The Circle Of A Promise

by Helen A Rosburg

  But it wasn’t nothing. In spite of the brave words and assurances she had heard spoken, the pall of misery that surrounded her had not lifted. Quite the opposite. Mara felt as if she had just stumbled onto a great, long slide, at the bottom of which lay a yawning, black pit.

  In the pit was the Earl of Cumbria.

  There was something else different about her master, Maggie observed, besides the strangely calm reactions to things that would normally drive him wild. He insisted upon her presence almost constantly now, as if she were his aide, or the head of his army. He even talked to her as if conferring with her, or asking her advice-although she knew he never really wanted or expected a reply. She wasn’t sure she liked her new situation. There were the other servants, even the men-at-arms, I for one thing. They’d always looked at her a little strangely. Now they treated her with outright dislike, even scorn. For another thing, Maggie wasn’t certain she wanted to be at the earl’s right hand, privy to all that he thought and said and did. As deeply as she cared for him, she realized that he was not a very good or nice man. Now she was witness to just how deeply his madness ran. As in the present situation.

  Deputies of the king. Maggie was more than a little awed. And absolutely thunderstruck by the orders the earl had given his own men. Had she been able to find her tongue, she might have voiced an objection, tried to dissuade her lord from such a suicidal path. But she was dumbstruck as well, and followed him silently into the courtyard to greet the king’s men.

  “Baldwin, Earl of Cumbria?” asked the handsome, mail-clad knight who seemed to be the leader of the half dozen mounted soldiers.

  “I am he.”

  “And I am Norbert, official emissary of Henry, our king.”

  “Welcome, Norbert. May I extend to you and your men the hospitality of my hall?”

  “My thanks, but I must decline.” The knight produced a parchment scroll that he unrolled and handed to the earl. “I have been sent, by order of His Majesty, King Henry, to escort you to the court, there to answer for certain crimes. This is the official document, should you wish to examine it.”

  Baldwin took the proffered scroll and held it daintily between two fingers, as if it were something soiled. He did not look at it but continued to gaze upward, smiling, at the mounted knight.

  “Escort me to the court,” the earl parroted.

  “Yes, sir. By order of the King of England.”

  “Really.” The pleasant smile remained fixed.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You. And who else?”

  The knight looked slightly ill at ease. “My men-at-arms, sir. All deputies of the king.”

  “I see. Well. How unfortunate.”

  Now the knight appeared truly puzzled. “Sir?”

  “How unfortunate that so many good men have to die,” the earl replied conversationally. “Guards!”

  Baldwin’s men, armed to the teeth, had been waiting in doorways, shadows, and behind wagons. Now they sprang at the unsuspecting riders.

  Horses squealed as men jumped from their hiding places and grabbed at the horsemen’s reins, preventing the riders from fleeing to the open gates. Swords hissed as they were drawn from their scabbards and men shouted in fear and surprise. The king’s knights, to a man, were courageous in the face of overwhelming odds. Only one was cut down in the initial rush. The rest were able to draw their swords in time to meet the attack.

  The clanging ring of steel filled the air with raucous sound. The grunts and groans of straining men interwove with the clash of weaponry to create an auditory tapestry of battle. A horse whinnied piteously as an ill-aimed sword stroke opened the artery in its neck. One of Baldwin’s guards shrieked as his arm spun away, and bright blood fountained. Two more of the earl’s score of knights went down almost simultaneously, tumbling over one another as they fell. But they were the last of his men to die. The battle was quickly over.

  The king’s knights had been unhorsed, disarmed, and overcome in a matter of minutes. Each was held firmly by one of Baldwin’s men. They were arranged in a line before the earl.

  “So the king commands my presence, does he?” Baldwin took the time to look into the eyes of each man. His smile never faltered.

  “Kill them,” he said at last, quietly.

  Maggie pressed her hands to her mouth as six daggers whispered harshly from their sheaths. She closed her eye as the blades were pressed to six throats. She blocked the sight of the deaths, but she could not block the stench. The coppery smell of blood filled her nostrils and she turned away, retching.

