Knight Treasures

by C. C. Wiley

  After a time, she said, “Nathan and I tended your wounds. Here, in this cottage. The tip of the arrow had been dipped in something foul.”

  His hand stilled. “Poison?”

  She nodded. “Nathan left to feed the horses and I have not seen him since that time. Sweet Mary,” she lifted her head. “Do you think he would have taken Chance?” Confusion drifted across her face. “But, why would he do such an evil thing?”

  “No, Nathan would never betray us. Nor would he abandon us. But, I heard those two men, Spurge and Gregor, speak of an old woman. Who is she to you?”

  “DePierce’s men?”

  “Yes, but you hedge from my question. I did not see the old woman. They spoke of her being a witch and that Nathan is bound for one of DePierce’s hidey-holes. They also mentioned a maid, getting away from the castle with something very important. DePierce wants her back and what she has stolen, returned. However, they did not find the babe. The babe was already spirited away.”

  Darrick’s voice broke as he whispered. “That woman has the babe. I would stake my life and sword on it. Again, love, I ask you. Who is she to you? Why would she take my nephew?”

  “It makes so little sense. I knew her from my childhood. Nandra was my friend.” Sabine covered her face. “I thought her dead. I have not heard from her since the night Clearmorrow was attacked. She disappeared before the battle even began. ’Twas as if she knew ahead of time that they were coming to raze the castle to the ground. The men who attacked my home knew where we were the weakest. We were betrayed.” She looked up, her gaze matching his. “How did Nathan know to find this cottage in the midst of the forest?

  Darrick tensed. Did she suggest that his most trusted friend had betrayed them? He shoved aside the question. “Mayhap one of the scouts mentioned it. We’ll ask him once we find him.” He forked his fingers through her tresses. “Tell me more of Nandra.”

  Sabine took a shuddering breath. “She arrived soon after Nathan left to tend the horses. Even though she brought healing unguents, her odd behavior made me doubt her sanity. She must have realized that I questioned her instructions. She struck me from behind.” Sabine dropped her head into her hands. “Dear lord, you’re right. She has Chance. But why?”

  “It does not matter why. We will track them down. Then take care of Sir Vincent DePierce.”

  “And Nathan?”

  Darrick sighed. “Yes, and Nathan. He’ll be found and allowed time to explain his disappearance.”

  Her voice muffled, Sabine mumbled into his chest. “We must be wary. She has killed before.”

  Darrick stopped playing with her hair. His movements stalled by this revelation. How much danger were they in? Attempting to remain unfazed, he kept his voice calm. “Who?”

  Sabine swiped at the moisture on her cheek. “She described how my mother died. How she watched her bleed until her life slipped away.”

  Darrick wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her until she no longer trembled with quaking sobs.

  Chapter 12

  Darrick’s brow furrowed as he concentrated on repairing the tear in Thunder’s skin. The hound sat obediently, his brown eyes following his master’s for his next order. With each stitch, the needle and thread moved slowly through the air, dancing with precision.

  Sabine watched him from where she propped her back against the wall. “You’ve done this before.”

  Darrick nodded, knotting the last stitch. “He’s had a great deal of practice getting his flesh pulled together. The dog has more lives than a cat. Survived my care before. And so will you.”

  Her head snapped up as she regarded him with wariness. “What exactly do you think to do to me, Sir Darrick?”

  “So, ’tis back to ‘Sir Darrick,’ is it?” He ran his hands up and down the beast’s back, ruffling the fur as he spoke. His gaze slid over her. “What happened to calling me by my given name?”

  Sabine shifted her gaze to his face. Her countenance warned him to keep his distance. “You’ve yet to tell me what you want from me.”

  “In due time.”

  The smooth rhythmic play of his hands against the dog’s fur soothed his desire to pull her into his arms. Thunder rested his head on Darrick’s lap, using his thigh for a pillow.

