A Sense of Duty - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 4)

by Shea,Lisa

  The tall man made a move with his hand, and one of his fellows ran into the woods, returning in a moment with three horses. “Let us escort you, then. It is the least we can do to atone for our mistake.”

  Constance waited until Ralph was fully mounted, then climbed easily onto her own horse, wheeling it around. “We do not need your help.”

  The mercenary climbed onto his steed and pulled in alongside Ralph. “Yet we will offer it, just the same. I believe you are going to the keep at North Sunderland?”

  Constance blushed and looked away. She knew her gender had been given away immediately when she called out for Ralph, but she had hoped to keep her full identity a secret. Once the others found out …

  The mercenary’s voice came again, low and rough. “Your secret is safe with us, My Lady,” he offered quietly. “Do not fear for that.”

  Constance glanced up at him in gratitude. She had not expected this gift, and nodded in appreciation.

  The mercenary turned his gaze immediately, and rode the rest of the trip with them in silence. The men drew off to one side as Constance and Ralph approached the main keep. Constance glanced back after a few steps, and the trio was gone, melted into the trees.

  She knew she should be angry with them for harming Ralph, and for interfering with her evening. But somehow she felt reassured that they were on the guard, helping to keep a watchful eye over her friends. There was something else, another feeling … something elusive. She could not put her finger on it, no matter how hard she tried.

  Chapter 15

  Constance dressed quickly as soon as she awoke, heading downstairs, waving absently at her relatives as she passed through the main hall. In only a few moments she had moved into the quiet of the guard barracks. Long bunks stretched out on either wall, with a chest at the side of each bed. There was little adornment in the room; everything was tidy and neat. Most of the guards were out at work or breakfast; only a few men lay curled up under their blankets, sound asleep.

  Constance moved toward the back of the room where a pair of men sat comfortably on one of the beds, talking quietly. They looked up at her approach, and she realized in surprise that Gabriel had come to speak with Ralph.

  Gabriel was staring at her with a new look in his eyes. She found herself caught in his gaze as she walked up to join them. What was going on in his head? There was curiosity there, but also … the feeling clicked in her mind. It was pride, admiration. She had seen him look this way once when one of the keep’s young squires had defeated him in mock combat. A shiver of delight moved through her, and she found she could not look away.

  The question burst from her before she gave it thought. “What are you doing here?” She realized at once that she sounded brash, almost rude. She quickly amended more gently, “You seem quite comfortable with Ralph; had you met before this week?”

  Gabriel’s smile was warm. “Ralph and I have a long history,” he responded easily. “We served together for many years in the Crusades, when I was young.” He looked fondly at his friend. “Ralph saved my life once or twice, and taught me a great deal about life.”

  Constance turned to look at Ralph with curiosity. “You never told me you knew anyone from the area during your time in Jerusalem,” she stated, intrigued.

  Ralph looked uncomfortable, and Constance flushed. It occurred to her suddenly that Ralph probably kept this knowledge from her in order not to upset her with reminders of her past; this was hardly a topic she wanted to get into in front of Gabriel. At a loss for words, she sat down on Ralph’s other side, inspecting the injury on his head.

  “How is the lump doing?” she asked, probing at his skull gently with her fingers, anything to change the subject. “Tender, I assume?”

  Ralph winced as she touched him, but his voice was even. “No worse than an average day on the practice field,” he responded. “I will heal.”

  Constance waited for Gabriel to ask how the wound had been acquired, but to her surprise he did not speak. Perhaps he was used to the daily bumps and bruises of guard life from his years as a soldier.

  She thought back to the previous night’s activities, to the encounter with the Angelus. She wanted to ask Ralph more about the organization, to find out what he knew of them, but she would not broach that topic with others nearby. It would have to wait until later.

  Satisfied that the wound was not serious, she stood again. She looked down fondly at the man who had so valiantly defended her from harm. “I am sure you will be as good as new in a few days,” she affirmed. “Please let me know if you feel faint or dizzy in the next few days. You can never tell with head wounds.”

