Heart's Ransom (Heart and Soul) (27 page)

A guard alerted to their presence, his hand on his weapon.  “Who goes?” he barked.

“’Tis your Earl,” Talon replied with a weary smile.

The guard looked at him closely, scowling.  Talon knew he must be a pitiful sight covered in mud and travel worn.  “Good glory, my lord,” he said removing his hand from his weapon.  “It seems you’ve had a hard go of it.”

“Aye,” Talon replied.  “We had to catch you before you reached Montfort’s castle.  There has been a change.  The money will not be delivered.  Turn around and go home.”

The guard blinked in surprise but then nodded.  “As you wish my lord.”  He waved to the others.  “The Earl orders us home.  Turn the wagon.  We will camp at the same place we did last night.”

Talon watched them turn the huge wagon.  The herald dismounted and hurried toward him, dropping to his knees in the mud.  “My lord,” he said, his head bowed.  “I must pray your forgiveness - I struggled to locate you and the entourage.  I fear this message is terribly delayed.  I have urgent word from Sir Marcus.  He begs you to return to Montgomery with all haste.”

Talon’s heart suddenly jumped to his throat.  “What is wrong?”

The herald handed him a scroll.

Talon broke the seal and read, noting Marcus’ normally perfect script was a barely legible scrawl.

My lord, I have grievous news and I pray your return forthwith.  I fear tragedy has befallen us once again.  Lady Gwen requested to see the fuller at market to obtain threads for her weaving.  We went with a guard but our caution benefited naught.  My men and I were attacked from behind by mercenaries while Lady Gwen was in the fuller’s shop.  We fought and defeated them but somehow the fuller’s shop caught on fire.  It burned to the ground.  After the ashes cooled, we found a few bones.  Judging from the lack of teeth in the skull, we believe it to be the fuller. We saw no sign of Lady Gwen and have not been able to find her anywhere.  I believe she might have escaped because we found a body of a mercenary on the partially burned stairs in back of the fuller’s shop.  His nose had been broken violently as if he had been struck with something.  Fresh dye coated his face and clothes and we found a large spoon for stirring dye on the ground.  Knowing Gwen, I’d say she walloped him with it and escaped. But I beg you to return home with all haste.

Good God it was dated at the end of January!

Worry cut through him but Talon stubbornly held a desperate hope.  Nay, Gwen would not easily fall prey to abduction.  She would have indeed clouted the mercenary with anything she could get her hands on.

But terror that she was truly lost to him nearly buckled his knees.

“What is it, my lord?” Aaron asked, watching him worriedly.

“Gwen--” his voice cracked and he tried again.  “Gwen is missing.”

“What?” Aaron fairly roared.

He showed Aaron the letter who read it, his face paling.  “Aye,” he said, his voice shaking.  “She would have beaked the sod.”  He nodded vigorously then hauled on Talon’s arm.  “Let’s go, my lord.  I hate to leave the wagon behind but it is well guarded and it will only slow us down.  We ride hard for Montgomery now.”

“Aye,” Talon replied.  “To Montgomery with all haste.”

The rumbling sound of heavy horse approaching from behind caused Talon’s heart to pound in alarm.  Had Montfort somehow discovered his deception?  He spun, his hand falling to his weapon.

Twenty heavily armed riders emerged from the drizzle and pulled to a stop on the trail.  The lead man wore Prince Edward’s heraldry, which only brought a small relief to Talon.

“Earl Montgomery,” the man said, eying him and his men suspiciously.  “I bear orders from our prince and sovereign.  You and your men are to join with Prince Edward’s army immediately.  My prince has mounted a campaign and turned the tables on Montfort.  He has trapped Montfort against the river and cut off his reinforcements.”

Talon’s numbed mind struggled to keep up with it all.  “So the escape was successful.”

“It was, Earl.  The prince demands your presence at once.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.  He seized the letter from Aaron and strode toward the herald.  “Nay,” he cried, waving the parchment.  “You do not understand.  I have received terrible news from home.  I must go to Montgomery.”

The herald shook his head.  “I am sorry, my lord, but my prince’s orders are clear.  No exceptions.”

“I will not go!  I must return home at once.”

