by Shea,Lisa
Sarah went by the infirmary, checking in on Kyle and Lloyd. Both were sound asleep. She verified their wounds were well tended to before leaving them in peace. She stopped by the sitting room, but even that normally quiet refuge was a temporary headquarters for several wanderers discussing their plans. They looked askance at the woman who seemed an intrusion.
Sarah carefully lifted the dulcimer off its shelf and tucked it under her arm, heading out to the gazebo. Her body almost hummed with a tense, unsettled feeling. Playing alone always helped to soothe her nerves. She tucked herself onto the stone bench, lowered her eyes, and picked out a low, drifting tune.
The steady rhythm of the notes, the gentle cascade of tones, slowly eased an order to her thoughts. The knots in her shoulders gradually lessened; her breathing settled into a relaxed calm. She moved on from song to song, focusing on the note progression, allowing all other thoughts to drift from her mind. The echoes of the final verse faded away into the afternoon.
A soft voice sounded over her shoulder. “That was … stunning.”
She jolted upright, nearly tumbling the instrument from her lap. Reynald was staring at her from the entryway of the gazebo, a lost look on his face.
There was a pattering of feet, and Rachel came running toward them. “There you are!” she shouted in glee. “Oh, and look, you are playing the dulcimer.” She turned to Reynald. “I always wanted to learn the dulcimer, but any time I touched it, Sarah would take it and start playing!”
Sarah shook her head and stood wearily, the spell of the moment broken. “I know, and I am sorry.” She looked down at the instrument. “When we first got it, I was a young teen and became enamored with it. It was wrong of me to not let you play. It was just -”
She bit her lip, looking away.
“Just that you could not stand me enjoying anything!” shot out Rachel triumphantly.
“No,” retorted Sarah, “No, that was not it at all.” She took in a deep breath, remembering back. “I just felt things so … passionately, back then. I was in love with the dulcimer, I loved the songs. They transported me to another world. The times I heard you play, it filled me with an incredible longing to play it myself. I was thirteen … fourteen … but I should have been less selfish. I should have resisted, I should have let you have your turn playing and enjoying.”
Sarah shook her head. “I imagine it was only a handful of times that I possessively took over the dulcimer while you were playing – but I also understand that it discouraged you from trying again.”
“Now it is too late,” muttered Rachel.
Sarah looked up. “That is hardly true! Many people learn new instruments long into adulthood. I thought you told me Michael had learned the recorder only a few years ago, and look how well he plays!”
“It is not the same,” grumbled Rachel. “I should have been playing the dulcimer when I was eleven.”
“I was out of the house frequently, with Marigold, learning the basics of being a midwife,” pointed out Sarah. “You could have played for hours without interruption while I was gone.”
“I did not want to play then,” retorted Rachel. “You should have let me play when I wanted to play.”
“Yes, you are right,” conceded Sarah, “and I am very sorry about that. I cannot undo my mistakes from when I was a child. I can only offer you the dulcimer now, and I will teach you anything you wish to learn.”
“I do not want it now,” refused Rachel, shaking her head.
Sarah sighed in exasperation. “Well then …”
A shout came from the keep. “Rachel, what are you doing?” called out Mathilde with a hint of edge to her voice. “You were supposed to be finding Lou to saddle the horses!”
Rachel turned guiltily at the call, and headed off at a trot toward the stables. Sarah watched her go, her heart heavy, before reseating the dulcimer beneath her arm and walking back toward the keep.
Reynald’s voice was low. “I know it is not my place,” he murmured, “but why do you let her do that?”
“Do what?” asked Sarah distractedly.
“Berate you for incidents in your childhood, sometimes more than ten years past,” he pressed.
Sarah sighed, looking down. “She is right, I was selfish. I was at fault. I traded away her chess set because I felt I was better suited to have it, to teach her the rules. I took over the dulcimer the times she tried to play it, because it called so strongly to my soul.”
“You were only a child,” pointed out Reynald. “She has complaints about what you did when you were nine, that you should have known better. However, when she was nine, she complains that she was too young to make the right choice. At fourteen you should have controlled your love of the dulcimer – but she made no move to check her far more damaging passion and actions involving Walter when she was the same age.”
Sarah pulled to a stop, turning to face him. “What am I supposed to say?” she asked wearily. “Shall I tell her that her feelings are invalid? That she should simply stop feeling the way she does? Should I berate her for the mistakes she made as a child? That hardly seems like it would help.”
She ran a hand through her hair. “I am an adult now, and hopefully past those childhood mistakes. She is my sister, and for whatever reason, she is dissatisfied with her life. Rather than seeking to be happy, and to make improvements on her life each day, she is choosing to focus on all the wrongs done to her previously which she surely believes caused her to be the way she is now.”
She sighed. “I can support her. I can apologize for the past. I can work hard not to make those mistakes in the future. I can hope that someday she finds peace, that she accepts who she is and works to bring positive new skills into her life. However, I cannot walk that path for her – and she bristles if I try to make any suggestions to her on how to live her life. So I can only do what I can do.”
“Still, you do not need to be trodden on by her,” he insisted.
