The Circle Of A Promise

by Helen A Rosburg

  The sun was low when they crested the last ridge north of the Ullsmere. The castle was south of the lake and difficult to see. The dark and ivy-covered stone of its walls and buildings blended with the shadows of the great wood that surrounded it.

  Though the sun was not directly in his eyes, Stephen shaded diem and squinted. Beside him, the nimble and farsighted Jack jumped to his feet atop his saddle. He dropped into his seat almost at once, and laid a light hand on his lord’s gloved and muscular forearm.

  “Trouble, I fear, my lord.”

  Stephen tensed. Thomas and Alfred drew nearer. “What do you mean, trouble?”

  “There’s smoke, my lord. And `tis not the smoke of hearth or chimney.”

  Stephen felt his blood grow cold. He registered no other thought or feeling, even fear, before he was in motion. Ears pinned flat, nostrils dilated, and tail streaming, his gallant chestnut stallion thundered down the road to Ullswater Castle.

  The day rapidly waned. The sun was a mere reddish glow on the western horizon, but the band of riders did not hurry. They did not increase their pace. Rather, they slowed as they entered the village of Hawkshead.

  The daily market had closed. Vendors and clients had returned to their modest homes. The bustle in the street had died.

  It quickly revived when the people realized it was their earl and his knights who had returned from some foray into the countryside. They streamed from their cottages, curiosity overcoming caution.

  Baldwin relished the reception. The faces that turned to him wore expressions of awe mingled with fear. Fear, because they had long lived in the shadow of the earl’s castle. Awe, because of the sight to which he treated their eyes.

  Baldwin allowed himself a tight, smug smile and looked first at William Aettewater, who rode on his right hand, then behind him at the prisoner who had captured the villagers’ openmouthed attention.

  Mara did not acknowledge the earl’s regard by so much as the blink of an eye. Neither did she look to the right or left of her, although she was aware of the townspeople’s presence. Baldwin had brought her through Hawkshead on purpose, she knew. To parade his prize. To humiliate her.

  But she would not give him the satisfaction. Although her hands were bound in front of her and her hair wildly disheveled, though her face and bodice were streaked with blood from the gash on her temple, Mara held her head high, chin up thrust.

  The village fell behind them at last. A few ragged children and barking dogs ran along behind the mounted band for a way; then the group outpaced their straggling followers and the earl signaled his men to pick up the pace. His knights broke into a canter.

  An avenue of trees passed in the periphery of Mara’s vision. Gates loomed ahead, opened, and they went through them.

  Hooves clattered on a cobbled surface, voices babbled, dogs barked, someone shouted over it all-Mara barely noticed. She maintained her stiff and erect posture and rigid self-control. She blessed the accompanying numbness. If she allowed herself to think, to imagine, to dwell on whatever fate the earl had in store for her, she feared she would lose her mind.

  William held the earl’s horse and kept a careful eye on his lord as Baldwin dismounted. He was well aware of how tenuous his new position was, and knew he must remain alert to Baldwin’s every mood. He watched the earl eye his splendid prisoner, and smirked.

  “She’ll not be stickin` that haughty chin quite so high in the air when you’ve had your way with her, will she, m’lord?”

  Baldwin smiled slowly. “No. No, she won’t.” He dragged his eyes from her bloodied but still noble form, and turned to his new right-hand man. “See that she’s taken inside. Take her to my apartments in the hall and have one of the women. No, have Maggie clean her up. Then have her brought to me.” He beamed. “In the tower.”

  Though it took great effort to resist one more look at his magnificent captive, Baldwin kept his attention firmly on the path before him. It was going to be an interesting evening.

  Far more interesting than Mara could dream.

  Chapter Twenty

  The four men rode at what speed they could, but soon the going was difficult. The road was clogged with men, women, and children, all laden with satchels and bags full of their meager belongings. Their expressions were haggard and frightened. A few limped, or bore other signs of recent injury. All tried to melt into the woods as the riders approached.

  Despite the desperate sense of urgency that drove Stephen, he slowed his mount and lifted a hand in greeting. “Fear not, people of Ullswater,” he called. “I am the baron Lord Stephen of Bellingham. I am friend to Ranulf, Lord of Ullswater.”

