Trusting in Faith - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 5)

by Shea,Lisa

  Elijah stepped forward to stand by his brother’s side. “We will be going to Bisley, to join up with Walter’s forces there. They are training men to take action against these bandits. Word is we should be ready in about a week to ride out.”

  Reynald glanced at Sarah before responding. “I will be with that force,” he informed them. “I will be honored to ride at your side, to clear this land of the scourge.”

  The men shook hands, and the two brothers headed off to offer what comfort they could to the grieving couple.

  Sarah was torn by the talk of the upcoming fight, and of Reynald leaving the keep. Why had he not mentioned this? She pushed down her questions, giving one last look at the fresh grave. Whatever needed to be done to end this threat, she would accept. There would be time enough for discussion afterwards.

  Reynald’s gaze dropped down to meet hers, and she turned away, walking toward their horses in silence. They mounted as one, turning their reins to head the steeds onto the quiet road back to their keep. They took the ride in somber silence, the miles drifting by in a sun filled river.

  About halfway home, Reynald broke the silence, his voice slow and careful as if he had been crafting his question for many miles. “Dirk was the man you once loved … a man in your past?”

  Sarah’s cheeks flamed with heat. Of all the questions Reynald could ask her, this was the one she was the least willing to talk about. She could not lie … and she felt churlish about telling him to mind his own business. After all he had done for her, if he truly wanted to know, she could at least give him some portion of the story.

  “I was seventeen,” she sighed wearily, tension settling into her shoulders at the mere thought of the situation. “Dirk seemed everything I could have wanted in a man. He talked frequently of honor. He had a military background. We were betrothed after only a month or two of meeting. I thought my life was heading down a wonderful path.”

  She ran a hand along her horse’s mane. “Time passed, and Dirk became uncomfortable with my interest in being a midwife. He turned to another woman, one who solely wanted to stay home and tend to his needs. They were married a short time later.”

  She took in a deep breath, then let it out again. She let her gaze drift along the side of the road, watching the wildflowers wave in the summer breeze. “I do not blame him, of course. I was not what he wanted in a woman. Maybe there is no man who would accept a woman with her own sense of purpose.”

  Reynald’s voice was a mere murmur. “I am sure there are men out there who treasure you exactly the way you are.”

  His head turned so that he caught her eyes. “Ethan mentioned your sister …”

  Sarah, if possible, flushed even more brightly at this. She could not maintain his gaze; she turned her head to the side, facing out into the woods. A long while passed as they rode side by side down the quiet lane. Several times Sarah began speaking and could not make any sound. Finally she shook her head in anger. This was silly. The event was in the past, done with. She should be able to mention it without this trauma.

  “It was only perhaps a year ago that my sister brought up Dirk’s name. After all that time, I had thought he was an old story. But my sister decided to tell me -”

  Her throat closed up on her. Tell her, indeed. Her sister could lie with little provocation and hide secrets for decades if they served her purpose. Here, her sister had felt it necessary to share.

  She swallowed her pride and pressed forward. “She told me, one night while we sat chatting, that she had slept with Dirk, early in our betrothal. During one of his visits to our home. She claimed she had been drinking at the time. She did not apologize or say anything further.”

  Sarah’s body went rigid at the memory. “My sister had just admitted to having an affair with my future husband. My future husband! She never told me back when it would have mattered! She could have told me right then. She could have warned me that my future husband had no honor after all. Instead, she waited for years before she revealed this truth. She waited until we were already apart. By that point she knew the knowledge could only cause me pain and serve little other purpose.”

  Reynald’s voice was tight with anger. “What she did was wrong. Still, why do you always forgive the men in these situations? Dirk is equally responsible; perhaps more responsible, if she was drinking and he was older.”

  Sarah lashed out; the pain and shame and fury of the event poured out through her after years of denial. She had never spoken of this with any other person, and the floodgates had been opened.

