Warrior's Lady

by Gerri Russell

  "It's all right. I took care of him."

  Orrin raced forward. "How did he slip past the guards?"

  Now that the danger had passed, Rhiannon set the pan down on the bench as a fatigue overwhelmed her. She staggered slightly as her gaze moved to the stairs, where Violet stood with her small bow and an arrow.

  "I came to protect you, but you knocked him out before I could shoot," Violet said, moving to Rhiannon's side.

  Rhiannon grasped the child to her in an emotion-filled embrace. "What a brave little girl you are."

  Violet wiggled away. Setting her bow against the wall, she headed for the bishop.

  "Lady Violet, what are you doing?" Rhiannon asked, suddenly terrified. She reached out, trying to stop the girl.

  Violet stepped around Rhiannon's grasp, moving to kneel beside the holy man.

  The bishop's eyes flickered open and his gaze clung to Violet. "There you are," he said in a silky tone.

  "If you promise not to attack this castle again, I will heal you."

  Violet frowned at the man as she held her hand to Rhiannon. "May I have the Stone?"

  Rhiannon bolted to her side. "Lady Violet, no!" She grabbed the little girl's hand and partially carried, partially dragged her up the stairs. The bishop only had hearsay to accuse Violet of witchcraft. He needed no direct proof. "Orrin, get rid of this man before he does something horrible to us all."

  "Aye, milady."

  She could hear Orrin and the other warriors escorting the bishop out from the chamber as she raced up the stairs with Violet in her arms.

  "You can't harm me," the bishop's voice floated up the stairs.

  "I would damn my immortal soul for a chance to do so," Orrin ground out.

  "Do it and you'll regret it. If word of my demise gets to the Church council, you'll be a man with a bounty on his head."

  "You ever come back here again and I will kill you," she heard Orrin say before the rest of the conversation faded away.

  The bishop wasn't going to win. She wouldn't let him win, spies or no spies. The bishop might be a powerful man, but nothing he could do to any of them would be as horrific as what he'd already put all of them through.

  Could it?

  Later that evening, Bishop Berwick stood in the doorway of his mother's bedchamber and rubbed the egg-sized lump at his temple. Damn the Ruthven girl. No one assaulted his person and lived.

  He pushed his anger aside as his focus shifted to the woman lying in the bed. The yellow candlelight in the room cast an eerie glow across his mother's sunken features. Death would claim her if something drastic didn't happen soon.

  When prayer had failed him, he'd turned to other things — terrible things, he knew. But what else was a devoted son to do? He'd tried everything he could think of to get that Stone away from the Lockharts.

  "How is she?" he asked the young maid at his mother's bedside.

  "I had to give her juice of the poppy. It was the only thing that quieted her. Should I try to wake her? Would you like to sit with her for a while?"

  "Nay," he said with more force than he had intended. In an effort to block the scent of her decaying flesh, he brought a square of linen up to cover his nose and mouth. "I've paid you handsomely to see to her needs." He turned away, not wanting to stay in the presence of death any longer than necessary.

  What would it take to get that healing stone away from the Lockharts? He had truly despaired at ever possessing the Stone until he'd seen his spy lying on the floor in the great hall. Perhaps divine intervention would serve him yet. The bishop allowed himself and indulgent smile. The scoundrel may have survived the stabbing and drowning, but Rhys's illness appeared to be the same that wracked his own mother's soul. Perhaps this was God's ultimate revenge. Perhaps the sickness would spread to Lockhart Castle. And then they would have no choice but to bring the Stone out of hiding.

  With the Stone, he could cure his mother. Just like a goldsmith needed fire to separate the base metal from the pure gold, he needed that Stone to help purify the souls of his flock. A man of miracles would be the only choice for the next Archbishop of Glasgow.

  There was one more thing he could do to sway Camden Lockhart to do his bidding. He hurried to the elaborate desk in his chambers and pulled out a clean sheet of linen.

