Danger’s Promise

by Marliss Moon

  Clarise approached the shut door. She tugged at the latch and shoved it open with her foot. The room was poorly ventilated. Though not in heavy use, it reeked nevertheless on such a still evening. She caught her breath and bravely stepped inside.

  It was then that she saw her. Maeve cowered in the far corner of the chamber, next to one of the holes that passed waste into the moat. Like a wild animal, her eyes seemed to glow in the lamp’s light, and like an animal she looked terrified at being cornered. Her breath came in ragged pants. In her arms was a swaddled bundle. Simon! Clarise’s heart threw itself against her ribs. My Simon.

  “Give him to me,” she commanded in a voice that sent chills down her own spine. She stalked the woman.

  “Get back!” Maeve cried, her eyes darting in desperation. “Get back,” she repeated, “else I’ll drop him through the hole!” With that, she ripped away his swaddling cloth and threw it down into the void. Simon cried out, protesting his rude awakening.

  Clarise stifled a scream. A vision of Simon’s little body plummeting toward the moat stopped her short. “I’ll kill you,” she answered back, meaning it. “You’ve been caught now, Maeve. Even if you killed Simon and your husband were the only heir remaining, you would never live to see it! The Slayer will cut you into little pieces with his sword!”

  Even in the murky shadows the woman’s visage seemed to pale. She took a furtive step toward the door, and Clarise moved to block her path.

  With the knowledge that help was shortly coming, Clarise desperately sought to buy time. “Did you think you could manipulate so much and get away with it?” she scoffed. “I know that you poisoned your niece, Genrose. Mayhap you even killed her parents,” she added with sudden inspiration. “ ’Tis said they died of dysentery. Did you poison them as well?”

  “Aye!” screeched the woman, losing her composure. Wisps of her hair had escaped her usually tidy bun. “I killed them all, and I’ll kill you, too. As soon as I’ve rid the world of this parasite.” Simon emitted another cry.

  “You’ve tried already to poison him,” Clarise quickly interjected. “Was it you who left the buckets of milk in the nanny pen?”

  “Aye, and you would have been blamed,” retorted the woman, even as she quaked with fear. “All the servants knew ye were a fraud.”

  Not far away, Clarise heard her husband call, his tone filled with urgency. Dame Maeve heard it, also. With a muffled cry she stooped to toss Simon through the hole. Clarise dropped the lamp and leaped forward. As darkness swallowed them, her fingers groped for the baby. She encountered Maeve’s bony elbow and wrenched it upward. Simon tumbled from the woman’s arms, and Clarise barely caught him, her fingers closing around his thigh. She hung on tight. Shoving Dame Maeve against the wall, she rushed from the room, gathering Simon closer.

  She came within an inch of skewering them both on her husband’s sword. “Clarise! My God, is he hurt?” he panted, reaching out to touch them.

  Simon howled, forcing her to raise her voice. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maeve was going to drop him through the waste hole. Oh, my saints!” she exclaimed in the aftermath of horror. “She’s still in there!” She pointed, despite the fact that the hall was nearly black and he couldn’t see.

  “Maeve? But why?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” she promised. “Just get her. Kill her if you must, I don’t care.”

  And she didn’t. A mother’s instinct had risen up in her, making her fiercely protective and completely unforgiving. “But how can you see?” She caught him back when he made to move past her.

  “I’ve been blind for a week,” he reminded her.

  The assurance was comforting. So was the sound of others pounding up the stairs, bearing torches and raised voices. Her husband disappeared into the garderobe. Clarise strained her ears for sounds of a struggle.

  “Come out, old woman,” she heard him threaten, “else I’ll run you through with this sword. You know its name, do you not? I call it Vengeance. Wherever there is evil, Vengeance draws blood.”

  Maeve whimpered loudly enough to be heard over Simon’s cries.

  Clarise ran her fingers over the baby’s naked body, seeking signs of injury. There was nothing to cause her further alarm, save for his trembling distress. Men-at-arms came up behind her, hushing each other as they realized that their liege lord was already handling the villain in the stinking chamber.

