by Holby Cindy
The man looked at her, let out a deep breath, and dropped the shovel. Eliane saw the smile of contempt and satisfaction that covered Vannoy’s hawkish face.
“See to her needs,” he commanded the two women. “If she escapes, I will kill all of you.” Both women shrieked and reached for the little girl, who cried silently.
“Fear not,” Eliane said calmly to the women. “I will not put you in danger to seek my own safety.”
“Is it your time?” the older woman asked.
“Nay.” Eliane pressed her hands into the small of her back to relieve the cramp. “Although this fool will hurry it upon me.”
“Go!” Vannoy barked, and the women jumped. As they led Eliane out to the privy, he commanded the man to see to his horse.
The old woman pulled a small knife from her apron and cut Eliane’s bonds before she entered the privy. When she was done, the woman pressed it into her hands. “I have no way to conceal it,” Eliane said. Her pale blue kirtle, which was soaking wet with sweat, had no pockets. “I will take some water and a bite of food if you can spare it.”
“Fetch water,” the older woman said to the daughter. She sat Eliane down on a stump and knelt before her. They heard Vannoy shouting at the man, but the woman ignored it. The woman slit the hem of the kirtle and slipped the knife inside. The daughter came back with a pail of water and an apple.
“Eat this,” the old woman urged. Eliane quickly took a bite. She was so thirsty and the apple so tart. The old woman quickly wiped her face, neck, and arms with a square dipped in the bucket as the other gave her a dipper to drink.
Then the young woman gasped. “Your ears!”
Eliane’s hands went to her ears. They were the least of her concerns now.
“Fool,” the old woman said. “Do ye not see what she is? She is of the fey.”
The young woman crossed herself and looked nervously over her shoulder. They could hear the little girl’s sobs and Vannoy’s shouts for Eliane.
“Take my ring.” Eliane slid the band from her finger and pressed it into the old woman’s hands. “My husband will be looking for me. Give it to him and tell him…” There were so many things she wanted to say. I love you…I am frightened…I will try to be strong for our daughter…I am sorry for the time we lost…I believe in you.
“I will tell him,” the old woman said. Her eyes held the sorrow of things lost and the memories of things missed.
“Give him the ring and he will reward you,” Eliane said. “Tell him I will do what I can to delay.” They hurried back around the hut as the sobs grew louder.
“Have a care for your babe, milady.”
As soon as they rounded the hut, Vannoy pushed the little girl at the women and grabbed Eliane. “Ah, there you are, my sweet,” he said as he twisted his hand into her hair. “I was worried about you.” He hoisted her into the saddle and jumped up behind her. She gritted her teeth against the pain. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and be left alone. Her body screamed out for rest and her back cramped against the abuse.
“If you have a need, it will be met at Aubregate,” Eliane called out to the family.
“Yes, do come to Aubregate,” Vannoy said. “I will have need of vassals when I take control.” He dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks and they were off once more.
Chapter Twenty-five
Rhys stared up at the walls of Chasmore as he slowed Yorath to a cooling walk. He was too late. Vannoy was safely inside with Eliane as his prisoner. Rhys’s eyes darted around the walls and towers, looking for any sign of weakness. There was none that he could see. He raised a hand to push his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and could not help thinking of Eliane’s touch. She would push it back for him when it fell in his eyes. It always made him feel like a small boy when she did so. A small boy who had someone to care for him as his grandmother never did. It made him want to be a better man. I must save her…
Rhys patted the neck of his stallion in gratitude. Yorath was in much worse shape than he. Only the horse’s great heart and love for his master had kept him going. Vannoy’s horse had not fared so well. Rhys had come across the dying animal in the early morning hours and had mercifully cut its throat. Then he found the dead body of a merchant and knew that Vannoy had found another animal to take them onward.
“She is mine, de Remy!” Vannoy stood on the castle wall, surrounded by archers. “You are too late!”
