The Dark Crusader

by Jackie Ivie

  Emin opened the door a fraction and peeked out. Crowd noise assailed her. He turned, and lifted a brow. “Are you ready, Highness?”

  “Yes,” Cassandra answered.

  He held his fingers to his lips and sent a shrill whistle. They both listened as calls for order were shouted, followed by a series of drumbeats, accompanied by loud bursts from bagpipes. Then the drums stopped. The area quieted. And someone started speaking in a loud voice.

  “Ramhurst Clan! We’ve called you together this morn...to provide an escort!”

  “To who?”

  “For what?”

  “We leave for the castle!” the announcer informed them. “The laird has returned!”

  “He has?”

  “Truly?”

  “I heard the tales,” someone shouted. “But I discounted them!”

  “Well. ’Tis true!” the announcer continued. “And there’s more! The laird has wed. He has brought us a princess from across the sea! Do you wish to meet her?”

  There was a loud chorus of ‘ayes’. Cassandra felt like butterflies flitted about in her belly, while the bairn did antics alongside them. She didn’t think of her baby as more than one yet. She couldn’t. It was too unreal. Maybe, once she reunited with Rhoenne...

  “Highness?”

  Emin held out an arm for her. Cassandra took it. He was such a large specimen, easily a head taller than all the others. Large. Fit. But she knew all of that. He ducked beneath the door jamb, taking her with him, but then he surprised her completely by gripping her waist and hoisting her atop one shoulder, his open palm beneath her buttocks to stabilize and hold her.

  “Emin!”

  “Trust me.”

  His whisper was soft and accompanied by what actually looked like a wink. Then he walked around the rock outcropping and she could see the reason for his action. The entire area was a sea of people, standing with mouths agape, and then almost as unit, the men went down to one knee, while woman held their skirts and dipped into curtsies.

  “Behold! We bring you the new Lady Ramhurst, the Countess of Tyneburgh!”

  That’s when she saw the announcer. He was short. Stout. Red-haired and bearded. He possessed a great projecting voice. The entire area erupted with cheers. Shouts. Clapping. Angus brought the Clydesdale over to her. The horse had been groomed and curried, and wore a flat saddle on his back. Emin set her on it. Someone handed up a length of gray and white plaid, woven with intersecting black and blue lines. Emin helped drape it, almost fully enclosing her.

  “You don’t ride with me?” she asked, trying to hide the concern.

  “We walk. Do not worry, Princessa. I will be right here. You will not come to any harm.”

  He meant it, too. Emin walked beside her over the low hill they’d traversed just yesterday. Angus FitzHugh walked at her other side. A younger fellow had the Clydesdale’s reins, controlling the horse. They reached a large plateau covered with a slight crust of snow. They crossed it. Tackled another hill. There was a footpath beneath her. The horse followed it. The mass of clan spread out on both sides of her. The sun rose higher. Snow melted. Mist hung at ground level turning everything into a sparkling wonderland that gradually dissipated. Throughout the pipers played, drums kept a steady beat, and several people raised their voices in song. Emin kept his right hand at her back the entire trek. His left rested on a sword hilt.

  Just after mid-day, Cassandra got her first view of Rhoenne’s castle. She hadn’t voiced any misgivings she’d harbored, but the sight of Castle Tyne not only salved every bit of apprehension, it obliterated them. Rising atop a hill, it lorded over the large valley about it. The castle was impressive. Large and imposing. Castle Tyne was a massive fortress of black stone in a jewel-like setting of lush verdant green. A deep blue loch lapped at the back of it, spawning two rivers that threaded around the castle’s base, forming a large moat. The castle got larger as they neared. More awe-inspiring.

  And then the drawbridge started lifting.

  Angry shouts erupted. Orders rang out.

  “Clan! Get down there and cancel that nonsense!

  “This is nae invading army! ’Tis a homecoming!”

  Clansmen raced for the castle gatehouse, women and youngsters at their heels. From a distance, Cassandra watched them arrive. The gate stopped lifting. And then it slowly started descending back to bridge the moat.

