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

by Shea,Lisa

“I knew nothing of this!” he swore vehemently. “If what she says is true, then there is a traitor in my home!”

  Constance’s first and only aim was to get Gabriel free. Anything else could come later. If she could get Barnard on her side, if only for a moment …

  “Maybe Barnard is right!” she cried out, her voice carrying to all corners of the courtyard. “There was an item stolen from me when I was captured by the bandits. It was a pewter medallion with a dragon on it. That dragon was facing to the right,” she added. “Gabriel wears a mirror image of that pendant; his faces to the left.”

  Tristan nodded to the guard near Gabriel, and the guard went over and pulled open the tunic at Gabriel’s chest. The soldier drew forth the medallion, laying it on top of Gabriel’s shirt so it would be visible to the crowd.

  Constance’s voice carried clearly across the throng. “Let us see if the bandit boldly stands amongst us. Does any man here carry the partner to that medallion?”

  One by one men pulled open their tunics, proving to the world that they were not involved in the bandit activities. Barnard pulled open his own burgundy tunic with pride, proclaiming his innocence. Constance turned around, her eyes seeking out Frank. His face had gone as white as a sheet, and his hands strayed nervously to his neck. The others on the stand had pulled away from him and were eyeing him with suspicion.

  A hush fell across the crowd as the gathered townsfolk realized what was going on. Tristan’s voice cut across the silence, his order direct.

  “Frank, show us your chest.”

  Frank hesitated, then in one quick movement reached up and yanked the medallion free from his neck, leaving twin stripes of red along the sides of his throat. He held the pendant out, wild eyed, to Barnard, stumbling forward.

  “This was your idea,” he pleaded, his eyes desperate. “You said this execution would go smoothly. You said we would be rich beyond our wildest dreams!” He lurched to a stop before Barnard, grabbing him by his arms. “Even when you wanted me to -”

  He lurched suddenly, his eyes going wide in surprise. A bloody froth bubbled from his mouth. Barnard stepped back, the blade of his dagger drenched in blood. He gave Frank a push, and the man fell backwards against a chair, the medallion falling from his grasp, rolling to the floor.

  Barnard held his bloody blade aloft as if he were a conquering hero. “I have identified the traitor, and I have slain him!” he called out to the crowd. “You are now safe thanks to my brave action!”

  Constance dove for the medallion, her heart flooding with emotion as she knelt on the floor, cradling it again in her hands. It was safe. It was hers again. She would never let it go.

  She rubbed the blood off the face of the dragon with her sleeve. Tenderly, reverently, she tied the leather thongs carefully around her neck, nestling the dragon against the front of her dress as she stood.

  Barnard turned from his victory pose and saw her standing there, her face glowing, the dragon at her chest, the blue embroidered tendrils tracing out along her neckline and hems. He suddenly took in her entire outfit, and his eyes bulged with fury. He spun to stare at Gabriel. Even bound, Gabriel stood as if prepared for hand to hand combat, his head held high, his eyes bright with challenge. His own medallion sparkled in the sun.

  Barnard’s face boiled into the deepest crimson as he realized the sea of onlookers was watching him, judging him.

  He twisted back to face Constance, his body shaking with anger. “You take that damned thing off!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Constance raised her right hand to the medallion, feeling its reassuring weight at her chest, feeling the familiar lines of it, pressing it against her. Her eyes met Gabriel’s, and she smiled with complete certainty.

  “Never.”

  Barnard roared with rage, and Constance drew back a pace in shock, turning as a sea change shook him to the core. Before her eyes his logical, rational mind lost control, and he was drowned in a tsunami of fury. After a staggering, tumultuous moment the ravenous flames of his inner inferno raced throughout his body, becoming his master.

  He moved with a speed she had not thought possible. One minute he was towering over her, his eyes bright with rage, and the next he was holding her from behind, his dagger tight against her neck, his hot breath sending beads of sweat down her throat.

