The Dark Lady

by Dawn Chandler

  “Easy, old boy. Time to wake up.” Van held a small bag of coins out to Daniel.

  There was still fear in Daniel’s eyes as he took the offered coin, but he smiled weakly and dismounted on wobbly legs. An older woman rushed, without hesitation, into the group of warriors. She threw her arms around Daniel, nearly knocking him off his feet.

  Van reined Damien around and headed back to the front of the army. She snorted impatiently and looked back at the couple who kissed and hugged. Tears of joy flowed as they reunited with each other. That same swirling rush of emotions threatened to overcome Van once more and the torrent of feelings had to be shoved back down.

  She smiled as Richard handed a small bag of coins to one of the men. Four of her warriors broke off from the group to retrieve supplies. Normally, the army would hunt and gather, but they were all in need of rest and recuperation. Van rode back to the front of the army and they passed quickly through the town.

  Van led the army through the dense woods that lay to the east of Junket. She had spent almost every day in these woods, running and cavorting with the boys of the village. The tree line thinned suddenly, showing a small clearing before them. Her heart thudded heavily as a small cottage came into view.

  She forced a calm façade as they approached the quiet house. While growing up here as a young boy Van had never felt welcome at the village or in this home. She shook the thin webs of memory from her mind before they could grow and consume her. There was no time for reminiscing.

  A short, thin girl stopped in her tracks in the middle of the yard. She was frozen as she watched the army of men and horses descending upon her. She stepped back, one step then two. Suddenly she screamed and raced for the house, her long blonde hair streaming out behind her. Van was not concerned about the girl. She would tell Patricia about the knight and the army and Patricia would calm her.

  She flung open the door and slammed it closed behind her. The sturdy door was well kept, but looking it over, Van took in the thatched roof that was once again in need of repairs and a missing shutter over the front window that had been boarded up. Van took a deep breath, signaling the men to stop.

  Richard stopped his horse at her side. Van glanced at him and pointed off into the woods. “Take the horses through there...” Van’s voice left her. She knew she could not face this death alone. “Bloody hell.” She took a deep breath and turned, reluctantly, to the men. “Devon. You are in charge.”

  “Sir?” the young man nearly squeaked in alarm.

  “Take the men and the horses—”

  “Sir?” Devon protested again.

  Van understood the problem and kept the anger at being questioned contained. Devon was afraid he was taking Richard’s place. It was Richard’s place as first in command to take charge when The Dark Knight was gone. Devon was probably afraid Richard would kill him. Van did not have time for this, or the time or energy to get upset about it. Devon was young and he would learn.

  “Take the horses through those trees. There is a small lake. Feed everyone and tend to the wounded.”

  Devon looked terrified. Unsure of what to do, he looked from Richard to Van and did nothing. He froze.

  “Move!” Van was tired of waiting and lashed out at the hesitant man-at-arms.

  Devon moved, kicking his horse into action. The steed lurched forward, running headlong and encouraging the others to move along with him. Soon she and Richard were alone in the courtyard.

  “He was afraid he was taking my place.” Richard smiled, but Van did not respond. They walked across the yard.

  Van pushed against the door. Nothing. The girl apparently had not gone to Patricia. Nay, she had bolted the latch. Van pounded a gloved fist heavily on the door. “Open this door, you insolent little wench, or I will break it down.”

  The door swung open. The small blue eyed girl stood holding a pitchfork out before her. Van raised one black brow, in a mix of annoyance and amusement, and took a quick step forward. The tines of the implement raked across her thick armored breast plate and she grimaced as the fork screeched along the heavy metal.

  The girl winced as the impact shook her.

  “I like my women with some spirit.” Van grasped the handle of the fork and ripped it from the girl’s dainty hands, pulling her into a tight one-armed bear hug.

  She stared deeply into Van’s eyes before fainting. Van stood there, just holding her limp body.

  “Is she all right, my lord?” Richard stepped to the side as Van tossed the pitchfork into the courtyard. He laughed when she snorted in disgust.

  “Do you want me to take her?”

  Van glanced at the short, fat balding man who stood off to the side of the doorway.

  Paul Burgess shifted nervously as he quickly added, “I told her it was all right if you came in. She would not listen.”

  She flung the girl over an armor-covered shoulder like a sack of grain. “Nay, I got her. Where is my mother?”

  Paul led them through the house.

  Van paused in the doorway to her mother’s room. Her breath caught in her throat to see how frail her mother had become. She had been so full of life just a few months ago.

  “Van, what did you do to that poor girl? Lay her on her pallet.” Her mother’s quiet whisper resounded loudly in the silent room.

  Van took a deep shaky breath and crossed the room. The girl’s head fell to the side when Van dropped her roughly onto a pallet that was laid out in the corner of the small room. Her long blonde hair spilled over her face hiding her pretty features.

  “Why did you not get in touch with me earlier?” Van asked gruffly and turned back to her mother. “I would have come sooner.”

  “Who is this?” Patricia completely ignored Van’s question as she looked at Richard. “You have never brought one of your warriors here before.”