  “Should we go in?” one of them asked Clarise.

  “Stand fast,” she said. “He will have her shortly.”

  Indeed, he appeared at that very moment, escorting the woman out of the darkness, the edge of his broadsword pressed to her throat. She didn’t dare to struggle. Her eyes darted wildly as she took note of the many witnesses.

  Clarise reached out and grabbed the ring of keys, snapping the cord that held them to the woman’s waist. She was stripped of her authority.

  “Hagar,” Christian called, waving the dungeon guard forward. He lowered the sword only to thrust the woman into Hagar’s beefy hands. The mute man toted her off, deaf to the invectives that came spewing from her mouth the moment the Slayer set her free.

  Simon’s screams quieted as the woman was dragged from sight and sound. The remaining men-at-arms awaited orders from their liege lord.

  Christian tucked his sword under his arm. “May I hold him?” he asked hoarsely.

  Clarise put the baby gently in his father’s hands. He laid Simon against his shoulder and turned from the glare of the torchlight to soothe his son. Or was it the babe who soothed his father?

  A streak of moisture shone upon the warlord’s cheek. She didn’t know if her husband was weeping, or if the strain on his eyes had caused them to tear. Deciding it was the former, she put her arms around father and son. My men, she thought, feeling the fullness of her love.

  “Return to your beds,” Christian rumbled, directing this suggestion to the men. “I thank you for your timeliness.”

  “First, my love, I think we should send a party to arrest the midwife,” Clarise spoke up suddenly. “She and Maeve are responsible for the death of Doris’s baby, as well as”—she hesitated, loath to shock him—“as well as Lady Genrose.”

  “Genrose,” he whispered, blinking away his disbelief. He lifted his gaze to the men’s stunned faces. “Do as she says.”

  “Aye, my lord. What about Harold?” asked the oldest man.

  “Harold is innocent,” Clarise supplied, before her husband could speak. “Question him if you must, but this plot was engineered by Maeve. You have my word on it.”

  A thoughtful soldier left his torch for them and turned away, encouraging the others to follow.

  The warlord stood gazing at her with amazement. “How did you come by all this knowledge?” he asked her. Simon’s sobs had become mere hiccups.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “I lay in bed, and my mind started churning. I knew that there was something I had overlooked. Something I could almost put my finger on if I thought about it hard enough. And then it came to me. I rushed upstairs to check on Simon, and he was gone.”

  He shook his head in wonder. “God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come sooner. Why didn’t you wake me?” he demanded, suddenly angry. “When will you learn to garner your impulsiveness and stay out of danger?”

  She felt the flexing of his muscles under her fingertips. “If I hadn’t acted when I did,” she soothed him, “then Simon would likely be dead.”

  He took a sharp breath and reined himself in. “She was going to drop him down the waste hole?” he asked incredulously. “Why?”

  “I will tell you everything in a moment,” she promised, “but first we need to get a soiling cloth on Simon before he wets you.” She stepped over to fetch the torch and bring it with them.

  “Are you hurt at all?” he asked, betraying his concern with worry this time.

  “Not even a scratch,” she answered, urging him to follow. “Now hurry, or you’ll need another under
shirt.”

  He trailed her down the hall to Doris’s chamber. “You wrestled the babe from her, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did. Think you that I would let that woman kill him? I’d have torn her into shreds first.”

  Her proclamation impressed him into silence. She motioned for him to lay the baby on Doris’s bed while she foraged for linens. The heavy nurse had yet to return to her room. She would hear the news of Maeve’s arrest from the men-at-arms. And then she would go to Harold to explain matters to him. At last the lovers would be free to proclaim their affection for each other.

  “This reminds me of the time I found Simon naked in his box,” he mused, looking down at his son. “Do you remember that night? My first thought was that you’d performed that mischief to avenge me.”

  She remembered perfectly. The terror she’d felt for him then seemed unreasonable in light of their newfound love. “Maeve was likely the one to do it. She hoped he would take chill and die as many infants do.”

