by C. C. Wiley
“The trail always circles back to Rhys. Would you not question his intentions when he was the one that placed you in that marriage in the first place?”
He turned to stare at Taron, his temper flared while he threw his accusations at his sister’s lover. “And you? Does it not eat at you, worrying where your son is? Although Chance was born out of marriage you’ll do right by him and my sister.”
Taron drew his back straight and stood as tall as his accuser. “I’ll take into account that we’re all tired and worried, and will overlook your insulting remarks.”
“Darrick,” Elizabeth said, “If not for Taron, I would have been lost in despair. But I knew he feared for his father’s safety. I urged him to leave Lockwood and continue his search.”
“I spoke with Sir Damien before I left,” Taron said. “I had begun to fear Rhys suspected there was more to Elizabeth’s and my friendship. I urged your father to stop Elizabeth’s marriage to Hugh. I thought I had time and that the wedding would never take place. I never anticipated the length of which Rhys and DePierce would take to gain the land. He ensured that DePierce’s soldiers knew where to set their trap and take me prisoner.
“Never doubt, Sir Darrick, that I willingly recognize Chance as my son.” Shrugging his shoulders, he held out his scarred hands. “My king is bound to agree to the annulment your father requested and like as not consent to the joining of our families.”
Darrick glanced to where Sabine stroked his forearm. Her touch distracted him from his fury with her brother.
“Unlike you,” Taron continued, “I haven’t been blessed with the opportunity to set my eyes upon my son’s sweet face.” He drew in a ragged breath. “I haven’t had the good fortune to count his toes and fingers. Nor have I been able to sit and dream of the future with my family.”
Heartache winning over the grip on his emotions, his voice shook, “Imprisoned at Balforth for so long, I quit praying for my life. Instead, I feared for the future of the woman that they brought back to my cell. They dumped Elizabeth on my lap, a shell of the woman who had escaped their tower. She was left without anything to wash the salt staining her festering wounds, and naught to heal the open sore in her soul when she feared our son was left in Hugh’s clutches. ’Twas the small glimmer of hope that kept us alive when we knew that Hugh and his uncle did not believe Elizabeth had born the babe before falling to the rocks below the cliff.”
Taron folded his arms protectively around Elizabeth. “Tell me, Sir Darrick, how would you have behaved should the brave lady you prayed would escape with your unborn child was returned to you broken and without the babe? A baby, conceived out of love.”
Although the light was too dim from the tallow candle that they carried, Darrick did not need to see the anguished couple’s faces to look into their souls. He heard the painful truth in their voices. “I…apologize for my accusations.”
“Is it necessary for me to point out that we have yet to reach Lady Sabine’s cavern?” Nathan broke in. “If so, I pray that you will all lower your voices.” He lifted one red wing over his glittering emerald eyes and shared a smile with Sabine.
Ignoring the sharp intake of her breath that echoed through the cave, bouncing off the stone wall, Nathan continued with his observation. “Darrick, do you have a plan should we finally arrive at our destination or shall we stand here and wait for our enemy to find us?”
“Sir Nathan,” Sabine said, “unless I am mistaken, we decided at the cottage to forgo the titles for another time. Shall we agree this time as well?”
Nathan bowed deeply at the waist. “My dear lady, I am at your mercy and willing to address you in any way your heart desires.”
To which the two other men groaned loudly at his foolishness.
Darrick growled at the shaggy man flirting with the woman he had already claimed as his own. Could his friend not see he had marked her as such?
“Let us be on our way,” he barked. “Sabine, put the idiot out of his misery and answer him.”
Sabine smiled graciously and curtsied for the large knight. With the help of Sir Nathan’s outstretched ham-sized paw, he helped her rise.
Darrick scowled as he watched. Irritation showed through his rigid stance, hands braced at his hips. She was smiling up at his huge friend. A black wave washed over him. Fists curled at his sides.
