Knight Treasures

by C. C. Wiley

  Darrick thrashed his limbs against the leather bonds holding him down. Sabine rushed to his side and struggled to keep him from breaking opens his stitches.

  “Hold, Darrick. Help is coming,” she cried. “Please be still.”

  His lids fluttered open. “As you wish.” His voice, hoarse with pain, broke. “How can I disappoint you again?”

  “So, he still lives, does he? ’Tis hemlock that ails him.” A scratchy voice cackled somewhere from behind.

  Gently lifting Darrick’s head from her lap Sabine struggled to control her impatience. They could wait no longer. She stood and attempted to take away the vial clutched in Nandra’s claw-like fingers.

  “Is this what you really want?” Nandra chuckled under her breath, mumbling unintelligible gibberish. She jerked her head to face Sabine, catching her in a cold fish-eyed stare. Slowly her fingers uncurled and the vial dropped.

  Sabine dove and caught it before it hit the floor. Her hands shook as she shoved her hair from her face. “Tell me at once how to prepare the antidote.”

  Nandra’s lips peeled back in a grin. “’Tis a foolish child that follows stupid ways. Your choice is made. Heed my instructions. To break the poison’s hold you must give him all. Do not dilute it. ’Twould break the strength of the mixture. You understand me, girl?”

  Sabine took the vial, barely daring to turn her back. She cradled it close to her chest. Apprehension began to gnaw at her flesh, leaving a trail of chills. She knelt beside Darrick while keeping one eye on the elderly woman. Sabine tensed as Nandra shuffled toward the baby.

  The muscles in Nandra’s jaw tightened and jerked in a ticking motion. Her fingers trailed across each item held in Elizabeth’s pouch that lay upon the little table. She picked up the swan brooch and clutched it in her bony claw. Her watery eyes widened, gleaming with something akin to wicked-joy.

  “Whose babe is this? Yours?” she crooned.

  Sabine shook her head as she unstopped the vial. “No, the little one is Darrick’s nephew. That is why I know he will help me rid our land of DePierce. ’Tis his enemy, as well as ours. Do you remember DePierce’s nephew? Hugh? We believe it was Hugh and DePierce who ordered the murder of Darrick’s sister.”

  Sabine sniffed warily at the bottle she held in her hand. Foxglove? Recognizing the noxious odor, she knew it was an herb that was best given in small amounts. Too much and it would be just as deadly as hemlock. Was her friend mistaken? Sabine gave Darrick two drops. She would increase the dose if needed.

  Nandra’s tittering in the corner caught her attention.

  “There is a child? Lady Elizabeth’s baby. Won’t our old friend be surprised?” Nandra winked slyly. “Tell me girl, would you know who is responsible for your young knight’s death?”

  Sabine froze. Fearing the worst, she placed her palm on Darrick’s chest. “Death? He cannot die. I won’t allow it.”

  “There, there, my girl, no need to fear. All will be well. All will be well once again,” she crooned. “Come with me, my sweeting. I’ve a lovely place waiting just for you.”

  Chapter 10

  The blow to Sabine’s head jerked her to one side. Stars shattered into a million pieces as her knees buckled underneath. Pitching forward, she grasped the blanket covering Darrick. It ripped as she fell to the floor. A log lying by the fireplace dropped beside her. Slipping into the gray folds of the mist, she peered up at the old crone standing over her.

  “You still live? No matter. Go, child, ’tis but a short step to the other side.”

  Nandra yanked Sabine’s head back. Sour breath from rotting teeth blew in her face.

  “’Tis so much blood,” Nandra exclaimed. She fluttered bloodstained fingers in front of Sabine’s blurring eyes. “You look so like your mother as she bled to her death.”

  Sabine felt the hot trail of tears run down her cheek. She could not fight the dark mist any longer. It wrapped its cold tentacles around her head and squeezed. Helpless, unable to move, she watched the crazy old woman walk away.

  The door swung open. Sabine struggled to see beyond the murky shadows as Nandra’s shadow exited the cottage; leaving them to die.

