Treasure So Rare (Women of Strength Time Travel Trilogy)

by Grace Brannigan

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  There was only one who challenged Camdork's men and their right to be there. The lad moved lithely along the wall walk, a dark hood upon his head as he brandished a sword with a strange appearance. So strange, in fact, Erik wanted a closer look. No doubt thinking it was a jest, several of the men at arms climbed the stairs to the wall walk, taking up the challenge from the lad one by one, and one by one, they were left teetering on the stone ledge before falling into the bailey below.

  Dressed simply in brown baggy trousers and a stained fawn colored blouse, with cloth binding about his feet, the lad moved swiftly, wielding his sword impressively, evading the much clumsier men at arms as they tried to use brute strength against his lightness of foot.

  After witnessing three of the men fall to defeat under the lad's blade, Erik decided this absurdity had gone on long enough. Two of Camdork's men already lay wounded and one looked to have suffered a broken ankle in the fall. Children and women stood in the yard and he felt they were in danger of being trampled by the still-astride horsemen.

  Knowing he must ape the arrogance of Camdork, he dismounted his horse and ran up the narrow tower stairs. "Cease!" His harsh bark caused several men waiting a turn to fall back.

  "Stop this nonsense!" His voice rang out over the courtyard, his anger very real. "I come by order of the queen, would you disobey her royal order?"

  With his back to a dovecot, the lad paused, sword at the ready. Erik addressed him. "Would you subject your people to punishment for these acts you are committing?"

  Erik took another step, compelling the eyes he could barely see behind the cloth to give him their full attention. The fragrance of roses stole around him, momentarily distracting him.

  Frowning, Erik moved within four feet, then three, removed the helm Camdork had bade him to wear and placed it on the short wall beside him. His fingers brushed several pebbles along the stone wall and his fingers closed around them. As he turned to the lad, all in the courtyard below remained still, tension mounting as the seconds stretched. For all his fierceness and cunning in dispatching three men, the lad was not very large.

  "Dare you take that final step?" Erik asked, his voice pitched low so only the lad could hear. Erik raised one blond brow. "No one here doubts your courage, your skill and cunning, but do you dare to step forward and run me through?" He advanced another step. "Your next move could decide the fate of all who live under the protection of this castle." With a quick snap of his wrist, Erik opened his hand and let the pebbles fly into the dovecot, effectively taking the decision from the lad. Startled by the small projectiles, a flock of doves flew straight up into the air behind the lad and around them.

  Erik lunged forward and twisted sideways, catching the lad in the midsection, laying him flat, his sword clanking on the stone. Not a word was uttered as Erik's immense frame lay atop the lad, but the eyes... aye, the eyes burned with hate and fury. Eyes as deeply blue as the sea...

  Erik pried the sword from the lad's gloved hand, then he reached for the lad's hood. The lad threw up his arm, his wrist hitting Erik's hand. The lad rolled and twisted away, shot to his feet and ran. Erik followed until they were enclosed in a small tower like room, hidden from view to the others.

  "Nowhere to go," Erik said, cornering him. "You might better have left this fight to others." He pulled the hood from the lad's head.

  "Mother of God." All time and meaning fell away as the wind swirled in through the stone tower, whipping in a frenzy around them. Every muscle in Erik's body stiffened and his mouth gaped, totally caught by surprise.

  The "lad" tossed curling black hair over her shoulders as a gust tossed it into her eyes -- cerulean blue eyes that glared at him with hate and loathing.

  "You!" A wolfish grin twisted his lips. The black-haired witch who had taunted him in slumber and had dared to lure him, only to vanish! Erik scanned her face; black, slanting brows, the unblemished creamy skin, full lips the color of new wine --

  "Camdork the Beast!" she spat. "I should have used your tactic and stuck a knife in your ribs when your back was turned." She turned on her heel and ran out of sight. He heard a grinding of stone and by the time he'd gathered his wits and followed, she was long gone.

  Despite the upside down world he now found himself trapped in, Erik couldn't help but smile. He had found his black-haired witch. And thinking him Camdork, she hated him.

