Demetrius put his hand on his dagger with a growl.
Yani’s smile disappeared. “I know enough,” he said. “Explain to me an alum trader, found on a battlefield, far from any known spice routes, a trader who claims he has never heard of Theodore the Bold, a trader who says he is journeying to Constantinople and is simply lost.”
“A fool’s tale!”
“That is what he told us.”
“He’s lying.”
“Exactly,” said Yani and shot Noel a glance of satisfaction. “He is too odd. Nothing about him makes any sense, except the explanation I have found. Talk to him yourself.”
“I shall.” The knight stepped closer to the fence, close enough for Noel to smell the unwashed sweat on him, close enough for Noel to see that he was hardly grown from boyhood. But his eyes were as old as these mountains. They bored into Noel. “Theodore of Albania?” he said sharply.
“Yes,” said Noel.
“You claim yourself as such?”
“Yes.”
“What proof have you?”
Noel did his best to stare right through the man. “My men.”
“Your men would lie like jackals. What else?”
“My word.”
“I spit on your word.”
Noel felt the heat rise in his face again. Behind him, the courtiers muttered angrily.
“Oh, come, sirrah!” said the knight with scorn. “Can you not think of another lie for me? I vow, you are a witty one, playing your master’s fool this way. But we’ll shave your tongue for the trouble, I promise you.”
He gripped his sword, which hung low in its scabbard.
Cursing himself for getting into this, Noel reached for the only thing he had left. All the men tensed, but he drew only the seal from his pocket. Demetrius and Yani relaxed, but the knight leaned forward like a hound who has suddenly sprung a scent.
“Hold!” he said sharply. “What is that?”
Noel held it aloft to make the sun flash from its sides. “My seal of office as duly appointed and rightful governor of this province. You are advised to surrender your arms and your lives to me, and reswear your allegiance to Byzantium. Otherwise, you are criminals, guilty of treason against the empire, and your lives are forfeit.”
The words rolled from him, making a heavy threat indeed in the ponderous phrases. The men stood frozen, and for a moment Noel thought he might actually pull it off.
Then the knight pushed back his coif, revealing a sweaty tangle of short-cropped hair, and laughed. “Well said, my lord! You almost made me fall on bended knee to you. But I serve a master who spits defiance at Byzantium, as do I.”
He extended his hand. “The seal, please.”
Noel did not have to turn his head to feel the tension emanating from the men at his back. He tucked the seal away swiftly and met the flare of anger in the knight’s eyes with more courage than he actually felt.
“I am sworn to die before I surrender that seal to unlawful hands,” he said. His gaze could not help but go to the knight’s sword. He wished he hadn’t mentioned death.
“Oh, you’ll surrender it, my lord,” said the knight. He awarded Noel a mocking bow. “I am convinced. But your trickery is over now. Yani, Demetrius, I have orders to bring Lord Theodore to Mistra. Sir Magnin wants to deal with him face-to-face.”
Both bandits set up an immediate protest. “Sir Magnin promised us part of the ransom—”
“And you’ll get it,” said the knight impatiently. “But he must be secured within the castle dungeons. Here, despite your certain diligence, it is too easy for him to escape. We cannot have him causing mischief in the countryside and undoing the alliances we wish to forge. Bring him forth.”
“No!” said Noel.
The knight’s mocking gaze slid to him. “No, Lord Theodore? Did I hear you say no?”
“My, er, men—”
The knight laughed and turned away with a gesture. “Bring him. Make sure he is bound securely and get him mounted.”
The bandits complied with a roughness that brought back Noel’s headache. He managed to glance back once where Theodore and the courtiers stood helplessly. Theodore’s face was filled with raw despair and frustration. Noel felt exactly the same way. So much for the plan, he thought with exasperation. If Theodore wanted to get inside the castle to rescue his lady love, he should have stayed away from trickery and scheming.
The dungeons…Noel knew about them. Trojan had recorded an entire torture session on the rack from the Spanish Inquisition. A cold shudder passed through Noel as he was lifted bodily and set upon a mule. All he had to do for this farce to end was to come face-to-face with Lady Sophia, who wouldn’t know him from Adam.
