In a Glance

by Lisa Shea

  Sybil drew her brows together as she pondered this new information. “Well, I suppose we can wait a bit,” she agreed at last. “How about this. You pour me a mug of ale, and I’ll have this girl give you a demonstration of the dance she was doing down at the Spinning Lark.”

  The bald man had her ale poured and presented within a heartbeat. She took a long pull on it, then wiped her mouth off with her sleeve. “That hits the spot,” she murmured with a smile. “Been a rough ride today.”

  The blond pushed the table to the far left wall while the greasy-haired soldier set up a trio of chairs facing the open area before the fireplace. The three men gathered up their mugs of ale and settled down with anticipation glowing on their faces.

  Joan smiled at the men’s easy distraction. She carefully pulled open the shutter, then eased over the sill into the darkness of the main workroom. The three men’s backs were to her; every ounce of their attention was on the slender woman before them. Linota drew a fabric scarf from her waist, circling it around the frame of her face to hold back the hair. She looked to the blond and winked. “Keeps my mouth free this way.”

  He nodded mutely, his eyes tracing their way down her form.

  She raised both arms over her head. “I call this dance, ‘Do Not Scream’.”

  The bald man raised an eyebrow. “That’s a funny name for a dance.”

  A hand clamped over Joan’s mouth, and it took every ounce of self-control for her to swallow the cry which swelled from within her, as she recognized Hugh next to her and melted in to him.

  Linota gave the bald man a wink. “Oh, believe me, when this dance reaches its climax you will understand perfectly what the name is all about.”

  He leant forward in anticipation, the mug of ale in his hands all but forgotten.

  Hugh pointed a finger at her, then at the greasy man who was even now slicking his hair back in an attempt to neaten it. She shook her head firmly. There was no doubt Hugh was planning on taking on two men by himself, leaving her with only one. She pointed at the blond with the braid. If she was going to have only one man to deal with, better it be the leader.

  Hugh frowned, but he took in the determination in her eyes, and his shoulders fell. He nodded, his eyes holding a clear message for her.

  Be careful.

  She nodded, drawing the dagger from her hip. His was already in his hand. They crept side by side from the deep shadows of the main workroom to the smaller dining area, where Linota whirled in a spiral, her hands waving in an undulating rhythm. Sybil stood against the fireplace, tapping time on the mantle, her eyes on Linota.

  Her voice was a low murmur. “Now, watch this, boys. Watch this thing she does with her hips.”

  The three men on the chairs leant forward, their eyes glued to the dancer before them.

  The blond was on the far left of the three. Joan took one last step to the side, giving Hugh room with which to work on the other two.

  She pounced.

  She drew the razor-sharp edge of the blade along his neck, severing the artery, and he flung his arms out wide, lunging at her. He grabbed a hold of her right forearm, bearing down on top of her as his life’s blood pumped from his body. His weight slammed her into the floor, and for a moment the breath was knocked out of her. He inexorably twisted her arm, rotating the blade, pressing it … pressing it …

  The desperate gleam in his eyes flared, faded, and then he collapsed on her, his bulk pinning her in place.

  Joan could hear the grunts and heavy thuds of a fight, and she pressed furiously at the body. There was the sound of running feet, and Linota and Sybil were there, hefting the blond off of her. She sprang to her feet, turning to seek out Hugh.

  The greasy-haired man lay sprawled next to his chair, blood flowing from beneath him in slow rivulets. The larger, bald bandit was circling Hugh, his eyes tiny with fury, his dagger in his hand. The man lunged forward with an arcing blow, but Hugh danced back, barely missing it.

  Joan took a step forward, but Hugh shook his head without removing his gaze from the man before him. “Stay back,” he warned her. “I’ll take care of him.”

  There was a soft scratching at the door, and a smile crossed Joan’s lips. She backed up to the door, her eyes never leaving the two men. She reached her hand back and pulled the door wide.

  In from the ebony wetness stalked a pair of large, bristling wolves, their amber eyes gleaming in the firelight, their gaze focused on the bandit before them. A low growl emitted deep from their throats, and even Joan’s neck hairs stood on end.

