By King's Decree

by Shari Anton

  “Well done, Siefeld,” Basil said in a soused slur. “Bring the baggage closer.”

  Ardith dodged Siefeld’s hand, moving forward of her own accord. Basil’s brow furrowed, indicating ire at her show of spirit. Ardith knew that the strong preyed on the weak and any sign of weakness invited disaster.

  She disliked Siefeld, but she sensed little danger from the mercenary captain, if she followed orders. From Basil she sensed evil. Something about the man made the hair on the back of her neck itch in warning. Basil would harm her with minor provocation. Inside, she quaked with fear. Outside, she feigned bravado.

  “Who is the child?” Basil asked.

  “Gerard’s whelp,” Siefeld said. “I bring you two hostages, my lord. If Gerard does not care enough for his whore to meet your demands, he may do so for his son. I thought—”

  “Thinking again, Siefeld? Dangerous.”

  Anger flashed across Siefeld’s face, but he withheld further comment.

  Basil pushed his ponderous body out of the chair. “In this case, I will allow, you may be right.”

  He wobbled across the dais and down the stairs, until he stood within arm’s reach in front of her. He mockingly put a fist to his chest, bowed slightly.

  “Welcome to Northbryre, whore of Wilmont. You will, of course, accept the hospitality of my hall.”

  “A stall in the stable would do us quite well, my lord,” she answered, equally mocking.

  His eyes widened. “You would reject a pallet in my hall?”

  “Your hall is in dire need of cleaning. Surely the stables would smell sweeter.”

  Ardith ducked the suddenly flung backhand. The blow missed her head, and, deprived of a solid target, the force of the swing threw Basil slightly off balance.

  “Shut your insolent mouth, slut, or your tongue will be the first piece of you I send to Gerard. Wish to bed down with animals, do you?” He motioned at Siefeld. “Chain her to the wall. She and the boy can sleep with the hounds.”

  Ardith cringed but kept silent. There were worse places to sleep, if sleep would come. If not, all the better to keep watch for a chance to escape, or for Gerard to come bursting through the door.

  He would come. Ardith didn’t believe Gerard would arrange for a ship and let Basil and Siefeld flee England and justice, no matter what her captors believed.

  As Siefeld closed the hound’s iron collar around her throat and thumbed shut the latch, he said in a low voice, “I will warn you a last time. Behave and you will not be hurt. If you give Basil reason to use the whip, I will not stay his hand, against you or the boy.”

  “Why do you serve such a master? He treats you no better than the rushes beneath his feet.”

  “Think you I have a choice? Since the day of our escape from the Tower, my fate rests with Basil’s. I will do what I must to survive.”

  As will I.

  Ardith wrapped her fur tightly around her. Daymon, considered too young to be any threat, had been allowed the freedom of the hall. To Ardith’s relief, the boy didn’t stray far from her side.

  Slowly, using the fur to hide her movements, she fingered the latch on the iron collar. The latch slid easily, but she left the collar on, fearing the clank of the iron would attract attention. For now, she took comfort in knowing she could quickly remove the collar.

  The blade in her boot also slid easily, ready to her hand should the need arise to defend herself or Daymon.

  Though armed, with so many men about she couldn’t hope to escape. Even if she did escape, where would she go? One of Gerard’s holdings, a manor named Milhurst, bordered Northbryre, but in what direction?

  As the evening wore on, emptying kegs of ale, the mercenaries who’d accompanied Siefeld told an embellished tale of the fire and kidnapping. Ardith tried not to listen, the horror too fresh to relive without feeling the panic.

  Instead, she watched the serving wench who brought in platters of food and refilled the pitchers with ale. Like a wisp of wind, the young woman deftly dodged hands that reached out to grab bottom or breast A stoic expression fixed firmly on her face, she fluttered about the table until, trenchers and cups full, the mercenaries returned to their revelry and seemed to forget her presence.

  Ardith’s brow furrowed, looking at the men, mercenaries all. Five of them sat with Basil and Siefeld, but others, in groups of three or four, had wandered in and out to offer their captain praise, have an ale or two and receive orders.

  Where were the men-at-arms so necessary to defend a lord’s keep? Were there no unlanded knights at Basil’s command?