The men behind the herald drew their weapons and he shook his head sadly.  “I am truly sorry, but Edward ordered us to bring you forthwith, if you do not cooperate, we are to bring you back in chains or dead.  It is your choice.”

Talon swore a violent oath, suddenly longing to drive his sword through something, preferably the herald - in truth, Edward’s gullet.  But he knew he had no choice.  He could not help Gwen and Rose if he was dead or in chains.  He turned to his own herald.  “Return at once to Montgomery, tell Marcus why I have been delayed but I will come home as soon as I am able.  Hopefully, when Prince Edward hears of this news directly, he will allow me to leave.”

His herald bowed.  “At once, my lord.”

Exhaustion and cold weighing heavily on his limbs, and worry darkening his heart, Talon and his men mounted their horses and followed the herald, flanked by Edward’s men at arms.  Talon morosely wondered if he was now Edward’s prisoner just as Edward had been Montfort’s prisoner.

“Dear God,” he whispered.  “Can it get any worse?”

Late July, 1265

Rose huddled on her hard, lumpy pallet shivering violently.  An old moth-eaten blanket barely kept away the chill of the damp night.  She wore only a thin, filthy smock.  The moldy smell of the pallet and blanket sickened her but she tried not to lose courage.  She tried not to cry.  Papa would want her to be brave.  He would come for her soon.  But tears leaked down her face despite her battle.  It had been so long since she grew dizzy in the garden, then awoke to find herself tied to a back of a horse and soldiers surrounding her as they rode down the trail. 

How much time had passed?  Months?

Why hadn’t Papa found her yet?  Was he even looking?

Stubbornly she shoved her fears away as the sound of voices reached her.  The men talked when they thought she was asleep and she had learned to listen intently. 

“The Earl near dismantled his lands searching for his daughter,” a nasally voice with a French accent said.  “What makes you think he will not resume doing so?”

Rose knew which one spoke.  Nasal voice had a nose like a bird’s beak and a pronounced Adams apple.  He was tall and skinny.  Rose didn’t know any of their names, so had named them herself.  Bird Beak was nervous and flighty.

“I tell you, he will not risk it,” a gravelly voice said.  That was Ferret.  He was short; his nose straight and pointed with beady eyes.  And he acted like a ferret, always skulking around.  “After we sent him the note threatening to kill her, he stopped his searching.  He will not resume it.”

So that’s why Papa hadn’t found her yet.  They would kill her if he kept searching.  Rose knew Papa would never do anything to risk her life.

“He may try to search for her secretly.”  That was Rat Face, whose nose had a tendency to twitch as if he constantly scented cheese.

Rose rolled on her back, gruffly wiping away her tears, staring up at the tent roof.  They didn’t even have descent pavilions but plain old tents which did nothing to keep the rain off or the wind out.  Because the men feared discovery, they built only tiny campfires and kept Rose away from the warmth. 

Her hands writhed uncomfortably under the rope binding her wrists in front of her.  She had tried to run away several times.  Now they left her hands bound and a rope tied to a stake pounded into the ground.  She couldn’t get loose.

Out of irritation she chewed on the ropes, knowing they were too thick.  But the action gave her something to do and chewing helped allay the gnawing in her belly.

The three continued to talk by the fire.  Nine other mercenaries hovered around the camp, some sleeping, others guarding the perimeter.  She was amazed at how many it took to keep a little girl captive.  Of course, if Papa ever found them, they would need far more than twelve men.  He would slay every last one of them for taking her.

Rose sat up, fidgeting uncomfortably.  Her body demanded her attention.

Rat Face heard her moving and peered through the opening of her tent.  “I told you to go to sleep.”

“I have to go.”

He muttered a curse; they had been through this several times.  Rose had made attempts to escape while under the excuse of relieving herself, but all had failed. Still that did not stop the demands of nature.

The man untied the knot on the stake and dragged her out of the tent, using the rope like a leash.  He stepped to the other side of the trees and tied it to a low branch.  “Get about your business,” he growled, and moved back to the campfire.

The men had resorted to this system and Rose discovered her fingers were not strong enough to untie the knot, nor break the branch with her weight.  But she still tried.  She finished her business and backed away as far as the rope would allow her.  They would come for her in a moment.