  Terrified children clung to their mothers’ hands and huddled against their skirts. A few of the men exchanged glances. At last, one burly peasant stepped forward.

  “If you are friend to our baron Ranulf,” he began, “and have come to aid him, you have come too late.” The man gestured behind him, toward the plumes of smoke that still rose from the gray and stony walls. “All lies in ruin. All are dead.”

  A bolt of lightning seared Stephen’s soul. His hands tightened on his charger’s reins, and the animal danced nervously in place. He had to force the words from his throat. “And Amarantha, Ranulf’s daughter?”

  The peasant hung his head and shook it slowly. “I know not.” He raised his bleak and bloodshot gaze once more. “I know only our homes have been destroyed, our livestock slaughtered. There is nothing left. Nothing.”

  Without another word, the man sidestepped Stephen’s stallion and continued down the road. The ragged and bloodied vanguard fell in behind him.

  Thomas rode to his baron’s side. “My lord.”

  Stephen paid him no heed. He loosened his reins, and horse and rider bounded away to the gates of Ullswater Castle. In spite of the peasant’s warning, he was not prepared for the horror that greeted his eyes.

  Stephen’s knights followed. They pounded across the wooden bridge and into the castle courtyard. There, greeted with the smell of smoke and death, Stephen’s charger slid to a halt and reared on its hind legs. Stephen’s three companions drew up beside him.

  “Oh, my God. My God,” he whispered.

  Thomas pulled his horse up next to his friend, but he remained silent. The magnitude of the devastation robbed him of speech. Even Alfred, who had seen much, found his eyes stinging from more than the acrid smoke. It was Jack who finally broke the spell of horror.

  The spry little man climbed slowly from his horse and moved from one fallen man to the next. “All dead.” He shook his head sadly. “All dead.”

  Even the dogs from the kennel had been taken out and butchered, puppies thrown down onto the cobbled yard, their small skulls shattered. The bodies were strewn across the blood-soaked ground, the kennels burned, as well as the mews. Only the stables were intact-but all the fine horses were gone, stolen. Jack returned to his master.

  Stephen did not look at him. His attention was on the door to the great hall and the huge, broad-shouldered body sprawled before it.

  All eyes were on Stephen as he dismounted. They followed him as he trudged up the stairs.

  “Ranulf,” he said softly, and knelt by the lifeless body. It was obvious the man had been cut down from behind. Stephen laid his hand on the big baron’s shoulder, then rose.

  It was an effort to move. Never in his life had he dreaded anything as much as he feared to enter the great hall. His feet moved nevertheless. They carried him across the threshold.

  “No. Oh, no.”

  Beatrice lay where she had fallen, head at an odd angle. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth and stained the bodice of her pale yellow tunic.

  Stephen closed his eyes. Someone gripped his shoulders from behind, steadied him.

  Jack slipped past into the hall. “I’ll look, m’lord. But I doubt she’s here. He’ll have taken her, y’know.”

  Stephen nodded, eyes still closed, while his servant made a quick tour of the long room and its sleeping
apartments. There remained nothing but three serving women, throats slit, and what must have been Ranulf’s steward. The man had been decapitated. Also, everything that might have value and was portable had been stolen. Furs were gone from the beds and tapestries from the walls. Clothing was scattered about as if it had been picked through. Jack inadvertently kicked a fallen pewter mug, and it rolled across the floor. He returned to Stephen’s side.

  “She’s not here, m’lord. He must have taken her.”

  He had known it. In his heart Stephen had known. Yet the long sigh of relief escaped him anyway. She was alive. In terrible, desperate trouble, but alive. Now he had to think. To plan.

  He turned abruptly and started down the steps. Thomas and Alfred exchanged glances and hurried after him. When he put his foot into the stirrup, Thomas put a hand on his arm.

  “Stephen, wait.”

  Stephen tried to shake him off, but Thomas’s grip was firm.

  “Tell me what you plan to do.”

  “Do? Are you mad? I’m going after her!” Again, Stephen attempted to mount his horse.

  Again, Thomas restrained him.

  “Let go of me, Thomas!” he snarled.

