Candle in the Window: Castles #1

by Christina Dodd

  “Aye, sir!” they chorused, moving the horses briskly down the forest trail.

  “We’ve ridden a long way today, madame,” William explained to Saura. “I’d like to stretch my legs in the wild. It’s been too long since I stood in the stillness of the woods.”

  Saura said nothing. In sooth, she didn’t know what to say. The foolish idea appealed to her with a deep tug of yearning. These spring days, riding with William and the boys, had ignited in her a desire for a normal life. The pragmatic woman she had been before she came to Burke Castle was vanquished by the surge of craving. No longer could she resign herself to a barren life, stripped of husband and children. Dreams floated in her mind: dreams of William and his healing passion, dreams of their babies gathered around her skirts, dreams of a long life, igniting candles in their darkness until the light of their love cast a beckoning glow to all.

  “Fair friend and sweet, what say you?” William asked in dulcet tones.

  Shaking off the remnants of her impossible fantasy, she replied, “I, too, long to dip my feet into the cool water of an English brook. Lead on, my youths.”

  “You’ll have to leave your horses here,” Kimball instructed. “The path is too tangled and narrow for them.”

  With the help of the boys, William and Saura were installed on a tall tumble of boulders beside the stream and left alone.

  “Peaceful, isn’t it?” William rested his spine against the sun-warmed rock. “This is one of my favorite spots. In my mind, I can still see the great oak trees, spreading their branches abroad. The brook kicks the pebbles with its current. The willow dips its branches for a drink. And ’tis green, green as only England in the springtime can be.” Sitting up on his elbow, he queried, “Am I right? Is that how it looks today?”

  “Aye,” she sighed with pleasure. “That’s how it looks today. How lucky you are to have a place such as this to see in your mind.”

  He considered her remark seriously. “Aye, I suppose I am.”

  “And I’m lucky to have you to sing me the song of its beauty.”

  “Madame, I’m known to compose the best vers after a banquet. The ladies swoon at my eloquent style.”

  Chuckling, Saura agreed, “And at your modesty.”

  “That, too.” He lay back again. “Shed your shoes as you desired and wade.”

  She unlaced her sandals and wondered; should she?

  As if he read her thoughts, he stimulated her longing. “This brook runs clean and the rocks at the bottom are round and tender to the unprotected sole.”

  “As you wish, my lord!” she said, sliding down the rocks and into the water. Its pristine depths reached only her ankles and delighted her toes. “Oh, William.” She sighed. “This is all you said, and more.”

  “Trust me, Saura, I’ll never misguide you.”

  The deep note of meaning in his voice worried her. Whatever demon had plunged William into depression that night was expelled and Saura flattered herself her common sense had turned the tide. Still, in her mind the vaguest inkling of doubt curled and writhed. It almost seemed as if his renewed spirit was linked to her admission of subterfuge. As if he rejoiced to extricate her from the masquerade of nun and awaited with anticipation her final unmasking. It almost seemed as if she had lost control of their relationship during the conversation a week ago, as if he were now the teacher and she the pupil.

  Wading cautiously, one foot in front of the other in tiny increments, Saura explored. She slipped in a hole, stubbed her toes on a stone, and yipped.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did you see a snake?”

  She froze. “A snake?”

  “Snakes abound in this pleasing land. Many a time I fished this stream and found hooked to my line a mammoth snake, as big around as—”

  “In the water?” She screamed and leaped straight into the air, disoriented by horror but sure she would somehow reach shore.

  “Well, aye, but there are snakes littering the ground.”

  She screamed again, louder this time, floundering on the slick pebbles, and William could no longer maintain his gravity. He roared with laughter; he rocked from side to side in an excess of mirth. “No snakes,” he gasped. “There’re no snakes, but I’d give the devil’s hooves to see your face.”

  “Do you tease me again?” she cried.

  “No snakes.” He cackled and rubbed his face on his cloak.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “You braying ass.” She waded closer to the sound of his amusement. “You dare to make merry of me? You cretin.”

