Dragon's Daughter

by Catherine Archer

  All had swords, but they were of the quality carried by the commonest soldiers. Their filthy and tattered clothing had never been fine. All three were thin to the point of malnourishment, and dull of eye. They would offer him little resistance were he to meet them upon the field of battle.

  Nonetheless he was frustrated by the leader’s statement that Christian must go through him to get to Rowena. Therefore, in spite of his revelation that these men would not give him too great a challenge, he stood immobile. He could not take the risk that Rowena would be harmed or killed in a struggle against them.

  Again the leader ordered, “Give us yer sword.”

  Reluctant as he was to turn over the weapon, Christian realized he would simply have to await a better moment for retribution and escape than this one.

  Slowly, he unbuckled his sword belt and, holding it at arm’s length, dropped it on the ground in front of him. The leader gestured to one of the other men, “Fowler,” who came forward gingerly, watching Christian warily.

  Christian did not deign to inform him that he would not try to thwart them at this time. He simply focused on Rowena’s face as her horrified eyes followed the lost sword, and the man named Fowler looked to the leader. “I have it, Gorrel.”

  Seeing the sword safely in the hands of his companion, Gorrel eased his knife away from Rowena’s throat.

  Christian wanted to sigh in relief, for he realized that nothing was as precious to him as her life. He refrained from revealing the depth of his emotion for fear that it would only further endanger her. He spoke with deliberate calm. “Are you unharmed?”

  She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath of relief herself. “I am.”

  Gorrel jerked her back against him, the knife pressing at her throat once more as he glared at Christian. “Did I say ye should speak?”

  Christian raised a hand. “Nay, do not. I will say no more.”

  Pretending acquiescence was imperative no matter how it galled him. He dared not even risk attempting to reassure Rowena, even if it was only with a glance. Thus he avoided her questing gaze as he adopted a passive stance.

  He held his breath until the knife was once again removed from her throat. His relief was short-lived, for their captor ordered his fellows, “Bring them.”

  Wherever he and Rowena were being taken, he could only pray that there were not more of them. Escaping would be made all the more difficult if he ended in fighting a greater number of outlaws, no matter how inept they might be.

  He would get her free, no matter what the cost.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “It has proved a fine day indeed,” the leader said to his fellows, who nodded with near idiotic enthusiasm. “We have not seen travelers of noble ilk upon these lands for some years.”

  He nodded sharply to one of them. “Take her, Carew.” The third man moved forward and pulled Rowena back against him, his own knife now gleaming at her belly.

  Christian closed his eyes and breathed deeply, forcing himself to remain calm even as his fear and guilt over what was happening to her threatened to overwhelm him.

  “What have we here?” The words made him open his eyes.

  Gorrel was so close now that Christian could smell the unwashed odor that emanated from him. His avaricious gaze was fixed on the purse at Christian’s belt. He reached out and cut it free. He then hefted its weight with a black-toothed smile.

  Watching this, Christian interjected eagerly, “There is more where that came from if you do not harm this lady.”

  The outlaw glared at him. “And when I make to collect it I will be met with your army. Is that not true, me fine lord?”

  Christian frowned. “I assure you, sir, on my word, that if you do not harm her, you shall have your gold.” His voice hardened as he felt a rush of uncontrollable rage inside him. “But if you do harm her, make no mistake that it will be you who pays.”

  Gorrel took an involuntary step backward, then quickly righted himself. “Fine words.” He gestured to the man he’d called Fowler. “Bind him.”

  Christian stayed acquiescent during this procedure. He knew he should not have threatened the man. His purpose was to convince the blackguard that they were no danger to him. No matter how great his rage he must control it for Rowena’s sake.

  When this was done to the leader’s satisfaction, he ordered, “We ride.” As they moved off, Christian attempted to send a glance of encouragement to Rowena, who was forced to ride before one of the outlaws. It was difficult to catch her gaze, tied hand and foot to his own mount as he was.

  What he needed was time to develop a plan to extricate them.

  The three took them to a well-camouflaged cave in the forest, not far from where they had been captured. Carew took Rowena inside alone, while the other two stood watch over Christian after dragging him to the ground.

  Unkempt and ill-spoken as the men might be, they did seem to understand that their control of Rowena was their control of him.

  Rowena appeared calm, and for that he was grateful. It would have been nearly impossible to bide his time if she had appeared more frightened.

  In spite of this churning anger at himself and the three men, Christian remained passive as his feet were untied. He was then led through the narrow opening, his hands remaining tied behind him. He was pushed forward to where the still-bound Rowena had been left next to the cold fire pit.

  Christian could not have articulated his relief at being positioned near her. Again he remained passive as they retied his feet, then looped the rope around the one at his wrists.

  Obviously feeling quite secure in their control, their captors set about building a fire. When this was done one of them produced a bag of wine, which they began to pass back and forth with some enthusiasm as they prepared several hares for roasting.

  Taking advantage of their preoccupation, Christian leaned as close as he could to Rowena. “Do not worry. I will get us free.”

  She looked at him with wide green eyes filled with trust, and nodded.

