Connie Mason

by The Black Knight

  Dusk was moments away. Drake and his men had ridden hard all day. As the hours passed, Drake’s hopes for finding Raven alive plummeted. What if he were wrong and Waldo had ridden north? The thought persisted that Waldo had already slain Raven, and his heart bled. How could he live the rest of his life without Raven? He would never know what his child looked like. Whether it was a son or daughter. God’s blood! When he caught Waldo, and he would, he would slit the bastard from gullet to groin once he had the information he sought.

  “My lord, Exeter lies just beyond the forest,” Sir Richard said. “I have been here before. There is a path leading through the forest to the city.”

  “Find the path, Richard,” Drake said with grim determination. “If Waldo is in Exeter, we will find him. He cannot be far ahead of us, nor would he have had time to find passage to France.”

  Scant light remained as Sir Richard led the group through the forest. Fear rode Drake. What if Waldo had ridden north to York, or gone to Scotland, or some other unlikely place?

  Suddenly a horse appeared in the path and Drake sawed on the reins. Zeus reared once, pawing the air, then settled down. Drake leaped from the saddle and grasped the destrier’s trailing reins. He recognized Waldo’s mount instantly. It was the one he had ridden forth from Windhurst.

  Drake stumbled over Waldo before he saw him. He was lying facedown in a pool of blood. Drake turned him over and spit out a curse. “God’s blood!”

  Sir John came up beside him. “Who is it?”

  “Waldo.”

  “Is he dead?”

  Drake knelt and placed an ear to Waldo’s heart. “He breathes, but barely.”

  Waldo groaned and opened his eyes. All Drake’s attention was focused on the dying man, willing him to breathe. “Waldo, can you hear me?”

  Silence.

  “Waldo! Damn you! Answer me. Where is Raven? What have you done with her?”

  Waldo made an attempt to speak. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Drake? How . . . did you know . . . where to find me?”

  “A hunch. What happened?”

  “Thieves. I killed one.” A long time passed before he said, “Am I dying?”

  Drake’s voice held no pity. “Aye.” He grasped Waldo’s tunic and pulled up his head. “Where is Raven? Do you wish to die with a woman’s death on your conscience? Raven carries my child.”

  A parody of a smile twisted Waldo’s bloodless lips. “You will never find her.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “Nay . . . not yet . . .” He coughed, staining his lips with blood and spittle.

  “Damn you! Where is she?”

  Drake heard the death rattle in Waldo’s throat and pressed harder for answers. “Clear your conscience, Waldo. Tell me where to find Raven.”

  Waldo said but one word before death claimed him. “Water.”

  “Bastard!” Drake shouted as Waldo drew his last breath. “May you burn in hell for all eternity!”

  “He asked for water,” Sir John said.

  Drake stared into Waldo’s sightless eyes and wished him alive so he could kill him himself. Water. With his dying breath the bastard had asked for water.

  He rose abruptly. “Sir John, tie Waldo’s body to his destrier’s back. We will take him with us to Windhurst.”

  “There is another dead man, Drake. What should I do with him?”

  “Leave him for the scavengers.”

  Twenty

  A knight is a sworn enemy of all evil.

  Duff ran out to meet Drake when he rode into the inner bailey. He saw the horse with a body draped over it and skidded to a halt.

  “Is that Waldo?”

  Nodding absently, Drake dismounted. He had more important things on his mind than a dead man.

  “Is he dead?”

  “Aye.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “I wish to God it had been me. Thieves got to him first. It happened in the forest outside Exeter.”

  “Exeter! I thought you were riding north.”

  “We did ride north, for a time. Something, a premonition mayhap, told me ’twas the wrong direction. It suddenly made sense that Waldo would try to leave England.”

  “God’s blood, Drake! Did Waldo tell you where to find Raven before he died?”

  Drake’s fists clenched at his sides, his anger palpable. “I will tell you what I know as soon as I quench my thirst. I am parched.” Though Drake could not speak of it aloud, his greatest fear was that Waldo had raped Raven and left her somewhere to die.