  “I know the drill,” he agreed readily. “I will be sure to turn myself in if things seem to be getting worse.”

  Constance turned back toward Gabriel, and once again she was caught by his eyes. She felt as if he was looking into her soul, was approving all he saw with heartfelt admiration. It was an intimate look, one which warmed her from head to toe. She felt the power in the connection, and the danger. With an effort she wrenched herself from his gaze.

  “Until later,” she called, turning quickly and heading back into the main hall.

  Constance played a dance with Gabriel for the next few hours. If he came into a room, she found a reason to leave it. If he joined them for lunch, she took a snack off to eat with the children, offering to entertain them with stories. Barnard kept a close eye on her, but she deliberately gave him no reason to become upset, not by a movement, glance, or word.

  Her efforts began to pay off. Slowly Barnard lost his jealous glare and settled into a surly calm. As she gathered up the youngsters for some time outside, she left him sitting back in the main hall, talking politics at length with Charles.

  The late afternoon sun was drifting into the shadows of evening as Constance sat out in the herb garden playing with the four children. They were weaving together chains of daisies, draping each other with garlands of flowers. Constance relaxed in the warm sun, listening to the gentle drone of a nearby bumblebee.

  Looking up, she was captivated by the tracery of clouds floating languidly across the sky. They were like wisps of smoke, curls and swirls in the deep blue canopy. The thin loops glimmered in the sunshine …

  She sat up suddenly, awareness washing over her. The tracery on the helmet of the leader, that night at the church. It was the same as the man who had rescued her from the prison cell. It was undoubtedly why he had seemed so familiar, in his movements, his actions.

  Was he the leader of the Angelus? Her memories of the rescue were so fragmented that she struggled to remember. The other men had not spoken, there had been no commands given. But the way they moved, the way they acted, seemed to indicate deference.

  Even the night at the church, there had been nothing stated, but it had been clear to her from the start who was in charge. Her mind was brought again to the idea that the Angelus were actively protecting the poor, not simply the interests of the wealthy guild. If so, who was funding their efforts? Surely not the wool merchants.

  Voices bubbled over a nearby hedge, shaking her from her thoughts. Constance looked up to find Gabriel and Gaynor walking slowly together through the sunshine, Gaynor’s reddish curls bouncing gently with each step. Constance looked away quickly, hoping they would pass her by, but to her consternation they turned in her direction, Gaynor’s laughter chiming out across the greenery.

  “See, look, I knew I could find her for you.” Her eyes swept the children and their petaled crafts. “Why, how lovely your flowers are! You are quite a talented teacher, Constance!” she called out in delight. “May I have one?”

  Lucia stood primly, her eyes shining with pleasure. “Here, you may have mine, Aunt Gaynor!” she announced, removing her own long garland. Gaynor knelt down at the child’s feet, and Lucia carefully placed the strand over the woman’s shoulders, as if bestowing a medal.

  Gaynor stood again, fluffing her hair out over the flowers. “How does my necklace look, sir
knight?” she asked Gabriel playfully.

  “It is quite fitting,” he responded with a smile. “Flowers suit you nicely.”

  She dropped a curtsy to him, “Why thank you, My Lord,” she flirtatiously responded with a grin. “I shall have to wear fresh flowers for you every day, if it pleases you.”

  Constance turned away, her heart tight at the exchange between the two. She had chosen to remain with Barnard - could she expect Gabriel to vow chastity and spend his life pining for her? Gaynor was beautiful and vivacious. Could Constance jealously doom Gabriel to a life of unrequited longing, never to look at another woman again?

  But could her heart shoulder the burden of seeing the man she loved wooing and marrying another?

  Her heart raggedly ripped down its seams, and she turned away, drawing in a long, deep breath. Getting up from where she sat with the girls, she walked to where the twins were playing, seeking a distraction.

  “Would you two like to start another garland?” she asked the twins, her voice deliberately light.