Sarah looked down. “She is my sister, and if this is what she needs to heal, to move forward, then I am happy to oblige.”
She reached the door to the keep, pulling it open with a tug. She nodded to Reynald, then turned to head toward the sitting room, to replace the dulcimer and make her final preparations.
It was only a short while later that the party was heading out the main gates. Sarah glanced with calculation at the sun as they embarked on their journey. It was a full day’s ride to reach where Dorrie and Walter lived, and even at a quick pace they would be hard pressed to reach there by nightfall.
They moved steadily along the road, crossing the miles in silence. The men were wary, keeping a constant eye on the surrounding fields and woods.
The way became more forested as they went, and Sarah did not argue when Reynald put her at the center of the group. As the sun eased lower in the sky, the forest slunk into ebony darkness, the branches and tree limbs twisting in the shadows along the sides of the road.
The sun dipped below the horizon. Sarah’s fertile imagination picked out a wealth of threatening shapes in the shadows, and she rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. Dorrie’s home was only a few miles ahead, and she was grateful they would soon be safe. It seemed as if around every corner was a new obscure form, a new sliding scurry.
The group came out of the woods’ closeness into an open clearing, and Sarah peered into the surrounding shadows. The soldiers around her pulled in closer together, sharing her sense of foreboding.
Suddenly a shout filled the air. “Revenge for Bruce!” A chorus of voices took up the call. In an instant there were armed men all around, quickly closing in.
Reynald wheeled to ride up beside Sarah, grabbing her reins and pulling her horse forward with his, lunging toward an opening. He slapped her horse hard on the rump to send him through it, then whirled to engage the men on either side of him.
“Run!” he cried out to her, and then he was a flurry of motion, battling to maintain two fronts at once.
Sarah’s hea
rt ripped ragged with pain. She had vowed to stay out of battle - but even her meager sword skills might at least help to distract an enemy from Reynald’s embattled form. She teetered on the edge of action, watching the men below her. Then she caught Reynald’s agonized glance at her in between swings, and she realized how true her father’s words had been. The men would worry about her safety - and that could easily lead to their deaths. She could not allow that to happen.
She spun her horse to the east and dug in her heels. In a moment she was flying at top speed, her path leading her far away from the conflict.
Sarah thundered through the night, small branches whipping her face and arms as she rode. She ignored them, focusing on the stars above her, maintaining her route by their guide. The river suddenly came up, and she drove her steed in, fording it without hesitation. Both were soaking wet as he clambered up the steep bank on the other side.
Now she simply had to meet up with the road ...
There!
The road appeared before her, glistening in the glimmers of dawn. She turned right on it, straining for glimpses of civilization ahead. The miles passed beneath her feet, and she could feel her horse begin to flag. It could not be that much longer ... perhaps a mile or two ...
Relief coursed through her. She saw the shape of a town ahead and a keep up above the town. She pushed her horse to greater speed and soon was pulling to a hard stop before the gates.
It took her a moment to catch her breath as the guards hurried forward to see what the commotion was about. She struggled to gasp out, “I am Sarah. I am a friend of -”
“Of course!” cried out several guards in unison, recognizing her. They rushed to pull open the gates, and one ran forward to alert the house guards. Sarah had barely dismounted from her horse when Dorrie and Walter had hurried down the steps to join her. Dorrie, tall, lithe, with long blonde hair streaming behind her, was at her side in a moment, drawing her into a strong hug.
Walter’s voice was rich with bewilderment. “Sarah, what is it?” His dark, sturdy body came up behind Dorrie as a bull approaching a swan. “Where is the rest of your party?”
Sarah waved him away for a moment. She cupped her hands and drew water from the horse trough, her throat blazing in pain. Once she felt could speak, she turned back to face the couple. Her eyes moved between Dorrie’s pale face and Walter’s ruddy one.
“You have got to help. The Templar bandits have the group surrounded in fields to the west of here.”
Walter did not hesitate for a moment. He swung his dark head up, calling to a nearby guard. “Get the troops mounted; we leave immediately.” Activity buzzed around the courtyard at once, with men running to gather arms and horses.
Heedless of the activity, Walter turned back to Sarah, his eyes serious. “Do you remember any landmarks of the battle site?”
Sarah took a deep breath and looked around the stables. “If you have a spare mount I will lead you there. I can recognize it by sight, but I would not know how to explain its location to you.”
When Walter hesitated, Sarah snapped in anger, her frustration lashing out. “It is Reynald out there! I have already sworn not to get involved in any combat. The least I can do is help guide you to save them!”
Walter paused a long moment, considering. Finally he nodded in acceptance.
A man ran up to his shoulder, drawing to a stop. “All are ready, sir,” he reported in clipped tones.
Walter turned to scan the gathered troops, seeming to mentally check that all men were present. Finally, he turned back to the woman standing before him.
“Lead on, then,” he gruffly instructed Sarah. “However, be sure to hold by your vow.”
Sarah clambered onto the fresh horse brought to her. Fighting down her weariness, she spun her mount and headed back out the gates.
The ride back seemed to go more quickly, now that she knew where she was going. Walter rode at her side, his muscular bulk a reassuring presence, and the thundering of the force behind their back filled her ears.
