by C. C. Wiley
Despite Sergeant Krell’s protest, she proceeded quickly with her plan. Lady Camilla learned how to carry herself, delving into the short lessons Sabine gave her. She hunched and leaned, tottering about the cave and proved to be an avid student. Sabine showed her how to apply the paste if they should require repairs to their decaying skin.
Despite the growing impatience to find their loved ones, Sabine found she could not hold back the chuckle when Sergeant Krell waddled out of the shadows in his black gown. A mixture of goat milk and fat was used to age to his already craggy visage. His wimple hung askew, hanging halfway off his powdered shaggy gray hair. His large feet tangled in the skirts, nearly bringing him to his knees.
Sabine bit her cracked lips. “Sergeant Krell, I fear if anyone were to come near you, our plan would be sunk for sure.”
His scowl deepened at the same speed as his growing ruddy complexion.
“Perhaps, ’tis the rather large sword that hangs at your waist that does not fit the portrait.”
“I will thank you to get that notion right out of your head!” he growled. “My sword stays with me!”
Punctuating his point by puffing out his chest in a very manly way, he brought the women almost to their knees in a renewed onslaught of laughter.
Lady Camilla took pity on the sergeant. She placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned into him. “In my heart, I do believe you are the bravest man I know. Aside from my son, of course.” She spoke softly in his ear, “Thank you for agreeing to this madness, Sergeant.”
He sucked in a breath and shut his eyes for the briefest moment.
Intrigued by the exchange between the two, Sabine wondered if she should speak to Darrick regarding their relationship. She kissed their papery cheeks and gathered her things while they whispered instructions and prayers for her safe return. Their laughter faded against the threat and fear of what they had yet to face.
Chapter 24
To Sabine’s dismay, the small doorway that led halfway up the outer wall of the corner tower was blocked. Someone had purposefully piled debris from the castle in front of the entrance. The inhabitants of the castle could not escape if they should come under attack. Did DePierce need to force his people to stay inside the castle wall?
She would have to find another way. The gatehouse would have too many clever traps awaiting an intruder. The drawbridge was up and the portcullis lowered. No one traveled in or outside the gate. It was as she feared. She would have to enter Balforth the same way she’d left it.
She located the open chute, coated with draining refuse from the castle latrine. The first chamber window rose high above her head. It led to a dizzying height. She sat staring at the gaping hole, nausea threatening to overtake her.
After taking a couple of deep breaths, which she immediately regretted, she stuck her head into the hole and began the long climb up the inner wall.
“Ohhhh…” she groaned.
Hand over hand, Sabine grasped the edges of the mortar. She hunted for the ledge of stone that jutted out from the inner wall. Slowly she pulled her body up the latrine chute.
Her footing slipped on the muck. She clawed at the stone. Her nose pressed near the sludge. Her stomach rolled, twisting in a knot. Eyes watering, her vision blurred.
“Obviously, he still does not believe in keeping things clean,” she muttered.
Her imagination carried visions of rats and vermin crawling near her head. She shook off the fear before it locked her joints and she inched her way up.
She hauled her chest over the lip of the opening. The sludge clung to her clothes. She could not stomach reeking of this muck. They would smell her coming from the other side of the bailey.
A bucket of water stood behind the privacy screen. She washed off what she could. After changing into the oversized gown and wimple that she carried in the satchel slung over her shoulder, she then adjusted the paste on her face and arms and stuffed the soiled gown down the chute.
They would need to discard the plan to disguise Darrick as a very large nun. Resigned to the change of plans, she shrugged her slim shoulders. His passing as a nun had sounded farfetched anyway. They would have to make do with something else.
Her back pressed against the wall in the corridor, she prayed they did not keep him in the oubliette. Sabine shuffled through the rotting rushes covering the floor. The stench penetrated what little tapestry was left hanging on the walls. Although her memories of Castle Balforth were vile, she was shocked to find the state of the household in such decay. She could have worn the mucked gown after all. No one in the castle would have noticed the smell.
Chunks of mold and lichen clung to the damp walls. Feeling her way through the dark corridor, its decaying foliage stained her fingers. Following the sounds of snoring echoing throughout the hall, she made her way to a row of rooms.
A guard leaned against the door, his forehead propped against his hands that held the long pikestaff. A lonely stand of candles created a smoky halo around his head.
She crept against the damp wall, and prayed he slept deeply. Unable to wait any longer, she brought the heavy candlestand down on the guard’s head.
The thud of his falling body echoed down the hallway. Waiting to see that no one came to investigate the noise, she took the fallen man by the dirty boots and tugged him into the room next to the one he guarded.
Sabine trussed up the guard with the ropes from the cot’s frame, then shoved a rag in his mouth.
Tiling her head, she listened at the doorway. The castle’s tower was strangely quiet. Where had the household disappeared to? She stepped over the fallen pikestaff and began ripping open chamber doors. Where are you, my love?
* * * *
Darrick refused to turn his head and look at his tormentor. “Do what you have to do and be done with it. You are beginning to bore me.”
