La Flamme (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Marie shook her head. "Like as not, they attempted to cross the stream and got caught in the current. The world is inhabited by fools."

  Ysabel picked up the young boy, who had just awakened. He blinked his eyes and smiled. Then he surprised them both by reaching for Marie.

  Marie took him in her arms and her eyes softened when he lay his head against her shoulder. "This child is a charmer," she admitted. She looked from the boy to the young girl. "He looks nothing like his mother."

  "I see some of her in him, but I do not think she is his mother," Ysabel said. "She is too young."

  "Of course she is his mother. Most probably they belong to some peasant farmer."

  "I do not think so." Ysabel lifted one of Sabine's limp hands that were soft and white despite the cuts and lacerations. "This is not the hand of a peasant. This is the hand of a lady. See the signet ring she wears."

  Marie's words were harsh. "I suppose you think you know everything."

  Ysabel merely shrugged. "I know that there is trouble here." She pointed to the girl. "I must go into the village and see what I can discover about her and the child."

  Marie cuddled the young boy and smiled at him. "Go if you must, but be discreet, and tell no one that they are here. We do not want the magistrate poking around."

  Ysabel tucked the blanket about the girl's shoulders. "Have no fear. I will use only my ears."

  Sabine awoke, turning her head slowly. When she could focus her eyes, she was startled by her surroundings. What kind of place was this? It was small and cramped, and she lay upon a lumpy narrow bed. There were brightly colored costumes from bygone eras hanging from several hooks. It took her a moment to realize that she was in some kind of wagon. She sat up quickly, reaching out her hand.

  "Richard, where are you?" she said frantically.

  A soft voice spoke in her mother's native tongue. "So, his name is Richard. We have become acquainted while you slept, but he refused to tell us his name."

  Sabine reached for her brother and the old woman handed him to her. She unconsciously replied to the woman in French. "If you have harmed my brother, it will not go easy with you."

  The woman merely smiled, showing even white teeth.

  "I do not harm children. It was you who placed him in danger, not I."

  Sabine examined Richard carefully. He giggled and pressed his cheek to hers. "He appears not to have suffered from the ordeal." Her eyes were apologetic when she looked at the woman. "It was you who rescued us."

  "Jacques was the strong swimmer. I merely helped him, ma petite."

  "Oh." Sabine felt ashamed. "I am sorry if I sounded ungrateful. Thank you for what you did."

  Sabine looked into perspicacious blue eyes. The woman's face was wrinkled with age, her hands gnarled, yet Sabine was not afraid of her. "May I know your name?"

  "I am Ysabel Agostino. Everyone calls me Ysabel."

  "An Italian name, Madame, and yet you speak French?"

  "You are English, and yet you speak French like a Frenchwoman," Ysabel reminded her. "But, yes, I am Italian, and was born in a sunny little village near the sea. That was long ago, though, and I never speak of it."

  "Madame, I do not know how much longer I could have clung to that log. Where is the gentleman who helped my brother and myself, so that I might thank him?"

  "Jacques, you will see later. For now, tell me of your family so that you may be reunited with them. They must be frantic with worry."

  Sabine was suddenly terrified. In her anxiety, she tried to move off the bed, but cried out in agony and fell back, gasping for breath. After the pain subsided, she looked terrified. "I must leave at once."

  Ysabel's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you are running away from something... or someone, non?"

  "I cannot talk about this with you. I only know I must get away from here or they will find us."

  "You would not get far in your condition. I think you cannot even stand on your own. I did not realize that you had been injured."

  When Sabine tried to lower her leg to the floor, she cried out, falling back on the bed.

  Ysabel's face was creased with worry. "I must speak to Jacques, and then I shall return. I believe your leg is broken and needs attention at once."

  Ysabel did not know what the girl's troubles were, but the poor creature was genuinely terrified.

