by Hall, Diana
A tiny push came from her womb. The baby flip-flopped around then quieted. Her panic had affected the baby; she must calm herself. The mug on the table reminded her of her request. Tyrus must have brought in the tea while she slept on the balcony. She raised the cup to her lips. Goliath whipped his head around and snarled. His sharp canine teeth bared, he came toward her.
Uncertain of the madness that possessed her pet, she froze, afraid to move. He sprang at her, knocking her aside, and then she saw it. Gleaming red eyes shone from under the table. She threw the cup at the shining eyes and heard it thud against the black body. The rat opened its mouth, displaying long, yellow teeth.
Larger than most cats, it stunk out from under the table. She gripped her dog’s collar and yanked him away. Rat bites always caused infection and she didn’t want to risk Goliath’s health. The rodent scurried along the wall, and she could still see the hellish glow of its eyes when it paused to look at her. It disappeared into the shadows beneath her bed. From a safe distance, she strained to make out its shape under the bed. Nothing. No eyes gleamed back, no shadow moved.
She gave her bodyguard a squeeze. Goliath licked her face with his wet tongue. “Good boy. Good boy.” She wondered where the rodent had come from. Rats that size were usually found only in the cesspools or in the most unused parts of the castle.
“I don’t think I would rest easy in my bed knowing that creature lies beneath it,” she said to Goliath, scratching his ears. “If we don’t disturb it, then perhaps it will not move.” She gripped the collar and led her dog back to the balcony. “’Twill only be a few hours until the household begins to awaken. Come, Goliath, we will watch the sunrise, and in the morning we will request a cat. A very large cat to run off our unwelcome visitor.” She frowned with regret. The empty tea mug lay on its side, the contents in a puddle that leached down into the rushes. “Too bad about the tea. ‘Twould help calm my nerves.” She’d not disturb Tyrus again. In a few hours she’d sneak down to the kitchen and get her own cup.
Roen tossed and turned on the ground. He rolled over on his side and felt a rock jut into his hip. His fingers dug beneath him and he fished out the stone. That idiot of a squire must have laid his bed on a field of rocks. Another jab in the leg and Roen rested on his elbow, ready to move to another part of the camp.
The moonlight softened the shapes of the men around him into dark, indiscernible mounds. A thick stand of forest encircled the camp. From it came the sounds of the night—the call of an owl, the occasional rustle of a deer. One of his night watchmen stood away from the fire, not allowing its brightness to blind him in the dark.
Roen looked at the moon and judged hours still stood between night and the first break of day. The silver light of the moon gleamed through the bramble surrounding the camp. His eye caught a flash of silver amid the darkness. A cloud passed over the moon and blotted out its light. When the shadow passed, the glint of steel returned. Someone waited in the woods, someone with weapons drawn.
If he approached the sentry, it might warn off the attackers and Roen wanted to know who plotted against him. He threw the stone in his hand at the mound of blankets next to him. Hamlin’s curly head peeked from beneath the folds. Roen placed his finger to his lips, commanding silence. With gestures, he pointed out the danger. His friend nodded. Both men reached for their daggers and rolled away from their pallets. They traveled in opposite directions.
On bent knees, Roen ran to a bush and hid in its shadow. He waited until a hunched-over form materialized from the woods. The assailant darted from tree to tree, heading for the back of the watchman. A flick of the wrist and the dagger in Roen’s hand plunged into the man’s back. He fell, without a cry, to the ground.
Hamlin caught Roen’s attention with a wave. The second in command cocked his head to one side and pointed to his ear. Roen listened, then made out the sounds of movement in the woods encircling them.
Across the camp, Hamlin belly-crawled to the mound of blankets nearest him and whispered to the man within. Roen motioned the night guard to lie down and pretend to be wounded. Hamlin traveled to the next mound, and then the next. Roen crept back to his blankets and withdrew his broadsword. Soon, his knights waited in their blankets, their swords at their sides, for his call.
Figures loomed from behind the trees. Dressed in old leather tunics and frayed woolens, the bandits entered the camp confident of victory. Too confident, as if they knew there would be no guard. Roen recalled Lenora’s suspicion of Winton. Saints’ blood, he should have listened to her. What had she seen that he hadn’t? The coming battle took on new connotations; he had more to lose than just his life. The thought of never seeing his wife again made him grip the handle of his sword with vengeance.
