Return of the Rose

by Theresa Ragan

  As she headed back through the main hall, she saw that the western side of the keep had taken the worst of the assault. Cries of children were muffled in their mother’s arms. The knights and men-at-arms already gathered supplies to cover the great gaps in the thick limestone walls. Maids, farmers, and all cuts of medieval life joined together in securing Braddock.

  Odelia was nowhere to be seen. Outside, buckets of water were handed from one person to the next as the flames were slowly doused. Barrels of tainted ale, wine, and cider were being carried outside and dumped beneath the bushes.

  The last of the dead were brought to the outer bailey and the bodies were counted. Nineteen dead: all Otgar’s men. Another eighteen had been locked in the dungeon. Only a few had escaped, along with Otgar.

  Morgan quickened her pace. Where was Odelia? Please, please let her be alive and safe. She entered the kitchen where a sick bay of sorts had been set up. At least two-dozen people were being tended to. Deep cuts were cleaned and bandaged. Broken bones were set and bound as she weaved her way through the wounded. She was losing all hope when she spotted a bruised and battered woman across the way.

  “Odelia!” she shouted as she ran to her side.

  Odelia peeked through a swollen, purplish eye and gave a smile of sorts. Between swollen cheekbones and a string of bruises, Morgan hardly recognized her. Her stomach churned as she knelt beside Odelia and whispered close to her ear. “I couldn’t throw my knife. I was afraid I would hit you instead. My one chance at helping you…and I screwed it all up.”

  “Rumor has it that you saved us all,” Odelia said, her voice barely audible.

  “I didn’t save anybody. Robert was the one who risked his life for all of us. And if it weren’t for Derek pushing me out of the carriage—”

  “Shush,” Odelia whispered hoarsely.

  “Boy, you’re even bossy when you’re sick,” Morgan teased in hopes of easing the horridness of it all.

  A corner of Odelia’s mouth curved upward.

  Morgan smiled down at her and pressed a light kiss to the top of her head. After awhile Odelia fell asleep and Morgan helped tend to the rest of the wounded before returning to the main hall where she found Matti, Shayna, and many other relieved castle folk. They hugged and talked, comforted by the fact that none of Braddock’s people had been killed. Morgan learned that Emmon’s leg had been badly cut, but miraculously main arteries had been missed.

  She spotted Derek leaning stiffly against the wall near the hearth, staring into the flames. As if he sensed her watching him, he turned her way and their eyes met. A relentless twitch set within his jaw and his swollen eye, bloodied lip, and bandaged shoulder added to the savage look he emitted.

  Morgan boldly gazed back at him, daring him to come to her and say what he felt, which was fairly obvious. Why couldn’t he love her enough to trust her fully, to see that she would never betray him? Every bone in her body ached to hold him close, to bask in his familiar earthy scent, to have him look upon her with open fondness. She’d never loved a man before and the love she felt for Derek Vanguard was potent, passionate…and oh, so painful.

  He gulped down the rest of his drink, cast the horn to the fire, and stalked from the room.

  Morgan watched him leave. Not one of his men had been killed in the raid and that was a miracle she would have gladly celebrated with him if he’d only given her the chance. She stared at his unyielding face as he stalked by. Although he didn’t look her way, she flinched, for there was no mistaking the cynicism there.

  “What is bothering Lord Vanguard?” Matti asked. “Verily, he should be rejoicing his arriving in time to save Braddock.”

  “He thinks I have my heart set on Robert DeChaville,” Morgan answered bluntly. “He’s too stubborn to see the truth.” Morgan set her cup on the table. “I think I’ll get some rest now.”

  Matti nodded as she watched her ladyship walk away. She leaned toward Shayna and said quietly, “‘Twould seem Hugo and I have our work cut out for us, would you not agree?”

  Shayna sighed. “Love, such a complicated sentiment. Someday I hope to be worshipped and adored like the return of the rose.”

  Matti raised a questioning brow.