  The Church council had not arrived at his earlier summons. This time they would come. They would want to know about the act of witchcraft performed by Lady Violet Lockhart. The girl was only a child. His hand paused above the paper before writing the word witchcraft, but his thoughts drifted back to his mother and he knew what he had to do. Through means fair or foul, he would see that the Charm Stone came to him.

  After writing the message, he sealed it with a waxed impression of his insignia ring. His clerk would see to the delivery.

  Within a matter of days, all hell would break loose over the Lockhart clan. The thought brought a smile of utter satisfaction to the bishop's lips.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Three days later, the breach in the wall had been fixed. The new stones appeared almost pink in an otherwise sea of gray. Rhiannon stared out the bedchamber window at the wall, then beyond, toward the south.

  A small sigh escaped her. She was grateful the repairs to the wall were complete. But what she really wanted was to see a familiar head of dark hair ride over that rise, safe and whole. She could want no greater gift this day, the day of her birth, than to have Camden return. For Violet's sake, she amended in her thoughts.

  Violet seemed to grow in confidence every day. But a wedge had come between them since Rhiannon had refused to allow her to heal the bishop after she'd struck him on the head. Rhiannon looked over at where Violet was quietly playing and tried to hold in a sigh of sadness.

  "Can I go visit the horses?" the girl asked. "Orrin said he'd show me the new foal that was born last week."

  "Do you want some company?" Rhiannon offered, even though she feared the girl's answer.

  Violet stood, and without meeting Rhiannon's eyes, headed for the door. "Orrin will protect me." A moment later she was gone.

  A sharp pang knifed through her. Violet was pulling away. Each day she grew more distant. Soon, the child would have no need of her at all. Perhaps it was time for her to leave.

  And go where? She had no home, no family she wanted to return to. Mother Agnes had made it clear she was not suited for a life in the abbey. Rhiannon went to her bedchamber and took in the opulent furnishings. Never again would she experience any of the finery that had been hers, however temporarily. She sat on the bed and pulled out the Charm Stone from the small pocket inside her gown.

  She'd been afraid to return the Stone to its hiding place in the chapel for fear Violet would retrieve it again. Until Camden returned, she had decided it was best to keep its location unknown to everyone, Violet included.

  Despite the bishop's injury and the warning he'd been given never to return, she was uneasy knowing he had taken a house on the outskirts of the nearby village. He wouldn't give up his quest to obtain the Stone. He desired its power too much. But what would he do next to get it?

  The scents of hay and horse filled the air as Rhiannon opened the heavy wooden door to the stable. She wanted to check on Rhys to see if the Stone had indeed formed a miracle.

  "Orrin," she called when she stepped inside. Late morning sun permeated the stable's usual gloom, painting the world around her in a sea of gold.

  "If ye be wantin' Master Orrin, he ain't here," called a lean and wiry stable boy from the stall on her right. He poked his head around the wood, eyeing her with curiosity.

  "Do you know where Rhys is?"

  The boy gave her a crooked smile as he stepped all the way out of the stall. "He be out in the lists with Master Orrin."

  "In the lists?"

  "Come, I'll show ye." He leaned a long-handled scoop against the wall and strode toward her. "That Rhys lay dyin', then he just opened his eyes, sat up, and wanted to go a sparrin'."

  "He's w
ell then?" Rhiannon asked, overcome with emotion that the Stone had worked after all. Tears misted her eyes as she fell into step beside the boy. He led her through the stables to the back door that exited into the lists.

  "He seems better than ever." At the open doorway he stopped and pointed toward two men in the center of the field. They faced each other, swords extended, watching, waiting for the other to make the first move.

  The sharp clang of steel shattered the silence as Rhys attacked, his advance vigorous. Orrin easily avoided the blade, blocked it with his own. Satisfaction rode Orrin's features as he pressed his own attack. "Damn good to see you well, Rhys."

  Rhys brought his sword down, sliding to the hilt. "If I were any better, I'd best you this day."

  Orrin easily disengaged. "You wish."

  "It is good to see that you have not all been at your leisure while I've been off battling for king and country," Camden called from the far side of the lists.

