Cassandra tried to grasp her sister as the woman moved past her but Chloë slipped her grip, fleeing the room. Furious, Cassandra looked at her husband.
“That was a terrible thing to say to her,” she hissed. “How could you be so cruel?”
Kurtis’ fury was doused by his wife’s anger. Still, he maintained his firm stance. “It is true,” he said. “She is young and naïve. She has no idea what she is doing and refuses to listen to anyone else.”
With a growl, Cassandra bolted from the chamber and after her sister. Kurtis remained in the room, wondering if he’d been too harsh, when he suddenly heard his wife scream.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Cassandra emitted no ordinary scream; it was long and painful and full of hysteria. Kurtis was seized with panic. Racing from Chloë’s bedchamber, he took the steep spiral stairs to the second level far too fast. When he was about halfway down, he could see what had provoked his wife’s scream.
Chloë lay at the bottom of the stairs in a heap with Cassandra hunched over her, weeping loudly. When she glanced up and saw her husband, she cried out to him.
“She has fallen down the stairs!” she cried. “Call for the physic!”
Kurtis managed to race down the remainder of the stairs, nearly falling himself in his haste, until he reached the bottom. He ended up plummeting to his knees, nearly toppling over his wife in his urgency to get to Chloë. The first thing he did was put his fingers on her neck.
“She is alive,” he hissed with relief as he felt the fast, weak pulse. “What in the hell happened?”
Cassandra was sobbing heavily. “She must have fallen,” she wept, then spat vicious at her husband. “Or perhaps she threw herself down the stairs after your terrible words. All I know is that I have found her lying here.”
“You did not see her fall?”
“Nay,” Cassandra wept. “Chloë, sweetheart, can you hear me? Chloë, wake up!”
Kurtis paled, shouting to anyone who could hear him to find help for Lady Chloë. His heart was thumping with fear as he gazed down at her, pale and still. Gingerly, he reached out to roll her onto her back to gain a better perspective of her injuries. Cassandra was clutching at her sister, preventing him from getting a good look at her. Kurtis eventually had to push his wife aside so he could get a look at her injured sister.
“Chloë?” Kurtis rubbed her soft cheek, seeing that she already had a massive lump forming on her forehead. “Chloë, can you hear me?”
Chloë remained still and silent. Kurtis’ panic began to grow by leaps and bounds. She was so pale that her lips were nearly blue. He looked up at his wife, a sobbing mess beside him.
“Go find your mother,” he commanded softly, swiftly. “Tell her what has happened. And for Christ’s sake, get the physic up here. I am going to return her to her bed.”
Cassandra was quivering so badly that she stumbled when she tried to stand up. Kurtis could see how shaken she was and he put a big hand on her head in an effort to console her.
“Calm down, sweetheart,” he tried to sound comforting but the truth was that he was just as frightened as she was. “Everything will be alright. Hurry, now. Find your mother.”
Cassandra managed to get to her feet on the second try, nodding at her husband and scurrying away. Kurtis watched her as she descended the stairs to the entry level before hoisting Chloë up into his arms. She groaned softly at the movement, in pain, and Kurtis thought she might be conscious, but she did not respond to further attempts to rouse her. Swiftly and steadily, Kurtis mounted the treacherous stairs for the upper levels.
With shaking arms, Kurtis laid her upon her bed, watching for any signs of recovery from her, but as the minutes ticked away and Chloë remained still he began to feel some desperation. There wasn’t much more he could do for her until Blanche and Cassandra appeared, followed shortly by the castle surgeon, a tall man with long, spindly fingers.
Time was flying by yet it was moving unbearably slow as Chloë remained unconscious. It was an odd and painful state. While the women hovered anxiously bedside, the surgeon proceeded to examine the limp and bruised form.
The anxiety mounted as Coverdale and Anton appeared, having heard of Chloë’s accident from a frantic servant. Soon, the room was crowded with family and friends alike, all waiting with fear and anticipation for the surgeon’s assessment.
