Treasure So Rare (Women of Strength Time Travel Trilogy)

by Grace Brannigan

  Transfixed, Iliana could not tear her eyes from him, from those long fingers which caressed the intricately curved hilt of her sword.

  "Thank you for returning my sword."

  He looked up slowly, caught her gaze with his own. Iliana's pulse began to race frantically, while a strange, sickening heat enveloped her body, making her incredibly lightheaded. Her stomach churned with fear and queasiness. The man was making her sick!

  He smiled, his teeth straight and even. "It is surely the labor of a real craftsman, a light blade fitted so neatly for the hand of a woman."

  Iliana's mouth grew dry, loathe to tell this man anything.

  He flipped the sword, staring with great interest down the curved and waving blade, then his gaze pinned her with its intensity. "I have seen this type of flamberge rapier in a private collection," he said slowly.

  "That is impossible," she said. "It is my design."

  He raised a brow, but did not argue the point. "I have never met a lady so well versed in the art of fencing."

  "I have been taught by the best," she said, raising her chin. "This is not London court, where one relies on the queen for protection."

  Laying the sword gently on the bed furs, he let his gaze run over her slender arms beneath the filmy sleeves. Iliana stepped back.

  "You wield it skillfully."

  She thought for a moment he was complimenting her skill, but surely he must be mocking her!

  "Say what you have come to say and be done with it." She tamped down the note of desperation, hoping he did not recognize it as such. The memories of four years ago kept playing through her head. The attack. The blood... "You are a monster to toy with me this way," she muttered, unable to contain herself any longer.

  He towered over her, seemingly in no hurry to put her out of her misery as he glanced about her sparse bedchamber. For surely it was misery and terror which gripped her and made her feel so ill, her hands and feet like ice.

  "I confess I don't understand your animosity. When last we parted it was with the most loving of arms," he protested.

  Incredulous, she said, "How dare you say that! T-the last time --" she was at a loss for words. The memories sped up, picture after picture in her head. "You attacked a young girl, Graziela, left her on the cold stone floor. How can you think to come back here now and expect a lover's welcome?"

  His expression grew fierce. "You speak of Camdork. I am not Camdork."

  "Of course you are. You bear his shield, you ride with his men -- they call you Camdork. You are Camdork."

  "And what about you?" he demanded. "I knew you in another time, aboard my ship the Merry Maiden three years ago. You came to my ship and then you were gone, just like that."

  "You are crazed. You brutally attacked a woman many years ago; it has never been forgotten."

  "I've never attacked a woman in my life," he said angrily.

  "Lies, more lies." She dared to grab the sleeve of his tunic and just as quickly let go. "Come. Now. Come." She urged him over to her life tapestry, and lightly she touched the opaque golden fabric, gently ran her fingers over its surface until the surface began to change, the scenes depicted blurred and spun. Gently, ever so gently, Iliana pushed back the time, back, and back, until she reached that space of time where the tapestry turned dark, the scene where the young Graziela lay lifeless, a thin stream of red seeping into the crevices of the stone floor upon which she lay. "You did this," she said. "Do you deny you did this?"

  She watched his face, his eyes narrowed as he studied the scene on the tapestry. "A picture," he murmured. "Who are the others?" he asked, pointing. "Here, and here and here?"

  She shook her head impatiently. "Why do you even ask? You know. You know who they are. William, father -- Aisyn and Desryn -- brothers."

  He pointed with his finger, almost touching the tapestry. Roughly, she pushed his hand away.

  "Do you think to change the events? Do not touch this tapestry." She glared at him.

  "You're saying if I touch it, I have the power to change the events?"

  "You are not to touch an open tapestry. It is my life tapestry."

  In truth, Iliana was feeling strangely confused. This meeting was not what she had expected, nor was he. How could he expect her to be happy to see him? How could he not know how a life tapestry could be altered by another person's touch?

