The Circle Of A Promise

by Helen A Rosburg

  Then it was abruptly shattered as a guard and another figure burst into the hall.

  “What is this disturbance? What’s going on?” Stephen asked as he rose and tucked in the shirt he had hastily donned. Then he recognized the brown-clad figure. “Brother Theobald!” he exclaimed. “What on. ?”

  The question died on Stephen’s lips. The monk was pale with shock and fear. He clutched a cloth-wrapped bundle to his breast.

  “What is it, brother? What’s wrong? How can we help you?”

  “A. a message,” the monk stammered at last. “I was’t-told to bring you this m-message. From Baldwin, Earl of Cumbria.”

  Mara’s hammering heart stopped abruptly within her breast. She watched in tense silence as the cleric handed Stephen the bundle. The poor man’s hands were shaking violently.

  Stephen glanced at her once, and she nodded. She had thought she was prepared for anything. She wasn’t.

  As Stephen fumbled with the parcel, it fell open. An object tumbled to the ground. It was a ring, a holy ring. Father Gregory’s ring.

  With the finger still attached.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Stephen walked slowly from the diner. Intellectually, he knew he was hungry. He had to be. He hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. But his stomach threatened to rebel. He hadn’t even been able to get down any of the thin soup he had ordered. Not that it mattered. It seemed he was almost done.

  The wind from a passing car ruffled his hair. Dimly, he smelled the exhaust. He thrust his hands into his pockets and smiled grimly. Empty. The soup, a cup of coffee, and a small tip for the waitress had taken the last of his cash. Tomorrow, or the day after, the motel manager would come knocking on his door, wanting his week’s payment. Then it would be over for good. Stephen inserted his key in the lock and opened the door.

  He was almost past caring anyway. A mental hospital was as good a place as any, he supposed, to spend the rest of his life. Drugs, hopefully, would help him forget Until he died, reincarnated, and began his next life. Then the broken promise would start coming back to haunt him again. His eternal, undying love for Mara would take him over once more. The cycle was endless. He could not end it. He could not save her.

  Stephen sat heavily in a chair by the window. He didn’t bother to close the curtains. What difference did it make? He had failed. He might as well give it all up now. He almost wished somebody would recognize him. Then it would all be over. Until it started again. Stephen uttered a mirthless chuckle.

  Would he have any better luck in the next life? If he could, indeed, pierce the veil again, would he be more successful next time in remembering the present when he went back to the past? Maybe. He’d almost done it this time. Almost, but not quite. Baron Stephen was aware of another presence, but could not hear the voice. And if he could not hear the voice, he could not receive the warning.

  A familiar nausea churned in Stephen’s stomach. He could not bear to think of it anymore. He didn’t even think he wanted to return to the past again. Why relive the unspeakable agony of her inevitable death?

  He couldn’t. Neither could he seem to stay awake any longer.

  Stephen stared at the bed, then at his hands. They were definitely becoming transparent No longer did he think it a trick of light, or of the mind. He was fading away. But why? And where to? The past?

  If only it were true. He might have some hope then. If he disappeared from this world to return to the past corporeally, perhaps he might then be able to bring memory with him as well. If only.

  But he had very little hope left, merely his endless exhaustion. Stephen looked back at the bed. If he lay down, would he sleep? Or would he slip back into the past?

  It didn’t matter. His eyelids were so heavy he couldn’t keep them open any longer. He tried to resist, but it was useless. He could almost hear her calling him, pleading with him, begging him.

  Chapter Forty

  Mara stood so straight, so rigid, she felt as if an iron rod had been driven down through her spine. Her flesh felt cold, and her heart had turned to ice. Though her left hand rested on Trey’s head, she was unaware even of the dog’s presence. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Don’t go, Stephen. Please don’t go.”

  Stephen stared at his wife, oblivious of everyone else in the room; Walter and Alfred on his right, Jack and Thomas to his left, those of his men who were not standing guard ranged behind them. He looked into her sapphire eyes and knew he did not have to say the words. She had known even when she had begged him that he could not leave Baldwin’s challenge unmet. Yet he had to speak the words, just as she had been compelled to utter hers.

