“If you are looking to fling yourself off the wall, I suggest you do it over there,” he said, pointing to the diagonally opposite corner of the roof. “Below are jagged rocks and boulders piled up at the base which will ensure the task is done properly. Mind you," Marak paused to lean forward and peer through the parapet, "the villagers do tell a tale of a man who decided to end his days by leaping from here. To his vast disappointment, he landed on a lackey and broke nothing but his wrist. He did manage to kill the lackey so the act did not go entirely without notice.”
Amie found it difficult not to smile. In the faint dawn light, she realized his hood was not pulled forward to shield his face. Their silhouettes were painted the same blue gray of the mist and the stones, and the silvery tops of the trees. She guessed the healer also favored this time of day when he had no need to fear the harsh sunlight on his skin.
“Roland told me you saved Lord Tamberlane's life in the desert.”
The pale eyes turned from the lake and found hers. “Roland wags his tongue overmuch, especially in the presence of a lovely young woman.”
“Is it true?”
“That he wags his tongue, or that you are a beautiful young woman? Nay, do not distress yourself over my early morning wit,” he held up his hand and chuckled. “For the answer to both is yes. But I like to think we each saved each other."
“I have not heard of many priests who were excommunicated much less a Templar, for surely such a strident sect of warriors are committed to God unto death.”
“You envision them as being holier than most?”
“Most Templar knights believe they were born to wear the cloth, do they not? Whereas most simple priests decide to take their vows only after they have squandered their inheritances or witnessed their first miracle.”
Marak laughed. “He told me he feared you might take him to task for his heresy yet your sarcasm hints of the same.”
“You mock me, sirrah.”
“No, my lady. On the contrary, I enjoy your candor. It grows proportionately with the return of your strength.”
“My uncle often banished me to my room in an attempt to curb my tongue.”
“Did his efforts succeed?”
“Not all the time.”
Marak laughed. “Your eyes burn with questions, Little One. While it is not my place to answer them all, I can try to ease the burden of a few.”
“I wish only to understand him," she said, "not to pry."
"Fair enough. I will try to help where I may."
"Can you tell me what sin was so grievous that Lord Tamberlane was cast out of the Order?”
“Starting at the top of the mountain, are you? Very well. He committed the sin of compassion. He walked away when there was slaughter to be had and he hacked off the arm of a brother Templar rather than surrender an innocent woman and her newborn babe to the sword."
"Inaya and Jibril?"
Marak nodded. "To further compound his crime, he did not blame his lapse on battle fever or sun stroke. Nor did he repent, or offer recompense to the knight whose arm was left to rot in the desert sand. In fact, he spoke out at length about the cruelty and inhumanity he had witnessed and declared that he knew of no god who would sanction such a thing and that surely massacres and slaughters would reflect badly on the men who ordered them. Some attempted to brand him as a coward, but they were quickly silenced by the steel in his eyes and in his hands. He was trained to fight and to kill enemies of God and if one were to stand before him with a sword or mace, he would do so without a second thought.
"He did not believe, however, that he was trained to disembowel a wounded man for sport or cut off his manhood and feed it to the dogs. Nor was he trained to tear babies from their mother's arms and smash them up against a stone wall. All these things and more were done in King Richard’s name, something Tamberlane warned would likely taint the golden king's reputation far more than any glorious victories that were fought."
“He took the king to task?” she asked in an awed voice.
“And then some. Luckily, Richard admires courage in a man, both in deed and word, and while some may have questioned the Dragonslayer’s actions, few were brave enough or stupid enough to question his courage. Indeed, so many knights and soldiers stood behind Lord Tamberlane to show their loyalty, there was a genuine risk of revolt within the ranks of the king’s army. Richard wisely sent him home.
“We arrived in England some four months later only to find another scion of royal breeding disabusing his powers, waging a war of taxes and greed upon peasants and children who paid in blood that which they could not pay in coin. Having had his fill of politics and intrigues, Tamberlane considered his exile here, to Taniere, a blessing in disguise. And while he will say to anyone who asks that he does not miss the clashing of swords and horseflesh, there are days when he trains as if the demon is in his own soul.”
“Certes there are demons aplenty beyond these walls that he could throw himself upon and put his sword to good use,” she murmured.
Marak smiled grimly. “And now that your curiosity has been somewhat assuaged, perhaps you would be amenable to returning the favor?"
Amie braced herself, but nodded.
“You let slip the other day that your husband is Odo de Langois?”
Amaranth felt a clutch in her chest and bent over to scoop a stone off the rooftop, hoping the action would buy her a moment’s delay. But when she straightened again, Marak was still searching her face, waiting for confirmation.
What he saw reflected in her eyes must have removed the need for words. He pursed his lips and blew forth a soft, soundless whisper. "I see now why you might choose to keep such a thing close to your breast. Even here in the heart of the deepest greenwood, the name Odo de Langois is well known."
"Thus you can understand why I must leave as soon as possible. Odo is not only a threat and danger to anyone who stands in his way, he is a close ally to the Prince Regent, who would have no qualms ordering the demise of one of King Richard's most fearsome warriors."