  He was a handsome specimen, her brain could not deny it. The soft grey tunic he wore was tight across his chest, accentuating the musculature beneath. For a brief moment, Iliana could see him as a man, as Agnes had undoubtedly seen him. But she knew of the tales bantered about him, knew what he was capable of. She would take no joy in what she saw. His physical presence was merely a pretense, hiding his baseness. Mandrak had the power to make things appear as they were not, hiding the atrocities. She had no doubt this man walked hand in hand with Mandrak's evil doings.

  His sun-lightened hair touched his shoulders, and one cheek was marred by thin white scars ... scars Desryn had inflicted with a lash four years before. Desryn had left a written account of the punishment, perhaps thinking to soothe Graziela in the telling. She had been violently ill instead and had left Dutton Keep on that day and had not returned since.

  She looked away from him. She could never trust him. "If I were willing to travel to see the queen, then none of this would ever have happened," she muttered. "I should be a man and then these responsibilities would not fall to me."

  He looked at her in surprise. "For my part," he said with a grin, "I am glad you are not."

  "You cannot woo me with words," she said stonily. "Your immense strength and brutality are your reputation."

  "Then I must woo you with my actions."

  "You waste both our time. There can be no forgiveness." Slowly, she lifted the wave-bladed sword from the bed furs and stared at him with hard eyes. "I shall have to kill you instead."

  He looked at her steadily, his hand on his own sword hilt. "Then I will be on my guard."

  ¤¤

  The passion in her words affected Erik. All this time he had searched for her, yes, yearned to find her, always going back to the seven days they spent together, and now to find her, she appeared to remember nothing, as if they were strangers. How could she forget those days and nights? Erik shook his head, bombarded by thoughts of dragons in the sky, an England with no king but a queen that he knew from history, had been imprisoned most of her life, and yet here, she was queen. He thought of the tapestries that showed life events in colorful art and detail, and that changed as you moved your hands over the surface. He had a sudden thought.

  "Do I have a life tapestry?" he asked.

  Her eyes grew wide. Impatiently, she said, "Since birth you are granted a tapestry, but your life is not recorded until you are one years old." She looked at him skeptically, as well she might. Apparently, this was knowledge he should already have if he were from this time. "I have no doubt your tapestry is old and tattered and red from the blood you have shed."

  Erik clenched his jaw. The more he discovered about Camdork, the more he saw a savage. This masquerade grew more cumbersome by the minute.

  "It seems I cannot convince you of my innocence."

  She crossed her arms.

  "Then I shall stop trying."

  Erik dropped all bantering, the whiteness of her face and clenched fists telling a story that was beginning to bite at him. Here was a woman very much in distress and who saw only Camdork. And it appeared he -- in the guise of Camdork -- was the cause of her distress.

  With a muffled oath, he reached out his hand, his intent merely to lightly touch her cheek with his fingers, perhaps to soothe her. The gesture went awry and his entire palm cupped her cheek. She flinched away from him as if he had sprouted the devil's horns. Twin spots of color began to burn in each cheek.

  "Please forgive me, Iliana, for surely I did not mean to frighten you." His voice was rough with apology and regret.

  "I am not frightened," she bit out, as if it w
ere a great effort to speak at all. A dart of surprise flitted across her face, then was quickly replaced by that loathsome coldness. "Your appearance in my chamber was unexpected, that is all."

  "And for that I ask your forgiveness." He wanted her to feel at ease with him, but he knew right now he asked the impossible. Erik vowed to make matters right.

  The blue of her eyes were dilated to tiny points. Although she did not back away or try to evade him, Erik could feel some part of her shrinking from his touch. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of her, the fragrance of roses. Unaccountably, his senses stirred, his body responded.

  "I mean you no harm." Impatient with himself, Erik turned and quickly strode toward the door.

  "Do not come to my chamber again."

  "I shall await an invitation."

  "Then you shall wait," she said with satisfaction.

  "And my name is Erik," he said. "When you were aboard my ship, you knew me as Rufus." He walked from the room.

  ¤¤

  Iliana followed him to the door, watched him move down the narrow corridor and toward the stairs. Agnes joined her in the doorway and Iliana took little William into her arms.

