‘I pray to God that I haven’t.’
‘Have faith in your own abilities, Tavia. I know you can do this.’
She followed his assured stride through the waist-high grass at the edge of the pasture. Benois purposely hugged the hedge line, so they wouldn’t be noticed by any of the castle guards. The grass tops, feathery seed heads, rasped against her cloak, pulling at the fabric, hampering her pace. Heavy dew soaked through the thin leather of her slippers.
Sensing the broadening gap between them, Benois stopped abruptly, turned, reaching out one muscled arm for the rope. ‘Here, let me carry that, it’s too heavy for you.’
She hunched her shoulders in protest, despite the coiled rope weighing heavy in the crook of her arm. ‘I can manage, Benois,’ she tried to insist as he scooped up the plaited flax. ‘You’re always doing things for me, looking after me.’
‘It’s how it should be,’ he replied tenderly.
‘But it’s so one-sided. I’ve done nothing in return.’
‘That’s not true, Tavia. You’ve done a great deal.’ He reached over to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. ‘More than you can ever know.’ Hefting the rope more securely over his shoulder, he resumed his long strides, leaving her perplexed, confused, intricate in his wake.
Benois halted under the shelter of a small thicket of trees and bushes just a few feet from the north wall. In the faint sheen of moon light, he raised one finger to his lips, pointing upwards, indicating that she should keep quiet. Tavia raised her eyes to the top of the wall, seeing the glint of chain mail as one of the guards passed by on his patrol. Beyond the wall, the outline of the tower was clearly delineated against the fractionally lighter night sky. The top window was a blaze of light, she saw with relief: an easy target.
‘We have to take a chance that Henry is in there.’ Benois tugged on her sleeve, pulling her down to where he crouched. ‘Keep an eye out, see if he passes in front of the window, while I do this.’ He began to fit the bolt into the bow, having already tied the rope to one end.
Tavia fixed her gaze on the lighted window, her vision blurring with tears of exhaustion. From the shadows, the darkness played tricks on her, making her think she had seen things, odd shapes, when in fact there was nothing. Then a shape crossed the lighted space and paused for a moment, looking out into the darkness. She caught the un mistakable glint of ginger hair.
Adrenalin fired her blood: she clamped her hand down on Benois’s shoulder as he knelt beside her. ‘He’s there! I’m sure of it!’
He nodded, a swift assurance that he had heard her, before arming the bow, dragging the sinew line back taut over the notch. ‘This takes some strength,’ he remarked. ‘However do you manage?’
‘My own bow is smaller and lighter. The one I had at the competition.’
‘How could I forget?’ He stroked the soft, downy skin of her cheek, distracted for a moment. He sighed, reluctantly. ‘Come on, let’s do this.’
‘Benois, wait!’ she hissed suddenly. ‘When Henry climbs down over the wall, how will he avoid the patrol?’
Benois looked up in the direction of the window. ‘If you shoot just after the guard passes by, Henry should have enough time before he passes by once more.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘We’ll deal with that if it happens,’ Benois replied tersely. ‘Here, take this.’ He handed her the crossbow.
Staggering back, Tavia’s arms sagged pathetically under the weight of the weapon. ‘It’s too heavy,’ she cried out. Tears of frustration pricked behind her eyes.
‘Shh! Keep your voice down!’ Benois knelt down before her. ‘Let’s work together…balance it on my shoulder. Then you can aim true.’
Resting the bow on top of Benois’s wide shoulder, Tavia knelt care fully behind him, knees sinking into the deep, damp vegetation beneath her. Their differences in height meant she was positioned lower than he, putting her immediately at an advantage, as the bow al ready pointed upwards, straight at the window. Sweat gathered in her palms as she focused her eye down the stock; her heart pounded madly, but her breathing remained calm, regular.
‘Are you ready?’ whispered Benois.
She took comfort in the solidity of his back, the strong muscular lines of his neck. ‘Aye,’ she murmured back.
‘Wait for my command.’