  Rhiannon's heart jumped as she recognized his voice. He and his men walked their horses into the lists.

  "Camden," she whispered. His hair was pulled back away from his face, and his chin sported several days' beard growth. His eyes, so normally clear and piercing, were heavily smudged with dark shadows of weariness.

  His eyes found hers. Warmth flared. He handed the reins of his horse to a stable boy and proceeded toward her.

  She raised a hand to smooth the escaping tendrils of her hair away from her face. Her cheeks flushed when she remembered the last time her hair had been in wild disarray with him. Heat coiled through her belly and between her thighs like silken ribbons, pulling her toward him.

  "Did you fare well in battle?" she asked when he stood but a handbreadth away, close enough to touch if she only reached for him. But did she dare be so bold?

  "I've returned with all the men. The English have fled."

  Relief flooded her at the discovery that he'd been fighting the English and not her family. She reached for his sleeve only to have him turn away. "The castle wall is repaired. I hope that means things were uneventful during my absence."

  She pulled her hand back and tucked it in the folds of her gown. Her gaze connected with Orrin's. Surely he would report on what had happened while Camden was away, yet he remained strangely silent.

  The humor in Camden's face faded. "Will no one tell me the news?"

  "Bishop Berwick came to call," Orrin said.

  "Lady Violet used the Stone to heal Rhys," Rhiannon said at the same time. She held her tongue, hoping Orrin would proceed. He did. In a rush, he told Camden what had happened.

  Camden stood utterly motionless. Any warmth that she might have imagined in his eyes faded. The morning air fairly crackled with tension.

  His gaze shifted to Rhys' once as the story unfolded before it returned to hers. He stared, hard. Only his clenched jaw betrayed the control it took to keep his anger in check. But she could see it, feel it, as though their time apart had heightened her awareness of him.

  When Orrin told him about the Stone, his expression became grim, unreadable. "Where is the Stone?" he asked, his voice rough.

  She dug the Stone out of her pocket and held the amulet out to him.

  "You had the Stone with you?"

  "Only to keep it safe while you were gone."

  "By allowing Lady Violet to use the Stone you put her in grave danger. Everyone at the castle saw Rhys' healing." Camden's face darkened. "I trusted you with my niece, with," he hesitated before adding, "everything." He stared down at the Stone in his hand.

  Pain twisted in Rhiannon's chest. Every decision she'd made while he was gone had been to protect Violet. She'd done everything she could think of to help the little girl. So why was he so angry at her? She straightened her back as a sudden realization struck her. "Are you upset with me or are you upset because you weren't here to protect Lady Violet yourself?"

  He flinched at her words and she knew she'd hit upon the truth.

  She darted a glance at Orrin. He dropped his gaze, suddenly intent on studying his boots. "When you and Orrin were in the Holy Land the two of you only had each other, I realize that. But your life is different now." She waved a hand at the crowd who had gathered in the lists. "Look around you, at the men and women of this castle who would sacrifice anything to help you battle the bishop and win."

  He scowled at her. "I fight my battles alone."

  "Then perhaps it's time for you to change." She lifted her chin. "I know a thing or two about trying to change. It's hard, especially when people around you think that it's impossible."

  His scowl deepened. "That's unfair."

  She shook her head. "No, you're being unfair to me and to everyone in this castle who cares about you."

  A flicker of surprise crossed his face. "You care about me?"

  If she were honest she would admit her emotions had progressed far beyond caring and into love. She drew a breath to tell him when a prickle of awareness drew her gaze from him to all the castle's residents who hung upon their words. Heat filled her cheeks and the words died on her tongue. "Excuse me, milord." She turned and headed back toward the keep.

  Several moments later Rhiannon shut the door of her bedchamber behind her. She leaned against the wood, trying to steady herself. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts not because she'd run through the castle to get to the chamber, but because of the magnitude of what she'd almost revealed.

