Knight Treasures

by C. C. Wiley

  “How can you distrust me after all we have shared?” He raked his hands through his hair. Pain etched his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have…” Her mouth grim, she shook her head. Hugging her arms tightly around her body, Sabine walked towards the corner of the alcove.

  “What?” Darrick asked. He followed on her heels.

  Shoved deep in the shadows stood a heavy chest. Kneeling down beside the iron trunk, she carefully removed the contents, one item at a time. She laid the last bundle upon the floor and stared at it as if it were a threat to her very soul. Silently, she stuck her hand into Elizabeth’s dirt-encrusted pouch, and pulled out his sister’s silver mirror. Drawing the jeweled dagger hanging from her belted waist, she began to pry at the curled edges. Slipping the blade between the layers of metal, she opened the back. A crackle of parchment shattered the growing silence.

  In her hand, lay a folded missive, sealed with a smear of wax and marked with Lord Damien of Lockwood’s crest. Her head bowed, she held the missives up for his inspection.

  “I should have trusted you with this,” she said.

  Darrick examined the broken wax seal, and then opened the packet. His thumb traced the words scrawled over the parchment. “This is written by my father.” He looked up, searching her face. “How did you come by this?”

  “Balforth. I carried them with me when I escaped the tower. I have kept them hidden ever since.”

  Darrick’s voice rasped. “You had them all this time and never felt the need to show me? Could you not trust me with this? Did you not understand that this is my father’s mark?”

  He strode over to the torch, smoothing the stiff parchment for a better look. He kept his broad back turned to Sabine as he read his father’s missive.

  “My father wrote to King Henry. He writes of DePierce’s plans to destroy Lockwood. He knows you have this. It explains his desperation.” Striding over to where she knelt, Darrick tilted her face with the crook of his finger. “All this time, you carried proof of DePierce’s deceit?” His voice, hoarse from fighting the war within, broke as he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me? How did Rhys know of its existence?”

  Although his touch was so light it was barely discernible, she flinched. “If I were in league with Rhys, for what reason would he sacrifice my trust?” She balled her fists at her side, her knuckles white with frustration.

  “Darrick, you know as well as I, that Rhys must have another agenda. What, I do not know. He helped me escape the tower. Why he used me to hurt you, I cannot fathom. He was kind and caring when I first saw him at Balforth.”

  Before Darrick could ask her how she knew of his betrayal, Sabine pressed her fingers to his lips and pointed up to the ceiling. Above their heads were tiny pockets, burrowed into the stone.

  “Father had airways built into the rock to allow fresh air to travel in. Sounds travel as easily as the fresh air.” She confessed. “I know ’tis wrong of me to eavesdrop on conversations but I heard you talking while you stood with your man by the tree.”

  “I am once again blessed by the Almighty with another woman that would dare try to convince me with pretty words.” His glare burned through her. “Do not be misled, fair Sabine. Do you think I forgive so easily after you chose to keep my father’s missive to the king a secret?” His jaw clenched, he bowed deeply again in mock reverence. “I have need of fresh air. I trust you will find much in common with my Lady Camilla.”

  His mother held out her hand, but he brushed past her as if she were invisible. A sad smile flitted across her face.

  Sabine shivered from the cold blast of emptiness. With the back of her hand, she scrubbed at the hot tears threatening to fall. Wishing she could wipe away the hurt just as easily, she straightened her shoulders and busied herself about the cavern.

  She could not stop thinking it odd that Rhys would turn against her. He had been the one to show her the tower’s weakness. He had directed her towards the island, even caring enough to have the little goat waiting for her. Why would he be the one to speak of the secret papers when it had been his idea for her to take them and keep them hidden?

  Foolishly, she had never taken the time to unfold the parchment, let alone read the message within. If truth were known, she thought Rhys sought the mere enjoyment of tweaking DePierce’s nose than the papers actually being of value.

  Aye, he had played her like a puppet on a stage. He was about something altogether different and she vowed to find out what it was. She would show her knight that he really could trust her.