It was an odd vigil, one of uncertainty and concern. Cassandra stood with her stoic mother, weeping softly as the surgeon went through his paces. He lifted eyelids, checked ears, felt along the neck and shoulders. He listened to Chloë’s heart and pressed on her ribs to feel for any broken bones. He inspected the bump on her head and instructed a frightened serving woman to bring him cold water. Then he rolled Chloë onto her side and began feeling down her spine.
As the room watched apprehensively, the surgeon came to a halt when he felt something on her spine that was significant enough to cause him to pause. He ran his finger over it again and although unconscious, Chloë emitted an unearthly moan. The surgeon gently rolled her onto her back again and resumed his inspection of her limbs.
“Why did she groan like that?” Blanche wanted to know. “What is the matter?”
The surgeon was running his hands down her thighs to feel for any broken bones. “I am not certain, my lady,” he said in a strangely high-pitched voice. “It could be bruising and nothing more.”
Blanche, ever stoic, seemed to show an undue amount of emotion. “But there is something wrong?”
The surgeon nodded, meeting her eye. “Something is out of place on her spine, I can feel it. It is causing her great pain.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened as she looked between her mother and the surgeon. “Her back is broken?”
As Blanche put her arm around Cassandra’s shoulders to quiet the woman, the surgeon shook his head. “I cannot know, my lady, for it is too soon,” he said. “Only time will tell us what damage there truly is. At this moment, I am concerned with reducing the swelling on her head and back. As soon as the water arrives, I will make a paste that I will apply to the areas in the hopes of reducing the swelling.”
“But there are no broken bones?” Anton spoke up, seemingly genuinely concerned. “She is intact?”
The surgeon shook his head. “Other than her spine, of which I am not certain, I do not feel anything, not even on her skull. Did anyone see her fall?”
Everyone seemed to look to Cassandra, who shook her head. “I did not see it,” she said. “I did not even hear it. These walls are so thick and sound does not travel well. All I know is that I was descending the stairs and I saw her at the bottom.”
By this time, Kurtis was moving to his wife, reaching out to comfort her, but Cassandra saw him coming and she jerked away from him angrily. She was still furious with him for being cruel to her sister, perhaps even causing the results lying on the bed before them. In any case, Cassandra didn’t want him to touch her. It was a harsh and bitter move.
Kurtis put his arms down, watching Cassandra with devastation on his face. He was struggling not to feel guilty about what had happened but try as he might, he could not shake off the sense that somehow this was his fault. He had been yelling at Chloë and she had fled from him, upset, apparently so upset that her carelessness caused her to fall on the steep spiral stairs.
His gaze moved from Cassandra to Chloë, lying pasty upon the coverlet. He had lectured Chloë on how her loss would affect Keir’s life. Now, they were facing something unexpected, something terrible and potentially shattering, and he couldn’t shake his guilt.
To hell with Ingilby and his proposal; to hell with Chloë and her counter-proposal. All that mattered now was that Chloë was gravely injured and Keir needed to be here, not on some icy hill in Wales fighting rebels in a foolish battle. Kurtis’ mind, his grip on his emotions, was slipping. He was feeling panic and distress as he had never felt in his life.
“Is she going to die?” he heard himself ask the surgeon.
; The old man was at Chloë’s feet as he finished his inspection. “Only time will tell,” he repeated. “It depends on a great many things.”
Kurtis turned on his heel and quit the chamber without another word. He could hear Coverdale calling after him but he ignored the old man as he made his way out of the keep. He was heading for the stables, already mentally preparing what he was going to say to his brother and hope that Keir didn’t run him through.
The situation was out of control and he felt like a failure, like he had contributed to it somehow. All he was supposed to do was watch over Chloë and somehow, somewhere, it had turned horribly wrong. By the time he reached the stables, he was barking at the grooms to prepare his charger. His emotions had the better of him.
He entered the storage room that contained his saddle and pieces of armor for his horse, hefting up the big saddle and turning to bring it out into the tack area. As he spun around, a body was suddenly standing behind him and he nearly plowed into it.