  An exhausted Richard curled up beside Sabine and fell asleep while she waited for Ysabel. Her instinct was to take Richard and flee because they were still too close to Woodbridge Castle for her to feel safe. But the woman was right—she would not get far in her condition. How could she help Richard, if she could not even help herself?

  When Ysabel entered a short time later, she was accompanied by two other people, a man with a ready smile, and a woman who looked distrustful.

  The man spoke kindly. "Ysabel informs me that your leg is most probably broken."

  "I pray it is not so," Sabine said. "It was broken when I was younger and has pained me every day since. I do not want to live through that again."

  Ysabel had been mixing a yellow powder with water and handed a cup to Sabine. "If you drink this, it will dull your pain."

  Without hesitation, Sabine gulped down the bitter liquid, hoping the old woman spoke true. Almost immediately, she felt herself becoming drowsy and soon her eyes drifted shut.

  Ysabel pushed Sabine's gown up past her ankle and hissed through her teeth. "What butcher did this to her? She was right that her leg was broken before, but it was not properly set. She's crippled, and has been for some time. I only hope that I can undo the harm that was done her. I once healed a horse with a broken leg; I can surely help her."

  Jacques looked doubtful for a moment, and then his rugged face eased into a smile. "A horse is always destroyed when its leg is broken. I have never heard of one that was cured. But if it could be done, surely you would be the one to do it."

  Ysabel focused her eyes on the girl. "I speak only the truth."

  "Do what you can to help her, Ysabel. There is not time to send to the village for a physician, and I am not sure one would attend us here, even if we asked."

  "We have no need for a physician, but I shall need your help, Jacques, for I am not as strong as I once was."

  The Frenchman trusted the old woman because he had often observed her skill in healing. When any of his troupe had become ill, they would always seek Ysabel for a cure. "You have only to tell me what to do."

  "First, I will need four sturdy pieces of wood to make a splint. Then, when I tell you, I shall want you to yank hard on her leg. When this is done, you must hold the leg fast while I do the rest. I warn you, that even with the medicine, the girl will be in extreme pain. No matter what she does, it is most important that you do exactly what I tell you. Do not loosen your grip on her leg."

  Marie de Baillard, who had been merely an observer up to now, reached for Richard and lifted him in her arms. "I'll just take him out, lest he become disturbed by what must be done."

  When Jacques's wife had departed, he smiled ruefully at Ysabel. "Marie is not nearly as hard as she would have everyone believe. You can see that the child has already softened her."

  "I have often seen the yearning in Marie's eyes while she watched children at play."

  Jacques liked children, and his most profound regret was that he and Marie had never had any of their own. "I will go now and find wood, then you will tell me how to make the splints," he told Ysabel.

  Sabine was reliving her nightmarish ordeal. She was running, trying to get Richard to safety while her pursuers drew ever closer. Then she was falling, and it felt like someone had taken a red-hot poker to her leg.

  Jacques took the girl's leg in a firm grip.

  "Tell me when to pull," he said.

  "Now—hard!"

  Sabine heard someone screaming, and she did not know that it was her. Blackness surrounded her, but it did not shut out the searing, burning waves of pain.

  Ysabel laid the flat boards ag
ainst Sabine's leg and bound them tightly with strips of linen. Then she stood back and frowned. "I have done all that I can."

  "Is it enough?"

  "The blessing is that this break is at the same place as her old injury. She will either walk without a limp, or forever be a cripple and in pain, which would be a pity. I have a feeling that this child has known much pain. She is now in God's hands."

  9

  Word traveled swiftly concerning the raid on Woodbridge Castle, and fear ran rampant in the surrounding village. Many were sure that war had come to England because the duke of Balmarough had attacked the earl of Woodbridge.

  Two days after the incursion, a messenger arrived at Whitehall, where King Charles was conversing with William Laud, the former Bishop of London, whom he had recently appointed the Archbishop of Canterbury.

  Charles Stewart read the dispatch, then turned to the archbishop and thrust the message at him. "This is preposterous! I will not tolerate such acts of violence against my nobles."

