Finding Peace - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 2)

by Lisa Shea

  He held her eyes for a moment, then he pursed his lips and nodded. “For now, I will let you take your chosen course,” he agreed. “Do not expect me to maintain this restraint forever, though.”

  “I will handle it,” vowed Elizabeth, her eyes darkening. Once she regained her strength, she would take control of the situation.

  Richard nodded, then turned, heading toward the stables. In a few minutes he was out in the courtyard, mounted, his eyes sweeping across the trio. And then he was turning, moving through the main gates, and out into the countryside.

  Chapter 13

  Elizabeth groaned as the light streamed across her face. Clearly she had overslept, judging by the strength of the golden glow filling her room. The bruise on her arm was swollen and throbbing, and when she prodded it cautiously with a finger, she winced at the burst of pain that followed. The line of fire along her thigh was not much better.

  She took in a deep breath, then forced herself to roll to a standing position. Coddling her injuries had never done her much good in the past. She carefully drew her dress over her body, being cautious as she slid her arm through the sleeve. In a moment she was making her way down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

  Corwin was pacing in the ring like a corralled wolf, Richard was watching him with tense, focused attention, and Michelle was sitting in a corner, her knees tight against her chest, her arms wrapped closely around them. All three pair of eyes swung up at her approach, and it was Corwin who strode toward her, his eyes sharp.

  “Have you gotten lazy as well?” he snapped. “If your father was here, he would whip your derelict hide for lounging in bed like that.”

  “My father is not here,” responded Elizabeth shortly. “And I do not answer to you.”

  “Apparently you answer to nobody,” shot back Corwin. “I suppose the idea of responsibility got left behind with your vows.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” growled Elizabeth.

  He held up his hand with the gold signet ring on it. “You vowed to accept me as your lord and master. Do you think you can just back out because the whim hits you?”

  “You are the one who left me!” shouted Elizabeth in outrage.

  He spread his arms wide. “I am right here,” he pointed out. “You are the one turning your back on your promises.”

  Anger spiraled within her, and she struggled to rein in her emotions. “I am done talking. I am not going back to that keep.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “So now not only are you failing in your responsibilities to me, but you are abandoning those you owe your brother?”

  Her world slowed down. “What did you say?” she ground out, turning to face him full on.

  “Your brother, Jeffrey, the dead one,” he prodded her mercilessly. “Your paragon, your knight in shining armor. The one you caused to be sent away and slain.”

  Anger whirled and billowed within her, hot crimson in color, the bright heat of steam, filling her with energy and power and a thirst for vengeance. She drew her sword from its scabbard, holding it high.

  Richard’s voice was hoarse and strained. “Elizabeth, I beg of you – “

  She waved him off without looking, pointing over the hay bales. “Out of the ring. Now. Or I swear to God I will have you banned from the nunnery.” She didn’t turn, maintaining her focus on the man before her. His green eyes sparkled with amusement, the cold orbs seemingly carved from stone.

  “There is my girl,” he purred in a rasp, drawing his own sword.

  His smile sliced into her soul; his dismissive laughter ripped her apart. That he could make light of Jeffrey’s death …

  She lunged toward his right hip, aiming to chip a chunk off of it, and he rolled, blocking, tossing the tip of her sword high and right. She swiveled instantly, coming down at that sweet juncture of neck and collarbone, and he ducked beneath her, turning, whipping the blade. She saw its path, but her wearied body would not heed the urgent signals her mind sent.

  WHAM. The blade contacted the fresh bruise and an anguished cry filled the air. It was a full second before Elizabeth realized it was her own, as she gasped for breath, struggled to keep a hand on her sword, and staggered back.

  Corwin looked down at her dismissively. “Your brother would be very disappointed in you,” he mused, shaking his head.

  Elizabeth forced herself to regroup, to set in motion, to lunge at him, seeking to skewer his right breast, his left hip, his upper thigh. In each stroke he was there, blocking her, tossing her sword away, his eyes dancing with laughter.