She was bound to give him away.
Sick, Noel didn’t want to think about what would happen next. It could get a lot worse.
Chapter 5
“Sir Geoffrey!”
The voice came from nowhere. It echoed off hill and rock swiftly, rebounding until it was impossible to tell from which direction it came.
The knight leading Noel’s mule drew rein and glanced about with his hand upon his sword. They stood upon a narrow trail inches away from a sharp drop that plunged hundreds of feet into a ravine choked with fallen rocks and logs. On the other side, a limestone escarpment rose above them like a wall. In places it leaned over the trail, making the going almost impassable. The air smelled of heat, horse sweat, and orange blossoms, a wild fragrance unlike anything Noel had inhaled before.
“Sir Geoffreeeeeeeee!”
This time the call was plainly a taunt, teasing and shrill. The knight swore to himself. “This is not a good place. Too close. Kick your mule, and let us ride on!”
Noel was in no mood to cooperate. The jouncing trot the knight had insisted on for the last half hour made his head throb like a bass drum. Looking down at the ground moving beneath his stirrup brought on dizzy nausea. The sun blazed at him without mercy. Noel just wanted to crawl into a dark hole somewhere and close his eyes.
“Come on, I said! Are you deaf?”
Sir Geoffrey tugged on the lead rope and the mule came forward with reluctance.
“Sir Geoffrey! Sir Geoffrey!” shouted two voices in unison.
There came the sound of men barking like dogs. The echoes created an unholy din that shuddered along the mountainside.
Noel winced. “The dwarves,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s the dwarves.”
Sir Geoffrey stared at him as though he had lost his mind. “I know of no dwarves.”
“Elena’s dwarves,” said Noel with the exaggerated patience one used with a half-wit.
“Who—”
“Sir Geoffrey!” said Elena, appearing above them on the lip of the escarpment. She crouched low on one knee, every movement quick and supple, and tossed back her wild auburn hair.
Her hose and tunic had been exchanged for an ankle-length gown of sky-blue. It was straight in cut, with long sleeves, and plain of any adornment except for simple embroidery at the collar and upon the narrow kirtle that drew in her waist. A necklace of dowry coins tinkled softly each time they swung against her breasts. She had washed her face, but her hair had bits of leaf and twig in it as though she had snagged her tresses more than once while running down the mountainside to waylay them.
She was still panting, and a touch of perspiration made her face glow.
Noel forgot his headache. She was the most gloriously alive creature he had ever seen. Her vibrancy and sheer animal magnetism struck an immediate physical response within him. He forgave her for capturing him earlier. He wanted to jump off the mule and grovel at her feet. He wanted to chase her up and down the mountainside, making her shriek with laughter. He wanted to kiss her full lips and taste their strength and eagerness.
“Sir Geoffrey,” she said, her gaze for the knight alone. “Let me ride pillion with you to Mistra.”
The knight looked her over with moderate interest. “Faith, but
you are a bold piece.”
Her eager smile faded. “I am Elena,” she said proudly. “Sister to Demetrius and Yani. I carry a message to Sir Magnin.”
Sir Geoffrey’s mouth twisted into mockery. “Ah, now I remember you. I was just in your brothers’ camp, and they mentioned no such message.”
“That is why I have run all this way. Sir knight, please take me to the castle. It is an important thing I carry.”
“The only message you have for Sir Magnin is an offering of your virginity,” said Sir Geoffrey. “Go home, little maid, before your brothers find out what sins you plan and come avenging you.”
She straightened as though struck by a scourge. Her face flamed to the roots of her hair. Noel realized that Sir Geoffrey’s remark—although cruel—was exactly on the mark. But it took a real jerk to say it to her face.
“You—you are a jokester, I see,” she struggled to say. Tears made her eyes glisten, but she faced Sir Geoffrey’s jeering grin. “You should trade jests with my dwarf Thaddeus. His fool tales have worn thin from too much use. We need fresh merriment around our fires at night.”
