by Shari Anton
“My hostage,” she repeated, circling, mindful of her footing and stance. She watched him closely, noting the position of his hands, his feet. She saw the lunge coming in the quick shift of his eyes.
Sidestep. Slash upward.
The blade sliced across Basil’s upper arm, through layers of silk and linen, drawing blood. The coppery scent turned her stomach, but she stood her ground.
Basil looked down at his arm, disbelieving. “Bitch. I will see you in hell for this.”
“Mayhap, but you will be there long before me.”
Now what? Ardith wondered. Gerard had taught her how to wound, even kill, but not what to do with a prisoner. She needed a rope, something to tie him up with, but how did one truss up the goose while holding the carving knife?
Ardith pointed to the chair. “Sit,” she ordered. “Wait. Remove your girdle first and drop it.”
Favoring his wounded arm, Basil unwound the silk from his waist and dropped it to the floor.
“Well done, Basil. Now sit.”
“You will not get away with this.”
“Pray I do. Pray Siefeld is willing to follow orders for the sake of your life. Put your hands behind the chair.”
“I cannot. My arm.”
“Shall I cut it off?”
Sweet Mother, had she really threatened to slice off his arm? Damn Gerard. He hadn’t warned her how this sense of power could loosen one’s tongue. She picked up Basil’s girdle and circled the chair.
On one end of the girdle she made a loop and a half-knot She slipped it over his hand and pulled tight. As she prepared to complete the knot, Basil pulled forward and shot out of the chair. Jerked forward, Ardith grabbed the chair, but it didn’t support her weight. She fell to the floor.
Basil loomed, grinning menacingly. He picked up the chair and tossed it into the corner. The crash echoed through the room. He stepped toward her. Ardith rolled away, but not fast enough to avoid a vicious kick that connected with her hip. She stifled a groan, unwilling to give Basil the satisfaction.
“Whore! She-demon!”
Ardith scrambled to hands and knees. Trapped between Basil and the bed, she squelched the panic to look for an escape route. She tried to crawl toward the door, but couldn’t move quickly enough.
He grabbed hold of her plait, snapping her neck backward. She lashed out with the dagger, striking his leather boot, doing no damage. His hold tightened on her hair, bringing tears to her eyes.
“Not so haughty, now, are we?” he jeered. “Drop the dagger, whore.”
Ardith tightened her grip. To let go of the dagger meant surrender, a price too high.
“Nay? Still want to fight? I will take the fight out of you. I will show you who is lord here.” He released her hair and kicked her buttocks, sending her sprawling. She reached forward to brace against the fall, but her head hit the floor. Her vision blurred, bright points of light swarming before her eyes.
“The boy. The little bastard,” Basil hissed and turned toward the door. “Siefeld!”
“Nay!” she screamed, and managed to stand.
“Then drop the dagger,” he ordered.
“Come and take it, coward,” she shouted. “Does your lackey fight all your battles? Can you not take a dagger from a woman? Did Siefeld kill Lady Diane because you could not?”
His face reddened. His fists curled. She should be quaking, but she remained poised in a defensive stance, her mind now amazingly clear, despite the lump forming on her head.
Basil’s sudden, furious lunge came as no surprise.
Her hand wielded the dagger with no conscious command. The Lion’s Tooth bit through fabric and flesh, scraped bone, until the blade sank well within Basil’s body.
On an inward gasp of air, he swayed forward and caught hold of her sleeve, knocking them both to the floor.
A quick inspection of the hall told Gerard everything he needed to know. The mercenaries who sat at the table scrambled for weapons. Siefeld stood on the third stair, drawing his sword. Daymon’s small head peeked up over one of the hounds.
No Basil. No Ardith.
Richard and the soldiers rushed the mercenaries. Corwin shot past Gerard toward Daymon.
Gerard turned on Siefeld. “Where is she?”
Siefeld looked about the hall. “What difference? You bring so few against so many. Surely, you did not hope—”
Stephen’s shout cut short Siefeld’s words as the second wave of soldiers flooded into the hall.