  Lady Camilla broke into Sabine’s worried thoughts with a pat to her shoulder. “It will work out dear. Love has a way of doing so.”

  “Love,” she whispered. “You have it all wrong, my lady. He despises me.”

  Lady Camilla shooed her argument away with a free hand and smiled at the heartbroken maiden. “My dear, I am the best at being on the receiving end of the infamous Lockwood wrath. I have had much practice receiving the disdain he has for me. He would not want anyone to know that he is capable of a forgiving nature. Rest assured that should you ever have him as your champion, he would stand for your honor until he can stand no more. My son’s love holds no bounds.”

  “Your son is incapable of love.”

  “It is perhaps too late for me. Unfortunately, he believes I lost that right many years ago. But you have a choice to make.”

  Lady Camilla held her hand up to silence Sabine’s interruption. “Go to him, child. Do not let the hour pass without explaining your actions. Force him to listen. Do not make the same mistakes I made when I allowed my pride to rule over my heart.”

  “But Lady Camilla, how can I make him listen?”

  “Please dear, call me Camilla. As to your question,” her fingers fluttered gracefully in the air. “Use your imagination, my dear. There are many wonderful ways to get a man’s attention without having to scream at him. You are a bright woman. He is definitely attracted to your many…charms. But above all…” She paused, her gaze boring into Sabine’s. “My son needs to know that he can trust you.”

  Having never had another woman speak so freely, Sabine blushed. How would Darrick react if he overheard them speak privately about his love life?

  She bit her lip and smiled. The memories of his warm embrace were much stronger than her fears. Perhaps she would take some of Lady…er…Camilla’s sage advice.

  After seeing Chance and his grandmother tucked in for the night, Sabine made her way to the top of the stairs. She prayed Darrick did not feel the need to bar the door. Pressing on the door, she found that it gave.

  The cool night air filled her lungs. Twinkling stars worshiped the moon with their brilliance.

  Darrick’s men huddled around a small campfire. By the time she had reached her perch, she was determined to listen to their meeting. Staying in the shadows, she sat down on a boulder that had tumbled from a broken wall. Whether he approved or not, she had to know what strategies they planned. The matter of getting her lands and family back was as much her right as his. She had been a prisoner at Balforth and she would know if Rhys continued to lie.

  Chapter 21

  Darrick knew he should center his concentration on their preparations. He and his men would be riding out towards Balforth by morning. The battle plans were drawn. The horses were readied. The men awaited his orders to mount up.

  Instead, his mind wandered to Sabine ever since the source of his desire had appeared out of the shadows and slipped down beside the men. He had every right to be angry with her, perhaps to the extreme of having her manacled with irons but he could not even draw upon the discipline that had carried him out of unwanted battles. Disgusted with his weakness, he stared at the woman who was always capable of diverting his thoughts from the urgent moment at hand. Even now, his need for her welled up and pressed against his hose, aching for her touch.

 
She sat with her hands folded meekly in her lap. Her mild attitude gave him pause. ’Twas not in Sabine’s nature to give in so easily. What was she up to?

  He had the proof he needed to seal DePierce’s fate with the king. If his calculations were correct and all went well, his trusted messenger would have his father’s missives in King Henry’s hands in a matter of days.

  In the meantime, he would discover how many prisoners Balforth held in its dungeon and then somehow ascertain exactly who sired his nephew. He prayed it was not Hugh or DePierce. That fact would greatly complicate his father’s wishes for an annulment of Elizabeth’s marriage. The church would frown on the annulment if a child was involved.

  The king would not be willing to anger the church. His wild youth diminished, he had become more pious than his father had ever been. Henry had always treated his subjects fairly. However, ever since the massacre of the French nobles at Agincourt, he had displayed an edge of cold cruelty. He dared not guess his king’s reaction to the request.

