Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (15 page)

Kynan looked at Stephen with more
emotion than the man had exhibited throughout his entire interrogation.  He was
horror stricken.

“What manner of bastard are ye?”
he hissed. “Would you truly beat an innocent woman?”

Stephen’s jaw ticked, his cornflower
blue eyes searing with intensity. “I hanged an innocent boy in full view of his
father. Do not doubt that I am capable of far worse things than that.”

Kynan gazed steadily at the big
knight, feeling a surge of power from the man like nothing he had ever
experienced. He knew he was cornered and all of the resistance he had put forth
suddenly faltered. He could not take the chance that the massive English knight
would do exactly as he said.  The man was easily three times Joselyn’s size and
would undoubtedly kill her. Joselyn had seen enough pain in her life. What
beatings and harassment could not achieve, a simple threat against his precious
cousin would. 

The English had won again.

“Ye’re a lowly bastard for doin’
this,” Kynan’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I know.”

“Tell me what ye want and be done
with it.”

Stephen’s expression bordered on
triumph; not quite, but almost. He would not be so crass as to gloat.  Rising,
he made his way out of the cramped cell, stepping on a few more legs as he
did.  Once outside, he motioned to Ian and Alan.

“Ask him your questions again,”
he told them. “Make sure you understand everything he tells you.”

The two young knights re-entered
the cell; the prisoner’s demeanor was quite a bit more cooperative, they
quickly discovered.  Tate stood with Stephen just outside the cell door,
watching what was now a rather subdued exchange.  Tate nodded with satisfaction
as Kynan Lott MacKenzie began to give forth the vital details they had sought
all afternoon. 

“Brilliant tactic, Stephen,” he
muttered.

Stephan, watching the activity in
the cell with his massive arms folded across his chest, glanced at Tate.

“You heard me?” he asked.

Tate nodded. “Every word,” he
lifted an eyebrow at him. “Should I go tell your wife to run for her life?”

Stephen gave him a crooked smile.
“Don’t tell me that you believed what I said.”

Tate shook his head, a twinkle in
his eye.  “I did not, but your prisoner certainly did. Most convincing.”

“Perhaps we shall have something
useful from him, after all.”

The two of them fell silent,
listening to the exchange in the cell.  Stephen’s thoughts were moving ahead to
other tasks he needed to complete for the night, such as checking the guard
posts, when a soldier descended the narrow stairs and moved straight for him. 

It was one of Norfolk’s men.
After a few whispered words to Stephen, the big knight flew up the steps faster
than Tate had ever seen him move.

***

Lane de Norville greeted Stephen
at the door to the chamber he shared with his wife.  But Stephen blew past him
so forcefully that Lane didn’t have time to speak to him; he simply followed as
Stephen entered the room, all but shoving anyone or anything from his path as
he made his way to the bed.  Tilda and Mereld were standing by the bed and
fretting over Joselyn’s state.  They leapt out of the way when Stephen
appeared.

Joselyn was unconscious on the
bed with the fluffy white coverlet she had been so proud of. Stephen sat beside
her, struggling to maintain his composure. As a healer, the man was legendary;
he had been Edward’s personal physic for years when the king was young. 
Stephen had spent so many years as a Hospitaller that he had acquired a massive
knowledge in the healing arts.  But he was foremost a knight and his knightly
duties had overtaken those as healer as he grew older. Still, he was considered
one of the best physics in the realm.  At the moment, however, he was
struggling to keep the emotion out of his evaluation as he looked at Joselyn’s
still, white form.

“What happened to her?” he asked
as calmly as he could, opening one of her eyelids and then the other.

“To be honest, my lord, I am not
sure,” Lane replied. “I was just exiting the southeast tower when she ran right
into me, and I do mean literally. I do not know if she even saw me; one moment,
I was walking from the door and the next minute she is smashing into me.  And
then she collapsed.”

