The Circle Of A Promise

by Helen A Rosburg

  “No need, lady. My only sorrow is that I could do nothing’t` help him. Mebbe this time.”

  “Maybe. I’m glad you’re with me, Jack.”

  The man tried to speak but found the lump in his throat forbade it. Instead, he nodded a second time and thought that never again in his life would he see anything as grand and glorious as his master’s lady.

  There she sat, larger than life atop her huge, gray war stallion, incredible body sheathed in the silver of her husband’s mail, broadsword to one side, short-sword to the other, prepared to die for her husband. He loved her. He was not alone.

  At Jack’s nod, Mara straightened in the saddle, gathered her reins, and put her heels to Hero’s sides. The big horse lumbered forward, stepping into sunlight from the shadows of the trees. His dappled coat shone and he chewed impatiently at his bit, rolling one large eye toward the lean gray hound that trotted at his side.

  It seemed to take an eternity to reach the buildings clustered on the opposite side of the glade. From the time she was halfway across, however, Mara was able to see her husband.

  She suffered a small death when she first realized what she was seeing. Something within her simply passed away. But she gave not the slightest outward sign of emotion. Her hand on Hero’s reins remained steady, her back rigid. Not the faintest twitch betrayed her when Baldwin’s lean and stoop-shouldered figure appeared, moving lazily to Stephen’s side. A heavily cloaked woman trailed in his wake.

  “Halt!” Baldwin called when Mara was close enough to see his protuberant and watery blue eyes. “Have your man throw down his quiver.”

  Mara looked at Jack, who fumbled with the strap over his shoulder. He dropped the arrows to the ground, but he smiled at his mistress as he did so.

  “Don’t worry, m’lady,” Jack said under his breath. “Go on.”

  Mara urged Hero forward again, but only a few more steps. She halted him directly in front of Baldwin and her tightly bound husband. For the briefest moment the pair’s eyes locked and a volume of silent words passed between them. Then Mara returned her attention to the earl.

  “How pleasant to see you again, lady,” he drawled.

  “You may dispense with the niceties, Baldwin. Just tell me what you want.”

  “Oh, my, my.” The earl steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. “Aren’t we anxious, though? You’re spoiling my fun.”

  “I’ll spoil more than your fun,” Mara replied. “What do you want?”

  “Well, let’s play a little game, shall we? Let’s guess what I want.”

  “I’ll not play your games, Baldwin.”

  “You’re no fun at all.” The earl pouted. “Very well. I’ll help you. All right? I’ll bet you think I want you.”

  Mara remained silent, her stony, unblinking stare fixed on the repugnant figure who stood before her.

  “Let’s think about that for a moment, shall we?” Baldwin continued. “What would I do with you if I had you, if I traded you for your husband? Which you obviously think I wish to do. Would I have a loving and attentive wife? Would I have a gracious hostess to sit at my side in my hall? Would I have a willing partner in my bed? Oh, no, I don’t think so.” The earl shook his head. “I think you would fight me tooth and nail-with your last breath, if need be.”

  “And there would be the matter of the pesky husband you already have. I doubt he would leave us alone, do you? Furthermore, I don’t think the king is going to leave me alone much longer either. I, uh, I had an unpleasant surprise for the deputation he sent.”

  Baldwin clasped his arms across his narrow chest, paced a few steps, then turned once more to Mara. “No, I think what I have planned today-my little revenge will be my farewell performance. I have no illusions. There is very little left ahead for me. But there is one thing.”

  An involuntary shudder coursed down Mara’s spine as the earl’s mad and evil gaze bored into her. She was vaguely aware of Trey growling, but even Baldwin paid the dog no heed.

  “I want to see you bleed, Mara,” the earl went on at last. His was a chillingly even tone. “Oh, not literally, but figuratively. Your pain will be so much more excruciating than mere death could afford. I want you to suffer as you made me suffer. I cannot possibly inflict upon you the humiliation you heaped upon me. But I can wound you. Deeply. Just watch.”

