Knight Treasures

by C. C. Wiley

  Amusement glittered in his gaze as he pressed his lips together.

  Sabine attempted to contain her temper. She really did. Nonetheless, these last days of her life had proved to be too much. Ignited, her temper finally boiled over. “You have no chivalry at all.”

  She pushed her way through the doorway. The year of isolation and fear was nothing to the despair she felt at that moment. Tears seemed to form out of nowhere.

  * * * *

  Darrick grudgingly acknowledged he may have behaved abominably and turned to make repairs.

  She gripped the doorframe as if it was the only thing to keep her from falling. He raised her chin with his forefinger and thumb.

  Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. One escaped and ran down her cheek. Forgetting his vow sworn only moments earlier, his thumb trailed down the moist path. Very carefully, he smoothed the tear away. His hands strayed to her shoulders as she leaned into him.

  A sigh escaped from her parted lips. The soft breath tickled the hair on the back of his hand. His pulse quickened when she licked her parted lips and a soft moan caressed his cheek.

  Eyes wide, she drew away from him. Her face paled under the specks of drying mud. Her arms dropped to her sides. A protective wall rose. A drawbridge had been raised against him.

  He stepped back, bowing with a mocking flourish. “Once again, I must apologize.”

  “Please.” Staying his arm with the light touch of her fingers, she gave a hesitant smile. “I don’t know what came over me. ’Tis inexcusable.”

  She dusted some of the flakes off his sleeve. Quickly withdrawing her fingers from his arm, she looked around. “Your nephew—”

  “He sleeps. But I worry ’tis a fevered sleep. I’ve a small amount of medicinals, but my knowledge stops with the injuries of soldiers. I fear I know not what to do for such a wee one as he.”

  “I’ve a few herbs of my own. Mayhap, if we dilute the mixture it should be safe to give to him.” She glanced at the sleeping child. “Would you think it wrong, if we were to give your nephew a name? I know, I have no right—”

  “No one has ever had a champion as you. Shall we name him Chance?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “An unusual name.”

  “He’ll need every chance in this world to defeat those who threaten to steal his birthright.”

  “So he will.” She smoothed Chance’s brow. “We must break the fever tonight.”

  Sabine untied the blanket and sifted through the items in her bundle. Once she found all that she needed, she laid out the herbs.

  “I believe we have escaped DePierce’s soldiers. I’ll look on the animals and let the fisherman know we are here,” Darrick said. “Although, with the entrance you made, I think all who inhabit the coast would know.”

  “Churlish villain,” she muttered.

  Darrick dodged the wet rag that flew towards his head. He shut the door before she found something of sterner substance to launch.

  * * * *

  Sabine paced the floor. She prayed her calculations were correct. Chance was so tiny. If she did not prepare the herbs properly, then ’twas certain he would die.

  After stoking the fire in the brazier, she pulled Chance’s little bed under the crude tent of blankets. The herbs simmered in the pot of water. Healing steam wrapped around their heads.

  Sabine tried to ignore the heat and sang as she walked the floor with Chance. Lord, but the room feels as though it’s on fire.

  Sweat trickled between her breasts. Her wet hair stuck to her scalp. The weight of her gown grew with each step. Grime irritated a path against her skin.

  Praying Sir Darrick would take his time walking the perimeter, she pulled her gown over her head. Without the press of the sodden gown, the threadbare chemise whispered against her skin. The caress of the warm air was glorious. She touched her shoulder, locating the place where his finger grazed her skin. How long had it been since someone had offered her comfort?

  His face was beautiful when he smiled. It softened the hard edges. If only he smiled more. She shook her head. They were running from people that had killed before, who would not hesitate to kill again. There was no time for sweet memories of any kind.

  She continued to pace the tented room with Chance. His crying had ceased. He did not labor to bring air into his lungs. She pressed a kiss against his forehead. Relief washed over her. His fever was breaking. She laid the baby on his makeshift bed and tucked the blankets around him. They would stay in the steam tent until the morning sun peeked through the clouds.