  “Father Gregory is my friend,” he said softly. “Not to mention a peaceable and innocent man of God. You know what will happen to him if I don’t go.”

  Mara didn’t bother to nod. She knew full well what would happen. She also knew it was futile to argue further with Stephen, and recalled what had already passed between them, once the horrifying sight of Father’s Gregory’s severed finger had been revealed.

  The monk Theobald had started to cry, the only sound in the terrible silence. “He. Baldwin says to come, come right away, or.” There had been no need to say more.

  Mara had stared straight into her husband’s eyes, fighting the sickness that churned in her belly. “Baldwin’s planning a trick of some kind. You know he is.”

  “And I will be on my guard against it. I’ll also have most of my knights. I will send for Thomas at once, and he will be here by dawn. I’ll meet Baldwin with no small strength.”

  “Then I’m going with you, too,” Mara had stated flatly.

  Stephen shook his head slowly but firmly. “No, you’re not. You and I both know what Baldwin is really after. I don’t intend to let him get anywhere near you.”

  “But you need every man who can ride at your side!” In spite of her effort to control it, a note of desperation had crept into Mara’s voice. “You won’t leave me alone here, unprotected. I know you. You’ll leave your best and bravest behind to watch over me, when you need them, Stephen. I won’t have it. I won’t.”

  Stephen had sensed the unbreachable wall of her determination, she knew it. She had known he knew he would be forced to compromise.

  “Very well.” He had sighed. “I will not, however, leave you without adequate protection. There is always the possibility that Baldwin intends to distract me in one place merely to strike in another.”

  “This castle is impregnable. Very few are needed to keep it, or me, safe.”

  Stephen had smiled grimly. “Alfred,” he’d said without taking his eyes from Mara. “You’ll remain here with the baroness. Pick two other men to stay with you, and use the servants to help keep vigil on the walls.”

  Though his disappointment was evident, the older knight nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  And so it had been settled. Stephen would ride to meet Baldwin. He had no choice. Mara knew it. She knew she could not stop him. And now he was about to leave.

  Her heart was breaking, but Mara gave not the slightest sign. Stephen finally tore his eyes from hers.

  “Walter, go ahead and ready the men and horses. I’ll join you shortly.”

  Walter left without a word, all but Jack following him. At a glance from his master, however, the small man hurried out behind the others. Stephen returned his gaze to his wife.

  “I know, Mara, that telling you not to worry is a waste of breath.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  “But I’m going to be very, very careful. Baldwin is baiting me, I know that. Yet I have no choice but to go. I must do what I can to save Gregory.”

  Mara lowered her gaze. “Yes,” she murmured at last. “I know you must do whatever lies within your power to aid him.”

  Stephen raised Mara’s chin with a fingertip. “I must also go now, my dearest.”

  Mara gave a barely perceptible nod.

  “I love you.”

  “As I love you, husband.”

 
; There was no more to say. The most important words had already been said, murmured with lips against flesh during the too short hours of the night that had been shared by them. One long, last look-eye to eye, heart to heart-and Stephen turned, strode the length of the hall, boot heels clicking, and vanished into the predawn darkness.

  Morning light had barely penetrated the dense gloom of the forest. The boles of the trees were but deeper shadows against the inky darkness of lingering night Maggie huddled in her cape, chilled by the cool, damp air, and waited anxiously for the light. But when, at last, the world around her began to take on definition, she was not comforted.

  The air was heavy with mist. It drifted through the trees, twined its tendrils about their trunks, reached up to tangle in the branches. It deadened sound, blanketed the earth in the soft and eerie down of its being. No birds sang; no creatures rustled in the undergrowth. Somewhere a horse impatiently stamped its foot, but the sound was muffled, unreal. Maggie shivered. She jumped when a twig snapped to her left.

