Unfortunately, Ursula did not stop there.
‘Come sit by Sabina,’ she urged. ‘I have found a cushion to make the chair more comfortable.’ Walking to the seat next to Sabina’s, Ursula patted the thin pillow invitingly, and Sabina cringed.
Lord de Burgh shook his head, moving past the chair that had belonged to her father to the long bench on the side of the table. No amount of cajoling could entice him to take the seat that stood beside her own, one of a pair intended for the master and mistress of the hall. And when Sabina saw a muscle leap in his jaw, she was moved to action.
‘Lord de Burgh is our guest, Ursula, and may sit wherever he likes,’ she said in a tone that put a stop to her attendant’s nonsense.
Sabina was going to have to speak to the woman about what could only be interpreted as increasingly clumsy efforts at matchmaking. At first Sabina had let it go because she was glad to see Ursula acting like her old self, a giddier version of the frightened creature her attendant had become. But it had gone too far and for too long. Not only did all that flittering and flirting make Sabina uncomfortable, but Lord de Burgh’s expression became even more shuttered.
For Ursula could not be more misguided. During the week since his arrival Reynold de Burgh had been unfailingly polite, but cool and distant. He showed no interest in Sabina whatsoever, and why should he? He might be married or pledged to a high-born lady with more riches and lands than Sabina could imagine. He was doing a duty here, nothing else, and obviously longed to return to his home and his life, where he was not thrust into awkward situations by a foolish old woman.
Trying to ignore her own embarrassment, Sabina cleared her throat again. ‘Good morning, my lord,’ she said. ‘Will you break your fast?’ Although she gestured toward the table, Sabina knew there was little there to tempt him. He was probably used to fine dishes, a variety of meats and exotic spices that Sexton Hall could not have offered in the best of times. Now, they were living off what little stores were left.
‘Just some ale, perhaps,’ he said, with an eye to the limited provisions, and Sabina flushed. Yesterday, their guest had scouted the area around the village and returned with some hares for their dinner.
‘You must eat more, to keep up your strength, my lord,’ Ursula said, with a sly look.
Sabina sent her attendant a quelling glance. Was the woman intent upon driving him away? His expression was not encouraging, and Sabina tried to think of a way to divert him, to change his grim features, to prevent him from saying something she did not want to hear.
‘Adele, please bring some cheese and ale. No, is there any wine?’ Sabina asked, as Urban and Alec entered the hall, Peregrine the squire not far behind.
Lord de Burgh shook his head, and Sabina’s heart sank as he gazed directly at her. ‘Mistress Sexton, I need to speak with you.’
Sabina’s pulse began pounding even as a protest rose to her lips. But she swallowed it and met his gaze, for he deserved no less. ‘Yes, my lord, what is it?’
Before he could answer, Ursula spoke, drawing Sabina’s attention. ‘Come, Urban, I have need of you,’ the older woman said, motioning to her father’s man as if to lead him away. Sabina could only eye her attendant askance. Did Ursula think Lord de Burgh wanted private speech of a personal nature? Any fool could see he had grown weary of his task. This was no silly conjured romance, but serious business, for he held their very survival in his hands.
‘Stay,’ Sabina said. Turning back to Lord de Burgh, she nodded, though she dreaded what he would say.
‘Mistress Sexton, my squire and I have been through the entire village and all along the perimeter, and we can find no evidence of any beast, let alone something the size of a dragon.’
There it was, that which she did not want to hear, and Sabina had no answer for it. A kind of hushed silence fell upon the small band as they all realised just what Lord de Burgh was saying.
The quiet was broken by Alec. ‘Perhaps it hides in caves along the coastline.’
Ursula gasped. ‘Alec, you haven’t been wandering around the cliffs, have you?’
‘No, I’ll not go looking for it, but if Lord de Burgh is, maybe he should look there.’
‘Perhaps Lord de Burgh is reluctant to look further,’ Urban said, ‘without being compensated for his time.’
