by C. C. Wiley
“That tunnel will take you past the outer wall and to the valley that leads to Balforth.”
Sensing Darrick’s eagerness to find Nathan, she clasped her hand around his arm. Feeling the tension in his body, she pressed her fingers against his flesh. “There is yet a great deal you should know.”
Warmth spread through her veins, flowing through her fingertips. His bunched muscles tensed under her hand.
“More than this network of tunneling?” he asked.
A smile that never quite reached his eyes tortured his lips. She could see that worry filled his troubled soul.
“No need to fear,” he said. “I am not so foolish. However, time is running out for Nathan. You know, as well as I, that we must plan carefully. I am tired and hungry and have need of weapons and a safe place for young Chance’s keeping.”
Sabine drew him into the tunnel that led to the left. “If my father’s calculations were correct we’ll have everything we need.”
Leading him to an arched doorway, she pressed her hand against the keystone in the center of the stone arch. With her weight pushing against the central wedge of stone, the door opened into a cavernous room piled high with various household items. Trunks and bins were meticulously stacked. Alcoves jutted out from the main room, each one containing specific duties.
Sabine stood at the entrance. “I pray that the mice and beetles have not destroyed all the hard work that has gone into storing our belongings.”
Darrick paced around the cavern. “Have you everything one needs to run a castle buried in this tomb?”
Sabine nodded. “All but the servants.”
Raising one of the trunk’s lids, he revealed bolts of fabric neatly tucked away. There were bolts of coarse wool and serviceable linen for the servants. Tossing open another lid, he found brilliantly dyed wool and embroidered silks. Another heavy trunk held furs for lining cloaks. Tapestries, rolled and stacked, hung off the floor to keep the damp from seeping in. Leathers hung from the beams overhead; some were thick and heavy and others soft and supple to the touch.
“Is there clothing that is already sewn? Something that would replace our ravaged clothes?”
Picking his way carefully through the many piles of stores, he explored further into the room. Holding the torch aloft, it revealed more trunks stacked one atop of the other.
Sabine located the stores of candles. Although it was an extravagance, she grabbed as many as she could hold. Singling out one candle, she carefully lit the wick. The flame sputtered. Smoke billowed from the tallow candle. A black tail spun from the wick as the cloud of smoke hallowed her head. Lifting the candle high, the flickering light chased the shadows away.
With extra light, they found Sabine’s cradle. Passed down through her family, it was stored with great care in the hope that one day the next generation would use it. While rummaging through the storehouse Sabine brought out a blanket with which to tuck Chance into his new bed. Once Chance was safe in his cradle, Sabine was free to search the tiny alcove concealed in the corner.
Soon, she located the heavy trunk where she had left it many months earlier. Before lifting the lid, she wiped away a thick layer of dust clinging to the top. Afraid of what she might find, she slowly peeked inside. Stuffed within, were folded strips of bandages and jars of healing ointments. With a deep sigh of relief, she leaned against the chest.
Looking overhead, she saw the vials of sweet oils and soothing balms resting on the shelves. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters. Their scent filled the air. She ran her fingers over the dry leaves, releasing their fragrance as she brushed by. Although some had aged beyond their usefulness, she found others that would provide what she required.
The weight of the past few days lifted from her heart. Possibilities were beginning to grow inside her head. Hope built as she surveyed the stores that had been hidden for almost a year. Perhaps her father had thought of everything after all. Even the air was circulating, aided by one of his inventions.
It pained her that he would never know that what others had scoffed at and said was a worthless effort; these treasured stores would now be their salvation. His eccentricity would help them defeat DePierce.
Her thoughts drifted to Taron. Could he still be alive, as Darrick had suggested?
Finding the ale and wine barrels, she cut through one of the seals. Selecting a wine, she poured it into a jug. She was determined to see that Darrick’s wounds would heal properly.
“I have found what we need. Have you discovered anything of interest?” she called out.
“’Tis something of a wonder down here.”
Sabine watched Darrick’s approach. His movements were stiff, restricting his customary grace. Most assuredly, his ribs stung when he moved. She bit her lip, praying that he would readily allow her to administer to his wounds.
He pointed with a dirt-smudged finger, wary of the strips of material she carried in her arms. “What have you there?”
“’Tis only herbs and salves to soothe the sting from the arrow.”
Anxious to get her job over with, she nodded to a large, wooden, low-backed chair she pulled from a stack of furnishings. It was placed near one of the torches for better lighting. A small table, where she had meticulously laid out her herbs and ointments, stood in easy reach. Placing fresh bandages carefully on the table, she turned. Offering a peaceable stance, she spread her fingers, revealing that her hands were free of weapons.
“’Tis only a scratch and nothing more,” he said.
Sabine ducked her head to keep from laughing at the knight who had changed into a little boy before her eyes. “You know better than I that even a small wound will fester and become tainted.”
“Is that correct? And who did you hear that nonsense from?”
“A great knight once told me so.”
He sniffed at the jars in her hand. “More than likely a great fool.”
“Only if he doesn’t do as he is told. The arrow went quite deep and the wound requires washing. I will not have you dying on me, Sir Darrick of Lockwood.”