  * * * *

  Darrick’s teeth clicked against each other as another chill ran through his body. Cold. The room was dark. The fire in the hearth had burned down to ashes. Why won’t my limbs move? Where is Sabine?

  He pulled in a breath, testing his ribs. Fire ripped through his chest. Damn, but his head pounded. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck tingled, warning him to lie still and listen to his surroundings. He tensed as someone entered the cottage. Two muffled voices moved towards him.

  “Well, Spurge. What say you? Did ol’ Nandra speak the truth?”

  “Aye, Gregor, Looks t’ me like she’s dead. What with all that blood coming outta her head and all.”

  Darrick watched though narrowed slits as the two voices began to take shape. Despite the protruding bulge hindering him at the waist, the leader of the two leaned over. Motioning to the man to move closer, he stepped over the oddly shaped lump lying on the floor.

  Spurge shuffled over to peer at the deepening halo of blood. “Might not be dead yet. But she won’t last long. ’Sides if the old woman played any mischief on her, she’ll not be moving from here, no how.”

  The fat leader scratched at his scruffy beard. “Aye, but it makes me wonder. If Nandra is so powerful, why’d she have to go and break her head?”

  “Don’t know. All that alchemy gives me the shivers. Not right to go fooling with the way of life. ’Tis devil’s work, is what that is.”

  “What about the one lying over there on the cot? He dead too?”

  Spurge shrugged. “Appears so.”

  “Well,” Gregor growled, “is he dead or not?”

  Spurge tugged on his ear. “Um… well, I did go over by the man. Course, I did. ’Tis right you are. I went right over by him whilst you were a look’n at the other one. Didn’t you see me?”

  Squinting, at the fidgeting Spurge, Gregor grunted and cast another look around. “I’m sure you missed something.”

  “Do you see any signs of a baby?” Spurge whispered. “I was for certain I saw something in that red-headed giant’s arms when he was riding in.”

  Gregor rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Do you see any babies around here? Our orders are to get rid of them two. Dispose of them real good. And that old hag did just that. As for that giant outside, Nandra says he would be a good one to test those new elixirs she’s been working on. We’ll take him to Balforth. They’ll know what to do.”

  Gregor scratched at his beard. “Hope his high and mightiness will be satisfied. He was in rare form when that other one got away.”

  Skirting the cot, treading carefully around the body on the floor, the skinny Spurge joined Gregor’s side. Bending closer, Spurge looked at the woman.

  Darrick prayed they would soon depart. The dark halo surrounding Sabine’s head had spread.

  “That woman in the tower? We got her back, didn’t we?” Rubbing at his crotch, Spurge whined, “Here now, why’d you s’pose old Nandra had to kill this one before we got to her? We could’ve had some fun ourselves. Looks familiar, don’t she? Almost like that other one in the dungeon.”

  Gregor batted away the stick Spurge was about to use to lift her skirts. “Don’t touch her. What if death jumps from her to us? I’ve heard tell of it happening. Nandra would know the spell.”

  “Aye, she’d cast it too.” Spurge scuttled towards the door. Shaking his head, he looked at Gregor. “I say they’re both dead. What say you? Should we burn the cottage down around them?”

  “No, too much trouble to light the damn thing. Let the wild animals take care of the bodies, like old Nandra said.”

  Darrick listened to the men depart. He sucked in a breath of air, testing what his injured ribs would allow.


  He lifted his head to look for Sabine. If what he had overheard was correct, then she was left for dead. He prayed that the men were as careless as they appeared.

  His muscles trembled. The blood he had lost had left him weak. His ribs ached where he had taken the arrow. He examined the bandages, lacking the strength it took to care for his wound. Satisfying his curiosity, he left the bandages where they were. He would have to change the dressing but his low reserve of strength was needed elsewhere.

  After dragging his weakened body to Sabine, he placed his hand upon her chest. Her heart beat, ever so lightly. Her breath stirred his cheek. His hands shook as he brushed back the bloodied hair and stroked her face. She lay on the floor, wrapped in silence. A log, stained with her blood, lay beside her.