  “No. Listen! And think. There are only four of us against.” Thomas gestured at the horrific scene in the courtyard. “How many did it take to do this?”

  Stephen reluctantly removed his foot from the stirrup. He did not, however, let go his grip on his stallion’s reins. “So, what do you suggest? Let Baldwin have her? Let him get away with this?”

  “Of course not. But we do need more help before we go after your bride. We also need to do something about. about all this.” Thomas’s nod indicated the carnage.

  Stephen’s hold on his reins relaxed. He hung his head. “You’re right, Thomas. You’re right.” Stephen rubbed his eyes, and lifted his gaze to his old friend. “I’m not thinking clearly. Tell me what we should do.”

  Thomas breathed a small sigh of relief. “Send Alfred back to Bellingham with word of what happened here,” he said. “Let him bring back help, every able-bodied man who is willing and who can be armed. Baldwin is obviously going to claim Ullswater as his. It was a mistake for him to abandon it in the first place. We must take advantage of that. He can’t lay claim to Ranulf’s land and chattel if we hold the castle.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Stephen growled. “But what about Mara? As long as he has her, he can lay claim to anything he wants. And if he forces her to wed.” Stephen was unable to utter the words. “No, I cannot, will not, wait for Alfred to return. You wait. I’ve got to do something.”

  Jack’s eyes flickered as Stephen reached one more time for his stirrup. “Wait, m’lord, I. I think I have an idea.”

  All attention was directed to the little man, who removed his plumed hat and turned it nervously in his fingers. “You’ll have noticed the earl had everything he thought might be of value removed. From what I remember, it’s quite a bit, what with tapestries and all. Difficult to carry. It won’t be men on horseback takin` all that loot back to the earl’s castle. Somewhere there’s a cart, loaded up and goin‘ slow.” Jack squinted one eye and cocked his head. “It’s not dark for another hour. If we ride hard, m’lord, you an` me, and Thomas to take the horses when we catch up with the wagon-”

  “You’re brilliant,” Stephen interrupted. “I know exactly what you have in mind, and it’s perfect. Let’s not waste another minute.”

  Stephen quickly filled Thomas and Alfred in on the details of Jack’s plan, and issued orders even as he mounted his horse. “Also, find one of my peasants who is willing to ride to the king. Give him a horse, one of my best. Tell him it is his if he rides straightway to Henry and tells him of Baldwin’s perfidy.”

  Gathering the reins, Stephen put his spurs to the animal’s flanks. Thomas and Jack were left to run for their own mounts. Within seconds their lord had disappeared out the gate.

  Baldwin’s great hall was larger and more lavish than any Mara had ever seen. The fact registered on her senses without actually touching her. Nothing would ever be able to touch her again. She was numb. Dead. As cold and lifeless as the family and friends she had seen slaughtered before her very eyes.

  Trancelike, Mara followed the one-eyed woman through the hall. Even her will to resist was strangely absent. The two men-at-arms who trailed behind her were unnecessary.

  Built after the fashion of the time, the sleeping apartment of the manor was off the end of the hall. It, too, was more luxurious than the usual chamber, with tapestries on the walls and a rare silken coverlet on the bed. Despite the furnishings, however, the room seemed curiously empty. There were no lingering scents, no small personal objects scattered carelessly about. It felt as if no one had lived there for a very long time.

  “There now. Sit yourself down, an` we’ll set about cleanin‘ you up.” Maggie indicated a stool with a nod of her head. Mara remained motionless.

  This noble woman really was a pitiable sight, Maggie had to admit. The initial jealousy she had experienced had seeped away. The woman was remarkably beautiful- that much was obvious. She must have been quite an imposing figure. But now.

  Maggie shook her head sadly and pushed the thick, dark waves of her hair off her shoulders. The poor thing was in such a state she hadn’t even reacted to Maggie’s deformity. She barely seemed to notice her surroundings. Her hair was matted and tangled, her clothes soiled and torn, her face bloody. Her dark blue eyes stared vacantly into space. This was the woman who would supplant her in the earl’s bed?

  Maggie clucked her tongue. There wasn’t much to worry about. Yet. In the meantime, she’d best follow her master’s orders. She’d seen the excited gleam in his eye, put there no doubt by the day’s bloody events. His appetite for more would be as keen as the edge of a blade.