  The wench picked up a bucket. As she crossed the room, her destination obvious, Siefeld called, “What do you, Nora?”

  The wench halted and the men stilled at their captain’s shout Briefly, Nora closed her eyes and took an almost imperceptibly longer breath. She turned to face Siefeld.

  “Why, I water and chain the hounds, as is done each night at this time.”

  Siefeld scowled. “Be quick about it,” he ordered.

  Nora hurried to do her chore. As the hounds finished drinking, she called them to their collars, except one—a large male who appeared wary of the female human wearing his collar and stealing his sleeping place. Ardith stared up into his brown eyes, hoping he wouldn’t take issue. He sniffed at the fur coverlet, then circled and curled up at her feet.

  “Milady.”

  Nora had said the word so softly that, for a moment, Ardith doubted her hearing. But like a soothing potion, the respectfully uttered title eased her distress.

  Ardith stared at the dog, pondering Nora’s intentions. At the edge of her vision she could see Nora’s skirts swirl about bare feet and exposed ankles.

  “Milady?” Nora said a bit louder.

  “Nora,” Ardith whispered.

  “Are you who they say? The Baron Wilmont’s lady?”

  “Aye.”

  “Stephen said the baron would come, yet Basil reclaims the keep. Will Gerard of Wilmont come?”

  Dare she truthfully answer Nora? Basil and Siefeld seemed to believe Gerard would arrange the means of their escape. If she again voiced the opinion that Gerard would come for her and Daymon, as she had once to Siefeld, would Nora repeat the words to Basil?

  Ardith nearly decided not to answer, but the hope in Nora’s question proved too strong to resist. The hope in her own heart nearly strangled her answer.

  “Aye. Very soon now.”

  “Nora!”

  The wench spun on callused heel to heed the male shout. On her way across the room, Nora grabbed hold of Daymon, who’d wandered to the middle of the hall. She spun Daymon around. “Out of my way, brat,” she scolded, and with a swat on the behind sent him scurrying toward Ardith.

  The men laughed at what Ardith recognized as an act of kindness, sending Daymon well out of harm’s way. Though the men now ignored the boy, who knew what entertainment they would seek later. Tucking a crying Daymon against her side, Ardith’s elbow bumped the bucket of fresh water that Nora had left by the hearth, seemingly forgotten.

  As Ardith struggled to keep her eyes open, Basil finally succumbed. Two men carried him up the stairs. One by one the other men either passed out, sprawled across the table, or left the keep to seek pallets elsewhere, until only Siefeld and two sober men remained awake.

  Guards. Two men to watch over an exhausted woman and a helpless child.

  Oh, Gerard. Please hurry.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gerard had hoped to overtake Siefeld on the road. But at sunset, riding into Milhurst, he knew Ardith and Daymon must now be within the castle at Northbryre—if, indeed, Siefeld had taken them to Northbryre.

  Through the throng of Milhurst’s people gathering to gawk at the newly arrived trio, a stooped, gray-haired man elbowed his way to Gerard’s side.

  “Gerard, my boy,” Sir William said with a smile, clasping Gerard’s outstretched hand. “I did not expect you so soon.” The smile faded. “But then, you are no longer merely the son of my old f
riend. My lord Baron, welcome to Milhurst.”

  “My thanks, William. You expected me?”

  “Of course. I sent a messenger to Wilmont the very day that Basil arrived and retook Northbryre.” He sighed. “A matter in which I must take some responsibility, Gerard. Most of Northbryre’s men-at-arms were here at the time, training.”

  Gerard’s relief at having correctly guessed Basil’s whereabouts nearly buckled his knees. Basil might still hold Ardith captive, but not for long. “And the other Northbryre men-at-arms?”

  William shrugged. “Probably dead.”

  “Why did you not attack?” Stephen asked angrily.

  Eyes narrowed, William explained, “My duty is to defend Milhurst. ‘Tis not within my authority to order an attack without permission from the baron, even to retake Wilmont lands. The most I could do was notify the king’s sheriff, but the man has not enough men to attack a keep as well fortified as Northbryre. Nor would he anyway. The sheriff is firmly in Basil’s pocket.”