  “Richard Devenroe, my first in command. Richard, this is my mother, Patricia.”

  After the introduction Patricia added, “I should have liked you to come visit me while I was well. You have the look of a man who could give a woman great pleasure. It has been a long time. A good rutting could have done me some good.” Her breathless words shocked Van.

  “Mother!” Van’s voice cracked in surprise.

  Dr. Burgess looked up. “Forgive her. She has been prone to saying strange things of late. I believe the high fever is...” Paul drew a deep shaky breath. “Well, it is confusing her. I try to just ignore the odd things she says.”

  Van opened her mouth to respond but Patricia interrupted. “Oh, posh. I may not live through the night. If I cannot be impertinent now, there will never be a time I can.” Her skin was sallow, thick black circles stood out under her eyes, and her limbs trembled with every breath.

  She looked so frail and helpless. Van’s heart felt like a great warrior had it in his fist and was trying to drag it forcibly out through her throat.

  Much to her amazement and Patricia’s apparent delight Richard walked across the small room to her side. Pulling off his glove, he grasped her hand, pressing it to his lips.

  Dr. Burgess smiled weakly, but it faded quickly from his trembling lips. Van knew he loved her mother and that this must be very hard on him. Paul had been with Patricia since Van was born according to the stories they told. Her death would be devastating to the man. He not only loved her, he worshiped her.

  Richard remained bent with her frail hand in his massive warrior’s paw. “My dear, it would have been my great pleasure to rut with you. I still would not mind if I did not think it would push you over the edge.”

  With a racking cough that brought Van to her side, she laughed. “Oh, but what a way to go.” She took in a deep gurgling breath and coughed again.

  Van pulled Richard away from her side with a look of reprimand. “All right, mother. That is too much. I don’t think I can handle any more of that. Nay, let us just talk.”

  Van’s shaking hands stopped midway to taking off the black helm when Patricia blurted out. “Your father c
ame to see me.”

  “What?” Van’s eyes jerked to her mother. As a child Van had shuddered at the mere mention of her father. That fear had driven her to practice obsessively with a sword and dagger in order to protect herself and her mother. As her skills increased the fear slowly ebbed and, in its place, anger took seed.

  “He wants to see you. I told him we would send him a message when you arrived. I agreed to send you to him.” Patricia struggled with another deep gurgling breath.

  Van blamed her father for putting her mother in this position. The hairs tingled on the back of her neck and her stomach twisted and cramped as the anger blossomed within her, sending its deadly shoots into her every nerve.

  “He has arranged a marriage for you.”

  “Mother, please. You cannot be serious. You expect me to go back to my father? You expect me to be married?” Van’s breath became shallow and nervous tension threatened to tear apart all her well-practiced control. Van’s eyes darted nervously from Patricia to Dr. Paul. “Paul, tell me she is...confused now.”

  “No. I am afraid not.”

  Van felt out of control. The swirling emotions were getting harder to ignore. She concentrated on the anger because it was the easiest. It was not weak. Fear and pain were useless and weak. She refused to allow herself to feel those emotions.

  Van looked down. She was still in full battle garb and the chain mail hauberk glinted in the sun coming through the window of the small room. Most of the blood had been washed away at the small stream where they had rested their mounts in the frantic rush to get to her mother’s side, but it was still apparent. Van rubbed at the large blood stain and tried to regain her composure.

  Patricia Fordella smiled and whispered so low that Van had to drop down beside her bed to hear her. “This is my last wish. I want you to marry. I want grandchildren.” She coughed deeply, a thick wet sound as breath wheezed in and out of her lungs. “I may never get to see them, but I want them.”

  Van’s mother slipped farther away with each labored breath. “Your father has changed. He now has two sons and he wants to make up for the past. Please, love. Let your mother die happy. Promise me.” Her voice was a bare wisp. Her eyes closed.

  “Yes, Mother,” Van answered reluctantly through gritted teeth. Patricia’s voice became nothing more than soft breath on Van’s cheek. The words were more felt than heard as she leaned in close to her overly-warm face.

  “Thank you. I love you...” Van strained to hear her fading words. Patricia sighed. “You will make a good wife, a good mother.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Van watched helplessly as her mother’s eyes drifted shut. The hard metal of her protective chest plate did nothing to stop the pain that invaded her heart as she pulled the limp, frail body against her. Tears stinging her eyes, she felt for the breath that no longer filled her mother’s sickened lungs. She held the lifeless body tightly to her and took a slow deep breath against her mother’s hair.

  The sweet smell of roses that had always surrounded her mother had been replaced by the pungent aroma of sickness. Van had always loved the smell of her mother. It had made her feel like she was home the way nothing else ever had. The chest plate suddenly seemed too tight and much too heavy.

  Van trembled. She could feel the hot knot of tears swelling, but refused to allow their escape. She took shallow, gulping breaths around the lump that had lodged in her throat and with each labored breath she shoved her tears away.

  She pushed away the pain, burying it deep inside, where she had hidden her feelings ever since she was little.

  Dr. Burgess gave her a gentle shake. “Van...”

  Van couldn’t respond. She was not in control and her breathing was still labored. She did not trust herself to speak.

