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

by Lisa Shea

  “Thank you,” he murmured, gently kissing her on the forehead. “Good night,” he added, then he was moving through the door, closing it behind him.

  She barred the door, then slipped out of her belt and dress. She lay down on her bed, pulling the covers to her shoulders, turning to face against the wall.

  She heard a thunk from the other side, then some rustling, and then there were three soft taps from just in front of her chest.

  She put her hand there for a long moment, then gave three answering taps. She could almost feel the warmth of his hand there, almost feel the watchful gaze of his eyes upon her. A sense of calm swelled through her, and she fell into a contented sleep.

  *

  Elizabeth smiled as they drew closer to the high walls of the keep. “I am sure Thomas will be delighted to host us for the evening,” she told Richard, “and I am equally sure Corwin would have no idea of this change of plans. He would have thought we traveled further yesterday, and would be arriving home tonight. This will help to throw whatever devious intrigues he has off a bit, which can only be a help to us.”

  Richard eyed the men lining the walls of the keep. “And this Thomas is a friend of yours?”

  She nodded calmly. “I stayed with him for several weeks after I escaped my father’s grasp, when I was moving from place to place and deciding on what to do. He and his wife Malota were delightful hosts.

  They drew up before the large gates, and a burly guard peered down at them for a moment before his face split into a broad grin. “Elizabeth, is that you? My arse still smarts from where you whapped me during our fight. Are you up for a rematch?”

  “Of course,” called out Elizabeth in delight. In a moment the gates were drawing open and they walked their steeds through the archway, coming to a halt in the open courtyard.

  The main doors of the keep swung open, and a tall figure in a heavy, dark brown cloak came sweeping down toward them, his arms wide, his red hair flaming in the frosty dusk. “My dear, back again so soon?” Thomas called out, coming up to her and drawing her around in a warm hug. “Malota will be so delighted. She misses your engaging conversation. And who is this with -”

  His eyes came around, latched onto the moss-green glow in Richard’s, and his hand flew to his hilt in a flash. Elizabeth dodged between the two, holding her hands out to the side, drawing Thomas’s attention.

  “Thomas, this is Richard. He is Corwin’s brother, and he is nothing like him,” she hastily reported, creating a wall between them with her form.

  Thomas’s eyes creased with doubt as he looked Richard up and down, then at last he nodded, bringing his hand up off his hilt. He looked down at Elizabeth, his gaze gentling. “I would have hoped you had more than enough of Corwin by now,” he murmured. “But I hear he is back at your father’s keep, waiting on your return?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “It is a long story. One I will gladly share over some warm food.”

  The corner of Thomas’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “And a few glasses of my special cider, I wager?”

  She burst into a laugh at that, tucking her arm into Richard’s. Her eyes swept up to meet his. “You will see shortly one of the reasons this keep is my favorite place to visit,” she grinned at him, and then the three of them were moving up into the warmth of the main hall.

  Malota was just as delightful as she remembered, with her delicate blonde curls and engaging smile. Roast pheasant and warm bread were brought, the cider was poured, and soon Elizabeth was laying the entire story out for them, from start to finish, not holding back any details. She immensely enjoyed the company of her two friends and the fire behind them swept a comforting warmth around the evening.

  The embers were fading into a bed of coals by the time she had finished. Malota sat back, round-eyed at the enormity of it all.

  “But the man should be hanged – and then quartered!” she gasped, looking between the men at her side. “How can he still be free and loose?”

  Richard’s eyes were shadowed. “He has a way of twisting situations to fit his needs,” he commented. “It is a skill he has built up over many years. He is able to wriggle out of the tightest spot, to somehow make the accuser feel as if they are the one at fault.”

  Thomas shook his head, draining down his mug, waving a hand to call for yet another refill. “I do not know that I like the idea of you walking back into that hornet’s nest,” he stated to Elizabeth with concern. “You barely made it out of there the last time. Who knows what your father might be prone to do if you place yourself under his control.”