“My darling Sir Nathan,” she purred. “If you would do me the honor of addressing me as Sabine, I would be most grateful.”
“Aye, I will, if you promise to warm my heart by forever remembering that I am your friend and confidant for life. You must always call me by my given name.”
“Which is that?” Taron grumbled under his breath, “Idiot, or fool?”
Elizabeth covered her mouth with her fingers and forced a frown of disapproval. Moving silently, her pointed elbow connected to her darling’s tender side.
Looking to avoid another confrontation, Darrick stopped Nathan from plowing Taron over. “Sabine leads from here on.”
“We will be able to rest in one of the smaller alcoves before we reach the main storage room under Clearmorrow,” promised Sabine.
* * * *
Their fatigue too much to bear, they finally agreed to stop and rest. Darrick sat with his back resting against the cave wall. Although the cold stone was harder than the little cot he had been tied to for the last week, the freedom it offered was infinitely better. Regrettably, the damp air began to seep into his tired bones the moment he sat down.
Sabine pressed her head into his lap, wiggling to find a more comfortable spot. The heat of her breath penetrated his leggings, tickling the bands of muscles on his thighs. Darrick dared not move. His desire to find her wrapped around his burgeoning flesh was growing out of control. Denying his need, he forced his mind to examine the circumstances in which they had found themselves.
The dark room was barely larger than the narrow passageway. If he were to spread out his arms, he would be able to touch all that lay sleeping side by side. With the dirt packed floors behind them, they were able to breathe a little easier. The dust kicked up by their feet no longer penetrated their lungs. The rock floor made a cold, hard surface to sleep upon, but they were able to make a pallet out of the few blankets and meager supplies Camilla and Krell left behind. At last, the height of the ceiling was taller than he was, allowing his back to straighten. He groaned as he stretched his cramping muscles. He knew his comfort was better than that of his friend.
Nathan had yet to stand straight since they entered the bloody rabbit hole. His massive shoulders brushed along the walls. Wherever a rock would jut out, he was forced to squeeze by. He curled upon the floor, sucking in his muffled groans. His movements were so stiff that it caused Sabine great concern.
Not until she demanded to care for his bandages, did he relent. It took all of their skill to ease the pain from Nathan’s wounds. Darrick ground his teeth, slowly clenching his jaw muscles. It was just like Nathan to keep silent regarding the extent of torment he had been put through.
In the time that it took for Sabine to fetch what was left of her ointments and herbs from her pack, Nathan had confirmed what Darrick had already concluded. They pieced together the information Elizabeth and Taron had gleaned while Hugh and DePierce raved at them in fury.
The little man, Rhys, had passed himself off as a devout clergyman, set upon by DePierce’s men. In actuality, he was the mastermind behind the plot to destroy all those in his way. For what? A mythical treasure that no one but Rhys believed existed. The blood of those who died may not have sullied Rhys’s hands, but he would bear the burden when it came time to judge his actions.
How was it possible that he drew everyone to his plan?
That foul creature made sure he was delivered into DePierce’s hands. He had talked of finding Sir William’s wench. Fool that the arrogant man was, Rhys did not realize the extent of her intellig
ence and bravery.
Absently following the path to Sabine’s temples, he caressed the side of her head. He brushed her hair out of the way, letting the silken strands fall slowly through his battle-scarred fingers. It tore at his heart to know that she still did not trust him enough to reveal her secrets. He could not help wonder at her reasons, but this time his concern was because of the pain that continued to torment her. Nathan told him he believed she did not know she was a threat to Rhys or that she held any secrets worthy of Rhys’s interest. Whether his large friend was right or naught, Darrick swore he would protect Sabine with his life.
Rhys had used Elizabeth and Chance to draw Sabine out of hiding. He knew her honor would bring her back to the rubble that once stood as her home. In his search for his sister, he nearly forgot that he brought Sabine exactly to where Rhys wanted her. Bloody Hell! Even he had been used.