  SLAM. His sword slapped hard against her thigh, and she could feel the skin beneath the bandages pull apart, feel the wet soaking of blood drawing into the fabric. The jagged pain barely got through the exhaustion and fury and throbbing from the rest of her body.

  A smile played on his lips. “Are you ready to concede I am right?”

  Elizabeth gave her head a firm shake, then staggered, almost undone by the wave of nausea that followed. She forced herself to remain focused on his eyes, on the movement of his feet, on the tilt of his shoulders. She needed to hurt him. She needed to take him down, to make him suffer, to get him on his knees before her.

  She dove in, twisting, slicing, turning, screaming, and he blocked high left, deflected her low right. Then his left arm slammed hard against her collarbone, nearly reaching her throat. She flew back hard on the ground, her sword skittering from her hand, staring up at the blank azure of the sky high overhead.

  He was staring down at her, his face rich with disdain. “Maybe your father was right,” he mused after a moment. “Maybe you are not even remotely capable of handling the keep’s defenses. Your brother deserved far better in a sibling.”

  He gave his head a shake, then turned, striding off toward the stables.

  Elizabeth sensed Richard moving in to protect her, sensed Michelle’s worried gaze, but the words echoed in her mind, spinning in circles with the throbbing pain and rolling waves of nausea.

  She was not worthy …

  There were hoofbeats, and arms pulling her up, and the scratchy roughness of hay beneath her legs, and yet it all seemed far away. A mug of mead was pressed into her hand, and she took down a pull. Gentle hands were working at her leg, removing the old bandage, cleaning her wound, and she felt the pain, mingled in with all the other fires and throbs, but they all seemed distant to her now. There were some murmurs, and some movement, and then a quiet settled down around her.

  A few minutes passed, and she drew herself up, forcing herself to focus on the world around her. Claire and Michelle were gone. Only Richard sat by her side, his eyes shadowed.

  “Tell me about Jeffrey.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes against the pain. “He was the most wonderful man that could be,” she stated, her voice hoarse, “and he was sent away because of me. It was because of me that he was in that French inn. It was because of me that he died.”

  Richard’s voice was gentle. “Why did he die?”

  “Because I forced him to be sent away,” moaned Elizabeth in agony.

  A pair of strong hands enfolded hers, and she looked up into his deep eyes.

  “No.” He waited a moment, then repeated. “Why did he die?”

  Elizabeth hesitated, giving the question some thought. She had always blamed herself. It never occurred to her to look beyond that.

  “Six bandits attacked in the night, seeking to rape the widow and her young daughter. My brother was lodging there. He took them all on. He held them off and killed every man. But his wounds were serious, and it was only a few days before he passed away.”

  “So who was responsible for his death?” Richard continued, his eyes tender on hers.

  Her throat closed up. “The … the bandits were?”

  “The bandits were,” affirmed Richard, his grip holding hers with warmth. “If the bandits had not arrived, seeking to harm others, your brother would have continued his journey safely.” His eyes searched hers. “Or would you have
wanted him to let them do their deed without any hindrance?”

  She shook her head fiercely, regretting it when the world spun around her for a moment. She took in a deep breath to stabilize herself. “He was a man of honor,” she stated firmly when the ground came to rest. “I am incredibly proud of what he did. Apparently those bandits had hurt many others in the area, and he brought them to a final halt.”

  “Then your brother left a magnificent legacy, and we should be respectful of his actions.”

  “I do respect what he did,” agreed Elizabeth. “But why did he have to die?”

  The corner of Richard’s mouth turned up gently, and he tenderly stroked the side of her face. “Many wise people have asked that same question over the centuries,” he pointed out. “There are no easy answers. We cannot choose how we die, or when. We can only choose how we live. Your brother made that choice, and his actions speak of the highest nobility of character.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes welled. “I miss him so much,” she whispered, and then Richard was pulling her in against him, holding her against his broad chest, and the tears spilled down in cascades. Her body shook with sobs. The aches, pain, and exhaustion all combined to release every last hold she had on her self-control.

