The Circle Of A Promise

by Helen A Rosburg

  Dismissed at last, Maggie had hurried from the room to do her lord’s bidding before he could see the tears that tracked down her grubby cheek.

  Now, as the guard opened the cell door for her and returned her bucket, the lady Mara turned toward them. The faint spark of hope that yet flickered in Maggie’s heart went out completely.

  Never had the good Lord created a woman so beautiful. Not even a night in the dungeon had bowed her. Lower lip caught between her teeth, Maggie put her bucket on the floor and set about her labors.

  Stephen was ready for the guard when he returned. The man trudged slowly up the last few steps, expecting no one, treachery the furthest thing from his mind. He did not see the tall, mail-clad figure pressed to the wall opposite the door. His thoughts were far away, on a pale-haired beauty, and the terrible waste of her on a man like the earl.

  He did not have time to gasp for breath, much less cry out, when the hand went over his mouth. He struggled, but the grip that held him was like iron. Then a bright blossom of pain exploded behind his right ear, and he knew no more.

  Stephen lowered the man gently to the ground. He would sleep for a long while-long enough, perhaps, for Stephen to take care of the remaining guards on the stairs. After that.

  The earl was somewhere above him. Stephen raised his eyes, as if he might see through stone, and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. If Baldwin had so much as laid a single finger on Mara, he would die painfully. In the meantime, a blade pressed to his neck might persuade him to disclose Mara’s whereabouts. He might then serve as hostage until they were clear of the castle.

  It was a desperate plan, but the only one he had. Stephen took a deep breath and started up the stairs-then heard footsteps coming up from below.

  He whirled. It might only be the woman, and she would be easy to deal with. If he hurried.

  Stephen bolted down the spiral stairs, taking two at a time. Thunder crashed overhead and the gloomy evening turned darker still. He did not see the women until he was almost upon them.

  Two feminine figures were all that immediately registered on his senses. He halted in a fighting stance, the point of his sword held out directly in front of him.

  Then he recognized her, bruised and pale, clad only in a thin chemise. But alive. Alive!

  Stephen’s heart swelled, rose from his chest to his throat, and threatened to choke him. “Mara!”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The guard startled Mara, standing there in a fighting pose. It roused her momentarily from her stupor, and she raised her eyes.

  Stephen?

  The shock was too great, more than she could comprehend in her state of perpetual dullness. Stephen? she wondered again.

  He saw the amazement and disbelief in Mara’s gaze. Saw surprise and fear in the single dark eye of the other woman. Knew in an instant she would scream and raise the alarm.

  Mara watched Stephen’s glance alight on Maggie. She saw the angle of his sword, and knew what he intended to do. He had no choice. Mara, too, knew what she must do.

  Despite her dulled senses, Mara had observed something in Maggie. She used it now as her weapon.

  The servant’s eye was wide. Her mouth fell open as Stephen started for her. Mara raised her left hand, halting him, and put her right on Maggie’s arm.

  “Maggie, listen, listen!” Mara repeated urgently. “This is the man I. I am betrothed to.” She gave a brief glance at Stephen; then all her attention was focused on Maggie. “He’s come to take me from Baldwin, to take me home. So the earl can’t have me. Do you understand, Maggie? I’ll be gone.”

  The girl’s eye flicked from Stephen to Mara and back again. She remained silent.

  “Please, Maggie. Please let me go!”

  “He’ll. he’ll know,” she said at last. “He’ll hurt me.”

  Mara winced involuntarily. She could well imagine how Baldwin treated this poor girl. “How could he find out you let me go, Maggie? You could simply say I escaped.”

  Maggie shook her head. “He. he might even kill me this time.”

  Mara looked at Stephen with the plea evident in her gaze. He understood at once.

  “Come with us,” he said quickly. “I’ll make it seem you’re my hostage, my prisoner. Then you’ll be out of his reach. For good.”

  Out of his reach. The words replayed in Maggie’s head. But she knew, sadly and without a doubt, that she could not, would not, ever leave Baldwin. Slowly, she shook her head.