It wasn’t much of a comeback, but it served to wipe the grin from Sir Geoffrey’s face. He said sharply, “You would do well to seek a confessor, little maid, and set your soul to rights. Not only are you playing with fire for your wanton ways and behavior, but a shrew’s tongue will not get you a husband.”
She spat at him. “Damn you!”
Sir Geoffrey spurred his horse and tugged the lead rope to move them on.
“Wait!” she cried, but Sir Geoffrey did not look back.
Noel did, however, and saw her scrambling down the escarpment like a monkey, fingers and bare toes finding holds he could not see. Her dress hiked up around bare, shapely thighs before she jumped the last bit and came running along the trail after them.
“Wait!” she cried again.
“Pull up,” said Noel. “Or she’ll run yelling after us the whole way.”
Sir Geoffrey drew rein with visible exasperation. He shot Noel an angry look and shook his head.
When Elena came panting up to them, Sir Geoffrey leaned over from his saddle and spoke before she had a chance: “Go home, you fool!” he said harshly. “Sir Magnin will not see you. He is an important man. He has a thousand details to see to this day, and the next, and for weeks to come. I vow you are too scruffy to catch his eye even were he not thus occupied. Go home.”
She glared at him. “I will go to the castle whether you give me a ride or not.”
“Oh, aye, hike in and present yourself. Look at you,” he said with a derisive gesture. “Ill-clothed, unshod, your hair hanging in your face. You might get inside the gates, but the seneschal won’t give you entry to the hall.”
His words hurt her. Noel could see her flinch although she glared fiercely to hide it.
“I can braid my hair,” she said. “And I have shoes. I shall wear them when I arrive.”
“Do not go to the trouble,” said Sir Geoffrey. “You will be on your back within five minutes of entering the gates.”
“Hey,” said Noel, deciding this had gone on long enough. “She doesn’t—”
“You may not care about a Greek maiden, Lord Theodore,” said Sir Geoffrey with an ascetic frown, “but as a knight I am just as sworn to uphold God’s law as I am to serve Sir Magnin. You know as well as I what will befall a maid like this in the castle. Our men are full of themselves. They had an easy time defeating your men, and the castle fell the hour they surrounded it. They have wenched and wined themselves all night. The townsmen have locked their women safely away, and the tarts left at hand are not enough to go around. A morsel like this, dirty as she is, is just too tempting.”
Noel blinked. This was one aspect of medieval life that he hadn’t considered. But he knew that Sir Geoffrey was absolutely right. The man’s decency surprised him.
“Sir Geoffrey is right,” said Noel, turning his gaze back to Elena. It felt odd to be lecturing her together as though they were colleagues instead of a guard and his prisoner. “It’s for your own safety, Elena.”
She tossed her head. “I can take care of myself. Last winter I killed a wolf while—”
“You cannot kill Sir Magnin’s men,” said Sir Geoffrey. “He would boil you in oil for it. That is the law.”
“Not Milengi law—”
“But Frankish law and Greek law,” said Sir Geoffrey. “Now go home.”
“No,” she said stubbornly. “I want to see Sir Magnin. I do have a message for him, and not the one you so crudely suggested. And as a member of the Milengi tribe, who caught this man when everyone else failed to recognize him, it is my right to see that our interest in him is guarded.”
Sir Geoffrey opened his mouth.
“Sir Magnin could not have done this as easily as you boast without our support,” she said. “If the Milengi think we are being cheated of our ransom, we will not keep our allegiance.”
“It is your brother who should be making those threats, not you,” said Sir Geoffrey.
She shrugged. “My brother has the wits of a log. Yani and I cannot always convince him to act quickly.”
“And are you certain Yani knows what you are doing?”
She shrugged again. “I do not have to answer to you, Sir Geoffrey. Besides, if I ride in with you, no man in the castle will dare touch me. I will be safe. And Sir Magnin’s order is enough to give me protection. But if I have to walk in, whatever happens to me will be on your conscience. Now what do you say?”
Noel started to laugh at the sour look on Sir Geoffrey’s face, but swiftly changed it to a cough. Sir Geoffrey glared at him. He glared at her. Finally he gestured angrily.