  “What he had done was sleep with a willing partner. You should have seen the way she flirted and laughed any time he was around. Yes, I was upset to find out he was a man without honor, but it was a lesson I took to heart. Men cannot be trusted to resist temptation.”

  Reynald opened his mouth to speak in rebuttal, but Sarah ignored him, her fury driving her to speak. “But her?! Rachel bedded the man I had chosen – in my home! I could not even imagine kissing a man she had chosen to wed. It would turn my stomach, like kissing a brother. Yet she let him touch her – even in a drunken state – without crying out? Without screaming for help? Without fighting tooth and claw?”

  Tears streamed down her face. “When you are drunk you lose your inhibitions for things you want to do. You sing too loudly, you dance too wildly. You kiss that beau you have always lusted after in your heart.”

  She plowed on, unable to hold back the flood. “What did she do afterwards? When she was sober? If I had been in congress with a partner of hers, I would have gone to her immediately and warned her of the danger she was in. I would have explained that he could not be trusted, that she should immediately get away from him. I would have dragged her away myself, to keep her safe from him and his deceptive charms.”

  She hunched over, pain worming its way into every muscle in her body. “What did she do? She let him keep wooing me, keep touching me. She let me move forward with plans … plans to be with him for the rest of my life! While she knew what he really was!”

  The agony staggered her. “Is that the act of a sister? Is that the act of anyone who cares for me?”

  Reynald was silent at her side, and Sarah took in a long, shuddering breath. Her voice was hoarse, her emotions spent. “When she finally deigned to tell me, after so many years, after he was gone from my life, what was I supposed to say? Thank you for sharing that you cheated on me with my fiancé and never told me? Thank you for allowing me to make plans with a known adulterer? I appreciate your honesty, now that it is long past too late?”

  Her throat closed up. “I could not say anything.”

  She was exhausted now, and ahead she saw the keep slowly coming in to sight. Her voice dropped down to a mere whisper. “I took it on as my burden, as the older sister, to let it go. I did not call her out for her actions. I did not rail at her for giving in without crying out for help. I did not berate her for staying silent afterwards, for condemning me to a life with a man who could not be trusted. I did not even scold her for being … the way she is. I let it go. I could not say I forgave her; perhaps that is what she sought. Still, I let it go and put that part of my life in the past.”

  They came in through the main gates, and the horses moved without prodding into the stables. Reynald dismounted in a smooth motion and came over to help Sarah down from her horse.

  When she had gained her feet, Reynald stood before her for a long moment, looking down at her. His voice was raw when he finally spoke.

  “Sarah …”

  Sarah turned her head to the side, unwilling to look at him, unwilling to talk further. Her heart had already been ripped raw; she could say no more. She moved away from him, walking deliberately out of the stables. She strode straight into the keep and up to her room.

  She sat there for many long hours as her chambers descended into darkness. Her mind swirled in circles, thinking of Carrie’s death, her mistakes of the past, and the prospects of a bleak future.

  Chapter 18
>
  Thursday morning dawned with sultry waves of heat. As she lay in bed, a gnawing tension rooted deep in her neck and shoulders. The trauma of yesterday’s talk mingled with the seriousness of today’s visit with the wanderers. She pushed her twisted emotions aside with an effort and wearily climbed out of bed.

  She dressed slowly, reviewing her preparations item by item to ensure she was ready. The sword, the dagger, the loose clothes, and braided hair. More than ever, she was pressed down by the obligation that she had to keep Abigail safe. Seeing the dead girl being lowered into the fresh grave had made the risks all too real.

  It was one thing to worry about bringing danger into the wanderer’s camp. There were many armed men there to help defend the weak. Once she brought Abigail out of that security, she was responsible for her well-being - and the safety of the baby.

  Sarah truly did not care what Rachel was doing when she came down the stairs. Her thoughts were completely on Abigail and the day ahead of her. That one focus needed to be her every waking thought.