  Alond’s answer was immediate. “No, we want to ride horsie!” he called out with delight.

  Alain leapt to his feet, his eyes sparkling. “Yes, please!”

  Constance flushed with embarrassment. She did not mind rolling around with the boys when none were watching, but to have Gaynor looking the part of a flower-strewn princess while Gabriel watched her wallow in the mud was more than she could bear right now.

  “Not this afternoon,” she tried to dissuade the pair, hoping against hope that they would not make a fuss. “Maybe later.”

  She heard a low voice over her shoulder. “Let me,” Gabriel offered with a smile in his voice. “I am more dressed for horseplay.”

  She glanced up at him in surprise. “You do not need to -”

  Gabriel had swept up both boys in his arms before she could finish, and somehow managed to get both on his back, trotting around the area to their delighted calls and screams. He lifted one in his arms, somersaulting the boy over his head to land gently in a hay bale. The other soon followed, and in moments the trio was turning and rolling in the hay, the boys attacking Gabriel with glee, Gabriel gently turning and spinning the boys off of him.

  Constance’s mouth fell open in surprise. She had known Gabriel was gentle, and he had always treated children with kindness. Still, to watch them, they were like a pile of puppies tumbling in the sunshine. Her heart glowed with adoration. She could never imagine Barnard playing with their children, connecting so closely with them.

  Alond’s voice rose high. “Ow!” he called out, pressing a hand to his forehead. Constance skipped forward in a moment to where the boy sat holding his hay-strewn head, his face creased with surprise rather than pain. She ran her fingers gently along his scalp, finding a small bump near the back.

  “Just a little boo-boo,” she smiled at him. “Nothing to worry about. What did you hit?”

  She looked around at the other two, equally covered with hay and askew. Alain looked at her with an open grin, shrugging. Gabriel …

  Time froze. His shirt’s laces had loosened, and a silvery pendant had fallen out from within its folds. She knew that pendant, knew every curve of its shape, knew the feel of it beneath her hand, knew the weight of it around her neck. Her hand flew to the spot on her chest where it should have hung, and her mouth dropped open in horror.

  Gabriel was associated with the bandits.

  There was no other reason, no other excuse for him to have that medallion. He knew it was hers. If he had seen it in a shop, or come across it in another way, he would have given it back to her. It was only if he had acquired it surreptitiously … through an association he was not proud of …

  Gabriel looked baffled at her stunned silence, then followed the steady focus of her gaze down to his own chest. His face wrenched in a twisting blend of emotions, then he rolled and sprang to his feet, coming toward her.

  Constance did not wait one more moment. She turned and fled, racing at top speed toward the keep. Her heart pounded as her feet flew along the path and through the door.

  She was sprinting across the main hall when a strong hand grabbed at her wrist, a steadfast arm spun her in a turn to look at him. Gabriel was breathing hard from his chase, his voice coming out in gasps.

  “Con … wait …”

  She jerked her arm away from his grasp as if his touch burned her, her face livid with fury. “You dare! You dare to look me in the face, after what you have done!” Her mind flared back to that day she was dragged into the ruined basement, to the bandit who had fondled the medallion in his grimy hands, who had ripped it painfully from her neck. Her hand went by instinct up to the scar there, running her fingers along its rough edge. Her eyes became cold and steely.

  “Tell me you were never in that bastion of hell,” she hissed, her voice grating. “Tell me you never set foot in that prison.”

  There was a long pause; the hammering of her heart shook her body. Gabriel did not look away, his eyes held the somber truth in them, his breath coming under control. He was clearly searching for words.

  “Connie … I would never lie to you … let me explain …” He reached a hand out to her.

  Constance took a step backwards, shaking. He could not deny the charge. His admission was the knell of doom. All her hopes, all her dreams of Gabriel as her shining hero came shattering down around her in one crystalline moment, in the tortured look in his eyes.

  Tears welled in her eyes. She would not break down, not here in front of him, not after everything that had happened. She turned on her heel, preparing to run up the stairs to her room.