  “No. I can’t,” she replied simply.

  “Stephen.” Mara’s voice was scarcely more than a groan. “He will kill her.”

  “Not if he thinks she did her best to prevent your escape,” the man said suddenly. “Not if she’s injured trying to prevent the escape.”

  Maggie understood. And she did want Mara gone. It was worth the injury. Worse had happened and might happen still. But at least Mara would be gone; the earl would be hers again. She nodded.

  “Thank you, Maggie,” Stephen said quietly. Then, before she had time to be afraid, he caught her a glancing blow across her cheek with the hilt of his sword. Nothing was broken, but a cut opened. Blood trickled down her cheek, which soon would purple. Something within Stephen quailed, not because he had inflicted the injury, but to see how Maggie bore it-like a dog long used to its beatings.

  Maggie raised a hand to her cheek. Then, “Go,” she said in a curiously unsteady voice. “Go on now. Run!”

  They did not need to be told again.

  William thoroughly enjoyed the elevation in his status. Although nothing as yet was official, most of the men-at-arms looked to him for leadership now, and he took on as many responsibilities as possible. He wanted to consolidate his power and position while he was still in favor. When the earl’s mood changed, as it inevitably must, he wanted to be a difficult man to dislodge. He enjoyed power, its perquisites, and intended to keep them.

  One of the duties William had assumed was the end-of-the-day patrol of the vast castle courtyard. Built fairly recently, to the earl’s specifications, the castle was less an island of defense than a lavish residence. It was shaped like a large oval, with the great hall opposite the main gate. The perimeter wall was interspersed with towers, six in all. And, as Baldwin loathed clutter of any kind, the sole outbuildings were twin stone structures positioned symmetrically at opposite ends of the long oval. One was a stable, the other a basic kitchen. As a result, the castle was provisioned almost entirely by the village. It was an arrangement that suited everyone, particularly William.

  A stable boy held his horse’s headstall, and William mounted. He was a bit slower these days, with the addition of some fine pieces of armor, only slightly dented. Although Ranulf’s knights had been well past their prime, their equipment had been first-rate.

  Comfortably seated, William gathered his reins and nodded at Wulfric, his chosen companion of late, and the two headed off on their rounds. So many people came and went during the day, on so many different errands, there were usually a few strays. The earl looked upon strays the same way he looked upon clutter, to be removed.

  The two knights set off in opposite directions, to meet again in front of the great hall. The only people in sight were Baldwin’s men-at-arms and those few who maintained the stables, the kitchen, and the earl’s person.

  William examined each face carefully. Just let him find a straggler. He knew what to do. The earl would be proud of his efficiency.

  He had just passed the second of the towers south of the gate when he heard the commotion.

  Maggie pressed the fingers of one hand to her wounded cheek, and intentionally crumpled against the wall. Stephen threw her a last sad glance.

  “We’re going to have to hurry,” he said to Mara. “We’re free. For the moment But the castle is crawling with guards.” He did not have to add that Maggie would not, could not, remain silent for long.

  The strange lethargy in his betrothed’s eyes, however, disturbed him. She had been sensible enou
gh to reason with Maggie, but the curious lassitude seemed to have fallen upon her once more.

  “Mara, stay behind me. Be cautious. And be prepared to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”

  She nodded dumbly. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her, to bury his face in her hair and make the world go away. But they had to flee. Now.

  “Take my hand, Mara.”

  He had never touched her before. The moment should have been different. Mara didn’t even consider it. Numb, she did as she was told. Stephen pulled her up the stairs behind him.

  The guard was still unconscious. No one had discovered him. Stephen opened the outer door-and saw two patrolling knights.

  The pair rode away from him, backs turned. The gate was still open.

  Another incredible stroke of luck. He hesitated only an instant, to glance at Mara and see if there was comprehension in her eyes.

  She, too, saw the guards, the gate. A spark of life flickered in her gaze.

  “Run, Mara. Run!” Stephen hissed, and sprinted for the gate.

  Mara matched him step for step. A shout went up from the walls.