  “Whoa, my lady!” William sat up. “I’ve done no different than you’ve done to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A nun? You told me you were a nun. And,” he waved an encompassing hand, “hundreds of other deceptions, you said?”

  She didn’t answer, for she didn’t know what reply to make.

  “Is it as bad as I suspect?” he questioned gently.

  “Oh, much worse.” Wretched, she wondered: confess the truth or continue the lie? And how much to tell? A coward to the end, she thought, grimacing. When she explained this subterfuge, she wanted to be somewhere safe, not alone in the forest and easily abandoned. And, preferably, with someone who would stop him if he decided to hand out a salutary tap. With Lord Peter, perhaps, who would admit to his part in the sham. That decision made, Saura mumbled, in what she hoped was a natural tone, “Oh, I’ve wet the ends of my sleeves.”

  William hesitated and then accepted her change of subject with a voice drooping with disappointment. “You do have trouble keeping your clothes dry, don’t you?”

  Knotting her skirt at her waist, she agreed, “Aye, I—” and stopped, flummoxed by his observation. “What do you mean?”

  “Shh.” He cut her off firmly.

  “Why so?”

  “Quiet!” he insisted.

  Cocking an ear to the woodland around, Saura heard what he suspected. “William, there are horses and men all around us,” she whispered.

  “Aye. Come here.” Groping, he located his stout cane and vacated his boulder, tentatively splashing into the brook not far from her. She slid close to his side and he jerked his head up. “Get up on the boulders and stay out of the way.” He waited until she had obeyed and asked, “What do you see?”

  Dumbfounded, she repeated, “See?”

  “How many men? How close?”

  “Oh, William,” she began sadly, but the crunch of branches beneath many stomping feet interrupted her.

  “We’ve got them, Bronnie,” a man said in the uncouth English tongue. “Just like his lordship ordered.”

  “Are ye sure these are t’ uns, Mort?” another questioned.

  “Aye, a couple of ducks in th’ water waitin’ t’ be bagged,” the first replied.

  “Th’ big un’s blind, ye say?” the second asked. “I’d hate t’ tackle that un any other way.”

  “But th’ wench I’d tackle anytime,” the first voice leered.

  “What did they say?” Saura asked frantically, not understanding the rapid, accented English and not liking the tone.

  William moved close, his back against the solid rock, and flexed his fists around his cane. “They said they desired a wetting.”

  Cowering on the boulders, Saura wished the boys were there to help and hoped they were safe away, all at the same time.

  “Stop chatting, you scum, and take them,” a new voice ordered in English and then switched to Norman French. “Lord William? You’re surrounded by twelve men. Come out of the water and surrender.”

  “I counted no more than seven men,” William replied smoothly.

  No one said a word, and then Bronnie protested, “Ye told us he was blind!”

  “We are eight men,” the leader snapped.

  “So he can’t count,” Bronnie whimpered.

  “Devil burn you! He’s blind, for God’s sake, can’t you tell? He’s listening, not seeing. Now get them, gently
. The lord wants to render his own tender care of them.”

  “Duck down, little lass,” William rumbled, bracing himself for the onslaught.

  Feet splashed into the stream and Bronnie whined, “Wait! I haven’t got me shoes off, yet.” A whack and a shuffle, and Bronnie stumbled into the water with a groan. “Awright, awright, but I ruined me new shoes.”

  The cane in William’s hand began a low, threatening whistle as it swung in rhythmic figure eights. “I got him,” one man crowed, leaping at the blind lord.

  A resounding thwack, a howl of pain, and Bronnie said, “His jaw’s broken.”

  William laughed, a jubilant thunder of joy.

  Another rushed him and Saura heard the breath leave the attacker’s body as the tip of the rod drove into his stomach. “Come, knaves, come, knaves,” William called, as if they were cats to be lured to him. He parried the charge of one more man with the broad of his oak shaft.

  The churls murmured with dismay, backing away until their commander roared, “Take him!”

  “A fine leader you are,” William said with contempt. “Afraid to get me yourself?”