  Elizabeth turned to look at Richard, and his eyes held tense worry. He put his hand over hers. “I will follow you wherever you lead,” he vowed. “Still, we must be cautious. He will have the full might of his household guard around him. Once we are within his walls, we will be at an enormous disadvantage.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “And yet my father knows that he has created enmity with literally every neighbor around him. It would not take much to push them all into an assault on his doors, given what he has done to them over the long years. He would be cautious about doing anything too outrageous.” She nodded in resolution. “I got the sense from Father Godfrey’s message that my father only wants to talk with me. He is very sick, and he always did love his keep with a passion. He wants to make sure it remains in safe hands; that it does not fall to the bandits the moment he passes on.”

  Thomas’s voice was cold. “I concur that the man is gravely ill; I am surprised he has hung on as long as he has,” he agreed. “But never underestimate the craftiness of a dying man. He may feel he has little left to lose at this point.”

  Richard nodded at him. “We will be careful,” he agreed.

  Elizabeth gave a loud yawn, and Richard was standing at her side.

  Thomas stood as well. “My dear, you have your usual room, up next to Malota. And Richard …” He turned to the man before him. “There is a room on the lower level that I think will suit you well.”

  Elizabeth found herself speaking before she could rein herself in. “But I thought …” She drew to a stuttering halt as Thomas swept a gaze to look at her, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

  “No, no, nothing like that,” she hastily amended. “It is just, with all we have gone through, I find I sleep better knowing he is near.”

  Malota stepped forward to pat her on the arm. “Of course you do,” she agreed warmly. “If I had been through what you had been, I would not want my Thomas more than five feet from me at all times.” Her eyes swept to Thomas. “Surely having him on the same floor would not be that improper.”

  Thomas held Richard’s eyes for a long moment. “Be sure you are worthy of the honor,” he commented at last. “Elizabeth is very dear to me.”

  “She is precious to me as well,” returned Richard in a serious tone, nodding.

  Thomas waved at a servant, and in a moment they were ascending the stairs, moving to the room alongside her own.

  He pushed the door open, and she saw that his bed was alongside the right wall; against where her own was in the next room. Her shoulders eased in relief. His eyes caught the movement, and he almost reached out toward her before reining himself in and simply nodding to her, his gaze holding so much more.

  “Sleep well,” he offered, his voice rich and resonant.

  “And you,” she returned, every part of her craving to step into his arms, to inhale, to have his rich scent of musk and rosemary and columbine wrap around her. It was with the greatest of efforts that she turned, moving with Malota down to her own room.

  Malota’s voice whispered in her ear. “He is indeed quite the gentleman,” she murmured. “I think you finally may have found someone worthy to stand by your side.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes glowed, and she gave her friend a warm hug. “I will see you in the morning,” she offered, then turned and moved into her own room. She closed and barred the door, then moved to the side of the bed, shedding her belt and dress in one motion. She climbed
into bed, curling up to face the wall, waiting a long moment. Then she put her knuckles to it, giving three short raps.

  A heartbeat, and then three raps returned to her, strong and clear.

  She pressed her palm against the place, a rich warmth spreading throughout her, and she closed her eyes.

  Chapter 20

  Elizabeth pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, the gloom of dusk settling around her, barely noticing as the servants led the two horses away. She looked around her at the small cobblestone courtyard which had been her sparring field for so many years.

  She knew each stone, each upturned lift, each sudden dip as if they were carved into her own hand. There was the stone with the deep grooves in it where she had fallen after her father shattered her thigh. Over there was the pair of stones with grain like wood where her wrist had been broken. Each stone had a story to tell, marking out her life in punishment and pain.

  There was a movement from the keep stairs, and she smiled fondly. Father Godfrey was carefully making his way down the steps, his rickety frame navigating each movement with attention. She walked forward to take his hands as he reached the ground, then drew him into a fond hug.

