Knight Treasures

by C. C. Wiley

  The boat. Perhaps it was still seaworthy. She had to find her little boat.

  A warm tongue glided over her hands. Peeking between her fingers, she tried to dodge the hairy beast. Thunder’s pink tongue flashed out, lapping at her face, mixing her tears with his slobber.

  The sounds of splashing water moved forward. She flinched when Sir Darrick smoothed her hair, tucking it behind her ear. He lifted her from the water and carried her towards the boat. Oblivious to the danger of discovery, Thunder barked and splashed along beside them.

  “Quiet, boy,” the knight, commanded softly. “You’ll create more damage than already caused by these two.”

  He cupped her chin with his fingers and tipped her face. Sabine imagined she felt his chest rise and fall in a rush. His eyes strayed to her mouth.

  Seeing his intent to press his lips to hers, she struggled to pull away. “Fool!” she squealed. “Let me down at once. The soldiers will be here any minute.”

  Sir Darrick blinked. He released his hold, letting her slide slowly down his damp chest. His grip tightened when she brushed against his aroused manhood. A faint smile drifted across his lips. Sabine felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She glanced away.

  “Your exit was not a quiet one. It makes me wonder how you stayed alive. Come. Let us get your cloak and shove off this pile of rocks. You can explain, while I row us back to the mainland.”

  “’Tis no need for explanation. I have changed my mind. You’ll have to find another to tend your nephew.” Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked over the shore. “I’m sure I can find my own transportation.”

  He led her toward the rocking boat. “You gave your word.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll not have your death on my conscience.”

  With one swift motion, he picked her up and held her much too close. As if an afterthought, he dropped her onto the bench in the boat.

  Sabine blinked, at a loss for words.

  “Here,” he said, holding out his nephew. He barely allowed her time to adjust her sodden skirts and open her arms to receive the baby, before leaving to gather the remains of their little band of travelers.

  Getting the yellow-toothed beast in the boat was no easy task. The goat’s knobby legs kicked and thrust out at all angles. Eventually, Sir Darrick won the battle, and they were soon able to shove off from shore.

  Waiting until the last minute, Thunder jumped in and shook the water from his coat. Darrick wiped the rivulets streaming down his face with his sleeve as if it were an everyday occurrence.

  Sabine gripped the edge of the rocking boat. Afraid of tipping the crowded vessel, she sat in the exact spot where the beef-witted fool dumped her. She looked over their little group. What madness has possessed me to agree to depend on this stranger?

  Chapter 4

  The baby slept quietly, swaddled in the threadbare blanket and tucked in the crook of Sabine’s arm. Behind her, Matilda huddled in the farthest point of the craft. Thunder stood at the prow, fearless in his stance even when the surging waves rolled the boat over the crest and down again.

  Sabine tried not to glance at the man who sat too close. Despite her efforts, she could not tear her attention from the muscular planes of his shoulders as he strained against the oars.

  Her body trembled. His brief touch nearly washed away the dark memories of the past. His manly scent, mingled with leather and the fresh smell of sea spray made her stomach quiver. Anxious to forget her body’s betrayal, her thoughts returned to his belittling behavior. She swore he purposefully dropped her on the splinter of wood now sticking into her backside.

  Sabine swatted at her hair, making one final attempt to tame the strands caught in the swirl of the sea-dampened breeze. The wet woolen cloak sagged around her and the infant in damp folds. She shivered and tried to ignore the musty scent and snapped the cloak closed. The over-powering smell assaulted her nose, causing her to fight the need to sneeze.

  Her attention wandered back to Sir Darrick as he pulled the oars through the water. Sweat trickled down his temples, dripped from his jaw and into the neck of his tunic. She tore her gaze from the play of his muscles, glistening with perspiration.

  Restless, she shifted on her seat and plucked at the damp linen gown clinging to her chest like a second skin. She glanced up, avoiding the view of his aroused manhood straining against his chausses. A wolfish grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

  “Wicked man—” she muttered.