  She nearly slammed into Barnard’s chest, and looked up, startled. His face moved from annoyance to jealous anger in the blink of an eye as he moved his gaze between her face and Gabriel’s.

  “What in God’s teeth is going on here?” he demanded fiercely.

  His gaze swept down to Gabriel’s chest, and his look darkened. He grabbed Constance’s arm hard with his left hand, shaking with rage.

  “That cursed medallion! I ordered you to melt that pendant down years ago! Now I see it on another man’s chest?”

  Gabriel’s eyes went wide with shock as he looked between Barnard and Constance. He looked automatically at Constance’s chest, at where she had secretly worn the pendant until recently.

  Barnard was not finished. His voice rose in pitch, reaching every person who stood in the hall. “You have betrayed me, publicly humiliated me! You cheating slut!” His right hand raised high, aiming at her head. Constance instinctively tried to pull free, to shield herself, but his grip was far too tight. His arm swung …

  It never connected. Gabriel moved with lightning speed into the space between the two, grabbed Barnard’s arm with his own, held it motionless in the air as the two men struggled. Finally Barnard pulled his arm back, his look fierce.

  “You would dare to interfere?” he asked coldly, his breath still coming heavily from the struggle.

  “I would rectify a mistaken impression,” responded Gabriel shortly, his look heated. “The pendant I wear around my neck is my own, given to me by my father on his deathbed, when I was ten. It has not left my neck since that day.”

  Constance swiveled her head in shock to stare at Gabriel. Surely he did not think such a blatant lie -

  Barnard obviously was of the same impression. “You hold your honor lightly, if you would sell it so cheaply,” he challenged in a flat tone.

  Gabriel’s eyes flashed, and his hand dropped to his sword. He took in several deep, steadying breaths, visibly steeling himself to be still. Then he turned and looked straight into Constance’s eyes. His voice was quiet, and yet it held a vast reservoir of emotion.

  “My dragon gazes to the left.”

  Constance lost herself in his gaze, wrapped herself in the comfort of his words, and the tension in her body melted away as dew on a golden spring morning.

  It was true. She had seen her pendant’s image in her mirror so many
times, it looked natural on him. She had never taken off her medallion and gazed at it directly. It was suddenly as clear as day. What she saw was what a mirror would show her – but if she were to hold it in her hands, it was a reverse image. Her dragon had gazed to the right, always to the right, where Gabriel stood ready by her side. And his …

  Barnard was not calmed by this news – if anything, his fury seemed to grow to even greater heights. He rounded on Constance, the veins in his neck standing out in throbbing lines. “You told me you got your medallion at a fair!” he snarled furiously, every muscle in his body shaking with anger.

  “Yes, yes,” she agreed quickly, desperate to defuse the situation, wincing as Barnard’s grip grew even tighter on her arm. “That was long ago; I was barely sixteen! I liked the design, that is all.”

  Her eyes pleaded with him to believe her; her mind flailed for something innocent to prove her case. “The vendor said it was a guardian symbol …”

  Barnard’s face relaxed as he saw the truth in Constance’s eyes. He drew strength from her meek attitude, and gave her a small shake. She watched as his cock-sure attitude boiled back up to the surface. He rounded on Gabriel with a sneer, his anger sliding into arrogance. “So these are guardian dragons? Yours did not seem to have helped your father, did it?”

  Gabriel’s eyes flashed with shock and pain. Constance’s heart dropped at the sight, and her temper roiled. Her emotions were see-sawing wildly, and she could not rein in her words. They rose in a heated shout.

  “At least his parents died making an effort to save their lands. They sacrificed everything for their people. You will not let even one of our best soldiers outside our walls, for fear you might lose power – and our people suffer for it!”

  She shook off Barnard’s grasp, her eyes blazing with fury. “You hired local drunks to accompany me to the nunnery – and when they were slain, you made no effort to rescue me! No attempt at all! While I lay imprisoned in that hell hole! It is only thanks to the Angelus mercenaries that I am even alive!”