“The king gave his blessing to our marriage, Vannoy!” He rode closer to the walls, daring the archers to shoot. “Are you willing to commit treason to have her? Let her go and we shall not speak of this again.”
“It’s too late for that,” Vannoy said. “The king told me of his blessing. Why do you think he did that?”
“Because he wants me to kill you.” Rhys did not have to raise his voice. He dismounted, pulled out his sword, and slapped Yorath on the flank to send him safely away. The horse stumbled off to the shelter of an oak tree. It was well out of reach of arrows, and a tiny stream ran by it. Rhys heard the horse bury his head in the stream and his own thirst haunted him. But he could not drink or eat or rest until he saw Eliane.
He gripped his sword and wished for his shield. “And kill you I will.”
Vannoy spread his arms as if he were a willing target.
“Come out and face me with honor instead of hiding behind castle walls and the skirts of women.” How did one fight a coward? Rhys’s frustration and rage grew until he feared they would overtake him. He must not let them. He must remain clearheaded and calm before his enemy.
“Funny. My dear Eliane said the same thing.” Vannoy baited him. He wanted Rhys to be foolish and hasty. He could not rise to the bait.
“She well knows your affinity for attacking the innocent. Puppies, boys, and pregnant women. Your courage is boundless.”
Vannoy crossed his arms and tilted his head as if he could look into Rhys’s mind. “It gladdens me to know I was the topic of so many conversations. Mayhap Eliane and I can return the favor.”
“You. Will. Not. Have. Her.” The words echoed off the walls.
“Yet I do.” Vannoy turned and walked away, leaving Rhys to stare in frustration at the dozen arrows that landed in the dirt before him.
Eliane could see the forest. It called to her. Tears rolled from her eyes as she stood in the high tower room that imprisoned her and gazed at the land that was in her blood. She felt her hope leaving her with each tear that she shed. Rhys had not stopped Vannoy.
Did he even come? Was he grateful to be rid of her? Her courage, so strong during the journey, left her and doubts filled her mind. Her hand went to her finger, but the ring was gone. All that remained was a white band where the ring had blocked the sun. How long before it was nothing more than a memory?
Her back clenched. The burden of the child was heavy. The hard and torturous journey had taken its toll. The babe would be born soon and there was nothing she could do to stop it, just as there was nothing she could do to keep Vannoy from killing the babe once it came.
A middle-aged woman brought her some food, a pail of water for washing and a fairly clean gown. Eliane tried to speak to her, but the woman covered her mouth and shook her head. She was mute and her eyes told the story of years of terror and mistreatment. This woman would not help her; nor would the guard at her door.
All was lost…At least she had the small knife, now hidden beneath her mattress. If the need came, she would use it on herself. Vannoy had told her of his plans for her. Starting with her ears.
“You. Will. Not. Have. Her.” The shout echoed against the stone and she turned to the narrow arrow slit that faced the castle gate. In the distance beneath a tree she saw Yorath.
“Rhys…”
He had come. She saw him, standing on the pathway to the gate with his broadsword in his hand. He was alone. He must have ridden through the night, just as Vannoy had.
From the shouts within the keep, she knew Vannoy was on his way to her. He would use he
r to bait Rhys. She had to make her move now, before the birth pains got worse.
She grabbed up the knife from its hiding place and put it in her sleeve. She moved to the table where other weapons would be readily available. A candlestick, the platter from her meal, even a small stool.
Vannoy burst through the door. The portal swung back and remained open. Eliane flicked her eyes over it, deciding whether she could make a run for it. She crossed her arms over her stomach as he came near, as much to protect the babe as to conceal the knife.
“Your husband seems to think that he can command me within my own keep,” he said, sneering.
“My husband seeks to protect me as I am his wife.”
“He will not want you for his wife when I am through with you.”
“No wonder you are without a wife of your own.” Eliane sneered. “Your words of courtship are enough to make any woman scream and run as far away from you as she can get.”
He grabbed her neck so that he could turn her head to look at him. “Oh, I promise you will scream. They all scream.”
