by Gayle Eden
She glanced over her shoulder seeing nothing in the woods, but hearing the distant ring of battle and shouts. Isola was looking too and turned to her.
“We must get ourselves unbound. I know not what ‘tis but we are bound and unarmed as yet.” She rode close and they studied only a moment before Sefare said, “Let’s make it to the cottage. Mayhap we can free our hands if we get close enough to chaff the bands.”
They rode down, through a thicket that had briers grabbing their clothing. Swiftly, Sefare got the mount close to the half-fallen structure. She twisted her hands to the side and began chafing the rope against the sharp edged support pole.”
“It won’t break but ‘tis stretching enough,” Isola grunted working her own against something at the side. She was the first free, and swiftly untied the rope at her legs, before hurrying to free Sefare.
They rubbed their bruised and chaffed wrists and looked at each other.
“Dare we ride back?”
“Aye.”
Sefare gathered the reins and they rode back toward the valley. Just exiting the woods, they both stopped, seeing all the masked men off their horses, hands behind them, knights standing over them with swords. However, it was those still mounted, behind the knights, that Sefare stared at.
They both heard the unmarked knight say to them, “Dare you kidnap the King’s subject and pass judgment on a matter that is his right to settle!”
“We were ordered to bring her, My Lord. She is an assassin. She killed a noble and—”
“By whom were you ordered?”
“By the offended family, My Lord,” one of the masked replied.
“The name!”
“As you know, My Lord. The same. The di Matteo. In addition, her brother is an outlaw. It would do well, My Lord, that you not let her esc—”
“Kill him.”
The man’s head was cleanly severed.
Sefare was too taken with the scene, too focused on the knight, to notice that riders had broken from the line and were coming toward their left.
The knight said, “One of you shall live and shall return to your liege, whom I know to be Guardi di Matteo. You are to tell him this: either his brother the Count Baiardo di Matteo, died in battle, a hero as celebrated—or he and his family, insistent upon charging two of the king’s subjects of murder—will answer this counter charge,”
A scroll was held up, which Sefare recognized all too well. “And they will answer for the slaying of villagers and for every beast and child who died in the recent fires. They will answer for the plot to kill one Lady Sefare, wife of Lord Ronan of Duhamel.”
One of the masked said gruffly, “The bastard coward won’t like that, My Lord.”
“You. You shall take the message.” The knight had the guard bring him forward and then put him on a horse. Even as he lowered his hand and the others were killed—decapitated—he said, “Tell your noble liege that he, who sends this message, speaks as the King.”
The man nodded and rode off.
Sefare saw the knight ride his horse between the slain and then he turned toward herself and Isola, just as she noticed a cowl'd rider and—Dear God…Ronan come from her left. The Celt was just behind him.
Swallowing, Sefare did not turn, even as thoughts raced through her mind, conclusions and yes anger. She fought tears and grit her teeth, making herself sit straighter in the saddle.
“Your escape caught us by surprise, My Lady.”
“I was not going to go willingly.”
She heard a chuckle echo in the visor helm. “Do not be too vexed with your husband. I gave him little choice in this plan.” He nodded and turned the destrier, raising his hand. The company turned, waiting for him to catch up and then vanished over the rise.
She whirled and stared right at Ronan—who sat his horse facing her side. “You planned this! You let me be kidnapped, dragged through rain and mud and—” She yanked the horse around and began riding toward the woods. She did not gallop but was too upset, too emotional, to even care if she was headed to the castle—or to France.
“I did not plan it,” he said tightly. “Nor did he who formed it, count on the captors taking you this route. We were prepared for rescue as soon as you were taken, but Fulco either knew something or spotted our scouts.”
“Where is that bastard?” She spat.
“I killed him.”
She reined in, hearing others behind but glared at him. He was looking at her bruised face with fury.
“Well, are you going to tell me the whole of it, or just assume as a stupid and weak woman, I’m not to be trusted in—”
“It had nothing to do with your sex. Nothing to do, with what either of us would have chosen.” Ronan went to take the reins and lead her off path but she yanked them back.
“I will guide my own mount, sir.”
He nodded and they rode off the main road, further, near to the camp of the night before. He signaled a dismount, and Sefare climbed down before he could help her.
She spared a glance at Isola, and noted the Celt and Fitzwilliam. The black cowl’d figure was off to the side—holding the reins, and sitting on his haunches—his shielded face toward the forest floor.
Turning back, she found Ronan had been looking her over, and the fury in his eyes was tempered obviously, because it was not aimed at her.
He said, “This was Edward’s plan.”
Her knees went week. “Edward…the prince?”
“Aye.” Ronan held her gaze.
“Christ! You should have said something. I didn’t even get off my horse!”
Instead of answering that outrage, Ronan went on, “He has no love for Guardi, nor had he any for your husband. An old affront, that occurred when Edward was younger and during a Tourney. When the accusations came before the king, ‘twas already suspected what Guardi would do.”
”How? I do not understand. Moreover, why did they kill the villagers? I don’t understand this!”
“I’m trying to make you understand, woman,” Ronan snapped. “If you will but stop screaming at me.”