  Linota and Sybil pressed themselves flat against the far wall, their eyes round in shock. It took the bald man an extra moment to turn his attention from Hugh, but when he did his mouth fell open in fear. His voice was a hoarse mutter. “Here, let’s put aside our quarrel. Those monsters will tear us open!”

  Joan smiled sweetly. “Their mother was slain by a swordsman,” she informed the man. “They are driven to mad fury any time they see a blade.”

  He tossed his dagger toward the fire, holding his hands high. “See? No blade,” he called out to the approaching animals. “No blade!”

  Hugh spun him in place, pressing him up against the wall. Joan grabbed rope from the corner and came over to them, tying the man’s hands behind him.

  His voice was a frantic squeak. “The wolves will eat us all! Kill them!”

  Joan winked at Hugh, then went over to her dogs. “Ah, my darling pups. Tracked us here, did you?” She knelt down and nuzzled Romulus. “And you are drenched.”

  The dog lapped her face, then gave himself a long, thorough shake which doused the few spots which had begun to dry with a fresh soaking.

  She scrunched Remus behind the ears, and then gave them both a gentle shove toward the fire. They didn’t need a second hint. They padded their way over, turned around a few times, and curled up in its warmth.

  Hugh pushed the man down into the center chair, giving him a firm gaze. “Sit.”

  The man glanced at the two dogs, and they both raised their heads slightly, fixing the bandit with a steady gleam.

  He nodded fervently. The dogs lowered their muzzles in between their paws again.

  There was a cascade of thunder, and the walls vibrated. Hugh looked up at the central staircase, then back to Joan. “The Bull brothers are up there,” he murmured.

  She nodded. “I heard. But we have to get through them.”

  There were footsteps in the open doorway, and Joan turned. Lord Weston and Greslet stood there, side by side, their swords in hand. Lord Weston’s gaze swept the room, then moved up the stairs toward the second floor. “Let us take care of that,” he stated evenly. “You two need to get to Sarah.”

  Joan’s instinct was to turn them down. She would not let anyone else shoulder the burden that was hers to bear. But Hugh stepped forward, gently laying his hand on her arm. “We are all in this together,” he pointed out. He turned to the men. “Your help would be greatly appreciated.”

  Joan sighed, nodding in acceptance. “Yes, it would.”

  The two men settled their hilts in their hands, then Lord Weston led the way as they ascended the stairs. There was no need for careful placement of feet, not tonight with the steady thrumming of rain on every surface of the building, coupled with the unending crash of thunder. It would be a miracle if those upstairs had heard even the faintest sound of what went on below.

  As the men reached the top of the stairs they gave one last nod to each other, then split. Lord Weston moved left, Greslet headed right. The clang of their first blows was a whisper beneath the thunderous force of the storm outside.

  Hugh continued climbing the stairs to the attic, and Joan was right behind him. She hoped beyond all hope that they would find Sarah unhurt, that the woman had the nine lives of a cat to survive two such assaults on her home. She found her lips murmuring a prayer as they came up through the opening in the floor into the large room.

  A few flickering lamps were set up in various corner
s. Joan’s gaze swept the shadows, looking for movement. Her eyes swept to the window – and froze.

  Chapter 24

  The rain was thundering directly overhead, the walls were shaking with the pounding, and Joan could barely hear Cecily’s tirade to Michael. The two stood near the large window, Cecily waving a hand in exasperation, Michael watching her as if she were an uninteresting exhibit at a dusty museum. He had his sword in one hand and idly traced circles in the dust while she raged.

  Cecily’s voice raised above the tumult of the storm for a moment. “And if you think I’m just going to sit around while you go back to that woman, you’ve got another think coming. Oh, I was fine while you played with your stable of whores. You’ve made your lifestyle clear enough over the years. But this goes too far!”