  Erik stared at the flamberge sword that lay on the stone at his feet. He picked it up, hefting it in his palm, studying the sword with amazement. He could not help but smile with delight. By God, he had found the woman he'd searched for.

  Slowly, Erik made his way back down to where the men were taking care of their animals, pushing and shoving for the right to be first into the stables.

  Ulrich was the only one still mounted. "Here now," he bellowed, his expression sour, "your horses will have room in the stables, but after tonight you shall camp outside the castle walls. It is my lord Camdork's wish and also her ladyship's."

  Bemused, Erik became aware of a young lad by his side. The boy's thin wrists extended well past his shirt sleeves, and Erik judged him to be around ten or eleven years of age. The boy's brown hair was short, his dark eyes serious as he cleared his throat nervously, backing up a step as Erik turned to him.

  "My Lord Camdork, I am Edward, and I welcome you to Dutton Keep. Her ladyship bid me show you to your chamber after your horse has been settled."

  "My lady Iliana?" he asked.

  The lad seemed to swallow with difficulty, his dark blue eyes wide. "Yes, my lord, Mistress Iliana. My lady welcomes you to Dutton Keep."

  "I could not have had a more entertaining welcome," Erik murmured with a barely repressed grin. He measured the weight of the sword still in his hand, admiring its fine craftsmanship.

  Erik followed the boy down the steps, staring at the three men being attended to, their wounds dressed as they sat in the bailey below. "It seems there is much to learn in this place. But first, I must speak with the wounded."

  Chapter Five

  With a scowl, Iliana paced in her chamber, mulling over the arrival of the beast Camdork and his men. It bothered her that she'd wavered at the last moment, when she'd had the chance to kill him, doubt had crept in. By the Holy Saints, where had that cautioning voice come from? She should have taken her chances and run him through -- surely none would have mourned him! And he had taken her sword! Iliana clenched her fists. She must retrieve her sword. It was irreplaceable. The waving blade was her only advantage when matched against those stronger and more experienced.

  Footsteps approached her door. Even now the clutch of Mandrak's witches were outside her chamber, eagerly feeding on her anxiety. Iliana bit her lips, fingers clenched tightly as she pondered her next move. She would have to find a way to stop this madness, this edict by a queen who wanted only to control the lands she held and the lucrative gems she traded.

  How dare that scoundrel come here! For a brief moment, up on the tower, the wind all around them, pushing his hair back cleanly from his face, a thought had intruded, how could one so evil look so -- so devilishly handsome and carefree? She shook her head, clenching her fists at such feeble thoughts.

  With dismay, she found him not as she expected. Everyone knew of the beast's exploits, the man's cruelty, the sport he took in killing. The memories in her thoughts from many years ago, his attack on an innocent girl in this very place...

  He had no sense of honor.

  "By all that is holy, he was amused!" Iliana threw her gloves to the bedding, then frowned, trying to recall that which puzzled her about the Beast. In truth, she knew very little about him. Angrily, Iliana yanked wool hose and the baggy chausses down over slim knees, then kicked them off. Of course he was different; who would not be after a passage of four years? No doubt he had honed his skills of savagery to new levels.

  "Mistress, may I help you?" Agnes, her personal maid, pushed open her chamber door, then quickly bent down to retrieve the cr
umpled hose.

  "The witches -- have they departed?" Iliana asked.

  The maid nodded soberly. "Aye, that they have, mistress, ere I wouldna come near this chamber. Perhaps I can offer comfort of sorts now that that one is here."

  Maid and mistress were direct opposites. Iliana was of medium stature, while Agnes, although several years younger, was a girl of immense height, her arms brawny and muscled from hard work. Until she had come to live within Dutton Keep, there had been many a season she had helped tend her father's flocks and turned a field for plowing. But now, the fields lay half tilled, last year's crops rotten and wasted in the barren soil.

  Iliana's shoulders slumped. "I must think on what to do."

  Agnes turned and closed the door, letting the iron bar drop into place.

  "Mayhaps a romance will be in the offing," Agnes disclosed hopefully. "He is a man of immense appetites, from all I hear."

  Incredulously, Iliana turned to stare at her. The servant girl had a faraway look in her eyes. Iliana grimaced, her lips turning down.