  “’Tis rumored, I dare many things. Perhaps when we land…”

  Sabine felt the heat rising in her cheeks. She yanked the smelly wool tighter. “I know not what you speak of. ’Tis obvious, the blow to your head has rattled your brains.”

  The fleeting smile vanished but his eyes gleamed in silence. It held a promise of things she would rather not know hanging between them.

  “’Tis unnecessary for you to demonstrate…” Her gaze dropped down to his powerful limbs for the briefest second, but she knew he saw her gawking like some misguided maid. She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. “...anything.” The single word came out in a nervous, high-pitched squeak.

  His gray eyes twinkled back at her. “You have me at a disadvantage, sweet lady.”

  “Ho! When have men such as you ever felt at a disadvantage? Why do men feel the need to remind us how much stronger or bigger they are?’ She sniffed, before adding to her observation. “All men are made from the same cut of cloth and I sincerely doubt you are different from the rest.”

  Sir Darrick shook his head. “Don’t say you’ve never spun a woman’s web to keep the unsuspecting fools in your arms, pleading to do your will.” He bent forward. “Now that I look closer, ’tis safe to say, you’ve never shared a kiss spun from the fires burning in a man’s soul. You would then swear never were two men alike.”

  “Enough,” she hissed. Her cheeks heated. The word sounded more like a sigh than an order.

  * * * *

  Darrick buried the smile tugging on his lips and observed the woman shift uncomfortably. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to avoid contact with his knees as they rocked and swayed with the motion of the current. His thighs rubbed against her slender legs when he stretched to make room for his feet. He swore he felt the heat radiating through the stinking cloak she kept wrapped around her body.

  Grunting, he rowed harder and worked to regain his control. The puzzling woman kept too many secrets behind her fading disguise. Before their time together was through, he planned to have the truth to every one of them. Some secrets, he wagered, she did not even know she had.

  “Why do you frown?” She looked over her shoulder. “Are the soldiers coming?”

  “No, my thoughts are with a man I left on the mainland to find what he could about our mutual friend DePierce.” He continued to pull the oars through the water and squinted into the young woman’s face. “’Tis time to tell me your name, my mysterious woman, and why do you disguise yourself?

  Her shoulders stiffened. Her glance flicked over him. “A moment ago, you did not care to know me while I was disguised as a wrinkled old woman.”

  “Surely, you cannot find fault with me for thinking of you as such. ’Twas no need to know your name then. Now, I require it. ’Tis all.”

  “Think you I disguise myself on a lark?”

  “I see with my own eyes why you hide your beauty. But, I would still ask you of your name.”

  The woman leaned close and whispered, “Mayhap, I used magic to bewitch you. Perhaps I really am a wrinkled old hag and have cast a spell upon you.”

  Darrick snorted. “’Twas an artful disguise. Someday, you’ll have to teach me your tricks of deception.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Then perhaps when I am very old, you will teach me the spell so that I might return to my youth.”

  She met his star
e then tipped her head in surrender. “You’ll not let go of this, will you?”

  “I cannot,” Darrick said.

  “Very well then,” she said. Puffs of warmed air blew from her lips. “You may call me Sabine.”

  “An unusual name to match an unusual woman. I thank you for entrusting me with it.” Never missing a stroke of the oar against the water, Darrick bowed at his waist.

  Satisfied with her answer, he glanced towards the island. No one appeared to follow them, but the skies were darkening from an approaching storm. Although it would help to hide them, it would make their approach to shore difficult. “From where do you come? Where are your kinsmen?”

  Shadows passed over her eyes. He regretted causing her pain with his questions but he had to know what he dealt with. “Please continue the tale of your recent past,” he urged.

  He followed the way her slender neck stretched before she worked the words free. “I believe my father has met his death. And now, my brother Taron is missing. The last word I received from him was almost a year now passed.” Her lashes lowered, shuttering her emotions and secrets behind them. “’Twas then that I received a message directing me to seek out DePierce.”

