Domning, Denise (34 page)

John stared up at her, his brown eyes glazed in pain. Now that his rage was spent, she saw him mentally recoil in the horror of what he'd done. Slowly, his understanding grew. Maeve saw it as well.

The fair woman cried out in very real concern. "She lies; she would do anything to save him, for without him she will lose Graistan."

"John," Rowena went on in her final thrust at Maeve, "he trusted you, just as his father before him trusted you. Aye, you have betrayed him, but he lives still. It is not too late. Spare us, and I vow on my soul that your daughter will not be stained by what has happened here today."

"Nay," the woman cried, as she watched her husband slip from her control.

"Nicola," he breathed, his gaze moving slowly to the girl who bound his bleeding back and side with strips torn from his gown.

His daughter lay a hand against her father's leathery cheek. "You were wrong to attack him, Papa, without hearing what he would say to Maeve's charges. Even she tried to stop you. Sometimes, that temper of yours"—her voice trembled—"oh, but Papa, if you must die, I will die with you. You need do nothing to save me," she said, her healing hands once again busy at their task.

He returned his attention to Rowena. "There is a thread from St. George's cloak within my hilt. Swear it to me, now."

She laid her hand on his bloodied sword. "I swear it will be so."

"Richard," he called, then coughed at the effort it cost him. When his man leaned down to hear him, he continued. "At all cost Lord and Lady Graistan are to be preserved. They must not die. Swear to me that you will see this done."

"I vow it, my lord," the man said.

"Fool!" Maeve screeched, leaping to her feet. "You stupid fool. Four more of them come. If you had killed them all, there would have been none to bear witness to what has happened here today." But, it was too late. John had slipped into unconsciousness. "Fool," she said again, her face twisted in rage.

"Damn you, you will not destroy me." She whirled on Richard.

"Do as I say or the might of Graistan will come crashing down on this place. Kill those four who come; kill all who remain alive of this party. When they are all dead, we will bury them in the forest and claim they never arrived."

Richard gave her a scornful stare. "How many witnesses must we also kill to still their mouths? Nay, you cannot hide what happened here today."

"Do as I say! I am your lady," she screamed.

"I do not serve you," he retorted. "My oath is with my lord, and what he commands will be done."

"Nay," she screeched, pressing still fingers against her temples. "Nay, I will not die for this man's stupidity." Then she caught herself. Rowena watched as her expression calmed and her body curved into her most feminine posture. "Aye, Richard, you are right, you cannot break your word. But think of this. If those men out there were dead, no one would carry back word of what has happened here. It may buy us only three days, but that could be time enough for your lord to regain his wits. When he is stronger, he will be able to resolve this matter with no further bloodshed. But..." She leaned forward just a little. Richard stood stonily beneath her assault. "But if they warn Graistan, Gilliam will be here tomorrow, and we will all die, your lord as well as you, when you could have saved us all."

He studied his new lady for a long moment. "All that I do from now on, I do to serve my lord the best I can. Just now your words make sense, so I am listening. But you take warning. I can only die once and, if I must, it will not be for your ends."

"I do not care if you do it for the devil himself, as long as you do it," she purred sweetly. "Only make sure you see all four dead, even if you have to chase them all the way to Graistan's gate."

Walter's anxious voice floated over the wall to them. "My lord, what goes forward in there? Call to us so we know all is well with you. Why are we being kept out?"

Rowena threw back her head and screamed at the top of her lungs. "Run to Gilliam, Walter, to Gilliam." But she knew even as she voiced the words, he had not heard her. There was a sudden pain that melted away into darkness.

Chapter 21

Rowena groaned; her head throbbed. She squinted her eyes against the pain, but that only made it worse. Beneath her face was a hard and dusty wooden floor. With another, muffled groan, she pushed up just far enough to look around her. "Rannulf?" It was so dim, she could barely see.

"Rannulf?" she cried again in the start of panic. There, there he was, across this small room, stretched full-length and facedown on the floor. She rose to her knees, but her vision swam so viciously, she nearly fell again. It was another long moment before she attempted to rise any farther. This time, her senses held true.