  A small groan slipped past her tightened lips. Somehow, it drew the dog’s attention. Lumbering to her side, Thunder sat down, and pressed his body into her side. His great head dipped over her shoulder, planting his muzzle near her ear.

  Sabine growled at the malodorous animal. “You smell worse than the latrine channel at Balforth.”

  The disheartened dog moved to the safety of the corner by the fireplace. Thumping his tail on the dusty floor, he waited for her invitation to return to her side.

  Darrick rose and touched her stiffened shoulders. “Your head must ache terribly. Do you wish me to help you with it?”

  She turned and propped her cheek on her folded arms and offered silence for an answer.

  Peering from above, he did his best not to notice a portion of her skirt, trapped under a well-turned hip, had drawn the material taut against her round bottom. Although the sight was a pleasant one to behold, her silent disregard for his simple question was maddening.

  Breasts filled his vision, straining against the thin fabric of her gown. The valley formed between her breasts begged his lips to slide along the crevice. A curtain of honey-colored tresses draped over her shoulder.

  He touched the silken strands. With each stroke of his fingers, the scent of roses and heather enfolded him, wrapping around his being. He was lost completely when her lips parted with a faint sigh.

  His mind wandered in a field of wildflowers. They offered an oasis where he would willingly lay his weary head and rest, losing himself in their lustrous beauty.

  He could see that she was peeking between her lashes; pretending to sleep. Darrick drew back from the enchantment and let her hair fall through his fingers. “Come Sabine.”

  “Go away. Don’t require your help,” she mumbled into her arm.

  “I believe otherwise.”

  Tucking one arm around her shoulders and one under her rounded bottom, he lifted her with ease. He placed her on the stool that stood by the fire. The flames danced across her cheeks, illuminating her ashen face. Despite his earlier efforts to wash the stain of dried blood, it stuck to her temple.

  Her every curve spoke defiance; her back, ramrod stiff; her slender arms, folded across her chest. She clenched her jaw. Her lush lips thinned with irritation. “What, no putrid swill for me to drink?”

  He held her gaze. Although her vexation was apparent, he would not relent. “We’ll have to make do with what little we have.”

  As Sabine opened her mouth to complain, Darrick silenced her with a look that refused an argument. “There’ll be no more talk of this. We haven’t the time to argue.”

  He pulled his thoughts together. If not for the meddlesome delays, he would be well on his way, battling those who attempted to conquer his lands and family. He knew how he would normally handle the attack if it were he and his men-at-arms. It would be a simple matter of laying siege to the castle and wait them out. Time was precious. With every delay, Nathan became entangled deeper into DePierce’s dark plot. But his friend must wait.

  Darrick needed to find his nephew before the trail grew too cold. Once he found Chance, he must get him to safety. Perhaps he should heed his conscience and dispatch Sabine and the babe to the convent. Some would say he was being too cautious. ’Twas only a woman and child. The hazards of war. He certainly did not hold a tender spot in his heart for the maiden. Yet, he could not ignore the fact that she and his nephew were the last connection he had to Elizabeth.

  Darrick brushed Sabine’s hair from her cheek. Tilting her chin, he looked into her defiant eyes. No, he would not let her leave his side until he liberated Nathan
from the tower dungeon. He would find a way to force her to tell him what she remembered of Balforth.

  He hastened to complete the task of bandaging the cut at her temple. He buried his concern behind a mask of indifference and focused on pulling the needle through the delicate skin. The neat little stitches would knit the folds together as they healed. She would have a scar but ’twas better than the alternative of death.

  “Breath, Sabine. Inhale. Then exhale.”

  “Easy enough for you to say,” she snapped. “’Tis my flesh that is getting stuck. Not yours.”

  Darrick lifted an eyebrow. “Really? If memory serves me, I believe I, too, carry a few fresh stitches added to my collection.”

  After neatly tying off the thread that held her flesh together, he gently cleaned away the blood that trailed down her face. Using the egg he had found in a basket, he sealed the edges of the wound with the white. The route for infection would then be cut off. The simple procedure had helped many of his men injured in combat. He prayed this too would work for Sabine.

