by Wood, Lynn
There was no salve to tend her wounds. It was cold now, but it would grow much colder as the sun, already hanging low in the western sky, dipped below the horizon and night fell over the secluded beach where she was stranded with no hope of rescue. She supposed she should count herself fortunate not to be in the same condition as her boat. She must have been tossed out of the craft in the storm and miraculously ended up on the beach rather than having her body torn to pieces by the sharp stones that lay beneath the now gentle waves lapping the shoreline.
Whether her current circumstances were a blessing or a curse was yet to be determined. Given a choice, she thought she might prefer the quick death drowning would have afforded her rather than the prolonged one she now faced from exposure or starvation. Likely she was indulging her low spirits in a bit of self-pitying melodramatics. Her father’s soldiers were no doubt out searching for her even now. She wasn’t certain how long it would take them to figure out she’d taken a boat and headed north, particularly as their attention was somewhat occupied at the moment by the very real threat of a Norman siege on Heaven’s Crest.
It was the thought of being forced to surrender to and being taken captive by the hated Norman pigs that propelled her to set her crazy plan in action. She would not kneel before the Norman duke who would be king and pledge her loyalty to the man responsible for the deaths of her father and brothers. Surely death was preferable to the indignity and humiliation awaiting her beneath the thumb of their enemy. If death was to be her lot regardless, she would take it at the hands of the icy winds or the vicious claws of some wild beast lurking in the forest hunting its next meal rather than at the end of the noose no doubt awaiting the former Saxon nobility in the realm of the new king.
Her stomach growled insistently, forcing her into action. She wondered how long she lay unconscious on the beach and decided it must have been for long hours. The storm came up quickly after dawn’s light pierced the night sky, and judging by the current angle of the sun it would be dusk soon. Melissa performed a quick check of her aching limbs and was surprised to discover she suffered no broken bones as a result of being shipwrecked. Then shaking off her lethargy, she rose on shaky legs to discover if any of her supplies could be scavenged from her broken vessel. Her leg brushed against something sharp, and wincing in pain, she reached down to adjust her skirts to seek the cause of her discomfort. She hoped it wasn’t a broken shard of her vessel lodged in her limb, or some creature that attached itself to her while she was in the water. Despite being trained as a warrior she was ashamed to admit she was still squeamish about certain foolish things…like sea creatures and vermin that hid in the dark places of the world and fed on death.
She found her first smile in long weeks at the sight of Michel’s dagger still clinging precariously to the leather strap she fashioned around her thigh beneath her skirts. At least if she was forced to confront a wild beast thinking to make her its next meal the weapon would give her a fighting chance. Still smiling, Melissa adjusted the strap, secured her precious dagger and dropped her skirts, lifting her face to the warmth of the sun as it peeked out behind the oppressive clouds that threatened a fresh storm.
For a moment Melissa allowed her thoughts to dwell on the few remaining members of her family she left behind, and wondered if Heaven’s Crest still stood or if it was already under the control of the Norman forces advancing relentlessly across the Saxon countryside. She wondered about her mother, and her sister, Rhiann, but as always, her thoughts and prayers lingered longest on Michel. He wasn’t dead. In her heart she knew he must still be alive.
They were twins. Their bodies may have separated at birth, but their souls were forever forged. The bond between them could not be destroyed by distance. Even in death Michel would have found a way to come to her, to let her know it was time for her to surrender her long, hopeless vigil. It was the fact he had yet to do so that kept her going now. If she knew for certain her twin was dead, if she believed in her heart Michel was gone, she would give in without regret to the exhaustion and cold even now sapping her will and beckoning her to lie back down and allow death its just reward.
She spared not a few of her thoughts and prayers for Rhiann and wondered how she was coping with their grieving mother. Melissa felt guilty about leaving her younger sister alone to deal with their mother’s anguish, though she thought it likely her mother remained unaware of her absence. By the time Melissa snuck away from the keep, her mother was already more dead than alive anyway.
