Juliana Garnett (43 page)

Turning around, Annice put her back against the door and studied the shadows for a place to put her bag, to keep it safe from the rats.

War had ravaged the lands around Stoneham Castle. The woods had been largely burned, the fields destroyed. The
pinched faces and haunted eyes of the villagers told a story of hunger and suffering.

“They slink away like curs,” Sir Guy remarked as they passed a cottage.

“Yea, they have much cause if the tales are to be believed,” Rolf responded. A man here or there had told of Thurston’s reaction to the invading troops, how he had shut up the keep and refused to give shelter to any of his people, and how the French armies had devastated the countryside in vengeance when their siege had failed.

“If Stoneham can resist a French army, how is it that you think we can take it?” Guy asked when they reined their horses to a halt on a hilltop in view of Stoneham.

Rolf looked around him, remembering the last time he had paused atop this hill. Sunlight had glittered brightly then, reflected from the helmet of the knight who held Justin. His son’s face still haunted him, the lingering echo of his cries a painful memory.

“Because,” Rolf replied after a moment, “I intend to use my wits. The French depended upon their strength. I have both.”

Guy glanced around, and grinned as a mail-clad knight rode toward them. “Yea, I recognize yon knight as a most energetic warrior, though I cannot recommend his wit to be as sharp.”

Turning to see whom he meant, Rolf grinned, too. “My brother may not be clever enough to avoid capture and imprisonment, but he has a most novel method of escape, I think.”

Geoffrey of Hawkhurst rode toward them at a swift pace, light reflecting from his helmet in blinding splinters. When he reached them, he jerked his mount to a halt, remonstrating, “If you want me to help you assault Stoneham, you’d best give the right direction. We went due south as you said, and—”

“West, Geoffrey,” Rolf interrupted. “I told your man to ride west. Do you assign as messenger the most witless man in your service? Or just the deafest?”

Glaring, Geoffrey reached up to remove his helmet. He
tucked it under his arm. “If the knights in my service are so witless, then why did you beg my assistance?”

Shrugging, Rolf glanced toward Stoneham and said, “As targets for Seabrook’s archers, of course. I need a distraction while my men form an assault.”

Guy laughed aloud, and even Geoffrey grinned. “What is your plan, milord?” Guy asked, sobering.

“First we will surround the keep, and open negotiations. I expect Thurston to refuse to surrender, of course, and have already instructed my men on the building of siege engines. Yet I don’t think that will be necessary but for a showy spectacle to keep Seabrook busy.”

Surprise was evident on Guy’s face, but Geoffrey began to grin. “Ah,” he said with satisfaction, “you know a way inside.”

“Yea,” Rolf said softly, “I do.” He took a deep breath and looked toward Stoneham. The drawbridge was up, and there was no sign of life. But he knew Thurston was aware of their arrival. With the countryside bare, he would be able to see for leagues, and Rolf had been deliberately visible. He wanted Thurston to know he was there, and to be waiting and watching. Yea, he would soon repay that base knight in kind for all that he had done the past seven years.

Wheeling his destrier about, he rode down the hill to make camp and detail his plans.

As the fire flickered brightly that night, Rolf huddled near it with his most trusted knights and captains. Using a stick, he drew a plan of the castle, pointing out its weaknesses.

Sir Guy frowned, then burst out, “But how do you know this man can be trusted, milord? He is Thurston’s knight, and one of the men who abducted Lady Annice.…”

Rolf glanced from Guy to Sigehere, who returned his stare steadily. He was taking a chance, he well knew, but when the man had come to him, he had remembered him. There had been no subterfuge in Sigehere’s eyes that foul day on the muddy road leading from Dragonwyck, and Annice had told how he’d done his best to protect her. Now he had come to protect her again, swearing that he had been sent by Lady Alais with a message for the Dragon.

Reluctant at first to believe him, Rolf had slowly been convinced when Sigehere had produced a diamond-and-sapphire ring that he knew to be Annice’s. He’d seen it on her hand the day he had taken her from Seabrook and recognized it now. With the ring was the plea to rescue Annice but to do no harm to Thurston’s wife.