  His voice eased out of him, faint and raspy. “My dear child, it is good to see you again. I am thankful to Mother Mary that you have returned home without serious injury.”

  Richard’s eyes moved to her thigh, but he pressed his lips together, saying nothing.

  Elizabeth stepped back to stand beside Richard. “Father, it is due to this man that I come to you as whole as I am. Richard saved me from near disaster in a flooded river and much else, in addition.”

  Father Godfrey held out his hand, and Richard bent to kiss the ring there.

  Father Godfrey’s eyes sparkled for a moment. “Ah, yes. Corwin has been entertaining us with stories of what went on during your travels.”

  Elizabeth snapped her eyes up to meet his. “What has that man been saying?”

  Father Godfrey’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Not to worry, my lass. I know better than to believe his version of things. And most of the men here have had enough encounters with his tales to know the same.” His brow furrowed. “But your Father, lass; he is very ill. You should come in to him at once.”

  Elizabeth glanced at Richard, then nodded. Together they moved with the frail, elderly man up the steps and toward the front doors.

  She paused a moment, staring at the ancient oak doors, at the heavy ax marks which scarred them. She knew the stories well, of how her grandfather had held off a bandit attack in the dead of winter, how he had sacrificed two of his sons in poorly planned sallies before the victory could be claimed. She laid a hand against the scar, nodding her head as she always did, before pulling hard on the iron circle and hauling the door open.

  The hall looked as it always had, but with Richard at her side she took in its dismal, grey gloom with even more critical eyes. The small windows barely let in any light, and few candles were lit to hold back the shadows. The scattering of tables were strewn with remnants of food, and the rushes beneath the chairs had not been replaced in weeks. The stone walls were bare of tapestry or decoration, and only a feeble fire guttered in the fireplace to the right. The head table, stretched out at the far end of the hall, was warped, had a crack tracing down its front, and sported innumerable stains.

  Her face flushed with shame. “Welcome to my home,” she muttered to Richard, looking away.

  His hand gently turned her face back to his, and his eyes shone with support. “Where you are, there I will be,” he vowed.

  Her heart warmed, and she nodded, turning to move forward. As they approached, she could see a frail figure propped up in the large, central chair. It took a moment before she could discern that the man before her and the bear of a figure who had been her father, who had domineered over her life, were one and the same.

  Father Godfrey had not been exaggerating. The man was surely clutching with every ounce of strength he had to his remaining threads of life. She shook her head in confusion, coming to a stop before the table.

  “Father?”

  He growled at her, the spite flared in his eyes, and it was all she could do not to take a step back. The father she had known glowed from within that desiccated frame, and she wondered that the skin did not burst from the heat which roiled within.

  “Finally you come home,” he coughed out, his eyes searing her. “Corwin was here days ago. You were always a disobedient child.” His eyes snapped to the man at her side. “And who is this? An uninvited guest in my home?”

  Elizabeth turned to indicate Richard. “Father, this man is Richard, brother to Corwin. It is thanks to his efforts that I have been safely escorted here.”

  Her father turned slightly to his right, and Corwin stepped out from behind the chair, taking his seat there. Elizabeth’s spine stiffened. That was her chair; that was her position at her father’s right. She pushed the feeling down with effort. Surely the last thing she cared about right now was where she ranked in her father’s affection.

  Her father grinned slightly, his eyes flashing. “Ah yes. I have heard all about this man, about his deeds,” he sneered. Richard stiffened beside her, but said nothing.

  Elizabeth’s voice remained calm. “I am sure we can tell you alternate versions of those same stories,” she indicated. “There are often two sides to a tale.”

  His brows came together in a harsh line. “I do not need to hear your version to know the truth,” he snapped. His face flushed with heat. “Not when you ran off, you refused to do your duty, you turned your back on your vows …” A strong hacking spell took a hold of him, and it was several long moments before he was able to get his coughing under control.