Cassandra was standing there, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. When their eyes met, her lower lip trembled.
“I am sorry, Kurtis,” she whispered. “Please forgive me. I did not mean to become so angry with you. But Chloë… she is….”
She trailed off as she started to cry again. Kurtis dropped the saddle and pulled her into his arms.
“I am sorry, too,” he murmured into her hair, feeling her body shake with sobs. “I should not have become so furious with her. I know she felt she was trying to do what was right for Keir, but… my brother told me to watch over her and she is not allowing me to do that, not in the least. I let my temper get the better of me and I am truly sorry. I did not mean to be so cruel.”
Cassandra wept into his shoulder. “Please do not leave me,” she begged. “I did not mean to chase you away.”
He shook his head, kissing the side of her head as he stood back and cupped her face between his two big hands. “I am not leaving you, sweet,” he assured her. “I am riding for Keir. He must know what has happened, in case Chloë….”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence, realizing that the mere thought of Chloë passing away brought him such terror as he could not comprehend. His brother would never recover; none of them would. Life would never be the same. He kissed his wife’s forehead comfortingly and pulled her into another crushing embrace.
“Everything will be well,” he said, more for his benefit than for hers. “Chloë will be fine. I will bring Keir back with me and everything will be well.”
Cassandra struggled against her tears, nodding with reassurance as she touched his face and kissed his lips. “I will stay with her,” she sniffled. “Tell Keir that I am with her. I will not let anything happen to her until he returns.”
Kurtis kissed her gently a couple of times, glad that all was well between them again, before releasing her and reclaiming his saddle. As Cassandra stood by and sniffled, watching him saddle his charger, Kurtis tried to focus on his trip ahead, of what he would tell Keir when he found him. He knew that his brother would be panicked by his mere presence, knowing that he would not have come personally unless there was a very good reason. Or a very bad one.
“Michael has probably already found him by now,” he told his wife as he tightened up the cinch on the saddle. “In fact, I should run into Michael returning to Aysgarth as I travel south. I will send Michael back to you in case you need anything.”
Cassandra wiped at her nose, watching her husband as he slung his saddlebags over the back of the horse. “What will happen if the king will not release Keir?”
Kurtis sighed faintly. “He will come anyway and deal with the consequences later.”
Cassandra didn’t say any more. She could tell that Kurtis was edgy, fearful of what was to come for all of them. He was busying himself with the horse, his armor and weapons, but she could tell he was distracted. Truth was they were both distracted. When he seemed finished with everything, she went to him and wound her arms around his neck. He held her tightly, his face buried in her shoulder.
“Be safe,” she begged. “I will look for your return every day.”
He gave her a squeeze before kissing her sweetly. “I love you.”
“And I love you.”
He kissed her again, her mouth and her cheek, before releasing her and mounting the charger. Cassandra stood back as the beast danced about, switching its tail and kicking up straw, and Kurtis expertly guided it from the stable. He turned around to wave at her and she waved back, watching him trot across the yard and into the bailey.
As she walked back to the keep, she watched him leave through the gatehouse. Even after he was gone, her gaze lingered on the last place she had seen him, the open portcullis, imagining she could still see her strong and wise husband.
Cassandra prayed for his safety, for Keir’s return, and for her sister in general as she mounted the steps to the massive and imposing keep of Aysgarth.
*
“A missive has arrived from Aysgarth, my lord.”
Ingilby had been seated at the richly carved table in his solar, examining a map he had commissioned from a Florin cartographer. It was the map of his lands and surrounding areas, beautifully drawn with a master hand. He looked up from the yellowed vellum, his expression registering some surprise.
“So soon?” his brow furrowed. “I only sent the missive last week. Where is Alphonse?”
The servant started to get nervous. “He did not return, my lord. The missive was carried by the soldiers you sent with him.”
Ingilby was up from his seat. “Not returned?” he snatched the missive that the servant was extending, tearing open the careful wax seal without even looking at it. “Where is he?”