  “I will not lose my trophies to that mob, and I will not lose you to that cur!” he snarled out, all semblance of civility lost. Constance felt as if she had been caught in a frozen tableau. Her brother and Tristan were both motionless, hands midway to their swords. Gabriel and Ralph, balancing on their boxes, had arm muscles taut and swollen as they pulled hard against their restraints.

  Barnard spared a look of annoyance at his fallen right hand man, then turned to face the crowd.

  “I know several of you are here today at Frank’s order; he always told you he was the head of the bandits. This deception is no longer necessary. I am the one who controls the funds, and I decide all shares of the profits. As of today, the rules have changed.”

  He pulled his dagger tightly against Constance’s throat, and a thin line of warm blood trickled down her neck. “Back off,” he growled to the men on the stand. One by one they moved away, giving him the space he demanded.

  “You too,” he snarled at Vera, his eyes dropping meaningfully to the dagger she was easing from her belt. “I have heard about Constance’s little adventures. You go join the others, or your friend here will face the consequences.”

  Vera’s face darkened, but she nodded. She sent a look of strength to Constance before stepping down to stand with Tristan and the men.

  Satisfied, Barnard turned to the mob again. “I will be relocating to Bordeaux,” he called out to the unsavory faces he spotted here and there. “Any man who makes that trip with me will get a full share of the loot. A full share. Those men who are not here, they forfeit their rights. We leave immediately, and we take what we can carry. Who is with me?”

  There was a long moment of hesitation as the crowd looked nervously around, wondering who would answer such a call. Then a burly man pushed back his cloak hood, revealing a head of curly red hair. Constance recognized him, recognized the scar that traced its way down his face. She looked coldly down on him as he pushed his way forward through the shocked throng.

  Mark did not spare a glance for the fallen body at Barnard’s feet. “I will go,” he stated brusquely. He glanced over his shoulder. “Jack, c’mon.”

  A squat man with thick arms came up beside him. Soon another man joined them. After a few minutes there were a dozen men milling in front of the stand.

  Barnard did not wait any further. He dragged Constance sideways from the raised podium, over to the coach waiting to one side. Constance looked around quickly for Gabriel, and met his eyes for a long moment. He still strained against his bonds, and Constance could see that a guard stood nearby, his dagger held at his side, ready to cut the ropes as soon as Barnard was away.

  Constance felt the connection between them as a palpable force. Gabriel had risked his life to descend into the depths of the bandit-held keep to rescue her. She had submitted to the hands of an abusive tyrant in order to keep the hangman’s noose from Gabriel’s neck. She had no doubt that, the moment she was clear of this courtyard, that Gabriel would come for her.

  Gabriel’s eyes shone with love and determination. She knew with absolute certainty that he would track her down, no matter what it took, no matter where Barnard took her. She drew in that strength, a smile almost coming to her lips.

  A harsh pull spun her head. She was jerked down by Barnard, who flung her face first into the coach. He climbed in after her, calling out harshly, “Away, quickly! Make sure you bring my horse!”

  In only a moment the entourage was in motion, moving at faster and faster speeds through the town, and then out to the open road.

  Constance brought a hand up to rub at her neck while Barnard took up ropes and tied shut both doors with sturdy knots. He the
n sat back against the opposite side of the carriage looking at his wife with weary disdain.

  “Oh Constance, I had no idea you could be so troublesome,” he growled finally, glaring at her in disappointment. “Here I thought there was potential for a truce between us.”

  Constance pursed her lips, saying nothing. She was alive, at least, and was being used as a hostage. They would want to keep her alive until they reached the coast. After that, who knew? She would keep her wits about her until then.

  The miles rolled by in furious thunder, and Constance was not surprised when there appeared to be no sign of attack or trouble from pursuers. She imagined they would hold off until the group got to the keep, where they could mount an attack without her being at the center of the fight. After all, the pursuers knew exactly where their quarry was going.

