Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (3 page)

“This is Sir Stephen of Pembury,”
Edward announced to the group. “He is Guardian Protector of the City of
Berwick, Commander of the King’s Forces and a knight unlike any you have ever
seen. He is cunning, experienced and possesses strength that would put Samson
to shame. If you value your lives, you will obey this man as you obey me.  Is
this in any way unclear?”

Seton was gazing up at Stephen
with a baleful expression; even in defeat, the old man had courage. He had been
through hell and lost nearly everything, but still, his inherent defiance had
not left him. 

“What is to become of my family
and me?” his gaze moved back and forth between Stephen and the king. “Are we to
hang as Thomas did?”

Stephen returned the hateful
stare without emotion; there was no reason to respond to the challenge of a
prisoner. But he looked to the king for the reply.

“You will be my guests for the
time being,” Edward didn’t like the way the man was glaring at them. “Your new
home will be Alnwick Castle until I can think of a more suitable place. But
your daughter has a different destiny.”

Stephen took that as his cue. 
Reaching out, he grasped the petite brunette by the arm and yanked her clear of
her family group before anyone could react. Alexander roared in protest as his
wife screamed; the commotion brought the knights and soldiers in the great hall
to bear, armed to the teeth and prepared to stab the first Scots who tried to
cross the line. While the woman in Seton’s group began to wail pitifully, Seton
himself suddenly lost all of his arrogance.

“Please, Sire, I beg you,” he was
quickly growing panicked. “Not Joselyn. Take me for whatever punishment you
choose and I shall gladly submit myself. But leave my daughter alone.”

Stephen was already pulling
Joselyn across the hall, heading for the main door.  He was focused on his duty
and ignored the chaos that had erupted.  In his grasp, his prisoner was doing
very little resisting; instead, she seemed to be trying to calm her kin.

“Da!” she called to the man
steadily. “All will be well. Do not fret so!”

Her father tore his eyes away
from the young king in time to see his daughter being hauled through the front
door by a mountain of a man. Pembury was the biggest knight he had ever seen
and he was terrified.  Hand on his heart as if to hold in his terror, he looked
back to the young king.

“What will you do with her?” he
asked in raspy voice.

Edward cocked a fair eyebrow.
“Have no fear, Seton,” he was not sure he liked this man in the least. “She
will not meet the same fate as your son. In fact, you have just met your future
son-in-law. You could live to be a thousand years old and never find such an
honorable man.  Consider yourself and your daughter extremely fortunate.”

Seton looked as if he was about
to pass out.  In fact, that was what his wife did as soon as Joselyn left the
room.

CHAPTER
TWO

The smell of smoke and death was
heavy in the air now, just a few moments after midnight, as Stephen pulled
Joselyn across the dusty bailey and towards the keep of Berwick. The moon was
starting to emerge, just peeking over the northeast hills, and the land was illuminated
a soft gray color. Joselyn didn’t say a word as the enormous knight pulled her
up the steps into the keep and took her into the first room they came to, a
small solar just off the main entry.  Once inside the cold and dark room, he
shut and bolted the door.

He had also let her go by that
time. Clad in her tartan and a rough wool garments that were heavy and warm,
she pressed herself against the wall as far as she could go while Stephen went
to see about a fire.  There was very little kindling but he piled it expertly,
searching until he found the small piece of flint and stone used to light. He
managed to spark a small blaze on the first try.

So far, he hadn’t said a word. 
Joselyn watched him closely, struggling not to show her anxiety.  He was big
and evil-looking, covered with dark stains that she could only assume to be
blood.  He wore no helm, his short black hair glimmering weakly as the small
fire grew in strength. He blew on it a few times and when he was convinced it was
not going to die, he stood up to face her.

It was like looking up at the
tallest tree; she had to crane her neck back simply to look the man in the
face. Being Scots, she had seen her share of big men, but the English knight
before her went beyond even what she had ever witnessed.  Along with the black
hair, he had a square jaw and straight nose, and the most brilliant blue eyes
she had ever seen.  They were the color of cornflowers and as he looked at her,
they fairly glowed with curiosity, power and perhaps a bit of anger. She
couldn’t really blame him. But she was very concerned about what he was going
to do with her.  After several appraising moments, he lowered his gaze and
vigorously scratched his scalp.

“As you have been informed, my
name is Stephen,” he said in a deep voice that seemed to bubble up from his
toes. “I am a knight in the service of King Edward, as I also served his
father. I am Baron Lamberton of Ravensdowne Castle in Northumbria and will
inherit the title of Baron Pembury upon my father’s death.  I am also formerly
a member of the Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of St. John of Jerusalem,
of Rhodes and of Malta.  I am therefore an accomplished knight with wealth and
status and you, my lady, are to have the honor of becoming my wife.”

He looked at her as he finished
his sentence. Joselyn stared at the man, digesting his words, her features
registering shock, surprise and disbelief in that order.

“Wife?” she repeated, stunned.
“But… but I cannot marry.”

“You can and you will,” Stephen
told her, “and before you throw yourself into fits of hysterics, know that this
is not my doing, but the king’s. He has ordered us to wed to cement an alliance
between the rebels and conquerors of this city. To resist, for either of us,
would be futile.”

Joselyn’s pale blue eyes were
wide with astonishment. She felt so much shock at the announcement that it was
difficult to comprehend. She also felt a great deal of fear and embarrassment,
knowing that the reasons behind her resistance might very well negate the deal.
They were reasons she’d not spoke of since they had happened. But now, cornered
by the big knight who was to be her husband, she found the horrific reasons
filling her thoughts. It was making her ill simply to recollect that which she
had tried so hard to forget.