Staring up at the stars through the trees, she again fought back her tears.  Always, Papa had been there for her when she needed him.  His strong arms open for a warm hug, his broad chest there if she needed to cry, a kiss on the cheek when she was lonely.

Papa, where are you?

Her tears trickled in earnest down her cheeks.  Papa had always been there to dry them...but now he wasn’t.

The stars twinkled in the night sky and her heart screamed a prayer to the heavens. 
Please, I want to go home!  I miss Papa.  I just want to go home!

A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her scream of terror.  The men had slapped her around when she tried to escape, but other than that they never hurt her.

“Hush, lass,” a deep voice, heavily accented, whispered.  “I will not hurt you.  I’ve come to take you home.”

Her heart pounded with sudden hope.  A dagger flashed dully in the starlight and severed the bonds on her wrists.  For an instant she stared, dumbfounded.  Free!  She was free!

A strong arm wrapped around her, but the man’s hand stayed over her mouth.  She blinked but could see little more than shadows in the darkness.  He was a big man, but not as big as her father.

“Be silent, lass,” he whispered.  “I have a horse waiting.”

A sudden fear obliterated her hope.  She finally placed his accent.  Welsh!  He was a Welshman.  Oh Mother Mary protect her.  The Welsh hated her father.

For an instant she was torn.  She had to escape the soldiers, but had no desire to become a Welsh prisoner.  The man carried her deeper into the trees, moving as silent as a wraith.

Rose’s heart slammed against her ribs.  What should she do?  Escape, she had to escape.  Maybe this man would free her from the soldiers and then she could escape him.  Yes!  That would work.

“I’m going to move my hand from your mouth.  Do you promise not to make a sound?”

She nodded.  Papa had always taught her to take everything one step at a time.  First, they had to escape the soldiers then she could figure out what to do.

The man moved his hand, but kept her firmly trapped against him, walking steadily through the trees.  She stared over his shoulder.  The soldiers had learned not to give her much time to attend business.  In the glow of the fire, she saw Rat Face stand.

“Hurry,” she whispered in the man’s ear.  “He’s coming back.”

The man lengthened stride, making a bit more noise, but still surprisingly silent.  He wore heavy clothing, like the padding Papa wore under his armor.  Abruptly she realized chainmail or even leather armor would make too much noise.  This man was dressed for stealth.

They broke through the clearing and Rose spotted a giant horse waiting patiently.  Her eyes widened in shock.  The horse was gray and even in the weak starlight seemed to glow with an ethereal light against the black forest.

The man placed her atop the horse and looked up as he stuck his foot in the stirrup.  Rose’s breath caught.  His eyes were light in color, his long hair as dark as the night around him.  He was younger than she expected.

“Who...who are you?”

He swung up behind her.  “A friend,” his deep voice rumbled.

A cry of fury rose up from the camp.  “Blasted wench!  She’s gone again.”

The man spurred his horse forward.  Rose sq
ueaked and clung to the saddle-bow.  Her father had taught her how to ride, but she had a pony, not a huge war stallion.  The giant beast lunged into the trees.  The man wrapped an arm around her waist and kept her in the saddle.  She heard more shouts behind them as the soldiers grabbed their horses.  All thought fled her mind except for hanging on and praying the horse did not hit a hole in the dark.

They rode hard the remainder of the night.  Rose was amazed at the horse’s stamina.  He had to be as strong as Ebon, her father’s mount.  For a brief time, they left the cover of the forest and galloped on a straight road.  The horse flattened himself and ran with all his heart to put as much distance between them and their pursuers as possible.

Then they slowed slightly, returning to the trees and negotiating the thick forest at a fast trot to allow the blowing animal to regain his breath.  The trees and difficult trail would make it hard for their pursuers to track them.

Weariness battered Rose.  The soldiers had constantly moved and she had little chance to sleep.  Add to that her captors fed her poorly, she was near starved.  She had always been a slim girl, but she started noticing her ribs poked at her skin and her shoulders turned knobby.  She battled to keep her eyes open, but felt herself swaying in the saddle.

The man pulled a cloak around her and held her securely.  “’Tis all right, lass.  I know you must be exhausted.  Rest yourself.  I will not let you fall.”