Ursula gasped again, but Sabina’s sharp look kept her from commenting further. Urban had simply given voice to a concern that had never been addressed, and there was no point in protesting it. Lord de Burgh was the only one who could answer such an accusation, and Sabina turned towards the great knight.
Like Ursula, Sabina was unwilling to believe he would be driven by greed, but perhaps the much-vaunted knightly code could only be bought with coin. ‘I could promise you a tithe, a yearly gift from the manor once my people have returned,’ she said. Having no personal wealth, that was all she could offer, and to give him that, she would need the village to thrive again, as it once had.
‘Will that be enough?’ Urban asked, caustically. ‘Perhaps he wants more, especially if has heard of the Sexton hoard.’
Sabina shot Urban a startled glance. Rarely did anyone speak of that long-forgotten rumour, so how would a travelling knight learn of it? And should he be aware of the story, he was bound to be disappointed. ‘Urban, you know as well as I that there is nothing to that old tale.’
Urban shrugged, and Sabina frowned in annoyance. Why would he bring up such nonsense? Now she owed Lord de Burgh an explanation, and she looked at the knight, though she could tell nothing from his carefully closed expression. Surely he did not imagine she had some hidden wealth?
‘My lord, that is nothing but talk that has been around for years. One of my ancestors gave the church a gift of a gold coin, and the story grew that the Sextons had a cache of them, to be doled out when the village was in need. But we have always lived simply, as you can see,’ Sabina said, gesturing toward the small hall. She glanced sharply towards her father’s man. ‘And if I had such money, I would have used it to buy the services of a dragon-slayer months ago.’
‘I want no payment,’ Lord de Burgh said, drawing Sabina’s attention back to him. She would have been relieved, but for the still-sombre set of his face. ‘However, I cannot stay here indefinitely. It has been a week, and I have seen or heard nothing of the creature.’
‘Perhaps it has moved on,’ Alec suggested.
Sabina felt a small spark of hope. ‘If the dragon is no longer threatening the village, then we should convince those who left to return,’ she said.
‘How would we find them all?’ Urban asked. ‘And what evidence do we give that the beast is gone except that it has not appeared recently? That is no assurance.’
‘Those who left, where did they go?’ Lord de Burgh asked.
‘Who can know for certain?’ Sabina asked. ‘But probably to nearby villages. North is Sandborn, south is Baderton, east is Ballinghoo and still further Bury St Edmunds.’
‘How do you know they moved and were not killed on their way elsewhere?’ Peregrine, the squire, asked. His question sent a shiver up Sabina’s spine, for she had long wondered how many of her people lived. The dragon usually left no remains.
‘Urban went to Sandborn and spoke to several who left, trying to convince them to return,’ Sabina said. ’Twas at her urging, but it came to nothing.
‘They didn’t listen,’ Urban said. ‘They were too afraid of the worm.’
‘They saw it?’ Lord de Burgh asked, suddenly intent.
‘Some did. Some didn’t,’ Urban said with a shrug. ‘It doesn’t matter. They are cowards all.’
‘But some actually saw it?’
‘Of course,’ Urban said, with an angry scowl.
Alec went even further and began naming those villagers who had survived an attack, while Sabina eyed Lord de Burgh with a measure of curiosity and dread. Although she could tell little from his expression, she realised that he was more than impatient. He doesn’t believe us, she realised.<
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A protest rose to her lips, only to be swallowed up in the sound of the others’ conversation. She had thought him convinced; now he would doubt them again. And how could she persuade him? If she hadn’t lived through this, would she accept the truth? If she hadn’t heard the sounds, seen the dead animals, felt the blast of heat, and seen the scorched remains, her own father struck down…
‘I would speak with those who saw the creature,’ Lord de Burgh said, effectively silencing the others. ‘Do you know where they are?’
Urban shook his head. ‘They could be anywhere.’
‘Well, I’ll begin with Sandborn.’
The way he rose to his feet, his expression and his stance all told Sabina there would be no argument, but still Ursula begged him not to go. ‘Please, my lord, we are not safe here without you,’ she said, her voice rising to a wail.