  Maggie took a shift and a soft woolen tunic from a tall wooden cupboard, and felt her jealousy temporarily return. These clothes had belonged to Baldwin’s mother.

  She’d never been allowed to touch them until now; they had been saved for the lady of the manor.

  Maggie’s single dark eye flickered in Mara’s direction, and a terrible heaviness descended upon her heart.

  Baldwin paced the length of his tower room, hands clasped behind his back, and halted near one of its four narrow windows. Night had fallen, and the sliver of a moon revealed nothing for his greedy gaze. Nevertheless, he smiled.

  Everything had gone perfectly. Ranulf, as well as his pale and puling wife, was dead. He, Earl Baldwin of Cumbria, had everything of value that had once belonged to Ranulf; his personal effects, his land, his castle. He reminded himself to send a contingent back to secure it.

  But best of all he had Ranulf’s daughter.

  Baldwin allowed himself a tremor of pleasure and hugged it to his narrow breast. Revenge had been sweet so far. So sweet, in fact, it had whetted his appetite for more. He had what he wanted from Ranulf. Now he would take what he wanted from Ranulf’s daughter-and more besides. He would take away the very dignity she had once sought to steal from him.

  Baldwin rubbed his thin, dry hands together. Oh, yes, he was going to have everything he had dreamed of. And more.

  When the knock came at his door, he hesitated to savor the moment. Then he slowly turned.

  “Yes?”

  “ Tis me, m’lord. Maggie. An` the lady.”

  “Enter.”

  It wasn’t real, couldn’t be happening, Mara thought. Here she was, entering Baldwin’s bedchamber with no doubt about what was to happen. Her parents were dead, savagely murdered; she would never see Stephen again; she was now the property and toy of the most brutal and repulsive man in all of England. and she felt nothing. It had to be a dream.

  “Come here.” Baldwin crooked his finger. “Come closer.”

  When Mara didn’t move, Maggie grasped her hand and pulled her nearer the earl. He dismissed Maggie without taking his eyes from his captive.

  “Leave us,” he ordered brusquely. “But r
emain outside the door.”

  Maggie hurried to do as she was bid. She ducked her head so he would not see the wonder and dismay in her expression. When she had closed the door behind her, she hesitated, unsure whether she wanted to hear what was to follow or not. In the end, Maggie pressed her ear to the heavy wooden door. It was long moments before she heard another word.

  Baldwin circled his prisoner, index finger pressed to the point of his chin. He let his eyes caress Mara slowly. There was an ugly, purpling bruise at her temple, and a jagged gash. But that did not detract from her magnificence. The mass of her pale hair fell to her waist and gleamed in the candlelight Her eyes, though dull, were as deep and dark as the sea. Despite her captivity, the girl’s stature was undiminished. Never had there been such a woman.

  And she was his. To do with exactly as he pleased.

  Baldwin completed his circle and halted mere inches from Mara. She could smell his rank breath. His hand touched her arm, traveled upward. His fingers curled around the neck of her tunic. He smiled. And ripped the garment from her body.

  Mara gasped and Baldwin laughed. Despite the fire that hissed in the hearth, the air was chill and Mara’s nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her chemise. Baldwin’s gaze devoured her with renewed appreciation.

  “You’re lovely, my dear. But you know that, don’t you? You’ve always had quite a high opinion of yourself.” Baldwin reached out and chucked Mara’s chin. The action was neither playful nor gentle. “And now you’ve reached the pinnacle, haven’t you?” he continued. “You belong to me, Earl of Cumbria. You wear.” He chuckled. “Wore my mother’s clothes. Soon you’ll be my plaything. You will sleep in my bed. Won’t you, my dear? You’ve reached a station in life you never thought to attain. Mistress of the Earl of Cumbria.”

  Yellow teeth gleamed in the firelight as Baldwin grinned. “And, yes, you did hear me correctly. I did say `mistress,” not ‘wife.“ Marriage is no longer a privilege I care to bestow upon you. No. No, you will simply occupy my bed from time to time. Until I tire of you, of course.”