“Where is she?” Gerard shouted over the echoing ring of sword striking sword, the cries of attackers and defenders.
“Enjoying my lord Basil,” Siefeld spit out.
Gerard moved toward the stairs, sword at the ready.
Richard appeared at his side, an arm shooting out to block Gerard’s progress.
“He is mine, Gerard,” Richard said in a deadly voice, staring upward at Siefeld.
With a fury Richard advanced, stair by stair, his sword flashing in such quick strokes that one strike blurred into the next. Gerard climbed the stairs behind the combatants as Siefeld retreated under Richard’s onslaught. After they’d passed by it, Gerard opened the door to the lord’s chamber.
On the floor lay Basil, sprawled on his belly, blood pooling around his body. Ardith knelt beside Basil, her white night rail smeared red, staring at her blood-covered hands.
Evidence of a hard-fought battle met his gaze: an overturned table, a broken chair in the corner, a toppled candle stand. The candles had scattered across the floor, the tiny flames licking at the edge of the carpet.
“Ardith?” he whispered.
She looked up, her body trembling. A drop of blood eased down her upper lip from her nose amid a bruised face. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Oh, Gerard,” she wailed before her eyes rolled upward.
Gerard dropped his sword and caught her. As much as he wanted to rest for a moment, hold Ardith close until his pulse ceased racing, he couldn’t. Smoke had begun to curl from where the candle flame consumed carpet.
He ripped away the tattered, bloodied night rail. He ran his hand over her face, touching a lump on her forehead. Her nose had begun to swell, but wasn’t broken. Around her throat circled a red ring—chafing from the iron collar. A large bruise marred her hip. He found no wound to account for the blood on her night rail. The blood must all be Basil’s.
Gently, he picked her up, put her on the bed and wrapped her in a coverlet He bent to retrieve his sword. Basil groaned, his head turning.
Basil’s eyes locked on to Gerard’s. “Mercy,” he begged, choking on the thickening smoke.
Gerard looked down at the man who’d caused so much pain to so many people, who’d dared to treat Ardith as a bitch and chained her to a wall.
With the swipe of his hand, Gerard toppled another candle stand, flinging another dozen lit candles across the carpet.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ardith screamed.
Gerard sat down on the bed, flipped back the coverlet and enfolded her into a sheltering embrace. “Hush, love,” he soothed. “’Tis a dream, only a dream.”
She clutched at his sherte and hid her face against his chest. Helpless to strip away her memories or control her dreams, he merely held her until the sobs subsided.
He brushed aside a wisp of hair, uncovering the lump turned purple. The head injury had scared him witless, especially when she’d lain still for so many hours. Though she woke to a nightmare, he rejoiced that she woke at all.
“Where are we?” Ardith asked.
“Milhurst. In the sleeping chamber.”
“Daymon?”
“Sleeping in the hall between Stephen and Richard.”
She fingered the clean night rail. “Not mine,” she said.
“William’s daughter’s. Yours was…ruined.”
Ardith’s body stiffened, her hand trembled.
He tightened his hold. “Do not think about it, love. ‘Tis over. You are safe here.”
“About time
you woke,” Corwin grumbled from the arch between the hall and sleeping chamber.
Gerard resented the intrusion, but motioned Corwin to enter as Ardith turned to the sound of her twin’s voice. He let go of her, swallowing the lump in his throat when she reached out to invite Corwin to her.
Corwin pulled her to her knees and hugged her hard. “Damn, but you gave me a scare. Not nice, Ardith.”
“Really? When?”
“Four days ago, just before dawn, I woke up shaking and sweating so much I thought I was dying. Then you did so again, just before we entered Northbryre.”
“Four days ago? That was when…where were you?”
“Camped north of Oxford.”
“Oxford? So far?”
“Aye.” Corwin tilted her head back and frowned. “The lump on your head is purple, your eyes have turned black. Your nose looks like a squash.” He touched her nose. “Can you breathe through that thing?”