  “Van.” He gave a more urgent shake. “Van, let me see to her.”

  Vanessa Fordella, who thought of herself as Sir Burgess, The Dark Knight, Van—but never Vanessa—gently laid her mother down onto the bed. Tears swam in her eyes blurring her vision, but she refused to release them. Her heart still thudded within the tightness of her chest, but her breathing was calm and her armor no longer threatened to crush her to her knees.

  Richard grasped her arm. “Van...come. Let the doctor see her.” She didn’t resist as he pulled her away from the bed. He stood beside Van for only a moment before laying a comforting arm across her shoulders.

  Van leaned into him, allowing the heavy arm to give her strength. The deep throbbing pain in her chest ebbed a little at a time until all that was left was a controllable ache.

  Van watched as Dr. Burgess felt Patricia’s neck for a pulse before gently covering her, head and all. He bowed his head and silent tears fell, staining the white sheet.

  Taking a deep breath that shuddered through his wide frame, he turned to Van. Pain swirled in his aging face and she struggled to remember when he had gotten so old. Her mother’s illness had taken its toll on him.

  “Do you want me to take her?” Dr. Burgess asked pointing to the small girl on the pallet, her long blonde hair still hiding her face. She hadn’t made even a sound.

  Van’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she watched the motionless girl. It was a long time for someone to stay unconscious from passing out. Too long, she thought.

  “Nay, I’ve got her.” Van had to do something, anything to keep her mind off the loss of not only her mother, but also the loss of the man who stood loyally by her side.

  Van glanced at Richard’s concerned face and sighed. She didn’t want to lose him, but she knew there was no choice.

  If it had only been her mother’s wish that she marry, she would have stood her ground and refused, but it was more than that. Van had known for some time that she would not be able to portray a man much longer.

  She should have left long ago, but had not been able to bring herself to do so.

  Richard’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She looked away from him as a sharp pain stung deep in her chest. She could not picture her life without her men.

  The tears she had been fighting surged like a swollen river on the verge of breaking loose from the confining banks of her self-control. Reluctant to feel Richard’s heavy arm slip from her shoulders, she nonetheless stepped away. She knew it was time.

  Dr. Burgess stepped toward her. He was one, of only two people, to know who Van really was. He had played the biggest role in making sure everyone believed she was a little boy.

  “Van,” Dr. Burgess said gently. “It is not good to hold everything in, let it out. Keeping things locked inside will just cause a breakdown. Even a man has to let go, to show feelings sometimes.”

  Giving him a weak smile, she said, “I have too much to do to break down. Perhaps later. For now, I need to get a message to my father. Tell him I am ready. I am assuming you know where to send it?”

  “Aye, I know how to get in touch with him. It will take a couple of days to get to his estates, then a couple of days for your father’s men to get here. So if all goes well you will have four or five days before they come for you.”

  “Good, take care of it and take care of Mother’s arrangements.”

  Dr. Burgess walked out of the room with one last tearful look from the doorway. Van watched till he was gone then turned her now dry eyes to Richard.

  This would be the hardest thing she had ever had to face and she didn’t know if she could manage it. She looked at him and steeled her heart the best she could. It was best to just get it over with, like pulling an arrow from your arm—the quicker the better.

  “I need you to take the men. Find a Lord who will take you in. You are now in charge, but you will still need a place to stay.” She ignored the worried look on her friend’s face, mostly because she could not deal with the guilt of leaving her men. “Winter is coming on and with Eolian out there, joining forces with someone will be a good thing.”

  “You knew that you would not be coming with me before we left the camp.” Richard said slowly. “That was what that spe
ech was about.”

  Van felt Richard’s eyes bore into her. “I have to take care of this with my father.” She heard the soft cracking in her voice and prayed that Richard did not.

  Richard heard the pain in Van’s voice and wanted to offer him comfort, but knew the proud young man would not accept it. He shook his head and tried to smile. It felt wrong so he let it drop away. “You will be careful. Are you certain you do not want us with you?”

  Van straightened his shoulders almost defiantly. “Nay, I am not a scared boy anymore, not like I once was. I can take care of myself.”

  Richard had no doubts that Van could indeed take care of himself, but he still did not want to see him go. He had spent many years with the boy, first at the castle, then when Van had served under him as squire, and finally as men-at-arms when Van had received the honor of knighthood.

  They had spent endless nights talking of anything and everything. He had grown to love the stubborn boy and still loved the arrogant man.

  He grasped Van’s arm. It was not the embrace that his liege needed, but he knew it was all the support that Van would accept.

  Van surprised him when he reached up and grasped his wrist with a weak smile. Gratitude shone in the normally emotionless eyes. Richard thought of the last time he had seen that look and was suddenly no longer in the warm and cozy cottage as memories of the past swept him away...

  ***

  Wind howled around Richard and the rain pelted down at him as he sat at his guard post. He pulled the thick cloak up around his head and cursed the awful night. Movement to his right brought him lurching to his feet and drawing his broadsword. The rain and cold was forgotten as he prepared himself for a confrontation.