“Lackland would not weep to see an ally of his brother removed,” Marak agreed dryly.
“He gathers carrion-eaters around him like dung gathers flies and Odo is the king of carrion-eaters. He threw his lot in with Prince John long before King Richard left to go on Crusade. My marriage to him was one of the rewards promised to him in exchange for his loyalty."
Her voice faltered and fell low, but the dam was breached and the flood could not be held back.
“My uncle, who was never one to count his pennies wisely, was unable to pay the scutage demanded by the Prince to help raise the ransom for King Richard. I suspect the amount was blistered higher than it should have been to ensure his inability to pay, for Odo de Langois had approached my uncle before and been flatly turned down."
She turned away so that Marak found himself staring at a cloud of coppery red hair. “The Prince became involved and said that if my uncle refused the marriage, everything he owned—his home, his lands, his title—would be stripped from him and his family cast out and beggared. My marriage to Odo also insured that the vast holding of The Three Benches would eventually fall into his hands."
Marak was grateful that her face was averted and she could not see how her words had startled him for a second time in as many minutes. The Three Benches was the seat of Lord James Alderbury, and if he was Amaranth’s uncle, that made her the daughter of Hugh FitzWalter. And if she was FitzWalter’s daughter, it was no wonder Odo de Langois had pressed for the marriage, for FitzWalter's late wife was Henry Secund's favorite mistress, who had been married off to give the child she bore him a respectable name. It must have spun de Langois’ head in a circle to bind himself to a wife whose blood flowed in the veins of kings.
“And so you were pressed to accept the terms of the marriage?”
“I was given no choice. I did try to convince myself that Odo was a handsome man, young and vigorous—a much better fate than some old, foul-smelling baro
n with black teeth and sagging skin. How foolish I was. How very wrong." She turned and looked Marak squarely in the eyes. “Not long after we were married, Odo’s brother Rolf tried to rape me. When Odo came upon us, Rolf insisted that it was me who lifted my skirts and lured him into the woods. Since I was not an altogether willing bride, Odo chose to believe him. When he came into the bedchamber that night, I knew he meant to punish me. Just as I knew he would punish me every single day and night thereafter. Some nights..." she paused and clenched her teeth a moment to stop her chin from trembling. “death would have been far more welcomed. And now the good people of that village have paid for my foolishness and there is every good chance that you will too, all of you. For even if you are able to defend your gates against an attack, a word to Prince John and Lord Tamberlane’s quiet existence will be at an end.”
“I suspect part of him would welcome it if that were true. Another three years of living this half life and he may well be the one dashing himself onto the rocks below.” The pale eyes shifted away from hers and for a long moment remained fixed and staring at some distant point on shore “In the meantime, however, I would beg you not to judge all men based on the few you have encountered. Some live with nightmares as terrible and haunting as your own."
"I am sure they do," she said softly. "And I am sure they find it just as difficult to trust or to believe they can ever find peace again."
"Do you trust me?"
The question was not entirely unexpected, and it conjured images of the hours he had spent bathing her fevered skin, listening to her rambles, knowing she was not who she said she was yet keeping that secret to himself.
"I trust you as much as I hope I can," she said.
"I am glad to hear it. So if I were to ask you to very slowly step behind me and keep your face turned away from the castle wall, you would do it without asking why?"
Amie's trust was not yet implicit and she reacted instinctively to the sudden tension in his face. She did step behind him, but she could not refrain from glancing over his shoulder and following his stare to where the dawn light was streaking across the sky, giving the shadows and shapes on shore more substance.
Close to the water’s edge were six mounted knights. They were perhaps a hundred long paces from the gatehouse and drawbridge, seemingly intent upon studying the island on which Taniere stood. The horses were well-trained beasts and did not twitch so much as a muscle. To judge by the undisturbed threads of mist clinging to their fetlocks, they had been there for some time, unobserved until the watery light revealed their presence.
The knights were sworded and fully armored, with shields slung across their backs. The largest of the six wore a surcoat emblazoned with a red boar rampant against a dark green field.
“Dear sweet Jesu,” Amaranth whispered from behind Marak's shoulder. “He has found me.”
CHAPTER TEN
Tamberlane’s eyes narrowed against the flaring sunlight. He had been in the stable when a guard brought news of men on the far shore. He had taken the stone stairs to the top of the battlements two by two, joining the rest of the sentries in staring out over the stillness of the lake. The six knights had not moved from their original position on shore. The sky was pewter-colored; the mist still formed a pale shifting layer over the water and where it began to grow thinner, the moss appeared so green beneath the horses’ hooves it looked like a velvet carpet.
“It would appear as though we have visitors,” Tamberlane murmured to no one in particular.
One of the sentries scowled. “An odd way for visitors to approach, my lord. Shall I trumpet forth the rest of the guard?”
Tamberlane shook his head. “Do it quietly, without fanfare. Thus far we have no reason to believe they are anything but weary travelers seeking nothing more than a place to rest their heads, fill their bellies, and share a jug of ale before moving on.”
“Do you believe that, sire?”
“Not for the length of a plover's heartbeat.” Tamberlane smiled tightly. “But we should give them the appearance that we do.”