Outraged, Gerard got up, meaning to throw Corwin out of the room for making light of Ardith’s injuries. Then Ardith gave a short laugh. Gerard stood still as her fist hit Corwin lightly on the arm.
“Only you would be so blunt,” she complained.
“Have I ever been otherwise?”
“Nay, never.”
“Hungry?”
Ardith sat back on her heels, rubbed her stomach. “I could eat a piece of bread, and a little water.”
The change in her mood slammed into Gerard’s gullet. Ardith preferred Corwin’s company. And why not? Corwin wasn’t responsible for her pain, the horror of her kidnapping, the humiliation she’d endured. With Corwin, she could smile.
“I will have food sent,” Gerard said, moving to leave.
“Gerard,” she said softly.
He stopped, looked back at the sorely abused woman he loved, but couldn’t help.
“My thanks,” she said.
For what? he wondered. For fetching food? For carrying her out of Northbryre before the flames consumed the keep? Better she should scold him for coming too late, for allowing the kidnapping, for placing her life in jeopardy.
Without a word, he left the room.
“Get under the covers,” Corwin ordered. “If you catch a chill, Gerard will have my head for my neglect.”
Propped by bolsters, covers drawn up over her legs, Ardith wondered at Gerard’s curtness. From experience, she knew he hated tears, yet he’d held her while she wept, offered the safe haven of his arms while she struggled with the vision of plunging into a river of blood.
“He is angry,” she concluded.
“Gerard? Nay, merely tired, I would think. He sat in here all night watching over you. I doubt he slept, as he has not slept for more than moments since you were taken.”
Ardith shook her head. “Something else eats at him.”
Corwin shrugged. “He still has much to deal with, not the least of which is the message he must send to Henry about Basil’s death. Then there is putting Northbryre back to rights. The fire destroyed the upper floor and Basil with it. Ah, Ardith. You are shaking. I should not be reminding you of your ordeal.”
Ardith leaned back against the bolster and closed her eyes. Forever she would remember Basil’s look of utter disbelief as he keeled over. And the blood, all the blood. But a fire?
“I remember no fire.”
“’Tiss no wonder. Gerard said that when he entered Basil’s chamber, he found you both lying on the floor, the carpet aflame from a toppled candle stand, the room filling with smoke. He had time to rescue only you.”
Ardith put fingertips to temples, trying to remember.
A serving wench walked in with the bread and water.
“Why not try to eat then go back to sleep,” Corwin coaxed. “We can sort all this out for you later.”
* * *
“What are you doing out of bed?”
Ardith turned, carefully, to face Gerard as he entered the sleeping chamber. “Walking,” she said with a smile.
“You should rest.”
“I rested all day. Do not make me get back in bed yet”
“How do you feel?”
“Wonderful,” she lied. Her head ached, her nose hurt, her legs shook. “I know I must look a fright—”
“Not as bad as Corwin suggested.”
“He tends to be honest with me, sometimes painfully so. I need not see my face to know the bruises have colored.”
Gerard strode across the floor. With a gentleness she thrilled to whenever he touched her thus, he cupped her face so tenderly the bruises seemed to heal.
“To me, you will always be beautiful,” he said, then brushed his lips across hers in a kiss that fluttered against her mouth like butterfly wings.
He stepped back, an odd, almost sad smile on his face. “But come, I forget my purpose. I came in to see if you wished your evening meal now.”
She wanted another kiss, a fervent mesh of mouths. She wanted his arms around her in a firm and loving embrace. But Gerard held himself aloof.
He wanted her to eat.
There was so much she wanted to tell him, had to tell him. Maybe Gerard had the right of it, that some things were better said after she’d regained her strength, when she could speak of Basil without horror rising to choke off the words.
Resigned, but unwilling to relinquish his company, she asked, “Could I take my meal in the hall? I really do not care to lay abed any longer, and I have not seen Daymon.”
“He asked to see you. I kept him out, so as not to disturb your sleep.”
“Daymon has been through much these past days. He needs to see me, to make sure I am well. ‘Twould ease his mind if I came into the hall.”
