Sabina jerked up her head at the words. Had Lord de Burgh been expecting such treatment here? They didn’t have enough servants to fill even the smallest tub with hot water, and as for bathing him…Sabina swallowed hard at the thought of such a duty. She had seen no male naked since she was a child and had come across the village boys swimming in the pond.
But Lord de Burgh was no boy. He was a man, the biggest man she had ever met, and she couldn’t imagine those wide shoulders, the breadth of that chest, that amount of skin…She drew in a sharp breath at the thought of the water, the warmth, the feel…And then, like a bubble of soap, the vision burst as she remembered his reaction this morning.
‘Lord de Burgh doesn’t like to be touched,’ Sabina said.
‘What?’ Urban’s voice rose, loud in the stillness.
‘What?’ Ursula echoed, though her version was more like a shriek.
Sabina shook her head to dispel their suspicions. ‘This morning when I touched his arm, he flinched.’
Urban appeared mollified by the explanation, while Ursula looked more disappointed than anything else. Or perhaps he doesn’t like to be touched by me, Sabina thought with a twinge of disappointment. Or perhaps he was faithful to whoever waited for him, longing only for that woman’s hand, that woman’s bath, Sabina thought, wistfully.
‘If he is a knight, he will have plenty of females dallying after him,’ Urban said, ‘especially at the tournaments, where they try to kill each other in order to impress the ladies of the court.’
Sabina frowned, for the sort of man Urban described was not Lord de Burgh. He didn’t flaunt his skills or brag about them. He didn’t dress like a peacock, and he didn’t expect to be waited on. He and his squire had brought small game for the Sexton table and helped, rather than stand by, watching the others work.
‘Mark my words, he’s halfway home by now,’ Urban said.
Home. Sabina wondered where that was. Was it the tall castle Urban described, or something smaller, more intimate? Did it look out over the sea or a valley? More important, who else lived there? Lord de Burgh spoke little and offered less about himself, while Sabina found her own curiosity about the mysterious knight growing.
‘Why would he go home?’ Ursula asked. ‘They were on a pilgrimage to Bury St Edmunds.’
‘Yes,’ Sabina said, seizing upon that information with new hope. ‘I hardly think such a knight would deny his vow.’
‘Not all pilgrims are motivated by their faith,’ Urban said, scoffing. ‘In fact, most travel to see the sights and enjoy the company of others, rather than seek aid from the saint. Though I suppose this fellow might be headed there for his leg.’
Sabina jerked her head up again. She glanced at Urban, but his back was turned as he stared out the window and Ursula was bent over her sewing, strangely quiet.
‘What do you mean?’ Sabina asked. ‘What’s wrong with his leg?’
‘How would I know?’ Urban asked, turning to scowl at her. ‘He does not take me into his confidence. But ’tis obvious that there’s something wrong. Haven’t you seen him limp, especially at the end of the day?’
Sabina gaped in astonishment. She had noticed that Lord de Burgh walked stiffly sometimes, but surely that did not mean that he suffered any affliction.
‘Perhaps that’s why he left,’ Urban said, as if enjoying her discomfiture. ‘He knew he wasn’t up to the task, but did not want to admit it.’
Sabina heard Ursula’s low gasp, and she, too, was shocked by Urban’s careless condemnation. No matter what ailed him, Lord de Burgh was more of a man than this village had ever seen and capable of accomplishing anything. Perhaps she had blindly viewed him as a hero out of legend, invulnerable and impersonal, but even Sabina could see that nothing slowed him down, nothing stopped him. Never had he turned away from a chore or complained in any way.
‘No,’ she said, with certainty. She met Urban’s gaze with her own steady one, waiting for him to argue the point with her. Although they had disagreed more than once since her father’s death, she had never felt so angry and disgusted with him. Whatever his personal feelings and beliefs, there was no reason for him to lose all manner of discretion or simple courtesy.
Whatever Urban was going to do, whether dispute her or turn away, Sabina would never know, for in that instant, a sound rent the stillness and the small gathering was thrown into chaos.