  “Ah, good. Well done,” she heard her lord pronounce. “Now to horse. All of you. We ride at once to Bellingham.”

  Eye still tightly shut, Maggie listened to the sounds of boots hurrying across the cobbled yard. Shortly she heard the clang of metal-shod hooves, a jumble of confused conversations, and the shouted instructions of those in charge. She wondered what had become of her lord. She opened her eye.

  “There you are, Maggie.” The sickly grin remained unchanged. “I’ve been wondering when you were going to rejoin me. I’ve been waiting for you. Are you ready?”

  “Ready?”

  “Yes. Ready to ride with me to Bellingham. Didn’t you hear my order?”

  “Yes, but. but-”

  “But what, Maggie?” For the first time the smile began to waver. “Don’t tell me you’re going to disobey me?”

  Maggie shook her head vigorously. “But we’re. we’re riding to war, aren’t we? A battle?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I’d like to avoid actual combat, if at all possible.”

  “Then. what are y` thinkin‘ to do?”

  Baldwin steepled his fingers. “I’m not quite sure yet, my dear. But it will come to me-it always does. I have more than one trick up my sleeve, as they say. The point is, we must move swiftly now.” His eyes slid momentarily to the bodies lying in their spreading pools of blood. “Surprise is always a good thing to have on your side. And a little treachery.” The smile bloomed anew. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something as we ride. Or something will come up along the way. Now go on, get mounted. Off with you.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Maggie mumbled. She obediently climbed onto the gentle palfrey someone brought her. Almost immediately, the large mounted band fell in behind the earl and moved as one toward the gates.

  “Come, Maggie. Come.” Baldwin gestured her forward. “You’ll ride at my side. Hurry now.”

  Maggie kicked her mare into a jog and moved to her master’s side. In tandem, they passed beneath the portcullis and over the wooden bridge. Maggie could not help wondering, with a shiver of dark premonition, if she would return this way again, at her lord and lover’s side.

  Or was she descending with him, at last, into hell?

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Father Gregory loved the long summer days. He enjoyed the extra hours he spent working beside his brother monks in the green and fragrant gardens they cultivated. As he bent over to pull a weed, he sent up a little prayer of thankfulness. He took so much pleasure in the life he led he was tempted to feel guilty about it at times.

  Gregory had eventually even grown to like the solitude of the Cistercian order, although it was not what had initially attracted him to the sect. He had actually feared he might not be able to adjust to such a quiet and solitary life. But he had found such an existence to his taste after all.

  It did not, however, prevent him from taking pleasure in the infrequent visitors who dropped by, or those who accidentally stumbled upon the secluded abbey. Father Gregory smiled, therefore, when he saw a pair of riders, a man and a woman, emerge from the shadows of the surrounding forest. He straightened, one hand pressed to the small of his back, and cast aside the weed already wilting in his hand. Though the riders were yet too far away to call to, the monk raised his hand in a signal of welcome.

  “Wulfric,” Baldwin called over his shoulder, “accompany us. Have everyone else remain in the shadows. There’s n
o point in causing any alarm. Yet.” The earl smiled at his companion. “Come along, Maggie. We’ll have a chat with this. man of God, and see what we might learn.”

  Maggie’s one good eye regarded her lord dubiously. Dealing with ordinary people was one thing, but fooling with priests and holy men was quite another. Despite a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Maggie kicked her palfrey into motion and followed her earl along the dusty track toward the man who had waved.

  So there were three of them, Gregory saw, and one a large and well-armed knight. Well, no harm. He was undoubtedly the bodyguard of these travelers. All three would be shown hospitality.

  “Welcome,” Father Gregory said when the riders halted in front of him. He noted the woman’s deformity at once, and his heart went out to her. “Welcome and God’s blessing be upon you.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Baldwin replied smoothly. “Might I beg a cup of water for my lady companion here? I fear the long and dusty road has parched her tongue.”

  “Of course, my son. Please, come inside. Right this way.”