  Baldwin flashed a pale smile and withdrew his dagger from its sheath. Again he approached his prisoner.

  A cry escaped Mara’s lips when she realized what final evil the earl planned to execute. She couldn’t help herself. Her hand went to her own dagger, but she was powerless and she knew it. There was only one thing left to do, one slim chance to take. She must ride Baldwin down, crush him beneath Hero’s hooves before he could put his blade to Stephen’s throat.

  Yet Mara knew she wouldn’t be able to make it, even as she put her heels to the great stallion and felt him surge forward beneath her. She saw the first drop of blood appear where the point of Baldwin’s blade touched Stephen’s neck.

  Phase, God, Mara found herself silently praying as Hero thundered beneath her. Don’t let him die.

  Then something amazing happened.

  Maggie would never know what moved her. Perhaps the last, faint glimmer of love she bore for the man who was her master. For she knew that the act he was about to commit would condemn him to hell more certainly than any that had come before. He would suffer long in Purgatory, surely, for what he had already done. But she did not wish him to burn in the fires of hell for eternity.

  Forgotten, swathed in her dark cloak, Maggie darted forward as the blade pressed against the prisoner’s throat. She did not know what she was going to do, but she had to try and stop the awful deed. Instinctively, she grabbed at the arm that lifted Baldwin’s blade.

  It was the opportunity Jack had waited for, prayed for. Almost quicker than the eye could comprehend, as the upward motion of Baldwin’s arm was momentarily stalled, he grasped the arrow he had concealed inside his sleeve, nocked, and loosed it. It flew true, pierced the earl’s shoulder. But it did not kill him.

  An expression of stunned horror painted Baldwin’s features. He looked down at the arrow protruding from his shoulder. Then he turned his gaze to Maggie.

  “You. you betrayed me.”

  “I saved you,” Maggie whispered.

  “I am your earl. Your lord.”

  “You are my love.”

  Mara knew it was over for Baldwin. Jack had already nocked another arrow. There was no need to run the earl down. She hauled on Hero’s reins.

  Maggie saw the warhorse veer away from them. And when she looked again at her earl, she saw the madness in his eyes that had doomed them. She watched him, painfully, raise the blade once more to the baron’s throat. From the corner of her eye, as if in a dream, she saw the second arrow flying for her lover’s heart. She would not let him go alone.

  Horrified, Mara saw Maggie fling her arms about the earl and throw him off balance. The pair fell directly into the path of Hero’s hooves. She tried to stop, but it was too late. Tellingly, sadly, she saw Maggie look up at her. and smile?

  Then the girl was gone, trampled, crushed, and bleeding along with her lover, beneath the flying hooves.

  There was not time to mourn the brave, one-eyed woman who had saved their lives once before, for Jack’s arrow had not only signaled the earl’s destruction, but was a signal to Baldwin’s men. They poured forth now, issuing from the monks’ wooden buildings and the surrounding forest like ants from their hill.

  Mara saw them and realized her own men-at-arms could not cross the glade quickly enough to come to her aid. There was barely time enough to free Stephen and fight at his side.

  She finally brought Hero to a skidding halt. She threw herself from the saddle and ran to her husband, short-sword in hand. She sawed desperately at the ropes that bound him, but a huge knight was nearly upon them.

  Jack had retrieved his quiver, but now he was too far away for an accurate shot. Mara d
rew her broadsword and turned to face the knight.

  Trey gave her the extra moments she needed. With a ferocious snarl, the hound launched himself at the approaching enemy and knocked him off balance. With a startled cry, the knight went down. Trey was at his throat.

  Mara’s blade did her bidding. Stephen’s ropes loosened. Her husband shook himself free.

  Untied at last, Stephen resisted the almost overpowering urge to take his wife in his arms. He cast a single glance her way instead, and went to the fallen knight. The dog had torn out his throat.