“I am not screaming. I am…shouting!” She glared at him. “Why is it an angry man roars, but an angry woman is screaming?”
“By the blood,” Ronan growled under his breath, throwing his hands up.
“I think I can help.”
She whirled around, watching the figure rise in the black cowl and rasp, “I have been the King’s man since my father died. I pledged my sword to him, and specifically to serve Edward, in the same capacity I served before. I asked only one boon… and that was to find my sister.”
“Mshai!” Sefare lost her breath while he pushed back his hood, and a familiar yet older face, a more fierce and hard one than her memories, was exposed….
He went on, his black eyes holding hers. “Because of my commission I pretended to the Count to have oathed myself there and after learning and seeing how you were treated—I set it up to kill him. He had also hired slavers to kidnap me and they tried. I followed when you fled, knowing of Guardi’s character. I knew one of your knights was his spy. When the messages were sent to take you—to kill Duhamel, I—”
“You killed him? You killed the Count?”
“Aye. I did.” Mshai nodded. “It did not harm me to be called an outlaw, and to be branded thus. I am still a royal spy. I could not meet those charges. Even did my sire know of them, and of my hand taking vengeance? This plan allowed Edward to at last vanquish an old enemy, for he will see them charged and punished. In some manner, both you and I, have rid him of those he hated, even if we did so for our personal reasons.”
He shrugged and glanced at Ronan before looking back at her. “I knew you had wed a worthy man this time, as did the King and Edward. Nevertheless, we could not let him go after Guardi. And ‘twas difficult getting him from your side, too, in this plan.”
“The village.”
“Aye. Those men you saw slain, they were supposed to draw Ronan away for Fulco to take you.
They were of the same party as the ones who eventually met him. When no distraction worked, to either kill Ronan, or get you from the castle I had intercepted messages, but was confused by Lord Ronan’s own attempt to feed the information back to them. I was too late to save the villagers.”
“You saved one.”
None turned to look at Isola who leaned against a tree listening, but Sefare glanced at her, then, back to her brother.
Sefare said emotionally, “You could have told me…”
“Nay. You were too feared that the Count would kill me. He tried many times. I knew he would be baited with the battle. I changed armor in the midst and killed his assassins and him. I did not expect you to flee, but came for you—once you had fled, and the men with you, another plan had to be formed. You wed the Crimson Knight rather swiftly…”
She flushed.
Mshai said, “Until Guardi made some bold move, there was no ending it. Edward knew all of it, of my crime, and of these men’s character. However, it served not his purpose nor mine, for the truth to surface. The king, the prince, they have known my skill and how I served our father. A spy…or an assassin…must not appear to be intimate with those he serves.
In addition, their allowing the charges against me to remain, also allowed the Count’s brother to grow emboldened and to commit a crime on English soil. Your husband knew nothing, save the plan to have you taken, and lure the traitor—as well as capture those in league with him.”
She glanced at Ronan.
“‘Twas not my plan. Nor did I like it.”
Mshai murmured, “The prince had to threaten him to see it take place.”
Sefare walked toward him, looking up at that swarthy face, exotic and handsome, yet hard, and eyes deepened through his experiences. She reached up and cupped his cheeks. “I never believed you dead.”
His hand covered hers. “I knew you would not.”
She hugged him and as he embraced her in return. Sefare wept, saying gruffly, “I should have known when father died you would swear fealty to the king.”
“Aye. You should have known.”
She pulled back, sniffing tears. “But you cannot live openly?”
“Nay.” He shook his head and then stepped back, drawing up his hood and once more becoming a black shadow. He reached inside his robes and drew out two swords. “These are yours.”
She took them, glancing at Isola who merely watched. “I gave this one to Isola for payment—”
He turned his head toward the wine haired Smith. “She is a brave woman.”
When Isola took the sword from Sefare, she stepped up and regarded Mshai.
Sefare watched them lock silent gazes for some moments. Finally, Isola seemed to gather herself and noted everyone was watching them, before she muttered. “The least you could do is return to the castle and sup with your sister before vanishing again, assassin. She has worried and grieved for you over five years.”
When she strode to her horse and mounted, Mshai looked at Sefare, a smile in his dark eyes if not on his lips.
Sefare said, “Please. None of the men will have to know who you are. Come under the cover of darkness.”
He glanced at Ronan and then back to her. He nodded before mounting his horse, going in the opposite direction.
Sefare did not look at Ronan as she gained the saddle and the party left for the castle. He rode close enough so that their legs brushed, but she was still disappointed that he had not confided in her.
She was going to kick that Celt too, under the table this night.
At the castle, she left him to tell the men what he would. Sefare went above, had water brought and bathed, donning a summer gown of blue silk and sitting awhile holding a cloth to her lip.
Just before going down to the great hall, the door between their chambers opened. A fresh bathed, dressed in black, Ronan, stood there. His gaze went from her velvet slippers to the top of her hair where she had donned a velvet cap.
“I thought you trusted me,” Sefare said low. “I thought the night we had—was because of trust.”
