The Circle Of A Promise

by Helen A Rosburg

  Baldwin let his watery gaze devour Mara’s clearly visible breasts. They were exactly as he imagined them to be, full, heavy, tipped with rosebuds. He watched diem rise and softly fall with the rhythm of her breath. He felt the stirring in his loins. Smiling, he lifted his eyes to her face again.

  Proud. Haughty. Unbowed. The sapphire stare regarded him without so much as a blink of apprehension. He felt his manhood become flaccid once more. Felt the red rage begin to build in his breast.

  But he must not let it With every ounce of his being, Baldwin fought to retain control. She must not win. Not this time, not this battle. She was his now. She would learn that.

  Baldwin turned and walked to the fire. He folded his arms across his chest. “But not yet, my dear,” he went on. “Not quite yet. There is something you need to learn first.” He stopped in front of the hearth and put one hand on the warm stone mantel.

  When he turned to face her again, the blessed numbness that had protected Mara was momentarily pierced by Baldwin’s expression of absolute cruelty. She trembled.

  Baldwin eyed his captive for a long moment. He would break her. Yes. He would strip away her pride and leave her clothed only in fear. Then he would cleave her with his sword.

  “You need to learn humility, my dear. You need to know what it is to be cold, so you will appreciate the warmth of my bed. You need to experience hunger, so you will relish the scraps from my table. You need to be alone, and very, very lonely, so you will smile when you are brought into my presence. Do you understand, my pale-haired whore? That is what you will be, you know. You will grovel for my attention, my touch. And if you are very, very good, I shall reward you with my. affections.”

  The earl’s thin hand reached as if to caress Mara. But his fingers had barely grazed her breast when they were suddenly at her throat. The grip was tight, painful. It cut off her breath.

  As suddenly as he had grasped her, Baldwin released Mara and slapped her smartly across the face.

  “Witch!” he hissed. “You will learn what it means to cross the Earl of Cumbria! Maggie! Come here!”

  Maggie slipped inside the door and tried to make herself as small as possible. “Yes, m’lord?”

  “Take the lady to her rooms.” The lines of brutality that etched the earl’s face were unrelieved by his smile. “To her rooms in the dungeon.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Amanda knocked again. No response. Knowing it would be locked, she tried the handle anyway. It turned uselessly in her hand. She knocked harder. “Stephen!”

  Nausea churned in the pit of her stomach. She forced herself to remain calm.

  John was in the kitchen. She could get him to come and open the door. But did she want him to see how much Steve had deteriorated? Maybe it was better to handle it herself at the moment-at least until she saw what shape Steve was in. The door wasn’t really a problem.

  Tim had accidentally locked himself in the bathroom once when he was three. She remembered what John had done with a wire hanger. It didn’t take her long to open the door to Steve’s bedroom.

  Her brother was sprawled on the bed. The stubble on his chin had almost grown into a beard, and the unpleasant odor of stale sweat permeated the room. The first thing Amanda did was open a window. Stephen groaned and rolled over.

  “Get up, Steve. Come on. This has gone on long enough.” Amanda stood over him, hands on her hips. “Steve, do you hear me?”

  He did hear her. But it was so hard. He didn’t want to leave where he was. He didn’t want to come back, not yet. He had something important to do. Perhaps the most important thing he had ever done in his life.

  “Can’t. can’t, Mandy,” he muttered, face turned to the pillow.

  “Can’t what, Stephen?” she demanded. “Can’t get up? Take a shower? What’s the matter, Steve? If you’re sick, I’ll call a doctor.”

  No, no doctors. Stephen managed to rouse himself. He rolled over and squinted at his sister. “I’m fine. Fine, Mandy.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re not fine.” Amanda had reached the limits of her patience. “You haven’t left this room in four days. You haven’t eaten. You obviously haven’t bathed. I don’t know what you’ve done, except lie here. This can’t go on, Steve. You can’t just lie here until you die.”

  “I’m not going to die,” he said tiredly.