  Finished, he lifted her chin with the back of his knuckles and examined his work. “I didn’t thank you properly for patching up my wound. Did I?”

  “Unnecessary,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, but my lady, I do disagree.” He replied with a tone that forbade any further argument, “Upon my honor as a knight, the code does say one must be chivalrous towards as dainty and chaste a lady as yourself.”

  Tickling her nape with the brush of his words, he whispered. “I fear you must accept it. I am avowed to show my gratitude for your care.”

  He nuzzled the lobe of her ear and nibbled on the tender flesh. He felt her flesh ripple with excitement as his teeth brushed her neck. His lips traveled further, slowly devouring her collarbone. With each delicate site, he decided to camp for a while, enjoy the sweet nectar of her body.

  Sabine’s rigid back began to thaw. Her arms lifted and draped around his neck. She melted into his chest. Devouring his lips, she traced his every move with her mouth. She pressed toward him, wanting more. A sigh rippled in her throat.

  The tempo of arousal shifted as she moved in. He strained against his chausses, his body urging him to find release. “If it pleasures you—”

  Her answer came as she cupped the back of his head and arched her back.

  He methodically traveled further to the rise of her breasts. Lifting each globe in his hands, he teased the succulent buds bringing them to arousal. He brushed his thumb across her nipples as they stood up proudly, pressing against the bodice of her gown. Releasing the ribbon that held the bodice together, he pushed the fabric off her shoulders.

  Increasing the advances of his campaign, he drew each aroused bud to his lips. His tongue danced around her silken flesh, promising more to come. Each time he circled, he brought his mouth a little closer. He could not lift his gaze from the glorious vision. Each one, tipped with a budding rose, waiting to be plucked. They beckoned his lips to come and feast once more. Devouring the treat, he retraced his path up past her slender neck, following the cords straining for his touch.

  Finding his way to her mouth, he renewed his assault. His tongue danced around her lips in light circles. Each time he brought his dance closer, capturing, and gently tugging, whispering his deep appreciation. Lost in their kiss, they propelled down a path that neither could readily turn away from.

  With Sabine cradled in his arms, he gripped her delectable bottom. The notion that he would be the first to delve into her innermost secrets aroused him further. Not one for attachments, he never ventured towards the thought of deflowering a virgin. He could not ignore the longing; it was imperative he experience her exquisite charms.

  Moving towards the cot, they became entangled in the gown pooling at her waist. Stopping to gain their balance, not a word was required as they simmered under each other’s heated gaze. Darrick let Sabine slide slowly from his arms, holding her close as her body grazed his chest. Gliding down his aroused flesh, she brushed against his need that threatened to escape his hose. Desire rose, shutting out all other thought from his mind.

  Thunder rose with a low growl. The white of the hound’s teeth glaring, his lopsided, bandaged head stood out in the reflection from the fire.

  Darrick pressed his fingers to Sabine’s lips, quieting her inevitable questions. He listened for the sounds that alarmed his trusted friend. Cursing his lack of self-control, he blew out the lamp’s flame. Dashing water on the fire in the hearth, he pulled her with him.

  Turning sharply to brace his back against the door, the sudden movement brought renewed pain. He had forgotten about his wound while he nibbled on her delectable morsels. Darrick cursed his behavior. He meant to melt the icy wall she had erected, to punish her for her defiance. But her response in his arms had proven too much for him to maintain his disciple.

  Although honed from years of battle, his soldier’s senses were dulled by his preoccupation with her many charms. He should have heard the movements out in the brush long before the dog had time to sound the alarm.

  Here was his proof: Women were a dangerous distraction. They turned a man’s brain to jelly. Pure and simple, women should remain by the hearth, far away from their men.

  * * * *

  Sabine shivered from the cold that seemed to seep through every stitch of clothing. Darrick’s body no longer heated hers with a consuming passion. Their fire that flamed bright had died as quickly and efficiently as the flames in the hearth, doused with freezing cold reality. All that remained were soggy embers.