  Her physical response to his presence had been immediate. She'd felt her breasts swell and the heat that had moved through her body in mindless, melting waves. She had wanted to touch him, to greet his return home in a very different sort of way.

  She inhaled sharply and clenched her fists at her sides. She wanted to touch him still, even though he'd greeted her with only bitterness and anger.

  "Rhiannon."

  A shock of desire moved through her.

  "Open the door." His voice sounded thick.

  "I can't," she whispered, praying her voice wouldn't betray her emotions.

  "You can't or you won't?"

  Silence followed.

  He'd gone. Rhiannon leaned back against the door, grateful that he'd gone, and disappointed all the same.

  A moment later he stood in the doorway that separated her room from Violet's. She could see the tension in his body as he slowly moved toward her.

  "Camden."

  "We need to finish what we started below in the lists."

  Chapter Twenty

  Rhiannon straightened away from the door. Remorse filled him at the pain in her eyes. He'd hurt her yet again. If anyone was to blame for Violet's use of the Stone, it was he. He'd felt a presence behind him in the chapel the other day. He should have followed his instincts and hidden the Stone someplace else.

  And yet he had turned his anger against Rhiannon. He knew she had acted in Violet's best interest, allowing the girl to use the stone one time, then keeping it from her so that she did not endanger herself. It was what he would have done.

  Not only had she been right in her actions with Violet, she had put into words something he had been avoiding for three years now. He was no longer a prisoner in the Holy Land. He no longer had to fight his battles alone. Rhiannon had proven her own honesty over and over again. It was time to give a little of that back. He stopped a handsbreadth from her.

  High color glowed on her cheeks, and golden hair spilled over her shoulders. Her blue dress concealed her body, but he needed no image to recall the soft and supple curves beneath her garments.

  He had tried not to think of her over the past four days, and for the most part he had been successful. Battle tended to take one's focus, all of it. Only when he closed his eyes as the battle died during the night did his willpower fail him. If he had hoped to exorcise her from his blood upon his return, or sought to use the days away from her to regain his perspective, there, too, he had failed miserably.

  He was drowning in the scent of her hair, the sight of her, and if she did not stop looking a
t him that way, he might be tempted to recall even more.

  Camden tensed, his whole body fighting his desire to take her in his arms. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

  Her amber eyes flared. "You aren't alone."

  "I feel…uncertain."

  "About?"

  "Everything around me is changing."

  She cast her eyes downward. "That's not always a bad thing."

  "Nay. But it is unsettling. I've never felt like this before. I don't like feeling one moment that I can fly, and the next moment like I want to smash something."

  Rhiannon looked up. Confusion lingered in her gaze. "That sounds dreadful."

  "It is, but it's not." He groaned. "I'm not good with words. Let me show you what I mean."

  A flicker of apprehension crossed her face. "How?"

  He brought his fingers up to the delicate curve of her cheek. "Give me from now until dawn to show you."

  She smiled tentatively. "Until dawn."

  Camden had asked her for one hour to prepare for their evening together. Rhiannon paced the length of her bedchamber, waiting for Camden to come.

  She paused at the window to look out at the drifts of snow that dotted the land and rested her head against the cool glass. She waited with her head pressed against the chilled glass for what seemed like hours before a soft knock came on the door. Rhiannon straightened.

  The maid, Rosy, peeked her head inside the chamber. "The master asked me to help ye dress. In this." She entered the room carrying a large box that she set on the bed. "Go ahead, open it."

  Rhiannon found herself drawn to the box until she stood beside it. Possessed by a force outside herself, she smoothed her fingers over the edge of the large box. With a sudden rush of joy, she lifted the lid to reveal several yards of frothy fabric in the color of the sky on a clear spring morning.

  Carefully, she lifted the edges of the cloth and the fabric took the form of a dress. The fitted bodice came to a V in the front, and a much lower V in the back that flared out from there to flow to the ground in waves of ruffles and lace. Tiny seed pearls were sewn into groupings of threes, dotting the entire dress. The iridescent decorations warmed beneath her touch. It was the most beautiful gown she had ever seen.