  “Well, it sure doesn’t seem like you want to live.”

  Oh, but he did. He did. He had never felt so alive before. And if she would just leave him alone, he could return to that life. “I’ll be fine, Mandy. Please. Just let me sleep.” He turned over again.

  “You’ve slept long enough,” Amanda snapped. “I’ve had it, Stephen. I’m going to have to do something.”

  He was groggy, already prepared to slip into the twilight world where he was happiest. But something in the tone of his sister’s voice had managed to penetrate his consciousness. He was in danger. He had to do something to protect himself. He had to be able to return. To return to her.

  Stephen sat up and shook his head. It was always so hard to remember when he was fully awake. He felt the pull from the. other place. But he couldn’t recall it with clarity. At least he couldn’t before.

  It was clearer now, however. He had to get back. Had to. She was in trouble.

  But so was he.

  How long had it been since he had eaten? He felt dizzy and light-headed when he stood up. He stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Mandy. He had to talk to Mandy.

  Stephen took the stairs slowly, holding on to the handrail. Maybe he’d eat something, take a shower. Have a talk with Mandy. She needed to know how important it was for him to rest now, to be able to go back to wherever it was he went. Because the answer to everything lay in that other place. He knew it. He had to go back and take care of. her. Then everything would be all right.

  He heard voices when he reached the bottom stair. Voices coming from the kitchen. John and Mandy. He stopped.

  They were talking about him. But he couldn’t quite hear. He moved quietly around the corner, into the dining room.

  “-always supported you, Amanda. I’m not going to stop now.”

  “I know, John. And I’m so grateful, honey. I can never tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for Stephen. But I. I just don’t think we can care for him here anymore.”

  “That has to be your decision, Amanda.”

  “I know, I know.”

  Stephen heard the sorrow in his sister’s voice. He knew what she was going to say next. He was right.

  “I. I think I should call Dr. Krieger. Maybe he was right after all. Steve needs to be hospitalized. It’s perfectly obvious I haven’t been able to help him. I don’t know what I was thinking, sending him to Millie Thurman.”

  He didn’t wait to hear any more. Time was of the essence now. He had to get away, had to get back. If they stopped him now, put him on drugs, he wouldn’t be able to reach her again. There would be no more second chances. The promise would be broken forever. He would be doomed.

  Stephen sprinted up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Stephen had never been more miserable. His impatience to reach Baldwin’s castle was nearly intolerable. Fear for Mara’s safety gnawed at him. It was a searing pain in his gut, and the physical discomfort increased with every turn of the cart’s wheels. He glanced at Jack, who sat beside him, hands loosely holding the horse’s reins. The small servant was apparently unaffected by the constant jolting and side-to-side sway. Stephen wondered how he stood it. He himself longed for the solid, sturdy feel of his chestnut stallion beneath him.

  But their mounts were back at Ullswater by now. And Thomas, who’d returned with them, had promised to recruit what locals he could to bury Ullswater’s dead and restore the castle and grounds as much as was possible. Alfred had been sent to Bellingham for reinforcements. The man who had originally driven Baldwin’s cart full of plunder, an innocent peasant who had once supplied wh
eat for Ranulf’s mill, had been sent happily home to his family. The guard who had accompanied him, one of Baldwin’s men, had been summarily dispatched. Everything, so far, had gone according to plan. The most difficult part, however, was yet to come.

  Stephen stared into the darkness ahead as if might see the path to the future. Would their plan work? Would they even make it through the castle gates? And, if they did, would they be able to find Mara? Alive? Whole? Untouched by Baldwin’s filthy hands?

  His thoughts were devastating, debilitating. Stephen knew he must banish them or lose his mind. He could allow himself to think only about rescue. Escape. It was likely more than an army of knights could accomplish, much less a single man, but he had to try.

  A few lights still burned here and there in Hawkshead; then the village was behind them. He and Jack were alone together in the black of the night with only the steady dip-clop of the horse’s hooves and the rickety creak of the cart. And then they were alone no longer.