Sigehere had flatly stated that he would not help le Draca if he did not receive an oath to absolve Lady Alais. “I care not for Thurston of Seabrook,” he’d said firmly. “But for the lady’s welfare I would have left his service long ago. I mislike serving a dishonorable man, and I know you to keep your oaths, milord. If you would have my help, you must swear to me that you will do no harm to the innocent.”

“You have my oath and more, Sir Sigehere,” Rolf had promised. He had been surrounded by too many dishonest men not to be able to recognize one who was honorable.

Now, in the face of Guy’s concern, Rolf said, “Sir Sigehere will not betray us, for he would also be betraying one he has sworn to keep safe.” He smiled faintly. “He is an honorable man, just as you are, Sir Guy.”

After a moment Guy looked down at the ground and muttered, “I pray you are right, milord.” He looked up to give Sigehere a fierce stare. “If we are betrayed, I will see the man responsible in too many different pieces for even the kites to notice.”

Sir Sigehere did not look away from Guy’s glare. “If we lose, ’twill not be for my treachery.”

Silence fell, and some of the sergeants-at-arms exchanged uneasy glances. It was Geoffrey who broke the tension, saying dryly that if they lost, Thurston would no doubt see them all dead anyway. “And I, for one,” he added, “do not intend that a craven coward such as Seabrook will find reason to gloat over my poor bones. Better to die a fool than a coward.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Rolf commented, and some of the men laughed. Taking up his stick again, Rolf dug the point into the dirt and said, “This door will be opened to us.…”

•    •    •

Dimly at first, Annice heard the shouts. They melded into the usual mutter of moanings that she’d grown accustomed to hearing, but in a short time became more distinct. She pushed herself to a sitting position. A wave of dizziness shook her.

Was it her imagination? She had dreamed of hearing sounds she’d once dreaded for so long … nay, ’twas no dream. Men were shouting, and there was the definite racket of battle drifting down through stone shafts from above. The clang of steel swords was unmistakable. Her cell was situated near the shaft built into the castle walls for the disposal of waste, and though the smell was foul, it allowed her to catch certain sounds at times. The garderobe shaft emptied into the moat, but her cell was above the water level, and so the opening carried the clamor of battle to her.

Sliding up the wall, Annice wished the food Alais had brought had lasted longer. She was so weak. Holy Mary and Joseph, mayhap it was Rolf come for her. She prayed that it was. Days had drifted into one another for so long, with little means of telling day from night save for the tiny opening high above her head, that she had no idea how long it had been since she’d been imprisoned. Time had ceased to exist. Even the rats were familiar to her now, and for a way to pass the time, she’d begun to name them.

Bent Back—from a firm strike of her boot—stared at her with a malevolent red gaze, tail twitching against the straw. Annice returned its gaze and pushed away from the wall, stumbling toward the door. She curled her fingers into the metal bars of the grating and clung there, holding tight for support. Closing her eyes, she prayed that Rolf had come for her.

How long she hung there she did not know. A lifetime. An eternity. When, finally, she heard the heavy door far down the narrow corridor open with a crash, she lifted her head hopefully.

“Rolf,” she whispered in a faint sob.

Footsteps swiftly approached, and she loosened her grip on the metal grating and stepped back, fear surging upward
to choke her. She had expected to hear Rolf call out for her, but whoever it was knew which cell she occupied.

A flash of premonition was her only warning before keys turned harshly in the lock and the door swung open. Light fell in a wavering path over the fouled straw of her cell, and Thurston of Seabrook stood in the opening.

He reached for her, then paused a handsbreadth away. A sneer crossed his face. Turning to the guard, he motioned him forward with the comment, “She reeks too badly for me to touch. Take her to the hall. Ah, I think a bracelet of chains would be a nice touch, don’t you, milady?”