  She took in a deep breath as she walked into the main hall. It was as she had figured. Her sister was dressed in full attack regalia, with the crucifix, the exposed bosom, and the bright smile. Reynald’s eyes turned to meet with hers when she walked into the room.

  Sarah saw in one glance that the display was wasted on Reynald.

  His eyes looked her up and down, from the tight weave of her braid, down to the sword at her hip, well-oiled and ready. His eyes came back up to meet hers, and she saw the admiration, the appreciation, in his eyes. She flushed, but held his gaze as she moved down the hall to sit by her father.

  The standard morning activities flashed by in a whirl she almost did not see. She gave farewells to her parents; heard the complaint of her sister. Her father made a comment to Reynald about agreeing to meet with him later in the evening. Each was but a tiny interruption. Sarah ignored it all and pushed on with the task at hand.

  She moved through the keep to the stables, then saddled up her horse. Reynald was at her side at each step, quietly matching her. They prepared a third horse for Abigail, a steady mare with a quiet temper. Then, as one, they rode out through the main gates, their gaze focused on the road ahead.

  They moved together on the long path toward the clearing, side by side, not speaking. The miles and hours passed as a steady stream of time. When they arrived, Reynald pulled to a stop without a word. His face held a quiet seriousness.

  He fished in a side pouch and brought out a small carved wooden whistle. It was looped on a long leather strap.

  “Take this with you,” he offered, his voice low and gruff. “She may not be able to ride far. Wherever she feels is best, blow this whistle. I will come to find you there. That way she can rest assured that her friends are safe - but she and the baby can go only as far as they wish.”

  Sarah pulled her horse alongside of his, nudging it close. She moved her head forward, and Reynald leant to drape the whistle over her head. A tingle ran through her as the warmth of his hands lay against her neck. She looked up to meet his eyes and was instantly lost in their steady depths. She almost broke; almost asked him to ride in with her, the wanderers’ concerns be damned. They could be ordered to trust in him, to rely on her judgment.

  Shaking herself, she nudged her horse back, breaking his contact. She could not risk all because of her momentary weakness. The camp members would react poorly to the sudden appearance of a stranger, and their behavior would be unpredictable. She could not jeopardize Abby’s safe haven. The plan must be followed.

  She turned without a word, gathering the reins of her horse along with the mare’s lead rope, and headed at a steady pace toward the camp.

  Sarah kept to her protective habits. They were more necessary than ever now. She backtracked and turned, paused at random locations, and listened with every ounce of attention she had. It was nearly a half hour before she was positive that she was not followed, and moved forward. The miles drifted by. At last she was drawing up to the outskirts ...

  Something was wrong. She knew it before the camp drew into sight, before she saw the smoky tendrils curling up from charred ruins which once were tents. Her sword was in her hand without conscious thought, and she leapt off the horse, her eyes alert for any sign of movement.

  A sharp noise came from behind her, and she suddenly remembered the whistle, that Reynald was waiting on her call. She realized with hammering immediacy the dangerous situation she was in. Even while she was turning around, she was grabbing the whistle with her free hand, and blowing ... blowing ... blowing ... the high piercing notes rang out loudly across the silence, across the clearing and the woods.

  No attacker stood behind her - but a young man lay sprawled across the dirt, his eyes fluttering open at the noise. He hazily gazed in her direction, his face wracked with pain. A ragged wound laced down his right side and his arm lay twisted at an unnatural angle.

  Sarah’s breath sucked in. It was Lloyd, Abigail’s husband. She dropped down beside him, her hands moving to probe the injury.

  “Lloyd, God’s teeth, what happened here?” she rasped in shock. She ripped free a strip from the bottom of her dress, binding his wound as best she could. “Where are Abigail and the baby? Where is Kyle?”

  Lloyd looked away, his eyes filling with tears. “They took her, Sarah. They took all of the women and the young children.” He struggled to a sitting position. “We tried to stop them. Kyle was struck down; he was one of the first to fight when he realized what was happening. I was on the other side of the camp, so I do not know what began it.”