  “Secure the horses, Wulfric,” the earl said in an undertone as the monk led Maggie into a wooden building. “Then join us. Be alert.”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  The simple and rustic interior of the monk’s main hall did not appeal to Baldwin, but he concealed his distaste and seated himself in the chair the man indicated.

  “So tell me, my son,” Father Gregory began as he poured three cups of water. “Has your journey been a long one?”

  “No, not long,” Baldwin answered. “Though I look forward to its end.”

  “Might I ask where you are bound?”

  “For Bellingham Castle. Do you know it?”

  “Oh, indeed.” Father Gregory smiled broadly. “The baron Stephen is a noble and worthy young man.”

  “So you know him?” Baldwin asked.

  “Ah, yes. I know him well. He is a great friend. As was his father before him.” Warming to his subject, glad of the company who apparently knew Stephen as well, Gregory sat back comfortably, palms flat against his knees. “Yes, we are old friends, Baron Stephen and I. His father died when the lad was only eight, you know. I spent as much time as I could with him after that. He’s a fine young man. And he was married recently, you know!”

  “You don’t say,” Baldwin remarked.

  “I must confess I had the very great honor of joining the baron and his lady myself.” Gregory beamed. “They were married right here, in our own humble chapel.”

  Baldwin’s eyes burned like twin fires.

  “Yes, I must say,” Gregory went on, “Stephen is not only a true friend to myself, but to all the brothers here. His father gave us not only the land for our little abbey, but the funds with which to build it And although there is no need for such continued generosity, Stephen sends us gifts from time to time of food and ale. Yes, we are truly blessed in his friendship. He, and now his lovely lady.”

  Baldwin could scarcely conceal his elation. Not daring to speak, he merely raised his brows.

  “Oh, I am so sorry. I have completely forgotten to introduce myself. I am Gregory, Father Gregory. And you, my son?”

  Baldwin momentarily ignored him. “You would do anything for him, for Stephen, wouldn’t you? As he would do anything for you.”

  “Why. why, yes. I imagine so.”

  Baldwin turned to Maggie. “You see? I told you something would come up along the way.”

  Father Gregory’s smile slipped into an expression of puzzlement.

  “You don’t understand, do you? But you shall. I am, by the way, Baldwin, Earl of Cumbria.” He inclined his head. “And this is my companion, Maggie.”

  Gregory rose and took the woman’s hand. “Most pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said smoothly. But the light and warmth seemed to have gone from the day.

  Baldwin, Earl of Cumbria. Was that not the name of the man Stephen had told him about? Gregory wondered. The one who had attacked Ullswater Castle and murdered the baroness’s parents? The man who had kidnapped the lady herself?

  Gregory felt the blood leave his face. He took an involuntary step away from the grinning earl.

  “Ah, you recognize my name, I see. Well, no harm done. Wulfric!” Baldwin called.

  “My lord?” The tall, burly knight stepped away from the wall against which he had been leaning.

  Baldwin rose and strolled to the window. There were quite a few monks toiling in the gardens-but they would be no problem. Especially once he had their leader under his control.

  “Wulfric, grab the good father here.”

  Maggie’s startled gasp escaped before she could raise her hands to her mouth. Baldwin ignored her.

  “Tie him up,” the earl continued. “Then give me your dagger.”

  Though it was late, the last soft light of the summer evening seeped in through the window and filled the room with a dusty haze. Summer scents lingered as well, and the fading cry of a child being rounded in for a belated bedtime. A melancholy smile touched Mara’s lips as the sound struck her, and Stephen reached across the small table where they had taken their dinner to clasp her hand.

  “Someday,” he whispered, reading her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them aloud.

  Mara raised her eyes from the half-empty wine cup. “I hope so. With all my heart, I hope so,” she murmured. But a dark, premonitory sadness in her heart told her it was not to be so. The future for them was empty, not to be filled with the laughter of children.

  The sorrow in her eyes, the tone of his wife’s voice, stabbed at Stephen. The quiet joy that had once filled her seemed to have drained away, and it broke his heart. It was almost as if she sensed her own imminent doom and had lost the will to live.