  The men’s breathing labored with harsh, angry rigor.

  “All right!” The commander splashed into the water, ordering, “I’ll grab the stick, you—all of you—tackle him.”

  A plan destined for failure and success. Men piled up in the stream beneath William’s punishing weapon, until, with a mighty splash, William went down. Terrified, Saura heard the cries of the attackers, enthusiastic as the Promethean warrior weakened beneath their blows. She clutched the huge boulder supporting her and discovered a smooth, round stone loose beneath her fingers. It was a good size, heavy enough to require both hands to lift it, yet small enough to fit between her palms. Bronnie shouted, “I’ll bring th’ woman!” and before clear intention formed in her mind, she turned and smacked his skull.

  The lucky blow toppled Bronnie into the midst of the battle below and ended it as his disgruntled compatriots turned on him. Flushed with triumph, Saura leaned out and knocked a few more bobbing heads before the rock was torn from her hands and discarded. “Damn it!” the leader swore as he dragged her into the water.

  “This was supposed t’ be an easy task,” one of the churls complained, and Bronnie groaned, “Why did ye think his lordship ordered eight sturdy men t’ capture un blind man an’ his woman?”

  This bit of logic from one so muddleheaded silenced the grievances. William and Saura were prodded from the brook and forced, one after the other, onto a broad-backed horse. “Tie his wrists together around her waist,” the leader ordered, his voice shaking with fury. “He’ll not jump and bring her down, too. And hurry, we’ve tarried too long on Burke land.”

  “Should we tie th’ woman, too?”

  “Nay,” the leader replied scornfully. “Can’t you see what she suffers? She’s harmless.”

  “Huh!” Bronnie snorted. “Me head can’t agree.”

  Unaware of her part in the fight, William queried, “What did you do to our friend Bronnie?”

  “Smashed him with a rock.”

  William laughed softly. “That’s my warrior queen. One day I’ll teach you to defend yourself as if you were a knight.” He grunted as they tightened the ropes around his hands and looped them around her waist.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “A few cuts,” he answered with disdain. “My pride suffered the most damage.”

  “Not many knights could stave off eight men,” she pointed out.

  “I could, before.” His voice sounded flat and uncompromising, and she believed him.

  Their horse on a leading rein jerked to a walk and then a trot. “Can’t you hurry that nag?” the leader snarled.

  One of his men replied, “Not with Lord William on it. Not with him and the woman.”

  The leader rode close to their side and warned, “Listen well. We are a troop of mercenaries—”

  “Troop? A powerful name for one mercenary commanding a flock of untrained serfs.”

  “—of eight able-bodied men—”

  “Eight?” William mocked.

  “At least six,” the leader said sourly. “You didn’t kill anyone back there, but only broke a couple of bones. You are a wet, blind man, but once you were a warrior, so I caution you now. His lordship wants you alive, but my patience is at an end. Unless you want to ride tied hand and foot and dropped over a horse like a portion of game, don’t try to escape.”

  “Wisdom I will endeavor to follow,” William answered ironically.

  The leader left to ride to the front of the column. The troop of men thinned to a single file, brushing past branches and bushes in their haste to put ground between themselves and the avenging Lord Peter of Burke. They grumbled and spit, compared bruises and argued.

  William and Saura adjusted to the jarring pace, and William wiggled his hands.

  “Can you free them?” Saura asked quietly.

  “I can loose them from your waist. The knots are so tight my fingers tingle.” He worked with silent contortions until he sighed with pleasure. “There.” He rubbed his fingers across her flat stomach. “Much better.”

  Saura jumped and quavered, “What if they see your hands are free?”

  “They’ll not care. He’s right, only a fool would try to escape now, and I’m not that. Nay, the battle was never in doubt, but our miniature squires must have heard the shouting and be on their way to the castle. Let us enjoy the ride until we reach our destination, wherever that might be.” His fingers flexed again and hugged her waist. “You’re tiny.” His breath sighed across her neck and she jumped again. “And high-strung. I never would have suspected a woman of your elderly years would be so responsive to the touch of a hand. Have you never married?”