  Huddled by the wall, she folded her arms across her chest. She had been prepared to freely give herself to someone she barely knew. Let alone trusted. All that she knew of him would not even fill a bird’s nest.

  Her hand brushed over her sensitive breasts. Shamed at what he must think of her wantonness engulfed her thoughts. She had been selfish, thinking only of her pleasure and not of his nephew. If not for Darrick’s glorious kisses and his maddening tongue, they would have rid themselves of this wretched place. Just thinking of his sizzling caress brought images of what might have been. He awakened dangerous feelings in her body that she could not explain. There would be trouble if she were to allow those unfamiliar feelings to continue.

  A rustling outside tore Sabine from her thoughts. Leaves crackled, rubbing together as someone attempted to slip up on the cottage. Footsteps drew toward the front of the cottage, clumsily crushing the vegetation underfoot.

  Thunder charged the door. He pitched forward, his haunches braced should something try to break through the door.

  Darrick stroked Sabine’s arm, and whispered, “Stay where you are. I’ll let you know when it is clear for you to move.”

  She gestured her protest but was cut short by the glare from his steely eyes.

  “Find a weapon,” he commanded, as he slipped into the darkened corner, adding as an afterthought, “Do not light any fires while I am gone.”

  Sabine rolled her eyes toward the heavens asking for patience with the man. Had she not survived on her own before he dropped into her life?

  “Of course not. I’m not a fool,” she muttered to the empty room.

  As soon as the words were spoken, she wished them back. He had indeed promised to care for her. And her head no longer thumped in cadence with her heart. She tested her love-swollen lips with the tip of her tongue to see if she could taste him. Sabine wrinkled her brow. How could she have let him leave the cottage? Perhaps she was a fool after all.

  Chapter 13

  After growing accustomed to the pitch-black room, Sabine moved around the cottage gathering their few belongings. She touched Chance’s blanket and imagined it wrapped around his tiny body. She stuffed it in her pack.

  Turning towards the table, she felt along the floor where she had fallen. Her fingers skimmed across the rough plank boards that ran under t
he bed, searching for the dagger she had dropped. Her hand bumped against an iron ring attached to the floor. A trapdoor? Could it lead outside the cottage?

  Thunder stayed by her side while she continued to look for the knife she had taken from Elizabeth’s pouch. It was not really stealing, she argued. She had need of it and Elizabeth did not.

  Carefully, she slid out from under the cot. On hands and knees, she crawled towards her pack. Feeling along the floorboards, she found the pouch. Inside, the cool, smooth metal of the mirror assured her that it was safe. The blurry reflection swirled in her hand, reflecting her uncertainty. Perhaps when they got to safety she would confess her sins and tell Darrick about the silver mirror. Its hidden secret. Her secret. But not yet.

  She scrambled across the floor and dug her fingers into Thunder’s coat. “Find Darrick. Bring him back.”

  The hound raced out the door.

  Sabine’s heart threatened to break through her chest. Something thumped against the wall. How many varmints surrounded the cottage? Her stomach overpowered her fear and growled. She crawled to the cupboards.

  Half way to the hearth, she remembered the pot of stew hanging over the fire when she and Nathan first arrived. Left unattended, it had congealed into a thick paste and was a bit burnt; nevertheless, it would keep starvation at bay.

  Sabine could not help but wonder what kept Darrick and Thunder. She moved toward the trap door.

  Shoving the bed over, she slipped down the little hole and dropped her bundle of belongings down into the dank cavity. It was darker than she expected. Feeling in the pocket of her skirt, she felt the candlesticks she had placed there earlier. Afraid to light the wick too soon, she waited, holding the trap door open.

  Seconds turned into minutes and still Thunder did not return with Darrick. Sabine tugged the neck of her gown. Sweat trickled down her back. She was about to climb out of the hole when a commotion came from the corner of the room.