  “DePierce? How is your family connected to the lord of Balforth?”

  Sabine avoided his gaze by keeping her attention on the baby in her arms. “I…don’t know. My brother left in search of my father’s murderer. Since that time, we had little contact until I received his last message. Now that I have had a taste of DePierce’s hospitality, I vow to let my dear brother know that same brand of treatment.”

  She glanced up to see his shock registering from her hateful words. “Do not look at me as if I am vermin. My brother directed me to that den of depravity. Would he do so if he felt any affection towards me?”

  “I don’t condemn you for your feelings, but I urge you to listen.”

  “It was agreed that the clergyman Rhys would send Taron.” Sabine sniffed back a tear. “But my brother never came.”

  The steady rhythm of the oars paused. “The longer I stay in these lands the more tangled the lies become. Your brother and Elizabeth are proof of this. I wager the men who burned you out and killed my sister take their orders from the one who holds their gold.” Darrick returned to his rowing and measured his words carefully. “Do you recall if they spoke of people held in the dungeon? Those who are not allowed visitors? Rhys also spoke of this—”

  “You know Rhys?”

  “The clergy? We’ve met.” He did not have the heart to tell her that when it came to that crow-eyed man there was something that did not sit well with him. “Sabine, I mean to uncover who is held there or if they hide by choice.”

  “Are you implying that my brother hides behind Balforth’s walls?”

  Darrick stopped rowing and folded his hands over hers. “I’m saying I don’t trust easily. There are always leaks in a fortress and we will find that weakest point.”

  He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. “Despite the fact that you believe I didn’t protect my sister as I should have, I do love her dearly. She was spoiled, but she never caused anyone harm, nor did she know how to defend herself. If the stories are true and her husband, Hugh, is already dead a year, then I must learn what forced her to run in her delicate condition. At whose neck do I place my blade? To understand this I must discover the identity of my nephew’s father.”

  “You cannot seek revenge alone.”

  Darrick drew his thumb across her knuckles in a swirling pattern. “You and I must search out the truth. Stay with me, Sabine.”

  “But what can so few do against such odds?” she asked.

  Hope in finding answers to his mission began to rise. He stared at their hands, fingers interlocked, bound together. The warmth of their bond heated his blood. “We’ll go to Balforth and find our answers there.”

  “No.” Sabine yanked on her hand at his suggestion. “I won’t go back. I’ll go anywhere else. Anywhere you choose. But not to Balforth!”

  “We must—”

  Lightning creased the clouds. Soon after, thunder shook the air. The darkened skies threatened to break open at any moment.

  Sabine’s face was pale. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. Fearing she might tip the little boat in her agitated state, he gently released her hand. “We’ll think of something.”

  He tightened his grip on the oars and let the sentence hang between them. Rowing away from the storm and their enemies, he raced toward the safety offered by the land. He would be relieved to get out of the cramped, rocking boat. He needed to put space between himself and the puzzling woman.

  They had formed a delicate truce. Nevertheless, to find the answers he needed, he had no other choice. They would travel to Balforth.

  * * * *

  The weight of the clouds refused to be held at bay any longer. The black skies opened up. Rain began to pour down as Sir Darrick jumped from the boat and pulled it to shore.

  “Welcome to England’s western shores,” he muttered.

  Sabine stumbled after the man, his strong back moving between the trees. He had opted to carry their bundles and lead Matilda, instead of carrying the baby. Despite the miserable conditions, she smiled at the hesitation he had shown toward his nephew. The baby had been quiet as they crossed the water. She had fed and changed him while Sir Darrick observed her every move.

  While he watched, she felt as if they had shared a past. She knew that was foolish thinking. If she were to voice that idea, he would consider her a crazed woman. The heat from his eyes made her blood flush. Her nipples pebbled. She wondered if he felt the fire arc between them. Had he noticed anything beyond the stink of her woolen cloak?

