Elaine Barbieri (4 page)

The baron stepped backward. In a voice calculated to be overheard by those who were near, he addressed Hadley firmly. “In the meantime, you had best hope that your work pleases me, for in truth, much more than you realize depends on it.” With a final suggestive glance in Rosamund’s direction, the baron mounted and spurred his steed away.

Turning back to Hadley, Rosamund apologized
softly. “I am sorry, Father. I did not mean to put you in jeopardy, but I could not allow him to speak to me in so insulting a manner.”

“I understand. Were I free to act as honestly as I wished, I would have struck him dead.” He shook his head. “I originally believed that your disguise would save you from his advances, but the attempt was useless.”

“My disguise may still prove effective, Father. The baron is intrigued with me now because he is confused, but his ambitions outweigh what ever sexual fantasies he harbors. I will be safe for the duration of your reign as master mason.”

“I will make arrangements for you to vacate this place…to disappear so that he will never find you.”

“You need me, Father.”

“I do not intend to save myself at the expense of your innocence.”

“Neither will come to pass. You will see. Neither can I leave now and abandon the man who lies desperately ill in our hut. I will not allow another Saxon to die as the result of William’s conquest.”

“You have done your best for him. It is time for others to assume his care.”

Rosamund shook her head as though she found the thought abhorrent. “The stranger trusts me. He looks to me to aid him, and I will not fail him.”

“But you do not know him. We will locate his mother…his sister…his wife to care for him.”

“
His wife…?”
Rosamund shook her head vigorously.
“The stranger has no wife! Nor does he have any other woman whom he depends on. Only me.”

“He knows you are a woman?”

“No.”

“But you know who he is.”

“No.”

Confused, Hadley said, “At least you know where he comes from…his name.”

“No.”

“Then how can you be sure?”

“I know. I have seen it in his eyes…eyes that speak only truth.”

“And the truth is?”

Rosamund took a breath. “The truth is that I have made him a promise that I will not break.”

Silent for long moments, Hadley pressed, “What is that promise?”

“I will not desert him.”

Silent a few moments longer, Hadley responded, “I will call Horace to my side. Return to the hut. You must not break your promise.”

Her eyes suddenly filling, Rosamund whispered, “Thank you, Father.”

Dagan awakened abruptly and strained to see through eyes that did not function properly. He managed a glance around the primitive hut where he lay, while fragments of memory began to return. Most vivid was the image of clear blue eyes filled with concern. He remembered a gentle, knowledgeable touch…a soft voice that somehow dulled his
pain…empathy that had evoked a single tear. He recalled stroking that tear away, and the powerful emotions that the touch had raised in him despite his debilities.

But where was that concerned gaze now…that gentle touch? His whereabouts were unfamiliar, and as memory of the vicious attack returned abruptly to his mind, the need to escape clamored inside him. Dagan threw back the coverlet and attempted to rise. He placed his feet on the floor of the hut, suddenly aware that he wore nothing but a breechcloth.

Confusion assaulted him, and the heat inside him soared higher. He made an attempt to stand as a slender figure rushed to his side and whispered, “No, lie back. Do not fear. I am here.”

That voice…

Halting his frantic movement, Dagan squinted into the familiar, blue-eyed gaze. A small, heart-shaped face grew clearer…a soft voice reassured him…a gentle touch somehow alleviated his pain. He lay back down.

The person leaned over him. He reached up, imprisoning the shadowed figure in his grip so he might scrutinize it more clearly. Myriad emotions overwhelming him, he rasped, “Who are you?”

“I told you, my name is Ross.”

“Ross…Why do you care for me?”

“You are injured and need my help.”

He shook his head and demanded, “Nay…
why
?”

The brief silence that followed was finally broken
when the shadowed figure replied, “I do not know why. I do not know who you are or how you came to be here. I only know that you must trust my care.”

His strength fading, Dagan heard himself reply, “I do.”

T
he animal will allow no one near it. It rears. It snaps and bites with its great teeth. Its size is so great that the men fear to approach.”