  Filling his lungs with the crisp night air, Darrick gave up trying to ignore Sabine. The damp breeze blew, mussing her hair, and chilling her cheeks. She would surely catch a cold. Despite his efforts, he found himself in front of Sabine, offering his hand. “My lady, walk with me. If you please.”

  He winced when she cautiously accepted. Her chilled fingers burrowed into his palm. He owed it to her to listen to whatever faulty excuses she may have. Perhaps there was a grain of truth in her offer to prove otherwise. He wanted to trust what she said, but the possibility for betrayal was too great.

  The breeze caught his cloak. The swan broach winked at him. Its emerald eye twinkled under the moonlit sky; taunting him, reminding him that he, too, kept secrets buried in his past. The king’s Knights of the Swan were an evident part of the mystery he found himself embroiled in. The path of the emblem continued to lead him toward his sister.

  King Henry had taken great store in keeping his group of knights secret. So secretive was the order, that they themselves did not know all who were involved.

  Darrick suspected someone had uncovered their identity and was using this information to his or her advantage. That knowledge was as deadly as any weapon. And could be wielded by anyone.

  They wandered aimlessly past the tumbled down walls. The charred wood and stone blended into the ebony night as they made their way further from the gathering of his men. Stopping by the remains of the keep, he turned his attention on Sabine. He longed to delve into the truth hidden behind her long lashes.

  He ran his thumb across the expanse of her palm. Circling her tender flesh, he massaged the point where her pulse beat erratically. Fighting the force that emerged when he was near her, he worked to discipline the desire welling inside his body and tried to regain his grasp of self-control. Her scent mixed with sweet herbs enveloped him in their fragrance.

  Releasing her hand, he struggled to clear his head. She held the power of his undoing with only a touch of her finger, the lick of her lips, the caress of her body.

  Visions of her breasts tipped with rosy nipples brushing against his chest, heated thighs wrapping around his waist, straining against his body, distracted him from the questions he had thought to put to her. His flesh strained against his willpower. Mentally shaking himself, he tried to release his mind from the heat coursing through his veins. He crossed his arms to keep from wrapping them around her waist and offering to share their warmth.

  “Earlier, you wished to explain to me how you came to have my father’s missives in your possession.”

  Wariness flashed back. “You wish to listen?”

  Darrick tipped his head. “I urge you to not leave anything out.”

  “For what purpose? No matter what I say, you’ll question every word.”

  “Speak truth, my lady, and I’ll not speak one word against you.”

  “If I do this, will you promise to listen till I am through?”

  He nodded, adding, “But do not think to play me false again. Many times, have I asked you of Balforth. Many times, have you dodged these questions and found ways to turn my mind from your answers. I’ll not stand for this again.”

  “This is your promise? Veiled in threats?”

  “’Tis all I am capable of offering.”

  “Very well then,” she snapped. “Listen carefully for I shall not repeat this memory.” Sabine closed her eyes, gripped her hands tightly in the folds of her dress, and began.

  “When I first arrived at Balforth, DePierce was quite welcoming. ’Twas only after he discovered Clearmorrow was set ablaze that he showed his true color.”

  Her voice strained against the anguish. Clearing her throat, she continued. “I endured the great pleasure he finds in ruling over those weaker than he. The young maid, given to serve me, was fearful of her lord. She urged that I find a way to leave Balforth in haste.

  “Given a room in the far tower, I was allowed to go no further than the first floor. One afternoon I slipped out unnoticed by the guards and peeked through an arrow slit cut along the wall of the tower.”

  A trembling hand brushed at the straying strands of hair disturbed by the wind. They clung to her face where her cheeks were dampened by a trail of tears.

  “’Tis where I saw the villagers. They were huddled together in the black hole. So cold and sad. They awaited a miracle.”

  Darrick started to wrap his arms around her and offer comfort, but stopped when she flinched as he drew near. She had traveled too far into the painful nightmare he had forced her to relive.