  Elizabeth looked back at Father Godfrey. “What is wrong with him? What does Doctor Tyrian have to say about this?”

  “Here I am,” called out a voice from the side of the hall. A middle-aged man with greying hair and a sparse beard moved into the hall, carrying a small jar. “I have brought your medicine, Lord Masci,” he added, coming to a stop by the chair and holding out the container.

  Her father snarled, but took the jar and tossed it back in one gulp. He grimaced, grabbing his mug of ale and washing it down. When he spoke again his voice was clearer, but still ringing with disdain.

  “This lack-wit has no idea what is wrong with me,” he snapped. “Nearly seven months now, the wasting has been afflicting me. First he thought it was ‘the burning disease’, picked up from one of these servant girl whores who clearly do not keep themselves clean. Then he was sure it was leprosy. Who knows, next he may blame the plague.”

  The doctor’s face was pale. “My Lord, I am still researching your baffling symptoms,” he insisted.

  Her father picked up the jar and flung it at the wall, shattering it into a flurry of pieces. “Research faster,” he snarled.

  A young girl with blonde braids came scurrying into the room, dropping to her knees beside the broken bits of jar, gathering them up into a grimy cloth.

  Her father waved at the chairs before him. “Come, sit down already. You are hurting my neck making me stare up at you like this.” His eyes turned to the girl. “You there, get them ale and bread. Be quick about it.”

  The girl nodded and raced off toward the main door.

  His eyes swung round to pin Richard. “I suppose you want some sort of reward. You want a boon for staying with Elizabeth while she lagged behind. It figures the girl’s weakness would force Corwin to come ahead on his own to let me know what was going on.”

  Richard shook his head. “No, sir. I seek no reward.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed. “No man does something without wanting to get something out of it,” he snapped. His eyes swung to stare at his daughter, and his face darkened. “Out with it, girl. Did he violate you?”

  Outrage filled her chest at the way her father was treating her, but she reined it in with fierce effort. She just had to get through this one
night, to figure out what was going on.

  “He did not touch me,” she huffed out.

  “Good,” he snapped. “You will be ready to marry Corwin two days hence.”

  Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. She had expected this, but to hear it stated so firmly by the man who had run her life for so many years still had the power to send shivers through her.

  “I shall not,” she countered without hesitation.

  His eyes raised up to meet hers, and the fire that blazed within them was the same flame that used to scald her before a hand thundered down at her head, before a sword spun toward her thigh. “I have said you shall, and that is final,” he snarled.

  Father Godfrey leant forward slightly, and all eyes drew to him. “In the eyes of the church, marriage is the most holy of sacraments,” he wheezed out, fingering the gold cross at his chest. “It absolutely must be taken voluntarily. One cannot force an adult to be baptized; such an action would have no validity in the eyes of God. In the same way, a woman who is forced into a marriage is not a legitimate wife and will not receive the Lord’s blessings.”

  Her father’s eyes burned into hers. “Then we will just force her to see reason,” he snapped. “The agreement was already settled on. The man was her choice, by God! And now she backs out, after she is paid for? The chit needs to learn her place.”

  Elizabeth was half out of her seat, but Father Godfrey put a frail arm on her shoulder and she stopped. “It is late,” he wheezed, his eyes on her father. “You are very tired, my Lord. Let us discuss this in the morning when we have all had a good night’s sleep.”

  Her father’s glare faded slightly, and he nodded. In a moment Doctor Tyrian and Corwin had taken each of his arms, carefully helping the frail man up toward his quarters.

  Elizabeth settled back down into her seat, taking a long draw on the ale, turning to look at the elderly priest. “I see his temper has not improved any,” she commented with a half smile. “How have you been holding up?”

  He shrugged, looking at her fondly. “I get by. We have a long history, he and I, and I do my best to act as intercessor between him and the others of the keep.” His eyes grew shadowed. “I am only sorry I could not do more to keep you safe over the years.”