  They entered the keep together and took seats at the high table, where Lady Willa awaited them. The midday meal was in progress, and someone placed a tankard of ale and a trencher of meat and cheese before him. He ate and drank, heedless of what he put into his mouth as long as it filled his belly and quenched his thirst.

  “Did Waldo tell you naught?” Duff exclaimed. “Is Raven dead?”

  “I know not. Ere Waldo died he said but one word. He asked for water. I begged him to tell me what he had done with Raven and all he said was water.” He pounded his fist on the table. “Waldo must be laughing all the way to hell. He has finally succeeded in destroying me.”

  Duff’s brows furrowed as he pondered Drake’s words. “Something is awry, Drake. I know Waldo, and he would not ask for water. Ale, mayhap, but never water. To my knowledge, Waldo never touched water.”

  Drake stared at Duff. It was not unusual for a dying man to ask for water, though at the time he’d thought it an odd request, coming from Waldo. But anger and grief had held sway over him. Now that Duff had spoken, however, his mind began functioning again. If Waldo wasn’t asking for water then . . . His mind raced. His heart thudded. Windhurst was built on a cliff overlooking the sea. There was water nearby. Lots of it.

  “Waldo could not have taken Raven very far,” Drake observed, growing excited. Why had he not thought of it before?

  Abruptly another thought occurred, a thought so disturbing he could not put it into words. As if reading his mind, Duff spoke the words for him.

  “Do you suppose Waldo threw Raven into the sea?”

  Drake closed his eyes against the pain Duff’s statement conjured. Then he remembered Waldo’s words. A shudder of relief speared through him.

  “Nay. Raven lives. We will find her near water.”

  Sir John, who had joined them at the high table, heard the conversation and leaped to his feet. “ ’Tis high tide now, but as soon as the tide ebbs, every man in the garrison will be on the beach below the cliffs. Fear not, my lord; we will find your lady.”

  “See that each man has a horn,” Drake directed. “The man who finds her is to give two blasts upon the horn.”

  “Aye,” Sir John said, hurrying off.

  “I pray you find Lady Raven well,” Lady Willa said. “We were at odds with each other at first, but my marriage to Duff changed all that. I was hoping we could make peace and become friends. Eyre is not so far from Chirk that we cannot visit often.”

  “We will find her, Lady Willa,” Drake said, grimly determined. What he could not promise was the condition in which he would find her. There was no telling what Waldo had done to her.

  Raven stirred and groaned. By her reckoning she had passed two nights in the cave. She was thirsty and hungry. The hunger she could manage, but the thirst was nearly unbearable. She had tried to lick moisture from the walls of the cave but the foul taste gagged her. Presently it was neither thirst nor hunger that plagued her. Her limbs were numb and the pain was fierce, and she was cold.

  Throughout the empty hours, Raven’s thoughts had returned time and again to Drake. His image danced before her eyes, strong, powerful, his honed warrior’s body invincible. His loving left her aching for more, always more, and he had never disappointed her. She loved him so much it hurt. He was arrogant and demanding and unpredictable at times, but those qualities were part of what made him so appealing. Even now, with pain, hunger, and thirst plaguing her, she was able to close her eyes an
d recall the strength in his arms. And his face. No man should be as handsome as the Black Knight.

  Her thoughts fractured when she noticed daylight streaming through the mouth of the cave. Another new day without hope of rescue, she thought despondently.

  During the previous night and day Raven had given her dire circumstances much thought. If she did not want this cave to become her tomb, she had to get outside.

  Using the wall behind her to steady herself, she pushed herself to her feet, inch by painful inch, until she was standing on her bound feet. Pain shot up her legs and she nearly collapsed, but her iron will refused to let her fall. When the pain subsided to a bearable level, she shoved herself away from the wall and hopped to the mouth of the cave. The light blinded her. She blinked twice, then stared down at the churning sea below her.

  The tide was in, and the narrow strip of beach had disappeared. Raven lowered herself to the ground, watching the water lap at the rocks below, wondering how she was going to negotiate the steep incline without full use of her arms and legs. Until the tide ebbed, attempting such a feat was not to be undertaken.