  Two of Mandrak's witches loitered in the shadows. Iliana tensed as she saw them from the corner of her eye. One was the malevolent Carvenia and now that one followed Camdork as he began to descend the stairs.

  Iliana followed swiftly, in time to see the old woman's fingers grip his sleeve.

  Camdork paused on the stairs, turning back. "Madam?"

  "Will you have her?" the old woman asked, her voice high and thin.

  Arching a brow, Camdork's glance cut across the hall to where Iliana hesitated. She continued forward, knowing she must intercede.

  "Carvenia, what is your purpose in this hall?" she demanded.

  Stooped, garbed entirely in dull brown robes, Carvenia turned to her. Iliana repressed a shiver as the old woman's eyes, one black, the other cloudy and sightless, seemed to look right through her. No matter the number of times she saw this witch, Iliana could not seem to shake her dread. Perhaps it had something to do with the cold way she watched William. She returned the witch's stare, her back ramrod straight.

  "Mistress," Carvenia bowed her head in mock deference, eyes slitted. "I merely wished to inquire as to the health of your bridegroom."

  She opened her mouth, ready to bid the witch to leave matters which were none of her concern.

  "Madam, you see me standing here. Do I not look well?" Camdork gave the old woman a mildly questioning glance.

  Iliana held her breath.

  "Surely, my lord, you would not deprive an old woman her curiosity," the crone said. "When the time comes, all the Keep will want to know the marriage will be consummated."

  Camdork gave the old woman a wolfish grin, "You have no need to stir yourself, Madam. I am past the age where a gathering is required to ensure the deed is performed."

  Carvenia narrowed her eyes and Iliana tensed, but the old woman surprisingly backed away. Iliana wondered if perhaps she knew better than to make an enemy of this one.

  "Have you further news to impart to your lady?" Camdork enquired as the old woman made no move to leave.

  "Nay. With your permission, my Lord Camdork, I will take my leave."

  "Go about your business," he said. The old woman hobbled back along the hallway.

  He turned to Iliana. "You keep these women about? Are they healers?"

  Iliana looked at him incredulously. "No. You know who they are."

  "Why do you allow that one entry into your private area? There is something mean about that one."

  "The servants are frightened of Mandrak's witches and dare not keep them from where they would go. It has proven to be futile to safeguard the hall from their like. People in the hall become sick, rats overrun the place. They cast powerful spells. I am sure you know all this."

  "How would I know? I have just arrived."

  She merely looked at him.

  Surprisingly, he gave her a nod. "But now I am here," he said, and he made his way down the stairs.

  ¤¤

  Iliana walked back toward her chamber. If Camdork had been as she expected, she would have known what to do, but now Iliana was at a loss. Could one man change so much from what she knew of his reputation? Could gentleness come?

  No. It was merely a game. He was trying to lull her into a false security. Once there, he would pounce. It was all in the sport. Once a beast, always a beast. They lunged for the throat, making the kill. Iliana knew it was the waiting she would find most difficult. Waiting until he decided to claim his rights.

  Chapter Six

  "There is a difference, yet a similarity." Erik turned toward the voice behind him, his eyes piercing the shadows of the great room. He was slipping, he thought grimly, letting Iliana distract him in his thoughts. Ever since meeting her, he had not been able to rid himself of thoughts of their time aboard his ship. He was irritated with himself and his dangerous preoccupation. There was no place in this scheme for such a distraction, especially now when things were so upside down.

  "Reveal yourself," he said.

  A small figure shuffled forward, detaching itself from the darkness of the wall. The arms moved upwards, causing the folds of a black cloak to fall back and reveal a smooth, clear ball in gnarled and twisted hands. The woman lifted her face to him, her thin beak of a nose prominent, lips drawn back from toothless gums. Dark eyes in a shrunken skull seemed to regard him with a spark of amusement.

  "God's breath, are there witches everywhere about this place?" he asked in exasperation.