"Oh, my sweet love," she sighed as she came to kneel beside him. Her fingers sought for, then found, his pulse. She closed her eyes in a brief prayer of thanksgiving, then touched the torn skin on his brow. Her husband jerked in reaction.

"Quietly, my heart," she said, gently stroking his hair as she looked around her. They were confined in an empty chamber with a wooden door and four walls of stone. This could be no other place than the upper room of the stone tower.

He shifted slightly, then murmured, "Wren, you are still alive." There was great relief in his voice. "Are you hurt?"

"Nay." Her hand raised in reaction to his question, and she briefly touched the bruised spot on her head where she'd been hit. It hardly seemed worth mentioning against the gravity of their present situation.

"Where are we?"

"It is a stone room. I think it is the tower."

"Are we locked in?"

"I do not know," she said in surprise. It had not occurred to her to try the door. Even if it had been open, she would not have left him. She rose and crossed the room in a few short steps. The door had no handle; only the insertion of a key would free the latch. "Aye, we are locked in."

"Damn," he groaned quietly, and rolled cautiously to his side. She returned to sit beside him and pillow his head against her thigh. "I remember nothing after striking John. You must tell me everything that has happened since then."

Rowena sighed before starting. "John had believed Maeve's tales of rape and abuse. That poor, simple man was no match for her cunning words and sweet lies. It was only when I made him think about it that he saw how he'd been used in her revenge against you. Once he understood, he made his master-at-arms swear to preserve our lives."

"And that is why I lie, mailed but swordless, my wounds untreated, in a locked storeroom with no pallet between me and the bare floor?" He managed sarcasm despite his pain.

"I do not know why we are here," she cried out in frustration. "Truly, he made his man swear that we would be held safe. Rannulf, we should have sent word. Our unexpected arrival caused John to impulsively strike out at the man his wife claimed was a monster. Even Maeve had not planned murder and tried to stop his attack. She'd meant to hurt you by destroying John's loyalty. Now her mischief has exploded in her face, and she knows full well that it will cost her. If she must die, she will try to take us with her when she goes." Her sudden laugh was bitter and short. "Mary, Mother of God, I thought she would choke on her rage when John's man refused to finish us."

"What of Walter?" he asked quickly, grasping for the only hope left.

"Well," she hesitated, remembering her futile cry, "I think they have been killed. This man of John's would delay news of their treachery in the belief that his lord might recover enough in the next days to settle the matter with you. He thinks they have less than a week's time before we are missed by Graistan and Gilliam. If only it was true! What will Sir Jocelynn do when we do not appear in a few days?"

"Nothing, but wait. He has no cause to suspect that we've fallen foul here at Ashby. Nor will any at Graistan miss us." Rannulf groaned quietly. "If Walter has died, I fear we will as well, for I cannot believe John will survive. Now, what of the wound in my shoulder? I cannot bear to reach around to touch it."

"You have no wounds there. Your thigh yet seeps, and your head is cut." She gently touched her fingers to his shoulder. "I hope you did not break anything in your fall."

He struggled to sit up and gasped with the effort. "Help me remove my mail. If we are to die here, I will do it in what little comfort I can purchase."

A key turned in the lock. Rowena, caught holding

Rannulf's weight as she levered him into a sitting position, could only stare in surprise.

Nicola stepped swiftly and silently inside. The tall girl turned quickly to shut and lock the door behind her. By the light of the tiny lamp on Nicola's tray, Rowena could see the medicinal supplies upon it as well as the bucket that hung from her arm.

Rannulf tried to turn himself to see, but could not. "Who is there," he whispered harshly, incapable of any louder noise.

"It is Nicola, my love," Rowena replied. "She's come to help."

"Do not be so sure," the girl replied, her tone filled with accusation. "Richard said you should be locked in here to keep you safe from Lady Maeve. He meant that I should feed and care for you, but he has not ordered it. I know that Maeve wishes you to die, and I have led her to believe that I will not help the man who has laid my father at death's door. Now, I have come to you so you can give me a reason for doing otherwise."