  “Time, she needs time,” Jack had said to him only earlier that day. The little man mourned for the loss of his baron’s happiness as Stephen grieved for his wife. “The girl Elizabeth’s not cold in her grave, murdered by the same man who took the lady’s family. And he’s still a free man, not yet brought to justice. Aye, I know it’s not right. But if there’s a God in heaven, it soon will be. Just give it some time, let things right themselves, an` the light’ll come back to yer lady’s eyes.”

  Stephen prayed for that day, that moment. In the meantime, he would do everything in his power to wrap Mara in the protective and healing blanket of his love.

  Even as he rose, however, the feeling of protectiveness toward his wife surged in him so strongly it nearly brought him to his knees. The strange, nagging feeling came to him again, the voice inside his head that seemed to constantly urge him to keep Mara safe.

  But of course he would keep her safe. He shook off the feeling and bent his mind to his purpose of the moment.

  Mara’s heart beat just a little faster as Stephen rose, still holding her hand, and came around the table to stand in front of her. She offered him her other hand and let him pull her gently to her feet. She raised her lips to his kiss.

  The passion between them was not the same. Under the circumstances, it could not be. But it was not less. It simply found different expression.

  Stephen kissed Mara lightly, fleetingly; traced the line of her jaw, down her neck to the hollow of her throat, until he felt her arms steal around him. Then he held her and pressed her against his length. He let her feel the hardness of him, his need and love for her. When her warmth mingled with his, he lifted her, carried her to the great bed, and laid her gently on the silken cover. Slowly, languidly, he undressed her.

  Mara reveled in every moment, hungry not only for Stephen’s touch, his love, but grateful for the respite from the almost constant heartache and fear she had lived with since Elizabeth’s poisoning. These were the only times when she seemed able to free herself of the premonition that mantled her. Only in her husband’s arms was she able to believe there might be a tomorrow. Children. Happiness. Freedom from the nightmare from which she could no longer seem to wake.

  When Mara
lay naked in his arms, Stephen slipped quickly from his own clothes. He shivered with pleasure as her cool hands caressed his muscular shoulders and broad, smooth chest. He buried his face in the fragrant, velvet valley between her breasts and felt her fingers twine in his long, thick hair.

  The feel of him was exquisite: the satin of his skin; the long, straight silky hair under his arms; the weight of him. His maleness, prodding her gently, begged her to open to him. Tears pricked at Mara’s eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  “Stephen,” she whispered.

  He raised his head until their eyes locked.

  “I love you, Stephen,” Mara whispered. “I love you so deeply that I know what I feel will never die. It transcends everything, all of life. Even death. I love you forever, Stephen. I belong to you forever.”

  He answered her with his mouth, with his hands, and with his body.

  The night had darkened sufficiently that the stars winked faintly in the sky. But day had not yet fully transitioned into night, and shadows pooling and melting into other shadows made visibility difficult. The guard on watch in the tower overlooking the gates was not certain at first what he saw. Then the moving darkness resolved itself into a robed and hooded figure.

  “Halt!”

  The shout fell oddly flat onto the stillness of the night.

  “Halt and identify yourself!” the guard called again.

  “My name is Theobald. Brother Theobald. I’m- I’m from the abbey, and I’ve come with a message for the baron.”

  “Hold. Someone will approach you.”

  The guard in the tower nocked an arrow and held it pointed at the monk while another man exited through a side door in the great gate to investigate. Moments later he hurried back inside, the brother in tow.

  “Fetch the baron! Fetch Lord Stephen!” he cried, and still another guard ran in the direction of the hall.

  The air was hot and sultry, and the great doors had been thrown wide to catch any stray breeze that might come their way. Candlelight flickered from the long tables now pushed against the walls and cleared of the remains of the evening meal. Too hot in their own chamber, Mara and Stephen had dressed and returned to the hall to cool their heated bodies before retiring for the night. They held hands and smiled at one another, enjoying the gentle peace of the night.