One blow after another battered her slight frame and fading will as the news of each of her sons’ deaths was carried to the keep by her father’s loyal men, but it was the final blow that brought her mother to her current unrelenting heartache. Their father’s death at the hands of a Norman sword proved the mortal one, the shock that finally broke her mother’s spirit. Given her current predicament Melissa was glad she hadn’t tried to persuade her younger sister to accompany her on her journey north. Although it was doubtful Rhiann’s fate at the hands of Norman soldiers would prove more palatable to the kind of death that likely awaited Melissa in the wilderness.
Deciding she wasted enough precious time worrying about what was and what could never be again, Melissa turned her attention to the task of retrieving whatever supplies she could carry, on what would no doubt prove a fruitless trek through the wilderness in search of her grandmother’s men. As she searched through the wreckage she shivered beneath her damp cloak when the sun returned to its previous hiding place behind the heavy cloud cover, taking with it any hint of warmth the dim rays of approaching winter brought to the chill air.
She was relieved to discover the precious leather pouches filled with fresh water managed to survive the storm, along with some of the cheese and bread she took from the kitchen. The bread was wet and unappetizing but she was hungry enough to eat it. The rich cheese, accompanied by a few precious sips of fresh water, chased away the salty aftertaste from the sea. Feeling almost human again, Melissa considered her options and decided they were not as bleak as she first assumed. Admittedly being shipwrecked on its shallow beaches was not the way she planned to arrive at Stoney Point, but nonetheless she had managed to reach her chosen launching site of her hike into the wilderness. Her supplies were damaged but would still prove useful to her. Besides, the trek back on foot to Heaven’s Crest would be slow and treacherous. She would likely be attacked by either wild beasts or Norman soldiers before she ever made it to the secret tunnels she exited the estate from.
No, she would continue along her planned course and hope to intercept her grandmother’s people on their way east. It was already late afternoon. The sun would soon sink behind the ancient trees of the old forest. Accompanying its descent would be a darkness so deep she wouldn’t be able to see where her feet met the ground. Though her own vision might be compromised in the deep stillness of night, any beast intent on stalking her would suffer from no such weakness. A quick scan of her surroundings decided her direction. Her best chance of evading an attack from one of the predators who hunted after dark would be to take refuge in the cliffs. If she could barricade herself in a narrow cave there was a chance she could fend off a beastly assault. Plus, any animal capable of defeating her in the dense forest would not find the bare and slippery cliff face to its liking.
The decision made, Melissa gathered up the water and the rest of the food, wrapped a blanket around her waist and cast a final longing gaze out on the horizon, wondering how in God’s holy will she managed to find herself in her current predicament. A few short months ago, she was the pampered first daughter of the Duke of Heaven’s Crest. Her greatest worry was how to elude her father’s matchmaking schemes for as long as possible. She was in no hurry to wed. If there was another option open to her besides taking the veil and becoming a bride of the church, she thought she would be quite content to remain single for the remainder of her life.
Her family was appalled at her radical point of view. Everyone except Michel. He merely
laughed at her outrageous claim and told her she would no doubt feel differently when the right man came along. Since her father seemed intent on pushing every man in all of Saxony in her direction, and none presented the least temptation to alter her viewpoint, Melissa retained serious doubts about Michel’s assertion. She wasn’t certain there was such a thing as the right man. At least for her. Rhiann should have been the elder daughter. She would have happily bowed to her father’s assertion he knew what was best for her and would have no doubt been perfectly content in whatever marriage their father arranged for her. But since, until Melissa’s future was settled there could be no talk of arranging for his younger daughter’s future, Rhiann’s existence had been blissfully free of parental pressure to wed.
