A Light Within

by Darlene Mindrup

  Garek turned his attention back to the woman who was watching him with open curiosity. He motioned toward Brianna, and although he had removed most of her clothing, he had left her torn kirtle.

  “See to her,” he commanded, and for the first time the woman noticed the figure on the bed. Her eyes went wide with shock as they flew back to Garek. He could read the message there.

  “Nay, it was not my hand that wrought this.”

  Crossing to the bed, she studied the girl before sucking in a breath and falling on her knees beside her.

  “Brianna!”

  “You know her?”

  The woman was already using the rag Garek had left in the bowl of water and was gently wiping blood from Brianna’s face. “Yea, milord. Everyone knows Brianna.”

  Growing more curious, Garek’s eyes studied the beaten figure. “Have you any idea who would do such a thing to her?”

  “I have my ideas,” she almost snarled in return.

  Garek hesitated a moment before asking gently, “Was it her husband?”

  The woman turned, surprised. “She has no husband.”

  Brows knitting in confusion, Garek’s eyes went from one to the other. “A tall man with dark brown hair and eyes?”

  The woman was shaking her head. “Nay, not her husband—her brother. And he has beaten her before, but never like this.” Garek watched the woman as she cared for the girl, making soft cooing sounds of encouragement. Realizing there was nothing more he could do, he turned to the door.

  “Call me if she wakes. I will send the physician to you when they return.” He stopped at the threshold. “What is your name?”

  “Mary, milord,” she answered absently without turning around. She seemed to have forgotten her earlier fear of him.

  A fetching woman, Garek decided. Sultry. Her dark beauty and green eyes would tempt any man. Save one.

  Garek turned away. Beauty held no allure for him anymore, for he’d already had a sample of it and it had left a sour taste in his mouth.

  ❧

  Brianna roused slowly, aware of great pain. Her eyes were covered with a cool cloth that felt heavenly against the burning sensation and swelling. Moaning softly, she tried to pull the cloth away.

  “Nay, Brianna. Be still.”

  Brianna recognized the soft voice of her friend Mary. How had Mary come to be here? And where exactly was Brianna, anyway? Frowning brought more pain. The last thing she could remember was Edward’s fierce rage raining all around her.

  “What happened?” Brianna hardly recognized the croaking voice as her own. “Where am I?”

  “Shhh, Brie. Don’t talk. You will only cause yourself more pain.”

  Mary placed a chalice against her lips. “Drink this. It will help you sleep.”

  The cool liquid felt wonderful sliding down her parched throat, but Brianna gagged at its bitter aftertaste.

  “What is it?”

  Mary chuckled. “One of Alfred’s potions.”

  Brianna slid her hand along the bed until it found Mary’s. “Tell me.”

  Mary was silent for a moment, but then she slowly related all that had transpired since Garek had come to the castle. By the time she had finished, Brianna was already asleep.

  ❧

  When Garek looked in a little later, he found Mary bent over the bed, silently weeping. His heart went out to her.

  Crossing to the bed, he looked down at Brianna’s battered face and something within him seemed to jump into burning life. He felt angrier than he could ever remember feeling. Would those gentle eyes ever be the same again? Would they ever see the world with the same innocence he had witnessed in them before?

  His hand brushed gently against the hair framing Brianna’s face. He softly stroked the bruised cheek that was now turning a greenish yellow along the edges.

  When his eyes went back to Mary, he found her watching him.

  “My men have need of food. I will sit with the girl for now.”

  Reluctantly, Mary rose to her feet. “Yea, milord.”

  When she had left, Garek took the stool beside the bed; the stool creaked alarmingly at his weight. He placed Brianna’s small hand into his own, comparing hers to his, palm against palm. Hers seemed little more than a child’s. How had she survived such a savage beating?