  “Startled you, did I?” A smile graced Baldwin’s lips, though not his eyes. “You must be apprehensive.”

  “Don’t. I don’t like the dark much,” Maggie stammered. “Or the mist.”

  “It’ll soon burn away. Though I rather like it, myself. And it helps to conceal my men among the trees.”

  “You’ll be. you’ll be plannin` an ambush then?”

  “How crass. Not to mention obvious.” Baldwin chuckled mirthlessly. “No, nothing like that. Come. Come, and I’ll show you.”

  The earl extended his arm to Maggie, but she hesitated. Nothing was the same anymore, not since she had watched her lord sever the priest’s finger. Murder the king’s men.

  “Maggie?”

  There was a sinister tone to the way he said her name. As much as she feared what lay ahead, whatever bloody and unpleasant surprise he had in store for the baron, she was more frightened of the earl himself. Maggie took her lord’s arm.

  “There. That’s better.” Baldwin patted the girl’s hand. “Isn’t it, Maggie? Now, come and see what I have planned.”

  Stephen, with Walter at one side, Thomas at the other, and Jack directly to their rear, rode at the head of his force until they reached the forest. Over Walter’s protestations, he took the lead alone as they moved onto the narrow trail. The weak dawn light and hovering mist made it impossible to see through the trees, but Stephen did not fear ambush. The forest was far too dense to allow any kind of surprise attack in force, and though a few well-placed archers might do some damage, visibility was too poor as yet to give them any serious thought.

  The muffled clomp of the horses’ hooves on the damp ground was the only sound to be heard in the close and misty wood. Stephen thought he might almost be able to hear his own heartbeat if he tried hard enough.

  Then the air around him subtly changed. It seemed less dense and oppressive. A breath of breeze touched his cheek.

  His column of men stopped when Stephen lifted his hand. Thomas edged his horse alongside his lord’s chestnut stallion.

  “The clearing is just ahead,” Stephen said quietly. He squinted, as if he might see through the dim light and drifting mist to what lay ahead. “Have the men dismount and spread out among the trees on either side of the trail. It’s my guess Baldwin has his own men arrayed in similar fashion on the opposite side of the glade. But keep the horses ready just in case. I doubt he wants any part of a hand-to-hand confrontation, but I’m not taking any chances. Let me know when the men are in place.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  Stephen clasped his charger’s reins loosely and listened to the small noises his men made as they dismounted and moved into position among the trees. In a matter of minutes Thomas had returned to his side.

  “All is ready, m’lord.”

  “Thank you, Thomas. If anything happens to me, guard the baroness with your life-you and Walter. He must not get his hands on her. No matter the cost.” Stephen turned in his saddle. “Jack, you’ll ride into the clearing with me. Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” Jack replied in an unusually subdued voice.

  “Then we’ll go. Walter, Thomas-don’t make a move without a signal from me.”

  Then his great chestnut stallion moved forward through the clinging mist into the lighter, clearer air of the open glade.

  Baldwin heard them coming before he was able to see them. Then they were visible before him, just the two of them, as he had expected. As he had known. The noble and handsome baron was so predictable. This was going to be ever so much easier than he had anticipated.

  “Welcome, Baron.”

  “Baldwin,” Stephen replied shortly.

  “Thank you for coming. Or, I should say, the good father thanks you for coming.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Now, now, now. Have patience.”

  “I have all the patience I need. I simply don’t have time for you, Baldwin. Where is he?”

  “All in good time. How is your lovely wife?”

  The message from Baldwin, relayed through Brother Theobald, had been to come unarmed. It was as well. Had he a dagger, he would have thrown it directly into the man’s heart.

  “Where is Father Gregory?” Stephen repeated instead. His voice was flat, hard.

  Baldwin shrugged with elaborate nonchalance. “As you wish. Have it your way. Follow me.”

  The sun crested the horizon and swiftly burned away the mist. Stephen was able to see the monk almost at once. His hands clenched into fists.