  Gerard then related the story of the kidnapping of Ardith and Daymon to William.

  After a long moment of silence, William said, “Then laying siege to the keep is not an option. Basil would use torture of the hostages to force a retreat.”

  “Nor can we attack directly,” Gerard said. “I fear Basil would kill Ardith and Daymon when he realized the battle lost.”

  “By sly means then,” William said, a frown forming.

  “As much as I prefer honorable battle, in this case we are not dealing with an honorable opponent. I wish to speak with the men-at-arms from Northbryre. I need to know how many mercenaries defend the keep, and their habits.”

  William left to gather the men.

  “Do we wait for Richard?” Corwin asked. To Gerard’s questioning look, he said, “By now, Richard knows what has happened and where we are. I imagine he is riding hard to join us. The prospect of a fight with Siefeld would appeal mightily to Richard.”

  Gerard rubbed his eyes. In his single-minded rush to reach Milhurst, he hadn’t given Richard a thought. Richard deserved a chance at Siefeld—but not at Ardith or Daymon’s expense. Gerard would delay, nonetheless, because he suddenly realized how tired and completely unfocused he’d become since he’d learned of the kidnapping. Men could die if he misdirected them. Ardith and Daymon could die if he made a mistake.

  “I wait for no one. We move as soon as we are rested and have a sound plan.” Gerard put a hand on Corwin’s shoulder. “Corwin, do you feel anything from Ardith?”

  “Nay. Her terror has vanished and I feel no pain.”

  “You will let me know if that changes.”

  “Immediately, my lord.”

  Ardith watched two of the mercenaries haul another trunk from the upper floor and carry it outside. All day the men had scurried about the keep and yard, loading the wagons she’d seen lined up in the bailey when allowed outside for bodily relief.

  She’d learned much today, listening to the grumbles of fighting men forced to perform menial tasks. Northbryre’s men-at-arms and peasants had fled, leaving only a few serfs and the mercenaries to empty the keep. Basil intended to leave on the morn, flee to an ally, until the day appointed to board ship. With each passing hour, with each crate removed, Ardith’s confidence in a quick rescue dimmed.

  Siefeld had been right about Stephen’s weakened condition. Unable to come after her himself, Stephen would send someone to alert Gerard. Gerard would then need time to gather men and supplies. Then he must track Siefeld. All would take time, too many days.

  Somehow, somewhere, Gerard would rescue her and Daymon. Her duty was to keep them safe until Gerard could get to them.

  As the mercenaries devoured the last meal of the day and proceeded to drink themselves into a stupor, Ardith noticed that, unlike last night, an older woman served the men. Nora had seemed to disappear, hadn’t come into the keep all day. Nor had Ardith seen Basil, who most likely hid in his chambers.

  She gently ran her fingers through Daymon’s hair as he slept, with his head on her lap, and thanked God for the serfs’ care. Despite Ardith’s efforts to keep him close, Daymon had gotten underfoot and now sported a bruise on his cheek from a mercenary’s rough shove. Afterward, the serfs glanced at Daymon whenever they passed through the hall, shooing him toward Ardith if he wandered into busy pathways.

  A shadow fell over her. Ardith looked up to see Siefeld looming, a scowl on his face.

  “Upstairs,” he commanded, pointing to the stairway.

  “Why?” Ardith blurted.

  “Basil wishes to speak with you.”

  Wary, Ardith slowly removed the iron collar. She reached for Daymon.

  “Leave the boy.”

  Foreboding coiled in her stomach. Ardith bit back the urge to protest, fought the desire to grab Daymon and run. Neither would do any good. With as much dignity as she could muster, she preceded Siefeld up the stairs. “The open door,” he directed with a push at her shoulder.

  Knowing Basil planned to leave the following morn, Ardith had expected the lord’s chambers to be cleared of furnishings. Not so. Tapestries hung on the outer wall. Carpeting hadn’t been rolled. Trunks remained in the chamber, as did a heavy oak table and two chairs. In the middle of the room stood the bed, the coverings in place. In each corner candles burned brightly.