  “Ho! Who goes there?”

  A horse whinnied and two riders appeared. They were well armed and well mounted, and Stephen assumed they were the earl’s men. As Jack hauled on the reins, Stephen called his own challenge.

  “Who are you to interfere in the business of the Earl of Cumbria?”

  “The earl’s men-at-arms,” came the immediate and insolent reply. “Now speak. Who are you?”

  “Only a poor farmer,” Jack said quickly, with a sidelong glance at his master. “Pressed into service by yer lord. Jack, I be called. An` I bring the treasure from Ullswater Castle with this guard here, as I was bid.”

  A brief discussion between the riders followed. Then: “All right. Follow us. Move it along. Sharp now!”

  Stephen had to muffle his long, deep sigh of relief. With an escort of the earl’s own men, they were assured of getting past the gate guards and through. Luck seemed to be with them.

  Minutes later the castle loomed before them, so massive and dark it was silhouetted, black on black, against the midnight sky.

  “Open for the earl’s men!” one of the escorts cried, and proceeded to identify himself. A groan, a rumble, and the heavy gate lumbered upward.

  “Hup!” Jack slapped his reins on the cart horse’s broad back, and the animal set its load into motion once again. Stephen’s right hand gripped the seat until his knuckles were white.

  They were inside.

  Cold. She was so cold. Mara hugged herself and shivered uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for the dawn to come, the sun, and its warmth. She longed to feel it on her face. Feel it seep into her bones and relieve the awful, aching chill that leeched the warmth from her very blood.

  It was better if she kept moving, and Mara rocked, careful not to touch the cold and damp stone wall at her back. The straw-filled pallet she sat on rustled, and an unpleasant musty odor rose from it. It was not nearly as bad as the stench that rose from the shallow trough that ran through her cell, with its trickle of vile, contaminated water. She turned her face to the small, barred window.

  Her damp and dank cubicle was built into the foundation of the tower, but it was not completely below ground level. Her window, an inch or so higher than her head, looked out on the castle courtyard. Sunlight and fresh air. She kept her eyes fixed to the tiny opening until she was able to discern a lessening of the darkness.

  Soon she would feel warmth again.

  But only warmth, nothing else. No life, no emotion. The numbness was her blessing. Baldwin would eventually send for her again. Better that she did not care what happened to her.

  Better she never thought of Stephen again.

  Light was the enemy. All had gone well under cover of darkness, but in the bright light of day the game might be over. It was one thing to masquerade as one of the earl’s men in the dark; it was quite another to keep up the charade in daylight. As the world around them slowly took on form, Stephen shrank into the shadow of the tower door.

  Jack stood in front of him, arms casually folded, and gazed about the courtyard as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He actually had several. The cart had been unloaded, and any moment someone was going to notice and send him on his way. Jack winced when their horse snorted impatiently and pawed at the cobbled ground.

  “I may have’t` leave you soon,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Stephen. “If I do, I’ll get back in somehow. There’s bound to be lots of traffic in an‘ out durin` the day. No one’ll notice an extra body.”

  “It’s too risky,” Stephen hissed back. “If I find Mara, I’m going to have to run for it. I don’t want to have to worry about you, too.”

  “On the other hand,” Jack replied softly, “I may not have’t` leave at all. Look here.”

  A familiar clank and rumble came to their ears as the great gate opened. A minute later, the first of several carts rolled into the courtyard. Stephen smelled fresh bread, and his mouth watered. His heartbeat quickened with renewed hope.

  The village of Hawkshead provisioned Baldwin’s castle. There would be a great deal of activity throughout the day. There were not only villagers and their goods, but mounted guards who rode among diem, examining wagon loads and keeping order. Stephen would be able to move about with at least a modicum of freedom. He might even be able to locate Mara’s whereabouts.

  “Go stand by the horse,” he instructed Jack. “Try and look busy. I’m going.”

