by C. C. Wiley
The men drew back allowing him access to the wriggling lump. Darrick bent over the saddle, resting his gauntlet-covered forearm on his thigh. “Rhys, quit bellowing like a prodded cow. You will announce our position. DePierce’s men will find us well enough without your help.”
Rhys flung his dusty brown cloak off his head. Pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes, he peeked around the legs of the knight’s charger, and peered over to the edge of the trees before glancing up at Darrick.
“Blasphemer!” He howled, pointing a long dirty claw. “I am a man of the cloth and will not fight against your enemies. ’Tis against all that is holy!” he yelled. “I demand to be returned to the safety of Clearmorrow!”
Darrick threw himself out of the saddle in one fluid motion. He stood with his feet planted firmly in front of the cleric’s nose. His hands fisted at his hips, he worked his jaw free. Would he go to hell if he throttled the fool?
Losing the battle of wills, he grabbed the cleric by the cowl of his robe and lifted him off the ground. Rhys’s feet barely touched the leaf-strewn floor of the forest.
A swift movement of straw-colored hair flashed out of the corner of Darrick’s eyes. With their attention drawn towards Rhys, he and his men failed to notice the band of mercenaries moving silently through the shadows until it was too late.
Darrick yelled for his men to take cover as the first arrow struck the earth. DePierce’s soldiers circled them, their axes and hammers swinging as they charged.
* * * *
Attempting to focus through the fog of pain, Darrick slowly let out a ragged breath. The wound over his ribs throbbed where punishing fists made short work of their target.
Letting his head drop, he attempted to relieve the pressure across his chest. His arms were stretched tied tightly behind his back.
He strained to see past the blood, shards of crimson light slicing through the shadows. Where were his men? He listened for calls to his brothers in arms. How many had they lost in the attack? Licking his cracked lips, he said a prayer for those that had served him bravely and with honor.
He should have heeded Sabine’s warning. The realization that she had known their plan would fail, hit him with a heavy force. Had she betrayed him? His stray thoughts gathered strength, giving rise to doubt.
A pair of brown leather boots shuffled in front of his face. Darrick could have sworn Rhys had a pair of boots much like the ones kicking dust in his face. Shite! They could not be his. They were much too large to match the little man’s stature. Weren’t they?
He had laughed at Krell’s belief that Rhys had the ability to shape-shift. Surely, the bizarre suggestion came from a doddering old fool. He tried to peel away the fog growing in his mind. Struggling through the hazy clouds, Darrick focused on the voices that drifted in and out. Catching snippets of phrases, he labored, trying to decipher their words.
The leather boot caught him in his ribs with a breath-stealing blow. “Let this be a lesson to ya, young one. Here lies proof, women are the downfall of man. Aye, a weak man, just like his father.”
Darrick groaned as another blow slammed into his body. This time, the foot was smaller. “This is for my mother.”
“That’s right, make him pay.”
“What do we do now?”
“We let DePierce think he is directing his men, and we take the treasure that is meant for us alone.”
“Are you certain ’tis there?”
“Aye, the wench knows where to find the treasure.”
Darrick rolled to his side. His shoulder popped from the strain against his arms. The ache in his ribs tore the breath from his lungs. The binding cut into his wrists, taking all feeling from his hands. If only he could wrap them around Rhys neck.
The leather boot struck him in the face, splitting his lip. “Bastard.”
“Quiet!” Rhys said.
“How can you be certain that she has it?” the other voice whined.
“Then she’ll be praying that she did.”
Rhys bent over and grabbed a shock of Darrick’s hair, drawing his head back.
“How the mighty Knights of the Swan have fallen under my command. Nephew, look upon another defeated knight. Enjoy the retribution for the death of your mother.”
The sound of rumbling thunder grew as it pounded into the ground, interrupting the examination.
“Quiet. DePierce’s men draw near and it is time for us to take our leave.”
Darrick drooped against the hands that caught him up and tossed his broken body onto the wooden planks of the wagon bed. Before the wagon jerked with a start, he strained to catch the cold muffled statement that floated beside him. He squinted through swollen lids. Rhys and that boy.