  “Well. It appears the woman still has support in the castle. That is unfortunate, but na’ surprising. There are too many she can blackmail.” Angus spoke up. His wife Margaret marched at his side.

  “It better na’ be a member from our family,” Margaret muttered.

  “Well. If ’tis, we’ll be disowning them.”

  “Forthwith,” his wife answered.

  Cassandra’s brows lifted. She looked over at Emin and exchanged another glance.

  “You are na’ to be off-put by this, my lady,” Angus commented.

  “Off-put?” Cassandra turned to him. “Oh Angus FitzHugh, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I’d spent years being trained for just this event.”

  The drawbridge was wide. Lengthy. The crowd thinned as they started across, the wood echoing with their passage. And then they passed beneath the arch in the gatehouse, walked across another span of bridge, and beneath the arch built into the barbican wall. The stone wasn’t as black as she’d suspected. The castle was actually dark gray stone with black and light gray marbling. She got a good look at just how thick they’d fashioned the outer wall. The entry appeared to be at least four times Emin’s height. There wasn’t a soul who spoke out or challenged them. The area was deserted. A portcullis was lifted high into the arch, its long spikes sharpened and lethal. The crowd quieted as they crossed the first courtyard. Cassandra sent her gaze up high stone walls that contained slits for archers, murder holes for pouring down hot liquids, and uniform crenellation at the top to hide more defenders.

  They went beneath another archway, entering a long passage between the barbican wall and inner wall. The stone on both sides was constructed to such a height, it felt like a tunnel. The path curved around the outside of the castle, eventually opening into a large outer courtyard. She could see stables at one side, a great volume of horses, but no groomsmen. At the back of the courtyard, they were finally met by clansmen. A group of at least forty men, all beefy, bearded, and armed, stood in a semi-circle blocking the entry to the inner courtyard.

  The crowd of clan that accompanied Cassandra fanned out, easily outnumbering any opposition. Her mount was led forward, walking through them, until the young man with her reins halted. She sat atop the horse, approximately twenty paces from the guards. They were all large men. Even sitting atop the horse, she was just slightly taller. She would have intercepted several glances if she wasn’t covered over in Ramhurst plaid. Nobody looked amused.

  “Stand aside, Calum! We’re escorting the new countess!”

  The stout announcer fellow shouted it. She noted he didn’t step from the ranks of the masses, showing he might have a large voice, but not much bravery to back it up. The man at the forefront of the guards stepped forward. He had a wealth of dark reddish-brown hair that ended in curls at his shoulders.

  “Cease that, Gawain MacDuff. We do na’ need the bladier. I wish to speak with Angus! Angus FitzHugh! Show yourself.”

  That was fairly silly. Angus hadn’t left her side. He walked forward a few steps. And then he shouted as if they were courtyards apart.

  “Calum Montvale!” Angus yelled.

  “Angus FitzHugh!” Calum yelled back.

  That was interesting. Calum must be related to Iain and Graham. He did resemble Iain, and she should have recognized the shade of hair.

  “Did you na’ get the message?” Angus shouted.

  “We allowed ye to enter, did na’ we?”

  “Then, stand aside. Cease this!”

  “For what reason?” Calum answered with a belligerent tone.

  “You heard the bladier! We are esc
orting the countess! Now, stand aside, or I’ll be challenging you.”

  “I do na’ war with auld men!” Calum announced, using a belligerent tone.

  “Who you callin’ auld?” Angus returned with the same kind of bravado.

  Men!

  Oh, why did men always act so foolish? This wasn’t going to get anything accomplished. Emin’s fingers tensed at her back. Cassandra stiffened. Held her breath. Calum must have decided the same, for his next words held a conciliatory tone. And he didn’t shout them with quite the same volume.

  “Come along, FitzHugh! We have orders. You ken we will na’ disobey!”

  “This is the new countess, mon! Newly arrived from the east! Any orders you have...are hereby cancelled!”

  A slight whine from a bagpipe in the crowd interrupted them, followed by a flurry of hushed voices. That was the only sound for long moments. And they truly didn’t have to continue shouting. The entire area was teeming with people, but it was quiet enough to hear her heartbeat as it picked up tempo.

  “You say you bring the new countess?”