  “Emmon says naught is more beautiful than his roses,” Shayna explained. “And he delights in the fact that each year they return: new blooms, each more striking, more colorful, more fragrant than the year before.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Early the next morning, Derek rose from his bed and washed himself. Every muscle ached. After the more imminent dangers had been put to rest yester eve, the women had hugged and fawned over one another, giving thanks to all, especially to his wife.

  It had repulsed him to watch her last night, acting as if nothing had changed between them. It angered him further to find he had not the strength to look away, his gaze resting on the angelic face that had only hours before looked unto his own with feigned love and tenderness. How she must have laughed at his falling for her ploy of love. When was the final performance to be executed? he wondered. How confident and sure of herself she appeared, invariably quite certain she’d have him believing new fabrications on the morrow. He shook his head at the fool he’d been, recalling in detail her relentless falsehoods of another life and how she’d relayed her stories with convincing sincerity.

  Damn the wench to Hell. He might have come to believe anything she uttered, including her tale of being from another world, had he not finally been forced to see the light.

  He drummed a finger against the side of the tub. His wife had indeed held him within her slender palm just as Leonie declared she would. No longer, though. Women were not to be trusted and not again would he forget his father’s words. As far as he was concerned, Amanda was dead. Not buried though, he mused without feeling, for even last night her betrayal failed to stop his body from responding to her shapely hips and firm breasts. As his gaze had roamed over her curves, his arousal had fueled his anger all the more. Verily ‘twas two necks he wished enwrapped within his hands just now.

  Derek finished his bath with thoughts mainly of Braddock and his men. He donned his stockings and leather boots. Next, he threw on a cotton shirt and leather breeches. Braddock would require many hours of repair before its walls were back to normal.

  He rubbed the tenseness he felt at the back of his neck. He’d sent a dozen men-at-arms in search of Otgar. Ignoring Matti and Hugo’s protests, he held DeChaville prisoner in the upper towers. Robert DeChaville refused to speak of Lady Amanda’s plans and it was clear DeChaville would not stay far from Braddock until Amanda was in his clutches. Until Derek decided what to do with the man, he would stay locked up.

  Without bothering to tie the laces on his shirt, he swept through his bedchamber door and into the hallway, intent on seeing that the repairs to Braddock were finished before sundown.

  A feminine gasp stopped him in his tracks as he realized he had nearly run down his wife. She raised her hands to stop him and her splayed fingers rested against his chest as she gazed up at him. “Good morning,” she said, appearing flustered, yet confident in her actions. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  At first he remained unyielding, but then thought better of it upon feeling the tightening of his groin. Turning back toward his bedchamber, he motioned for her to enter. He followed her in and shut the door behind them.

  Circling her, he tried to read her mind, surprised once again by her silence. Usually she twittered on like one of the birds that awoke him each morn. When he finally spoke, his voice rang deep and clear. “From here on out, you will address me as my lord, as all others within Braddock see fit to do.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Perfectly,” he said flatly.

  Her chin came up a notch. “Why are you doing this?”

  He put his hands behind his back and arched a thick brow. “‘Tis amusing to hear you ask one of the many questions I should ask of you. For instance, why do you find it necessary to wrap incredib
le stories around every lie? Why did you run away from my men all those weeks ago, and why, my dear wife, are you still here at Braddock?”

  “Don’t let your father’s hatred of women stop you from opening your heart to others. I can’t bear to see you suffer.”

  “What do you know of my father?”

  “Only that he was a deeply bitter man ruled by possessiveness and a suspicious nature.”

  A sardonic smile curved his lips. “My mother ran off to share another man’s bed. Mayhap my father had reason to be mistrustful.”

  “How can you be sure? Did your father tell you this or did you actually see your mother with another man?”

  Derek stiffened. He did, in fact, see his mother leave Braddock for good. He would never forget it as long as he lived. Neither would he ever forget the sweet fresh scent of her or the softness of her skin when she used to tuck him into bed each night. “Do you know where your lover is right now?” he asked suddenly, ignoring her question, intent on changing the subject.