  Raven glanced upward, her despair tangible when she realized she would not be visible to anyone standing at the top the cliff looking down. There was no other solution. She had to reach the beach. Fear rode her. Hindered by her bound limbs, she was in danger of falling and hurting the babe she carried. What a dilemma.

  A jagged edge of rock embedded in the cliff face jabbed into Raven’s bottom, and she shifted to find a more comfortable position. Unfortunately, the cliff’s face offered no comfortable spot; the entire cliff was studded with sharp-edged rocks. She sighed and stared at the pounding waves, wondering when the tide would turn and what she would do when it did.

  She moved her legs to ease the pain and a sharp rock punctured her flesh. Thoughtfully, she stared at the wound, then turned her gaze to the rock with a keen sense of purpose. Had her mind not been befuddled from lack of food and water, the answer to her dilemma would have occurred to her sooner. A rock sharp enough to pierce her flesh would surely cut through silken cords. Driven by desperation, Raven searched for a sharp rock nearby, found one, and scooted over to it, wincing when sharp stones dug into her tender bottom.

  Excitement thrummed through her as she backed up to the rock and lifted her wrists to the sharp edge. Her first attempt to saw through the silken ropes was unsuccessful. Her cloak kept getting in the way. Though it pained her to do so because it was so very cold, she struggled out of the garment and pushed it aside with her feet. It rolled down the slope, fell into the water, and flowed out to sea on the receding tide. Paying it little heed, she began the painstaking process of sawing through the cords binding her wrists.

  Hours passed, or so it seemed, before Raven felt a slight loosening. Heartened, she renewed her efforts. The tide ebbed and the sliver of beach reappeared. The sky clouded over and a cold mist settled over the cliffs, chilling Raven to the bone. Then, miraculously, her bonds snapped and her arms were free. The pain that followed was so sharp and debilitating, Raven nearly passed out. Tears rolled down her cheeks when she tried to undo the knots binding her ankles. Her hands were as useless as two chunks of meat, and her fingers simply refused to work.

  Determination furrowed her brow as she pushed herself to her feet and stared down at the windswept strip of sand below. Grimly she realized that reaching the beach without mishap would take a small miracle. Dragging in a steadying breath, Raven hopped, and hopped again. Each time she gained a little more ground. Though it was not a lengthy distance, the incline was steep and packed with obstacles. For Raven, with limited use of her hands and feet, the descent was perilous indeed.

  Raven stopped to catch her breath and steady herself against a large rock. So far so good, she thought as she executed another hop. Then her luck ran out. Her bound feet landed on loose stones and slid out from beneath her. She collided with the ground hard, skidding and sliding down the slope on her bottom. She hit the wet sand on the beach below, unable to catch her breath, every bone in her body violently jarred. Then she knew no more.

  Drake had already explored several caves along the beach and had almost given up on finding Raven when he saw a body sprawled in the sand a short distance ahead of him. His heart raced; fear propelled him forward. Instinct told him it was Raven. It had to be.

  Stumbling across the sand, he dropped to his knees beside her, softly calling her name. When she did not answer, he gathered her inert body in his arms and hugged her close. She was so very cold, as cold as death, and he feared he had reached her too late. An anguished cry erupted from his throat as he rocked her against him. Tears slid down his cheeks as he lifted his face to the misty rain and asked God to spare her life. Then, miraculously, a soft sigh slipped past her lips.

  Daring to hope again, he brushed hanks of wet hair from her pale face and stared at her. Her skin was transparent, her eyelids shadowed with purple, and her lips bloodless. Her wet clothing was plastered to her body, but she lived. He pulled off his mantle and wrapped it around her. When he noticed that her legs were bound with cords, he swore and slit them with his dagger. Then he tugged the horn from his belt and blew two short blasts.

  Carefully lifting Raven into his arms, he started down the beach. Soon he was joined by more than a score of men. Sir John took off his mantle and placed it over Raven for added warmth.

  “Is she . . .”