‘Get down! Let us go down below!’ Urban shouted, looking more terrified than ever before. And who could blame him? They had all been lulled into complacency these last few days by the presence of a knight and the absence of the beast he would protect them against. They had stopped hiding in cellars and resumed some semblance of their former lives, pausing less often to look over their shoulder or to listen for the dragon’s roar.
And now they paid the price. Ursula dropped her sewing and surged to her feet, while Adele grabbed Alec by the hand and hurried towards the stair that led underneath the hall. But Sabina rushed to the window instead. On the way, she passed Urban, who reached for her, but she pulled from his grasp, looking out to see the flash of fire nearby.
‘It struck not far from the pond,’ Sabina said. ‘If we hurry, we can put out the blaze before it spreads.’
‘The worm could still be out there,’ Ursula wailed, but Sabina paid no heed and ran for the doors.
‘The buckets,’ Alec cried, breaking away from his mother. He hurried to the nearby wagon that held all the water containers, pulling it outside after Sabina.
Soon they had taken up their usual positions to fight the flames, and although Sabina’s heart pounded, she did not fail. She was determined to hold the village in Lord de Burgh’s absence, not to lose all that she would have him fight for, and more. The weight of the buckets made her arms hurt, but she kept going, her gown sodden and dragging in the dirt, concentrating only on lifting each one in turn.
Sabina didn’t know how long they had been working when, above the crackling of the fire and the sound of their efforts, she heard a shout. And then he was there, his great destrier dancing to a halt as he slid from the saddle, both horse and rider unmistakable even in the near darkness. Such was her joy at the sight that Sabina could not contain it.
‘My lord!’ Dropping her empty bucket, she ran to him, throwing herself at his tall figure. And when he caught her to him, his strong arms closing around her, Sabina could have wept with relief. She pressed her face against his hard chest, the links of mail beneath the cloth a welcome reminder that this was a warrior.
‘You are here,’ she whispered. ‘You came back.’
Did he answer? Sabina thought she heard a hushed voice against her ear, before another shout and the thud of hooves echoed around her. The arms that encircled her fell away, Lord de Burgh stepped back, and Sabina drew in a deep, shaky breath at the sense of loss that surged through her. She told herself it was the night’s events, the danger, the tension, and yet she searched his face, hoping for an invitation back into his arms. But it was not to be. He turned to greet his squire, who was running towards them.
Soon, it was all over, Lord de Burgh using the last of the dying embers to light a thick piece of wood that had fallen from the hut. He held it aloft as he walked round the building and burned thatch, as if to learn something from the dragon’s deadly fumes. He even sniffed the air, but Sabina could smell nothing except the acrid scent of smoke and a hint of salt breeze, off the sea.
Then he turned to face the bedraggled band. ‘So this is how you’ve contained the fires.’
‘Yes,’ Sabina said, feeling a small spark of pride. ‘We collected the buckets months ago, those that were left behind, small tubs, anything watertight.’
‘We brought a cart of sand back from beside the sea!’ Alec said.
‘Water, dirt, sand,’ Sabina said. ‘We throw on whatever is handy.’
‘That explains the sand you found at the site of some of the fires,’ Peregrine said, with a pointed look at his master, and Lord de Burgh nodded. T
hen the boy turned back to the dripping remains with a frown. ‘It strikes at night?’ he asked. ‘When does it sleep?’
It was Alec who answered, with the matter-of-factness of youth. ‘It has been sleeping for days.’
At those fateful words, Lord de Burgh’s makeshift torch flickered out. But he gathered the reins of his great horse and led them back to Sexton Hall as if he had been born there. He feared neither the darkness nor the beast, and Sabina found herself wishing that she were walking alongside him, one of his strong arms draped over her shoulders, his tall form pressed against hers, keeping her safe and warming her with his heat. The yearning was so sharp it startled her, yet what right had she to want such a thing?
Lord de Burgh had returned to Grim’s End, despite what might await him elsewhere, and that was enough. She could not ask for more.