The panting drew near. It shuffled towards his cot. He steeled his soul, praying he would be able to endure the treatment they would deal out to him, one more time. He released the air he had sucked in and instinctively held, and prepared for the pain.
A cool hand pushed his hair back from his sweating brow. Fingertips trembled against his fevered skin, dancing across his face. Dazed by the tender touch, Darrick flinched when tiny kisses brushed his bruised flesh. Madness must be eating at his mind. Whatever torture they had devised, he feared they might succeed where their fists had not. He swore he heard his name called out by the sweetest lips that God ever put on earth. Moisture gathered on his dry lips. In thirst, he licked their parched surface and sighed.
“Ah,” he rasped, “to die with an angel’s kiss raining upon my lips. Could there be a sweeter death?”
“There’ll be no dying. Not if I have a say in it.”
He willed his mind to turn from the apparition.
“Darrick.” The melodious voice, whispered again. “My love.” Cool hands turned his head. “What have they done to you?”
Kisses grazed his swollen lids. Darrick searched for words but could not knit them together.
“Do not give up on me!”
A gentle weight pressed into his chest. Darrick peeled his lids open. Sabine?
She lifted her head. Tears streamed down her face. The caked paste ran in rivulets, making a mess of her smudged disguise. The pasted on wrinkles and flaking skin was washing away with her tears.
“Hello, angel! What took you so long?” Darrick croaked.
Sabine cradled his head in her hands. “We must make haste.”
She loosened the leather bindings to allow his wrists to slip out of the loops. It felt as if an angry swarm of bees had attacked his arms. Darrick groaned as the blood flowed back into his appendages. Salty tears stung the cuts on his face. Ambrosia from heaven. His angel’s tender kisses gave him strength to keep fighting against the dragons of death.
“Hush, love! Do no
t weep for me.”
Her face swam before him as he forced his eyes to focus to see her. Instead, a hag sat beside him. From the top of her wimple-covered head to the black habit that belonged in the convent. He let his view slowly slide down slim shoulders.
He recognized the pert breasts that pressed his chest where his heart beat erratically. The fringes of her dark lashes brushed against her smudged scaly cheeks. The unmistakable beauty of her eyes gave her away. Liquid brown and bottomless in depth, they brimmed with tenderness and passion.
“Sabine, my love, is this not how we first met? With me tied up and you in your disguise?”
Sabine pressed her cheek against the back of his hand. “You jest at a time like this? I should be furious with you for scaring me as you have. If you would have heeded my warning and allowed me to accompany you as I suggested we could have kept you out of this mess.”
Despite his weakened strength, Darrick bristled against her scolding. “If I had let you come along they would have trussed you up in like manner or you’d already be dead.”
“Hush!” She pressed her fingertips gently against his parched lips. “You must lower your voice. The other guards have yet to notice your friend at the room’s entrance is missing.”
She lifted the bladder of watered-down wine to his lips. “Do you have the strength to leave on your own?”
“Give me a moment and I’ll be hale and hearty enough.”
He attempted to sit up and fell back against the hard surface of the cot. His harsh breaths betrayed his weakness. Sweat sprinkled his brow as he struggled to make his muscles work properly.
Sabine brushed back the dampened hair clinging to his face. “My darling knight, as strong as you may be, I cannot allow you to help me search for the others.” She cut off his arguments. “I brought you bread. Eat. Rest here and gather your strength. The household is barren of all signs of life. I’ll be safer if I’m able to move about quickly.”
“You must allow me to search for the others,” she reasoned. “They’re here somewhere. I know it! I feel they are close by. ’Tis not too late!”
“I cannot let you do this.” Darrick caught her hand and pulled her closer. “DePierce may decide to pay his respects today. Leave this place!”
Sabine withdrew her fingers and pushed his shoulders back down on the rough planking. “I won’t leave until we find what we came for. No one will know that I am here,” she promised. “I’ll find our loved ones and then return for you. Together, we will get them out of the tower. Agree to this, for this is all I will say on the matter.”
Feeling his strength slowly seeping away, Darrick grudgingly agreed to wait and rest. The food had filled his empty stomach. It no longer gnawed at his backbone. The wine, although weak and watery, made him compliant and drowsy. “Aye milady, as you wish. But you must promise to do as I tell you!”
* * * *
Finally, after convincing the stubborn lady, his wrists were retied to the cot in the off chance that DePierce or one of his henchmen would return. He examined her handiwork, ensuring the guards would not notice anything amiss.
Sabine had retied the leather thongs to his wrists. The bag of wine was hidden in her pack. The crumbs of food were brushed off. The trail of flakes from her disguise, swept away.
“Return to me quickly,” he croaked. “Already I grow worried!”
After fixing the smudges to her disguise, Sabine leaned over and placed a kiss upon his lips. She murmured softly against his fevered brow, “I love you.”
Hearing the rustle of the door shut behind the courageous lady, Darrick whispered to the shadows, “I love you too, angel!”
Chapter 25
Sabine’s frustration grew after each empty room. Her nerves were spent from the rolling anticipation. Her hopes shattered with every uninhabited chamber that she entered. She had yet to discover the prisoners’ whereabouts. The fear that they may have disappeared forever increased with every step through the deserted castle.