  Far from making him happy, it only made him feel more a fool. He had gotten her into this by bringing her to Dragonwick.

  Even as he turned away he met the scowling eyes of the leader of the little band. “What are ye over here whisperin’ about, me fine lord?”

  “I was telling her not to be afraid,” Christian answered with careful civility.

  “Oh ye were, were ye?” Gorrel gave a rough and scathing laugh as he raised the wineskin to his mouth. His companions followed his lead, each taking a long drink from the skin.

  Christian nodded. “Aye. I judge you a clever man and believe you would never toss away the opportunity to gain riches that far exceed those you have already won this day.”

  Gorrel leaned over Christian threateningly. “I told ye I am not mad enough to fall into the trap that would be laid for me when I tried to get me reward.”

  Christian shrugged. “That could not happen if you planned well enough. I am sure that you already have begun to form a plan.”

  The other two had drawn closer to listen. Their leader, still leaning over Christian, cocked his head. “And what do ye think my plan might be?”

  Christian was careful to keep his elation under control. “Why, I think you would send one of your men over to Avington. You would have him give a message to the first man he saw there, thus preventing your companion from having to go to the keep, where he might risk capture. The messenger would then be the one to tell Lord Warleigh of your demands, where you wished to have your gold delivered, and when, before you release your prisoners.”

  “Would I now?” Gorrel’s tone was gruff, but Christian could see the wheels turning behind that increasingly bleary gaze. “I’d not be sharing such plans with ye, me fine lord, make no mistake.”

  Christian shrugged again with deliberate unconcern. He bowed. “I can see that you are indeed too clever to confide in me.”

  His captor nodded and went to his companions. The three of them moved off, talki
ng animatedly amongst themselves.

  Not wishing to draw their attention, Christian said nothing more to Rowena. He sent her a glance of encouragement and she nodded, her gaze filled with faith and gratitude.

  Christian had to turn away. Her confidence in him was painful. When they were able to gain their freedom he would return her to Ashcroft without another word. He had made far too much of a disaster of things to try ever again to interfere in what she wanted for herself.

  Their captors continued to converse in hushed tones, still drinking from the skin, until the rabbits roasting over the fire began to give off an acrid odor. The leader cuffed one of the other men, who raced to rescue their meal.

  There was no more private talk between them as they began to consume the meat with great enthusiasm, despite its charred condition.

  They shared some of the rabbit with their captives, feeding them with their own dirty fingers. Christian noted that Rowena declined after only one bite, but he forced himself to consume the burned meat, as he wished to keep up his strength in the event that an opportunity to escape presented itself.

  After they had eaten, the leader pointed an unsteady finger from where he sat on the other side of the fire, the wineskin on his lap. “Ye get yerselves to sleep now.”

  Christian shrugged his cloak close about him as best he could with his hands tied. He then lay down where he sat. He watched as Rowena did the same.

  It was impossible to find a comfortable position, but he finally managed to fall into a restless sleep.

  Rowena lay down, as Christian had, but she was unable to sleep. She did make a pretense of having gone to sleep, however, in order to keep from displeasing their captors.

  She was not truly afraid now. When they had captured Christian she had known that he would be able to think of some way out. Though the men had not acted on his obvious suggestion to ransom them, she had some hope that they would do so.

  She heard the sounds of the men passing the wineskin among them. Eventually they began to talk quietly once more, congratulating themselves on their good fortune, their tongues obviously having been loosened by the wine.

  Yet when Carew spoke up in the midst of this talk, saying, “Aye, but what I would give to have things the way they were when The Dragon was alive,” there was a long and decidedly painful silence.

  Into that silence Gorrel said, “There is no sense in thinking on such things. ’Tis passed.” In spite of his words there was a naked yearning in his voice.

  “Aye.” Carew spoke so quietly that his voice could barely be heard. “But do you never remember those days when we were men respected by those we knew?

  It was a great good The Dragon did us to give us a place when we came back from fighting in the east. The things we had seen and done there…’Twas enough to turn my own blood cold when I thought on it. I never felt such worth as a man except in the years he led us.”

  Gorrel groaned. “I said enough of this talk.”

  It was Fowler who sighed. “I remember, on the nights when my belly is empty and my bones ache from sleeping on the ground. And when I long for the company of a good woman.”

  Clearly emboldened by his companion’s lack of heed for their leader’s direction, Carew continued as well. “We should not have stayed on at Dragonwick when The Dragon was killed. We should not have remained here under Kelsey.”

  Gorrel seemed to take offense at this, forgetting his own directive. “We did what we knew. We were fighting men and he offered us a place, if we would follow him.”

  She thought that it was Fowler who answered, “But following him meant that we had to put all thought of right or wrong aside. And we knew that within the first few months.”

  Gorrel’s own voice was filled with regret. “But no other lord would have us, after we’d served him.”

  Another silence ensued.

  Rowena held her breath, realizing the pain these men felt, and she suddenly understood that they had been given a direction in life when they had someone of good character to lead them.