"Rannulf was injured because your father betrayed him and attacked us," Lady Graistan replied, unable to comprehend that this girl would come only to taunt them. Surely, she would not protect the woman who had led her father to his injuries. "He would have dragged my lord down and killed him. My husband was only defending imself."

"True, my father did wrong, but what of Lord Graistan. He knows how my father's temper can get the better of him. Why, then, would he wed him to this evil woman whose words so goaded a good and loyal knight until he hated his lord and exploded in rage when the man appears unannounced at his gate?"

"My fault," Rannulf whispered. "I would not believe—"

"You do not know how she twisted him. I heard her lies, I saw him believe them while not one word I spoke reached past his new affection for her to settle in his ears."

"Please," Rowena said, staring in disbelief as the girl still held herself aloof, "you must help us."

Nicola continued, her words now trembling with tears. "Are you any better, Lady Graistan? You dared to barter with my life. Aye, I know what you did. By promising to save me, you have used my father's love for me to gain what you wanted. But now it is my turn to do the trading. I will treat your husband's injuries and thwart my stepmother's plans for your death, but only if you will not hold Papa accountable for the evil you, yourselves, have laid upon him. If you wish to live, Lord Graistan will swear to me to spare my father."

Her lady nodded for Lord Graistan. "He swears," she said.

"I cannot give what he has already forfeited," Rannulf said drawing himself up, his words halting as he gasped in the effort. Where worry and concern could not move him, outraged honor could. "He has attacked me, meaning to do me mortal hurt. His life is no longer his, but mine."

"You hold your tongue," Rowena snapped at him, her voice grim and hard. "It was your stubbornness that led to this ill-fated wedding. It was again your stubbornness that brought us here without a word to smooth our path. Now, would you doom us to death so you can say for pride's sake that his life was yours? Well, I will not let our child die because you are too stubborn to see beyond your honor."

There was a moment of quiet following her words, then he managed a huff of amusement. "I was wondering. Nicola, she is right. It is I who brought this all upon myself. If it is in my power to do it, I will hold him safe for you."

The girl's sigh was so deep, her tray rattled with the force of it. "Thank you," she said. Two quick steps and she had crossed the room to kneel beside them. "Can he sit by himself? No? Too bad, for that will make it harder for us to remove his mail." She put her bucket to one side, and set the tray and lamp down beside them.

"Lord Graistan we will have to move your arms. If your shoulder is broken, well, there is no help for it. You must bear the pain."

"I will think of it as penance for my idiocy."

"Do not laugh," Rowena cried, "I cannot bear for you to laugh over this." As Nicola steadied him, she lifted the mail skirt out from beneath his hips.

"Prepare yourself." The girl paid them no heed as she grabbed the back of the shirt. "Hold him upright for me," she commanded her lady. "Do not let him fall while I work it off."

Rowena did as she was told and watched the girl who had raged over her father's wedding do this task with the same authority and confidence that the Lady Graistan knew in her household management. And her efficiency made short work of it, where his wife's fear of hurting him might have cost Rannulf much pain. Once he wore only his coarse chausses, he sat, rather leaned heavily against his lady, while Nicola picked bits of metal from his leg wound and the myriad spots of broken skin on his back where the bolts had crushed the mail through his undergarments. At last, the girl eased back on her heels.

"You are fortunate. Nothing is broken, and there is no sign of deeper injury. You will be purple with bruising for days, both on your head and your back." She rinsed his thigh once again, completely unaffected by the blood that continued to ooze. "I feel like a traitor. My father is hurt far worse."

"Nicola," Rannulf said with a sigh, "I pray he recovers, for we have much to speak about, he and I."

There was a tap at the door. "Lady Nicola?" It was whispered through the keyhole.

"I come." The tall girl rose swiftly to her feet, unlocked and opened the door. Two servants entered, one bearing a pallet and a pot, the other bedding and a sloshing pitcher. They did little more than drop their burdens and retreat. Nicola shut and locked the door quietly after them.

"If Lady Maeve thinks we do nothing, she will not bother herself further with you. After I sew your leg wound, I must be gone. You will have to make up your own bed, my lady." There was the barest hint of scorn in her voice, as if she felt the job was beyond the Lady Graistan's capabilities.