Fire Dance
Page 34
Alain and Rufus rode round the hill on which the burning castle rested. The fire illuminated the landscape, gave sure footing to the horses, but it was not enough light to spot a cave in the darkness that had remained concealed in daylight.
He recalled some of the small holes he had seen on the backside of the fell. A rocky overhang, a downward shaft, none that seemed big enough to lead into that monstrosity of caverns that lay hidden beneath the earth. But mayhap that was its secret, that none of them seemed what they were.
And the people of these parts feared the hobs too much to enter them. He didn't even know what a hob was. Nobody had seen fit to inform him. But now he joined them in their fears. Fyren's holes into Hell were worse than any hob might have been.
"Look, Alain!"
He strained his eyes to see where Rufus pointed.
"See how metal gleams in the moonlight."
"It is but a flowing beck."
"I tell you, it is not. Listen. 'Tis the sound of metal, too."
"Aye." It was. Like the jingling sound made by trotting horses carrying armored knights. Men running, toward them.
He spurred his horse, Rufus beside him, toward the oncoming horde. It had to be them. He slowed as they drew close, straining his eyes to look for Melisande in their midst. There.
She ran at the head, nearly staggering. Alain leapt down from his white charger and abandoned the animal as he ran toward his beloved, and caught her up in his arms. Gasping for breath, she threw her arms around him. Her knees collapsed.
Still holding her, he eased them both down to sit on the moonlit grass, caught her mouth with his, hurried on to kiss every part of her face, throat, to touch every part of her that could be touched. She still struggled for breath, while tears streamed down her cheeks. She clung to him so tightly he thought his ribs might break.
"Are you all right, love?"
"Aye," she squeezed out between gulps of air. "And you?"
"All are well, love. Only the hall burns. Not even a horse was lost."
"Not even your damned cat," said Rufus, dismounted, and standing beside them.
Startled, as if she had not noticed anyone else but Alain, she looked up at the king.
"My cat?"
"Your damned cat," Rufus corrected.
Alain laughed.
"Oh. It is a joke."
"Nay, love. The joke is that you didn't know he teases you. The king saved your cat from the fire. And it cost him a pretty piece of his hide, I vow."
"Mighty claws, that animal has," said Rufus.
"Oh, I am sorry."
Rufus's eyes rolled back before he looked at Alain and shook his head. "Teach the lady to laugh at my jokes before I return, De Crency."
Close by the lady, Dougal stood with his winded knights, all blowing like coursers finishing a long race. Only then did Alain recall the sound of their swords clattering against stones as they had fallen to the earth. Dougal's knights knelt like their lady, still gasping, before Rufus. Their eyes searched him, waiting their fate.
If Rufus had any sense, he would execute them all.
Nay, if Rufus had the sense Alain was certain he had, he would recognize men who had found their way back from Hell, and knew a good leader when they saw him.
Rufus stood before the motley assembly of kneeling knights, hands upon his hips, assessing them with narrowed eyes. He paced before them, studying one, then another.
"You are the lady's knights, then," the king surmised.
"Aye," said Dougal. "We are pledged to her, and she is yours, Sire."
"Then you live. For now. And if ever any of you rise against me again, I'll have your ears on my trencher for supper, and the rest of your body parts scattered across all England. Is it understood?"
"Aye, Sire," came the chorus.
"Then, let us return. I offer my horse to my lady knight."
A chuckle rippled through the exhausted knights.
"It is a joke, Sire?" she asked.
Rufus sighed wistfully. "Nay, lady, not a joke, or at least, not a funny one. Just a very contrary notion that has no place in this world."
"Let the lady ride with me, Sire," said Alain. "For the moment, I have no wish to let go of her."
Rufus himself boosted the lady into the tall saddle of Alain's white horse, and Alain swung up behind. He wrapped one arm around her, and took the reins in the other hand. She leaned back, nestling against his chest.
The sound of a hunter's horn echoed around them, to call the other searchers home, and its like rang back in echoes from all parts of the dale.
EPILOGUE
The Red King stood in the bailey, one fist resting on his hip, near his packed-up train and saddled knights. Great lances raked the sky, and shiny mail gleamed in the morning brightness. Archers and foot soldiers stood ready to march. Before him knelt Lynet, the lovely wife of Gerard. The woman kissed his hand.
Gerard also knelt before the king. "I owe you my utmost gratitude, Sire, and my loyalty shall ever be yours."
Rufus was sure it would be. The saving of a little child was no small thing. Gerard's fealty to Fyren had been a mistake, but his defense of Lady Melisande was his saving grace.
Melisande stepped forward, knelt and kissed his hand. Rufus smiled, unable to recall when another woman had gazed upon him so adoringly. But then, he usually did not deserve such admiration.
"For all you have done for me, Sire, my heart is forever yours. You have given me my life and my love."
"And your damned cat," said Rufus. Catching her off guard, he took her by the arms and kissed her cheek. "And one for your lady mother," he said, kissing her again before releasing her. He clapped Alain on the back, confident he left a good man in charge.
Now a different battle called him. A new burst of energy filled him as he sprang onto the back of his black war horse. He pointed his army northward toward the Eden Valley and Carlisle.
An intriguing woman, that one. He would always secretly think of her as his lady knight, for she had fought as bravely and cleverly as any knight he had ever known.
He had not realized until coming here just how much the lady's mother had meant to him, when as a gawky eleven-year-old boy he had blurted out his love for a woman nine years his senior. But Lady Edyt had been kind, even gentle in her rejection, and he had never forgotten her. None had ever equaled her in his mind, though her daughter did come close.
He would never marry. For women did not love Rufus. For the most part, they did not even like him. They saw him for what he was, fat, red-faced, and ill-tempered, just as the Lady Melisande had done on first meeting him, when she screwed up her face in horror at the suggestion of being his wife. He had made a joke of it, but he knew its real meaning.
This girl, though, truly did like him, for more reason than the service he had done her. That was not to question her love for her husband. Like her mother, she was kind. He resolved not to envy De Crency his good fortune.
He had fulfilled his promise, and seen the daughter rescued. Done his deed of mercy. He doubted he'd do another one. Too complicated, messy. More for him the clean, raw energy, the simple ferocity of the battlefield.
But he doubted he'd ever forget this lady. Or her damned cat.
THE END
A Word or Two. . .
This is a work of historical romance fiction, and as such, there might be bits of history that have been presented more in accordance with the conventions of romance than history itself. Poetic license is ever useful in the Chretien of romance. I do know such things as when fireplaces came into use, when castles were made of wood instead of stone, when the waltz was not danced, or when dance cards and envelopes were not used. But sometimes, when one wishes to be writing romance, things like the convention of keeping one's servants in the same room when one makes love to one's wife don't appeal to the modern sense of romance.
From time to time, then, I will be talking on my blog about the real history and the real people. And if you want to know, things,
like the REAL reason Rufus never married, or anything within my area of study, just ask. I love that kind of stuff.
Visit me on my webblog, IN SEARCH OF HEROES: http://dellejacobs.blogspot.com
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