Chapter Seven
R eynold couldn’t sleep. Unlike his brothers, who often lay like stones, propped against trees snoring—or, in the case of Stephen, drank himself insensate—Reynold had never found it easy to drift off. Sometimes his leg bothered him. Less frequently, his thoughts were the culprit. But tonight he suffered from both.
As a child, he was concerned with keeping up with his brothers, ignoring his aches, or garnering his father’s approval. In recent years, only his decision to leave his home had kept him awake. But now, it was Mistress Sexton’s safety that weighed upon him. He had failed her once; he did not intend to do so again.
As he lay there in the dark, it all came back to him: the terrible pounding of his heart when he saw the orange glow in the distance and the frantic urgency that drove him to push his mount on. He had been in dangerous situations before. He had fought in battles, had suffered when his family was at risk, but he had never felt anything like the horror he had known racing towards Grim’s End.
And he had only himself to blame. The uneventful days since their initial arrival had dragged, making it easy to dismiss the claims of the inhabitants. And the eerie atmosphere of the empty village had pressed down on him until he longed for a respite from the abandoned buildings, the same small company, the dwindling food and the beautiful damsel who captured his thoughts too often for comfort. Had he really been seeking information at Sandborn or just an opportunity to escape from his growing distraction…attraction?
Now his trip seemed an excuse, a dangerous tempting of fate that could have gone far more awry. Reynold’s heart pounded anew at the thought of what might have happened to Mistress Sexton in his absence. Her beauty might make him wary, but it was no defence against the beast.
As much as Reynold disliked Urban, he could appreciate how the man always had a careful eye upon her, protecting her, hurrying her to safety. What had seemed like the jealous actions of the besotted now appeared more sensible. But Urban was no help against the worm, a realisation that made Reynold uneasy. Perhaps Reynold would not prevail in such a contest, either, but at least he could handle a sword.
That simple truth made Reynold determined to guard Mistress Sexton himself. Originally, he had planned to return to the spot where he and Peregrine were attacked and search for signs of the brigands in the woods. But now he dismissed such a journey as unimportant. The lone rider could well be an outlaw who would strike and move on, especially when he found that stretch of deserted road would provide few victims.
He had more pressing concerns here in Grim’s End. Indeed, the more he contemplated the danger, the more Reynold wondered whether he should be keeping closer watch upon Mistress Sexton, sleeping outside her door, or perhaps even inside…Such treacherous thoughts led him where he did not want to go until, despite his best intentions, he remembered that moment when he had seen her in the firelight.
His already-hammering heart had skipped a beat at the sight of her, alive and unharmed. With one look at him, she ran towards him, and without conscious thought, Reynold caught her up, drawing her so close that the golden ribbons of her hair slid against his cheek. And instead of the acrid smell of smoke, he was enveloped in a soft sweet scent and something so powerful he had been overwhelmed. Never had a woman been so elated to see him.
Because of what he must do, not because of who he was, Reynold reminded himself as he stared at the ceiling above him. He would do well to remember that. ’Twas the dragon-slayer she greeted, not Reynold de Burgh. And yet, like some tantalising dream, he could not dismiss the images, the memories, the feelings…
‘My lord, are you awake?’ Peregrine’s voice was barely a whisper.
‘Yes,’ Reynold answered, grateful to be drawn from his own restless musings. He was not surprised that his squire did not sleep, either, for the possibility of another attack probably weighed on the youngster. The description the old man in Sandborn gave them was enough to concern anyone, even a knight. And Reynold’s mind had not been idle.
‘What are we going to do?’ Peregrine asked. ‘About the worm, I mean.’
‘I’ve had enough of sitting and waiting for it to strike,’ Reynold said, with sudden determination. ‘We must find a way to entrap it.’
‘How?’
Reynold squinted into the darkness. ‘Perhaps a net like the fishermen in Sandborn used.’
‘But surely it could just burn through the ropes.’
‘Perhaps,’ Reynold admitted. But would it become entrapped enough for them to hold it and somehow kill it?
‘If only we could make the net out of something like your mail coat, then the dragon couldn’t escape,’ Peregrine said.
