by C. C. Wiley
The scraggily clothed boy had attempted to stand menacingly over her, constantly fingering the thin growth of whiskers on his chin. Barely visible, his pride and joy was little more than peach-fuzz. His shaggy blond hair stuck out from under his cap like a stack of straw tossed about. She had to fight the motherly urge to shove the dirty hair aside so that she might see his fawn brown eyes.
He had been fairly put out with her for leaving a trail. She had dropped tiny scraps torn from a small book she had tucked inside the pocket of her skirt. Sabine found it extraordinary that his anger had not poured down about her head when he caught her hand with the piece of vellum in it. Instead, he had directed his rage towards Rhys when the older man had struck her. He had yelled at him for hurting her and gently wiped at the reopened wound. Before blacking out, she actually imagined concern for her safety registering on his countenance. The look was somehow familiar.
Sabine could not fathom what Rhys thought he would find in the tiny room by her mother’s vault. He kept ranting about the hidden treasure he was sure her father had found. He was furious when she swore she did not know what he was talking about. The only treasures she had any knowledge of were her father’s ancient books. Those treasures certainly were not hidden. They stood piled high in the storage room.
She shifted the weight on her hip. The hard lump biting into her backside reminded her that she still carried one small insignificant book that her father kept as a journal for all his great discoveries. Struggling to sit more comfortably before her tormentors returned from their errands, she listened for the approaching footsteps that carried her future.
* * * *
Taron wiped at the moisture dripping from his forehead. “There’s another one.”
Little bits of fiber glowed against the dim light. “That’s my girl,” Darrick murmured. “Show me where you are. Keep believing in me, sweetheart.”
The empty shadows swallowed all signs of life that might enter the sanctity of the sacred grounds. While Taron ranted, throwing his temper around with youthful exuberance, Darrick searched the bound volume Sabine had been looking at right before she was abducted. He methodically looked for any clues that would explain why Rhys continued to play so ruthlessly at his game.
Darrick cursed his weakness for letting her out of his sight. Memories of their last embrace drew what little common sense he had left. Although the thought of walking around like an idiot for the rest of his life was unmanning, it was far more appealing then to have to exist without her arms and limbs wrapped around his waist. Nor could he live without her love to warm his heart. He vowed, when they finally buried this threat to their families once and for all, he would ensure his beautiful love would have a smile gracing her lips every morning. He would personally see that she found joy in every day of her life.
“I am coming, love,” he whispered, praying that she could hear him in her heart. “Trust in me.”
The trail of parchment had stopped as suddenly as it had started. When they had retraced their steps, it was no longer there.
“I fear we may not find her in this damn labyrinth,” Taron said.
Undergoing the savageries from the guards at Balforth, Taron’s endurance was at the end. The bravado he had at the beginning turned to defeat and despair. He leaned heavily against the dampened wall, cooling his fevered brow against the damp surface. His breath came in harsh draws, sucking the air into his lungs. “Never have I been so frustrated with the frailty of my body.”
Darrick understood what his future brother-in-law was going through but he did not have the energy to deal with him. Grinding his teeth, he wished Taron had kept to his infant son and stayed in Elizabeth’s ministering arms. It would have been wiser to have his hound with him instead of allowing Sabine’s brother to join him. It was against all discipline that he knew but he agreed to let him join in the search. He understood it was a matter of love and honor. He prayed that Taron’s honor did not come at the price of Sabine’s life.
He shot out his hand, silencing Taron’s wheezing.
High-pitched nasal whining came from a room that they had missed earlier. Lady Mary’s tomb lay inside the tiny alcove off the great room. From the angle where they hid, they could see the layout of the little room. The shape of a swan’s back was carved into the ceiling. The lid to her tomb, shaped as the bowed head of a swan. Its long neck curved, the head dipped down gracefully, pointing to another.
The shadows from the torchlight danced eerily across the graceful back of the swan. The smooth stone dipped into the wall, indented where the wings should be. The lid was off, propped against the stone. The head of the swan waited to be laid in place. And beside it, Rhys stomped and raged.