Rosamund frowned at Hadley’s pronouncement. The day had been long and difficult and night neared. The stranger lay on the mattress behind her. His fever had escalated despite her greatest efforts, and he had made few coherent comments in recent hours. His face was still grotesquely swollen, and the pain of his body’s bruising appeared to be increasing, if she were to judge from the discomfited grunts he uttered with every movement. Although the festering on his leg wound appeared to have been curtailed by her treatment, the deep knife wound in his chest showed no change at all.

As if reading her mind, Hadley looked at the thrashing figure on the straw mattress and whispered, “His wounds are many. It is too soon to expect your herbs to have a healing effect on them; you know that as well as I. But the truth is that he may not survive. In the meantime, the prize this man sought—the great steed that brought him here—stubbornly seeks its own demise. I fear that even should this man survive, the great war-horse will not.”

“You are telling me that the great destrier that delivered
the stranger to this place has not drunk or eaten since it arrived this morning?”

“Yea, that is what I say. Edmund, the young man who cares for the animals here, cannot fathom a fear that would cause such a problem with the animal.”

“Conqueror…has no fear,” a voice from behind them muttered.

Stunned by the unexpected interruption, Rosamund turned with Hadley toward the mattress where the stranger lay. Deep in delirium, the fellow twisted and turned as if he had not spoken at all. Rosamund crouched at his side. Grateful for the stranger’s brief moment of lucidity and hoping for more, she pressed, “If that is so, why does the animal thwart even the best efforts to help him?”

Rosamund waited as the man’s head turned toward her. He peered at her for long moments through eyes swollen almost shut, as if attempting to identify her. When he spoke again, he rasped, “Conqueror resents confinement…will not abide it…at any expense.”

“We cannot turn him loose or he will be discovered by the soldiers. Or worse, they will come looking for you because of him.”

The stranger mumbled, “What is the choice?”

Slipping back into fevered ramblings, the fellow resumed his semiconscious state, and Rosamund drew herself upright.

“Rosamund…”

Rosamund turned toward Hadley and said, “You heard him, Father. The horse must have suffered somehow and will not abide restraint.”

“You do not mean we should turn the animal loose?
It is vicious…deadly. If the soldiers see it, they will eventually reason that this fellow stole it before bringing it here.”

“Not necessarily.”

“We cannot take that chance, Rosamund. Your life…mine…the life of the stranger and of those who helped him depend on it. To choose the life of an animal over the lives of many is wrong.”

Rosamund looked down at the fevered stranger. She said hoarsely, “This fellow risked his life to capture that animal.”

“And we risk his life again.” Hadley took a step back. “I will not argue with you.”

“I would see the animal for myself, Father. Perhaps I may help him. If not—” She hesitated “—his fate is sealed.”

Satisfied with her reply, Hadley nodded and turned away. He did not look back when Rosamund exited the hut.

Night had fallen when Rosamund walked across the construction site. Small fires grew dim outside huts along the way, indicating that the artisans and workers inside had retired for the night. The small temporary village that had sprung up as a result of the construction was all but silent.

The makeshift barn smelled of sweat and manure as she approached it in the darkening shadows. She heard nervous whinnies as she neared and realized that the great destrier’s angry snorting disturbed the keeper, and the other animals as well.

Frowning, Rosamund entered the barn and turned toward a young fellow who said nervously, “My name is
Edmund. I am caretaker here. I know who you are. You are Ross, Hadley’s apprentice, who is tending to the man who brought that destrier here. I can do nothing to quiet him. Its agitation makes him a threat to all.”

At a loss for a reply, Rosamund responded simply, “It is late. You may retire now and consider that your work is done for the day.”

“But—”

“Hadley understands that you have done all you can. He sent me here to tell you that, and to make sure you leave for the night.”

Nodding reluctantly as the great horse’s whinnies grew ever louder, the young fellow complied. Rosamund waited only until he had cleared the doorway before cautiously approaching the rear of the structure. She stepped back as the animal reared at the sight of her, its eyes bulging and its hooves striking wildly at the air. At the sound of her voice, the animal reared again and snapped at the leather strap confining it.