Hamlin waited on the opposite side of the camp for his signal. Like a spider awaiting his prey, Roen let the would-be ambushers enter his camp.
“To arms!” Roen stepped forward and slashed at the torso of one of the bandits. Blood sprayed across his face and tunic. His knights responded immediately, and within seconds Roen heard the sounds of clashing steel. The cries of dying men and the acrid smell of blood assaulted his senses.
The advantage of surprise lost to them, the assailants tried to make for the safety of the darkness. Roen’s knights chased them down, their training and weapons making short work of their adversaries. “I want one alive,” Roen ordered. His men raced to capture the disappearing men.
Roen reached over to the dead man at his feet and examined the body. From the corpse’s belt he pulled a heavy bag, and poured its contents onto the chest of its owner. Ten gold coins landed like decorations down the man’s tunic. “Check the other bodies.” Roen moved to the next mangled body on the ground.
This one had a bag hidden under his shirt, and the next had one dangling from a belt. He returned to Hamlin and asked, “These all have heavy purses, what of yours?”
Hamlin nodded. “Aye, the same. A large piece of coin for such a motley crew. Life as a bandit must be better than I was led to believe.”
His men began to reappear from the woods. Roen resheathed his sword and called out, “Earast, did you get one alive?”
The knight shook his dark beard and laughed. “Nay, not I, but Raymond managed to have a good hunt.”
Near the fire, Raymond held the tip of his sword against the spine of Lord Cyril’s messenger. Shed of his hauberk, he wore the leather tunic and woolens of the bandits. Self-recrimination stabbed at his conscience. Lenora had seen through his disguise.
“Who hired you?” Roen demanded. He faced Winton and controlled the desire to close his fists around the man’s throat.
Winton spread his hands wide in supplication. “The boy here’s made a mistake, Lord Roen.” The man smiled. “These young ones are just too eager. I was a-chasin’ those men and the boy mistook me for the wrong side.”
Roen grabbed the leather pouch that weighed down one side of his prisoner’s belt. He ripped open the drawstring with his dagger and let the coins fall to the ground. Twelve coins shone in the firelight. “I take it you took more for yourself since you had the harder job of luring us here for the ambush.” His fist clenched the man’s neckline and he ordered, “Tell me who paid you.”
Raymond pressed his sword into the base of Winton’s neck, until blood trickled down and seeped under his leathers. Still, Winton wore a cocky smile. “Ye won’t kill me. I’m the only one with the answers ye want, and for a price I’ll tell ye.”
Roen’s dagger slashed down Winton’s face. He jerked his head back but not before Roen held half of the man’s mustache in his hand. “I won’t kill you.” He dropped the clump of hair and wiped his hand of the grease on his prisoner’s sleeve. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t make it so you wished you were dead.” The needlelike tip of the dagger traced lightly around the base of the man’s ear. “I could chop you up into pieces. Little ones first, an ear, a few fingers at a time. Maybe an eye or—” he lowered the tip to circle the man’s genitalia �
�—other parts. When I run out of small pieces, I’ll start with bigger ones, like your arms and legs.”
Winton started to sweat. He moved his fingers and shuffled his feet back and forth. “Mind ye, ‘twas nothing personal. Just a job, and I was paid well for it. This’ll go bad on my reputation.”
“I think I’ll start with your nose first.” Roen advanced and squeezed Winton’s nose between two knuckles.
“Wait, wait, I’ll tell ye.” Roen withdrew his crushing grip on the man. Winton rubbed the tip of his nose. “Don’t know ‘is name.” He clamped his hand over his nose when Roen growled. “In me business, I don’t ask names. ‘E were a lord, had rich clothes, but not like your’n. They was like they had been fine once, but were worn out now. An’ ‘is cloak—” Winton withdrew his hand “—the corner were torn off.”
Roen’s heart stopped beating. White points of anger appeared in his vision. He found Hamlin’s face in the crowd of men. Sir Edmund’s demon haunted them still, but why? That danger should have been dispelled with Lenora’s marriage. Why did the villain reappear now, after so many months of peace?