  As Jack sauntered casually toward their cart horse, Stephen melted into the rapidly growing crowd.

  Mara stood beneath the window and gripped the ledge when the sun finally topped the castle walls. Her body warmed slowly, and she moved from her post only once.

  Soon after dawn, Maggie appeared with a mug of water and piece of stale bread. She hastily put the meager meal on the ground inside the door and withdrew. The bread was too moldy to consider eating, but Mara’s thirst was almost unbearable. She drained her mug and returned to the window.

  Her mind was still numb, and the day passed in a haze. From her vantage, Mara saw little but booted feet, horses’ hooves, and wagon wheels. A subdued din came to her ears, aromas of bread, baked meats, and spices to her nostrils. Once, a stirring breeze lifted the hair from her temples. Yet her senses registered little but sun and warmth, blessed warmth on her flesh. Then, in mid-afternoon, the clouds rolled in.

  Mara didn’t notice at first. The bright light winked in and out as clouds blew past the sun. But finally their gray, purplish mass obscured the glowing disc altogether, and Mara felt the chill.

  Had she the tears, she would have cried. The sun was gone, and the smell of moisture rode the air. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Mara leaned her forehead against the cold stone wall and wondered if she would be able to bear another night.

  The day neared its end, a spring storm threatened, and the courtyard had almost emptied of its daily bustle. Even Jack had finally been forced to leave, no longer able to find excuses for his loitering. Stephen knew he had to act now or never. As the last cart clanked and rattled its way across the wooden bridge, he made his move. The long day had not been totally wasted. Stephen had learned at least one important fact: Baldwin slept not in the manor, but in the tower. And where Baldwin was, Mara must eventually be.

  The tower’s huge and heavy wooden door was recessed in its smooth, stone wall. Stephen kept to the shadows as he made his way to the entrance. No guard stood outside, but he knew there was one inside, for he had seen him once when he had admitted a one-eyed woman bearing a laden tray: The earl’s supper, probably.

  Stephen had also caught glimpses of men at the arrow-slit windows above him, and along what must be the spiraling stairs to Baldwin’s chambers. How he was going to deal with them, find Mara, and flee with her he had no idea. He only knew he had to try.

  He had almost reached the doorway when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He melted into the wall and recognized the woman he had seen earlier. This time, she carr
ied a bucket of water that sloshed over her shabby skirt. There was a length of linen cloth draped over her arm.

  Stephen stood stock-still, barely breathing, and prayed the shadows camouflaged his form. But the woman appeared not to notice him. Her good eye was on the side away from him. Her vision was restricted and, for the moment at least, he had the advantage. He had to use it.

  Maggie knocked twice, and the guard opened up. They engaged in a brief conversation, door still wide, and Stephen edged closer. He heard the woman’s voice.

  “Thanks to ye for takin` me bucket,” she said. “Think m‘ arm was gettin` longer.”

  “Let me call someone else down here to the door so I can help-”

  “Oh, never mind that. ”Twill take but a minute. Mind y` don’t spill any more.“

  Footsteps then, receding. Downward. Into the dungeon.

  It was incredible luck. Stephen slipped past through the door.

  Maggie was grateful for the help. Her arm was stiff, her back ached, and her heart was heavy. Her lord’s words echoed in her head.

  “Make her presentable. Even Ranulf’s daughter will not have fared well after a night in my dungeon.” He had been seated in a chair by the window. He had rested his chin on steepled fingers and smiled. “I like the wares to be clean before I sample them.”

  Maggie had dropped her gaze to hide her chagrin. But the earl missed little.

  “Oh, now, Maggie. Don’t look so forlorn. I’m merely sampling, I told you. What if she’s not to my taste? She will no longer warm my bed, and you will still have your place in it, won’t you? That is what you’re worrying about-isn’t it, Maggie?”

  Somehow she had managed to nod, though his words had not helped at all. How could he not find the lady attractive, desirable? She would not only become his bed-mate, but possibly his wife as well.