by C. C. Wiley
Darrick’s legendary cold control returned. It slipped back and now shuttered his hooded eyes. He met her accusations with silence.
Pensive, she looked out into the dark, not chancing to risk the briefest glance his way. “Does that traitorous creature ride with you?”
He inclined his head with a brief nod. “Rhys goes with us to lead the way. He has agreed to help us with disguises that will allow my men to walk amongst the village unnoticed. The little one has proposed a plan of attack that just might work.”
“So that he can turn on you as he did me? Do you believe the tale he told about that night? He accused me of lying and stealing. Do you honestly doubt my word against his?”
Darrick pushed back the swath of hair that fell across his forehead. “Would that I could leave him here, but I must keep him close by my side. I’ll keep watch on him should he decide to betray us. He has knowledge of the castle that you do not and I must gain entrance to that tower.”
He reached out to steady her. “I’m doing this for the safety of those who entrust their lives in my care.”
Shrugging her elbow from his hand, she spun on her heel. Stopping abruptly, she turned and spoke over her shoulder. “I will be joining you on the ride to Balforth Castle in the morn.”
Darrick scooped her up into his arms. “No,” he growled. “Even if I have to sacrifice a guard to ensure your safety, you will stay here as ordered.”
* * * *
Darrick’s long strides carried them over the broken rubble from the destroyed wall. His jaw worked against his teeth, grinding as if chewing on a bone. He was doing his best to keep her delectable backside out of DePierce’s greedy clutches. For his troubles, what did he get in return? She served him the idiotic idea that she could scale the walls of the tower and free her brother single-handed. Why could she not accept his ruling to stay behind while he and his men brought DePierce down?
Could she not be honored that he’d listened to her side of the story, giving her full rein in the telling of her tale? He did not want to believe the creature Rhys, but without his disclosure of the missives, they would not be on their way to King Henry. And yet, he wanted to believe Sabine. He was certain she spoke the truth when she retold the ill-treatment she had received from DePierce. Her torment told a tale more horrific than she claimed.
Darrick carried her past the tumbled wall, unwilling to take the chance that she would continue arguing her case outside. Slowly stepping down into the narrow passageway, he held her nestled snugly in his arms.
Sabine wound her arms around his neck. Her breath caressed his skin. Assaulted with desire, his footing hovered over the step.
At the bottom of the stairway, Lady Camilla stood with her grandson in her arms. The sight of the elderly woman holding the babe, dressed more simply than he could ever recall, refocused his discipline. Despite their betrayal, he owed it to his family to set their lives aright. Under his breath, he prayed for a miracle. “Dear God, let Elizabeth be alive.”
Sucking in a breath, he slowly released Sabine, allowing her to glide painfully down the front of his jerkin, his swollen member pressing against his hose. Her eyes gleamed in the dim candlelight. He brushed his finger over the pearly crests of her breasts. Golden tresses glided against the back of his hands. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Sabine’s mouth and instantly regretted that Camilla stood nearby. He had to leave lest he lose all reason and devour her tasty morsels.
With barely a glance towards the silver-haired woman, he coldly commanded, “Lady Camilla, I leave Lady Sabine in your care. I trust you’ll see to it that she stays here to help you with the babe.”
He bowed deeply at the waist before heading up the stairs. Tonight he would sleep under the stars with the cold night air, hopefully dousing the fire that threatened to consume him. Needing a clear head, he turned with a brief smile towards Camilla. Brushing a gentle hand over his nephew’s downy hair, he lightly kissed the babe’s tiny waving fist.
* * * *
Sabine watched his broad back retreat up the stairs and into the shadows. Her pale hands balled at her waist. She licked her bruised lips, tasting the sweetness from their kisses. The sensuous glint in his eyes had dazzled her until she lost all reason. They held promises of sweet release to a desire that awoke with his first gaze of hunger. It burned a path across her skin. When Darrick let down his guard and showed his gentle side, her heart twisted in a bittersweet knot. Here was her hope, her tiny glimmer of proof that he was capable of love.