  Laying her hand back on the bed, he took the time to study her. He owed this girl his life. He remembered what she had looked like before the beating: brown hair hung almost to her waist in soft, tight ringlets; her skin was pale, unlike most peasant women. Briefly, he wondered why this was so.

  Unlike the girl Mary, Brianna was no beauty. For one thing, she was so thin. But there was something compelling about her. As for size, she barely reached to his own heart, although he knew he was a tall man. She seemed so tiny, and almost frail.

  His eyes came back to hers and found them open and watching him. Startled, he sat back.

  “How fare you?” he asked softly.

  “I am well, milord.”

  Her swollen lips twisted slightly when she spoke.

  “It was your brother, was it not?”

  Brianna hesitated. Even through a haze of pain she could see the fierce storminess of his cold gray eyes. The man was bent on violence.

  “Brianna,” he told her, mistaking her hesitation. “You need not fear your brother anymore. Bolson is bringing him here, then I will have him flogged and thrown into the cellar below until I can decide what to do with him.”

  “Nay! Milord, please! Do not do such a thing.”

  Confused, Garek stared at her angrily. “What say you, girl? The man almost killed you, and you would not have me do the same to him?”

  “God will have vengeance on whom He will have venge-ance. It is not for us to usurp His will.”

  The ragged voice brought Garek’s face closer to the battered one on the pillow. Raring back, he rose to his feet.

  “I know not of God, but I know plenty of vengeance. You will not stay my hand in this matter. Monsieur Edward will feel my wrath upon the morrow.”

  “Please. . .”

  Garek left the room, slamming the heavy door behind him. He took the stone steps two at a time, his anger churning.

  What manner of woman is this, who could be so abused and not seek vengeance? She pleaded for a man’s life when he thought not of hers. Again remembering her condition on the road, he gritted his teeth in fury.

  He never in his life had treated anyone that way, but the desire to abuse that villein almost overcame his reason.

  When he entered the main hall on the ground level, he found his men seated around the room on benches, filling their stomachs with food they had brought with them. Gaylan seemed to have produced trestle tables from somewhere, but Garek was too upset to question the boy about it right now.

  He poured himself a cup of ale, taking a long draught. Dark images of what he would like to do to Brianna’s brother flitted in and out of his head. Soft blue eyes entered his thoughts, begging for his mercy.

  “Aargh!” Slamming his chalice on the table, he stared angrily at the brew that spilled over the side. Bolson came from the other end of the great room.

  “Garek?”

  “What of the villein?”

  “He is below, in the cellar, as you commanded.”

  “I will speak with him,” Garek told the knight coldly. Turning, he strode from the room bent on getting answers to his questions.

  Bolson was close behind him. “What will you do?”

  “What I will.”

  The arrogance of the statement went unchecked by his colleague. As lord of this manor, Garek had the right to mete out justice any way he desired.

  Lifting a torch from the bracket in the wall, Bolson de-scended the stairs ahead of Garek. They found Edward huddled in a corner, struggling with the chains on his wrists that Bolson had pegged into the walls of the log structure.

  Garek glared at the quivering mass of manhood before him, and although there was little light,
Garek had no trouble seeing the man’s eyes glittering with hatred and fear.

  “You are responsible for your sister’s injuries, are you not?” Garek demanded.

  At first Edward refused to answer, but then something within him seemed to snap and he lunged to his feet. “Yea! And had I to do it again, I would make sure the traitor never lived to see the light of another day.”

  A tick grew in Garek’s cheek, and he answered Edward softly. “But you will never again have that opportunity, for it is doubtful whether you will see many more days yourself.”

  Edward said nothing, glaring his hatred at the despised Norman.

  “We had a hard time finding him,” Bolson told Garek, humor in his voice. “It would seem the men of this fief are from some common ancestor. With those scruffy beards and long hair, they all look the same.”

  “Yea,” Garek agreed. “Perhaps it is the way of these cowards so that no man can put a face to an enemy.”