Her fingers rested lightly on the lever underneath. One squeeze and the arrow would fly, fly across the moat, across the high wall and straight through that window blazing with light. She hoped. The guard’s steady pace became audible now, as he approached the point where his gleaming helmet moved directly below the window. And then he was gone.
‘Now!’
Eye trained on the window, Tavia squeezed, watching almost in disbelief as the arrow flew from the bow, straight through the opening in the stone wall. ‘I did it!’ she squeaked with joy. ‘I did it!’ Her body shaky with relief, with success, she jumped up suddenly, knocking the crossbow on to the ground. Still kneeling, one hand on the frayed end of the rope, waiting for Henry to pull it taut, Benois smiled at her delight, seizing her around the waist, giving her a brief, hard kiss. Desire seared along her veins; a blazing trail of promise. ‘Benois!’
At the sound of his name, Benois sprang to his feet, pushing Tavia behind him, his body and eyes alert, searching the darkness swiftly for the owner of the voice. King Henry burst through the thick vegetation, pulling at the brambles that clung to his clothes, closely followed by a panting Langley.
‘There you are!’ growled Henry. ‘You two are devilishly hard to find!’
‘Henry?’ Benois lifted one eyebrow, puzzled. ‘I thought…’
‘Ferchar’s dead!’ Henry announced. ‘I’m a free man!’
Midnight was fast approaching when Langley finally managed to gather his men together to make the return journey back to his castle. The thunder storm that had threatened earlier had melted away to the east to be replaced by a fine, clear night, the dark sky peppered with stars. On the brow of the hill above Marwood, just at the tree line, the horses, excited at the prospect of returning to their warm stables, whinnied and jostled, eager to be away.
‘Did you really expect me to climb down that?’ Henry remarked, his tufted ginger hair tousled by the night breeze as he viewed the long extent of rope stretching down from the tower.
Benois laughed, his teeth white in the darkness. ‘It was the only way we could think of,’ he admitted. ‘You’d have managed it easily.’
‘Obviously you believe me to be younger and fitter than I actually am.’ Henry grinned. ‘But fortune intervened, and when Ferchar collapsed and breathed his last in the great hall, the Scottish soldiers came running to me for advice. And here I am.’ Henry ran his gaze arrogantly over Tavia’s slight figure, drawn closely into Benois’s side, no doubt wondering what in Heaven’s name she was doing there. ‘Anyway…’ he cleared his throat ‘…it was still an excellent shot, Benois.’
‘I wish.’ Benois was already shaking his head. ‘Tavia took the shot, not I.’ Had she imagined the quiet pride conveyed in his tone?
Henry’s jaw dropped at Benois’s announcement, peering incredulously at Tavia. He let out a long slow whistle. ‘You?’ His tone bit into her, disbelieving.
‘Aye,’ she admitted, hesitantly, unable to decipher Henry’s true thoughts beneath his fair, ruddy complexion, his imperious tone. She recalled their last meeting, when he had tried to warn her away from Benois. Then, she had believed his words, had broken her promise to Benois. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
Henry stepped forwards, and bowed low, formally, from the waist. ‘Then I thank you, fair maiden, for your help. You have a great skill.’
‘It was the least I could do,’ she replied, tipping her chin to address Henry with more confidence this time. ‘After all, this whole problem has been caused by me.’ Benois tucked her more closely into his broad flank, his arm firm about her back.
‘That had crossed my mind,’ Henry replied casu
ally, his lips curving into a smile.
The night air, cooler now, began to nip in around Tavia’s ankles, flirting beneath her hemline with chilly fingers. She tried to suppress a shiver, hunching down into her borrowed cloak.
Benois caught her slight movement. ‘I think we should ride back now,’ he suggested.
‘Aye.’ Henry looked up the hill to the spot where Langley and his men waited, Langley holding an extra horse for the King. ‘Do you come with us, my lady,’ he enquired solicitously of Tavia, ‘or do you return to Dunswick, to your own people?’ He jerked his head in the direction of Marwood. ‘There should be enough Scottish soldiers to escort you back.’
‘Nay, she comes with us,’ Benois spoke even before Henry had finished his sentence. ‘We married this eve, Henry. Tavia is my wife.’