Sarah strained to press forward as speedily as the night would allow. Every hoofbeat seemed to echo loudly in her heart as she wondered how Reynald and his men were doing. Were they hurt? Had they been captured? They had seemed outnumbered when she had left, and her mind imagined torment after torment as she rode.
Suddenly the area before her became familiar. She pulled her horse in to a trot, and at her side Walter motioned to the men to follow suit. Sarah exchanged a glance with Walter, and then despite the desperate desire in her heart, she pulled up short, waving him on. She was half crazed with worry to know how the fight had gone, but she pressed her urge down with harsh effort. She had made a vow.
As her companions plowed ahead into the darkness, she retreated to the shadows, letting them pass her by.
There was a cry up ahead, and then the group thundered down the hill with a bellow of attack. Sarah’s heart raced, and she allowed herself to cautiously ride to the crest to look down into the clearing.
A group of twenty of her father’s men were clustered at the center of the area, surrounded by a group of bandits. Her heart pounded as she saw bodies littering the area, both dead and alive, both bandits and soldiers. Her eyes scanned … seeking …
Her heart leapt. Reynald was standing in the center of the group, his sword held out in defiance. The bandits had been circling their quarry, but they started in surprise with the cries of the new attackers. Yelling with rage, the cutthroats spun to face the fresh threat. In this instant her father’s guards saw their chance. The tides of war reversed, and suddenly the ring of bandits was surrounded on both sides.
Sarah dug her nails into her palms, her body tense in anxious worry as the battle flowed back and forth. She could not spot any leader in the bandit ranks; certainly no man of the talent of the Templar Bruce from the previous fight. She wondered if Reynald had already slain the leader of this ambush, or if this group had not been headed by one of the remaining Templars.
The fight pressed on; slowly the bandits were worn down. There were five men fighting, then four. Reynald moved through them with a sure arm, joining the fight at every turn. The bandits put up a fierce battle, and two of Walter’s men dropped back, wounded. Walter and Reynald circled the remaining attackers. Walter delivered a sudden thrust, and then there were three. The two men moved in with a flurry of sword-work, dodging and attacking in resolute deliberation. Another bandit fell. The men paired up …
Reynald and Walter circled and fought, their styles different, their aims aligned. Walter was short and bullish, his dark hair flying as he launched himself into each thrust. Reynald was taller, his muscular arms spinning his sword with a sure grip, blocking high and then driving for a low attack. He twisted left, and then with a quick movement drove his sword into his opponent’s chest, drawing it out again in a turn, seeking Walter’s location to see if he needed help. In the same moment, Walter slammed himself into his enemy’s chest, bowling him over onto the ground. A slash of his blade, and the bandit lay motionless.
The fight was won.
Sarah’s heart beat into exuberant life. The clearing seemed almost silent without the clanging of swords, even as the men moved through the area, calling out to each other as they turned over the bodies and checked for survivors.
Taking one last look over the clearing to ensure the fight was truly over, Sarah kneed her mount into motion. She wheeled her steed to ride back away from the ridge, meeting up with a dark path which led down into the clearing. Once in sight of the group, she rode directly to Reynald’s side, leaping down as she reined up. Her feet barely touched the ground as she ran over toward him.
She scanned his body as she moved. There was a cut on his upper arm, and a river of red was streaming down his right thigh from a deep gash.
“You are hurt!”
Powerful emotions stormed within her. If she had only been moments later …
With the fiercest of effort she pushed down her racing thoughts. If she
didn’t do something about that wound …
She dropped to kneel at his side, then instinctively reached to her dress to rip a long swath from its bottom. Her every focus was on containing that crimson stream so he did not bleed out.
Reynald kept his sword in his hand, his gaze continually sweeping the landscape, alert for the slightest hint of a fresh attack. An ordered flurry of motion swirled around them them as the soldiers helped each other onto horses and prepared to move out.
The moment Sarah was done with the bandage, Reynald strode amongst the men, checking on injuries and preparing the group to head to safety. Sarah, viscerally aware of the danger, stayed out of the way of their efforts, helping with injuries where she could.
It seemed only seconds before the men had gathered themselves back into a mounted troop. Seeing that all injured men had been loaded up, Sarah mounted her own horse, dutifully falling into the center of the group without being asked. She remained in her place as they raced their way back to the safety of the keep.
The ride sped by in a blur; it seemed only a short while later that the company moved through the main gates and into the courtyard of the keep. There was a whirlwind of activity as the soldiers climbed down from their horses, medics hurried to tend to the injured men, and grooms led the exhausted steeds away.
Sarah wearily dismounted, the activity of the evening catching up with her. Even so, adrenaline still surged through her body, warming her blood. She gave her mount a pat on the rump as a stable boy led him away, then turned ...
Reynald was standing before her.
His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. His body was drenched with sweat and gave off a deep, musky aroma. A thin line of red traced down one cheek, and his leather armor was torn on one bicep. The bandage on his thigh glistened with blood.
It was his eyes that caught her. He stared at her as if he hadn’t seen her for long years. As if he had dreamed about her, prayed for a glimpse of her – and now at last she was here before him.