“Empty! That troublesome wench will tell me where her father hid the treasure. I will draw it out of her. By God, even if it’s her last breath.”
It was plain for Darrick to see that Rhys was no longer a helpless man who prayed for lost souls, urging others to pick up a cross and join his pilgrimage. This man was willing to kill, or better yet, to coerce the weaker minds to do the work for him. It mattered not, just as long as he found what he was looking for.
Perched on the balls of his feet, Darrick was ready to spring out and tackle the crazed clergyman. Taron placed his hand on his arm, stopping him before he thought things through.
Taron’s grip was like a vise. “Wait for the right moment. Rhys might be smaller in stature but his strength comes with the knowledge of this maze.”
Darrick reluctantly nodded.
They kept their distance as they followed Rhys through the twists and turns of the tunnel. He came to a small anteroom jutting off to the side and entered.
Darrick and Taron stood with their backs pressed against the wall and listened. More than once, Darrick almost lost his patience and prepared to charge after him. He was going to smash the rodent under his boot when he heard Rhys’s fist strike Sabine. Only the shouted words coming from the skinny boy with the straw-colored hair drew him back.
“I swear, Rhys, if you dare to touch her like that again, I’ll break them legs of yours.”
Darrick and Taron shared a glance. Why would the boy challenge the older man?
“You’ll do good to remember your place,” Rhys said. “Lucky for you, I don’t have time to teach you a thing or two. I’m going to search out that fresh hole I saw while I was taking a piss. Stay and keep her quiet, hear?”
Sabine motioned wildly, pleading for the young boy to take the rag out of her mouth. Her brown eyes, matching his, widened when he relented and bent over to free her mouth.
“Don’t know what that lunatic thinks he’s gonna find,” he grumbled under his breath as he sawed at the rag with his dagger. “Old William left me nuth’un anyway.”
His mouth pinched with regret. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know he hurt so many people before he came for me.”
The lad bent over, the knife coming even closer to Sabine’s precious skin.
Darrick rushed out to stop him. He grabbed the boy’s thin wrist, squeezing to release the weapon. The spry youth was limber and could slither around but was out-muscled and out-manned. His wrist bones ground under Darrick’s hand.
“No,” Sabine cried. “Don’t kill him.”
Darrick glanced at his lady sitting by his booted feet. The woman he loved and cherished carried fresh bruises around her eyes. A smear of dried blood clung to her temple. He was incensed when he noticed it was the same wound that he had carefully sewn in the tiniest of stitches, ensuring her beauty would not be marred with ugly scars like his.
Wanting to please his ladylove and wipe the terror from her eyes, he reluctantly agreed. “I vow I’ll not run the boy through with my broadsword. Not immediately, anyway.”
Instead, he smacked the boy’s thin wrist against the stone wall. Muscles and tendons crackled under the grinding pressure before he
let loose of the blade.
Darrick drew back to strike him.
“Darrick—”
The revenge tasting too sweet to ignore, he let his fist connect with the pale-skinned jaw before seeing to the cause of her renewed fear.
Taron’s position as guard was lost in the desire to set his sister free. Fury raced through Darrick’s veins. Even the first year squires knew to follow one of his orders. His anger subsided when he saw the determination settle upon Taron’s face. He could not fault the man for loving Sabine. God help him, it was impossible not to love the woman.
Taron’s hands shook from the effort it took to slice through the threadbare rags binding Sabine’s wrist. Darrick worried Taron was about to collapse. They would need all the strength they could muster to carry themselves safely out of the catacombs.
* * * *
Sabine jerked. She gasped from the searing pain as an arrow ripped through her flesh. “Darrick,” she cried.
Too weak to move quickly, Taron stared numbly at the blood trickling from her shoulder.
Darrick dove to cover her, providing the length of his scarred back as a target instead of her tender body. He stiffened when another arrow found its mark in the back of his thigh. His leg collapsed with the impact.