  Christian’s fingers scraped the bristles on his chin. “I remember now that I sent her up to waken you. She had the perfect opportunity to kill him then. Why not take it?”

  “She would have been suspect right away,” reasoned Clarise. “Better to drop him in the moat where his body . . . my God, I can’t even speak of it, ’tis so horrifying. I have so much to tell you, Christian,” she added, “but I think you should be sitting when I say it.” She looked around. “Have a seat on the chest,” she said, waving him toward the chest he’d sat on once before.

  “Christ’s toes, what do you think me made of?” he exclaimed.

  She turned toward his stunned expression. “I think your heart is far more tender than you realize,” she told him earnestly.

  He glowered at her. “Think you so?” His bloodshot eyes gave him the appearance of a demon.

  “I know so.” She picked up the securely girded baby. “When you hear the extent of Maeve’s wickedness, you will think yourself an angel by comparison.”

  He gave a tortured sound that had her looking at him sharply. “What was that? Did you just laugh?”

  His expression was composed. “I never laugh,” he said grimly.

  “Hmmm.” She trusted her ears more than his words. “We have work to do,” she announced. “As you imagine yourself undaunted, I will tell you what I have pieced together on the way. Would you kindly bring the torch? And the keys, we’ll need Maeve’s keys, most likely.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked, bewildered.

  She scooped up the baby. “To look for proof.”

  “Proof of what?”

  “Proof that Maeve sent messages to the abbot. Proof that the two of them collaborated to see you thrust from Helmesly.”

  “Maeve and the abbot? I doubt they even knew each other.”

  “Don’t be so quick to judge, Christian. Think about it. What was the purpose of the interdict but to breed discontent among the people? The abbot instilled resentment into the hearts of the peasants. He wanted them to fear you. Elsewise he would not have predicted you would kill your lady wife. The idea was to cause the people to rise against you in the hopes that they would thrust you from Helmesly.

  “You were too much a danger to Maeve’s plans,” she continued, leading the way toward the east tower. “She feared you would get a boy child on Genrose, which you did, of course. She then plotted to get rid of the baby. With the midwife’s help, she poisoned Genrose with the same infusion of brakefern that they gave to Doris.”

  “Why the devil would Maeve do such a thing?”

  Clarise touched her husband’s arm before delivering the coup de grace. “Harold is the brother of the late baron of Eppingham. After Simon, he is next in line to the seat of Helmesly.”

  “What!” he cried, coming to a startled halt.

  She quickly related the scraps of information she had pieced together. “Harold mentioned that his niece, Rose, would ofttimes read to him. I didn’t make the connection at first. All I knew was that they were close.” She urged Christian to precede her down the tower stairs, holding the torch aloft so they could see.

  “Genrose never told me Harold was her uncle,” he puzzled aloud. “Neither did Baron John.”

  “He was apparently an embarrassment to the family. As no noblewoman would wed him, his family settled on a merchant’s daughter, Maeve.”

  “Who soon had ambitious thoughts,” he concluded, his voice echoing in the stairwell.

  “Aye, only you ruined her plans by getting her niece with child. She couldn’t run the risk that the baby might be a boy, so she sought to kill him. If you hadn’t saved Simon, Harold would be baron, despite his shortcomings.”

  “Especially if the abbot Gilbert sealed his right to rule.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How much farther?” he asked. The stairs were steep and slick with moisture in the lower regions.

  “Maeve’s retreat is down with the storerooms. One more level, I think. I’ve been here before,” she volunteered when they reached the lowest level. “The goods that were stripped from the castle were piled in one of the storerooms like a hidden cache. Sir Roger said Genrose had wanted to give her parents’ riches to the poor. I suspect Maeve was holding on to them for the time when she would rule as baroness.”

  They moved from door to door, finding the keys in precise order on the key ring. More goods littered the dusty floor.

  “There’s another room around the corner,” Clarise informed him.