  She brought up the mental image of the Angelus girding up for battle, of them riding in a mounted phalanx to take down the bandits once and for all. Even if she was not saved, the threat would be over. The Angelus would be cheered as heroes. She could hope for nothing more.

  Exhausted and relieved, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall into a deep and troubled sleep.

  Chapter 27

  It was dark when the clatter of cobblestones woke Constance from her twisted dreams. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to remember where she was, what was happening. She knew she had to save Gabriel …

  Barnard twisted her arm hard and pulled her from the carriage. Around her, the bandits were reining in to a stop, the soldiers running to swing closed the main gates and bar them. She saw the word pass quickly about the pursuing troops, saw the guardhouse turn out as all available men moved up to line the walls.

  Then she was being pulled brusquely, dragged to the main entryway, through the quiet hall, then up the back stairs toward her room. Barnard pushed her into her dark bedroom without another word, then the door was pulled shut with a slam. She heard the sound of a heavy bar falling across outside the door. It had never occurred to her that her room could be barred from both sides, but she did not hesitate for one moment. Two could play that game. She ran to her own bar and lowered it quietly into place. That might buy her some time.

  Constance then turned and moved to the window. She peered out into the dark, looking for any sign of movement behind the walls. It was a mix of shadow and substance; she could not be sure what she was seeing. Only the white of a trio of birch trees shone in the moonlight.

  Frustrated, she moved to her fireplace, using the flint and tinder to strike up a small fire. She lit a candle from the small blaze, then brought it to the window, waving it back and forth in a line. If only someone would see …

  There! From the line of trees a single rider rode forth, his helmet in his arm, his blond hair catching the moonlight. Her breath caught as Gabriel gazed up at her. A line of the mounted Angelus moved in behind him. Together they drew their swords and solemnly saluted her, holding for a long moment.

  Constance’s eyes teared, and she put a hand to her chest. They were free. It had all been worth it – they were free, vindicated.

  As she watched, to either side, the force filled gradually with more men, both mounted and on foot. She could pick out the uniforms and garb of guards and townsfolk from the surrounding villages. Her brother was there with many of his best soldiers. Pete and several other innkeepers stood ready with dagger and cudgel. Tristan and Ralph sat on their steeds side by side, their aspect grim.

  A shout went up from the guards on the wall as the force became visible in the moonlight, and the answering roar from Constance’s saviors sent shivers through her spine. There was a long pause, a building of tension that felt as if her heart would burst – and then it was as if a floodgate had been unleashed. The attackers drove forward in a thundering motion, releasing a charge at the front gates.

  The assault was on.

  Constance pulled back from the window, driven into action. She knew she did not have much time. She was here as a hostage, after all, and once Barnard realized he was under siege he would make sure to use her to his best advantage. He would ward the attackers off with the threat of harming her. The bar she had put in place would not hold the door forever.

  She grabbed the blanket off her bed and laid it down next to her heavy dresser. With a great effort she managed to lift one of the dresser legs, sliding the blanket beneath the post. She moved around to each other leg, straining hard to lift the leg even a tiny amount to slide the blanket under. Her heart was hammering after all four legs had been placed, but the task was complete.

  Now that the dresser was on a slick surface, it was at least possible for her to nudge the dresser along toward the door, by throwing all her weight hard against the piece of furniture. She had no doubt that, if she survived this night, her arms and legs would be a mass of bruises. She did not care. She flung herself at the heavy wood again and again until finally it rested in front of the sturdy door.

  Then came the task of pulling the blanket free again. She was utterly exhausted by the time she had gotten all four legs solidly on the floor. She slumped to the floor, leaning back against the dresser.

  THUMP. The bar on the other side of the door fell free, and the door rattled on its hinges. A loud curse sounded from the hallway as Barnard realized what she had done.

  “Constance, open this door right now!” he ordered. “It will only be worse on you if you make me break it down!”

  “Maybe by the time you do your keep will be breached!” shot back Constance hotly, stepping up and away from the dresser.