Willing him to return to her arms, she stood stiffly, feeling an acute sense of loss as the stone door slid shut.
A single sob broke loose. Hiding her face in her hands, she ran to the makeshift bed. Fear and anguish for her knight blanketed her mind. The question kept bombarding her thoughts. What if he was like the others and would never return? After a time, her sobbing subsided to an occasional hiccup now and then.
Thunder trotted over to Sabine and licked away the salty remnants of tears from her cheeks.
Chuckling at the persistent animal, she caressed his smooth muzzle. “Where have you been, my ebony hound? Does your master, the tyrant, demand you stay here too?” She ruffled his thick fur and whispered into his coat. “We’ll go together in the morn and present our case, once more, to our jailer.”
Chapter 22
Sabine sat in the shadowy darkness of the hidden chamber and listened to the silence. She ran her fingers through the tangles in her hair, smoothing the snarled tresses. Where had Lady Camilla taken the baby?
Where was the familiar rustling of people milling about; the male sound of warriors’ clanging steel against steel, the jangling of the metal in the horses’ bridles? Even the slightest whisper of conversation would have been a comfort. Instead, the silence cut through the fragile sense of belonging that had developed while she was with Darrick. It was too quiet.
Fear enveloped her with the nagging worry. Had DePierce’s mercenaries rode in while she’d slept and taken them away?
After donning the leather belt that carried her jeweled dagger, she climbed the stairs that led outside. Her ear to the door, she heard nothing but the birds singing in the branches.
The slab of stone moved under her hand and the door swung open. The soldiers had deserted their camp.
The faintest of sounds came from the remains of the main tower. She raced toward the tinkling whispers.
Drawing near, she peered around the corner of the broken stone. Her heart pounding in her ears, she gripped her dagger, prepared to take the baby from her enemies. By force, if need be. A gasp caught in her throat.
Lady Camilla sat upon a blanket spread out beside the tumbled fireplace. She fed her hungry grandson, nestling him in her lap. Her cheeks were rosy from the breeze that floated over the knoll. The sun glistened against the streaks of silver in her hair. Chance kicked at his grandmother’s hands while she sang sweetly to him.
Sabine gulped down the lump that felt like a small apple lodged in her throat and leaned against the wall. She had forgotten how lonely silence could be. Tilting back her head, she let the sounds of life wrap around her. Chance was safe. She pressed a shaking hand to her throat, and waited for the roar in her ears to subside.
Krell stood guard over Lady Camilla and the babe. Ever watchful, he frowned when he saw her marching up with a gleam in her eye.
Turning to the grizzled old soldier, Sabine tilted her chin. “Good morrow, Sergeant Krell. Where is everyone?” She held up her hand. “Please do not waste my time by telling me not to worry or swear you don’t know where your lord has ridden.”
The old war-horse scratched his gray beard.
Scowling, he glanced towards Lady Camilla. “You will lower your voice before my lady hears this conversation.” His old voice crackled from many years of yelling over the clash of sword and shield in battle. “I’ll not have the dear lady start tearing up agai
n.”
Sabine snorted. “The lady is made of hardier stuff than that.”
“Do you think to keep him from the task of finding Lady Elizabeth and Sir Nathan? The knight knows what he is about. Let him do the job he has trained for all his life.”
Her shoulders stiffened with the force of his tongue-lashing. “My brother may be held at the mercy of Vincent DePierce. I’m not a weak-minded, weak-kneed maiden. I would thank you to remember that I want Sir Darrick to succeed as much as you do. But not at the cost of his life.”
Sabine swung on her heel, her hands clenched into fists. “Your knight is outnumbered. Against odds, he rides toward DePierce. Without the aid of those he can truly place his trust in, the mission is doomed.”