  Sabine still clutched a vial of elixir in her hand. It was almost completely full. He removed the stopper. The plant’s scent filled his nose. He recognized it instantly. Foxglove. Remnants of the double-edged brew still coated his lips. A little helped those in pain, but too much caused death. He would count himself lucky if all he got this eve would be a powerful headache, and a violent stomach upset. He was thankful she knew not to give him any more than she did.

  He gathered his strength and rose. Herbs from the rafters. He pulled them down, sniffing, and identifying each one. Eggs. He had to find at least one good egg. The egg white would be used as a healing agent.

  He recalled the angel with the golden tresses. She had cried while she cared for him, her tears washing away the tormenting, pain-filled memories. Soothing hands had pushed the hair away from his face. A cool cloth had slowly wiped at his sweat-soaked body. She had helped to save his life. And now she had been harmed because of him and his family. He would not let death gain another life today.

  If it were not for his fear that she would take off on her own, he would have already taken her to the convent where his mother was exiled. He knew Sabine was a stubborn wench and would demand her own revenge. But at what cost? They had already lost so much.

  By death’s hand, Elizabeth had been taken. The babe, Chance, was a helpless pawn. He could not understand where the child had disappeared to while he was unconscious. The men had mentioned a babe. ’Twas obvious from their conversation, they did not find one in the cottage. If this were true, then where was the child?

  And now, Nathan was DePierce’s prisoner. Darrick could not fathom why they should take him. Ransoming Nathan would bring little coin.

  He stroked Sabine’s head as he ran through the plans he would have to make as soon as they recovered from their wounds. She had yet to awaken from the deep sleep. His hand sagged from the weight. The constant removal of the damp cloth draped over her head had sapped his strength.

  This quest appeared doomed from the beginning. Why did he allow his men to be sent to Rhys? He should have listened to Sabine. She knew there were dangers in the woods and he thought he was too great a knight to allow anyone to harm them. These lands, at one time, had been his to roam without fear. Now that DePierce was here, they were overrun with his mercenaries.

  “I’m sorry love,” he whispered. “Hold on till I am strong enough to help you.”

  He placed his hand upon Sabine’s chest. The light flutter of her heart, the soft whisper of air reassured him that she yet lived. The weight of his arms and legs were too much to move. He closed his eyes. Just for a moment.

  He shivered. Fool that I am. I should have braced the cottage door.

  Chapter 11

  White-hot stars exploded, shooting across the black curtain that draped around Sabine’s head. Nausea dipped and swirled, tossing her about in its wake.

  Short, hot blasts of air blew across her face. She turned her head from the fetid stench that bore its way into her consciousness. The shooting pain intensified. Groaning, she swatted at the offensive odor that continued to poke and prod her brain. Her reward for the rash movement was more pain slicing her forehead in full force. Groaning again, she prayed for death to come quickly.

  Instead of relief, she was left to wonder if perhaps death was already upon her. The stench, so bad, mayhap it was the rotting bodies of hell. If so, she added a prayer that Nandra would soon be joining her.

  A sob escaped, as she recalled the last seconds before she was knocked unconscious. At last, she now knew how her mother had died. She could not fathom why Nandra would do such a thing. The old woman’s eyes haunted her memory. They were crazed with hate, and something else Sabine could not understand.

  She had just given a few drops of the elixir to the knight right before she was attacked. Dare she hope he yet lived despite the old woman’s attempt? He had already lost so much blood. With the poisoning of his body, ’twas too much for any mortal man to survive. Like his nephew, their alliance had not been an easy one. Her lips quivered. Had death taken them away?

  Perhaps death wrapped her senses in its putrid odor. She shut her eyes; fearing the white pain, fearing what she might see. Another sob slipped from her lips as a tear ran down her cheek.

  The rancid air returned, this time in short panting breaths. Something wet and leathery lapped the tears from her face. She screamed as she fought past the engulfing pain. Past the fear of those that lay dead around her. Past the beast that was trying to eat her alive.