  The archbishop could not believe what he read. "Lord Woodbridge dead, and his children probably suffered the same fate. This is unpardonable."

  The king turned to the young messenger. "It says here that the raid on Woodbridge was executed by men wearing the livery of the duke of Balmarough. Can you confirm this?"

  "I can and do, Your Majesty." The messenger produced a bloodstained blue and white doublet and held it out for the king's inspection. "This was taken off the body of one of the dead invaders. As you can see, my liege, it has the duke of Balmarough's coat of arms, a dragon in flight."

  King Charles looked at the offending garment and waved the man away. "Leave me now. Later, I will have a dispatch for you to deliver to the village of Woodbridge. Impress upon the citizens that this matter will receive our immediate attention, and until it is resolved, I will send troops to protect them."

  The king was silent while the young man bowed and backed to the door. Then he sent a page to fetch his ministers. "I know of no grudge that Garreth has against his father-in-law. There is no reason to this madness."

  The archbishop's red robe swirled out about him as he paced the floor. "I cannot credit that his grace would commit such an atrocity. He is a man of honor, as was his father."

  "I admit that this does not seem like something Garreth would do. But then, does one man ever truly know another? Who can say what madness could drive a man to such extremes?" The king's eyes narrowed in anger. "Send soldiers to Wolfeton Keep, where they will place Garreth Blackthorn under arrest. Instruct them to bring him to London, where he will be immediately confined to the Tower."

  The archbishop came up beside him. "Your Majesty, have you thought how this incident will give your enemies more reason to incite the people against you?"

  "Of course I have! I will do whatever I must to satisfy Lord Woodbridge's supporters. Whether Garreth Blackthorn is guilty or not, I'll have his head on a pole for all to see! Someone must be blamed for this atrocity, and it will not be the Crown!"

  Garreth was in the gatehouse conversing with the captain of his guards when his mother came rushing to him, her face ashen, her eyes wide with concern.

  "I must speak with you at once on a matter of great import," she said.

  Garreth dismissed Captain Barkley with a nod, then turned his attention to his mother. "You seem distressed. Tell me what has upset you."

  Adrienne Blackthorn stood before him, her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. She was a small woman who only came up to her son's shoulder, and her once dark hair met across her forehead in a widow's peak.

  "It's too dreadful to contemplate." She shuddered. "Even now, I cannot comprehend it. That poor little girl has already had so much sadness in her life."

  Garreth gripped her hands, trying to calm her. "Of what little girl do you speak?"

  "Oh, Garreth, it is so dreadful." She took in a deep breath before continuing. "Woodbridge Castle was attacked." She paused, unable to go on for a moment. "Lord Woodbridge . . . was slain, and it is supposed that Sabine and her young brother met the same fate, although no one has yet found their bodies!"

  His heart contracted. "Who has dared do such a thing?" he asked hoarsely.

  The dowager duchess searched his eyes, reluctant to add to his woes. "My son, it is said that the horrible deed was mastered by you."

  Now Garreth's anger turned to burning rage. "Who has made this accusation? Let him come forward and confront me, so that I might show him for the blackguard he is."

  Adrienne placed a hand on his arm. "I don't know all the details. I can only tell you what your cousin, Cortland, told me. He was at a nearby estate when the horror occurred. He said that the village of Woodbridge is turning into an angry mob and demanding that your life be forfeit."

  Garreth could not believe what he was hearing. "Where is Cortland—I would have him relate this to me."

  "I beseeched him to tell you this, but he said that he was but an hour ahead of the king's soldiers, who are on their way here to arrest you. He wanted me to impress upon you that there is damning proof the men who attacked Woodbridge Castle wore our livery. Cortland urges you to leave Wolfeton Keep with all haste and hide where no one can find you until the truth has been uncovered. He said that he was going directly to the king to plead your case."

  Garreth waved his hand dismissively. "I don't know what Cortland thinks he can accomplish. The king will not listen to anything he says—he doesn't even know Cortland."