Grabbing his hand, she drew him towards the chair. “Rest here a moment. If we are to rescue Nathan then you’ll need rest and nourishment.”
Her hands shook as she poured the wine in two goblets, pressing one in his hand. “Perhaps this will help.”
He offered a final grunt of protest and drained his cup. She held his gaze. His eyes reminded her of the turbulent water that coursed between her home and Wales. Sometimes it would change color with the mood of the channel. If a storm flew over, it became a dark brewing gray as the mist blew in. On occasion, the bright sun would shine, reflecting a breathtaking aquamarine.
What turbulent colors would churn from his piercing gaze when she poured the wine over his injury? Her mind warred with what she knew was right. Dread lingered, wrapping around her throat.
Even now, she could feel his pain deep inside her heart. She would have willingly taken his injuries upon her person. She could still feel the way his gentle fingers caressed her bruised and battered flesh. His touch had healed more than bodily wounds. He had restored something much deeper. She longed to caress him in return, to cradle his head against her breast. To tell him…
Her thoughts stilled her hand, When had the need for the warmth of his touch turned into something more? He had become a part of her. Just as Chance belonged to her heart, so did he.
* * * *
Darrick loathed doing her bidding without complaint, but the woman stood with unrelenting determination. He knew she would not let it go until she had completed her task. If he learned anything about Sabine, it was that she was a stubborn wench. Hesitant, he reluctantly sat down and braced his arms against his thighs, questioning the wisdom in trusting his person to her care.
Wishing the wine would do the trick and numb his senses, he doubted she realized that a small
cup of wine would not even begin to muddle his brain. He had purposefully hardened his tolerance to more than battle. He knew his mind was strong against the spirits and his head would be very clear when she started her ministrations. Taking a deep breath, he looked around for something more desirable to capture his attention. Prepared for her assault, he let his thoughts return to the lovely vision of Sabine’s fair legs, peeking out from under her skirts.
Cool liquid trickled down his shoulder, sluicing over his heated skin. Darrick flinched when it finally tore its way across the injured flesh. His nerves were awakened by the stinging attack. Born from the need to survive, his automatic reflex was to throttle the wench. He forced his thoughts from the owner of the winsome legs. The minx was inflicting more damage to his body than what he would normally allow.
Determined to ignore the biting torment, he focused on Nathan’s rescue and the justice that would be served at the end of his sword. He did not know where his men-at-arms were. It bothered him to have no knowledge of their whereabouts. Leaving them with Rhys in tow had seemed like a good plan at the time. It worried him that in his absence they may have found someone with a larger purse.
Darrick knew that a soldier’s alliance was as strong as his purse strings. Times had changed from when he had become a knight. The cost was prohibitive. A man’s honor and integrity came at a heavy price indeed. One could not always choose the battle because it was right. Most times the decision to fight for another was based on whether they paid you well, and if you would live to see the next battle.
He was a knight first, but had learned to fight cheek-to-jowl beside the men-at-arms. He knew ’twas the longbow men in mass numbers that were necessary for the victory. Even now, his armed guards served him well and were paid substantially for their service. Perhaps they were waiting for his signal, their loyalty to him still intact.
Sabine finished cleansing his wounds. The soothing motion of her hands relaxed his aching muscles. He swore that if she did not stop soon, he would be fast asleep, lost for good.
Instead, the noxious fumes penetrated his thoughts. They emanated from his back, rising from his body, and wrapped around his head, making his nose twitch with disgust.
Trying not to breathe in the odor, he sputtered through his teeth. “What exactly did you put on me? I reek like I have been dead and buried for months.”
Sabine stood in front of him, frowning. He was quick to note that she made a concentrated effort to keep him at arm’s length while she wrapped the clean bandages around his ribs and back. She was careful not to get too close to his stench. Keeping her head ducked down, her eyes did not waiver from her handy work.
“Enough! Any more bandages and not only will I smell like a dead man, I’ll look like one, too. What did you put on me that gives such an…aroma?”
Sabine shrugged her shoulders and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, nervously nibbling on her frowning lips, mumbling, “An unguent. ’Tis all.”
“My lady, I’ll have you know I have ridden beside many unwashed men and they have never smelled like this. Not even after they have been on a march for months. Hell’s fire,” he sputtered. “Even a rotting corpse does not smell this bad.”
“’Tis a simple treatment for injured flesh.”
He continued to glare, the steel from his eyes as sharp as any blade he might wield. His nostrils flared, quivered, and then finally released the breath he had been holding. He waited, staring at her, counting the ways he would make her pay.
“All right, ungrateful cur,” Sabine snapped. “If you really must know, the ointment is made out of sheep’s fat and then boiled with bark from an elder tree. It will help you heal and won’t allow any more scars to form.”
The simple explanation finished, she turned to find fresh air of her own.
Grabbing her hand before she passed, he drew her close. Her nose twitched, her eyes watered, as she shared the unusual fragrance from his body. His enjoyment of her discomfort increased threefold. “It normally does not smell this way, does it?” Carefully scrutinizing her response, he watched the guilty flush wash over her face.