  Sabine sighed and arched her back. With nothing clean to wear, the prospect of donning filthy clothes was uninviting. Perhaps tomorrow she would find a way to wash her gown and locate her missing slipper. After wrapping a blanket around her body, she sat down on the pile of tattered sails and laid her head on her bare arms. Concern nibbled at her consciousness as she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

  Her knight had been gone for a very long time.

  Chapter 5

  Darrick’s steps faltered as he peered into the shadows. He cringed when he saw his best blanket hanging from the rafters. Sabine had turned it into a steam tent. One end clung to the beam. The other end dragged along the dirt floor. It billowed from the breeze let in through the open door.

  He looked in on his sleeping nephew. The babe’s brow no longer burned his hand. His breath was no longer labored.

  Darrick stoked the fire under the pot and dropped the bundle of herbs Sabine left beside it. Left alone with his thoughts, he admired the way she fought to keep Chance alive. Despite her troubles, her spirit remained strong and undefeated.

  His conscience bit at him, reminding him of his vow. He had promised Rhys that he would protect her. It should have been a simple task. After all, the knight’s code included saving women from trouble, even if it was a particularly stubborn, beautiful woman. God’s blessed bones! ’Twas an easy promise. Of course, that was when he thought of her as a haggard old woman. This sweet vision made his promise difficult to keep.

  Searching for the object of his thoughts, he found her curled up deep within a pile of old sails and fish netting. Try as he did, he was unable to turn away. The thin chemise clung to her form, outlining every hill and valley. Even the dried mud did little to hide her from his over imaginative mind.

  He focused on her face instead of the feminine temptations nestled below, and noted the tranquility that surrounded her when she slept. Her temper had vanished. Left in its stormy path was a stubborn chin and a pert little nose. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat of the room. Golden strands of hair and bits of dried mud still caked her brow.

  His gaze traveled down her slender neck and shoulders. Bruises marred the delicate skin. He moved closer for a better look at her injuries. His attention caught on the smeared mud clinging to various parts of her body. As she lay on her side, he viewed her trim waist and rounded hip. Her limbs peeked out from under the hem. How had she survived on that island?

  A soft moan escaped Sabine’s lips, leaving him to wonder if she could read his mind. He turned his back and began to pace the floor. Sucking in a few breaths, he steadied his pulse and returned to his perusal of the damage done to her flesh.

  His attention traveled to where his honor had stopped him earlier. He swore at her foolishness. He needed her to care for his nephew. She knew the danger if she chose to let the wounds go. Guilt racked his soul. He had failed her. He commanded an army of callused men with ease but this single woman brought his weakness to the forefront. She may not believe it, he vowed, but he would not let her down again.

  For now, he would have to remain disciplined and see to her care. Shoving his hands behind his back, he gripped them together. If only his body would listen.

  Darrick turned toward the snuffling sound as the baby wiggled in his bed. He smoothed the light fuzz on the child’s small head. His
warrior’s hand covered Chance’s thin pate. He owed the boy a debt of gratitude for his timely interruption. He had saved his uncle from an embarrassing lack of control.

  Darrick left the shed and returned within minutes. He hauled in a massive brass tub and his own medicinals. His men may have ribbed him for dragging the brass monstrosity wherever he went, but once he found one that would accommodate his body, he was not about to leave it behind. While he waited for the water to heat over the fire, the vision of Sabine submerged in the steaming bath floated before him.

  He shook himself from the distraction and continued to prepare the bath. Perhaps Nathan was right and he needed to spend more time with the women who graciously followed King Henry’s army. Then his imagination would not run amok with the form of a sleeping lady. After rummaging through Sabine’s meager belongings, he soon discovered the reason she had not seen fit to care for her wounds.

  Fearing their noisy entrance would be met with reprisal from DePierce’s minions, he had escaped to the fisherman’s cottage, ensuring they had not been followed. No soldiers could be found. In his haste to secure the grounds, he neglected to give her the herbs and healing oils he carried in one of the chests. She used her medicinals for Chance and did not reserve any for herself.