  "That may be true, but I agree with him that you should leave before the king's soldiers arrive. Who knows what their orders are?"

  "A Blackthorn does not run and hide like a coward," Garreth said grimly. "Sabine was my wife; therefore, it is my duty to discover who has committed this abomination and tried to blame me. / will go to the king—he will listen to me."

  His mother's eyes were fearful. "No, Garreth! Who knows what danger you may encounter?"

  "Have no fear, Mother. After I talk to the king, he will agree that I must go to Woodbridge and uncover the truth."

  Adrienne had learned that once Garreth set himself upon a course, he could not be deterred. "Then I shall go with you. His majesty will surely listen to me."

  "No, Mother. I must travel swiftly and avoid the main roads. The journey will be too strenuous and dangerous for you. I would prefer that you remain safely here."

  She lifted her chin and moved to the door. "I can still sit a horse and ride with the best of them, Garreth. I will not remain here in the country, worrying about what is happening to you. Come, we must make haste before the soldiers arrive."

  It was but a short time later that Garreth and his mother rode through the open gates of Wolfeton Keep. He had no valet, and she took no lady to attend her because they needed to move quickly. Instead of keeping to the road, they traveled cross-country, thus saving time and also avoiding the soldiers.

  At first, Garreth was concerned for his mother, but she kept pace with him, and the one time he suggested that they stop and rest, it was she who urged him onward.

  It began to rain as night approached, and still they continued. After midnight, the rain stopped and the clouds moved away, leaving the countryside awash in moonlight.

  Garreth had much time to think, and still what had happened at Woodbridge was a mystery to him. He felt a heaviness in his heart when he thought of Sabine. Soon she would have come to live in his house and eventually she would have shared his bed. She would have borne the next generation of Blackthorns, and now she might be dead.

  He glanced at his mother and noticed the tiredness etched on her face. "I see the lights of a village just ahead. We will rest awhile there," he said.

  Wearily, she nodded in agreement. "We cannot face the king in our bedraggled condition. We will sleep for a few hours, refresh ourselves, and then be on our way again."

  Long before the sun came up the next morning, Garreth and his mother were once more on the road to London. By midday, they were approaching t
he city. Mother and son glanced at each other uneasily; they were uncertain what would happen when Garreth faced the king.

  They reached the palace without trouble, but on asking for an audience with his majesty, Garreth was immediately put under arrest by the palace guards. Against his mother's protest, he was taken directly to the Tower.

  The dowager duchess was allowed to pass into the palace, where she was confined to the same chamber she had shared with her husband in happier times. She was told that the king would see her only at his convenience.

  Garreth stood at the barred windows of the Tower, looking down on the courtyard below. Although the rooms he occupied were well furnished, they were damp and dismal. He was informed by the unsympathetic guard that this was the same apartment that had been occupied by many notables, including the tragic Queen Mary of Scotland before her head was severed from her body. That thought gave Garreth little comfort.

  Daily, he sent messages to the king, but there was never a response. He was being treated like a criminal and denied the right to defend himself. He was desperate for news of the outside world, but he was kept in ignorance. By detaining him, the king was allowing the guilty more time to hide their crime.

  After Garreth had been in the Tower for three weeks, he was finally given a letter from his mother. It was dated a week before, and it stated that she was soon to be granted an audience with his majesty. She urged Garreth to keep faith. Because he was innocent, she was sure he would be exonerated.

  He thought sadly of Sabine and closed his eyes as words came tumbling from his lips.

  "I may not have protected you in life, Sabine. But I shall avenge you in death—this I swear!"

  10

  Sabine rolled her head from side to side, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Why was the woman, Ysabel, hurting her?

  "Please, no more," she groaned. "Do not touch my leg. Leave me alone!"

  Had Sabine looked into Ysabel's eyes, she would have seen the compassion there. "This I must do, if the leg is to heal properly, ma petite."