  Perhaps she was right in her belief that it would be reasonable for the common folk to lead themselves in a world where there were no men like the earl of Kelsey. Unfortunately, there were such men. Without other strong and honorable men to protect them, they were subject to the unscrupulous rule of the former.

  How could she, a woman with no experience in leading anyone, let alone the needy of a whole earldom, help them? If she had someone, someone who would stand by her side and be a helpmate, then perhaps…

  Christian’s face came into her mind.

  With self-derision, she dismissed it. Christian wanted no part of Dragonwick. Or her.

  Heaven help her, she wished she had the ability to prevent herself from thinking. From hurting.

  The best thing she could do was go to sleep. And finally she was able to.

  When Rowena opened her eyes she was glad to see that the sky beyond the narrow mouth of the cave was finally lighting. With the morning came her realization that her anger toward Christian was pointless. In spite of his stubborn insistence that he owed his father his future, he was a good man.

  Although she was quite aware that they would never have been captured had he not brought her to Dragonwick, she was not angry with him for that. His obvious self-castigation was far more than sufficient punishment. He had, despite the fact that it clearly chafed him, submitted to the outlaws in a meek and respectful manner. It illustrated for her so very well that Christian was willing to do whatever he must when he felt he had done wrong, as he did in relation to his father.

  What did hurt, though, more than she could say, was the knowledge that he did not love her as she did him. For clearly, if he had, that love would be able to break through the wall of guilt he had erected around his heart.

  Rowena fought and conquered the tears that threatened to spill, telling herself there would be time for self-indulgence when they had gained their freedom.

  The unmistakable sounds of wood being thrown on the fire behind her indicated that at least one of their captors was awake.

  She wondered what this new day might bring. Hopefully, they would act on Christian’s proposal to ransom their captives. She realized that had the three been cleverer villains they would surely have realized what he was about. But if they were cleverer they would certainly have thought of it themselves.

  She heard Christian shift.

  A voice she recognized as Gorrel’s said, “So ye’ve decided to rise, me fine lord. Ye must be on the ready to ride.”

  Rowena sat up and wiped the hair back from her brow as Christian replied carefully, “Ride where?”

  “Ye’ll find out soon enough.”

  Rowena saw the way Christian’s gaze swept the cave several times as they were talking. And suddenly she realized what he had noted. Carew was missing.

  She met Christian’s triumphant gaze. What…?

  Then suddenly she knew. They had sent a man with a message for Simon, as Christian had suggested. Her own hopes soared. They would soon be free, for there was no doubt in her mind that Simon would indeed pay whatever sum these outlaws demanded.

  No morning meal was produced. In some distant part of herself Rowena felt a further sense of pity for these men, as she recalled their talk of hunger and despair.

  Her pity did not fill her empty belly, which cramped with hunger.

  Last night she had been unable to consume more than a bite of the burned rabbit, when she had seen how filthy were the fingers that held it to her lips. Now she felt she might not be so squeamish.

  Yet she was not able to dwell on her hunger for long. Carew returned when the morning was still quite young. He called his fellows to the side and muttered to them in an excited whisper that would have been quite intelligible if he had not rattled on so quickly.

  Gorrel stepped back with a smile of triumph as he looked at his captives. “We ride.”

  Before she had time to think, Rowena was mounted before Fowler, as she h
ad been the previous evening. She tried to be calm, to really believe that she and Christian would soon be free.

  The three outlaws were in obviously fine spirits. They did not discuss where they were going or why, but they held their shoulders erect as they rode toward their destination.

  Looking about them, Christian stated, “You are not taking us to Avington.”

  Gorrel, clearly pleased with himself, replied, “Nay.”

  Christian said, “But you have sent word to Lord Warleigh.”

  Gorrel watched him for a long moment, then shrugged. “It matters not if ye know now. The meeting is ta be at Dragonwick. ’Tis what we know best. And now that Lord Kelsey’s men no longer have a care as to our doin’s hereabouts, we’ll not be troubled until yer friends bring the money.” He scowled at Christian. “Lest ye are not as worthy to them as ye say.”

  Rowena noted that Christian grimaced at this, but he said, “Lord Warleigh will come.” He then fell silent once more as he scanned the area around them uneasily.

  She tried not to be concerned about his disquiet. As long as Simon came with the ransom, surely all would be well.

  It was with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that Rowena saw the group of mounted men come from a stand of trees some distance ahead of them not more than an hour later. There were at least eight riders. They displayed some measure of surprise at coming upon Gorrel’s little band and their captives, for they did not react for some moments. Then one of them raised his hand and shouted as he urged his horse forward. The others followed.

  Rowena did not require Christian’s shouted curse to know that this was a most dreadful development. He cried to their captors, “Untie me and I will assist in warding them off!”

  Whether or not they would have heeded him was lost in the fact that the men were upon them too quickly.

  Both Carew and Gorrel were dispatched without compunction or great effort, leaving Rowena gasping with horror and shock, even as one of the soldiers jumped down to grab the head of Christian’s mount.

  Having seen his fellows fall with such lack of regard, Fowler cowered behind Rowena, begging, “Do not kill me, Sir Fredrick. We was bringin’ them to ye at the castle.”