  Basil stood near the foot of the bed, a slight frown on his face, studying the dregs of whatever liquid he swirled in a bejeweled goblet. He looked up when she entered the room. His frown turned to a smug smile as he waved a dismissing hand. She heard the door shut as Siefeld left her to Basil’s whims.

  “Come, my dear, sit,” he said.

  “I prefer to stand.”

  “Close to the door? Do not be foolish. If you run from me, Siefeld would bring you back.”

  Ardith clutched her fur, steeled her courage and chose the far chair, keeping the table between her and Basil. “Siefeld said you wanted to speak with me.”

  “A few words only, to let you know the way of things.” He put the goblet down, put his palms on the table and leaned forward. “I have decided that a woman of your kind would serve me better in my bed than chained with the dogs.”

  The words, confirming her suspicions, sent a chill down her spine. She pulled her right foot back and close in. Leaning slightly, she snaked a trembling hand toward her boot.

  “You would find me an unwilling bedmate,” she warned, amazed at the steadiness of her voice.

  “You will please me. You see, how long the child lives depends on how well you perform your new duties.”

  Ardith flipped open the leather flap, touched cold metal. With sudden insight, she accused, “You never intended to hand us over to Gerard, but to kill both Daymon and me. How do you plan to board ship in Portsmouth without hostages to release?”

  “’Tis but a ploy to lead him astray. Can you not imagine Gerard of Wilmont, scouring the area around Portsmouth, looking for a whore and bastard to rescue? Already a ship awaits me in Dover. By the time Gerard realizes he follows a false trail, I will be well on my way to Normandy.”

  Ardith wrapped her fingers around the dagger’s hilt, feeling the metal warm to her hand.

  Gerard stood next to Richard, who’d arrived at Milhurst an hour ago, inspecting the earthen berm surrounding Northbryre.

  Chained with the dogs.

  Nora’s words thrummed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He tried to erase the pitiful picture the wench had drawn with breathless words, having run the leagues between Northbryre and Milhurst. He failed.

  “All are ready,” Richard whispered. “We await your order.”

  “After the next guard passes,” Gerard whispered back.

  Through the long afternoon, the plans for tonight’s attack had been finally set. Only a misstep, an alarm sounded by a guard not disposed of, could upset the rescue.

  William put a hand on Gerard’s sleeve. “Though it pains me to do so, I feel it my duty to remind you that Henry wants Basil brought to Lond
on.”

  Gerard opened his mouth to protest, but William quickly continued. “Basil killed Diane, Henry’s ward, during the escape from the Tower. Can you blame Henry for reserving the right to punish Basil? Take care, Gerard. God go with you.”

  Chained with the dogs.

  Henry be damned. Given the slightest excuse, Gerard would ensure that Basil didn’t live to see sunrise.

  A mercenary strolled into view, walking the perimeter. He paused to look around, then continued his assigned rounds. Gerard glanced over his shoulder. Richard and Corwin stood near several men-at-arms who’d served at Northbryre and knew the keep well.

  Corwin put a hand to his forehead. In a shaky voice, he said, “Gerard, I think we had best hurry.”

  Ardith’s resolve faltered. Could she do it? Could she turn the situation around at the point of a dagger, take Basil as her prisoner?

  She had no choice. To prevent rape, and eventually death for both herself and Daymon, she must take advantage of the opportunity presented.

  Basil tilted his head, his obsidian eyes flashing. “But mayhap I have been too hasty. Mayhap I should let you live. Would it not be more satisfying to let Gerard have you back, knowing when he touches you that I have also touched you? How will he feel, I wonder, when he thrusts within you, to know that I have rutted in the same pathway?”

  Ardith pulled out the dagger and pushed aside the fur.

  Basil’s eyes went wide, then he threw back his head and laughed. “So the kitten has a claw and means to scratch.”

  As she rose from the chair, the hours of lessons came flooding back—every move Gerard had demonstrated, every word he uttered in instruction. “I am prepared to do more than scratch. Shall we see how many pieces I must carve out of your hide before you realize that you are now my hostage?”

  “Your hostage? Never!” he roared, and upended the table.

  Ardith scooted out of the way as the pitcher and goblets flew toward her, the table landing on its top.