  From a small packet, Darrick withdrew the herbs he kept for injuries and pain. Thanks to the king’s apothecary, the packet consisted of lettuce, gall from a castrated boar, briony, opium, and henbane. He mixed up a portion he hoped was equal to Sabine’s size. The hemlock juice was kept separate. Too much and the dose would easily cause death. The sooner she was restored to health, the sooner they would be on their way to Balforth.

  His concern mounted when he sat down beside her and she did not stir. Her head and neck braced, he pressed the vial to her mouth, letting the wine and herbs slip past her lips. He watched as her breath came and went in a steady pattern. Certain his calculations were accurate and he had not given her too much of the medicinal liquid, he returned to his other duties.

  While Sabine slept, he carried in the chests his men stored in one of the out buildings. He laid out the matching silver brush and comb he had purchased for his mother and one of the soft woolen gowns for his sister. He had hoped they would receive his gifts. They were the only women that he had ever felt worthy of his time.

  Although rumors of his mother’s many lovers were spread throughout the nobles, he had never seen proof of their validity. Unfortunately, his father thought otherwise. Their last meeting before his death was cold and dismissive. Embittered from his wife’s betrayal, his father’s heart was hardened against him. His father’s message spoke clearly. He questioned his only son’s paternal lineage.

  Darrick’s thoughts turned to his sister. He would not grieve for Elizabeth; not yet. The enormous responsibility of keeping Chance alive weighed heavy on his shoulders. He could not give up that easily.

  The mercenaries’ conversation they had overheard gnawed at the back of Darrick’s mind. The answers to many of his questions kept leading him back to Balforth. Two people, Elizabeth, and Sabine’s brother Taron, had disappeared without a trace. Each one, perhaps ending in death. Both connected in some way to DePierce and Balforth Castle. Even the fair Sabine was connected.

  She knew more than she told. He prayed her secrecy did not jeopardize one more life. Wearily, he rubbed the back of his neck. Whatever secrets she held regarding Balforth terrified her. He could not leave that piece of knowledge alone. Nor could he postpone touching her.

  The heat emanating from the fire demanded he strip from his padded tunic. With the fire burning brightly in the brazier, he used the flames to light his way as he moved towards Sabine.

  “’Tis a simple daily task,” he muttered. “If the mistress of any good household can do this, then surely, so can I. Come Sabine,” he whispered as he bent to retrieve her. “Let us wash and tend your wounds.”

  When he lifted her in his arms, she began to struggle and fight. Her knees and fingers poked, scratching at her tormentor. Her enemy, in the pain induced dreams, taunted, and teased, causing her to cry out.

  Darrick struggled to hold onto her flailing body. “Stop, Sabine, I mean you no harm.”

  His worries mounted as she pushed against his chest.

  “So many bodies. Please,” she begged, “you cannot do this! I, Lady Sabine of Clearmorrow, demand you let them go.”

  Darrick stroked her hair. “You’re safe,” he crooned. “You’re safe.”

  The sound of her heavy breathing filled the little room. Just as he thought her terrorizing memories were over, her fight began anew. She pulled at her wrists as if tied together. Sobbing, she moaned, “Get away! Must escape…”

  “Wake up, my lady,” he whispered. “You are safe. I would never harm you.”

  Quieted by his soothing hands, she laid her cheek against his shoulder. Her tears fell down her face and nestled in the curly mat of hair on his chest. She slipped into a deep sleep, beyond his voice. No matter how he tried, he could not rouse her.

  Fearing she would damage herself further, he decided to join her in the tub. Holding her carefully in his arms, he wrestled with one boot and then the other. After kicking free and tossing them to the side, he chose the better part of valor to keep his chausses on. The last thing he needed was to terrorize her even more with his disobedient body.

  Slowly, he lowered into the massive tub. Sabine gasped when the heated water lapped at her legs. Whispering, he let sweet reassuring words roll off his tongue. Smiling, she relaxed, only to flinch when her back met his chest.