The sentry left to pass the order but had to stand aside as Marak and Amaranth approached along the wall-walk. The haste with which they had descended the roof of the keep and hurried through the wards was reflected in the two bright spots of color on Amie’s cheeks. The rest of her face was gray, her lips completely bloodless, making her eyes stand out as two prominent circles of clearest violet-blue.
“We saw from the roof,” Marak said by way of answering the frown that appeared on Tamberlane’s face. “None of the sentries noticed or heard them before now? What of the guards in the gatehouse?”
The question only deepened the scowl on the knight's face and he turned to look at Amaranth. “Why have you come out into the chill? You should have remained back at the keep. And what the devil are you wearing?”
Amie glanced down. She and Marak had wasted no time to trade the woolen blanket for a proper cloak. The rather flimsy cloth of her nightrail barely reached her ankles, but in her haste, the lacing around the neck had come loose and the edges were parted in a deep vee down her throat. Her hair was fanned out around her shoulders in thick waves that almost matched the color of the two warm spots on her cheeks.
“The men outside the gates,” she said, her breath rasping in her throat. “They have come for something and will not leave without it.”
The knight held her gaze for a full count of three. “Explain. You know who they are?”
Amie returned his stare steadfastly. “The one wearing green with the red boar on his chest is Odo de Langois and beside him, on his right hand, sits his brother Rolf.”
“How do you know them?”
The faintest hint of a tremor shivered on Amaranth’s lips. “Odo de Langois is my husband. He has been hunting me these past four weeks and more. May God forgive me, but it is because of me the village was attacked, and because of me the peasants were slaughtered.”
Tamberlane was silent for so long, Amie could actually feel the blood chilling, thickening, and being pushed sluggishly through her veins.
“Why did you not tell me this before now?”
Amie searched for an explanation that would sound even somewhat reasonable, but in the end, she remembered Marak's earlier warning and simply told him the truth. "I was afraid of what you might do. I was afraid you might be bound by law to return me to him."
The ominously dark green eyes flicked sharply to Marak. “You knew about this?”
The robed shoulders gave a shrug. “I knew there were lashmarks and scars on the girl’s back from the brutality she has endured. I knew she was frightened beyond measure yet had she the strength to do so, she would have left here the instant she could stand in order to spare you any further inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience? Is that what you call this?”
“Verily,” Marak said through a sardonic twist of his lips. “For we are ill-equipped to hold off a siege by six men.”
Tamberlane’s eyes narrowed. “Look you again, Saracen, how the loaves have divided and the fishes have multiplied.”
Marak stepped to the top of the parapet and looked through the square stone teeth. Lined up along the verge of the woods, forming a wide semi-circle behind the six knights, were a score or more of men at arms, most carrying crossbows, all wearing mail and breast armor of molded bullhide. While their weapons were not strung or quarrelled, the threat was implied, for the line they formed enclosed the quiet, sleepy village in such a way as none could have escaped.
“His intent is to use the villagers as hostages,” Marak murmured thoughtfully.
Amaranth’s lashes shuddered as she closed her eyes. “I would have no more deaths of innocents on my shoulders, my lord. I could not bear it.”
“Then it is just as well we had the foresight to bring all of the tenants inside the castle walls.”
Amaranth was slow to open her eyes, even slower to raise them and focus on the handsome face.
“Two days hence,�
�� Tamberlane said matter-of-factly. “Since I first had men watching your husband’s encampment. And although I was half-convinced he was someone else, here for another purpose, I anticipated his coming to Taniere sooner or later, and only a fool leaves his sheep untended when he knows there are wolves in the woods.”
The knight brushed past Amaranth and hastened down the steps. She stood there a moment, swaying as a rush of light-headedness swept through her. But when Marak turned to follow, she gathered her wits again and stayed upon his heels, the hem of her gown snagging on the rough stone steps behind her as she descended. She followed both men into the shadow of the barbican, where Roland was waiting to buckle Tamberlane into a hauberk of polished iron links.
Her voice, strained to the point of cracking, came out barely above a whisper. “I am grateful for all you have done for me, my lord, but I do not want to jeopardize the peace or safety of your holding. Odo de Langois is without conscience or mercy. He will not stop until he gets what he has come for even if it means killing every man woman and child within these walls.”
“He must consider you a prize of great value.” Ciaran lowered his arms and adjusted the weight of the heavy mail tunic on his shoulders.
"He considers me his property, bought and paid for, nothing more."
Tamberlane made a long, measured study of her face, her hair, even the gathered folds of the blanket where she clutched them so tightly in trembling hands. “And so... what would you have me do?”
“The only thing you can do to spare yourself further trouble, my lord. Return me to him.”
The words, ragged with fear but strengthened by courage, cut through Tamberlane’s anger like a knife. Had she pleaded for his help, wept her excuses, thrown herself at his feet and begged his mercy he might have done just that—returned her to her husband and god’s riddance to her. He knew full well the law of the land. He knew he had no jurisdiction over another man’s wife and indeed, could be held to account for her presence at Taniere. Equally so, if Odo de Langois knew Tamberlane had provided sanctuary, he could attack the castle with impunity.
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