He waited some tense moments before he growled, “Did you come to me because you thought I was riding to my death, or riding away for a long time? Did you come out of pity?”
Shocked, she stared at him. “No. How could you think so?”
“It is easy for me—to think so.” He stared hard at her.
“I have a right to be angry with you.” She tossed the cloth and stood. “I should have—”
“You would not have trusted Fulco, nor gone with him. If I had hinted that any was a betrayer, you would have not been able to hide such knowledge.”
“You don’t trust me!”
“It is not about trust. I have said, I did not know the extent of the plan. I would much rather challenge the bastard on the field or in battle. It chafes my arse, that I was deprived of defending what is mine. Or punishing those who abducted and harmed you!” The door slammed hard behind him when he turned and left.
Sefare stared at it. “It chafes mine, that men never let us show our temper.” She kicked one of the trunks. “Owee.” She hissed and rubbed her foot.
At Length, Sefare went below. The Celt and Isola were at the Lord’s table. She did kick the Celt, and all he did—was wink at her.
Fitzwilliam showed up, and eventually Ronan. The meal progressed, the hall ringing with voices and music, and knights. Even those rescued, one with a bandaged head, acting as if such things happened every day.
A shadow emerged from the left and sat facing her, his back to the main hall.
Sefare regarded her brother’s exotic face within the cowl, her eyes aching to see it once more. She knew, even when she was young, that it was rare for him to sup with family. He was always on secret missions and dangerous ones. That he killed the Count was still sinking in. That the Count tried to kill him, to have him captured, did not surprise her.
She stood and filled him a heaping plate, then ate from her own, and sipped her wine, while he finished his meal. When it was done, he sat back and his dark eyes went over her face.
He murmured to Ronan who could hear, “You should take her someplace from here. She deserves a life better than she has known.”
Sefare’s eyes burned. She loved her brother for that, for so many things. “And you, do you not—”
He held up his hand. “I chose this. I mastered it very young, and it has served me well. Someday, I may feel differently. However, for now, 'tis my duty. Moreover, ‘tis challenging.”
“And dangerous." She sighed. “But aye. Father was proud of your skills. You can still visit me…somehow?”
“I will—somehow.” His white teeth gleamed. He put down the goblet and stood, dropping something near her plate, before he vanished.
Sefare picked it up and curled her fingers around it.
“What is that?” Ronan asked quietly.
“Father’s crest. Mshai wore it around his neck from boyhood. From the time my father claimed him. I’ll keep it for him.”
Sefare was so intent on that, she did not see Ronan glance at Ualtar, who was looking toward the screened exit.
Ualtar had watched Isola arise from her seat and exit behind Mshai.
When the Celt looked at him, he smiled slightly and shrugged. Ronan had no words for him. They had all witnessed the woman’s intensity toward the king’s spy.
Sefare arose shortly after and retired.
* * * *
Ronan paced his chambers, his mind on Sefare’s bruised mouth, and his rage ebbing and flowing. He had killed Fulco, and most of those men were dead. However, he had would have liked to meet di Matteo on a field of battle, or tourney ground. He had no doubt Edward would destroy the nobleman before he got the chance, if only through humiliation.
Christ. He stopped and leaned against the window. He had never felt so afraid than when he realized that bastard took her another route. Every hour that slipped by he had growled and cursed, hating Edward’s calmness, even her
brother’s silence. He never thought he would feel such emotion for a woman.
For the next week, and beyond—while her mouth healed, and while Ronan spoke to the men and servants about moving all to Fawston castle. He was aware that Sefare was still resentful and still avoiding him.
Ronan told himself it was better that way. Better that he did not allow himself to feel more. Because one single night of passion, and he had felt more riding away, waiting and raging when he realized the plan, worried she would be killed or harmed. He told himself that, but it was not just the passion. It was everything about Sefare.
“Have you need of this castle?” Sir Osburn approached him.
“Why do you ask?”
“I should like to tenant it for you. And raise the child, the girl Alid from the village. Some of the servants would like to stay also.”
Having admired the man’s mettle and steel, Ronan nodded. “Very well. Pay your scutage in meat, skins and goods. Train whom you will, and if the village is rebuilt, then rents.”
The knight bowed and said, “I should like to adopt the girl.”
“Apply for it. I will add my approval.”
The man turned, and then turned back. “Should you ever need my sword, or anything of me. My oaths stand.”
Ronan clapped him on the shoulder and nodded. “I am honored, Sir Osburn. Afterwards Ronan, watched him stride back toward the keep.
He spied Sefare after her training with Isola. She strode out of the tunnel and stood in the rear courtyard, her sword on her back, wearing a brown tunic and boots, buff breeches.
He followed her.
“Are you prepared to remove to Fawston?”
“Aye.” She did not look at him as he stood beside her.
“We will leave in three days’ time.”
“Very well.”
Ronan took her hand and suddenly pulled her back until they were against the rear of the castle. He turned and lifted her up—and kissed her until he could feel her melting and kissing him back.
When he raised his head and set her on her feet, he muttered, “Did I hurt your mouth.”