Except for the few sentry guards that stood at the top of the towers, she had failed to see anyone moving about the castle. Where did they hide themselves? What mischief drew DePierce and his men away from Balforth?
There was only one small tower left to search. Dread slowed her pace. This was the last place she knew to search. She skirted the stone structure and pressed her ear to the tower door. If she did not find them here, she would have to fetch Darrick and make their escape without them.
She tested the handle and found it unlocked. She shook her head. ’Twas unlike DePierce. Had he slipped even further away from sanity? Had he murdered every one of them, or had the castle’s household silently walked away without his notice?
Mindful of the possibility that a guard might be hiding somewhere in a corner, she waited. Her dark habit blended with the shadows dancing along the floor. Silence greeted her.
She continued down the corridor. The scent of moldering straw invaded her nose. Her lungs burned from the stench of decay. Unable to hold her breath any longer, she held the tail of her wimple to her nose. The rhythmic drip of water echoed somewhere in the distance.
Sabine cautiously turned the corner. Her breath caught. An empty chair sat beside a door lined with iron bars. A short wooden table stood nearby. On top of the rough table lay a set of keys. Shadows quivered from a chunk of candle that had almost burnt itself out.
She peered through the leaded bars and searched for signs of life. The cell, barren of furniture, was hardly large enough to allow a person to lie down, let alone stand upright.
A rustling in the filthy straw drew her attention. Sabine waited, barely breathing, and listened. She feared that nothing more than a rat produced the sound.
One of the mounds shifted and rolled over. Her heart thumped wildly. “Who’s there?” she whispered.
The mound responded with a graveled croak and shifted again with a moan.
She called out. “Sir Nathan?” The mound of straw shivered.
Deciding to try once more, she called out her brother’s name. “Taron, is it you? Taron of Clearmorrow, answer me.”
The responding stir of rushes moved her to open the door. With time running out for all of them, the need to find the prisoners pressed her judgment. It demanded a decision.
Sabine entered the cell and knelt beside the lumpy form. A dirty woolen jerkin covered a pair of broad shoulders. They could only belong to a soldier. She carefully rolled the man onto his back.
His long pale hair, tangled with bits of straw, hung across his face. A growth of blonde beard covered his jaw.
“Taron?”
A pale hand wrapped around her throat and yanked her close. “Who’s there?” he rasped. “What games do you play?”
Fighting against the hand that cut off her air, blood pounding in her ears, she struggled to break his hold. Cursing at her foolish desire to save them all by herself, she wished Darrick were there to rescue her again. But this time he depended on her to succeed. She clawed at the bony fingers wrapped around her throat, threatening to sever the life from her body.
Kicking out she caught the man in his stomach. He gasped. His hold loosened and his hand dropped to the floor. His body curled protectively around his middle.
Their gasps for air blended into one. Moving as far away from the prisoner as possible, she sat and waited for air to return to her lungs.
From the corner, she heard a whimper. A pair of frightened eyes stared back at her. The other prisoner kept still as a rabbit caught in a snare. Its short breaths slowing. Its eyes widened in recognition, “You! The old woman?”
Sabine stumbled back. Alive…Elizabeth was alive! I saw her go over the cliff that storm filled night! Until that moment, she had found it difficult to believe they would find Elizabeth alive.
An arm wrapped around Sabine from behind, pinning her head against the sweat soaked jerki
n.
“I believe my lady asked you a question,” he croaked out, his speech coming in between gasps. Strength slowly ebbed from his arm.
Sabine recognized her attacker’s voice and leaned the back of her head against his shoulder. Did her disguise as an old hag keep her brother from knowing her?
“’Tis I. Sabine.”
“Liar!” His arm tightened around her neck. The weakened muscles absorbed what little strength he had left. “My sister was beautiful, smooth of skin and glints of gold shining through her hair. You are an old hag,” he snarled. “With skin hanging on your flesh. Scaling like a fish left too long without water; dying in the sun.”
“Taron, love. Let the old woman go,” Elizabeth pleaded. “Perhaps she has news of our child.” Her voice growing stronger, she sobbed, “I must know of his fate.”
Stunned into silence, Sabine rocked back on her heels and rested her head against the man that sought to end her life. He talked of her as though she was deceased. Moreover, the most shocking news was the revelation that Chance might be her nephew.
Spinning her about, Taron clutched her shoulders and shook her out of her daze. “Well, woman, what can you tell us?”
Sabine adjusted to the surprises she had received. She cocked her head to one side to stare at the filthy man. It was just like her older brother to be so blind. He could not see that she held the key to their escape. “I think, had father yet lived, he would demand an apology for your sister.”
Outrage registered on her brother’s face. His arched brows lifted as he glared at her audacity. “You’ll not speak of my family in this manner. You will be eating those words while you spend what’s left of your miserable life buried with the earthworms.”
“Enough,” Elizabeth cried.
Sabine tore from her brother’s hold and knelt beside her. How frail Elizabeth had become. She should not have tarried, wasting time in tormenting her brother. She should have told him outright who she was.