‘’Twould take too long to craft, and who would lift it?’ Reynold asked. ‘A chain might work, though, especially if we could wrap the lengths around its neck and choke it to death. It has to breathe, doesn’t it, like every other animal?’
‘I don’t know,’ Peregrine whispered, as if he thought the beast too supernatural to be vulnerable. ‘But we would need a big chain. And who is going to throw it?’
‘Maybe we could string it up and then just pull it tight, snapping the worm’s neck,’ Reynold said, warming to his idea.
‘But that would require such force, especially if the beast is flailing around, trying to escape. Who would be able to do it?’
The de Burghs. His family could do it, Reynold knew. He and his brothers had often tested each other’s strength by pulling on ropes, sometimes stretched across a hog wallow or some equally unappealing spot. But his brothers were not here, and Reynold had no way to get a message to them unless he sent his squire, his courageous, but foolhardy squire, who trusted far too readily.
‘We could rig it up like a noose, and hang the creature,’ Reynold said.
Peregrine remained silent for a long moment as though mulling over such a plan, but when he spoke, he did not dispute the idea. ‘What are we going to use for bait?’
Reynold squinted into the darkness. ‘We’ll have to buy an animal, something the worm has a taste for, such as a cow or a pig. A sheep from some nearby flock would be easiest, especially if we can obtain it closer than at Sandborn.’ He slanted a glance at the boy, barely visible in the glow of moonlight through the window. ‘What say you, squire?’
Although he did not argue, Peregrine’s tone made his reservations clear. ‘I think we’re going to need all the help we can get, including the furry breeches.’
Sabina turned at the sound of footsteps and was surprised to see Lord de Burgh, his squire not far behind. She had only just arrived in the hall herself this morn and had not expected his early appearance. Although she eyed him curiously, his face revealed nothing and she glanced away, flustered.
Lord de Burgh’s closed expression had once been a comfort to her, a symbol of his calm competency, but now Sabina found herself resenting it. She wanted to see more, to know more, to have more…Although never prone to whims or wishes, Sabina felt a sudden impatience, which she swiftly dismissed. What had she sworn last night? He was here. That was enough.
So why should she yearn for something else? Because somehow he had become more to her than ju
st a stranger who would do her a service, a knight, a dragon-slayer. Sabina frowned at this unanticipated development as she moved towards the head of the table. She took her seat, only to see Lord de Burgh walk past the other chair to sit on the furthest bench.
His position took on new meaning this morning as the night’s events returned to Sabina’s mind. Flushing at the memory of her boldness, she realised that he probably didn’t want her throwing herself at him again, and she cringed at the thought. What had come over her? She had been so overjoyed to see him that she had gone beyond the bounds of propriety. And he had let her.
Had she given him any choice? All kindness and strength, Lord de Burgh would never turn away from a need. He had given her comfort because she had asked for it, taking on yet another onerous duty at her request without complaint. No wonder his expression was shuttered.
‘I don’t suppose Urban is a blacksmith,’ he said, suddenly.
‘Urban?’ Sabina had to bite back a smile, for she could not imagine anyone less suited for such a life. ‘No, he was my father’s steward.’
‘We had a blacksmith,’ Alec said, between huge bites of apple. ‘John Fabre, but he is gone now.’
Sabina frowned at the reminder. The Fabres always had been blacksmiths and loyal to her father, yet John was one of the first to leave Grim’s End. Unhappy after his son went missing and disgruntled at the subsequent talk around the village, he seemed to seize upon the dragon as an excuse to go elsewhere and serve another.
‘We have need of a smith to make a large chain,’ Lord de Burgh said. ‘Though I can do simple repairs, I have neither the tools nor the materials for such a heavy piece of work.’
‘A chain?’ Sabina echoed.
‘For the dragon?’ Alec asked, brimming with excitement.
‘It is only an idea at this point,’ Lord de Burgh said, as though to quell the boy’s enthusiasm. But it did not work. Alec fairly danced in his seat as the three males discussed the possibility of snapping the dragon’s neck with strong metal links.
Reynold de Burgh: The Dark Knight Page 9