Gerard’s gaze flickered downward. “I did not think to bring any of your gowns.”
Ardith fingered the sleeve of the borrowed night rail. “Mayhap William’s daughter would let me use one of her gowns.”
“Nay. Much too short.”
“Oh,” she said softly, her spirit sinking.
Gerard looked about the room, then strode over to a trunk and flipped open the lid. He dug through the clothing. “This will do,” he said, pulling out a woolen cloak.
Ardith glanced about the floor. “My boots?”
“Being cleaned. They are still wet. These probably won’t fit well, but will keep your feet warm.”
Ardith slid her feet into the felt slippers he pulled from the trunk, stood immobile as Gerard wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. The strangest sensation of repeating the past washed over her, brought unwanted moisture to her eyes as he whisked her from her feet in strong arms.
“Ardith?”
“Oh, Gerard.” She gulped.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tightly as he walked over to the bed and sat down.
“Why do you cry?”
“You will think me silly,” she said, wiping away the tear.
“Mayhap, but tell me anyway.”
“I had this sudden vision of the day we first met, me hiding behind a tapestry in night rail and mantle, you carrying me from the hall to my pallet.”
“You were hurting then, too.”
“Not so much from my injury as from a broken heart.” She sighed, remembering the forlorn little girl, curled on her pallet, crying her eyes out. “When you found me, I had just overheard our fathers talking. Baron Everart had offered a betrothal and my father refused, saying I was damaged. While I mulled over his meaning, you came along, swept me from my feet and carried me away. After you left the chamber, I asked Elva about the betrothal. She said I should be happy to escape the clutches of the young lion—you. I was not happy. I think I cried half the night. I could not even eat the piece of boar Corwin brought to me. Young as I was, I am sure I loved you even then.”
“Why did Elva lie? Did she hate me so much?”
“Not you, but the first Baron Wilmont,” she said, then told him of the incident in the woods when Elva had tried to sacrifice a lamb. “Something snapped in her mind. She c
onfused me with herself and her lost child, and you became Wilmont, yourself and yet your grandfather. She saw her past repeating and tried to change the outcome.”
His hold tightened slightly. “Ardith, about Elva…”
“I know she is dead, and I will mourn, later. She tried to stop Siefeld, Gerard. Though her love was selfish, she did love me as her own, enough to give her life in my defense.”
After securing his hold, Gerard rose from the bed to carry her from the chamber. “I think it time we ended this talk before we ruin your appetite.”
“I doubt that, Gerard. I could eat an entire boar. I am, after all, eating for two.”
That stopped him in his tracks.
“Are you sure?”
“Two days after you left for Manchester, my disposition turned surly and my stomach shunned food until midday. Aye, Gerard, I am sure.”
He kissed her forehead. “Food, then. Enough for two.”
That was all he had to say? Food for two? After so many months of hoping and anguish, did he feel no joy, no sense of completion? Blessed Mother, at this point, she would even welcome his declaration of arrogant male pride in having proved his virility!
Milhurst shared so many similarities with Lenvil that Ardith felt at home. The central fire pit glowed, surrounded by rocks. A small dais graced the far end. Even a tapestry hung in the corner.
“Where is everyone?” Ardith asked, noting the lack of people she’d expected to see.
“William and Richard herded the captured mercenaries over to the sheriff of Hampshire’s keep. They should return soon. Corwin and Stephen are preparing the wagons taken from Northbryre for a trip to Portsmouth. Daymon is with them.”
“Stephen is here? I worried about him. He was badly wounded when—”
“His pride keeps him on his feet,” Gerard cut off her words, signaling a servant. “He insists on going along to sell Basil’s belongings. The funds will be used to repair Northbryre.”
“Corwin told me about the fire. I do not remember it.”
“You need not remember. Eat.”
Hot meat, turnips and carrots, enfolded in gravy, steamed from a trencher of thick, almost white bread. The heavenly aroma tickled her nose and stirred her stomach. Goodness, she was hungry. She looked up to thank the servant who’d placed the ambrosia on the table.
