by Gail Link
Rolf awoke from the powerful dream, a fine sheen of perspiration dewing his flesh, his breathing ragged.
Angrily he threw back the fur, and leaped from the bed. He walked to the window. His eyes scanned the horizon, his nostrils breathing the calming scent of the ocean. The chill of the spring night formed goose bumps on his naked skin. He ignored them. The wind blew his hair about his shoulders and into his eyes. He raked it back with an impatient hand.
Crossing the room, Rolf poured himself a large measure of wine from an amber bottle. He drank quickly, feeling its warmth hit his throat. Rolf mused that Armand would label him a peasant if he could see him now. But he needed the wine to wipe her face from his mind, her charms from his dreams. Several glasses later the memory of her body, warm and willing, promising delight, was still with him.
Suddenly the delicate Venetian glass held tightly in his hand shattered. "Christ," Rolf swore. He grabbed the nearby ewer and, splashing the contents into the small bowl, plunged his hand into the icy water. He reached for a scrap of linen and wound it around his bleeding hand.
Dawn was another hour away by his reckoning. And his empty bed held no warmth for him.
Perhaps he could interest Armand in an early ride on the beach, or arrange for the falcons to be brought out so they could do some hawking. He must do something, he decided. His body demanded release from the coils of tension that were holding him prisoner.
Chapter 9
What was she to do?
Clare's mood was dark, as she paced back and forth across her chamber, long braids swinging to and fro.
The question plagued her. Indeed, what was she to do? Something. Anything. She must think.
Think. 'Twas all she had been doing these past few days. Activity was her byword, not this useless pacing. She was forbidden to leave the castle unescorted. She, who loved her freedom, was a virtual prisoner, aching to be allowed some form of respite from the watchful eyes, ever vigilant.
The window seat of stone claimed her wandering body. Drawing her knees up, she rested her chin upon them, staring through the window to the green land that stretched out below. Instead of people intent on their proscribed duties, all she could envision was a man well over average height, with thick, shaggy hair as dark, she fancied, as the depths of hell; a strong, resolute jaw; slanting cat's eyes under black brows, eyes almost too dominant for his long face. Protest all she wished, there was no disputing the effect those eyes had on her. It was as if he'd seen into her soul, scorching a trail so indelible as to never be forgotten.
She was resolved to be strong, to not allow these melancholy shifts of mood to sway her away from what she must do. Action. She needed to take action again instead of allowing her fate to be ordained by the actions of others.
Leaping from her perch, she knew what she must now do.
A noise from the bailey below halted her momentarily. The cry came from a hunting bird, a black falcon. How she wished she could be hawking with her sisters and her father, to be secure in the knowledge that all was well in her world.
The bird's angry squawk focused her attention on the creature yet again. The hood was being replaced, the bird's magnificent golden eyes temporarily rendered sightless.
A knot formed in her chest. Had she actually likened his eyes to a cat's? No, she realized, they were like those of the falcongolden, sharp, intense.
Angrily, Clare dismissed the strong image of the blending of man and bird. She walked to her small table and sat down. Several sheets of parchment were before her, the quill freshly sharpened, the ink ready. Duty was a demanding task-mistress. If only she didn't have to write this note to her father, informing him of what had transpired these last few days.
She dipped the quill and haltingly began to write the missive she'd put aside for far too long.
When she was finished, Clare sanded the letter. Shaking off the excess, she carefully folded the sheets of parchment, and dripped wax on the outside over the fold. Affixing her private seal to the note, she rose from the chair as her sister entered the room, her usually smiling face pallid, her blue eyes sad.
"Sir John is below, Clare, awaiting both of us." Clare, her face composed, her manner so different from the happy child of less than a week ago, nodded her head. Drawing her arm through her twin's, she hugged Audrey close.
"Is the messenger also below stairs?"
"Aye," Audrey said, her voice showing the strain that she was feeling. "A system has been secured to get the letter to our father as soon as possible. Sir John has arranged it all. Come, let us attend him; perhaps he can give us wise counsel on what to do next."
Her young voice taking on a layer of frost, Clare said, "I wish we had a force of a hundred knights, and that we knew who had the temerity to abduct our sister. I would gladly don armor to ride at the head of such a group to challenge the villain who stole Sybelle from us!"
Audrey, her gentle nature shocked to the core by all that had transpired, received another blow listening to her sister's words. "Oh, Clare, 'tis a jest on your part, isn't it?"
Clare replied, "'Tis no jest I make, Audrey. I would do whatever I could to get our sister back from whoever has her." Determination, as sharp as a dagger's thrust, edged her voice.
"I pray that she is well and will be returned to us soon," Audrey said, frowning slightly at her sister's vehement, warlike pronouncements. "Our priest says a special mass for that purpose each day."
"'Tis all well and good, Audrey," Clare said, "but no mass will get our sister back. That shall be accomplished by action, not words."
Audrey gasped in astonishment. She knew Clare did not share her deep religious feeling; she wasn't aware of her twin's lack of respect for the church. How far apart she and Clare were growing! This time of turmoil was straining their unique bonds, rending the seams of their family.