  Joan glanced over to Hugh – and blinked in surprise. Hugh was standing as if transfixed, staring at Michael and Cecily. His sword arm wavered as if he had forgotten he held one. His gaze was distant, unfocused. He was completely disconnected with the current moment – lost somewhere in a distant past.

  Michael turned. A wide smile split his face as he saw Hugh and Joan. “At last, there you are,” he welcomed. “Certainly took you long enough to arrive.” He gave a condescending nod to Cecily. “You see, my dear, there was no need to fret. Everything is working out just as I had planned.”

  Hugh’s gaze sharpened, and he took a step forward. “I’m not sure your men downstairs would agree with that,” he countered.

  Michael laughed in amusement. “Took care of them for me? Exemplary. They were the last ones with a claim on a share of our prize here.” He fondly patted the leather pouch at his side. “Now that you’ve handled that little problem, we have only a few minor issues to wrap up before I can head out.”

  Joan shook her head. “Your days of scheming are over, Michael.”

  He raised an eyebrow, then took a step to the left.

  Joan sucked in her breath. Huddled immediately before the open window were Sarah and Aiden. Aiden had his arms wrapped around Sarah, and his eyes were glued on Michael.

  Joan’s heart skipped a beat. “Sarah, are you all right?”

  Sarah nodded, her eyes wide. “We’re both fine.”

  Michael casually raised his sword and pointed it at Sarah’s chest. Aiden immediately moved so he had the tip of the sword against his chest, shielding Sarah with his body. The lad’s voice shook, but rang clear. “If you want to hurt her, you’ll have to go through me to do it.”

  Michael laughed. “That doesn’t sound too bad to me. I could gut you both. Your screams could be the music we all dance to.”

  Joan stared at him in growing horror. “You? You’re the reason Tobias became so violent these past few months? You’re why he was planning the same end for Sarah when he held her hostage in this very attic?”

  Michael gave a low bow. “Tobias was quite the student, as was Sheriff Elias and his other men. Really, though, I think of myself more as an artist than a mere teacher. Those men were rough clay. I molded them into something far superior.”

  Joan saw the gleam in his eye. She realized with shock that he would do it. He would spear the both of them through and then start the fight. Michael figured that the trauma of the two youngsters’ agonizing deaths would distract her and Hugh enough to tilt the odds in his favor.

  He probably figured correctly.

  Joan moved her gaze to hold Sarah’s eyes. She pitched her voice to be as steadying as she could. Everything depended on it.

  “Sarah, do you trust me?”

  Sarah instantly nodded.

  Joan slid her gaze to Aiden. “And, Aiden, do you trust in Sarah fully? Do you love her?”

  “Absolutely.” Aiden folded his grasp into hers.

  She looked between the two, wrapping her fingers slowly down the length of her hilt, settling it firmly into the groove of her palm.

  There was no other choice.

  “Jump!”

  There was not a moment of hesitation. The two spun in place, stepped in unison up to the sill, and vanished into the thunderous darkness of the storm.

  Michael stared after them with a look of abject shock and outrage. His mouth hung open for a long moment. Finally he slowly turned to stare at Joan in growing acceptance and amusement.

  “After all these years, my dear, to think you have the capacity to amaze me. Never, in a lifetime of guessing, would I have imagined that you would willfully send those two to their death just to save your own skin. I always took you for someone who would battle any odds, would risk your life ten times over to rescue an innocent.”

  His smile widened. “I do say, I think I am finally starting to rub off on you. It has certainly taken long enough.”

  Joan’s throat was tight. She hoped beyond all measure that Bossard had prepared a large enough hay pile to save his son and future daughter-in-law from critical damage. She stared at Michael. “The innocents are safe from your grasp, now, Michael. It is time to bring you and Cecily to justice.”

  He laughed, looking over her dismissively. “What, you and Hugh? Bring us in? Just when the final pieces are sliding into place?” He brought his sword up at his side. “You always did like watching a joust, my dear. Well, here’s a show you won’t want to miss. It’s time I bring an end to this little affair of yours.” He glanced at Cecily. “Do make sure she stays out of the way.”