  Stephen relieved the corpse of its sword and, almost at once, began laying about him. Several of Baldwin’s knights surrounded them. Mara was pressed to his back, short-sword weaving its own pattern of death. Together, with Trey leaping and snarling around them, they held the earl’s men at bay until they heard the pounding hooves of their own forces’ approach.

  Stephen’s knights swept around them. Mounted, they easily laid into the earl’s men-at-arms, whose horses were still hidden in the trees behind the abbey. Stephen’s knights simply rode the men down. Powerful sword arms hacked, cleaving even helmeted skulls, severing mail-clad limbs.

  The hooves of their chargers were as deadly. The magnificently trained animals wrought havoc among the Cumbrian earl’s demoralized knights. One mighty stallion reared, taking his rider safely away from a previously well-aimed swordstroke. Still on his hind legs, he pivoted and pawed the air. His left front hoof, heavily shod, caught the knight on the temple and the man went down, dead before he hit the ground. Still another stallion, already grievously wounded by a blade that had struck his neck, wheeled and kicked at his tormentor. Chest crushed, that knight went down.

  The earl’s knights fell back. A few men turned and broke for the trees. Stephen’s men followed and cut them down before they reached the safety of their mounts.

  Alone, near the still and lifeless bodies of Baldwin and Maggie, Mara and Stephen still fought back to back.

  Though Wulfric knew his earl was dead, the day lost, a red rage filled his heart. Before him, ably parrying each of his blows, stood the man who had humiliated and defeated him once before in the earl’s own courtyard. He would not be so shamed again.

  At Stephen’s back, Mara parried the thrusts of still another knight, who was seemingly unaware of his comrades’ retreat. Though not as tall as Mara, he was heavily built and powerful.

  But he made one fatal error. He thought he might easily take a woman.

  He was surprised, therefore, when she quickly, strongly, gracefully, countered each of his blows. There even appeared to be a smile on her lips. Enraged, he took the hilt of his sword in both hands and drew it over his shoulder, prepared to make one last, overpowering slice. It would cleave the head from her shoulders.

  It was the opening Mara had awaited. She raised the short-sword to block her opponent’s next obvious move. With her left hand, quick as the dart of a sparrow, she unsheathed the broadsword she had heretofore been unable to take the time to reach. As the knight’s blade clanged against her own, driving her arm back, she thrust the broadsword upward and embedded the point of the steel in the man’s exposed throat. Spewing forth a great font of blood, he tumbled backward.

  There were none left before her. Mara whirled to fight at her husband’s side.

  Wulfric never had a chance. He parried another of Stephen’s blows, then one from the woman’s broadsword. He did not have time to counter Stephen again.

  Both hands on the hilt of his sword, Stephen raised the weapon over his head and brought it squarely down upon Wulfric’s head. The force of the blow was so great Wulfric’s helmet was driven into his skull. His eyes rolled up in his head and he went down, never to rise again.

  The earth ran red with blood. The cries of the dying shattered the hush of the green and fragrant glade. The battle was over.

  Stephen’s knights, victorious, drifted back toward their baron, cleaning blades and patting the necks of faithful mounts. Stephen ignored them.

  A moment ago Mara had been fighting at his side. Where had she gone? His eyes searched desperately for her. Sunlight glinting from bright armor made him squint. He turned and looked in the other direction. Saw her. She’d gone to help the others.

  The form was unmistakable. Even among his knights, she was tall. Their gazes met.

  Mara smiled. Her prayer had been answered. Stephen lived. She murmured a prayer of thanksgiving, pulled the mail hood from her head, and shook loose her magnificent hair. It tumbled in silvery waves across her shoulders and down her back, and Stephen knew there was not a more beautiful, desirable woman in the world. He started toward her.

  There was blood on her hauberk, but he knew instinctively it was not hers. Thank God. Thank God. She had made it through the battle unscathed. He could tell by the way she moved, walked slowly toward him. The tip of her sword dragged on the ground. Hero plodded along behind her, head low. He, too, appeared uninjured.

  Stephen let his blade fall to the ground. He opened his arms to receive her, and she stepped into the circle of his embrace.