Stephen checked her eyes and went
for the pulse; it was strong and steady.  He gently ran his fingers over her
head, checking for any signs of bumps or fractures.  He felt nothing.  Puzzled,
he checked her eyes again to note that her pupils were indeed equal and
reactive.  Then he ran his hands down her body, looking for any puncture wounds
or scratches.  He gently rolled her onto her side so he could check her
backside, but it was without blemish.  Rolling her onto her back again, he
scratched his head and looked up at Lane.

“She collapsed?” he repeated.
“Did she say anything before she collapsed?”

Lane shook his head. “Not a word,
my lord.”

Stephen looked back down at his
wife, passed out cold on the bed. She didn’t seem in distress other than the
fact that she was unconscious and he put his hands on her face again to tilt
her head up so he could look up each nostril, looking for blood.  He checked
her ears and her mouth as well. Nothing.

 By this time, Tate entered the
room.  Having followed Stephen from the dungeons, he was understandably curious
about Lady Pembury.  He silently made his way to the bed, standing next to Lane
as they watched Stephen examine his wife.

“What is wrong with her,
Stephen?” Tate asked, concerned.

Stephen shook his head, genuinely
baffled. “Nothing that I can see,” he said. “No bumps, bruises or blood.  Her
heart is strong.” He leaned forward, his hands on her face. “Joselyn, can you
hear me? Wake up, sweetheart. Open your eyes.”

She didn’t move.  Stephen tried
again, this time gently rubbing her face, trying to stimulate her. “Jo-Jo, wake
up. Open your eyes, sweetheart, and look at me.”  When she didn’t respond, he
looked back at Lane.

“You are certain that she said
nothing?” he asked again, deeply concerned for his wife. “Did you hear her
screaming at all? Any shouting or anything to indicate there was trouble?”

Lane shook his head. “Nay, my
lord,” he responded. “There was no indication at all.”

Stephen sighed with confusion,
looking back to his wife with increasing puzzlement.  He picked up a limp hand
and kissed it, pondering her state, before turning to Lane.

“My saddlebags and personal
effects were moved into the armory when we arrived,” he said. “I would ask you
to retrieve them and bring them to me immediately.”

“Will do, my lord,” Lane spun on
his heel and was gone.

After he fled, Tate moved up
behind Stephen and together they gazed down at the still lady.  Stephen was
still holding her hand and began to rub it gently, stroking her arm and trying
to elicit some response from her. But she remained safely tucked inside of
unconsciousness. 

“No fever?” Tate ventured.

Stephen shook his head. “None.”

Tearing his gaze away from her
face, he noticed she was wearing one of the new garments he bought for her, a
lovely rich orange color with a deep neckline that showed off the delicious
swell of her breasts.  Stephen looked at his wife’s flawless bosom a moment
before taking the knuckle of his middle finger of his right hand and rubbing it
briskly across her sternum, right in the valley between her breasts.  For a
person faking unconsciousness, the resulting pain from this action would cause
them to startle.  But Joselyn remained still.

Perplexed and increasingly
concerned, Stephen simply sat and held her hand, kissing her fingers on
occasion. He reasoned that as long as she was breathing and her heart remained
strong, then she was not in any real distress. But something had happened, that
was for certain. He wanted very much to know what it was.

Lane returned a short time later
bearing big saddle bags plus two other satchels.  He laid them all on the
ground at Stephen’s feet and the big knight dug through the bags until he came across
what he was looking for. Drawing forth a good-sized black leather satchel, he
set it on the bed at Joselyn’s feet and began to rummage through it.  Lane and
Tate watched as he pulled forth strange phials, envelopes with exotic powders,
and other implements that a healer would carry.  There was a good deal of
mysterious stuff in his bag.  He finally came across what he was looking for; a
small glass phial with a cork stopper.  He uncorked it and ran it under
Joselyn’s nose a few times.

With the second pass of the glass
phial, she stirred. With the fourth, she jerked violently and her eyes opened. 
Stephen barely had time to pull the phial out of the way as she emitted a
primitive, raw scream and bolted into a sitting position. She ended up in
Stephen’s massive embrace, her breathing coming in great, harsh gasps.