Daring to cross over the border of station, he caught her arms in his gnarled hands. “Do not get any wild notions in your head. Sir Darrick gave orders for you to stay at the castle and wait with Lady Camilla and the babe. I intend to see that you do just that.”
Sabine poked at his chest with each word. Drilling home her anger, she snapped out the clipped words that she struggled to keep in check. “By the time this is through, I will have learned patience beyond what any normal human should have to endure. Your master knew I wished to go with him, that I could lead him to the tower chambers. He knew I wished to find my brother.”
Biting her lip, she turned away, under her breath, she whispered, “He had to have known…that I needed to see him before he took his leave.”
Her hair flew about her head in a boiling cloud of silk. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped the woolen skirt of her gown, walking past the insufferable old soldier. Tearing through the bailey, she headed beyond the broken wall that had once stood as the outer curtain. She took the overgrown path toward the knoll overlooking the valley.
With the breeze ruffling her hair, she nervously twisted her fingers together. Sabine searched the horizon for signs of dust tossed about by the pounding hooves of the soldiers’ war-horses. Sabine sighed, her unease increasing by the minute.
Pensive, she nibbled on her lips and ticked off all the items she would need when they received word of their return. She prayed they would return safe and victorious with her love unharmed. And Taron riding by his side.
Wandering aimlessly, she stopped to visit with Camilla and Chance.
Camilla waved her over. “Sit a while, my dear.” She raised her face to the sky. “Isn’t the day glorious?”
Sabine broke off a piece of meadow grass, and slid it through her thumb and finger. “’Tis a day created for victory,” she offered.
Under a veil of long lashes, she peered at Darrick’s mother. Was Krell accurate in keeping Camilla uninformed of the dangers her children faced? If Sabine were ever to experience the joy of motherhood, she would never want to be the last to know about those she loved.
The baby kicked against her arm, tearing her mind away from the lingering questions. She smiled down at the little knight who had stolen her heart on the very eve of his birth. He gurgled for more attention.
Resting her finger in the baby’s bunched fist, she remembered how wonderful it had been while sharing the baby with Darrick. She marveled at the care that he had shown his nephew. At first, he had offered concern out of honor to his family’s name but, as the days blended into one, Darrick carried the infant with him wherever he went. Stroking the babe’s cheek, she vividly recalled his wonderful scent mingling with Darrick’s leather and sage.
“Perhaps, sir knight, one day you will explain your family to me,” Sabine whispered in his tiny shell pink ear. “I think that I was a very lucky maiden to have my family’s love to make up for the loss of my mother.
“For you,” she promised, “I will always be there. Mayhap, my little knight, your story will be different. Let us pray that your Uncle Darrick returns with your mother.”
The baby boy batted at the ribbon she had tied around her neck. Her brother’s ring swayed gently between her breasts. Catching the ring, she gently fingered its crest and prayed a rider would come and report that all was well.
* * * *
Darrick shifted in his saddle. Not for the first time did he question the sanity of their plan. Only out of desperation had he listened and agreed to Rhys’s scheme.
They were running out of time. The opportunity for surprise had greatly diminished. Even now, the little crow continued with his incessant complaints. Darrick gripped the reins in his wind-whipped hands. His knuckles paled as he strangled the pieces of leather in place of the wretch’s neck. How he wished that Krell rode with him. His company would have offered a break to Rhys’s constant complaints.
Was it any wonder that his sergeant had fallen into fits of laughter when he thought ’twas a jest that he stay behind? Darrick smiled, shaking his head. The elderly soldier swiftly changed his tune once he saw the order must be followed through. Between Sabine and Krell’s angry gnawing, it was a wonder he had any ears left.
By all the saints! For a small man, Rhys’s needling voice bore a bottomless hole into his nerves. If the man did not stop his never-ending whining, Darrick was sure to toss him into the next riverbank.
His men kept looking over their shoulders, daring to cast withering glares toward the clergyman, but the pompous wretch did not take heed. The men grew increasingly uneasy as they were forced to listen to Rhys’s endless droning. Although Darrick was not a religious man, he knew enough to stop the men before they insulted the church. That line grew increasingly close.
