by C. C. Wiley
With deliberate care, Darrick dragged the hem of her gown up her thighs. The fabric left a fiery trail upon her skin. The vision sent waves of passion crashing into her core. He devoured her limbs with hungry eyes and tucked the skirt away from her legs. His strong hands trembled as he brushed his fingers across her center.
Her cheeks heated under his intense gaze. She thought her heart would stop when he suddenly pulled away. Aching from the emptiness where his hands had traveled, she bit her lip wondering what she had done to displease him.
Breathing as one, their passion-filled eyes locked as Darrick pressed a callused finger to her lips, swollen from their lovemaking.
“I have no lands that I can offer you. No name to protect you unless my king wills it. I cannot take—”
“You have but to receive, for I give it freely.”
He groaned in anguish when she took his fingertip between her teeth and nibbled on the tender side, pulling it into her mouth. Teasing his senses, drawing him into her embrace, she ignored his denial for her pleasure, nudging him with the tip of her tongue.
Booted heels clattered from the stairs behind them. Nathan called out, “Perhaps you could find time to speak to your men.”
Too mortified to look over Darrick’s wide shoulder, Sabine ducked her head away from the light caress of his fingers.
A shuddering breath shook his body as he lifted his head. His restless hands stilled against her core. “Out,” he ordered Nathan.
Ignoring his warning glance, she let her fingertips tiptoe across the wide expanse of his shoulders. Lightly dragging her nails in circular motions, she dipped past the small of his back trailing to the band at his waist. Keeping her hands out of Nathan’s line of vision, she cupped Darrick’s taut buttocks, kneading his firm muscles.
Nathan stood at the entrance, a frown plastered on his face as he searched the corners of the chamber for them. His face, flushed, matching his wild red hair. “Finish with whatever you may need to do, Darrick. Sergeant Krell awaits your attention. He must speak with you regarding a matter of great importance.”
Sighing, Darrick turned and tipped her chin. “Duty calls me away.” He devoured her mouth with one of his knee-weakening kisses until she had to lean against him for support. His hands strayed beside her heated thighs. “But I shall return.”
Sabine trembled for completion; her mind, too full of unfulfilled desire to worry about the true reason Nathan sought him out.
Darrick whispered near her ear. “You failed to tell me what else you would keep. Must you make me ask again, in front of Nathan?” he whispered, drawing his lips across her cheek.
Sabine felt the heat rising in her face. She did not know if she would rather kick him in his shins or kiss him breathless. She decided it was much more fun to feel the heat explode inside her body whenever she touched him, than stubbing her toes against his hard booted calves.
Taking up his challenge, she stepped away, keeping out of his reach and sauntered seductively around him, circling her prey. Shoulders drawn back, she thrust her breasts out, inviting his touch. “I would keep you by my side.” Her velvety voice stroked his skin, rich and full of promise. “Very, very close, by my side.”
“Leave us, Nathan,” Darrick said. Once the door slid shut, his battle against the burning jealousy swelled out of control.
He reeled her in until her thighs pressed into his. Her stomach brushed against his aroused state. Pain etched the corners of his mouth. “I would have the woman I take to be my wife, capable of standing proudly in front of my men, commanding the same respect that I receive. I will return for you as soon as I meet with my men.”
Sabine gaped at his retreating back. His wife? But he had yet to say those three simple words: I love you. Her fingertips rested on her lips and traced the fiery trail where his kisses had been. She meant only to tease him from the tower he continually tried to erect between them. Rethinking her position, she decided to wait for a few minutes before she began to search him out.
She picked up one of the leather bound volumes. A frown tugged at her brows. It felt as if centuries had passed since she last sat in the solar with her father, trying to remain patient as she listened to his ramblings of the ancient Celtic tribe burrowing their way through the white stone buried beneath the rough land of Clearmorrow. And there were others who had followed in their footsteps. Knights who had gone into hiding and carried their treasures from far off places with them.