“But you do not understand, my
lord,” she said, her voice quivering. “It is impossible for me to wed.”

“Why?”

Her face, even in the dark,
flamed a deep, dull red.  She knew she must tell him but it was a labor of the
greatest strain to bring forth the words.

“Because I have been living in a
convent since I was eleven years of age,” she replied. “I am meant for the
cloister.”

“Those plans have now changed.

“But they cannot!” she snapped,
banking swiftly when she saw the look on his face; she had a healthy fear of
this knight whom she did not know. “Please believe me, my lord, it is nothing
against marriage in general. I have never been meant for any marriage.”

Stephen inhaled deeply, wearily,
and rested his enormous hands on his slender hips. “I understand your
commitment to the cloister,” he moved towards her slowly. “I, too, was
committed to a monastic order but that is no longer the case. Sometimes the
needs of country and king overshadow even those of the Church. Surely you
understand that.”

She moved away from him as he
came closer, the tartan falling away from her head.  She had cascades of
luscious dark hair, slightly curly, giving her an ethereal loveliness in the
weak light. For as much turmoil going on inside of him, even Stephen noticed
it. With her pale blue eyes, nearly black hair and finely sculpted features,
she was an exquisite creature.

“I suspect my reasons for
committing myself to the cloister are different from yours,” she inched away
from him as he drew close. “Perhaps you recanted your vows, but I will not
recant mine. My reasons are firm enough that I cannot ever marry.”

“Have you actually taken your
vows yet?”

She almost lied to him but her
truthful nature had her shaking her head before she could think. “Nay,” she
murmured. “Not yet. I am due to take them after the New Year.”

“How old are you?”

“I have seen twenty-two years.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow and
halted his advance; he could see that she was moving away from him. “If you
have been in the cloister eleven years, why have you not taken your vows before
now? If you were serious about becoming a nun, then you should have taken those
years ago.”

She lowered her gaze with
uncertainty. “I… that is, the sisters would not let me. Not yet. They said that
I still had penitence to do.”

“Penitence for what?”

Her pale eyes flew to him and her
breathing began to grow faster and faster. She swallowed, hard, endeavoring to
retain her courage to say what she must. But she found she couldn’t look him in
the eye as she spoke, praying he would understand her words and rush to the
king to demand the betrothal be broken. In her deepest humiliation was her only
hope that he, too, would be humiliated enough to fight it.
  Spit it out,
foolish lass!

“When I was eleven years old, my
father took me and one of my brothers on a trip to Carlisle,” she spoke barely
above a whisper as she sank onto a stool against the wall. “My father went into
Carlisle quite a bit on business but it was the first time I had ever gone with
him. I remember that my brother and I were so very excited to go to the big
city; it was an enormous place with soldiers and people. My father took us to a
street with vendors who had goods from all over the world. While my father was
attending to business, somehow I wandered away. I remember smelling something
sweet and delicious, and I went in search of it. The next thing I realized,
someone grabbed me and took me to a grove of trees that was just beyond the
border of the street. I tried to scream and to fight, but he was simply too
strong. I was only eleven years old, mind you, and no match for the man. He had
been one of the many English soldiers I had seen throughout the city. When he
finally took me to a place where no one could hear my cries for help, he.…”

She suddenly trailed off, unable
to continue. Stephen, however, was riveted to her dark head, suspecting with
some certainty of what she was about to tell him. There was a table in the room
and he lowered his big body onto the corner of the table, his eyes fixed on her
with sharp intensity.

“Go on.”

She was staring at her feet.  Her
head started wagging back and forth. “Please….”

“Tell me the rest.”

She kept her head lowered for the
longest time.  One big tear fell to the dusty floor, followed by a second. “He…
he compromised me.”

“He raped you?”

She nodded, once. “My family
committed me to the cloister because I was not a suitable marriage prospect
being that I was no longer virgin. I have been there ever since.”

“Yet you are here at Berwick with
your family during the event of a siege. Why is that?”

She cleared her throat softly as
she struggled for composure. “My mother needed me,” she said softly. “She has
not been well for some time and my father called me home almost a year ago.
With the loss of her sons, the madness has only gotten worse.”

“After eleven years away, he
calls you home?”

“He did.”

“Do you not have a sister that
could have attended to her also?”

“Maggie is already married and
living in York.  Her husband would not let her come.”

Stephen drew in a slow, steady
breath, his eyes still riveted to her lowered head. The story, such as it was,
had grown leaps and bounds. He would not be made a fool of.

“You will forgive me if I do not
believe you,” he said quietly.

Her head snapped up, her pale
blue eyes wide with shock and outrage. “You do not…?” she could hardly grasp
what he had just said. “You do not
believe
me?”

“I do not.”

She was beside herself.  “Must I
prove to you that my mother is not well? How would you expect me to do that?”

“I did not mean the story about
your mother, although it does ring strange. I mean the story about the English
soldier raping you at eleven years of age.”

Her mouth flew open with outrage.
“Do you think I tell you this horrific story simply to gain your sympathies?”

He was unemotional. “Women will
say or do most anything to gain their way. No matter what you tell me, you and
I shall be married as soon as the priest arrives.”

Joselyn was beyond shocked; it
never occurred to her that the man would not believe her.  Her shock turned to
rage such as she had never known and the fire of the Scots, so inherent to her
soul, bubbled up like a great raging beast.