The servant shook his head. “The soldiers said that Coverdale put him in the vault.”
Ingilby froze, his features stretched with outage. “Fools!” he snapped, tearing at the missive as he tried to roll it open. “Coverdale is a fool if he believes I will not seek vengeance for his actions. He had no right to gaol Alphonse!”
The servant remained silent, nearly prostrating himself as he backed out of the solar. He did not want to be near his lord when the man read the missive.
Ingilby paid no attention to the man as he backed out of the room, instead, focusing his furious gaze on the contents of the missive. With Alphonse held captive, he felt it was indicative of the reaction to his proposal. Surely St. Héver and Coverdale were furious, and St. Héver in particular. In truth, Ingilby had expected no less of a violent response. He was positive the contents of the missive were cursing his actions and refusing to negotiate.
Which was why he was genuinely surprised within the first few sentences to see that St. Héver had not responded at all. Although the words were carefully scribed by someone who produced the written word quite often, the words themselves were of a decidedly female voice.
Ingilby lowered himself into his chair, reading the carefully sanded ink with great interest.
My Lord Ingilby –
As Keir St. Héver’s betrothed, it is within my right to respond to the terms offered on the missive you sent regarding his son Merritt. You offered to return Merritt to his father if I would become your bride. Be it known that I will agree to your terms on the condition that I be held in protection at St. Wilfrid until the identity of Keir’s son is determined. If the boy is confirmed as Keir’s son, I will consent as your bride. If the boy is not Keir’s son, then I shall marry Keir St. Héver and never hear from you again. These are the terms and they are non-negotiable.
I await your response.
Lady Chloë Louise Isabella de Geld
Princess Blanche of Rochedale
Ingilby was truly stunned by the contents. He had not expected such a reply, not in his wildest dreams. He had fully expected a war of words and, quite possibly, of weaponry, but no explosion was forthcoming. It was neat, simple and firm.
But even as he read the missive, he wondered where St. Héver was and why
the man had allowed his betrothed and her mother to respond. He wondered what kind of weak or indecisive man would allow women to speak for him.
It was a puzzling situation indeed, one he intended to clarify when he delivered his response to the missive personally.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
He couldn’t remember when the last time he slept or ate. The days, rainy and muddy and bloody, were running into one another in a macabre collection of scenes and experiences. Keir was so exhausted that he could hardly think anymore, but he had to in order to stay alive. He had to stay clear of the Welsh who were bombarding the English on all sides, preventing them from moving in to aid embattled Harlech.
The Army of the North was caught ten miles outside of Harlech Castle in the little mining town of Bladnau that was surrounded by the Welsh rebels who had known in advance of the English approach. The English were surrounded and the past four days had been purely a matter of survival. De Lacy demanded that Keir push the army to Harlech but Keir reminded him, several times, that their push forward would be in inches and it would take months to reach Harlech at that pace. Their only option was to retreat and regroup but de Lacy would not allow it. For days, Keir had fought a battle of survival and as dawn on the fifth day approached, the Earl of Lincoln finally gave his blessing to retreat. Keir did so without question.
The three thousand man army from Chester backed off, chased off by the Welsh rebels who were much stronger than Keir had ever remembered them to be. Through the rain, lightning storms and knee-deep mud, he pulled his army out and they made their retreat back the way they had come, through a narrow valley surrounded by step mountains known as the Vale of Conwy. It was exhausting and demoralizing work, slogging through a massive rainstorm to reach the small town of Dolwyddelan, which contained a small but strategic castle that was held by the English.
Unfortunately, the garrison wasn’t large enough to accommodate the entire army, but the rebels had ceased their onslaught a few miles back, so Keir took that as a positive sign as he directed what men and wagons he could into Dolwyddelan’s bailey. Once the provision wagons were secured, men poured into the bailey to try to gain some protection while an entire army of hundreds of men from Harbottle Castle remained outside the walls, exposed to the rebels should they decide to attack again. Keir remained outside with the Harbottle army while Lucan buttoned up Dolwyddelan.
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