  As they turned the corner, Christian pulled her back. “Wait,” he whispered. “There’s a line of light under the door.”

  His vision was much improved, she thought, to discern the coppery glow. “Try the key,” she whispered. Nervously she patted Simon’s back, though the baby had already dropped off to sleep.

  But the key wasn’t necessary. The door swung silently inward, and a pungent odor greeted their nostrils. The room was illumined with tallow candles, betraying Maeve’s recent presence. It was clearly an herbal of sorts, as a number of dried plants were suspended from hooks and littered the tabletops. What drew both their gazes was the cote of carrier pigeons. The birds fluttered in alarm as the couple edged into the room.

  They stared at the cage in contemplation. “Was the message you discovered at Rievaulx small enough to be carried by air?” Clarise inquired.

  “Aye,” said her husband, who had come to the same conclusion. He turned and gave her a respectful look. “It seems you have figured it all out, my love. I shall have to make you my chief tactician.”

  She sketched him a curtsy. “We have yet to know the reason why Maeve and Gilbert would help each other.”

  “Greed motivated both of them,” her husband guessed. “Gilbert desired power and fame.”

  “And Maeve wanted to be mistress of Helmesly,” Clarise finished for him.

  “They might have been lovers.”

  She shook her head. “He could never have loved a woman. They were siblings, most likely, with those dark eyes so much alike. We have only to ask Doris. She is one of the few servants old enough to recall when Harold wed Maeve.”

  He gave the rest of the room a quick inspection. “Maeve and Gilbert shared an interest in herbs as well. This herbal reminds me much of his.”

  “It is done, then,” she said, feeling the tension rush out of her. At last the security and peace she had craved for so long was theirs to enjoy. “Simon is safe. Nothing else will ever threaten him,” she swore with a mother’s determination.

  Christian’s bloodshot gaze lingered on her profile as she kissed the baby’s cheek. “Can we go to bed now?” he asked with his lids half shut.

  “Oh, my love,” she said, remembering his condition with sudden contrition. “I hope you haven’t strained your eyes with all this nighttime activity.”

  “Lady, you will turn me into a pudding-heart,” he swore, moving to snuff out the candles.

  “Not at all. You are welcome to as much nocturnal activity as
you please, so long as it’s restricted to the bedchamber.”

  His answer was a laugh that was cut short.

  Clarise allowed herself a smile. She had fulfilled the vow she had made to her father. She had surprised Simon’s would-be murderer and unveiled the plot to usurp the baronetcy from the rightful heir.

  Making the Slayer of Helmesly laugh out loud was a challenge she looked forward to.

  Epilogue

  A man once called the Slayer gazed into the lilac eyes of his newborn baby girl and saw his reflection in her pupils. In a former life, he’d been a dreaded warlord. Now he was an ordinary man. A profoundly humbled father.

  The infant who was no more than a minute old was still wet from her passage into the world. Her lungs swelled with air as she cried, heralding her birth. Sunlight streamed through the open shutters to guild her bright red hair. An April breeze carried the scent of hyacinths from the meadow. Her weary mother groaned.

  “I am never doing that again,” she vowed, lifting her lashes to observe them.

  Christian lowered their daughter to the bed so Clarise could share in the miracle. “Look,” he urged, his eyes stinging with boundless joy. “Look how beautiful she is!”

  He watched his wife’s expression as she absorbed the baby’s heart-shaped face, the cherry-red hair and bowed lips. Their daughter ceased to cry. She stared back at her mother, as though in recognition.

  “Her eyes are violet,” Clarise whispered.

  It was a self-admitted weakness that the warlord loved to watch his wife’s expressive face. Her intelligence and pathos never ceased to stir him. And while he’d nearly sacrificed his life to be worthy of her, he couldn’t help but confess himself a blessed man.

  Ignoring the young midwife who pressed a compress between his wife’s legs, Clarise bared her splendid bosom and guided one ripe, pink nipple into the baby’s mouth.

  The infant thrashed just once before she fastened on. “That was easy enough,” she commented, with relief.