  "There will be no romance, as well you know," she said abruptly. "There are no happy endings, just wives who do their husband's bidding and must be content with their lot until they are fortunate enough to die." Even as she said the words, Iliana rebelled at such thoughts.

  Agnes looked at her mistress and Iliana grimaced to see Agnes shaking her head sadly. She had only just become her personal maid and no doubt had been told of her Mistress' sometimes strange ways...

  "How is the wee one, mistress?" Agnes bent down to the cradle at the smiling baby. "Never have I seen such a contented baby."

  Iliana smiled, also moving toward the cradle. "Dear little William, such a sweet face, just waking up from his nap."

  Reaching into a wooden chest at the foot of her bed, the maid shook out a rich blue kirtle. Iliana stood still in her linen shift, arms upraised, then allowed Agnes to drop the kirtle over her head, and she fastened a slim leather girdle about her waist. Lastly, Agnes picked up the small jeweled dagger resting upon the bed furs and held it doubtfully in her palm.

  "I will wear it, of course I shall," said Iliana, seeing Agnes' hesitation. "He shall be in no doubt as to my state of mind regards this matrimonial matter."

  "Milady, if I may say so, all the village -- indeed, all of England must surely be aware of your state of mind."

  Iliana smoothed the gown over her hips, dark brows quirking with surprise, then pleasure.

  "Surely, you jest, Agnes? Why should all of England care?" Of their own accord, her lips began to curve upwards. The knowledge that many knew of her distaste for the Beast pleased her. After all, she reasoned, why should men not bear the consequences of what they reap?

  "If only your sister Graziela were here to help you share this burden."

  Iliana looked at her, surprised. "Do you think Graziela would welcome news of Camdork's arrival? He is the reason she resides at the monastery," she said swiftly. "He is the reason she never rises from her sickbed."

  Agnes bowed her head. "Yes, my lady."

  "Agnes, tell me what you know."

  "They say your trade in rare gems stirs interest in London. The queen is worried about such ventures in the hands of an unmarried woman, begging your pardon, mistress. It is said that the queen wishes a direct interest --"

  Iliana twisted around to look at Agnes, alarm on her face. "Tell me all you heard them say about my trade? Well you know, Agnes, these gems are all that keep the people alive. Surely they cannot take that, too?" But the queen could make her marry that scoundrel; indeed, it was all but done. With growing despair, Iliana knew her lucrative trade in gems could easily be wrestled from her. She was a woman with no family or husband, no liege lord to protect her interests. They could easily invade her trade, thereby snatching all real joy from this wretched life.

  Deep in thought, Iliana moved to sit on the small bench beside the window, tilting her head so Agnes might work the comb through her hair. Her gaze rested on the distant forest as she pondered her possible future.

  "It is bleak, Agnes." She turned on the small stool. "And what of William? What will become of him?"

  "The little one will grow up as boys do." A boy without a father.

  Although it was accepted that women bore children without the protection of a man, for Iliana it went against everything she believed, for her son to be without a father. But indeed, what could she do about it?

  Iliana grabbed the maid's large hand. "Did the men follow my orders?" she asked.

  Agnes resumed the combing as she nodded. "Aye, mistress. Not a man raised their hand against that one's army."

  Iliana relaxed once more. "It is a simple matter that I would practice defiance, but I cannot allow others to become embroiled in this affair."

  "Milady, if you don't mind my saying so, any of the men would gladly lay down their lives for you." Agnes' young voice was passionate, her soft brown eyes sparking as she pulled the comb through a tangle of hair.

  "Here, Agnes, be calm." Good naturedly, Iliana gripped the young girl's hand. "I understand your passion, but do remember my poor scalp."

  Immediately, the young girl was all apologies. "I beg pardon, mistress, I am new to this and sometimes forget myself." Gently, Agnes stroked her mistress's hair. "Such hair I have never seen. You are truly blessed with hair like golden sunshine."

  Iliana looked at her maid, not saying anything, used to others seeing her hair as golden blonde. Another mystery, not easily solved. Another spell. Only she and the witch Sorenta knew her hair was darkest brown, as dark as little William's hair.