  Sabine spoke in a hoarse whisper, her words straining to be heard. “Finding the situation at the castle at odds with his position as my protector, I sought a meeting with him. Had I known that one must first go through his master chambers to enter the solar; I would have refused and found another way. Once I advanced inside his suite, I realized he did not mean for me to entertain him with only warm mead and cakes.”

  She lifted her head, seeking his strength, urging her to go on with her story. Darrick drew her into his embrace.

  She pressed her cheek against his chest. “There, I found my darling maid, lying unconscious from the hands of DePierce’s man. When DePierce entered the room, I confronted him with the depravity in which he lived and told him that I would be leaving. He is desperate in need of an heir. I suggested that perhaps ’twas not his many wives who had the difficulty of carrying a child. That it was he who could not sire a child. He…he…informed me that I would soon have a change of heart.”

  “Is that why he would want Chance so strongly?” He stroked her hair, doing his best to soothe her. If only he did not have to make her relive the pain.

  “Perhaps,” she whispered. Her fingers stilled their flexing over his jerkin. “When I gained consciousness, Rhys was kneeling before me. My maid was gone. Naught but a pool of blood to mark her presence.

  “Rhys told me he would help me to safety and urged me to escape from Balforth. Before I left, he gave me the packet of papers. He said to keep them hidden until they were needed. Then he led me to the latrine hole. I had to scramble down like a rat in the night.”

  Darrick’s brows arched with that last impart of information.

  She scrunched her nose. “’Twas disgusting. Yet I was desperate to leave. And that strange man had everything arranged for me. He sent me to the island.” She clutched Darrick’s arms. “I could not look at the pouch of papers for fear of the memories. For the guilt that it represented.”

  “Guilt? What say you, Sabine? You did naught to be guilty for.”

  He crushed her to his chest.

  She reared back. His heart thudded beneath her palms. “Don’t you see? I did naught but hide. I should have fought for my people.”

  He pressed her head back to his chest and brushed his lips over her temple. “Had you been somewhere other than the island, my nephew would not be al
ive. Elizabeth would not have had you to comfort her.”

  Sabine sank into the warmth of his embrace. The rhythm of his heart beat a cadence of comfort, drawing the tension away. Her nose pressed into his leather jerkin. Sighing, she inhaled his manly scent that mixed with leather and an unusual sweet fragrance of baby. Speaking into the wall of muscles, her voice muffled, she said, “I wish to go to Balforth.”

  His hand stilled, before he continued caressing her hair.

  She nibbled at his searing lips, matching his kisses with hers. Hungry for his embrace, her hands roamed across his shoulders and back mindful of his wounds. Her fingers barely danced across the muscles that rippled under his jerkin.

  A sigh escaped as his fingers slid down her neck and kneaded the tense muscles of her shoulders.

  “Sweet, sweet Sabine, never fear, soon you’ll be able to lay your worries regarding your brother to rest.” Reclaiming her mouth with his heated kisses, he continued, “In the morn, my men and I will attack Balforth Castle and bring DePierce to ruin.”

  “And I shall be fighting at your side. Perhaps it would be best that you put away your horses and once more suffer the tunnels leading to the valley toward Balforth. Without the horses, I am sure we can gain entrance to the castle unseen. Then I’ll direct you to…” She stroked his flexing jaw. “Darrick, whatever is the matter?”

  “You’ll not fight alongside my men.” He leaned his forehead against hers and pressed his fingers to her lips to quiet the angry words that were sure to spill. “No,” he said again. “My men and I are trained and you are not. You are needed elsewhere.”

  “What?” Astounded, she pulled away from his arms. “’Tis what you’ve been trying to force me to do since we first met. I’ve agreed to face my enemy and fight for my family’s honor.”

  “Your place is here. Stay and tend to my nephew. Those are my orders and you will follow them.”

  “Lady Camilla is here to do that.” Sabine wrenched her arms from his grasp. Setting her chin in a stubborn line, she managed to speak through stiffened lips. “My brother may be rotting in that infernal place. How dare you keep me a prisoner in my own home?” Looking around she shrugged ruefully, “Or at least what is left of it.”