“Well done, nephew,” Rhys said. “Learn well this lesson of the ancient art of deception. With a slight of hand and twist of words, done right, no one is the wiser. And, I’ll have Sir William’s daughter exactly where I want her.”
Sabine! Darrick’s soul chilled as he floated into the gray haze, keeping time with the rhythm of the turning wheels.
Chapter 23
Lady Camilla stepped off the last step of the stairway. “I despise the way we must wait for my son’s return. I feel like a rabbit running to its warren every time I come down here.”
Sabine glanced up from the stack of Sir William’s beloved books and attempted to smile. The movement felt foreign as her mouth stretched, tugging at the corners. Having recently shed more tears that morning, she felt too drained to worry about protecting Camilla’s precious feelings.
Ignoring Camilla’s complaint, she returned to the job at hand and continued to stack her father’s books. An odd assortment were piled in the corner far away from the rest. Sabine ran her hands over their embossed covers. Why did Father keep them apart from the others? She carried them to another alcove where they would be safe and out of the way of careless feet.
Tiptoeing past Chance, Sabine glanced over at the baby sleeping. Since her arrival, Camilla had taken over his care and never complained when the baby awoke her and kept her from a full night’s rest. For that, Sabine was grateful. She, herself, had lain awake, listening for the returning sounds of men, be they friend or foe.
“We cannot wait any longer!”
Lost in her private thoughts, Sabine jumped and swung around. “I …I beg your pardon. What did you say?”
“I said we cannot stay here doing naught to help the ones we love.” Lady Camilla walked with halting steps to Sabine. Her fingers trailed along the tidy piles of leather bound books. She tipped her silver head. “Would you not agree, my dear?”
Sabine picked her words carefully. Unable to look Lady Camilla in the eye, she busied her hands with the random stacking of books.
“Perhaps…” She faltered, fearing she was making a mess of things. “Sir Darrick will return most any day now.”
Lady Camilla’s forced sweet disposition disappeared with a flash, reminding Sabine that Darrick’s temperament was much like his mother’s. Her eyes glittered despite the weak lighting of the cave. She batted the air in disgust.
“Dare you consider me as dense as that old codger does?” The regal lady stamped her foot. “I am not a half-wit. I know of the danger they are in.”
Unchecked tears welled, threatening to fall down Camilla’s cheeks. “Child, I am a full grown woman, wedded to the very brave Lord Damien of Lockwood. I have seen the deadly destruction from steel wielded by that same knight. Many times have I watched him ride out with his men when danger surrounded. And a week ago, my son left in that same manner.” Worry etched fine lines at the corner of her eyes.
“Every day,” Camilla persisted, “I see Krell searching the horizon. I hear you crying softly in the night. I understand the worry, the pain from not knowing. The emptiness, when they do not sleep safely in your arms.” She slid her hands up and down her sleeves
. “Men are odd creatures, are they not? They dare to protect those they love by keeping us uninformed of the dangers and worries of their life and yet expect us to act intelligently.”
Sabine studied Camilla. Her father always said if one peered into a person’s eyes, their true self could not help but eventually peer back. Still yet, nagging doubt tugged at her instincts to trust her sincerity. “How did Rhys know where to find you?”
“Ah, Rhys…well, quite simply dear, he knew Darrick’s father.” With hurt and anger reflecting, the steely glint flashed from her eyes. “Mind you, I have no proof, but I believe Rhys played a part in convincing Darrick’s father that I was unfaithful. He dropped innuendoes, questioning the validity that Darrick was of Damien’s blood. My husband forsook our love, believing lies instead of truth.”
“The rumors?”
“Based on nothing but outrageous songs sung by bards traveling in Rhys’s entourage. ’Tis true, Rhys visited Lockwood Castle the night it was agreed to wed Elizabeth to that miscreant Hugh and the contract was signed.”
“He is an odd creature but one would have to be filled with evil to do the things which you speak of.”