She looked over her shoulder at him.  The sun had not yet risen but light grew stronger in the east.  She could more clearly see him.  She surprised herself by realizing he was handsome despite the dark stubble shadowing his face.  She scowled, he had the size and strength of a full grown man but there was something about his face.  “How old are you anyway?”

He chuckled, flashing white teeth in a grin that vanished so quickly she wondered if she imagined it.  “Old enough.”

“No, really,” Rose asked stubbornly.

“Eighteen,” he said proudly.

Her jaw went slack.  “Eighteen?” Actually, it sounded terribly old to her, but she knew it was not.  “You’re just a boy.”

His humor vanished and he glared at her.  “I am man enough to free you...
lass
.”

He was ten years her senior, she shouldn’t be so trivial with him.  She sighed and rubbed her eyes.  “Who are you?”

“My name is Brynmor...Brynmor ap Powys.”

Terror shot through her and without thinking she battled to leap from his horse.  He cursed violently and hauled her against his chest.  “What are you doing?” he snarled.  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

She slumped against him, shaking.  Oh God.  Not Powys.  Anyone but Powys.  As she struggled to deny it, she knew.  She had certainly jumped into the fire this time.  The men who had abducted her spoke with French accents.  At first she thought Powys had hired them, but then realized he had not.

Powys hated her father.  How many times had Papa rebuffed his raiders?  How many times had the man tested their defenses and tried Papa’s patience?  Papa had told her several times he guarded her so well because he feared Powys would try to hurt her in order to hurt him.

Oh God, not Powys.

I’m sorry, Papa.  I’m so sorry.
  Her father would be furious with her.  But what was worse was that she knew he would be sad.  Tears fogged her vision.  “I am dead,” she muttered miserably.

Brynmor remained silent.  Either he had not heard her or chose not to say anything, which only frightened her more.  His silence only confirmed her morbid thoughts.

They rode as the sun cleared the eastern horizon.  Tears of misery continued to leak down her face but she was too exhausted to fight them.  Finally weariness took its toll and she fell asleep against Brynmor’s chest.

She awoke sharply to a bird’s loud trill.  Blinking in confusion, she looked around.  She slept on a warm bedroll in the middle of a clearing.  Green grass covered the ground.  Trees crowded close.  She heard a stream gurgling nearby.  Next to her, his back propped against a trunk, sat Brynmor.  His chin lowered to his chest, he seemed to be dozing.  His horse stood a few paces away, still saddled, an oat bag strapped to his head and covering his nose.

Rose sat up slowly, eyeing the horse then Brynmor.  The animal was not her pony, that was certain.  She had no idea if she could climb into the saddle let alone control the beast.  But it might be her only chance to escape.

“Do not even think about it,” Brynmor said and lifted his head.  Dark circles shadowed his eyes
but they remained the blue-green eyes of an eighteen year old boy.

“Think about what?” she asked innocently, looking around the camp.  She was startled to realize it was well past mid-day.

“Escaping.  Cloud doesn’t like strangers, especially girls.  He’d probably throw you and stomp the life out of you.”

She lifted her chin.  “I’m a good rider.  My father taught me.”

He snorted and rummaged through a pack sitting next to him, handing her some dried meat and bread along with a wineskin.  “Eat; you look as if you haven’t had anything in days.”

Her stomach gnawed at her and she took the food.  “I haven’t,” she said.  The meat was tough, but she didn’t care.  It was a far better fare than the thin gruel the soldiers always gave her.

Brynmor continued to dig through his pack, pulling out a bundle.  “Here,” he said, tossing it at her.  She flinched, gathering herself to leap away.

He blinked at her startled.  “Lass, I’m not going to hurt you.”

She stared at him, swallowing the meat that had suddenly become a lump in her throat.  “Powys is my father’s enemy.”

“Powys is dead,” he snapped and turned his back on her.  He moved to his horse and opened another pack, pulling out finely made leather armor.  It was then she saw the giant broadsword strapped to the saddle.  But what really startled her was the white surcoat with a red cross.

“You...you are a Templar?”

He shook his head.  “This is only part of a disguise.  I discovered the Templar Order near your home worked to find you.  I pretended to be one of them to learn information.”