  There were no words; they were too exhausted. Yet none were needed. They were husband and wife, companions of both heart and soul, lovers. They were also victors. At long, long last, the terrible struggle was over. Many deaths were avenged. They were finally free to be together without fear. It was over.

  For a long moment they simply leaned against one another, arms loosely clasped. Then Mara looked up at her husband.

  Her eyes were the color of a deep, deep lake. The lake beside which they had first made love.

  He did not see-no one saw-the hidden archer: one of the earl’s men, hidden in the tree at the edge of the glade.

  Stephen smiled into Mara’s eyes. The blood, death, and destruction all around them disappeared. Trey whined and pushed at their legs, but they barely noticed. They could not tear their gazes from each other.

  Then Stephen felt, or thought he felt, someone tap him on the shoulder. As the arrow sped toward them, he turned.

  Chapter Forty-four

  “Can’t you just break down the door?” Amanda begged the police officer who stood nearest to her.

  “That’s exactly what we’re going to do, ma’am,” he assured her. “No answer on the phone either?” he asked a fellow officer who strode toward them.

  The man shook his head. “I had the manager try three times.”

  “That’s a charm, then. Let’s go for it.”

  The cheap, hollow-core motel room door shattered on the first heavy-shouldered thrust. The police took a defensive stance, guns drawn, until they ascertained there was no threat; then they filed rapidly into the room. Amanda tried to follow them. Her husband held her back, hands on her shoulders.

  “Let the officers go in first, Mandy,” he said gently. He heard her snuffle as she tried to restrain a sob. Then he felt her tense as one of the officers came back out the door.

  “Is he all right? Can I go in?”

  John didn’t like the look on the officer’s face. He held on to his wife.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “What do you mean you’re sorry?” Amanda twisted in her husband’s grip, but he held on to her. “What do you mean?”

  The officer looked perplexed. “I mean, I’m sorry, but your brother’s not here.”

  “Not here? What do you mean?” Without waiting for a reply, Amanda pushed past the blue-clad officer.

  At first she thought the officer had been mistaken. She saw something on the bed, recognized Steve’s clothing.

  But that’s all it was. Clothing. Arrayed upon the bed as if had simply vanished while wearing it. T-shirt, jeans, shoes, and socks. Nothing else.

  “Gone,” Amanda whispered, her heart acknowledging a truth it would take her mind a great deal longer to grasp. “Gone.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  The arrow passed so close to him he felt the breeze of its flight. Thank God he had turned, Stephen thought, Mara still held tight
ly in his arms. Otherwise it might have struck one of them.

  If ever there’s a choice, God, he prayed silently, take me. He raised his hand to give the order to find and destroy the sniper, but it was already done.

  A body dropped from a nearby tree. An arrow protruded from the man’s eye socket.

  “Good shot, Jack,” Stephen called over his shoulder. He returned his attention to his wife. “That was close. Too close. And I promised I’d always keep you safe.”

  “You will. I have absolutely no doubt about it,” Mara murmured, lips nearly touching the stubble on her husband’s chin.

  It was over. The long horror was finally over. The suffocating pall of premonition had finally been lifted from her shoulders. She was free. And in spite of the death all around her, she felt elation swell her heart to bursting.

  “I love you, Stephen.”

  “I love you back, Amarantha. My immortal, precious love. My life.”

  “Take me home?”

  “Yes. I’ll take you home.”

  Jack watched them go, arm in arm, side by side. But for the warhorses that trailed in the dust behind them, it put him in mind of the first time he had seen them together like that. They had been in the courtyard at Ullswater. They had only just met. He looked down at Trey, who sat beside him as he had that first day as well.

  “I almost feel like I’ve lived this moment before, old friend,” he said to the dog. Trey whined in response. Jack patted him on the head. “It’s been a good day’s work. A good day’s work, all in all. Things turned out, in the end, just like they should’ve.”

  He gave the hound another affectionate pat. Then, side by side, they followed in the footsteps of the baron and his lady.