Melissa’s attention was drawn from her inward musings and captured by fresh movement on the horizon. She tried to make out the source and convinced herself she must be imagining things. Could her father’s men have caught up with her so quickly? Was that a ship coming towards her? Her heart stuttered as she took in the significance of the flag the ship was flying. Not her father’s colors, but a Norman flag and a Norman vessel. A smile curved her lips at the thought of the fate awaiting her enemy if their intent was to try to drop anchor at Stoney Point. From their vantage point the cove no doubt appeared an inviting place to take shelter from the approaching storm. The stupid Normans were probably thanking God for the evidence of the miracle in front of them. Even now the ship was turning in the brisk wind and heading straight towards her, hurried along by the strength of the tide.
By the time they realized the truth, it would be too late and their vessel would be torn apart by the sharp rocks lining the base of the cove. Melissa wanted to remain behind and watch the enemy ship be crushed to pieces beneath the relentless sea, but she dared not risk it. She managed to survive being shipwrecked in a much smaller vessel. She had no wish to confront any Norman survivors face to face, unless it was to sink her dagger into their greedy, land-grabbing hearts.
At the reminder of the trek ahead of her, she bent down, removed her dagger and slit her skirts, and then tied them tight around her legs to make them less burdensome. The small task complete, she slipped her dagger back in its sheath next to her skin. A last look on the horizon, a cheerful wave in the direction of her soon to be dead enemies, and she started off up the beach.
Later the same day, as dusk deepened into night, Melissa paused to survey her surroundings, seeking a temporary shelter for the night. Her initial lift in spirits at the thought of the fate awaiting the hated Normans soon dissipated as the hopelessness of her own situation penetrated her temporary optimism. She was bone cold and her soggy food supply was woefully inadequate for the long journey ahead of her. While finding drinking water would not present too much of a problem in the fresh stream she was following, every time she plunged her hand into the icy water the cold shot straight through her skin and settled deep inside of her. She dared not risk starting a fire and drawing the attention of any stray Norman patrols, nor even a Saxon one.
She comprehended all too well her former status as the daughter of the Duke of Weston was meaningless now and she would be considered fair game for soldiers on patrol, friend or foe, to exercise their vile lust upon. She was grateful she still possessed the dagger Michael gave her on their last birthday. Of course, as a woman, she could never officially earn the title of a Salusian warrior, so Michel devised a series of challenges to mimic the ones he endured during his final initiation. When she successfully completed them all, he presented her with the warrior’s dagger she carried strapped to her thigh, so like the one he and the other Salusian warriors wore.
If presented with a choice between rape and death, Melissa would choose death at her own hand. She shivered in the brisk wind and wrapped her cloak more closely around her slender form. Sadly, she acknowledged it was unlikely to be her choice as to the manner of death she would face. It was far more probable her death would come about as a result of either starvation or the fever she could sense was beginning to take hold within her than the more rapid death the use of her blade would afford her. Part of her just wanted to sit down and rest against the broad trunk of a nearby tree, but she forced herself to go on. Giving up was simply not in her nature.
Chapter Four
After another long day of fruitless searching Luke signaled to his men to dismount and make camp for the night. It was only dusk but there was little point searching further for any sign of his brother in the dark. The fact his brother still lived and would no doubt enjoy a hearty laugh when he learned of his younger half-brother’s weeks of combing the wilderness for his cold, dead body only served to sour further Luke’s already black mood. After meeting up with Nathan’s commander his friend had sent to secure his new estates at Heaven’s Crest, Luke set off in the direction of Stoney Point. Lady Rhiann suggested he begin his search for his brother in the cove not far from her family home, as the dangerous currents in the area would naturally lead his brother’s ship in that direction.
The lady’s prediction proved accurate and they met up with his brother’s men where their ship was anchored in deep waters near the secluded cove. Luke learned from his brother’s commander that Mason had taken one of the ship’s rafts to investigate the wreckage of a small craft on the beach of the narrow inlet.