  Cecily’s eyes gleamed with determination. “Absolutely.”

  Michael looked to Hugh, and his gaze hardened. “What do you say, old partner? Joan was always mine – and I have always been the better man. But, not to worry, I’ll take good care of her once you’re gone.”

  Hugh’s gaze flared with emotion, but he pressed his lips together, every ounce of attention on Michael’s feet, on his stance.

  Then Michael lunged, his sword arced, and they were a maelstrom.

  Joan drove forward to help Hugh, but a sword slammed down against hers, and Cecily drove her back a few steps with heavy blows, separating her from the two men. Cecily’s voice was a furious hiss. “Oh, no you don’t,” she challenged. “You won’t interfere, not this time, not when I am so close to having everything I want.” She spun in a circle with her sword out wide, driving Joan back another step. A pile of boxes tumbled between the two pairs of combatants. “Michael will take care of that boyfriend of yours, as he has taken care of every other impediment in our life. With a dagger to the gut.”

  Joan spared a glance for the two men. They were a blur in the shadows, a whirling progression of flashing blade and spinning limb. She could barely tell where one began and the other ended.

  A sword was arcing toward her shoulder, and she leapt back. The tip sliced down her dress, rending it for a few inches.

  Cecily gave a low laugh. “Oh, so sorry about that,” she offered. “Just trying to keep you away from the fight. Accidents happen sometimes, you know.” She dove forward, driving her blade straight at Joan’s heart. Joan dodged left, feeling a whistle of air as the edge barely missed her arm.

  A blow drove toward Joan’s head, and she deflected to the right, ducked as the sword reversed and came back in again, then leapt back as the tip nearly ripped her stomach open. On the other side of the boxes she could hear the grunts of pain and clang of metal. It took all her willpower not to look over and see how Hugh was doing. She needed every ounce of her attention on the woman before her.

  Cecily’s blade whirled high over her head, Joan brought her sword up to block and –

  Hugh’s voice rang across the room. “Halt!”

  Both women, startled, turned to look.

  Michael was weaving by the window, swordless, blood streaming from a cut in his forehead. His left arm seemed broken and there were wounds on his legs as well. Hugh held his sword pointed at him. His left bicep was gashed and he seemed to be favoring his right leg.

  Hugh’s voice carried a clear command. “Cecily. Drop your sword immediately.”

  Cecily’s eyes widened in disbelief
, then darkened with all-encompassing fury.

  “Never!”

  She raced straight at Hugh, hurdling the boxes, her sword held high over her head.

  Hugh waited until she was just at him, then leapt nimbly to the left. He whirled and gave her a solid push on the back as she stumbled past him.

  She went sailing out the window, screaming, and then the noise abruptly ended. The steady thrum of the rain echoed along the roof.

  Michael stared at the dark opening for a moment. When he turned to Hugh a coolness had sifted into his gaze. He nodded as Joan climbed over the boxes and came to stand alongside Hugh.

  Michael’s voice took on a note of rationality. “Two against one hardly seems fair,” he pointed out. “Yes, Hugh might have won the first round, but this game is to the death. Let us see who is best in the ultimate contest.”

  Hugh shook his head. “No more games, Michael. Your foul machinations are at an end. You will be brought to justice.”

  Michael scoffed, looking between the two. “Justice for what? It is your word against mine. We are far from the Holy Land here. And, besides, you’ve killed off just about every witness that there was.”

  There was a quiet voice from behind Joan. “Not every witness.”

  Joan turned in surprise. Master Martin stood there, his eyes weary but steady. He strode up to stand between them, his gaze heavy on Michael.

  Michael blinked as if he were seeing a ghost. “How can you be here?”

  Master Martin held his gaze. “We are all a long way from where we started.” His eyes shadowed. “You were once one of my greatest prides, Michael. Now …” He gave a soft shrug.

  Michael’s brow darkened. “You have no right to judge me,” he snapped. “You will never take me alive.”

  Hugh held his gaze. “You will be made to answer for all you have done.”