  She sat there for what seemed like hours, the sun sliding across the sky, Richard’s arms around her, the smell of dry straw and dust and leather drifting all around.

  Finally, Richard hoisted her up in his arms, and she did not resist or say a word. He walked slowly across the courtyard, bringing her up the stairs and around to her room. He laid her gently on her mat, brushing her hair back away from her face.

  “You rest now,” he advised her, his smile tender. “Tomorrow we will figure out a solution. One that does not rely on anger, or fury, but on what makes sense for you, to live the life you want going forward.”

  She found herself nodding, trusting in him to discover that path through the mists and fogs. He leant over and tenderly kissed her on the forehead. The warmth radiated through her entire body, easing the stress out of her aching muscles.

  With that release, exhaustion cascaded over her, and in a moment she was fast asleep.

  Chapter 14

  Elizabeth blinked herself awake in the pre-dawn light, a sense of calm wrapped around her like an inner blanket, the gentle imprint of Richard’s lips against her forehead echoing as a sensation of tender warmth that she had not known since her brother left her a decade ago. She lay for a long moment, relishing the serenity, letting it soak into her flesh. She rolled to her feet, her resolve kindling and firming. She would take on whatever the day presented, and she would pause before acting, to do what she knew was right. She would not let Corwin manipulate her into impulsive and self-destructive actions.

  She dressed, brushed out her hair, and limped down the long spiral staircase toward the front door. She laid her hand on the sturdy wood for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. She knew she could do this. All it involved was taking a moment to gather herself before acting.

  She pushed open the door, swept her eyes along to the ring – and stopped short. Richard stood there, alone, his hand resting easily on his sword hilt, his eyes holding hers, his dark hair ruffled by the gentle dawn breeze. Her breath caught. Here she had been girding herself for combat and the problem had melted away on its own! She almost floated down the stairs, she was so full of joy, and her face was beaming by the time she stood before him.

  “Oh, Richard, I -”

  His eyes flashed to look over at the stables, and Elizabeth automatically turned her own gaze to match. Her heart fell. Corwin was striding out of the darkness toward them, his eyes bright with satisfaction, a cruel smile tilting the corner of his mouth.

  Elizabeth drew in a long, deep breath. She could do this. The man was nothing to her now. He was in the past, and she was moving forward with her life. Nothing he could do or say could reach her.

  “I will be walking with Richard this morning,” she informed him coolly. “You are welcome to wait here in the ring if you so desire.”

  Corwin’s mouth curled up into a wolfish grin. “As long as that sweet Michelle sits in my lap to keep me company,” he agreed with a rich laugh. “Those kisses of hers in the stable were quite thorough enough to whet my appetite for more.”

  It was as if the world slowed down to a halt around Elizabeth, as if the dust motes in the streaming sunshine hung suspended, as if the robin’s warbling stalled mid-stream. Her eyes widened in shocked horror, her hand going to her hilt of its own accord.

  He had drawn Michelle into his web of treachery. Innocent Michelle, sweet Michelle who had already shouldered so much in life. And it was all her fault that this was happening. It was her responsibility that the man’s taint was affecting every corner of her world, every person she held dear.

  She could hear the metal rasp as her sword drew clear of the sheath, saw Corwin’s eyes brighten in delight, hear the dusty crunch as her foot settled more firmly into the dirt of the ring floor. She could hear …

  But, wait. There was no call of her name from behind her, no pleading for her to stop, and at first she was filled with a fresh fury. Was Richard going to interfere? Was he going to step in and take over for her, as if her wishes did not matter?

  No, there was no sense of movement, and it hit her in a flash which staggered her. He knew. He understood that she needed to handle this on her own. If he stepped in she would always be in Corwin’s grip, always be susceptible to his next trick, his next assault. She had to reach the point, in her own mind, to withstand him on her own.