“Very well. Get on behind Lord Theodore. I shall take you to Sir Magnin, but if he refuses to see you, little maid, you are on your own. I have other business more important than guarding your chastity, and you are no responsibility of mine.”
She grinned, unimpressed by his threat, and climbed on behind Noel. The saddle kept them separated, but still he found his senses flooded by a lot of girl. Bodily warmth radiated from her. She smelled musky and sweet, all of herbs, woodsmoke, and the outdoors. The narrow cut of her gown made it necessary for her to hike it up to her knees. Noel gazed down at her slim, golden calf and foot dangling just inches from his own leg.
He swallowed hard, intent on controlling his heat. They went bouncing down the trail at that tail-pounding, head-numbing trot, and within minutes Elena’s arms snaked around his middle to keep her balance. He could feel her breasts against his back. The wind blew strands of her hair against his cheek and they felt like twists of silk teasing and stroking his skin. His blood flamed to the boiling point.
“I’m glad you came,” he said to her in a low voice so that Sir Geoffrey could not hear. “You’ve improved what was turning out to be a bad afternoon. How about—”
“You,” she said even lower in his ear, her breath a warm tickle that made his heart pound with pleasure, “are an impostor. George overheard everything that you and Lord Theodore plotted.”
Noel went cold with alarm. When he could find his voice he said, “Hell is too nice a place for George.”
She rested her chin upon the point of his shoulder. “I think he is a very clever dwarf. And Lord Theodore is a very clever governor. You are the fool.”
Noel gritted his teeth. Every bit of attraction she’d held for him vanished. The mule picked its way around a tricky bend in the trail when for a moment they seemed to hang over nothing but air. Noel felt the urge to tip Elena off at that point, but, seething, he curbed it.
“We like this development, however,” said Elena. “Yani and I are pleased because we still have Lord Theodore in our hands in case Sir Magnin decides to trick us. A man who steals another’s castle will steal from his friends as well. You see?”
“I see,” said Noel bleakly. Byzantine intrigue…now he knew why the term originated.
“So we want Sir Magnin to go on think
ing you are Lord Theodore. I am along to make sure you do not lose your nerve and confess the truth to him. He is a very intimidating man.”
“I’m not easily intimidated,” said Noel.
He felt the prick of a knife point against his kidney, and stiffened.
“Good,” said Elena, her voice like gold in his ear. “Because I will disembowel you if you betray us. Clear enough?”
“Very clear.”
She laughed, obviously pleased with herself. Noel glowered at his bound hands resting upon the pommel. His knuckles had gone white. Anger blazed through him. He had never felt so damned helpless. Everything, from the moment he stepped through the time portal, had gone totally wrong. Someone unseen and unknown had sabotaged his mission. He was possibly trapped in this time and place for the rest of his life. And now he was being used as a pawn in a local game of politics and war. He wasn’t used to being manipulated. He didn’t like it. He wasn’t going to put up with it any longer.
Ahead, Sir Geoffrey’s attention was centered upon his own mount and the steep dip in the trail. There was no longer a precipice on Noel’s right; the slope remained very steep, but it now looked navigable, if only by a mountain goat.
Not giving himself time to reconsider, Noel leaned forward over the mule’s neck and grabbed the slack lead rope. One quick yank pulled it from Sir Geoffrey’s grasp. The knight glanced back and shouted, but Noel had already turned the mule. He kicked it hard in the flanks, and the startled animal plunged off the trail into a thicket of brush that whipped Noel’s face and arms mercilessly.
The angle was steeper than it had looked from the trail. The mule scrambled and lunged. Finding no bit in its mouth, it stretched out its nose and went where it pleased. Noel found himself pushing against the stirrups and leaning back against Elena to keep his seat. She clutched him and screamed a torrent of Greek in his ear too fast for his translator to handle.
Behind them, Sir Geoffrey yelled again, but Noel didn’t look back. Breathlessly he concentrated on hanging on. The mule plunged through another thicket. Locust branches raked him with thorns. Elena screamed as they caught in her hair. Noel glanced back and saw a hank of auburn hair left hanging from a branch. She pounded on his back with her fist and reached around him, trying to snatch the rope he held in his hands.
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