"'Tis in God's hands, sister. We must not forget that He will listen to us and"
"He helps them that aid themselves, Audrey." Clare recognized that perhaps she was being too harsh on her sister. "Come, Audrey," she said gently. "Let us join the good Sir John and see if he knows what we can do to help Sybelle."
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Downing a large tankard of ale, the grizzled old soldier threw an angry glance at the serving wench who was hovering about him. "God's blood, woman, be gone!"
The shocked maid fled at the harsh command, almost bumping into Audrey and Clare as they entered the Great Hall.
Wiping the foam from his lips with a brush of his hand across his mouth, Sir John Standish stood as the two young women entered the room. Sir John, the Earl of Derran's chief man-at-arms, privy to his lord's business, couldn't dismiss the guilt that ate at his heart. He blamed himself for not being in attendance the night of the wedding feast. Who would have believed that anyone would have the audacity to plan such an attack on the home of Hugh Fitzgerald? Normally a large retinue of men would have been guarding the castle, but the earl's own precipitous plans had changed the number of men left behind. Sir John had ridden with the earl to the boat that took him and the Lady Duvessa across the Irish Sea, and had seen them both safely to the shores of Cornwall, before returning to Ireland as soon as he was able.
He mulled over the events in his mind; his soldier's experience told him that there was something odd about this abduction. Suspicions crowded his thoughts. An informer. Years of following his hunches when life and limb depended on them came to the fore. He absently fingered the dagger at his side.
"Good health to you both," he said in his booming voice, when he saw the twins.
Audrey responded, "And to you, Sir John."
"What news have you, Sir John?" Clare strove for command in her tone.
"My messenger waits for your letter, Lady Clare." At Sir John's signal, a youth who wore the livery of the Earl of Derran stepped forward to take the dispatch. He placed it carefully into a leather pouch which also bore Derran's own badge, the swan and the bear. "A route has b
een devised that will ensure this gets to your father as quickly as possible." He knew what he had to say next would be harder on the twins because of the closeness they had for their elder sister. ''You must both make arrangements to be gone from this place soon. We will take care, but we must get both of you to the safety of my lord's estates in England."
"Without Sybelle?" Clare asked.
"You can do nothing here, my lady. The safety of you and your sister must be seen to, and that will be assured only when you are within the security of your father's stronghold."
"We were within the walls of a secure household here, Sir John," reminded Clare. "That proved to be of no use."
His face was creased with the cares of his office. Shame hung heavy about his shoulders. "I failed your sister, my lady. I cannot allow myself to fail you. We must be gone. Please see to your women; gather what you need for the journey."
Clare saw the look of grief on the older man's face and realized just how much he felt responsible for what happened at the castle. She placed her hand on his arm, knowing that if it were possible, Sir John would have gladly given his life for Sybelle, and for them. She accepted that his duty to her father would be to see to the safety of his remaining children.
Audrey observed the changing emotions on Clare's face. She could tell that for Clare to leave, to abandon Ireland and Sybelle, would be admitting defeat. However, they all knew that if they remained, whoever had abducted their sister might make an attempt on them. There was wisdom in Sir John's words. They must return to England and to their father, seek the safety that he could ensure with his formidable presence.
Audrey's voice was the touch of calmness needed. "We shall be ready to leave at first light, Sir John. Have you word of where our father is?"
"He was for London, and then for Graywood, my lady."
Clare was about to speak when a disturbance halted her.
"Your pardon, Sir John, my ladies," said a young squire, who was dragging a small man into the Hall. "'Twould appear this fellow has some information as to the disappearance of the Lady Sybelle."
Instantly Sir John's hand returned to the small dagger, indicating with a wave of his hand that the person was to be brought to the dais.
Clare recognized him as a tenant farmer on the estate. He was indeed small, less than average height, greasy hair hanging lankly across his forehead, smelling of the earth and stale drink.
He made a sort of bowing motion with his head, showing broken yellow teeth as he smiled.
"You have knowledge that may assist us?" Sir John asked, wishing to remove this person as quickly as possible from the Great Hall. He had the stealthy look of a weasel, Sir John reckoned as he observed the way the man's eyes took in the comforts of the Hall.
"Speak!" Sir John bellowed.
"Forgive me, my lord," the man said in a fawning tone.
Sir John did not seek to correct him on his use of the title, so intent was he on hearing if the man had any pertinent information. He again said harshly, "Speak."
"I saw riders the night that my Lady Sybelle was lost."
"Riders?" said Clare and Sir John in unison. Audrey clutched Clare's hand in hope.
"Aye," he said.
"What is your name?" demanded Sir John.
"Emond."
"Do you know whence came the raiders, Emond?"
"They were Irish, my lord."
"Sir John, you fool," he grumbled. "What do you mean, Irish?"
"They wasn't Norman, sir. No, they was from a ways away, as far as I could tell. None here dress like that anymore, nor do they speak the old tongue."
"Gaelic?"
"Aye, mySir John."
"Where did you see them?"
"They rode across the fieldstrampling crops, they did. My woman works in the kitchens. Glad of the work she be, also, as we've five mouths to feed."