  “She is alive,” Drake rasped. “Though nearly frozen to death. Send someone ahead to the keep. I want a hot tub prepared and plenty of beef broth and warm ale available as soon as I arrive. And,” he added grimly, “send someone to the village for the midwife.” Though he did not speak the words aloud, he feared for the life of his child.

  “I will go myself,” John said, sprinting off.

  “Would you like me to carry her?” Sir Richard offered.

  “Nay. I will carry her myself.” If Raven recovered with no ill effects, and God willing she would, Drake silently vowed to take better care of her.

  Raven stirred and he held her closer, tighter, willing his warmth into her. He took the path leading to the top of the cliff, negotiating it with ease; Raven’s slight weight was as nothing to him. His men followed, their faces grave, concern etched upon their brows.

  Drake reached the top, where grooms were waiting with their horses. Drake reluctantly handed Raven to Sir Richard while he mounted; then he took her up in front of him and kneed his destrier forward. Raven lay so still Drake feared for her life. Her lips were blue, her face pale, her chest barely rose and fell with each breath. Were he able to breathe his own life into her, he would do so gladly.

  Duff and Willa met him at the door. “How is she?” Duff asked worriedly. “She looks so pale.”

  “God willing, she will live,” Drake replied as he brushed past his brother-in-law.

  The servants were prepared for Drake’s arrival. They waited with warmed blankets, broth, and ale. Brusquely Drake ordered everything carried to the solar. A warm tub was waiting before a roaring fire in their bedchamber. When Lora lingered behind to help, Drake ordered her out. Raven was his and he would take care of her.

  Once everyone had withdrawn, Drake placed Raven on the bed and with great care removed her sodden clothing. He cursed over each and every bruise marring her lovely body and fervently wished he could resurrect Waldo from his grave and make him suffer as Raven had suffered. When he had rid Raven of her clothing, he carried her to the tub and lowered her gently into the water. Raven’s eyes flew open, her eyes widened, and she screamed.

  Frightened, Drake froze, wondering what he had done to hurt her. “What is it, sweeting? Tell me where you hurt.”

  Raven stared at him, her mouth working wordlessly as she tried to leave the tub. Drake held her down with a firm hand.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  Raven nodded. Drake filled a cup with ale and held it to her lips so she could drink. She sipped a few drops and shook her head, as if too
tired to swallow.

  “Where does it hurt?” he asked as he set the cup aside. “Is it the babe?”

  Her face paled and her hands flew to her stomach. Noting her badly bruised wrists for the first time, Drake roared in outrage. Carefully he grasped her hands, lifting them so he could inspect them more closely. Raven inhaled sharply.

  “What did that bastard do to you?”

  “He tied my hands behind me, bound my ankles, and left me in the cave to die,” she rasped weakly. “I feared you would not find me. Did Waldo tell you where to look?”

  “Waldo is dead,” he said flatly. “May he burn in hell.”

  “Amen,” Raven said. Her eyes fluttered shut.

  “Is the warm water doing you any good?”

  “I am not so cold anymore.”

  “How long were you lying on the beach?”

  She shrugged. “I know not. I managed to cut through the cords binding my wrists, but my hands were too numb to remove the cords from my ankles. I started hopping down the slope and lost my footing. ’Tis all I remember until I woke up in your arms.” Her hand splayed over her stomach. “How fares my babe?” she asked worriedly.

  “Is there pain?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then he is still firmly entrenched. I sent to the village for the midwife.”

  Raven sighed. “I will not lose your child, Drake. I swear it.”

  Raven words were so resolute that Drake did not doubt her for a minute. “Your flesh is no longer chilled. ’Tis off to bed with you now,” he said, reaching for one of the blankets warming beside the hearth. “Can you stand?”

  “Nay. My feet are numb.”

  “Put your arms around my neck and hold tight,” Drake said. In one smooth motion, Drake lifted her out of the water and wrapped her in the blanket. Then he carried her to the bed and tucked her beneath a fur robe. When he had made her comfortable, he sat at the edge of the bed, staring at her. He did not know how to broach the subject, but he knew he must for his own peace of mind. Not that it would make any difference. Nothing Waldo could do to Raven would soil her in his eyes.