe that if I were to tell you what you wish to know, you would spare my life. I shall take your answers to my grave."

  Richmond gazed down at him impassively. "So be it. But I will tell you now that every Welshman who comes within the princess' range will meet with your fate. Hundreds, thousands, it does not matter. They will all die."

  "You are too old to fight them all," Lyle said softly, his tone laced with defiant defeat. "As I nearly beat you, they shall not fail."

  Richmond's hands were shaking as he gripped the hilt of his sword. When he moved to finish his task, Lyle suddenly brought up a foot and kicked Richmond in the gut. Losing his balance and his breath, he stumbled back as the Welshman leapt to his hands and knees, crawling desperately through the mud to reach his weapon.

  Lyle's hand met with the hilt of his sword, raising it against Richmond with the full intent of ramming it through his groin. But Richmond was a shade faster, his blade plunging deep into the flesh of Lyle's torso before the Welshman could complete his purpose. Pierced in the heart, Lyle was walking the fields of Paradise before he realized death had finally claimed him.

  * * *

  By the time Richmond reached Arissa's bower, Gavan and Penelope were stripping off her icy, soaked clothing while Regine was screaming to the servants for hot water. Richmond thrust himself between his soldier and Penelope, nearly knocking the young girl over in the process.

  "I shall get her clothes," he said, his voice shaking. "Somebody find Mossy."

  Gavan stood back, watching Richmond go to work on Arissa's heavy woolen surcoat. "I shall retrieve him," he muttered.

  Richmond did not reply; his entire world was centered around the wet figure before him, her skin icy and her face an ugly shade of gray. Knowing of Arissa's delicate health only served to inflame his panic as he tore off his gauntlets and untangled the sash at her waist. Then, grasping the surcoat around the neck, he gave a sharp tug and tore it cleanly down the middle.

  Penelope, remarkably, was calm amidst the hustle and ripping fabric. The girl had a tendency to be skittish and jittery, but she was doing an admirable job of maintaining her composure while Richmond stripped Arissa of her wet clothing.

  "What can I do, Richmond?" she asked softly.

  He did not answer her for a moment as the clinging woolen garment gave him a slight degree of difficulty. His movements were sharp, rough, and indicative of panic. "Towels, love. Collect as many as you can lay your hands on."

  Penelope was gone, dashing past Regine just as several harried servants emerged into the room with a copper tub and buckets of hot water. Richmond, meanwhile, succeeded in removing all of Arissa's soaked clothing and wrapped her in a heavy coverlet to keep her warm.

  There was nothing he could do for the moment but wait until the servants filled the tub. Cradling Arissa on his lap, he felt the first brick of his substantial wall of composure tumble.

  "Oh, Riss," he whispered into her hair, his quaking fingers tracing over the lump on her forehead. "Wake up, kitten. You are safe now."

  She did not respond and he gripped the back of her limp head with his great hand, kissing her face tenderly and oblivious to the other occupants of the room. At the moment, it simply did not matter if their secret became public knowledge; he loved Arissa and did not care who knew it.

  "Wake up, kitten," he whispered against her temple. "You are safe. Open your eyes, love, listen to me."

  He continued to murmur against her hair as the copper tub was filled to the rim. But she was determined to ignore him, safe and warm and secure from the terrible realities of the world as she huddled deep inside her comforting stupor. After a few non-responsive moments, he paused in his attempt to coax her forth
from the depths of unconsciousness, focusing instead on the nearly-full tub.

  As Richmond attempted to remove the bedrug in preparation for placing her in the copper vat, Arissa's eyes abruptly fluttered open.

  "Richmond?" she whispered weakly.

  Startled, he clutched her tightly. "I am here, Riss. You are safe."

  She closed her eyes, struggling to catch her breath. "The soldier…."

  "He’s dead, kitten," he whispered. "He cannot harm you any longer."

  She struggled to speak. "There.... there were two of them. One was supposed to w-wait outside of the servant’s gate with horses for our escape."

  Richmond listened calmly; if the second soldier was as experienced as the first, he was long gone by now. He squeezed her gently. "It doesn't matter. You are safe now."

  Individually, Arissa's eyelids weighed a hundred pounds; certainly, she did not possess the strength to keep them open. But as she attempted to doze, Richmond shook her gently. "I know you are tired, kitten, but do not go to sleep. Not yet. Regine has prepared a bath and we must warm your body."

  "I do not want a bath," she mumbled weakly. "Let me sleep first and I shall bathe later."

  He smiled, relieved that the stubborn Lady Arissa he had seen on occasion was making an appearance. When she was feeling particularly tired or ill, her usually sunny demeanor fled in lieu of a bitter, combative shrew. But he would rather be subject to her insolent mood than to witness her continued unconsciousness. All will be well, he told himself firmly. If she was willing to contradict him, then she would be fine.

  "Bath first, sleep later," he countered quietly, firmly.

  Regine moved to her sister's side, her eyes wide as she waited for Richmond to direct her further. He looked to the young girl, managing a feeble wink. "She will be fine, Regine. Tell me; where is your mother?"