Annice just stared at him silently, conserving her energy. There would be time aplenty to bandy about insults, she thought with a sinking heart as the guard locked her into heavy iron shackles and jerked her forward. Blinking against the unaccustomed glare of light from the torches lining the corridors, Annice was led through an endless maze. Everything was a blur, and she held desperately to her resolve not to show Thurston how weak she’d grown.

That resolve was tested strenuously when they entered the hall. She stumbled slightly over her tattered hem and tried to hold her chin high as she felt the stares turned toward her. People whom she had once supped with eyed her with obvious horror, and she knew that her days in the dingy cell had taken their toll. She’d attended her daily functions as best as possible, but having no comb, and the only water that in a fouled bucket, she was well aware of how she must look. Still, she stiffened her spine and kept her eyes forward, striving to walk without falling in the heavy shackles that dangled from her wrists.

As her gaze shifted over the faces turned toward her, she saw her cousin. Alais was ashen-faced, brown eyes wide and muddy as she stared back at her with a strained expression. She sat in a chair next to her husband’s, her hands curled into claws on the arms.

In a high, unnatural voice Alais said loudly, “Bring her closer, Thurston. I would speak with my cousin to see if she is penitent for her transgressions against you.”

Annice was tugged forward, stumbling slightly. She met Alais’s eyes and understood. It was only knowing that her
cousin was as trapped as she that kept her silent when she was forced to her knees in the rushes before Seabrook’s chair. He did not sit down but stood only a short distance away. Despite his casual, almost lighthearted, manner, there was a tension about him that finally penetrated Annice’s haze. She turned her head to look at him.

Now she saw what she had not noticed in the gloomy light of the dungeon. His eyes were fever-bright, taut lines scoring deeply into each side of his mouth. Though he had always been arrow thin, there was a sparse, vibrating intensity to him now that she’d not seen before. It struck her that he was afraid. Deathly afraid, and the glitter in his eyes was terror of the Dragon.

She smiled, and his dark eyes sharpened. “For what reason do you smile, my lady of Dragonwyck?” he snarled. “Your husband will die before the day is done. Does that amuse you?”

“If, indeed, t’was true, t’would not amuse me. But I think, Lord Thurston, that ’tis you who will die ere this day is done.”

Alais drew in a sharp breath, which was scant warning for the blow Thurston gave Annice across her face. It sent her reeling backward, and bound by the chains, she sprawled on the floor. Black dots danced before her eyes, and there was a roaring in her ears that drowned out all else. She clung fiercely to the shreds of images that whirled about her head.

I will not swoon
, she told herself over and over. She was vaguely aware of Thurston towering over her, of his voice shouting and people running. The noise changed subtly, from a loud roar to a chaotic blend of different sounds. Metallic clangs, wrenching cries, piercing screams, all fused into a chain of discord that made her shut her eyes. She was falling into the black void that waited to claim her, all the dots merging into one velvety abyss yawning hungrily just ahead.

Alais screamed, and Annice tried to focus on her cousin. She was standing, mouth open in a terrified wail as she stared at the far end of the hall. Annice turned slightly, but
the throbbing noise in her head allowed only the barest motion. She shut her eyes again, then opened them.

And then she saw him. His helmet was gone, and the golden hair blazed brightly. But even if he were in full armor, she would know him anywhere. Fighting ferociously, Rolf le Draca battled his way toward her through Thurston’s knights, his sword cleaving and slicing with swift, lethal strokes. Men fell as if grass mowed down by a scythe, and Annice had the eerie impression that she was in one of her dreams again. She must be, for she saw two of Rolf. Two blond giants side by side, swords flashing with deadly accuracy.

And then she was slipping into the abyss, though she tried desperately to hold on. The black void claimed her in one single gulp like a devouring beast. Like a dragon.…

B
ursting into the hall, Rolf saw Thurston strike a thin, pale ghost of a woman with dark, matted hair. She sprawled on the floor in a dazed heap, and he felt a surge of fury wash over him. To strike a helpless woman bound in chains—yea, death for a man such as that could not come too quickly.