In a spurt of anger and frustration, Cal responded, “In other words, the king has already warned you!”
Tethys tried to hold his look of confusion, but Cal saw the corners of his mouth twitch upwards ever-so-slightly. Before either of them could say anything a woman appeared in the doorway.
“Tethys, is everything okay?”
At first Cal didn't recognize her, but suddenly he identified the face he'd grown up with. Her hair was unnaturally black, and she wore a brilliant red dress, accented in gold. At a glance the dress was exquisite, but Cal quickly recognized it as cheaply made; still, it was far beyond what a slave should be wearing. Catrina stared back at him, her master momentarily forgotten.
“Catrina?” he asked, too shocked and confused to say more.
“Well I suppose you'll want to talk to her, now that you've seen her. C’mon in Sir Caldry,” Tethys said through clenched teeth.
Cal followed mechanically, never taking his eyes off his sister. Finally, after years of searching he had found her, and yet he could barely trace a resemblance to the young girl he'd played with in the mud. She swayed her hips enticingly and glanced over her shoulder to be sure Tethys was noticing. Cal swallowed the bile rising in his throat as an unwanted thought began to creep into his mind.
Tethys showed them a short way into the large entrance hall before stepping back. It was just a token movement, he hadn't actually given them any privacy. Nothing about this encounter was going as Cal had anticipated. He had wanted to speak with Tethys privately, secure his sister's freedom before he saw her.
Catrina turned to look at him after a quick glance at her master.
“Erin, what are you doing here?” she asked as though he had dropped by unannounced right before a family dinner.
“I... uh... I've been searching for you for years, Catrina! I... ummm...” With this, he turned toward Tethys to state his intentions. “I have come to purchase Catrina. I have plenty of gold. Or, if you'd rather, I'm sure I have some skills that would be useful to a man like yourself.”
Unsurprisingly, Tethys smiled. “I'm afraid you're too late. I've freed Catrina. As to whether she wants to join you or not, well, that is her choice.”
Cal just stared at him for a long moment before he thought to look at his own sister. “Catrina?”
He couldn't think of anything else to say as even more shock set in. What was happening? All this time that he had been looking for her, she had already been free and with a man he saw on numerous occasions.
“Will you come with me? We can...”
“I don't want to leave,” she replied before he could finish.
Cal felt as though he had swallowed a large stone. Had it really all been for nothing? All the work, all the money, all the worry for a woman who didn’t even want to be saved?
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tethys' smile widen.
“What do you mean? We could finally go home.”
“There is no home to go back to.”
“So you just want to stay here? As a slave?” he demanded.
“I'm not a slave.”
“Then what are you?” Cal probably already knew, but he refused to think the word.
“Catrina is my mistress,” Tethys said.
Cal felt the stone in his stomach give a leap that made him want to throw up. There was the dreaded word, the reality of the situation. “Catrina?”
“He's right, Erin. I like it here. I want to stay. Go home, or wherever you come from. I don't need you.”
Cal tried to keep his face a mask to hide the pain and shock he felt, but he knew it was only marginally successful. Without saying a word, he turned to leave the large estate. He wouldn’t let them see his hurt, or at least anymore than he had already shown.
“Erin, wait.”
For a short moment, he thought she might have changed her mind. He turned to look at her, trying to keep his face a mask of unconcerned apathy.
“What happened to your face?” she asked.
Cal's expression darkened into a glare.
“What do you care?” he snapped before storming out of the large house and up to Éimhin's head.
He untied the lead in quick, practice movements, mounted, and was away before Tethys and Catrina could reach the large double doors to see him off.
As he rode through the open gate, he noticed a bedraggled man on a fine-legged mare enter the lord’s property. Hardly a beggar, considering the horse, but he didn’t look reputable. Had this man been entering the castle, Cal would have been worried, but he couldn’t muster any concern for Tethys or his back-stabbing sister.
Cal returned to the castle thoroughly drunk.
Pelor stopped in front of the large gate that guarded Tethys' massive estate. The slave boy, chained to the wall, peered at him through the iron gate, slowly recognizing him.
“Well, ya gonna let me in?” Pelor asked from his perch upon the little mare Gavius had given him.
He'd sold the thief’s horse just a day or two after acquiring it. The proceeds hadn't been much but it had provided him another couple of days’ worth of food.
The boy behind the gate nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off Pelor.
“You’re back,” said the guard as he moved out from his hiding place.
Pelor held up the flap of human skin he had attached to a leather thong and hung from the horn of his saddle. The piece of skin clearly held the mark of Tethys' house, despite the skin’s discoloration. Pelor tried not to look at it himself. It gave him the creeps.
The guard motioned for the boy to open the heavy gate. As he made his way toward the house he spotted a knight on an enormous warhorse make his way through the gate. The man had a long, jagged scar down the side of his face. It brought to mind all the stories he had heard in his hometown of a foreign knight with a horrible scar, a knight who was considered to be the fiercest in the land. Pelor felt a shiver run down his spine as he forced his little mare into a trot, speeding his way towards the lord’s house.