“Did you really think to kill a band of knights?” Raymond asked, his voice showing how incredible he thought the act.
“Nay, not all. We were to sneak in and kill only the lord here and that one.” He pointed to Hamlin.
Roen narrowed his eyes. “Why then draw out so many men with us?”
“I got paid extra if I could pull out a troop of men from your castle. And ‘im especially.” This time he threw back his thumb and pointed at Raymond. “I was to get three extra coins if I kept the lot of ye away from the castle for the night.”
Roen looked at the sky. The darkness of night had lessened into the lighter shades of morning. He ran for his horse, Hamlin at his side. “Earnst, drop our prisoner at Bridgeton. Raymond, you stay with Winton and guard him well. The rest, follow when you can.” He vaulted onto the bare back of his charger.
“Roen, you can’t ride all the way back to Woodshadow bareback!” Hamlin shouted. “Wait for us.”
“I can’t.” He dug his heels into the animal’s belly and set off at a gallop. “Lenora.” The wind tore the name from his lips and whipped it away. He prayed that when he arrived home her spirit would not be the same, torn and whipped from her lifeless body.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grays and pinks feathered the early dawn sky when Roen ordered the castle gate opened. Each clink of the chain represented time lost in reaching his wife. The gate creaked up foot by foot. He didn’t wait for the men to tie it off before he spurred his horse forward, through clutches of nesting chickens and sleeping serfs.
Destrier skidded to a stop in front of the forebuilding. Roen jumped from his back and entered the keep. Servants, still hazy from sleep, blinked their eyes and started to rush to their morning duties. On a bench near the table, Crandall scratched himself in sleep.
“What are you doing here?” Roen bellowed as he towered over the wounded man.
“Fell down the stairs,” Crandall began.
Not waiting for the knight’s excuses, Roen bolted for the stairs and climbed three steps at a time. Outside his door, he nearly tripped over the sleeping body of Tyrus as he entered his chamber.
The light of morning streamed in. Roen raced to the bed and threw back the covers. Empty! His heart ached with despair. Next to the bed, a dark crimson pool stained the floor. He knelt and reached out a trembling hand to touch it. It came back red, and the smell of blood tainted his fingers.
A stab of anguish buried itself in his heart. Nora, what have I done? Raw, primitive grief overwhelmed him. He sat back on his heels, his fist clenched at his chest, and lowered his head. A shudder ran along his body and lodged in his heart. Something brushed his arm, and he lifted his head. Tyrus stood at his side.
“Milord, she’s asleep on the balcony.” The boy pointed to a bundle of cloth reclining against the outside rail. “And I needs to tell ye…”
Roen staggered to his feet and forgot the boy. He drew closer, and the mound started to writhe. Goliath’s head sprang up from under the blanket. The dog’s ears swiveled toward him and he could hear the steady thump of the animal’s tail on the floor.
“Come, Goliath,” Roen coaxed. The dog didn’t move, but whined. Fear spread through his body like a fever. He flexed his hand several times before he could bring himself to pull back the blankets. Had her pain been brief? It made no matter to him. He vowed that her killers would suffer hours for every minute of pain his wife had endured.
The blankets unfolded like a spring rosebud. Lenora lay in her cocoon, enveloped by her red gold hair. Remorse clawed at the pit of his gut and he longed to kiss the sprinkle of freckles across her pale skin. With a tenderness he should have showed her in life, Roen knelt to kiss her cold cheek.
His eyes rested on her chest. It rose and fell. She lived. He combed back her silky tresses and delighted in the warmth of her cheek. The dark fringe of her lashes fluttered but she did not wake. Roen heard his own release of air. He had not realized he held his breath until now. Goliath tried to rise, whined, then replaced his head in his mistress’s lap.
“Are you injured?” Roen’s hand moved down the dog’s head. His hand came in contact with Lenora’s, her fingers firmly clamped on her pet’s collar. Gingerly, he released each of her fingers and freed the animal Goliath licked his master’s hand and walked forward, extending a leg with every step. The dog’s bones popped and cracked into place as he headed for the other side of the room.