Luke’s blood ran cold when he saw the scattered pieces of what was once a small sailing vessel a single person could easily manage. Even a woman, if she was skilled in such matters. Luke knew the broken boat didn’t necessarily have to be the one Lady Rhiann’s sister, Melissa, took from their father’s estate, but a dark foreboding gripped him at the thought of his brother finding evidence of a woman’s presence among the wreckage. There was nothing left to indicate the simple vessel was piloted by a woman fleeing the war and the coming siege of her home by the enemy, but whether the broken boat turned out to belong to Nathan’s wife’s sister or not, he knew he would have to report back to them both the evidence he found on the beach. He searched the wreckage for any clues as to the identity or the fate of its occupants but found none. All indications were the ship broke apart at sea, probably in a fierce wind, or when it ran aground on the sharp stones visible in low tide beneath the tranquil surface of the water lapping the rocky beach where they stood.
Though there was no proof to bring back to Lady Rhiann of her sister’s fate, Luke felt in his heart it was Rhiann’s sister whose reckless ways finally caught up with her and delivered her to the callous mercy of the sea. But then why hadn’t her body washed up on shore? It was possible the heavy weight of her gown snagged on a rock and held her under, or that her remains washed up miles from Stoney Point. Then where was his brother? Why didn’t he return to the ship?
Another possibility struck him hard. What if Melissa survived being shipwrecked? What if his brother spotted a woman alone on the beach with no hope of escape? He shuddered at the thought. He knew and was aware of even worse rumors concerning the foul amusements his brother indulged in with women. The fact Melissa was gently born would not sway Mason from subjecting her to his twisted lust. No, a lady, a virgin, and moreover, the daughter of a duke, would only serve to stoke the fires of his sordid hunger and make her an even greater prize than the one offered by a simple lost refugee fleeing the devastation of war.
If his brother found evidence of a woman’s presence amid the wreckage, that would explain his long absence from his ship, as would the fact he insisted on going ashore alone. He would not want any of his men to grow a conscious and interrupt his pleasure. Not that they would dare, no matter the screams of his brother’s victim. The Michaels’ heir was known to possess a foul temper and was quick to punish those who incited it. Luke knew his brother’s men were forced to acquire that harsh lesson the hard way, by becoming a helpless victim to it. He could only hope Mason never caught up with Melissa. He offered a fervent prayer Melissa’s arrogance and the warrior’s training her brother indulged her in as a girl did not lead her to the
foolish conclusion she could face a trained knight and defeat him with her puny, woman’s blade.
It was the thought of Melissa’s fate at his brother’s hands that led him on his current desperate search through the old forest surrounding the cove, across the gently rolling hills where they lost Mason’s trail, and to where they now stopped for the night at the highest point afforded them. Luke hoped with the light of a new day he could survey the surrounding countryside and pick up some sign of his brother’s, or Melissa’s trail. He dismounted and surrendered his mount into the care of his squire who hurried to take the stallion’s lead from Luke’s outstretched hand. Luke lifted his face to soak up what little warmth was offered by the swiftly setting sun. Letting his men see to the details of setting up camp for the night he turned his attention to the cliffs overlooking the stream they followed along for the larger part of their search, always returning to its winding course when they ran into a dead end, thinking their quarry would do the same. All life needed fresh water to survive. In the cold and the stark landscape of a Saxon winter, the stream represented a critical link to life.
Chapter Five
Melissa’s teeth chattered and shivers wracked her body where she lay curled up beneath her mostly dry cloak on the hard, stone floor of the cave she took shelter in to spend the night. She could no longer be certain the count of days since she left Heaven’s Crest. Her thoughts were becoming fuzzy in her head. Her mouth was painfully dry from the biting wind and the effects of even the weak winter sun. She knew she should drink the water she gathered from the stream before she fell asleep, but she couldn’t summon the effort to reach for the leather pouch resting against the entrance to her narrow refuge. Even as she admonished herself to remain alert lest a foe ferret out her hiding place, she drifted in and out of consciousness, recognizing her hold on this world was slipping away as her grasp upon it lessened with each labored breath.