“There, there,” Stephen had her
tightly, soothing her. “’Tis all right; you are safe.”

Her breathing was crazy, evolving
into shattering sobs.  Stephen pulled her closer and rocked her gently.

“All is well, sweetheart,” he
murmured. “I am here. Nothing can harm you.”

Joselyn had awoken disoriented
and terrified. But Stephen’s voice had soothed her, gently bringing her back to
reality. She understood that she was safe in his arms but it did not completely
erase the mind-bending terror she felt.  Her last memory was of that face from
her deepest nightmare, suddenly alive and well before her.  It had been too
much for her mind to absorb and after realizing who the man was, she remembered
nothing.

“I… I saw him,” she wept
hysterically. “
I saw him
.”

Stephen attempted to pull her
face from the crook of his neck. “What do you mean? Who did you see?”

She was a sniffling, weeping
mess.  She fought Stephen as he tried to separate her from his powerful embrace.
She continued to cling to him even as he tried to pull her back to get a look
at her.

“Him,” she gasped. “The... the
soldier from Carlisle....”

Stephen’s head snapped to Tate;
the
soldier from Carlisle
.  A thousand words were spilling out from Stephen’s expression,
words of shock and accusation and confirmation. Although he and Tate had
acknowledged the fact that the man might be present in the castle, Stephen
hadn’t truly believed it. And he truly hadn’t believed his wife would run into
the man.  No wonder she had collapsed.

“Are you certain, Lady Pembury?”
Tate tried to be as gentle as possible. “Are you sure it was him?”

She nodded, bursting in to tears
again from the safe haven of Stephen’s neck. Stephen stopped trying to peel her
away from him; he simply sat there and held her.

“Did he try to hurt you?”
Stephen’s jaw was ticking as he asked. “Did he recognize you and come after
you?”

She shook her head. “He did not
see me,” she sobbed. “But I saw him entering the armory. I ran as fast as I
could to get away from him but… but I do not remember anything else.  How did I
get here?”

Stephen glanced over at Lane,
standing near the chamber door. “Sergeant de Norville brought you,” he told
her. “He says that you were running wildly and crashed into him. Do you not
remember?”

Her tears were fading, being
replaced by a staggering exhaustion. “Nay,” she wiped at her nose, her head
still against Stephen’s shoulder. “Did I hurt him?”

Stephen grinned, looking over to
the sergeant. “She wants to know if she injured you when she ran into you,” he
told the sergeant. “Shall I tell her that you will recover?”

De Norville smiled, meeting
Joselyn’s gaze. “Hardly a scratch, my lady. I was more concerned that you had
been injured in the collision.”

Joselyn was looking at him with
her pale blue eyes, still burrowed against Stephen’s massive form. She was
tucked into him, his enormous arms enfolding her like a cocoon.  Gingerly, she
lifted her head, studying the man closely.

“Once again you have come to my
aid, sergeant,” she said. “You have my thanks.”

“None is necessary, my lady,”
Lane replied. “I was glad to be of service. Are you sure you are not injured?”

“I do not believe I have any
injuries,” she looked at Stephen. “But my head hurts tremendously.”

Stephen asked for wine from one
of the serving women.  With one arm still around his shaken wife, he rummaged
around in his black bag and drew forth a pouch. Opening it with one hand was
tricky but he managed, dispensing the white powder into the wine and swirling
it around until it dissolved.  He handed the cup to Joselyn, who drank it
timidly and made a face when she was finished.

“That was awful,” she smacked her
lips with dissatisfaction. “What was it?”

“Something to help your
headache,” he told her. “I need to speak with Lord de Lara. Will you be all
right if I step outside for a moment?”

A look of panic swept her but she
stilled herself, nodding once.  He kissed her before rising, finding that he
still had to peel her hands from his tunic. He kissed her hands and gently encouraged
her to lie back down, which she did. With a flick of his finger to the serving
women, silently indicating that they watch his wife, he moved from the room
with de Lara and de Norville.