“You too, have felt the bite of his lies.” Lady Camilla grasped Sabine’s fingers in her cold hands. “Do not believe ’twas an old man’s faulty memory of the night you fled from Balforth. Once again, he weaves and twists the story to suit his purposes. He saw the danger of your union with Darrick. He separated the strength developing between you and my son. How do we know that he will not turn on my son? Why is there no word of any kind? Aye, my dear, I fear ’tis been too long,” she whispered.
“What would you have us do?”
Reduced to tears, Camilla wiped the moisture from her cheek with a shaking hand. Smiling weakly, she shrugged her thin shoulders. “I do not know. I had hoped you would.”
Sabine’s brows arched. Grinning, she knew that in time, she might grow to care for Darrick’s mother, after all. “As a matter of fact, I do have an idea but we will have to convince Sergeant Krell to join us.”
“Leave that to me, dear,” Camilla whispered confidently, adding an intriguing wink. The infamous, flirtatious twinkle had returned. “I can handle our Sergeant Krell.”
Amazed at the transformation of the captivating lady, Sabine wondered if it were any surprise that Sir Damien struggled to bestow his trust in the woman he wed. What a vision she must have been in her younger days, filled with grace and beauty and the skills to bend any man to her whim.
Lady Camilla paced across the stone floor with renewed purpose. “We dare not waste more time down in this damned rabbit hole.”
Stopping at the bottom of the steps, her foot resting on the riser, her shoulders rigid with tension, she turned, casting a solemn gaze towards Sabine. “Whatever the plot, I am placing my trust in you that it will succeed.”
“Then let us pray it does.”
Camilla held out her hand and motioned for Sabine to follow. “Come, we must make haste.”
Determined to bring as many healing supplies as they could carry, Sabine ensured each member of the small group carried their share of the load. They had strapped a small satchel of herbs to the goat’s back. Not wanting to work her too hard for fear of spoiling her milk, they had purposefully made the load light.
Krell pulled Sabine aside. “This is madness. We should stay. Wait on Sir Darrick and his men.”
“And if you are wrong? Will you accept the outcome so easily?”
* * * *
Sabine’s shoulders ached as she led Lady Camilla and Sergeant Krell through the underground passage. Her father was unable to complete the restoration of the tunnel. The smooth stone covering the floors and ceiling had long since disappeared behind them. Dirt and cobwebs filled their path.
Ancient tools had chiseled out the catacombs centuries before. They left behind mysteries that her father could not ignore. His treasured books had led him to find the hidden entrance. Had she not used the tunnels to escape that night when Clearmorrow was under attack, she would have never believed that they existed.
She stumbled through the dark with the baby in her arms. No longer asleep, Chance struggled against the blankets bound tightly around his squirming body.
“I’ll take him.” Camilla reached for the babe. “I fear he’s spent so much time in tunnels and caves since his birth. He’s likely to grow up thinking he lived in a rabbit warren.”
Krell brought up the rear and bore the packs of needed supplies in silence.
Despite their discomfort, they pressed on. Their tired steps carried them through the tunnel.
Stopping for a rest, they readied to make their way out of the tunnel. It hurt her that Krell still believed she had magical powers. Instead of incantations, she would be using the knowledge and skill she had learned from her father. With the sleight of hand and a heavy helping of the mixture of herbs and minerals, she would be able to bring back the wrinkled old hag she had become on the barren island. She wondered how Darrick would react when he saw her covered in her old disguise. Closing her eyes, she prayed they would succeed.
The pain in her stomach increased when she thought of the tower she would have to scale. Their survival depended on her ability to climb back the way she had fled. She had no way of knowing if it remained unguarded. She would have to take her chances on DePierce’s arrogance over a simple woman.
Once in the tower, she would have to go unnoticed. If she made it that far, she would don the garments she carried. DePierce would not bother her if she were dressed as a haggard old woman. She hoped she was right.