“Get whomever that is, Taron,” he bellowed.
Darrick glanced at the boy lying on the ground, knocked unconscious. He offered no immediate threat. A shadow shifted. The dim light caught the movement. Rhys.
Rhys’s thin lips curled in a snarl. No longer forced to bend under the weight of the ugly brown robes, he now stood to his full height and was nearly as tall as the two knights.
“You were my father’s friend,” Taron said. “Greeted warmly at our castle. Yet you ensured Elizabeth’s imprisonment. Almost succeeded in killing our son!”
Bellowing with rage, Taron charged him with an explosion of strength. Surprising the man, he wrestled him to the ground. Their bodies locked in battle, arms and legs struck the hard floor, each man struggling to stay alive.
Taron’s strength began to slip away. His hands fumbled on Rhys’s neck.
“Don’t lose him, Taron.” Darrick yelled. He ripped off a portion of Sabine’s skirt. The flow of blood continued to seep through her bodice. He placed the palm of his hand on her shoulder, pressing where the shaft protruded from the wound.
Sabine flinched. Panting against the pain, she smiled up at her love. “I knew you would come.”
He stretched his injured leg out and braced his arm across his good knee.
“You must hold on, sweetheart,” he whispered.
She arched an eyebrow. “Is that an order?”
“Yes, love, ’tis another order.”
“I thought as much. I don’t mind. Just this once.”
He framed her face with his hands. “We are almost finished here, and then I promise we will go home.” His thumbs stroked her cheek.
Drawn to the soothing sound of his voice, she asked wistfully, “Home…where is that, I wonder?”
Darrick kissed the top of her silken crown, his lips moving in her hair. “Wherever you are, my love, I am with you, for you have my heart. And, wherever I am, you must be, for I cannot live without you. That, my love, is where home is.” He stopped, afraid for a moment she would argue with him. “Is that agreeable with you, my lady?” he asked, daring to hope.
“Aye,” she sighed softly, “I am ready for my dark swan knight to pick me up on his mighty wings and carry me away with him.”
A soft sigh passed from her lips as her head spun dizzily out of control. Her head throbbed with the pounding in her ears. Her nose felt fuzzy. The walls began to shift. She sighed. Perhaps they had been down in that rabbit hole for so long they had begun to shift their shape into rabbits, after all. Maybe, if she were lucky, her dark swan would be hungry and devour her, one nibble after another.
She pulled her mind from the swallowing depths. Her focus wavered. She peered through the gauzy veil wrapping around her head as Darrick gripped her hand, refusing to let go. “Taron—”
“Must help him.” Darrick moved as though his legs were welded to the floor. “Saints’ bones,” he swore. “’Tis the damn poison.” His unsteady legs buckled. Crashing to his knees, he groaned loudly when the shaft bit into his leg, digging further into his thigh.
“Release him, Rhys,” he cried.
His eyes glittered from his position above Taron.
“One moment, Sir Darrick of Lockwood,” Rhys sneered. “Soon as I finish with this weakling, you are next. And then after she tells me where she’s hiding it, I will have my way with your woman.”
Raising the dagger he had wrestled from Taron’s hand, he readied his aim.
Tears burned in the corner of her eyes. Sabine blinked.
The boy lying crumpled on the floor, sat up. The purple bruise where Darrick had struck him had bloomed. After surveying the room, he began dragging his body towards Rhys. He edged closer.
The boy pushed to stand. “’Tis not supposed to be like this,” he cried. “I don’t want to lose anymore!” He catapulted into Rhys. As he rolled with him, he tucked his knife arm into Rhys’s stomach, turning the blade into the soft flesh of his underbelly.
“Sorry, Uncle,” he whispered.
Rhys struggled to rise. He bucked the towheaded boy off his back. The crack of the boy’s skull striking the wall, echoed across the chamber. Shrugging his narrow shoulders, Rhys looked down at the knife protruding from his gut. Smiling weakly, he whispered into the gray mist of the dead. “Ah, Nandra, I always said Tate came from ungrateful stock.”