  He shook his head, his eyes losing focus as he thought back. “All I saw was Kyle and the other leaders talking with some men - and then suddenly there was chaos.”

  “Is Kyle injured?” asked Sarah, scanning the area for signs of danger. The camp was blanketed in silence; not even a bird’s song interrupted the deep hush. By the dried blood on Lloyd’s wounds she guessed he had been unconscious for several hours. Yet there were no guarantees the attackers were gone. She kept alert for any sound, any sign of movement.

  Lloyd winced against the pain. His face was white with strain, his voice shaky and weak. “The last I saw, he was over near the main campfire ...” His voice faded as he shuddered against another spasm.

  Sarah finished winding the bandage tightly about him. “Hold still; I will be back in a moment,” she promised him, helping him to lie back down against a grassy mound. Then, sword in hand, she cautiously eased across the camp.

  Her stomach turned as she picked her way through the wreckage of the wanderers’ homes. Burnt out shells of tents and dead bodies were strewn in disarray like the abandoned toys of a child. Several blood trails led out into the forest. Apparently a few survivors had dragged themselves off into the relative safety of the dense foliage.

  Suddenly she spotted movement to the right. A man was lying on his side, struggling to sit up. She bolted toward him at a dead run.

  It was Kyle, blood streaming from a head wound. He shakily climbed to his feet as she reached him. “Was that you whistling?” he asked tremulously, his eyes glazed. “I thought I was having another hallucination, but then I saw you, thank the Lord.” He stumbled, and Sarah was there in an instant, helping to support him.

  Going slowly and carefully, she walked with Kyle back toward the horses. She helped him to sit beside Lloyd, and ripped another strip from her dress, using it to bind the cut in his forehead. The area was dead silent; not even an insect’s chirp interrupted the baking heat of summer. Sarah’s heart pounded, and she wished they were not quite as exposed. They would be easy targets, should the wolves’ heads return.

  Finished with her ministrations, she looked between her two patients, then glanced around the clearing again. “We must get you out of here,” she urged in a quiet voice. “This area is not safe. I have two horses with me, and I am light. One of you can ride with me.” Her eyes looked between the two of them, making her decision. “Kyle, I know
this is tough on you, but do you think you can hold your seat in a saddle? Lloyd has lost a lot of blood.”

  Kyle did not hesitate. “I can do it,” he promised, forcing himself to focus. “If you lead the rein, I will keep myself conscious.”

  A thundering of hooves sounded, and Sarah leapt to her feet, sword instantly held at the ready to one side. If the attackers were back, and they had taken out an entire camp of armed men, she knew she stood little chance. Still, she would not abandon her friends without a fight. She steeled her courage and faced in a defensive stance toward the sound. Her heart thudded against her chest as the noise of crashing brush grew louder.

  A large, black horse thundered into the clearing, and a surge of adrenaline rushed through her body. She drew her arm back …

  A cascading wave of relief washed over her, making her giddy. She was saved. It was Reynald.

  His sword was raised high, and he pulled his horse up hard as he reached the clearing. He dismounted in one smooth motion, taking in the destruction of the area and Sarah’s guarded stance in one swift glance. He immediately ran over to her, encompassing the two injured men and the chaos around him in a sweeping scan.

  “Abigail?” he asked hoarsely, his eyes continually moving to take in details of the rest of the camp as he spoke.

  “She has been taken,” related Sarah bluntly. “We have to get these men back to the keep and gather up a force to go after them.”

  Reynald turned back to his horse, his face set. “Your way home is clear and safe. Head back with those two. I will go after Abigail.” His eyes were already far away.

  Sarah did not hesitate - she ran to stand between Reynald and his steed, her sword brought up. “Reynald, think!” she challenged him. “This was an armed camp! The attacking group slew almost everyone here. They have undoubtedly returned to a lair which is both fortified and well-defended. You are Abigail’s only hope of rescue. Do not throw that away.”