  She cackled. "Yea, you are him, but he is certainly not you." She cackled again, an unnerving sound that made him wince. "I told her you would come, I warned her, but she would not heed the ramblings of an old woman."

  "Speak plainly," Erik said. "I am getting irritated by the half truths that seemed to abound in this place. Who did you warn?"

  "Mistress Iliana." The old woman moved back toward the shadows.

  "Of what did you warn her?"

  "Of your coming."

  At the moment, willing to play his part, Erik said, "It's common knowledge my men at arms and I were to come."

  She laughed and it caused a shiver to run down his back. Annoyed with himself, Erik said, "Tell me what you know of Iliana?"

  She turned the question back on him. "What do you know of her?"

  "Leave me be if you are intent only on riddles."

  "You are a man at times fascinated by riddles," she observed. "Look in your heart, where you love a challenge. You wanted to find her and so you have."

  "Iliana."

  "She is here, and yet she is not."

  "I see her in flesh and blood." Impatiently, Erik said, "So tell me how I arrived here. What year is this? What place is this?"

  "I offered her love philtres." She seemed not to have heard him as she went on, "She would have none of it. She will lead you a merry chase." Again, that laugh. "'Tis only fair you know it is the second year of Queen Eleanor's reign, the year of our Lord 1228. You are here where you now stand. How you arrived is how you will leave."

  "So I can leave again?"

  "If you so wish. But you will leave something you once loved dearly behind. And you will take with you something that you never knew was yours."

  "You know who I am."

  "Of course." Her dark eyes opened wide. "You are the key to the treasure."

  Erik frowned.

  "You must claim your life tapestry before it is tainted," the old woman said, turning and walking away.

  "Where will I find it?" he asked her retreating back.

  "Under the dragon."

  "Where the devil is the dragon?"

  She was there one moment, then vanished before his eyes.

  Erik moved to where she had stood and ran his palms along the walls. He pushed against the cold stone in several places, but to no avail. How could that crone disappear even while he watched? But then
he remembered the strange things he had seen; his brother Darien and Elise had dissolved before his eyes. That was almost a year ago and he had never seen them since.

  He pondered the old woman's abrupt disappearance, and even stranger, the words she had spoken. Edward, the lad he had met in the bailey earlier that morning, came up the stairs toward him.

  "My Lord Camdork?" the boy queried, his face concerned as he observed Erik pushing against the seemingly impenetrable stone walls. With a rueful grimace, Erik straightened from the wall. "There was an old woman here. While we spoke, she disappeared in an instant."

  The boy nodded, his face losing its concerned look. "Yes, my lord. That would be Sorenta. She comes and goes. No one is quite sure in what manner."

  "She just disappears?"

  "It would appear so, my lord. We are all familiar with her coming and going. I imagine it is strange for one such as yourself upon the first meeting."

  "One such as myself?"

  The boy bit his lip and looked down. "That is, someone new to Dutton Keep, my lord." His voice was low as he met Erik's eyes again, his body held stiffly erect. "She does not usually show herself to those living outside these walls."

  "But lad," Erik said softly, "I now live within these walls."

  "Yes, that you do," the boy agreed quickly. "Mistress Iliana sent me to tell you food is prepared and they await your presence."

  Erik turned to follow the boy toward the great hall he had passed on his way through the keep earlier. "I think perhaps mistress Iliana would not mind if you did not find me at all."

  The boy looked uncomfortable, then looked up at Erik and blurted. "In truth, I expected you to be out in the courtyard with your men at arms. I did not expect to find you at once within."

  "Ah, so Iliana sent you to search where she expected me not to be?"

  The boy didn't respond, but no reply was needed.

  "Sorenta told me the year was 1228. Do you read? Do you know the year?"

  Edward looked perplexed, then a bit wary. "Her mind is not foggy, although she likes to speak in riddles, my lord Camdork. It is 1228 in the reign of Queen Eleanor of Brittany."

  Stranger and stranger. Time traveling. He knew of it but how was it so? It was what he had surmised, but to have it confirmed...