  Iliana turned to face Agnes. "How is your shoulder, Agnes? Does it feel any better?"

  Agnes smiled and rubbed the shoulder. "Oh yes, my lady. Last night I had a wonderful rest and did not stir once until the morn. The shoulder seems to be healing."

  "I have more crushed gemstones to place beneath your shoulder at night. We should continue the healing at least until the new moon."

  "Thank you, my lady. I thought I should live with the pain of a twisted shoulder for the rest of my life."

  A loud knock suddenly sounded on the door of the chamber. "Why -- whoever can that be?" Agnes demanded indignantly, hurrying to the massive door. She swung the bar on its bolt, ready to blister the offender.

  Pulling open the door, however, her face changed. Watching her, Iliana noted her maid's ruddy complexion was suddenly suffused with yet more color. The open door obscured whoever it was from Iliana's sight. Nevertheless, Iliana experienced a sudden tightening in her chest.

  "M-my lord --" Agnes stuttered, stepping back. Her mistress' comb clattered to the stone floor as the girl pressed her hand against her breast. Iliana's head jerked sharply, and she came to her feet, the hair on the back of her neck standing upright as slowly, the door opened wider. Feet braced on the threshold of her sleeping chamber, the sword he had taken from her point down on the stone floor, stood Camdork.

  "You are the last man I would ever invite into my chamber," she said angrily. "Be gone."

  "I merely return what you left behind," he said, a roguish grin on his lips. He held up her sword.

  "You have returned it," she snapped. "Now go."

  ¤¤

  Erik drew his gaze from the comely serving woman to stare at the mistress of Dutton Keep. With lively interest, he noted Iliana's attire, a plain, unadorned gown which flowed to her ankles, the deep color enhancing her rich blue eyes.

  Iliana's complexion paled, full lips thinned as if with pain, yet Erik swore sparks flew from her eyes upon first seeing him. Her fury hit him like a physical wall and she looked as welcoming as a Nor'easter in the Catskills.

  "That's a cold how-do-you-do, to be sure," he remarked with a lopsided grin. "However, I admired your earlier unconventional welcome to such a degree I felt I should follow the tradition, thus serving my own unorthodox welcome upon you personally and away from prying eyes."

  Face growing pale, Iliana stepped back from the blond
giant, trying to ignore the sparkle in green eyes and the smile on his lips. He bore many battle scars, and a long scar that ran from his neck across his cheek and toward the back of his head. A fearsome injury, she thought.

  With detached interest, she noted it did not detract from his features. How could such a beast have an angel of a face?

  He had shoulders wide and muscled beneath the loose fitting tunic he now wore. In his hands he held her wavy sword, and now he made to toss it on the bed furs.

  With a screech, Iliana put out her hand to stop him, and then lunged across the bed. Quickly, she jumped off the bed furs to the other side of the bed, reached down to lift William from his cradle. He stared up at her, his eyes their usual bright green, always with a smile lurking. How could she not smile in return as she pressed him to her breast?

  "You have a child?" Camdork said into the silence. "An infant," he muttered.

  She turned her back on him. "You might have maimed him in your carelessness."

  "There was no danger," he said, his voice suddenly tense.

  Iliana turned back as Agnes came to take the baby.

  "Mistress, I will see to the wee one's fresh garments."

  "Thank you, Agnes." Pressing a finger to William's nose, seeing his smile, Iliana let Agnes take him to be changed into dry clothing.

  "We shall go below to finish this conversation," she said to Camdork, every instinct warning her against the smile curling his lips. "Agnes, will you bring William to me when he is changed?" Iliana was momentarily caught off guard by the enthralled look on the maid's face as she stared at Camdork.

  "Agnes?" Iliana's voice was sharper than she intended.

  Face reddening guiltily, Agnes nodded. Surely Agnes was not attracted to such a man!

  Iliana backed up several steps as he dared to advance into her chamber, a room that suddenly felt too confining due to his size. His eyes, their very strange color of green, bothered her, as did their intensity. He indicated the sword he still held.

  "It is a finely crafted blade," he mused, one hand lingering against the steel. "And quite odd, I might add, to see such a weapon."