“Goliath?” Lenora yawned and reached out her hand. She caught hold of Roen’s wrist and patted it. “Good boy, lie still.” She snuggled back into the covers.
The sound of her voice brought a lump to his chest. He gathered her up in his arms and rubbed his chin on the top of her hair. Her arms slipped around his neck and she nuzzled his throat. A kittenlike yawn, and then she resumed her sleep.
His thumb stroked the side of her cheek. “Nora, what am I to do with you?” he asked under his breath. The rest of the world ceased to exist for him; he wanted to hold on to this moment and his wife forever. He kissed her face and eyelids, the tip of her nose and the spot where one curl tumbled over her eyes.
“Roen?” Her voice sounded wispy, like a summer breeze.
“Aye, love.” The word formed on his lips so effortlessly. He both rejoiced and ached from the release. His Nora lived, breathed and spoke. The long dark ride had ended at last.
“I wasn’t waiting up for you, you know.” She yawned again.
“Nay, I would not think so.” His throat constricted with emotion and he wrapped his arms around her tighter. Rocking her like a baby in his arms, he tried to lull her back to sleep.
“’Twas the bed, I could not sleep.” Her nose snuggled beneath his chin. “Too big and empty.” She yawned white she spoke. He could barely make out her words. “And soft, ‘twas much too soft. Not anything like you.” Her cheek rubbed against his chest and her head nodded forward. He heard the deep breaths of slumber.
Roen carried his precious bundle to their bed, where she rolled from his arms. A frown creased Lenora’s moist lips, but one gentle kiss smoothed it away. Sitting next to his wife while she rested, he reached out his hand then stopped several times before he could place it on her womb. The life within remained, a fortress wall to separate them. As unbreachable as the bailey wall that surrounded Woodshadow. With a slow, deliberate action, he removed his hand. It traveled to her hip, across the seductive arc of her backside and down her thigh.
“She is well?” Hamlin whispered from the door.
Roen rubbed his fingers together. Heat still radiated in them, Lenora’s heat. Making a loose fist, he brought it to his lips. After a silent prayer of thanks, Roen joined Hamlin at the door. Goliath scratched the wall at the corner of the room.
“Aye, it seems so. Though I don’t know why she slept on the balcony.” He led his friend to the stain on the floor. “And this is here.”
Hamlin bent down on one knee. “’Tis blood.” The dog sat and faced the wall. His whine increased to a bark.
“Quiet, dog,” Roen commanded, “You’ll wake your mistress.”
Goliath did not comply. Roen stretched out his long arms and grabbed the dog’s muzzle. Soft murmuring came from the bed, then returned to the gentle sound of restful sleep. The animal broke free and scratched at the corner again.
“I think I see what has distressed your pet.” Hamlin peered under the bed. Roen joined his friend and peeked under the bed. The bark diminished to a low whine.
A gigantic rat lay in a pool of coagulated blood. The beast’s mouth was parted in a hideous death grin. Blood seeped from its mouth and ears. A cup, its contents mixed with the rat’s blood, lay next to it. The two knights pulled the rushes forward, drawing the dead rodent closer.
A long, plaintive howl came from the corner of the room. His master stormed over to quiet the animal. “Stars, I’ll silence you for good if you’re not quiet!” Lenora rolled over in the bed, obviously exhausted.
“I wonder what killed it so horribly?” Hamlin nudged the body of the rat with the toe of his boot.
“God’s wound, Hamlin.” Roen pointed to the mug on the floor. “Don’t touch that, and keep the dog from it. I suspect ‘tis poison. Look here at what’s lodged in the wall.”
His friend kicked the mug over toward the carcass. He joined Roen in the corner of the room and helped to push back the muscular dog from the wall. A dark strip of woolen material stuck out from between the wall and floor. The edge frayed into threads by Goliath’s claws.
“Help me.” Pushing against the stones near the cloth, Roen tested his theory. Nothing happened. “My first audience with Sir Edmund was in this room. He mentioned that a secret passage led into the chamber.” Each block bore the knights’ inspection until a sharp click broke the quiet of their concentration. The sound of a rope swinging with a heavy load groaned from behind the stone bricks, then a section of wall popped forward.