Sabina kept silent, refusing to waste her breath lest she become short of it. But, in truth, she, too, had only felt secure since his arrival. Such was the strength of Lord de Burgh’s presence, inspiring confidence and hope and other, unwelcome thoughts…
Sabina watched in dismay as Lord de Burgh ignored Ursula’s entreaties to stride towards the doors, Peregrine at his side. ‘We should be able to ride to the next village and be back before nightfall,’ he said. But his words were not reassuring. What would they do until then? What would they do if he did not return?
Belatedly rising to her feet, Sabina following, stopping him with one final injunction. ‘Remember, you are all that stands between Grim’s End and destruction,’ she said, reaching out to touch his arm.
It was an automatic gesture meant to give force to her admonition, and yet, as soon as her fingers made contact with his sleeve, Sabina felt a jolt. Heat rushed through her, inviting her to linger, to close her hand upon his muscles, to move into the warmth of his body. Her heart began to pound, and her breath came fast and low, a most alarming sensation that made her jerk away. She glanced upwards only to see Lord de Burgh flinch, as well, before his face became a hard mask.
With a nod of dismissal, he turned to go, and Sabina stood, trembling, upon the doorstep. Still shaken by the encounter, she watched the two visitors leave Grim’s End, just as she had watched so many others, her father’s servants, the freemen, those who made the ale and ground the grain and did all the work that was necessary for the village to survive. They were all gone, and now she wondered whether her last hope was vanishing, as well.
It was Urban who voiced her fears aloud as he moved to stand beside her.
‘Mark my words,’ he said. ‘They won’t return.’
Reynold shut down his thoughts, concentrating only upon Sirius. Once mounted, he wanted to kick the destrier to a gallop, leaving the dust of Grim’s End and all it entailed behind. Refusing to give in to such impulses, he made his way slowly to the road, keeping an eye out for anything unusual, just in case an animal should show itself. But he saw nothing, even though he again had the sensation that he was being watched. It was eerie, for he knew the place was deserted, having looked through every building himself for signs of life.
When they reached the church, Reynold half-expected the bells to begin ringing as they had the last time he had ridden this way. But all was silent. Still, he was uneasy as they reached the outer boundaries of the village. He had once heard a tale of a phantom community that came and went in the blink of an eye, trapping travellers inside, and he wondered whether they would encounter some kind of barrier upon their departure.
Although there was none, he turned to look back at the familiar buildings clustered around the track that wove between them, just to make sure he had not imagined them. Reynold shook his head at such fancies, but now that he was leaving, it seemed as though he had dreamed the whole business. A deserted village. A dragon. A beautiful damsel.
The only ring of truth was the beautiful damsel’s reaction to him, a jarring bit of reality in the fantasy. For who would want to dream of that kind of response? Reynold did not know if she laid her hand upon his arm out of some attempt to lure him into staying or if it was an innocent gesture. But he was certain of what happened next. He had caught his breath at the lightness of her touch, at the warmth of her fingers and the simple sensation of gentle feminine contact, and then she had pulled away, repulsed.
‘Twas a reminder not to let down his guard or let anyone get close to him, and as such it was welcome. Yet Reynold could not dismiss the incident as easily as he had others in his past. It was too fresh in his mind, too insulting, too much of a disappointment. For deep down inside, he had hoped that Mistress Sexton might be different.
The more beautiful the woman, the more spoiled, selfish and deceitful, Reynold told himself, and Mistress Sexton was the most beautiful, by far. Although she had seemed like a saint, valiantly holding her people together, what did he actually know of her? What did he know of any of them except their bizarre tale of attacks, for which there was little evidence beyond a few scorched spots? Reynold’s tightly coiled emotions threatened to spill forth, and as his anger grew, so did the temptation never to go back, to continue on to Bury St Edmunds and further, perhaps across the ocean…
Reynold slanted a glance at his companion, who would not approve of any such oath breaking. Indeed, Peregrine looked unhappy just to be leaving the village. Was he languishing after Mistress Sexton already? Reynold felt an unreasoning annoyance at the boy’s devotion to the woman. And he had to fight an urge to enlighten the lad on the subject of females and their perfidies.