It did Darrick’s heart good, knowing that with the deaths of Nandra and DePierce, not everything was going according to plan. Some people could not tolerate the guilt that lay heavy on their spirit. Evil eats at the mind until there is nowhere to turn, except inward, to feast on the soul.
How did Rhys conceal his man-sized body? The kick delivered to Darrick’s arrow-shot ribs packed too much strength to belong to the hunched over, frail little man he portrayed.
Krell’s words regarding the soldiers’ fears, floated back to him. They were sure that he was capable of shape shifting. They swore that when Rhys thought no one was observing his actions they had witnessed the wee clergy grow to a normal-sized man. No longer hunched and gnarled, he would stand straight and tall.
Darrick had ignored his mother’s concerns regarding the man. Her mistrust came from more than just not liking the man. The man had torn her family apart and used the baby as a carrot, making Camilla travel with him to find her grandson. How had he known that the baby still lived, yet all the while, keeping this vital information from DePierce?
Had Rhys been manipulating Nandra along with the rest? He would know how to use her insanity against DePierce. The final push over the edge of sanity was not yet evident. Perhaps it was the involvement with the plot against DePierce.
’Twas odd that the people of Balforth had left the castle so quickly. Could it be possible that they had received word that King Henry’s army was on their way? He prayed to God that his missive had gotten through. ’Twould take a miracle for the messenger to reach Henry, unless he had already been alerted to the problems rising in this land. In the past, the young king had always kept a close watch on the lands so near the Welsh border where he had spent his youth. But lately the lands of France had held his attention.
Sounds whispered about the alcove. Darrick slowly identified each vibration. Using his keen sense, he was able to isolate the direction whence the sound came. Wide-awake, he listened for the scratching of toenails, the presence of a growling hound. Searching again, he listened for the clipped tones of tiny hooves clicking against the floor. There was no shuffling of human feet. No crying or whimpering of a newborn babe.
Had there been an attack, he was certain his brave hound would have drawn blood. Ripping through as much flesh as his white fangs could tear. Thunder had claimed the right as protector over young Chance. He would not let anyone take him away without a loss of limb. Hell, even that damned goat would have put a dent in an intruder. He, himself, could attest to the truth that Matilda’s sharp yellow teeth would draw blood if you pulled her udder the wrong way.
A slow confident smile lifted the corners of his mouth. No, his mother and nephew had not been forced to take to the tunnel. He had missed the signs Krell left behind. There had been a scuffle but no blood trailed through the passageway. He had left the oil lamp burning for them at the entrance. The old codger had tramped down the bushes by the entrance, directing them to enter the cave. Never one to sit idly by and wait, his wily sergeant had discovered something in the tunnel that he intended for his lord to investigate.
The old warrior had been in his family’s service ever since he could remember. Darrick was confident he could trust the sergeant’s loyalty. He could depend on him to protect those that he held dear with his life. They were hidden away safely. He was certain that Krell was seeing to the care of his mother and nephew.
The knotted ball of string fell away, the tangles loosening as they displayed their secrets. Resting his eyes for just a second, he jumped when a warm hand thumped him on his shoulder.
“I will take the next watch.”
Blinking his unfocused eyes, Darrick stared up at Taron. A halo of blonde hair shimmered in the dim light. ’Twas almost the same color as the boy with the straw hair. Clearing his throat, he struggled with handing off the responsibility of their safety. He recalled that King Harry did trust Taron well enough to allow him entrance into the Knights of the Swan. Perhaps he was not behaving fairly towards Sabine’s brother.
Wearily, he sighed. “I’ll rest for a short time while you stand watch.”
“My thanks to you.”
Darrick grunted back. “Our lives are in your hands, Sir Taron. Do not fail us.”