It was the largest house he had ever seen that wasn't a castle. A slave he didn’t recognize ran up to him, bleeding from his shoulder, and tentatively took the lead to his horse. Pelor had an idea that a horse had taken a chunk out of his shoulder earlier today. It made Pelor laugh at the idea of a horse so poorly trained that it would bite someone.
Before he had finished with his laugh, the doors were opened by yet another slave. Pelor entered, feeling uncomfortable entering through the main entrance, but the slaves didn’t recognize him as an employee of Tethys.
“Who is it now?” demanded a recognizable voice.
Tethys emerged from small room just off the hallway while trying to do up his trousers. A certain condition was making this task extra difficult. Pelor forced the smile from his face.
“Ah. You’ve returned. About time.”
“My lord, I found your slave, but I'm afraid I was too late. He was dying of some illness when I found him.”
With this lie, he produced the flap of skin, and handed it to the surprised lord. Tethys had forgotten about his pants.
“Good. Good,” he said distractedly before looking down at the skin in his hand. “This is disgusting!”
Pelor couldn't help but laugh as Tethys flung the skin at the nearby slave.
“You, there. Get umm...”
“Pelor, my lord.”
“Get Pelor a room and a meal. And a bath.”
Pelor smiled to himself as he followed the slave up to one of the family guest rooms. Evidently he had been elevated from guard to guest. Before he made it out of the entrance hall, he saw the lord escape back into the small room where a woman waited, no doubt.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Bethany walked around the wide bailey of the castle, with Sir Caldry following at a short distance. They were experiencing a sudden and unseasonal warmth. It wasn't enough to melt the enormous snow drifts, but it was enough to make an excursion outside bearable. Féderic was busy with his father in t
he far corner of the bailey where something special was happening in the stables. This left the scarred knight to watch over her, as though someone within the castle walls would do her harm. Bethany thought it a little excessive, but wasn't about to argue.
She just wished the knight was in a better mood. For the last two days he had been extra acerbic, snapping at everyone, when he spoke at all, and glaring at those around him the rest of the time. Bethany was glad he chose to walk some distance from her. Whatever was bothering him was rubbing off on her, making her grumpy as well. She didn't want to be irritable. She wanted to enjoy the brief respite from the intense cold of the mountain city.
More importantly, Bethany wanted to find a way to do some damage. She had thought of an idea, but wasn't sure how to execute it, especially with her faithful guardian in tow. In hopes of losing him, she sauntered towards the stables, where she thought it possible the king or prince would call him. To her surprise, the scheme worked. She had just passed the entrance when she heard Wolfric call to the knight.
She took a few more steps before glancing back and was rewarded with the sight of Sir Caldry entering the dark stables. Bethany had to work to keep her pace calm and sedate as she made her way to the blacksmith's hut. Earlier, she had noticed a bucket of dying embers sitting outside the building, most likely from when the apprentice cleaned out the forge. In a swift, discreet movement she scooped up the bucket and kept walking.
With her heart pounding in her ears so that she wouldn't have been able to hear a call of reprimand had there been one, she took the bucket to the large shed where they kept the recently made weapons that had yet to be sent off to the front. It happened to be full of freshly fletched arrows. Her timing couldn't have been better had she planned it; in fact, the whole plan was revealing itself with surprising ease.
She dumped the coals onto the thatched floor and knelt to blow life into them. After a few fretful moments, the warm embers caught the straw and flames jumped upwards towards a supporting beam. Bethany took a step back and made the greatest mistake of her life: She stopped to watch the fire spread.
Just when she was beginning to think she ought to leave, she felt a heavy hand land on shoulder and screamed. The hand pulled her backwards, away from the growing flames while another hand wrapped around her stomach and started dragging her away. Bethany scrambled, trying to free herself from her attackers grasp, but the smoke of her fire was beginning to choke them both. Soon it was all she could do just to breathe.
A moment later, they both emerged from the smoke into more breathable air. Bethany fell to snow-covered ground and coughed. When she finally looked up, she saw Sir Caldry, covered in soot, coughing beside her. Before either of them could say anything, a crowd of men carrying buckets of snow came running towards the fire.
“What happened?” demanded the recognizable voice of Wolfric.
Bethany and the knight were still coughing, unable to answer. Of course, Bethany was prepared to lie, but she didn't know if the knight would back her up. Shortly before they discovered her identity, she thought he just might support some of her machinations, but now she wasn't so sure.
“Sir Caldry and the princess came out of the arms storage just as the fire started,” panted a man with an empty bucket.
Bethany looked in time to see the king nod his head in the general direction of the fire. The man ran off with the others working to put out her fire. A few men started shoveling snow onto the burning building. The king glared down at them. Before she could realize what had happened he made a motion and soldiers rushed forward to point their swords at her and Sir Caldry.
“Now tell me, Bethany, should I have Sir Caldry killed?” Wolfric asked her, squatting down where she knelt in the cold snow.
Bethany looked up in shock before glancing to where the knight knelt beside her. “What?”
“Well, clearly one, if not both of you, started this fire, and since we know you have started fires in the past, it seems likely you are the instigator. But did you have an accomplice? Well now, that is the question.”