Henry appraised them both slowly, his light hazel eyes keen, intelligent. ‘So you’ve won his heart, maid,’ he said eventually, ‘and I have lost a good, loyal soldier. I congratulate you, mistress. I believed no one would ever persuade Benois le Vallieres to ever love again.’ He wheeled smartly on one heel, striding off briskly towards the waiting soldiers.
A weakness spread through Tavia’s legs, eroding the strength in her knees; she slumped against Benois. He adjusted his hold on her, bringing her around so that he could see her face, her beautiful elfin features.
‘Take no notice of him,’ he said, noticing her pensive look. ‘He’s a sore loser, that’s all.’
‘He wants to keep you, Benois.’ Her dark lashes fanned around the wide brilliance of her eyes, as she leaned back in the circle of his arms, the com fort able brace of his hands in the small of her back. Her fingers crept up, wrapping around the bunched muscles of his forearms. ‘It’s understandable. You’re a good soldier.’
‘Was a good soldier,’ he corrected her. ‘I’m ready for a different kind of life now.’
The air shivered, held fast, his words suspended as if in a bubble between them. Tavia quivered beneath the light snare of his arms, hardly daring to breathe. Langley shouted down, a sharp tone of enquiry, shattering the tension. A faint look of frustration crossed Benois’s face. ‘You go on!’ he bellowed up to Langley. ‘Just leave the horses and we’ll catch you up.’ A good-natured cheer floated down the hill towards them, Langley grinning broadly before sweeping his arm in a wide arc. Saddles creaked, metal bits jangled in the horses’ mouths as the group moved off into the swelling darkness of the forest.
‘A different life?’ she repeated, her voice cracking a little. A tiny trickle of hope broke through the packed-earth crust of her resolve, gathering momentum as it spilled through her veins. She trembled within his hold—could she dare to dream?
‘Aye.’ He smiled at her. His eyes held silver sparks. ‘A life that involves you.’
Her heart soared with joy. ‘But…will you not miss all those—?’
‘All those battles, all that fighting,’ he interrupted her, teasing. ‘Riding out day after day, witnessing count less men lose their lives…nay, I don’t think I’ll miss it.’ He curled his big hands around her face, one thumb rubbing idly over the exquisite skin of her cheek. ‘You’ve changed me, Tavia. From that moment I first caught sight of you, sprawled so helplessly on those altar steps, surrounded by those great oafs, my own soldiers—from that moment, you began to change me.’
She reeled under his solemn words, liquefying heat running through her body, melting her fears, chasing away her belief that there would be nothing for them beyond this night. ‘I thought, once Ferchar had been dealt with, that it would be the end,’ she ventured, her tone muted, careful.
He shook his head. ‘Before I met you, I thought the answer was to throw myself into mindless battle at every opportunity to drive the bad memories away.’ Pulling his right hand away from her cheek, he rubbed the scar on his palm with his thumb. Tavia stopped the movement, clasping his hand with her own.
‘You’ve taught me, Tavia. You’ve taught me that there are other ways to heal the soul. Your kindness, your gentleness towards me has healed my dark soul…and stolen my heart.’
Emotion rocked through her slight frame, tears of joy threatening to spill. The restraints she had imposed upon herself since their marriage, fell away, leaving her free, free to love. ‘Oh, Benois!’ she cried out, reaching up to touch his face, almost in wonderment. ‘I can’t believe what you’re saying to me.’
‘Believe it, Tavia, because it’s the truth.’ He cupped the back of her head, weaving his fingers into the gossamer strands of her hair. ‘There’s only one thing left to say.’ His voice sounded husky, unsure.
‘Tell me,’ she breathed, her voice a volatile mixture of anticipation, of excitement.
‘I love you, Tavia,’ he said. ‘I love you with my body and soul, with all my heart.’
She shrieked with joy then, raising herself on tiptoe to throw her arms about his wide shoulders, sealing her mouth to his in a kiss that would hold them together, for ever.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7009-5
THE WARRIOR’S PRINCESS BRIDE
Copyright © 2008 by Meriel Fuller
First North American Publication 2010
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