Wiping a cobweb that clung to her cheek, she recalled how thrilled he was. He had been so excited, practically giddy, the night he had found an answer to one of the many mysteries hidden in their primitive writings. The diagram had carried him further than the catacomb that held her mother’s tomb. The familiar leather tome she clutched to her stomach was his latest discovery. Soon after, her father’s disappearance had followed in the wake of his celebration.
Hearing a movement in the corner, she tensed. A rodent?
The noise from the underground creatures increased. Echoes reverberated against the white walls, bouncing down the corridors, muffling her strangled gasp.
She groaned as she hit the floor.
Chapter 31
Darrick swatted at the dust clinging to his leggings while he listened to Sergeant Krell’s report. After the first initial greetings from his men, the joy had dissipated. He felt the gnawing need to get back to Sabine’s side. He had seen the hurt in her gaze as he left.
Half-listening to Krell, he chewed on his tongue to keep from staring at the garb his sergeant wore. The old man was dressed in a nun’s black habit. His battered broadsword hung heavily in his belt, contrasting sharply with the flowing gown. His gray hair stuck out, ruffled by the breeze. Grease stains, running from chest to belly, marred his front where he had wiped his hands. Large dusty boots peeked out from the skirt tangling around his feet while he paced like a caged wolf.
Krell added to his report. “And another thing. I must disagree with your conduct towards Lady Camilla. ’Tis not right to expect her to share the blame of all that has occurred in your family’s history.”
Darrick grunted in response. Unsure of how to deal with the relationship with his mother, he avoided her path, choosing to skirt around her tent. He purposefully steered clear of the reunion between the two women and Elizabeth’s lover.
He did not believe Taron was a bad sort. From what Sabine had said, he had matured during his ordeal as a prisoner of Balforth. Even now, from where he stood, he could see Taron holding his son cradled proudly in his arms. He was introducing Chance to the men milling about, awaiting their lord to address them. Watching from across the remains of the bailey, Darrick warmed to see the strong waving fists catch in Taron’s golden thatch of hair.
The bruises on Nathan’s face were more evident in the sunlight. Darrick did not want Sabine to come between their friendship. However, he would not allow his friend to make another amorous advance toward the woman he had decided would warm his bed until he was lying in his grave.
Nathan scowled, pushing back his unruly mane and cleared his throat, drawing Darrick’s attention to what Sergeant Krell was saying. “Darrick, pull your lusting thoughts away from the woman for a moment.”
“Aye, Sir Darrick, we have two soldiers in our midst who have recently joined our forces. They are not from the king’s army of men.” Krell glanced around, searching the grounds. “Nathan believes he recognizes them. They may be a part of DePierce’s marauders but he cannot be certain.”
“Sorry, my friend.” Nathan rubbed at his temples. “My mind is not as clear as it should be. But look yonder at the two men huddled over by the grove of trees. They stand apart from the rest of the battalion, keeping to themselves. Their nervous movements lead me to believe they are up to mischief.”
Darrick stared into the glare of the sun. A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Have the two men brought to me. Move cautiou
sly. I would not want them to flee before I have a word with our two friends.”
Krell jerked his head and sent a silent command to one of their soldiers.
Confident that his men would succeed in the capture of their quarry, Darrick folded his arms across his chest and directed a pointed stare at the Krell. “My old friend, you must tell me who your seamstress is. I would know if there is naught that you wish to confess.”
Krell ran gnarled hands through the white stubble shadowing his chin. “’Twould be the fault of your cunning young woman you keep hidden in the storage rooms below. She forced me to dress as such,” he grumbled. “Said should DePierce’s men find us before she was able to secure your release, I needed to disguise that I was the one guarding your mother and nephew.”