  “He’s not my lover.”

  “He is locked in the upper towers,” he said with much satisfaction.

  ~~~~

  Morgan didn’t believe what Derek said about locking Robert in the towers. But maybe that was why Derek’s man had been so nervous when she’d questioned him as to Robert’s whereabouts. No, she told herself, it couldn’t be true. This was probably a test of Derek’s. She would show him that Robert meant nothing to her. She stared into his dark eyes, unblinking, her heart filled with love.

  “Let your hair down,” he said curtly.

  Startled by his request and surly tone of voice, she held his gaze and decided to do as he requested, now more sure than ever that he was testing her. She pulled the pins from the coil atop her head.

  Derek stepped closer, his eyes resolute and vacant as though all emotions had been erased. She was conscious of a great fury burning inside of him, and yet, she could not resist the temptation to feel his arms around her, to feel the power of his touch. Her palms grew moist and her heart beat rapidly as he came close. Her skin tingled from the feel of his body pressed against her.

  He felt warm and strong. It felt like years since they had made love. If only he could see that she truly loved him. A love like no other. Maybe if she could show him, he would give himself a chance to love her back.

  She felt his hands slide up over her silk covered buttocks, over her hips and across her belly.

  Morgan’s lids grew heavy. She was hopelessly addicted to his touch. “Derek, I love you—”

  He stopped her words with his mouth, driving his tongue deep and pressing his body hard against her until she was backed against the wall. His hands and mouth devoured her.

  Morgan was taken aback by the primitive, turbulent feel of his kiss and the urgency of his touch, but she was losing all sense as she arched into him, craving the feel of him. Thinking he would carry her to his bed and make mad passionate love to her, she was surprised when he quickly suffocated any lingering appeal by stepping back, pulling away from her. He took hold of her arms and returned them to her sides. Then he straightened, smoothed his hair back from his face, and headed for the door.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, a flicker of pain crossing her face when it became clear he was done with her.

  His eyes roamed over her and he said in a bored drawl, “That was very nice. Is that what you wish to hear?”

  Morgan met his gaze squarely and straightened her shoulders. “I don’t understand. I mean nothing to you?” She felt only astonishment that after all they had been through he could so easily disregard her with such casual indifference.

  He was a tall dark shadow as he turned and left the room without another word. Morgan stared at his broad back and shoulders as he walked out the door, her eyes stinging from the emotional blow he’d just tossed her way.

  ~~~~

  Three days had passed since the siege. It was late at night and the moon was hidden behind a band of fog. Morgan tossed and turned in bed. She had stayed by Odelia’s side for most of the day. The bruises on Odelia’s face were now deep shades of red and purple. After eating all of her broth, Odelia had fallen fast asleep downstairs.

  The castle was deathly silent and even the birds seemed to be waiting for the sun to rise and brush the sky with streaks of orange and red. This world seemed yet unspoiled, and Morgan decided that whatever happened she would remember only the beauty of everything she had seen and done while she was here.

  Her thoughts turned to Derek. She had not seen him since their last encounter in his bedroom. She’d hoped time would bring him to his senses but now she was beginning to see that his heart truly was impenetrable. Matti had been wrong to think that she could break through his hardened soul when he’d worked so diligently to keep the stone walls surrounding his heart.

  Unable to sleep, she wondered suddenly if Derek spoke the truth and Robert really was held within the upper towers. Why she thought of it now, she didn’t know, but she would not be able to sleep until she checked the towers upstairs. Sliding from bed, she put on a light shift and went to the stairs. She’d been up to the towers before and they were usually devoid of people, but she’d seen a maid descend the stairs only hours before she went to bed. She crept up the stairway and when she reached the top she tiptoed across the floor, peering into each room and alcove as she went. A noise caught her attention and she rushed to the next room. A guard slept on a cot before a cell, the guard’s loud snoring a constant, irritating wheeze. Her mouth dropped open when she saw Robert curled up on the floor in the corner of the cell.