  Father Gregory stood in front of his modest chapel. He was bound from head to foot, tied so tightly his face had gone ashen from pain and shock.

  “Untie him,” Stephen commanded.

  “Oh, but of course,” Baldwin said lightly. “After you’ve done all I ask.”

  “What is it you want, Baldwin?”

  “Why-I want you, naturally.”

  Stephen smiled grimly. “Naturally.”

  “You think I can’t have you?”

  “I think it will be a grand battle.”

  “Between your men and mine, you mean?”

  Stephen remained silent.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Baldwin continued. “Get off your horse, Baron.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “It’s extremely simple.” Baldwin withdrew the dagger from the sheath at his side and moved close to Father Gregory. He held the blade against the monk’s throat. “If you don’t get off the horse, I shall slit your friend’s throat.”

  “Then you will have nothing to bargain with.”

  “And you will have a dead friend.” A smile twitched at the corner of the earl’s lips. He had not expected Stephen to call his bluff. The man had some iron in him after all. Holding the baron’s gaze, he twitched his blade lightly upon the monk’s throat.

  As a thin trickle of blood began to dampen the front of the father’s habit, Stephen knew he had lost. Once again he had underestimated the depths of evil into which a man could sink. He could not let his friend die, and he had no doubt Baldwin would kill Gregory if he did not give himself up. He would have to give himself to Baldwin and trust to escape, or to rescue later.

  Silently cursing himself, his naivete and stupidity, Stephen slowly lowered his reins to his stallion’s neck. How could he have allowed this to happen? How had he so easily fallen into Baldwin’s trap?

  “Do I have to invite you again, Baron, to dismount?”

  The blade of the earl’s knife once again pressed to the father’s throat. Fresh blood appeared and slid down Gregory’s neck.

  The thought of summoning his men briefly crossed Stephen’s mind. But he knew they could not possibly come to his aid before the earl had opened Gregory’s throat.

  “Send your man away,” Baldwin said when he saw that he had won.

  “Go on, Jack,” Stephen ordered.

  “No, my lord! I-”

  “Do it!”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Jack turned his ho
rse-and rode into the disappearing mist.

  Baldwin felt his chest swell with elation as Stephen climbed from his charger. “Seize him,” he commanded evenly. Wulfric and one other burly knight came forward and took the young baron firmly in their grasp.

  Stephen did not bother to struggle. “Now, release him, Baldwin,” he said with equal, icy calm. “Release Father Gregory.”

  “Or what? What, Stephen of Bellingham?” The earl touched the point of the blade to the tip of his finger. “What will you do?”

  Stephen remained stonily silent and glared at the man who regarded him so casually, idly touching the knife to one finger, then another.

  “Will you call your men? Do you love the father so much, Stephen? Do you?” Baldwin strolled behind the cleric’s back. “Will you attempt to save him even now? Is there that much love between you?”

  “No!”

  Baldwin’s grin split his face. He lifted Gregory’s chin and slowly, deliberately, with great relish, slit the man’s throat from ear to ear.

  Chapter Forty-one

  The morning breeze moved tendrils of loosened hair against Mara’s cheek and fluttered the hem of the dark blue tunic she had pulled over her soft leather breeches. She stood in the courtyard, facing the gate. She did not take her eyes from Jack as she watched him ride toward her. Walter and Thomas flanked him. But it was Jack she watched. She did not blink. She just watched.

  The men rode at a jog. Their faces were stern.

  Stern, Mara told herself firmly. Stern, not shocked and grieving.

  They were in front of her at last. All dismounted. Jack removed his hat and held it to his chest. Mara still had not taken her gaze from him.

  “He’s alive,” she said, no trace of question in her voice.

  Jack nodded. “Aye. Alive. But.”

  “Come to the hall,” Mara ordered tersely. She marched across the courtyard. Unseen servants opened the doors as she approached, and she strode through without pause. In the center of the hall she halted and turned to the men who followed her. “Bring these men ale,” she ordered. “And something to eat.”