Eliane sought the knife in her sleeve. “You disgust me.” She hoped his anger would distract him. Her words had the desired effect. He raised his hand to strike her and she used his movement against him, pulling the knife and slashing it across his upper arm. She let the impetous of her motion carry her toward the door. Vannoy caught her hair in his fist and brought her up short. Without a thought Eliane twisted and slashed at her hair with the knife, cutting the braid from her head. She kept moving and stumbled through the door, burying her knife in the guard’s neck. She was going down the curving steps when another pain wrenched her and she slipped in the sudden rush of water that poured from her womb. She managed to grab on to a sconce mounted in the wall to keep from falling, but the delay gave Vannoy enough time to catch her.
He wrapped his hand in what was left of her hair and pulled her back. Another pain grabbed her spine.
“The babe is coming,” she ground out between clenched teeth.
Vannoy pitched her back into the chamber. “Good,” he said. “I will tell your husband to prepare the grave. He can bury his brat next to your father.”
Eliane fell across the bed. “Send for a midwife or I will not survive the birth.”
“Oh, do not worry.” He stood at the door. “You will have the best of care.”
Eliane put her face in her hands as she curled onto the bed. Her hair, now shorn, fell in curls about her face and brushed her shoulders. She heard the bar slam across the door and knew she would not have another chance.
“If only I had told Rhys I love him,” she said.
There was no one to hear her words.
Han, Ammon the stable boy, and fifty men-at-arms joined Rhys beneath the oak tree.
“Rest assured, the forest is full of huntsmen, just waiting for our signal,” Han informed Rhys.
Rhys nodded grimly and looked at the odd collection of armor that Ammon wore.
“She is not only milady, she is my friend,” he said simply.
Rhys placed a hand on Ammon’s bony shoulder. “I thank you.”
“I will get my thanks from Eliane when we remove her from this place,” Ammon said firmly.
The neighing of the horses alerted Rhys to more men coming. Cedric and his men-at-arms. Cedric drove a wagon with Khati sitting on the bench beside him. Mathias lay in the back with Llyr, their wounds carefully wrapped with bandages. The dog weakly thumped his tail when Rhys laid a hand upon his huge head.
“They would not stay behind,” Cedric said.
“It seems as if I am besieged with those who care more for their lady’s well-being than their own lives,” Rhys observed as Cedric quickly went about the work of setting up camp. Khati carefully laid out Eliane’s stash of weapons and picked up the short sword as if she would wield it herself. “The only one missing is Madwyn.”
Han stood beside him, observing all in his quiet way. He wore his wool cap as usual, yet the heat of the day seemed not to bother him in the least. “Madwyn tends to a birthing. She will be here when it is over.”
Rhys looked at the castle before him. Somewhere within was Eliane. How had she fared during the trip? Surely not well. It would suit Vannoy’s intent if she went into labor and lost the babe.
Rhys desperately needed some sign of her. He needed to know that she was still alive, that there was still hope.
“De Remy!” Vannoy once more stood on the wall, only this time he was alone. There were no archers, no men-at-arms, only the man, holding a piece of white linen in one hand and what appeared to be a brown rope in the other. His upper arm was wrapped in a bandage, and Rhys could not help smiling.
“Eliane’s work, no doubt,” he said to Han, who nodded in agreement.
Vannoy waved the white linen and shouted once more. “A truce. For your lady.”
“I can have the archers take him,” Han murmured in his ear.
“Until we know Eliane is safe, we will do nothing,” Rhys instructed. “I do not put it past him to hold a knife at her throat.” He mounted Yorath. “Stay your hand until I have proof she is safe.”
Rhys rode to the castle wall. Never, in all the battles he’d fought, had he felt such fear. How was she? He needed to see her face. He needed to know that she was, for the moment, unharmed. He needed her to know that he was here for her. That he would lay down his life to save her. He needed her to know that he loved her.
I should have told her before…
“Do you surrender?” he asked Vannoy. He stopped before the wall, close enough that Vannoy could see the threat in his eyes.