  ’Twas hard for her to accept defeat. Thoughts of Darrick and Chance brought a renewed desire to live. Fight! Do not give into the darkness.

  “Sabine,” Darrick called to her, pulling her from the thick mire. “’Tis Thunder that awakens you.”

  She looked up to see her knight. His long black hair fell past his shoulders and brushed her breast. Dark circles ringed his steel gray eyes. A frown forced a ‘V’ to form between his brows.

  She trailed a fingertip lightly around his lips, tracing the outer edges. They were hot to the touch, satin against her fingertip. Tantalized by the contradiction between the smooth texture of his mouth and the coarse plane of his jaw, she brushed the back of her knuckles against his visage. His jaw was rough from the dark growth of whiskers. His beard, visible against the ashen color of his skin. She tickled her fingers back and forth enjoying the feel of the contours of his face and mouth, reassuring herself that he was still alive.

  Darrick groaned against her palm. A sigh of pleasure escaped. He shifted his weight and leaned forward so that their lips barely touched. Closing her eyes, she waited, preparing for his kiss.

  The sound of toenails scratching on the packed earthen floor came from behind them. A great hairy mound of stench threw itself on top, covering them with tongue and fur. Pain returned threefold. Sabine grabbed her head with both hands and Darrick rolled to protect the wound on his side.

  “Make him stop,” she whispered. “He will wake the babe.”

  Darrick suddenly stopped wrestling with the hound. Sabine watched the play of anger creep across his stern visage. Like the tides that rush in at the shore, it bore across his face. When it washed away, his expression remained shuttered behind a stony fortress.

  * * * *

  Darrick turned his back on the maiden who had held his careless attention. How could he forget what had taken place? No matter the fears she carried of Balforth, he would broach the subject with her. He vowed to get Nathan and his nephew back alive. If necessary, he would force her to speak of her secrets.

  In the meantime, how would he tell her of the missing child? She had formed a bond with the babe. It would not bode well for them when she discovered the truth.

  “Where have you been, boy? Whose stench of blood do you carry?”

  Slowly running his fingers through the hound’s matted fur he gently kneaded Thunder’s skin and muscles. One of the hound’s ears was torn. It hung in a lopsided angle throwing off the balance of the beast’s large head. The blood-splattered wound above his ear would give him a permanently quizzical look. On his right flank, he carried another wound that could
have come from a blade. The dog had given his all trying to protect his master. Darrick was relieved the dog survived the battle. He would need Thunder to lead them to Nathan and the babe.

  Prodding the hair surrounding the wound, Darrick noticed the matted fur around the hound’s mouth. He hoped that whomever he bit carried an even larger hole in their hide. Should they ever encounter their attackers, both Darrick and the beast would know.

  Sabine lay still. Her chest rose with each shallow breath. Her movements agonizingly slow. Darrick watched for signs of the throbbing in her head to ease up. He was thankful her brain did not seem to have any permanent damage. Many men had lost their wits when struck so heavily.

  He needed to see if it were too late to stitch the wound on her head. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Darrick could see she was waiting in silence, listening to the empty sound of the little cottage. After a few moments, he knew she would realize that he had yet to respond to any of her questions.

  “Darrick,” she pleaded. “Tell me, please, I beg you. Where is Chance? Why do I not hear him? Is he…? Is he all right?” she whispered.

  Knowing that whatever he told her would not spare her heartache, he spoke plainly, his voice raw. “Gone.”

  “What do you mean?” Sabine struggled to sit up.

  Darrick waited as she pushed her golden mane of hair away from her face. He could see the clouds drift over her eyes while she fought the dizziness. Dark circles ringed her sherry-colored eyes. The side of her face was swollen and discolored. He had been able to wash off most of the blood, but it still mingled with the hair flowing past her waist.

  Drawing her into his chest, he gently cradled her until he felt her strength return. He passed his hands over his eyes, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “I don’t know, love. Can you tell me what you remember?” he asked.

  Sabine laid her head upon his chest. He could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat matching his own. She relaxed as he slid his fingers through her hair.