With this the king turned his gaze on the knight. Sir Caldry was glaring at Bethany, his soft green eyes bright with hatred.
“I acted alone!”
“Likely story of a lover.”
“What?” she and Féderic asked at the same time.
Wolfric glanced over his shoulder at Féderic; the prince was standing a foot or two behind his father.
“Surely you've noticed how much time they spend together, Son. It seems likely your fiancée has corrupted our good Sir Caldry.”
“No!” barked Féderic.
“I acted alone,” she repeated in the same instance, though with less fervor. It felt useless. No doubt Wolfric had already made up his mind.
“That seems hard to believe, Bethany. Take them to the dungeon. Chain them up together, since they're so fond of each other.”
“Father!”
“Silence!” commanded Wolfric.
At the same time, Bethany took up their case, describing everything she had ever done. She couldn't, wouldn't be the reason this man died, but the king didn't listen. He walked away, dragging his son with him.
The soldiers guided them down to the dungeon. Bethany did not go quietly until she suddenly grew too tired to fight their strong grasp. Sir Caldry, on the other hand, seemed to be putting all his energy into a horrific sneer directed at Bethany.
When the guards finally left them, chained to a wall with their arms over their heads, Bethany turned to say something to the knight, but for the first time since Wolfric had accused them, he was looking pointedly away from her.
She swallowed a lump in her throat, suddenly at a loss for words.
How do you apologize to a man who is about to die, just because he saved your life?
Chapter Fifty-Four
Cal hung from a set of shackles, his head drooping against his left arm. He wiggled a little to look over at the princess. When they were first locked in the dungeon, she had tried to say something, but gave up when he turned away from her. Now, untold hours later, he would have done anything to spark up a conversation, if only to distract himself from the pain in his wrists and the dead feeling in his arms. The soldiers had pulled their arms up high enough to make breathing difficult. In fact Cal was pretty sure the princess had passed out. He wanted to kick her to wake her up again, but refrained. If she was passed out then it was a reprieve from pain. If only he could do the same.
A few minutes later he heard a sound from the entrance to the dungeon. A bobbing light began to shine in the distance, which slowly dissolved into a person carrying a torch. After another long wait, Cal recognized the prince.
“What are you doing here?” Cal asked in a voice made hoarse from going without water.
“Sssshhhh,” Féderic hissed as he produced a large ring of keys and began working on the shackles that suspended Bethany from the ceiling.
“What's going on?” He would get the prince to explain things even if he had to kick him.
Féderic sighed heavily before lowering Bethany to the ground. As the pressure on her chest eased she began to stir groggily.
“Father is thinking of executing you both tomorrow,” explained Féderic.
It looked as though that was all the prince would say.
“Are you helping us escape?” Cal asked out of desperation.
Much to Cal's chagrin, the prince burst out laughing.
“And risk my crown? Not likely, ol' friend.”
Cal clenched his teeth together to keep from screaming at the younger man. All the hatred he had been concealing for many long years was about to boil over, but this wasn't the time to lose control. Anger clouded one's judgment, and he needed all his cunning to survive.
“Where are you taking her?” he asked.
Cal didn't really care where the prince was taking the damned girl; he asked to keep the prince talking. The longer Féderic was here the longer the keys were within reach. Cal had to figur
e out how to convince the prince to release him.
Once again, Cal realized how bad he was at being persuasive, unless he was doing it with a sword.
“I will have my wedding night,” Féderic sneered.
With that the prince hoisted Bethany over his shoulder, retrieved the torch, and left Cal in the darkness.
A brief moment later, the glowing light returned. Cal wondered if the prince had had a change of heart, but dismissed that thought before the person became recognizable. It was one of the dungeon guards, the keys in hand.
“Jes check'n to make sure the prince don't do nothin' stupid.”
Cal wracked his brain, trying to remember the guard's name.
“Bran,” he barked in desperation. The other man stopped to look at him. It wasn't a look of confusion. Cal assumed he had guessed right and proceeded, speaking with all the authority he could muster. “Come here.”
“I ain't 'spose to go near you... sir.”
“I will get out of here, one way or another, and I will come for you.”
“How you gonna get outta the dungeon?”
“Do you really think the king will execute me?” Cal colored his voice with derision. If he could just make the guard fear what might happen. “Now, come here.”
The guard took a hesitant step forward, as though Cal's very words had forced his feet to move without his consent. Cal stared at him, drawing him in with his gaze, using every trick he knew to instill fear in the other man. Bran took another step forward and Cal acted.
He gripped the chains from which he was hanging, lifted himself up, and slammed his boot into the man’s groin. As he expected, the man fell forward, grabbing his privates and dropping the key. Cal brought his foot down on the man's head, effectively knocking him out.
Now for the hard part, he thought as kicked his boot off.
With clumsy efforts he used his toes to pick up the keys. Once the ring was firmly grasped between his toes, he used every ounce of strength he had to curl his straightened legs up towards his shackled hands. The muscles in his stomach screamed as sweat beaded on his head, but slowly he managed to raise his feet up to where his hands waited, and grabbed the key.
The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy Page 28