  “Nay.” Her voice began steadily and rose to a squeak. “William!”

  His lips caressed her neck and shoulders, roughening the skin with his bearded chin. “I love the scent of carnations. Such smooth skin.” He smiled. “For a woman of your elderly years.”

  “William….”

  “And such high, tight breasts.” His hands moved across her bosom, exploring and pressing. “For a woman of your—”

  “Elderly years.” Her hands caught his and positioned them on the saddle. “How long have you known?”

  “I told you before I’m not a fool. Clare is seven. A mighty difference in age between an elderly woman of forty and her brother.”

  “It’s not impossible!” Saura protested.

  “But unlikely. Once I made that connection, it wasn’t hard to equate my mystery maid of the bath with the untouchable nun of gentle birth. The unknown relation of my mother, our housekeeper. I gave you every chance to tell me.”

  Reduced to silence, she could only nod. The movement of her head jogged him and he guessed, “Lady Saura of Roget?”

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  He settled her against his chest to cushion her ride. He tenderly wrapped his mighty arms around her waist, but his mind bubbled with revolt. Had he discovered this woman, his woman, only to be murdered by some anonymous evil that feared to show its face? It would never have been so in the old days, before his sight was stripped from him by ruse or deceit. In the old days, he would have fought for this lady, protected her with sword and shield. Now he was constrained to ride with the enemy to some unforeseen fate. He cursed the inaction that dragged at his spirit and longed for another skull to crush.

  They rode until evening and the horse beneath them sagged with their weight. As the birds chirped a weary good night and the breeze cooled and thickened, they stopped to let the animals drink. Saura dismounted gingerly, for her shoes had been abandoned on the banks of Fyngre Brook. Her legs buckled beneath her, protesting the hours in the saddle. William reached for her, but Mort stuck out his leg and William staggered over it.

  “Ha! I’ll take care of th’ pretty lady,” Mort chortled, catching her waist.

  The others laughed, their grudge agai
nst the blind knight fresh. Encouraged, Mort pressed Saura close and made kissing sounds by her ear. “Come with me, m’lady. You’ll need help to find your way. Let me show ye th’ huge tree trunks that grow in these woods.”

  “Stumps, more likely,” she hissed, dragging her nails across his eyes. Blood sprang up where her nails dug and Mort howled with fury. Jerking free, she stumbled across the clearing. The merriment of the troop rang in her ears; Mort’s snarling pursuit propelled her.

  She feared, oh God, she feared.

  But another joined the hunt: William followed them, trailing the threats that rang in the forest. Saura heard as he snared the unwary Mort and flung him around. She heard Mort gurgle as William wrapped one hand around the man’s neck and lifted him into the air. She heard the crunch of bulbous flesh as one mighty fist knocked Mort’s curses down his throat; she heard William fling the serf into the group of scrambling mercenaries.

  What she couldn’t see was Bronnie, stalwart Bronnie, as he swung the shaft of his bow and smashed William in the back of the head.

  Saura heard the thwack as it connected, heard the rumble as William keeled over in the dirt.

  Then it was silent, only Bronnie’s whimpering broke the shocked hush.

  The leader walked to William and turned him with a heave of his foot. “Have you killed him, Bronnie?”

  “Is there a bed?” The stone beneath her fingertips felt dry and cold, but the winding stairs she had climbed had warmed her, as did the anger surging through her veins. The group of men who had captured them had dispersed when they arrived in this strange household, but Bronnie had been retained to guide them, and his new shoes squeaked from their dunking. One giant of a man carried William, draped over his shoulder.

  Who were they? Who was this mysterious lord? How dared he take the master of Burke and his housekeeper from their lands? The distinctive combination of smells that identified each castle assured her she had never visited here before. So where were they? The stair leveled into a landing and they halted as Bronnie swung the creaking door wide and ushered them in. “Where are we? Is there a bed for William?” she insisted, her voice sharp as a slap.

  “Aye, m’lady.”