Chapter 29
As the narrow passageway widened, Sabine’s pace increased. Yearning for the light of day to warm her face she raced towards the inner room her father had prepared. She could not wait any longer and refused to heed Darrick’s order to stop. She entered the cavern that stored what was left of her childhood home. She could hear him promising to take a strip out of her dainty hide when he got close enough.
Sabine halted.
She placed a shaking hand on the damp wall and leaned against the doorway. Unable to compel her legs to carry her farther into the underground chamber, she felt the walls closing in, forcing her to stay in the god-forsaken tunnel, forever.
The room had been ransacked.
Sinking to her knees, her stomach rolled, threatening to spill its contents. For once, she was relieved that the hunger in her stomach was gnawing at her backbone. A hiccup escaped. She caught the hysterical laughter threatening to bubble inside. The only thing she had in her stomach lately was hunger.
“Sabine,” he whispered. His concern was nearly her undoing.
Darrick knelt by her side and pressed her face to the hard plane of his chest. He wiped the hot tears that stained her cheeks with the callused pad of his thumb.
Her sobs echoed against the gray rock while Darrick held her in his arms. Taron pushed through the crowded tunnel, forcing his way around Nathan to peer past Sabine and Darrick.
“Our son. Where is he?” Elizabeth shared “What have they done to him?”
“Be at peace, my love. Our son is not there.” Weakened with relief, Elizabeth leaned against Taron’s side. He gave her a reassuring smile and wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Not to fear, Elizabeth. Nothing more than a small loss of goods,” he said.
Darrick tilted Sabine’s chin. “See, ’tis only foodstuffs. We’ll replace it. Come, shall we see what can be salvaged from this mess?”
Sabine nodded and straightened her shoulders. Whoever vandalized the chamber had poured everything out onto the dusty floor. They had destroyed the treasured stores that she and her father had counted on to rebuild the castle. Her father had taught her to think with a level head and the solution would present itself clearly. Perhaps ’twas due to the unusual exhaustion sapping her strength that no answer could be found. She struggling to think and fought the urge to curl up on one of the ripped bags of grain. Darrick warmed the bands of tension in her neck with his hands. She sighed as he kneaded life into her body. His touch ignited the fire coursing through her veins.
Darrick turned to the others and spat out orders to the other two knights. “Taron, find the first available spot in which Elizabeth may rest. She is still weakened from her fall.”
Taron nodded and cradled Elizabeth in his arms. He laid her gently on the pallet of
blankets.
Pressing his lips against Sabine’s hair, Darrick murmured softly, “Sit beside my sister and rest yourself. I will take care of things here.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Think you I shall sit by and watch our supplies be ground under your big feet?”
“Sabine,” Darrick growled. “Do as I have ordered.”
Pulling away, she patted his cheek and smiled wearily. “I shall once I am through. I am still mistress here, and I have a duty to save what I can. You have your own duties. Go find our family.”
Darrick reached out and drew her into his arms. Kissing her forehead, he spoke softly before her released her. “You are a stubborn wench.”
Sabine grinned back. “That I am.”
Moving about the underground storage room, Sabine randomly picked through the supplies ground into the floor. Each alcove that they had deliberately organized earlier was left in shambles by vindictive hateful hands. Stores of foodstuffs, poured out of the barrels and bags, were frantically tossed about the room. Barrels of wine and ale lay broken and drained of their liquid. Trunks of fabrics and spare clothing were pitched across the room.
The men systematically took stock of what needed to be done. They carefully worked their way through the alcove holding the weaponry. The swords and shields that had been painstakingly stacked were scattered about their feet. Each blade was methodically pulled out of its leather scabbard. The sharply honed weapons spilled out, their deadly edges scraping against the stone surface. Shields no longer leaned against the wall like miniature soldiers, but were tossed about like jetsam from a shipwreck.
Darrick armed each man with a sword and an extra dagger to tuck inside their boots. They each took a side of the cavern to search for anyone who might lay in wait. Looking for clues, they paced off the cavern. Their voices low, they talked amongst themselves.