  And suddenly she was there.

  She was standing within the moment, apart from fury and pain and a craving for acceptance. She was fully aware of the manipulative gleam in Corwin’s eyes. She could see in sharp relief the deliberate machinations which he’d laid out in order to force her down the path of his choosing.

  But now she could select, for herself, where the next foot would fall.

  She slowly, carefully, with focused attention, uncurled her fingers from her hilt, let the sword settle back into its sheath, and held his eyes with a steady look. Then she turned her gaze up to the curtain wall where Simon and his men stood watching, concern in their eyes. She raised her hand, giving them a short calling hand signal. They moved quickly down the steps, coming down to ring around Corwin. Simon stood immediately at his right.

  She was surprised at how calm her voice was. “Please escort this man from the nunnery’s grounds,” she instructed Simon. “I am afraid Corwin is no longer welcome within our walls.”

  Simon did not hesitate. He tilted his head toward one of his men, and the guard sprinted toward the stables. The rest remained in their circle, their eyes focused on Corwin.

  Corwin’s smile widened. “So you cannot fight your own battles any more, my pet?” he prodded her. “You need to rely on those stronger than you?”

  “I rely on my friends,” responded Elizabeth, and somehow her anger eased, the heat which flooded her veins cooled. It almost seemed that his words were losing their ability to wound.

  His eyes grew sharp. “Your father relies on you to defend the keep. So do all of its inhabitants. Are you going to abandon them to be raped and slaughtered when the murdering bandits swarm in?”

  A tickle of anger flirted at the edges of Elizabeth’s awareness, but she drew in a long, deep breath, and let it out again. “That is between my father and me,” she informed him. “There is no reason for you to be involved in that.”

  “And your brother?” shot out Corwin, his voice becoming harsh. “Shall he have died in vain, all due to your female weaknesses?”

  The young soldier was walking toward them, leading Corwin’s horse, and Elizabeth made a motion with her hand. “I think it is time for you to leave now.”

  A wave of fury passed through Corwin’s face, and then it was under tight control again, and he smirked. “You will miss me,” he prodded her. “You will wither in the feeble heat of what my brother offe
rs; you will miss the fierce power of my presence. It may be an hour, or perhaps a day, but you will crave the feel of my hand on your body. None else can bring you that release of emotion and fury.”

  He flashed a triumphant smile, and then he vaulted onto his horse. He pulled the reins from the guard’s hand, turning and thundering out through the gates.

  “Close them, and bar them,” instructed Elizabeth, a flare of fear coursing through her at his unexpectedly easy departure.

  Simon waved a hand, and his men moved quickly to the large gates, pressing them shut, sliding the long, heavy bar into position. He led his crew up on the wall, watching Corwin ride off into the distance.

  At last Simon turned to nod down at her. “He is gone.”

  It was done. She would have said it was impossible only a few days ago, to break from his powerful spell, to resist the insinuations and webs he wove around her. And yet, here she was, and simply by taking that pause, and choosing her own course -

  She turned, and Richard was there watching her, his face taut with concern, his shoulders tense with stress and worry. She wondered how hard it had been for him to remain there, to know that she could have easily walked into a third fight, been beaten, or injured, or worse.

  “Oh, Richard,” she moaned, and then they were in each other’s arms. He murmured her name against her ear, holding her tight, pressing his lips against her forehead, her cheek.

  At last he pulled gently apart from her. “You know how to test a man to his very limits,” he groaned. “If you had drawn against him again, I do not know that I could have held back.”

  “And yet, all I had to do was stop and consider,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe. “That one moment, and suddenly I could see my way clear through the fog of fury and reaction.”

  There was a noise from the stables, and Michelle’s small face peeked out from the darkness. “Is he gone?”

  Corwin’s boasts roiled back into Elizabeth’s mind in a flash. She held open her arms, and a thin, shaking streak came flying into them, crying, and Elizabeth held her close. Richard wrapped them both with his strength.