"Get to the point, man," Sir John snapped.
"I was walking to the castle here to fetch her after the wedding festival, the moon being bright, and I saw several riders, looking like demons from Hell, talking the old language, carrying something in a fur. I hid till I seen them go."
"Did you see any faces?"
"Just the man who was in the lead. A devil to be sure," he said, crossing himself as he uttered the words.
"Would you recognize him again?"
"Aye, that I could, Sir John."
"What good is that, Sir John?" Clare asked, "if we do not have a name to put to the face?"
"I don't know who they was, my lady, but I would recognize the man again if I was to see him. Riding a devil-gray horse, and wearing the clothes of a wolf."
"Clothes of a wolf?" Sir John asked, curiosity aroused.
"Aye. He had on a cloak made of wolf skins, and when I saw him pass, he was wearing a gold band about his wrist. It had the head of a wolf on it."
Sir John's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You certainly saw quite a lot from your hiding place."
"I told you, the moon was full. They came riding by. When I saw they weren't men from here, I hid behind a tree so's they couldn't see me."
Sir John's face creased into worry lines as he thought about Emond's words.
Clare snapped her fingers. "Audrey, do you recall the last time we shared a meal with Lady Duvessa, that she was working on a tapestry?"
Audrey nodded her head.
"Do you remember the design she was using? 'Twas a wolf's head, was it not?"
"Aye. She said it was for her cousin's birthday."
Sir John Standish sighed deeply, his features hardening in recognition of what this meant. "The Wolf of Killroone has your sister," he said wearily. "Sweet Jesu, your father never considered. . . . "
"What are you talking about, Sir John?" inquired Clare. "What has my father to do with this?"
"The Earl of Killroone is also known as the Wolf, my lady. 'Tis his emblem, the device that he uses, as did others of his family."
"What has this to do with Sybelle and the Lady Duvessa?"
Ignoring his lady's question, Sir John demanded roughly of Emond, "Why did you not come forward sooner?"
"I didn't know the Lady Sybelle was gone. My wife was ill following that night. Whilst in the village yesterday I heard some people talking, asking questions. I did not know that I could be of any help."
"Get him out of here, Longford."
"Aye," the younger man said, pulling the man along, who struggled at this treatment.
"Is there a reward for this information?"
Sir John's suspicions were further aroused at the tone of the man's voice. His dark brown eyes narrowed as he took stock of the man in front of him. "One moment, please," he said, signaling for Longford to approach him. Removing a few coins of silver from the pouch at his waist, Sir John handed them to Longford and whispered something to him, his eyes never leaving Emond.
Longford acknowledged Sir John's words with a swift nod of his blond head, then escorted the man called Emond from the room as Emond gleefully grabbed for the silver coins.
Clare, watching the scene with interest, decided that now was the time to press her question once again. "Sir John, would you please answer my question now. What has this Wolf of Killroone to do with my sister, Lady Duvessa, and my father? Why would this person abduct Sybelle?"
"This is for your father, the earl, to answer, my lady."
"You cannot tell us, Sir John?" Audrey asked.
"He won't tell us, sister, that is the difference," Clare stated, her blue eyes dark with the rising fury that she felt. "Will you send a party of men to this lord Wolf to retrieve Sybelle?"
"No, my lady. I will continue as before."
Anger bubbled to the surface as Clare said rashly, "You fear this Irish lord?"
Sadly, his voice betraying the hurt he felt at both the situation and such words from a girl he loved as his own child, Sir John stated, "I fear no one save God, and perhaps your father, my Lady Clare. If 'twould do any good I would gladly sacrifice my life for that of your s
ister. 'Twill be of no use. I had my fears when you described the man who entered your sister's chambers. Now it is confirmed. My Lord Derran must be informed; you both must be protected. Kiliroone has the tool to strike at your father, but I do not trust that he would not attempt to strengthen his hold at any time by taking you ladies prisoner if he felt 'twould aid his cause.
"Do you think that I would not like to ride to his keep and get your sister? An assault would not free her, nor would mortal combat, I fear."
"Will he hurt Sybelle?" Audrey asked, her hand gripping Clare's even tighter. "Or do you fear that perhaps she has alrady been lost to us?"
Clare's eyes darkened in anger and frustration. "No!" she said loudly, denying her sister's fears.
"Had he wanted to slay her, she would have been left for dead here. No," Sir John said, his voice betraying the real horror that he felt. "I do believe that the earl is holding her hostage for a purpose."
"And what could that be?" Clare demanded.
"That shall be for my Lord Derran to inform you if it is his wish."
Clare said, "You know something. Why do you refuse to tell us?"
"I took an oath to your father, my lady. I must not reveal his private business."
"Come. We must make ready to leave."
"You do not think that money can persuade the Earl of Killroone to free our sister?" Audrey asked hopefully.
"No. If you were to send him jewels and gold it would be for naught. When my lord explains to you both, then you will know why it is not for money that a man such as the earl would risk his life."
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Later, all in Castle Derran embraced sleep, the guards having been doubled around the estate, with instructions from Sir John to keep a close watch. An extra pair of men were stationed outside the twins' door.