“The stranger says you do not like to be confined,” Rosamund said softly. “He intimated that I should allow you to roam freely in here. I do not know if that is wise, Conqueror.”

The great horse eyed her speculatively at the use of his name.

“If I do as the stranger says, you may escape and bring the soldiers down on us. Then all may be lost.”

The animal listened to the sound of her voice, moving restlessly as she continued. “If I do not, you will not survive, for no one dares approach you. What is the answer to this problem? What would you have me do?”

The horse’s wild-eyed gaze fixed on her. He turned
his head so he might see her more clearly when Rosamund said, “Would you even allow me to loosen your restraint…to free you, Conqueror?”

The horse stilled.

“I wonder.”

Rosamund approached the animal carefully. Fear a tight knot inside her, she raised her hands slowly toward the leather straps confining him. She noted the nervous steps the horse took…the way he watched her every movement. Her heart pounded as she spoke to him softly. Her hands trembled as she unbuckled the straps, saying, “I will free you, but you must not bolt. Instead, you must prove to me that you may be trusted. You must—”

Jerking back when the last buckle was loosened, the destrier reared before Rosamund could finish her statement. She fell back against the stable wall as the creature broke into a gallop, burst through the closed doorway, and thundered out into the night.

Rosamund started after the frantic animal at a run, softly calling his name. She knew he saw her when he looked back, though he did not attempt to elude her. Instead, he slowed his pace, searching the darkness. Conqueror snorted and huffed, breath emerging from his nostrils in white puffs on the cool night air. Rosamund’s eyes widened when the horse started directly toward her hut. She gasped when he reached the doorway, then pushed the door open with the power of his strong body and entered.

Stunned, Rosamund followed to see that Hadley had flattened himself against the side of the hut as the great animal walked to the mattress where the stranger lay.

Rosamund entered and came to an abrupt halt when she heard the animal snicker softly as he leaned down over her thrashing patient and nuzzled his cheek. The stranger snapped suddenly awake at the touch. He peered at the great animal, straining to see. She heard him whisper and saw the animal respond with a snort when the man raised his shaky hand to stroke the dark muzzle. The stranger spoke more firmly, and the animal retreated. He turned and came to stand obediently at her side.

Rosamund looked at the bed and saw the stranger glance her way. He muttered, “Take him…back to the barn.”

Swallowing, Rosamund reached for the reins still dangling from the destrier’s harness. When the animal did not protest, she led it out of the hut and back to the barn. She did not attempt to restrain it when it walked to a bucket and drank greedily. She left and closed the ban door behind her when the animal walked toward the corner where feed was strewn and lowered his head to eat.

Breathless, Rosamund returned to the hut and approached the bed. The stranger was moving restlessly. He went still when she asked, “What did you say to that horse?”

“I said nothing.”

“You said something.”

Pinpoints of amber lingered on her face for long moments before the stranger mumbled, “I told him only to trust you…as do I.”

Dagan awakened slowly and glanced around to see a small wood-and-wattle hut with a great fireplace. He
saw that a young man slept a few feet away on what appeared to be a hastily readied mattress stuffed with straw. Closer to the fire, an old man slept on a similar mattress—all in a space that barely sufficed.

Pain surged unexpectedly in his chest and he grunted and closed his eyes against the searing sensation. The shards of memory that had formerly deserted him returned slowly. He glanced again at the youth sleeping beside his mattress. The young fellow turned toward him unexpectedly, his long eyelashes dark against his pale cheeks, although his hair was as light as the sun. Dagan recalled gradually that eyes bluer than a summer sky lay underneath those eyelids, eyes that reflected concern for his pain…and a spark of something else. He viewed again the delicate contours of the lad’s cheek, the slender, almost feminine lips…and he remembered more. He recalled that the touch of the lad’s skin had been soft and smooth. He remembered drawing the lad tight against him to see him more clearly, and that the sensation of holding that slender body close had somehow been like no other. He recalled that the narrow expanse of the young fellow’s back under his palm had seemed so delicate that he had been tempted to clutch it closer. He remembered that the soft mounds pressed against his chest had raised a sensation that he—

No, that could not be correct!