  The gate was close, so close. And the approaching storm had further darkened the evening. Concealing night would come soon. Rain would wash away their tracks. If they could just make it through the gate, they’d have a chance to run, maybe to find a horse.

  But the alarm was given. Guards atop the wall pointed at them and continued to shout.

  Legs still pumping, Stephen saw the heavyset knight nearest him wheel his mount. The animal reared as the man drew his sword and prepared to sweep down on them. Stephen pushed Mara behind him.

  “No!” Her spark had become a fire. Her tone brooked no opposition. “Give me your short-sword. I’ll stand at your side.”

  There was no time to argue, even had her tone allowed. Nor was Stephen sure he wanted to. Though clad only in her linen shift, her long pale hair in wild disarray, she was a spectacular figure. It occurred to Stephen, in a flash, that he would do well to have this woman fight at his side. He pulled his short-sword from its sheath and handed it to her.

  She gave him the briefest of smiles.

  Then Wulfric was upon them.

  The knight did not fully grasp the situation. He did not know who the young, black-haired man was, or why he was with the earl’s woman, apparently taking her away. He did, however, enjoy a good fight. Especially weighted on his side. He was on a horse. The couple was afoot. He grinned as he charged down on the foolish young pair.

  Steel rang against steel as the weapons met. Wulfric was surprised at the man’s strength. He hauled hard on his mount’s reins and prepared to turn and attack again. His surprise turned to unpleasant amazement.

  Mara hated to do it. She loved animals, particularly the magnificent and well-trained stallions skilled in the arts of war. But in a life-and-death situation, she had no sentiment. As Stephen met Wulfric’s renewed attack, Mara moved behind the horse and, with one swift, accurate stroke, slashed the blade across the horse’s hind legs.

  Although Wulfric’s mind worked slowly, he did realize his mount had been hamstrung when the animal sank down on its haunches. He kicked free of the saddle just as the huge stallion collapsed with a scream of pain.

  Wulfric scrambled to his feet. He took his sword in both hands, pivoted, and prepared to fight on foot He grinned when he saw William riding hard in their direction. In moments, guards from the walls and gate towers would also join them. He’d have to hurry to strike the winning blow.

  Stephen and Mara stood back to back. William came from one direction and Wulfric, slowly and steadily, grinning ear to ear, from the other. When Mara saw William would easily reach them first, she stepped aside to give Stephen full use of his sword arm.

  He used it well.

  William did not anticipate a problem. Whoever the fool was who thought to steal the earl’s prize-single-handedly moreover-was about to lose his head. The entire guard of the castle was against him. He didn’t stand a chance. William had developed a fetal sense of over-confidence.

  Experienced and able fighter that he was, Stephen noted at once the foolhardy brashness of his opponent’s attack. He drew his sword over his right shoulder, both hands on the hilt, and when William reached him he gave a mighty swing.

  The strength and force of the blow caught William completely off guard. The knight lost his balance, dropped his weapon, and toppled over backward. He forgot to let go of his reins. The gray stallion he rode reared when he felt the cruel pressure on his mouth. Already overbalanced by his rider, the great animal slowly, inexorably overturned.

  William had no chance. He opened his mouth to scream, but only a terrified, strangled breath issued forth. An instant later, two thousand pounds of horse crushed him into the cobblestone courtyard.

  Wulfric hesitated, momentarily stunned by the gruesome scene that had just occurred. It was the last and most important bit of luck Stephen and Mara required. As William’s blood-flecked animal struggled to its feet, Stephen grabbed hold of the horse’s reins and vaulted into the saddle.

  “Mara! Your hand!” He reached down, clasped the girl’s forearm and, as she swung her leg over the horse’s back, pressed his heels to the charger’s sides. They were in a full gallop by the time they reached the gate.

  Events had transpired so quickly, the gate guard had barely had time to register them. When he belatedly realized he must lower the gate to prevent the couple’s escape, the earl’s prize and her rescuer were almost through.

  His hands were quickly in motion. but too late!

  Stephen and Mara pounded over the wooden bridge, just in time to hear the gate rumble closed behind diem.