  There was the sound of running feet, and Constance knew she had only bought herself a few minutes. Still, they could prove crucial. The longer she stayed free, the longer Gabriel and his men could act completely unfettered, breaking their way into Barnard’s keep.

  She dug furiously through her trunks. Her sword was tucked into one; she pulled it out and flung it on the bed. She still wore her dagger at her belt, and there was no need to fetch the one safely beneath her pillow.

  A loud thud sounded at the door. A fight was out of the question. Could she last more than ten seconds against a cadre of men who faced hanging? There had to be another way. She looked about in a panic.

  Her eyes lit on the blanket heaped on the floor. There was another loud thud at the door. She sat down and began quickly tying knots in the blanket, every foot or so. She worked her way down its length, working it into a long rope. When she reached the end of it, she grabbed the top sheet off the bed and tied it on. Then came the lower sheet. The thumps against the door grew louder, steadier. She heard a crack as one of the hinges began to give way.

  Her fingers moving furiously, she finished knotting the third length and then ran over behind the bed. With all her strength she shoved the bed over toward the window, the grating of the bed legs on the floor matching the low grinding as the dresser blocking the door was slowly, inexorably pushed back. She raced to the bed leg nearest the window and tied the sheet firmly around its base. Then she flung the shutters wide and tossed the length out. The rope went down to six feet above the ground. She gave one last look as a pair of guards ran just below her improvised ladder. Yes, it did seem doable.

  The door gave one last groan, and she grabbed her sword, dropping to the floor, rolling quickly beneath the bed, tucking herself in the back corner by the wall. There was the sound of wood cracking, and the door flung hard against the far wall, splinters and metal pieces flying everywhere. Four sets of heavy feet burst into the room, and then someone was running to the window, cursing loudly.

  “Get her!” he screamed in the night at his guards, and then the men were turning, running from the room, thundering down the stairs. The room was left in sudden silence, the curtains fluttering in with the summer breeze.

  Constance remained pinned against the back wall, breathing heavily, uncertain that her ruse had really worked. If she was able to distract Barnard’s guards and thieves with a fruitless search for her, all the better for
the Angelus. Even so, she did need to get somewhere safe. Safe but visible, so that Gabriel would know she was all right. Otherwise he might be hesitant to attack an area, not knowing if she might be hurt.

  The roof. If she could get up there, she could remain hidden, only showing herself when she was sure Gabriel was looking. That would give him the reassurance of knowing she was unharmed. Barnard would never think to look for her up there, and if he did find her, she was no worse off than she had been before.

  She made her way warily out from beneath the bed, bringing her sword with her. She stepped carefully over the detritus and peered out through the open doorway. The hallway was abandoned, and she could hear no noise from below her in the keep itself. All shouts seemed to be centered at the front courtyard. She quickly made her way along the hall to the attic stairs, then up the rickety wood slats to the roof. In a moment she had closed the outer door behind her. There was no lock, nothing at all on this side of the door with which to wedge it closed.

  She made her way carefully through the dust to the front of the building, looking over the low wall which lined the three-story drop. She could see that the main gate had been broken open, but that the Angelus stood arrayed along the outer side of the door, facing perhaps twenty guards and bandits. At the center of the defensive line stood Barnard, holding a cloaked figure over his shoulder. Mark was at his side, laughing at the reticence of the invaders to move.

  Barnard gave a shake to the figure in his arms. “Not one more step,” he called out in warning. “Drop your weapons, or she dies!”

  Constance looked more closely at the face hanging over Barnard’s back. Which of the maids would he have risked in such a dangerous gambit? With a surprised gasp she realized the figure was made of straw! Several bits of hay stuck out from the opening of the hood which pointed back at the keep.

  “Gabriel!” screamed Constance at the top of her lungs. She climbed onto the low wall, waving her hands in the air. “Gabriel! That woman is made of straw! I am up here!”