Dagan struggled to clear his mind. Yea, he recalled that he had known many such as the young lad before. Yet he had never felt drawn to any of them as he was to this slender youth.

Something was wrong.

Dagan closed his eyes, recalling that a fever had overwhelmed him. He had been attacked and beaten by thieves before managing to mount Conqueror and give him his head. Conqueror had brought him here— wherever
here
was.

“You’re awake, and your eyes are clear.” In a puzzling lapse of time, the young man was suddenly standing beside him. His blue eyes reflected his relief when he said, “I feared for you when your fever escalated, but I can see now that it has lessened. I am glad.”

Somehow annoyed that the boy’s relief should impact him so greatly, Dagan said hoarsely, “Who are you?”

“My name is Ros…Ross, remember? Your horse brought you to the site of Baron de Silva’s cathedral, and we tended to you.”

“
You
tended to me.”

The young man nodded. “I tended your wounds, and took your clothes and washed them as well.” Nodding to the fireplace, where ragged clothing hung drying, she said, “They will be clean and dry when you are well again and ready to don them.”

Common clothes of a common man…but he was no common man.

Dagan squinted against the pain that surged in his chest when he attempted to speak, only to be halted by the lad, who ordered, “That’s enough for now. You are weak. I have only one other question to ask. What may I call you?”

“My name…”

“Yea, your name.”

Noting that the old man rose from his mattress a
distance away as he was about to reply, Dagan responded cautiously, “My name is…Dagan.”

Approaching, the old man asked suspiciously, “I am curious how you command such great control over the Norman war horse that you stole, Dagan.”

“Conqueror?”

The old fellow frowned. “An unfortunate name, considering the circumstances under which we Saxons live.”

“I did not name him. I rescued him…and earned his devotion.”

“This man is ill, Father. He should not be questioned in this manner.”

Dagan’s attention turned toward the young man. “Father?”

The old man replied, “I am like a father to Ross, but he is my apprentice.”

Dagan glanced up into the silver-blue eyes looking down into his. Pain surged anew and he gasped and closed his eyes. “To you, he is a son. To me he is…somehow more.”

Rosamund swallowed as the stranger closed his eyes. She glanced up to see Hadley looking at her. Dagan’s mumbling had been all but incoherent. She could not be certain Hadley had understood him, but she had understood every word.

Somehow more
…

Silently chiding herself at the effect Dagan’s confused statement had had on her, Rosamund turned back to the fire. Of course she was
somehow more
to the
stranger. She was his only hope for survival. He was totally dependent on her.

But even as she stirred the pot suspended over the flames, Rosamund knew what the stranger had meant. Despite the danger involved in the difficult situation, she felt the same.

Yea…he was
somehow more
.

“All rebellion against William is doomed from the start. You know that as well as I.”

Baron Guilbert de Silva regarded Sir Franchot Champlain contemptuously as his knight’s statement echoed in the silence of his extensive quarters.

It occurred to him that although the fellow was still tall, muscular, and obviously skilled at the butchery of his trade, Champlain had begun showing his age. Not only was his formerly heavy brown hair thinning and his girth widening, Champlain’s aging was also marked by a regular and noticeable descent into his cups.

Champlain occupied a position second only to his own in the army of knights to be called up by William at a moment’s notice, the terms under which the spoils of the bloody campaign in Hendsmille had been awarded. Although Champlain had fulfilled the demands of his service well over the years, it bothered the baron that Champlain did not recognize William for the fool that he was.

De Silva’s sneer deepened. “Nay, I do not see that all rebellion against William is doomed from the start. Unlike you, I recognize that each rebellion William crushed after becoming king was inadequate in some
way. I also recognize that it is the thoughts of men like you—men without vision—that have allowed William what ever successes he has achieved.”