  Seconds later the sound was drowned out by the throaty roar of thunder.

  They had made it. Against all odds, they had made it Stephen longed to halt the stallion and take Mara in his arms, but they were not yet out of bowshot. Angry shouts came from the walls, and he did not have to look back to know arrows rained through the swiftly falling gloom. He urged the charger on, faster and faster.

  Soon the gates would be opened again. Armed, mounted, and angry knights would pour across the bridge. He and Mara could not pause for an instant.

  Yet it would take only seconds to do what he had yearned for since he had come upon her climbing the tower steps. Mere seconds, and perhaps the most precious seconds of his entire life.

  The dappled charger was a massive animal, but expertly trained. As soon as Stephen applied pressure to the reins, the stallion slid to a halt He shook his great head. Slowly, Stephen turned in the saddle.

  Mara’s eyes were nearly on a level with his own. They were dark-as dark as the night that enfolded them. He could not read her expression, could not see if the strange languor had returned. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Her lips trembled. He longed to still them. Longed to crush her in his fierce embrace. She was safe, alive, Baldwin’s prisoner no more.

  Yet he could not know what was in her heart, a heart so wounded he could not even begin to comprehend the pain and anguish she must feel. So he cupped her face tenderly, so tenderly, in his hands. “Mara,” he whispered.

  She did not respond.

  A patter of raindrops fell. Their stallion shook his head again, pawed the earth, and snorted. The rain fell in earnest.

  Another miracle. He could not afford to waste the gift God and the heavens gave them, the rivers of rain that would wash away the signs of their passing.

  Even as Stephen gave the stallion his head, thunder crashed and the full might of the heavens’ downpour was loosed upon the earth. In seconds the pair was soaked, hair and clothing plastered to their skin.

  Stephen felt Mara’s arms snake about his waist. She clung to him, and they pounded away through the wild and stormy night.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Baldwin had watched from his tower window. He had seen it all.

  The shout from the wall had alerted him.
He had hurried to the window in time to see Amarantha-his prize, his trophy-emerge from the tower door below. Her hand had been clasped tightly, familiarly, by a lean and muscular man. The quality of that man’s mail, boots, and weapons marked him as a man of substance. A landed man. A baron? One of the northern barons?

  His fists clenched, hard and white. The blood drained from his face. Baldwin knew who it was who escaped with the hard-won, silver-haired witch.

  Bellingham. Stephen of Bellingham. The man to whom Mara was betrothed.

  Even as he watched the melee below, even though the baron was only one man among many, a single knight amidst a castle full of knights, Baldwin knew he would triumph. His reputation as a fighting man cast a shadow across the whole of England. How he had come to be within these castle walls, had breached the tower and stolen away its most prized possession, Baldwin did not know and did not care. He knew only his treasure was lost.

  The earl’s jaws had clenched as tightly as his hands as he watched the drama unfold. He saw William and Wulfric make fools of themselves. He watched William die, crushed to death beneath his gray stallion. He had watched his treasure stolen away. Then he had watched the gate close behind the fugitives, making any timely pursuit impossible.

  Fools! Idiots! Incompetents!

  “Guards! Guards! Where are my guards?”

  Maggie was halfway up the spiraling stair when she heard Baldwin’s shriek. The guards who rushed out the tower door hesitated. Although the fight in the courtyard was clearly over, no one wanted to face the earl’s wrath. One of the two men looked away and knelt to aid his fallen comrade, the unconscious guard at the foot of the steps. Maggie did not wait to see what the other was going to do. She knew her place.

  Baldwin did not answer her knock. Maggie entered the room anyway, and saw his back was turned to her. She closed the door quietly and leaned against it. Blood from the wound on her cheek stained her neck and bodice, but she made no effort to wipe it away.

  Her earl’s thin body was rigidly erect, arms stiff and straight, fists clenched and pressed hard to his thighs. Maggie had seen him like this once before, when a stable man’s ineptitude had caused the death of Baldwin’s favorite mount What followed had been frightening. Maggie was frightened now.