‘Do you intend to sulk throughout our journey?’ Reynold asked. He spoke more sharply than he intended and could almost hear his father’s admonition in his head: Don’t take it out on the boy. ’Tis not his fault you are what you are.
‘Forgive me, my lord, but I don’t see why we are leaving at all,’ Peregrine said.
‘I seek information,’ Reynold said. ‘We need to know more about our enemy.’ He spoke the truth. For although Mistress Sexton and her small band obviously feared attack, Reynold was no closer to discovering the cause than he was on the day he had arrived in Grim’s End. He might be the runt of the de Burghs, but he had the family’s sure sense, and it told him that something wasn’t right.
Peregrine said nothing, and Reynold frowned. ‘What would you have me do?’ he asked. ‘Remain there until supplies run out?’
The look Peregrine shot him told Reynold that the boy could see no reason not to linger. They had nothing awaiting them in Bury St Edmunds, no one to visit, no business that required tending. And yet Reynold could not see kicking his heels in Grim’s End for ever, no matter how lovely and appealing the Mistress Sexton. Especially considering how lovely and appealing the Mistress Sexton.
‘Why don’t you trust her?’
The words, so close to his own thoughts, startled Reynold. ‘What?’
‘You don’t trust Mistress Sexton, do you?’
‘I don’t give my faith as easily as you do,’ Reynold said, with a sidelong glance at his companion. Peregrine flushed, no doubt remembering his easy acceptance of the fellow pilgrims who had tried to rob them.
‘It has been my experience that most ladies are spoiled, selfish and deceitful, and the more beautiful they are, the worse they are,’ Reynold said. ‘Perhaps that is the way high-born women are raised, but my father does not approve of intrigues. He prefers honest dealings and simple pleasures, and his sons a strong sword arm and a good horse.’
‘But Lady Joy and Lady Marion aren’t like that,’ Peregrine protested.
‘No,’ Reynold acknowledged. The women who married de Burghs were not the pampered ladies of court. And he supposed they were pretty, though he had never felt an ache at the sight of them. Mistress Sexton, on the other hand, was so beautiful that sometimes he had to blink. It was like looking at the sun, for his eyes stung from the effort. And over the past week, he had looked far too often. He caught himself noticing little things about her, such as the curve of her wrist, the slender column of
her neck, the golden ribbons of her hair, like a work of art…
‘And, anyway, Mistress Sexton isn’t high born,’ Peregrine said. ‘She might be to the manor born, but she’s not nobility.’
No, but she is more beautiful than any of them, Reynold thought.
‘And she’s not spoiled or selfish. She’s always thinking of the others, always helping out. Why, she even works in the garden,’ Peregrine said.
Reynold gave a stiff nod. Mistress Sexton was certainly accustomed to doing for herself. And when he searched his mind for her flaws, he could find little enough to present to Peregrine, for she appeared kind and generous, courteous and courageous, never complaining, always encouraging.
‘I think she would make a good wife,’ Peregrine said, startling Reynold from his thoughts.
‘She’s too old for you, lad,’ Reynold snapped.
Peregrine blanched and opened his mouth as though to argue, but Reynold stopped him with a glance. He’d had a bellyful of this discussion.
Lovely, strong and capable, Mistress Sexton was certainly well suited to be a de Burgh bride. And perhaps if he were one of his brothers, Reynold might even let his thoughts drift in that direction. But her reaction this morning had been a bitter reminder that he was not one of his brothers and would never be.
He was what he was: a man who would never marry.
Chapter Six
A lthough Reynold had looked forward to a respite from the eeriness of Grim’s End, the sensation lingered even as they travelled, for the road they took was just as deserted as the village had been. They saw no one, not a man, not a cart, not a sheep, and though Reynold said nothing to his squire, his uneasiness grew. He began to suspect that nothing existed except for the few people of Grim’s End, and the track would lead them back to its empty buildings.
Reynold de Burgh: The Dark Knight Page 7