Sabine toyed with how she would convince the elderly couple to stay behind. Their forced pace through the passageway had been grueling. Their bravery was touching, but they would never be able to scale the tower to the garderobe. Had Darrick been with them, he would have forbidden them to come at all. Or, at the very least, he would have pulled them up by his strength alone.
Nevertheless, he was not. This time, she must help him. Perhaps under guard, but at least he would be more accessible to her than in the tower oubliette. The thought of his broad shoulders, squeezed by the narrow opening of the dungeon, made her shudder. Just having to think about it made her stomach twist wildly. Once she found Darrick, they would search for the others.
She shut her eyes and recalled the warm caress of his lips as he trailed down her neck, resting on her breasts. Her nipples hardened against the memories of the love they had come so close to sharing. Desire, want, need, love, she did not know its name, but it all coiled together in her heart to make a rope that gave her the courage to face her fears.
“Hold tight, Darrick,” she whispered. “I am coming!”
Lady Camilla brought over the black bundle she carried and laid it carefully on Sabine’s lap.
“Dear, here is my wimple and gown from the convent you asked me to bring.” Fearfully twisting her hands in the skirt of the filthy gown, she continued, “I do not understand how you can believe dressing in this dreary costume can persuade others to think you are an old hag. With my fading looks, I for one will have no problem passing for an aged nun. Although I do fear Vincent DePierce will remember me from his last visit to Lockwood.”
Lady Camilla bit her lip to control the sob that threatened to echo throughout the cave. “And what will we do with Chance? I would rather see him dead at my hand than allow him to be taken by that man.”
Shocked that she would threaten to do such a thing, Sabine cleared her throat. “There is naught that I would not do to see your grandson safe.” Seeing the answer to her worries, Sabine continued, “Would that I could stay here with him, but…well, perhaps, you and Sergeant Krell could stay here to keep this entrance secure.”
Coming up from behind them Krell stiffened, his rheumy eyes glittered. “No!” he growled. “’Tis enough that I must disregard Sir Darrick’s orders. I will not sta
y behind like a wet pup!”
“Sergeant Krell, ’tis a darling brave man that you are,” she soothed. “You serve Sir Darrick best by caring for his family. Promise me, if you do not hear from me in two days’ time, you will take Lady Camilla and Chance to King Henry. I am sure word would have reached him by then. You know as well as I, Sir Darrick would wish for those he loves to be under the king’s protection.”
He caught her fingers in his gnarled hand and bent on one arthritic knee. Bowing his head, he said, “Forgive me, Lady Sabine. I swear to you, I will do as you say. I will protect them with my life.”
With tears in her eyes, she looked over the crown of his head, the wisps of silver strands shone in the candlelight. Meeting the understanding gaze of Lady Camilla, she tilted her chin, resolved to be on her way as soon as her disguise was prepared.
* * * *
Her wrinkled hands played with a loose tendril before tucking it under her wimple. Sabine hobbled out of the shadows of the cave and into the light of the fire.
Her companions drew a breath in unison. Sergeant Krell crossed his broad chest in a sign of protection before Lady Camilla could elbow him in the ribs.
Camilla dared him with a dark glare, to say anything untoward about their course of action. After giving the old warrior a blazing stare down, she turned her gaze to Sabine. Her eyes positively glowed as she examined Sabine’s disguise.
“My dear! The results of the pastes and powders are amazing. You have become an old woman before our eyes. I can almost bring myself to believe that we are going to succeed in this desperate madness.” Holding out a tapered finger, her voiced faltered as she asked, “May I…may I feel your skin? ’Tis so wrinkled. Dry as parchment! Does it hurt, dear?”
Shaking her head, a grin broke out, showing yellowed teeth, stained from age and decay. Sabine lowered her voice in a hoarse, broken whisper. “Aye, ’tis a fine thing that you get to know the feel of this scaly skin. I have decided that you and Krell must wear a disguise, as well. I have another gown and wimple that Sergeant Krell may wear. You may use the gown that you are wearing so long as we cover your hair and keep your face shadowed as much as possible.”