“It seems that I have need of a midwife.”
Rhys’s heart jumped into his throat. He swallowed determinedly. He would not show fear to his enemy. It would only give Vannoy a measure of victory.
“Don’t bother with your threats,” Vannoy said when Rhys did not answer him. “I have heard them all. Your bastard is on its way. It is my desire that my sweet Eliane survive the birth, so that she can bear my child. Send in a midwife. I promise I will not kill her.”
“I will send for one, if I can find any willing to enter.” He knew Madwyn would gladly go in. But would Vannoy recognize her and know of her devotion to Eliane?
“As a promise for the midwife’s safety, I send this token from your wife,” Vannoy added. “She gave it up willingly.” He pitched the rope over the wall and Rhys snatched it from the air.
It took a moment for him to realize what it was he held. Her hair…He knew the look he turned up to Vannoy was frightful. He could not control his face any more than he could control the pounding in his veins or the red haze that covered his eyes.
“Consider it the first of many pieces I will slowly return to you.” Vannoy left the wall.
As Rhys turned and rode away, he held her hair to his face and inhaled her scent. The braid quickly grew damp with his tears.
Chapter Twenty-six
Dusk settled around the keep. From her tower, Eliane saw the fires of Rhys’s camp as she paced about the room with her hands fisted against her back. The spasms were coming closer and closer together and she was trapped with no creature comforts except for a bit of water left in the pail. There wasn’t even a candle to relieve the darkness of her prison. She had only the pain of the coming babe to keep her company.
She was so alone. Never had she felt this way. Was this what it had been like for Rhys as a boy? To have no one? Another contraction gripped her and she leaned against the wall, her hand braced against the arrow slit, her eyes on the camp below, hoping for some sign of Rhys. She’d kept quiet so far, but this pain was worse, and it finally tore a cry from her lips.
She leaned her head into the slit, hoping for a cool breeze to ease her. She caught a movement beneath the great oak tree and saw two tall forms step away from it and gaze toward the castle. The light of the full moon shone upon them and she quickly recognized Rhys. The taller form beside him was Han. She kept her eyes on Rhys, as if she coul
d draw strength from him, until another spasm racked her body and sent her to her knees with the pain. When it passed she collapsed to the floor and lay there, letting the coolness of the stone soothe her.
A noise made her stir and she pushed against the floor to sit against the wall as she gathered her strength for the next contraction. A movement caught her eye, a flutter, and then she found herself staring into the great golden eyes of Madwyn’s owl. It blinked, hopped to her outstretched arm, and bent its beak to touch its leg. There was a small piece of rolled parchment tied there with a piece of string.
Eliane’s hands shook as she took the parchment and held it up to the shaft of moonlight that came into her chamber. Be strong. I am coming. There was no name, nor was there need for one. Madwyn would come. It also meant that Rhys had a plan for her release.
The owl hopped to the arrow slit and Eliane struggled to her feet. As the owl left, she saw Rhys and Han both follow its flight. They wanted to know where she was, and the owl showed them. Rhys stepped forward and stared up at her tower. She waved and was gladdened to see him raise his hand. He turned toward the path that led to the gate and she saw a bent figure wearing a heavy cloak and carrying a large basket. The woman limped heavily while using a stout stick for support. Eliane sank to the floor. Madwyn was coming.
The woman who entered her chamber was an old crone, with a humped back and gnarled hands. The serving woman who came with her was the one who could not speak. She carried two pails of water and a bundle of cloths. She set the things down, drew a candle from her pocket and placed it in the candlestick, then scurried out. Once more the bar was thrown over the door, leaving Eliane alone with the crone.
She sat on the floor and watched as the crone put down her basket and lit the candle. As she turned to look at Eliane, she threw off her cloak and her body straightened. Gone was the crone, replaced by Madwyn. The hump on her back was Eliane’s bow and quiver.
“How did you do it?” Eliane gasped at the sudden change in her appearance.