Krell averted his eyes to gaze longingly at the silver halo that shined around Darrick’s mother. Her hair glistened in the sun. “You might thank my Lady Sabine for the good sense to dress Lady Camilla and me as we are. Had we not been seen as two helpless women with an infant, the king’s men wouldn’t have stopped to help us. I fear we would have had a blade in our backs and then they would have asked questions later. King Henry gave strict orders that while they were awaiting your direction they were to disperse all men from Balforth lands.”
He slapped his thigh, the humor twinkling out from under his white bushy wings. “Your hound near took a fair chunk out of one of the puffed up knights that ride for the king. Took five stout men to pull him off.”
Cackling, Krell shook his head. “Then the infant cries out and the hound spits the knight out like he was a hot coal burning his tongue. Lies down by the boy, as docile as a lamb.”
Darrick mentally counted out the number of gold coins it would take to appease the knight’s wounded pride. Half listening to the old codger, he realized Krell was still singing his praises of the fair Lady Sabine. It warmed Darrick’s heart that his old friend approved of the woman who would be the mother of his children.
“You may deliver your approval shortly. My lady freshens herself while we speak.” Feeling the penetrating gaze that attempted to drill into his soul, he efficiently changed the route of the cross-examination. “I see Lady Camilla fares well in your care. My thanks to you.”
Awaiting the arrival of the two men, he observed the rest of his army. Soldiers guarded their encampment, patrolling the perimeter of the crumbling castle. It would take a great deal of gold and time to rebuild the castle and the surrounding grounds, but it would be a rare piece of land to hold. The other soldiers were tending to their horses, seeing to the brushing and feeding of their precious mounts. A worthy knight knew the value of a healthy war-horse.
He was pleased to note the number of deaths amongst his men was lower than he anticipated. Only a few of the wounded were being administered to in the tents erected beside the tumbled curtain wall. It pleased him to see so many had chosen to stay and fight beside him.
After receiving word of DePierce’s defeat, the villagers had begun their return from wherever they had been hiding. Their campfires burned in the distance. Krell had reported that they began their pilgrimage during the first night of their release. Sabine would be overjoyed to find that many of the children she feared had not survived were running and jumping in the camp, full of the joy of living.
Darrick smiled, his confidence growing with the knowledge that he still found favor with his good friend, the king. Yet, he knew that their task was not yet complete. DePierce’s mercenaries had scattered to the winds and hills, afraid of the retaliation of King Henry’s soldiers. If the mercenaries were not stopped, they may never find Rhys’s whereabouts.
The soldiers brought the struggling men to where Darrick stood. The commotion caused a stir amongst the camp followers. The crowd pushed to hear if their lord would allow them to listen to the interrogation. Men and women followed behind the two men they recognized as guards, jeering at the vermin that had helped their enemy destroy their homes and their lives.
A foul odor followed the heavyset man. Gobs of grease clung to his scruffy beard. His beady eyes squeezed out from puffing cheeks. He shifted his feet nervously, all the while, the soldiers held onto his thick arms. Mindful of the damp stains that darkened the pits of the stinking man, they attempted to stand downwind.
Darrick poked the tip of his dagger into the fat rolled at the filthy waistband. “I see you have been eating well.” Narrowing his icy stare, he pondered his next question. “Are you not DePierce’s famous Sergeant Gregor?”
Gregor shook his head, his stringy hair brushing against his rounded shoulders. “No, that wicked lord took all that I had. I would never serve the likes of him.” His beady eyes slid along the crowd of villagers, searching for an escape. “He treated me poorly, just like all the others that stand around here.”
“Would you have me believe that all these good folk are too ignorant to know their enemy?”
Darrick scowled at the other man who smelled just as bad. “I suppose you would have me believe that you are not called Spurge, by all your friends.” He smiled blandly. “I imagine a man of your stature has many friends.”
The crusty yellow teeth flashed, “Oh, aye…aye…I’m proud to say I’m one of the favorites in these parts.”
The rotund man glared at Spurge and shook his head. Freeing a pudgy elbow, he jabbed it into the scraggily man’s stomach.