  The thought of their tight seating arrangement in the boat, his knees bumping against hers, made her thoughts go fuzzy. It was all she could do to hide the urge to reach out and lay her hand upon his arm. She had to speak with him. Make certain he understood she would never return to Balforth with him.

  The baby squirmed and began to cry. Soothing him the best she could, Sabine covered his head with the folds of her cloak to keeping the rain from striking his tiny face. The heat from his small body radiated against her skin. If they did not find shelter soon his chances of survival were dim. “Hush, baby,” she cooed.

  Sir Darrick stopped. His frown cut deep creases between his brows.

  “I know we must be quiet,” Sabine said. “But the baby. I fear he may be taking ill.”

  He placed his palm along the infant’s face. His frown deepened. “We haven’t far to go. I stored my things with one of the fishermen at the bottom of the knoll. They’ll let us stay in their barn for a while. Once there, we can help the little one.”

  “You are drier than I.” An uncontrolled shiver ran through her body. “If you carried him inside your cloak you could keep him dry.”

  Sir Darrick nodded and tied Matilda to the nearest sapling. He lifted the edge of his cloak over their heads to take them all in. “Quickly now.”

  His warmth washed over Sabine as they huddled together to make the transfer. Her cheeks flamed. Water streamed down his black hair and along his bare neck. Tendrils of steam rose from the muscled planes outlined by his tunic.

  When she lifted the woolen cloak, the chilled air bore deep into her flesh. Torn from the shelter, the infant’s cries renewed with vigor. Sabine shielded the baby’s face from the driving rain, and placed him in his uncle’s arms.

  She opened her mouth to voice her gratitude, but the words stuck in her throat as he abruptly turned, motioning for her to follow.

  The driving rain made it hard to see the buildings hidden amongst the wooded glen. The occasional strike of lightning illuminated the path that went on forever. Sabine’s foot caught on a tree root as she blindly stumbled through the dark. The wind and rain ripped at her cloak, releasing her hair to be grabbed
and torn.

  She trudged through the muck. Each step sucked at her worn slippers. Every step located all the bruises from her fall down the stairs. Exhaustion seeped into every muscle and joint.

  Her fingers ached from gripping Matilda’s rope. The palm of her hands stung from the rope burns she received earlier. Her leg throbbed where she had struck it against the passage wall. She was unsure which was worse, her aching body, or her injured pride. Her face flamed with embarrassment from the memory of her fall. What must that arrogant knight think of me? Disguised as an old crone. Then I end up flopping like a landed fish.

  The trip would have been less hazardous had Matilda not traveled with them. She should have left her behind to roast. Sighing, she shrugged her stiffening shoulders. What else could she do? The baby needed the old goat.

  Her pace quickened as she listed the healing herbs she had grabbed before running from the cottage. The small amount of medicinals she carried would have to go to the baby. If any remained, then she would see to her own wounds.

  Her stomach growled, gnawing somewhere next to her backbone, reminding her that it had been almost a day since she last ate. She ignored the hunger and trudged on. It was hard to remember that only three nights ago she had helped deliver a baby.

  The wind whipped the branches, making it harder to keep up with Sir Darrick. She squinted, searching for the knight’s broad shoulders moving through the trees. Spying the shape of a building off in the distance, she hastened her steps.

  Sir Darrick stood with his big hairy beast at his side. His typical frown remained pasted on his face. “If we are to travel together, you’ll need to pick up your pace.”

  “Not another word,” Sabine snapped. “I could have fallen to my death on that hill.”

  She picked at the sodden mess clinging to her legs. Her cloak and gown were beyond repair. The dirty linen, weighted with mud, wrapped around her feet. Untangling her legs, she looked down and realized the squishy feeling oozing between her toes was due to the lack of a slipper on one foot. There was no telling where she had lost it.