All, but the scrawny boy with hair like straw, threw threats over their shoulders as they rode by the straggling rider. Each threat, a bit more outlandish than the one before.
Darrick shook his head. If not for the lives he hoped to find hale and hearty, he would have dug a hole and buried the man himself. He needed to find the patience to deal with the little man a while longer. At least until he found the prisoners held at Balforth. He could not simply wait out the enemy as he would a normal siege. From everything he had learned, their lives were not to be ransomed but used as carrion for the buzzards.
Eyeing each one of his men, he noticed the number familiar to him. Most had ridden in his service upon their return to Lockwood. They had seen the natural destruction that comes without villagers to work the fields or a trustworthy steward to oversee the estates and household. Ever since Hugh had taken control that fateful day of his father’s death, the estate and lands that should have been Darrick’s by birth lay unattended. It would take a great deal of work to bring Lockwood back to life. Not to mention the chests of coin he would have to spend.
Darrick’s thoughts led to his family, and he was left to marvel at the changes in Camilla. His father’s death had taken a greater toll than he would have expected. Her beauty, though still evident, had lost the radiance that drew men to her like bees to flowers. He wanted to hate her. Nor could he trust her. But try as he might to squash it, a glimmer of concern towards the woman who single-handedly turned his father against him, remained. He could not take the chance and leave Camilla unguarded at Clearmorrow. Even though he had given Krell strict orders to be at the lady’s side at all times, he could not foretell she would be there upon his return. As it was, he continued to worry.
Darrick absently pressed the palm of his hand on the hilt of his father’s swan encrusted dagger. He thought of the secrets he and Sabine found concealed in the handle of the steel and vowed he would not return until every question was answered.
Rhys’s whining had increased in volume and length. Darrick swore the man did not even breathe between complaints. He should have allowed Sabine to come along. Thus far, the woman had been quite resourceful in the journey. Instead, he’d listened to Rhys. The plan the crow-eyed man proposed did not include Sabine.
Darrick missed the way she always nibbled on her lips when she was nervous. Last night, the gleam in her eyes, when she thought he was not looking, n
ear put him in the grave. A yearning he could not name caught at his soul. He should have at least awakened her long enough to demand a kiss before he left. A kiss so sweet, the taste of honey was incomparable.
A slight movement to the side caught his attention. The straw-haired boy pulled away from the small band of men. The boy’s face tugged at Darrick’s memory. His gut tightened.
Krell would never have selected the pinched-faced boy. Not even to fill a squire’s lowly position. Nor had Krell mentioned the sorry addition to the band of men when he gave his report. The old man had always been one to make his opinions known. Rare was the time when Krell did not voice his disagreement on a decision. Just so, he was quick to proclaim his verdict on every man.
Darrick’s hair prickled. How did the waif come to be in his service, if Krell did not approve it?
He shifted his weight, imperceptibly nudging his mount with his knee. Drawing the war-horse closer to the lad, he watched the scrawny man-child nervously slide his eyes towards the line of trees they traveled past. Thinking that perhaps the young one was afraid of all the useless stories of evil Rhys had been spewing forth, he opened his mouth to offer a few words of encouragement.
With no foreseen reason, Rhys fell from his horse. Obviously, in great pain, howling from the tops of his lungs for all to hear, his shrill voice echoed through the trees. He rolled on the leaf-covered ground. The horse’s powerful hooves were inches from his body.
Afraid to touch him, the men nervously scratched themselves while they looked down at the writhing man. Fearing that God’s wrath had finally fallen on their heads for all the bad deeds they had promised the little clergyman, they stood helplessly by their mounts.
Making short work of the distance between them, Darrick charged his mount up to the commotion. “See to the horse,” he shouted to one of the soldiers milling about. “Find out why the man fell in the first place.”