Chuckling, he did not notice the bow tangled around his feet. He fell onto his stomach, gasping as the dagger plunged to its hilt.
Fierce howling could be heard, cutting into the silence following Rhys’s last breath. Shouts echoed across the dark passages as they drew near.
Darrick’s hand uncurled, slowly letting the tip of the bow roll out of his fingers. A triumphant smile lifted the corners of his mouth before the darkness drew him behind the blissful black curtain.
Sabine’s fingers clenched. Empty. Darrick. My love. Where are you?
Air leaked through her lips as she slipped into the dark.
Chapter 33
Shrill barking bore into Darrick’s head like a broadsword striking his helm in battle. Groaning, he shifted on the fur pallet. Before opening his eyes, his hand searched the bed for Sabine. He needed her by his side. Where is she?
When he sat up, the room shifted dizzily. Memories of the small chamber caught his breath. His heart ached as he roared with despair. Did they reach her in time? He planted his bare feet on the ground and swung off the bed.
Nathan found him leaning against the tent pole. He was holding onto the piece of wood as if his life depended on it. And it did. His life depended on finding Sabine. Alive and well.
“What do you think you are doing? Your leg is not yet healed. ’Twas tainted by that nasty poison ol’ Rhys liked to use.”
Darrick grunted. “At the moment I do not give a damn if the man put piss and tar on it. Where is she?” he rasped.
“Where is who? Do you mean Tate? Sabine’s half-brother wants to make amends for the small part he played in Rhys’s hands.”
Darrick turned on the redheaded giant standing proudly before him, looking hale and hearty. A far cry from when he saw him last.
“Don’t play with me, Nathan. You won’t wish to know my wrath when I am fully recovered. Tell me you reached her in time. Where is Sabine?”
Afraid of the possible answer, Darrick shut his eyes and waited for the room to quit spinning. “Tell me that she lives.”
Nathan finally relented. “Aye, you can see for yourself that she lives.”
“If I could do that, I wouldn’t be standing here clutching this damn pole, would I?”
/> “Look yonder.”
Darrick opened his eyes and looked past the tent flap. A procession of knights carried his love to the tent.
Nathan snorted. “That stubborn woman was found halfway to your tent. Twice now, I, myself, have found her lying on the ground. I cannot very well stop what I am doing to patch her up every time she falls down, now can I?” Shrugging his wide shoulders, he frowned at his friend. “I have not the time for either one of you. You’ll have to take care of each other. I have a castle to rebuild.”
The men brought her in and gently laid her down on his cot.
“Sabine.” Darrick drew her into his arms. He grazed his lips across her pale forehead, inhaling the precious fragrance that was hers alone. “What were you thinking, my love? You could have caused serious injury to yourself.”
Sabine traced the fullness of his sensual mouth with her lips. “What else could I do? My heart breaks when I am away from your side.”
Darrick kissed her. He reveled in the sweetness of her lips.
She nipped at his mouth. “Remember, wherever you go, my heart must go with you.”
“And wherever you go,” he whispered. “I will follow. For you hold my heart in your gentle hands. I will never let you out of my sight again.”
“I love you,” Sabine said against his mouth.
“’Tis long past that I should have told you that I love you, too. There was a time when I thought I lost you. ”
“And now we found each other.”
Darrick paused, and started to pull away. “Lockwood is not…I don’t know where we will…”
Nathan cleared his voice, reminding them that he still stood nearby. “About Lockwood, Sir Darrick. It appears that our good king has placed Lockwood back into your hands.” He bowed low. “Sir Darrick, Lord of Lockwood.”
Could it finally be? But without Sabine as his lady, it would be an empty victory. Darrick forked his fingers through her hair and let the golden threads slide through. His next question would prove more difficult than any battle he might wage. “The Lord of Lockwood needs his lady.”