  “Aye! We do.”

  “And we are to accept this? On your word? Without authority?”

  Calum Montvale tossed his head up, clearly addressing his words to her. Cassandra took a deep breath and lifted her hands. She pinched the plaid at her forehead between her fingers and thumbs, and slowly peeled the garment back, making a grand gesture of it. The material dropped onto the horse and Emin’s hand behind her. Her act displayed not only her features and elegant attire, but the headdress and jeweled collar couldn’t be missed. Her heart was hammering. Her hands icy. The babe even gave several sharp kicks as though displeased at the situation.

  Several of the men behind Calum exhibited the wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression she’d come to expect whenever anyone saw her. Cassandra swallowed to still any tremor. She needed to speak loudly, confidently, and imperiously, using exactly the same intonation she’d heard from the Mamluk sultan’s Great Wife and the Duchesse Zecchino.

  “Angus FitzHugh speaks on my behalf.” Cassandra spoke. “I am Cassandra Alexandria Votten Ramhurst.” She announced each name loudly and succinctly before continuing. “I am the grand-niece of the duca Guistiniani, ruler of the kingdom of Candia, in the Domini de Mar of the Venetian Republic. I am a princess of Vottenavia in the Bulgar Kingdom. And I am the lawfully wedded wife of your lord and liege, Rhoenne Guy de Ramhurst, the fifth Earl of Tyneburgh. I understand my husband has not arrived as of yet. He will...shortly. And I doubt he will understand the manner in which my arrival and identity are being questioned.”

  The man’s mouth opened and closed several times as if he’d speak, but he didn’t say anything. Angus chuckled.

  “You may wish to swear fealty about now, Nephew,” Angus said.

  Nephew?

  Cassandra’s lips twitched at the relationship, but she’d stilled any expression a moment later. Calum pulled out his sword, put the tip into the ground before him, nodded to her, and then went down onto a knee. His head bowed. One by one behind him, the others did the same. A murmur of reaction went through the crowd. The announcer Gawain quieted them.

  “You and your men may rise, Calum Montvale,” she said when she could again be heard.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  They guardsmen rose, shuffled around a bit, putting swords back in scabbards. Then Angus crossed to his nephew, they clasped hands and turned to go beneath the arched entry they’d guarded. Cassandra’s horse started up again. The crowd waited for her to precede them into the inner courtyard. That’s where the magnificence of Castle Tyne became truly breathtaking. The keep was a five story building, centering the courtyard. At one point, it might have been a free-standing building, but the left side had been connected to the stone wall encircling the courtyard. She could see the addition had been constructed of stone that wasn’t quite as dark gray. The entire structure had battlements. Alternating crenels and merlons put zigzag delineation all along the top.

  It looked more than impressive. It looked like a royal residence.

  The bottom floor of the keep hadn’t any access that she could see. There was a long flight of stone steps that led to a double-wide door in the second story. The two floors above that had crucifix-shaped window slits for archers. And the top floor appeared to have large windows. With real leaded and glazed glass in them.

  Here? In the farthest reaches of the civilized world...they had amenities such as glass in their windows?

  Cassandra felt a faint stirring of something that she wanted to believe was a sense of belonging, but she knew it was probably relief. She didn’t know why she’d worried. Rhoenne’s home was the perfect backdrop for the man. Unfortunately, nothing about the castle felt familiar or home-like. It was too massive. Entirely imposing. And impressive. Emin felt some of that, too. She could tell. His brows rose as he looked up the front of the keep and then he touched his gaze to hers.

  “My lady?”

  The guardsman, Calum, was speaking. Cassandra tipped her chin down and looked across at him. He stood beside Angus. He wore the feile-brecan, as they all did. His emphasized a strong, well-defined physique. And he was a good half-hand shorter than Emin.

  “Yes?” she answered.

  “Allow me to escort you into the castle.”

  “My thanks...but I have a personal guard,” Cassandra told him. “Emin?”

  She swiveled toward him, and was swept into his arms. That wasn’t what she had in mind, but the courtyard did look muddy, and the flight of stone stairs was daunting. She didn’t argue it. He stood with her in his arms, facing Calum. Angus thought it was highly entertaining if his grin was an indicator.