“That is…I meant to say...” Confused, Spurge scratched nervously at his crotch. “I …umm…I,” he stuttered, sliding his glance over Gregor, silently pleading with him to help find the right answers to their questions.
Gregor’s full lips pulled back from his blackened teeth. “Shut yer trap.”
“Do not waste anymore of my time,” Darrick barked. “I know that the two of you served DePierce and did his dirty work. I heard you arguing between yourselves the night you tried to burn me within the cottage. I would recognize the unforgettable stench your body carries.”
He grabbed the scruff of their tunics and shook the two creatures, banging their head together. “You don’t have the sense to hide here. Who sent you to spy amongst us?”
Nathan pushed his way closer to the captives. “Let me question them, Darrick. I’ll have the answers that we seek in a matter of seconds.”
Darrick looked down at the stain of yellow fetid water pooling at the greasy men’s feet. “No, my friend, these two aren’t strong enough to withstand the tortures that you would put them through.” Grinning at Nathan, he added, “Although, when I am done interrogating them, you may ensure I have gleaned all the information that I possibly can.” He shrugged. “But remember, I would have them capable of breathing after you are finished.”
“Mercy! I beg you,” Spurge squealed. “’Twas Sir Hugh’s orders to set the cottage afire.”
“Hugh?”
Spurge shrank out of Gregor’s reach. “Just, please”…he stuttered, pointing to his companion. “Don’t leave me with him and I will tell you what I know.”
* * * *
Spurge’s information had brought terror to Darrick’s chest: it ripped the air from his lungs. He tore down the stairwell. The heels of his leather boots clattering on the white stone. He frantically searched the corners of the storage room. Rhys had used them all to gain access to the woman and the treasures he believed were hidden in the catacombs. Sabine!
Her jeweled dagger lay on the floor next to one of Sir William’s beloved books. The intricate pattern of the jewels embedded in the hilt reminded him of the diagram drawn on the pages. The stiff vellum fluttered in the silent breeze blowing through the tunnel. The open door drew the fresh air through the passageway leading to the catacombs.
Darrick entered the tunnel in search of his love. Gaining only a few feet into the hole, the dimming light revealed a pattern of scuffmarks, scratched into the dust on the stone floor. Following their trail, he walked the corridor Sabine had recentl
y revealed. ’Twas where her mother was laid to rest.
A warm hand gripped his shoulder from behind. Taron’s voice shook with conviction, brooking no arguments. “I’m going with you,” Taron added before Darrick could respond, “You’ll not deny me this right.”
Darrick nodded his head with a jerk. “Just stay out of my way when I run him through,” he growled.
“I understand there are two. I know the one is Rhys, but who is his partner?”
Never taking his attention from the tunnel, he answered stiffly. “It matters not to me. I’ll kill them both for endangering her life.”
Chapter 32
Sabine’s head pounded like it had been struck with the giant battering ram she had seen in Darrick’s stockpile of war weapons. Her mouth was as dry as parchment. She prodded her tongue against the dusty rag shoved in her mouth.
Her captors had dumped her unceremoniously in the corner, with no concern for her comfort. Her shoulders ached from the constant strain of the rags binding her wrists. Pulling against the bindings, she was relieved to note her captors had not thought to tie them tight enough to cut off the circulation to her hands. With no outside light, she did not have the means to judge how they had left her in that uncomfortable position. She could only await their return.
Darrick! He would come for her. Once he knew she was missing, he would move heaven and earth to find her.
Her stomach knotted, thinking about the damage they might do to her precious knight. She did not want more pain inflicted to his handsome body. Shutting her eyes, she asked the ancient gods that Sir William had studied, to protect her love. And then she offered her prayer to God. “Please don’t allow that creature and his cohort to harm him.”
Cursing her negligence for not paying attention to the warning voice inside her head, she leaned back against the cool stone. Where did Rhys and the boy with the yellow hair hide themselves?