  Pressing her close, he nestled her bottom between his legs and concentrated on keeping his hands busy by washing her hair. Using the rose-scented soap he found in her pack, he made a sudsy lather and gently scrubbed at her scalp. He threaded his fingers through her burnished-gold tresses, freeing the relentless bits of sticks and clumps of mud that clung to the strands of silk. He washed her shoulders and slender neck. Pieces of dirt slowly disappeared.

  Darrick’s hands trembled as he tucked a bath sheet over the transparent chemise. With every movement, steaming water lapped at the rise of each breast. His knuckles accidentally brushed their curves. Carefully lifting her arm, he slowly soaped each fingertip. Bending her arm at the elbow, he ran the smooth wedge of soap over the tender skin.

  Water lapped at the sodden material laid over Sabine’s chest. It wavered, and then sank, wrapping around her form. The cloth he used for cleaning hung in his hand, forgotten. His breath caught in his throat as he struggled for air. The task had not been as simple as he hoped.

  Darrick lifted her waist-length hair and found his concentration spiraling out of control as her hair curled around his shoulders.

  “Damn you for weaving me into your spell,” he sputtered.

  Sabine sighed. In the land of blissful dreams, she drifted.

  Darrick methodically lifted her leg out of the water, resting it on his knee. The grit and mud cleaned away, he could now tend her injuries. The cut left for last, he gently probed at the gash and decided that stitching was not required.

  He felt her penetrating gaze boring into the top of his head. She was looking up at him, watching his every move with those dark bottomless pools. Bracing for a fight, he spoke quietly to soothe her fears. “I mean you no harm. Your wounds needed cleaning.”

  “Hmm.” Her eyes, glazed with medication, worked to focus. Fingers, warmed and wet from her bath, pressed against his mouth. “’Tis a wonderful dream.”

  She stroked his lips as she spoke, tracing the edges with her nail. Darrick could take no more. Turning his head, he nipped at the inside of her flesh.

  “What,” she hissed, jerking her fingers away. Bewildered, blinking once, her mind worked furiously to clear the confusing mist. Her cheeks flamed.

  He cleared his throat, struggling to regain his balance. “You should have told me you were wounded. I c
ould have helped you.” He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “I have only your back to wash and…your…”

  “Go away,” she said, swatting weakly at his hand. “I’ve no need of your help.”

  “I always finish what I start.”

  “But...”

  “Lean forward. I promise not to peek.”

  Gripping the material wrapped around her chest, Sabine clung to the bath sheet as if her virtue depended upon it. Her shoulders jerked forward, revealing another bruise. Soaping his hands, he skimmed over her back. Enjoying the dips and curves, he carefully smoothed the muscles under her bruises. Although he did not want the sweet torment to stop anytime soon, he could see Sabine flinch every time his hand drew near. Tucking the sheet tightly under her arm, he put her off his lap and stood up.

  Toweling off, he walked over to look in on his sleeping nephew and turned in time to see Sabine rising out of the tub. The sheet offered little modesty. She was the Goddess Venus, rising from the sea.

  Knowing the hunger in his eyes would scare her, he was careful to speak over his shoulder. “Wrap yourself and lie down on the fur so that I may work on your injuries.”

  “Don’t care to,” she mumbled.

  “You will.”

  He shoved the smelly jar under her nose. “The unguent will soothe your fevered skin.”

  “Don’t want to.”

  He ignored her petulance and continued, “Then we’ll work on the cuts and bruises.”

  “You’re a stubborn man.” She swayed by the makeshift bed “I want only to get warm again and sleep. Sweet, blessed sleep.”

  Darrick placed a fur over her shoulders and directed her down to the pile of furs. “Lie down. We’ll rest until daylight.”

  “DePierce…”

  “I’ll take the watch. No one will be allowed to enter.”

  Chapter 6

  Darrick held his nephew while Sabine slept. And in that time, he grew to care for his sister’s son. He nuzzled the babe, the fresh scent of new beginnings. He would protect him with his life.