  Derek had indeed locked Robert up. It was simply incomprehensible that Braddock’s people would allow such a thing. Robert DeChaville had helped save the damn castle. And they all knew it. Her hands shook as she searched the room for the keys, her heart sinking as she spotted the metal ring attached to the guard’s breeches.

  She took quiet steps to the man’s side and knelt slowly to the ground. The guard’s snore was stentorian and she nearly fell back from his dragon’s breath. Her brows drew deep in concentration as her fingers nimbly worked at the man’s belt. His hand jerked up to scratch his nose. She held deathly still, dared not breathe. The guard rolled to his side until she was forced to look him square in the face. She took in a slow breath through her nose. When his snoring resumed, she clutched the keys tightly in her palm to prevent them from clanking together as she slid the ring off of his belt.

  For a moment she thought Robert might be dead as she slipped the key in the lock. The snoring behind her grew louder.

  “Robert, wake up,” she whispered into his ear.

  His eyes shot open. He stared at her in disbelief. “Has my dream become reality?” he asked in a whispered voice.

  Morgan motioned toward the guard, gesturing for Robert to stay quiet. He sat up, taking quick notice of the key within the cell door. His grin revealed his joy at seeing her. He pressed his mouth to her ear. “You, my sweet one, never fail to surprise me.” He kissed her cheek. “‘Tis good to see you faring well.”

  Morgan whispered back, “Go. Before someone comes.”

  “You are not coming with me?”

  She shook her head.

  Robert tilted her face upward so that he could peer into her eyes. “Do you not remember the vows we spoke to one another before I set out to seek my fortune…our fortune? Can you recall thy very own words before you so casually let me fly away as if I were an old hawk of no use?”

  He eyed her necklace, stared at it for a long moment before reaching for the pendant. His somber expression changed abruptly to wide eyes and a slack jaw.

  The sudden change in his expression gave her chills.

  His thumb rubbed over the rose-shaped pendant. Abruptly, he gazed back at her with narrowed eyes, confusion clearly lining his brow. “Look at me again,” he whispered, tilting her head upward toward the faint light coming through the high window.

  Seconds rolled by.

  “Wh
y did I refuse to see it before? Amanda’s pendant is nearly identical to this one, only hers is of a bird in flight instead of a rose.” He pulled the leather strap from around his neck and showed it to her. “Amanda gave this to me for luck until we met again.”

  Morgan could hardly believe what she was seeing. Amanda’s pendant was made from the same stone, carved with so much detail and sanded smooth.

  Gently, Robert grasped her shoulders, perusing her thoroughly as though they had only just met. “‘Tis the truth you spoke all along,” he said.

  She felt his hands tremble on her shoulders as he spoke again. “My Amanda is out there searching for the one who has unknowingly abandoned her for another. Is that not so?”

  She nodded. Relief flooded her insides like a tidal wave within until the guard’s loud snoring snapped her attention back to the matter at hand. She grabbed Robert’s arm and gestured for him to follow her. Quietly, she led Robert halfway down the stairs to the weaving room.

  “Good luck,” she called before closing the wooden hatch. Robert would be safe, she thought, which meant it was now time for her to leave Braddock for good.

  ~~~~

  Derek watched DeChaville leave. He sent word to the guards at the tower to let him be. And he did not have to question his wife to know she was the culprit.

  He slammed into her bedchamber unannounced, moving toward her with lightning speed. “Sit down!” he ordered.

  Her face paled, but once again she refused to obey him. “I’m busy; what do you want?”

  “I came to see what my lovely wife was up to. Does she sleep, I wondered? Or does she dream of the husband she loves so dearly?”

  “If you didn’t come here to my room to talk rationally, I would prefer it if you left me alone.” She looked at him with sad, melancholy eyes. “You’re making a big mistake, Derek. But I’ve come to realize that it’s not me you’re mad at.” She stepped closer to him and peered into his eyes as if she could see into his very soul. “Who are you mad at really? Is it your mother?”