  Although Edward continued to glare belligerently, he remained quiet until Garek’s slow smile spread across his face and he told the knight at his side, “Shear him.”

  A bellow of rage followed Garek as he left the cellar, still smiling.

  ❧

  Climbing the steps, Garek stopped outside the master’s chamber. He hesitated before he opened the door and went inside.

  Mary rose to her feet, clearly relieved to see him.

  “Milord, I cannot settle her down. She will injure herself more if she keeps on this way. She keeps begging to speak with you.”

  Garek glanced at Brianna. “Leave us.”

  He watched the maid leave the room before turning to Brianna. He was almost sure what was on her mind.

  “Milord,” her voice quavered. “What will you do with Edward?”

  His eyes avoided hers. “I have not decided.”

  He heard her move and turned her way. She was trying to sit up. Alarmed, he went quickly to stop her.

  “Be still, you foolish girl. Are you trying to finish what your dolt of a brother began?”

  He gently pushed her back against the furs, and sat next to her on the bed. “Be still, Brianna,” he told her softly. “I will not kill your brother.” The promise came easily to his lips, but the will to abide by it was not so easily accomplished.

  “I beg you have mercy on him.”

  Garek felt the anger beginning to rise again. “Listen to me well, maid. On the morrow, yea, even at morningtide, twenty lashes will fall upon the scoundrel’s back. My hand will not be stayed in this. It is something that must be done so that others will know the folly of such actions. Do you understand?”

  Brianna turned her head away. A small sniffle escaped as a lone tear wound its way down her cheek.

  “Brianna?”

  “Yea, lord, I understand, but it sits ill with me that I am the cause of another’s pain.”

  “Would that your brother had felt the same.” The hardness of his tone left Brianna in no doubt of his feelings.

  Garek watched her uneasily, not sure how to assuage her feelings of guilt. What had she to feel guilty about? That rogue below had brought this on himself.

  “Why did he beat you, Brianna?”

  She wouldn’t answer. He could see her shoulders tense.

  “Answer me, girl,” he commanded softly.

  For a long time there was silence in the room. Finally she turned back to him. “It was because you are Norman. When he found I had warned you, he was. . .he was very angry.”

  Garek smiled, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “So, I am the cause of your misfortune.”

  Quickly she turned to him, flinching as the pain shot through her body. “Nay, milord. We all answer for our own actions.”

  “That is what I have been trying to tell you,” he argued gently. “Your brother’s pain will be his own.”

  Brianna turned her head toward the wall. Her voice came back, low and quiet. “You do not understand.”

  Getting up, Garek went to the window and stared up at the moon. It was less full than last night, but still the bright orb bathed the landscape in light. The hour must be late.

  “I knew how much my brother hated the Normans,” Brianna told him. “I. . .I should have been more sensitive to his feelings.”

  Garek snorted. “The man has no feelings.”

  “It is not true, milord. Edward was not always this way.”

  Surprised at her ready defense, Garek studied her from across the room.

  “Then what, pray tell, changed him? What could possibly change a man that much?”

  “He was married and had a beautiful daughter. They were all very happy together.”

  “And?”

  Her voice lowered to a husky whisper. “They were both killed by Norman knights, but not before. . .before. . .”

  She stopped, unable to go on. Closing her eyes against the memory of that pain, Brianna gave a little hiccuping sob.

  Garek crossed to the bed and stared down at the small figure in it. Sitting on the side of the bed, he took her hand gently in his.

  “Others have suffered such misfortunes without becoming monsters.”

  “They made him watch.”

  Sudden sympathy stirred in Garek’s chest for the man he had hitherto considered nothing but a dog. If it had been Garek’s family, what would he have done? By his sword, he would have seen them all slain!

  “At least your brother has experienced such a love,” Garek told her. “He should be thankful for that. . .” His voice suddenly hardened. “But I will not have him take his vengeance out on you.”