She swallowed, and nodded. “Well, perhaps not quite…as bad. It was stored for some time.” Staring at the center of his broad chest, she finally conceded. “Perhaps the lard has turned a bit… rancid?”
Her lips twitched as she tried to control the giggle that threatened to break loose.
Raising his eyebrows, he scowled. The smell was overpowering and he was determined not to endure it alone. Her hands held captive to his chest, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her lips to his. He nibbled at her rosy petals as if enchanted by her sweet kisses.
Distracted by Thunder bumping against his legs, he got the feeling the big hairy beast wanted to roll around on top of him. Much like the dog was wont to do when he found a ripe-smelling dead animal.
Breathing through his mouth in the hope of avoiding the stench, Darrick pressed his forehead to Sabine’s, wondering what to do with her. “There shall be a price to pay for what you have done.”
Sabine pulled back from his embrace. “Quit your complaining. ’Tis nothing compared to the time I had to climb down the latrine hole,” she snorted. “The stench filled my nostrils for days after. I thought I would never wash it from my hair.”
A shadow passed over Sabine’s upturned face. Only moments before, she had been laughing and taunting him. Now he watched the recurring sadness draw a curtain across her countenance.
Her bitter chuckle cut through the rancid air. “Thankfully, no one else could smell it but me. It will forever be imbedded in my memory.”
Stepping away from his embrace, she turned, moving quietly towards the stairway that led up to the entrance. The lightness of the moment was forgotten.
“Perhaps the well is still in good repair. I imagine carrying a foul odor around is not something one really wants, no matter how good the cure.”
Darrick tried to interpret the bits of information she had dropped for him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to understand what reason Sabine had that would force her to climb into the filth of a latrine hole.
Upon waking, Chance began to whimper, ready for his next meal. The jug filled with milk stood by the cradle waiting for the baby. Darrick was thankful she had already milked the contrary goat. Resourceful woman. He had no desire to wrestle with the thankless beast.
* * * *
Carefully making her way up the steps, Sabine leaned against the outer opening. She moved slowly, half-expecting the smelly man to follow. But he failed to do so. Not that she needed him for anything, of course.
Cool fingers pressed to her temple, her head ached where it had been stitched. He could have stopped her. Or, at the very least offered to get the water, she grumbled to no one in particular. Once filled, it would be awkward carrying the bucket down the stairway. Having to fend for herself for so long, she had forgotten how to ask for help. It did not come easy for her, although, it never really had. She supposed the same was true when it came to trusting someone.
“It serves him right that he’ll smell like a rotting animal for a while longer.”
Perhaps she should feel a wee bit guilty putting the awful stuff on him, but it really had been done with good intentions. What fun to see his stony countenance slip when the stench had made its way to his nose, burrowing through that cold wall he was always erecting. Her fingers ran across her lips, remembering the way that he had caressed her mouth. If he intended his kisses as a punishment then she would willingly sacrifice a month of Sundays for more.
The cool, moist air brushed past her cheek. The night skies were dark except for the few stars that peeked through the mist. Rolling in for the night, it caused the damp to seep into the thin material of her gown. Perhaps, she too, would be able to bathe and change into fresh clothing. Her old dresses tucked away in a trunk might not be the
fashion and perhaps a bit musty but they would be cleaner than the woolen dress that had seen one too many days.
Lifting the bucket from the well she felt the hair stand up on her arms. Someone or something was watching her. Crouching down beside the well, she waited, listening for approaching footsteps. Silence followed, but her skin continued to sizzle. Hugging the bucket to her stomach, she crept towards the shadows that hid the entrance to the tunnel. Barely daring to breathe, she listened to the silence.
Was it man or beast? Fear wrapped around her arms and legs. They refused to move from where she hid. Still hugging the bucket of water, she felt her gown tugged from behind. A large shadow loomed over her.
Chapter 18
Darrick grabbed the hem of Sabine’s dress and guided her to the safety of the shadows. Holding her close to his chest, he silently shut the slab of stone behind them. His hands shook as they ran up and down her arms, smoothing her hair from her face. Prying her fingers away from the bucket she still clutched in her arms, he drew her down the stairs.
He piled blankets and furs on the floor to soften the cold stone. Without a word, without a glance, Sabine let him lead her to the pallet. Shivers threatened to take control of her body. “Someone was out there.”
Thunder left his post and moved over to lie by his mistress. He pressed nearer, gazing longingly into her face. She dug her fingers into the dog’s coat and let his presence soothe her.
“Shh,” Darrick soothed. “You’re safe. No one will harm us.”
He knelt down and lifted her head, placing it gently in his lap. Sabine squeezed her eyes shut. Traces of tears dampened her lashes. When would she close the door on fear and once again know the idyllic life?
Her body began to release the tremors. She relaxed under Darrick’s care as he traced her brows with a light touch. Mindful of the bruise above her eye, he slowly followed the curve of her cheekbones to her hairline. He raked his fingers through her long tresses, letting the strands fall slowly to her shoulder.