  “You may lead us,” she said.

  Calum regarded her for a long moment, before swiveling on his heel. Eight of his men accompanied him. Calum’s back was stiff. His manner offended. Cassandra didn’t give it much thought. Just because he’d apparently capitulated and sworn fealty, didn’t mean he was in her good graces. For all she knew, he was firmly in the enemy camp. He deserved any loss of honor to his status. She’d been a little off on height comparison, too. Emin was almost a head taller.

  The guardsmen started up the steps, Emin at their heels. They took the steps with a regimented cadence, their boots making a sound akin to drumbeats. She didn’t know how many of the others followed. She kept her gaze forward. Any expressions to herself.

  It was dimmer once they went through the portal. Cassandra blinked and refocused. They passed through a short hall and entered a chamber so enormous, it echoed. It was probably the length of the keep. The walls were high spans of dark gray stone with small window slits along the top. The ceiling was groin vaulted, and looked to be at least two stories high. Wheel-shaped chandeliers hung from the vaulting, unlit at the moment. Torches rested in sconces along the walls, also unlit. Massive fireplaces were centered along each wall, each capable of burning a small tree. Benches and tables intersected the room. At the far end was a raised platform holding a long table and a row of high-backed chairs.

  Along the wall to her left was a stone staircase, constructed into the wall. The banister was carved wood. It led to a circular landing that had a door behind it. The door opened, a woman came out. And everything came to a complete halt.

  Cassandra had been around beautiful women her entire life. She was used to the vagaries of nature that gifted some women with amazing coloring, perfect features, and voluptuous forms while others received imperfections: pocked faces, small eyes, crooked noses, thin stringy hair, and figures that needed all manner of enhancement.

  Nature hadn’t cheated the woman that stood on the landing. She was stunning. She was at the height of her beauty. And she was well aware of that fact. It wasn’t just apparent in the way she held herself. It was demonstrated by every step she made as she slowly descended the stairs. She’d be an instant success in any harem...if the reigning favorite didn’t poison her first.

  “Captain Montvale!” the woman
spoke just before she reached the bottom of the steps. Her voice didn’t match the image. It was sharp. Angered. Discordant. That was jarring.

  “My lady.” Calum stepped forward and tipped his head.

  “You were na’ to disturb me.”

  “The new countess has arrived, my lady. Her authority...transcends yours.”

  “New countess? Says who?” The woman responded using an even more abrasive tone. She sounded like she spat the words.

  “I need a perch.”

  Cassandra leaned up to whisper it. Emin looked to the right, then left before walking to a near table. He tilted, lowering her feet onto one of the stools, facing her toward the woman. Then he walked around her and stood just behind, hovering. Resolute. Backing her.

  “Why...the new countess, of course,” Calum continued.

  “And just why would you assume that to be true?”

  She’d reached the plateau at the base of the steps, placing her level with Captain Montvale. She was completely ignoring where Cassandra stood. Now that she was closer, Cassandra could see further details. She had a wealth of dark hair. Her skin was pristine. Her lips were reddened. Her eyes were lushly lashed, or enhanced with something like kohl. She was wearing a purple-hued dress, in varied shades. The color was the most costly dye to produce. The manner of shading had to have been not only expensive but time consuming. Her kirtle was white, as was the cap atop her head. There were pearls in all shades and sizes affixed to her cap, as well as her bodice.

  “He did not assume anything. I informed him of my identity upon my arrival,” Cassandra announced loudly, and then she waited.

  Oh my.

  Aileen gave Cassandra the same exact look Selique once had. On both instances, warning ripples cascaded over her. This time, even her unborn child reacted. The woman started toward her, the crowd parting for her passage. It didn’t appear a respectful move. It looked more as if they didn’t wish to touch her. Men leaned away, and women pulled their skirts back. She stopped several feet shy of where Cassandra was situated. Looked up at her with set lips and an expression that demonstrated distinct displeasure. Poor woman. She obviously hadn’t been around other women as physically gifted. She thought beauty was her venue alone. Absolute. Unchallengeable. And unassailable.