  Rising, he left the room. He leaned against the wall outside the chamber. Blowing softly through his lips, he raised his eyes heavenward. What horror, war. Why did human beings have to inflict such atrocities against their fellow human beings?

  Had it been his family, he would have wanted vengeance, also. But to take it out on a small, helpless female! And his own sister at that.

  A sudden thought came to him. A grin spread across his face as he contemplated the idea. Yea, that was the answer.

  “Come with me, Bolson,” he commanded as he passed the great room heading for the stairs that led to the cellar. Bolson dropped his leg of boar on the trencher and quickly followed his lord.

  Edward sat huddled in the corner, glaring hatred. Garek stood before him, tall and angry.

  “On the morrow, man, you will have your chance at vengeance. Yea, on the morrow you and I will have a contest. Think on it this night and let your hatred burn and give you strength, for by all that is holy, it will be your last chance.”

  The hostility in Edward’s eyes was suddenly replaced by fear. His face grew pale and sweat erupted on his forehead as he contemplated Garek’s words. “Yea, sir knight,” he spat. “What is it to you to kill another lowly Saxon?”

  The quietness of Garek’s voice sent shivers down even Bolson’s back.

  “It is nothing to me.”

  three

  Garek picked his way down the long, dark, mist-enshrouded corridor. At the far end of the corridor he could see a light. Desperate to escape the gloom, he strode quickly in that direction, but the faster he walked, the farther away the light seemed to be.

  A hand reached out to him from the shadows, grasping at his mantle. Startled, he turned, only to be confronted by a headless body.

  Yelling, he flung the hand away from him only to find it replaced by another, and then another. Moans echoed along the corridor, cries of pain that grew louder as he tried to flee.

  Each corpse was bent on one purpose: reaching Garek. They cried out in plaintive chorus, moaning eerily.

  “You killed me! You killed me!”

  Gritting his teeth, Garek turned and fled in the opposite direction, but whichever way he turned, the light was always there ahead of him, just out of reach.

  Suddenly a woman stood before him, her mocking laughter reaching him across the dark abyss that had riven the ground before his feet. Her golden hair blazed
forth from the light that spilled behind her, her blue eyes shooting sparks of fire.

  He turned to run again, only to find himself confronted by the villein he had so recently visited. The man’s evil grin reached out to him.

  Behind the man, the light grew brighter. Garek had to get to the light. His very survival depended on it, and he knew there was only one way through.

  Drawing his sword, Garek motioned to the villein to move aside. The man only laughed harder.

  “Begone, I say! I do not want to have to slay you!”

  The words echoed around and around the chamber: Slay you! Slay you!

  Lifting his sword, he brought it down in a flashing arc, slicing into the body before him. As the body dropped slowly to the floor, it changed before Garek’s eyes. Evil eyes changed to a soft blue. The taunting face became a serene, gentle one, the eyes closing slowly as the girl before him stared in horror.

  “Nay!”

  Garek came upright in bed, the sweat pouring from his body even though the room was freezing cold. He was alone in the great hall, his knights and their squires having chosen the stables as their bedrooms. Even Gaylan chose to sleep in the kitchen, the only other available rooms being those on the floor above—for the lord of the manor.

  He shoved the wolf pelts aside and climbed from the mat half-clothed.

  Crossing the room, he gave little heed to the chill of the planks beneath his feet. He lifted a wineskin from a table and drank heavily, shivering as the cold liquid tore its way through his body. Throwing the skin down, he turned back to the bed.

  Garek sat down, brushing his hands tiredly across his face. Slowly, he lay back against the furs.

  It was the same every night. Each time he closed his eyes, faces of the dead rose up to haunt him, among them his wife.

  Groaning, he closed his eyes and tried to remember. This time it had been different. Whereas before he had only been surrounded by darkness, this time he could see a light.

  What had the villein to do with his dreams? He had first encountered the man only two nights ago, and now the man was part and parcel of Garek’s nighttime musings.