Kathryn Le Veque (8 page)

“It wasn’t difficult. Yer on Kinlet
land, are ye not?”

She didn’t know if she was or
not. Not being able to see clearly denied her the ability to distinguish
landmarks she had known since childhood. “Roane said he hadn’t seen any
patrols,” she said, taking another uncertain step back. “Where did you come
from?”

“Dodge thought de Garr would be
stupid enough to come here. He’s had us keep watch, but not outright search.
Looks like he was right.”

He stepped up his advance. Alisanne
tried to run away, but she couldn’t see her path very well and after a few
steps, tripped and fell on her face. A rock cut her just above the right eye
and her head buzzed strangely. Peale picked her up roughly.

“Ye’ve caused enough trouble,” he
growled. “Better come along peacefully now and not make it any worse.”

Alisanne felt sick and dizzy. She
wanted so badly to fight, but with her eyesight, it was extremely difficult.
“My father,” she breathed. “Is he well? You haven’t hurt him, have you?”

Peale yanked her toward his horse
but she stumbled again. He pulled her to her feet so harshly that her head
snapped. “Your father is well enough, considerin’,” he said. “What’s the matter
with
ye
, trippin’ like a fool?”

“I can’t see very well,” she said
quietly, the flush of embarrassment and terror flushing her cheeks. “My eyes…
something has happened to them.”

Peale looked closely at her. He
waved his hand in front of her face; she followed the movement a bit, but seemed
to be having trouble focusing.
 
They were
very red and irritated. He suddenly lashed out and squeezed her breast,
roughly. Alisanne screamed.

“Then ye can’t see when I do
that?” he laughed.

She pulled back from him,
struggling to cover herself against his attack. “Stop it!”

He lashed out another hand and
pinched her buttocks. Alisanne yelped, trying to evade him. He laughed heartily
and grabbed her by the arm again.

“Enough play, wench,” he said.
“As much as I’d like to roust
ye
, Dodge will be
wantin’ ye for himself. We’d better get along.”

He didn’t bother to seat her on
his horse; tossing her across the saddle like a sack of grain, he mounted
behind her and tore off in the direction of Kinlet.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Roane returned to the glen much
later than he had hoped. It was only mid-afternoon, but Alisanne had been alone
a great while and in order to make peace with her, he had caught a rabbit for
their meal. Still, his day of reconnaissance had been very productive. He had
scouted all the roads in and out of Kinlet and memorized their lines, which
would be very important in the event of their escape. He hadn’t gotten very
close to the castle itself because there seemed to be some activity going on
and he did not want to tip his hand. Moreover, the factor of Alisanne’s faded
sight made him want to get back to her as quickly as possible. His guilt was as
great as it had been, mayhap even more now that it had time to simmer.

The fat rabbit had been an easy
kill. It was the only meat he had had since the hare Alisanne had used to lure
him out of the abbey. He looked forward to sharing a meal and more time with
her. In spite of all the terrible things that had happened over the past few
days and hours, he was coming to feel very good about the relationship
developing between them, looking eagerly towards their time together. The past
few days had been heaven and hell, all in one fell swoop.

His horse was showing distinct
signs of exhaustion as he made his way into the shady, secluded glen. Almost
immediately, he spied the stump he had last seen Alisanne sitting upon. It was
empty. Spurring the horse forward, he thought mayhap she has wandered away out
of sheer boredom and he began calling her name, listening to his voice echo
through the trees. After several minutes of shouting for her, his mind began to
creep with foreboding suspicions.

He returned to the stump.
Dismounting the horse, he tethered the animal and took off on foot to look for
her. Calling and calling, she still did not answer him. He crossed a small
stream and headed into a dense cluster of trees but still, he did not see or
hear her. Frustration and concern mounted. Going back to his starting point,
the stump, he suddenly noticed the hoof prints on the ground.

Roane dropped into a crouched
position. He fingered the rather large hoof prints, his heart sinking and his
mouth going dry. He could see the hooves move off toward the mouth of the glen,
and presumably towards Kinlet. He closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment,
as if to ward off what his eyes and senses were telling him. The signs were
horrifyingly obvious.
 
Somehow, while he
had been out scouting, someone had happed across Alisanne and abducted her.

His hands were fists upon his
thighs, pounding out his frustration and fear. How could he have been so
stupid? He stood up, unsteadily, and wandered about like a confused man, his
mind whirling with all of the possibilities at hand. He had thought himself so
clever to leave her here, far from those who could harm her, but instead the
joke had been on him. He had been the failure, the second strike against him
where Alisanne was concerned. His curse seemed to be growing, touching other
aspects of his life now, and he could feel his confidence wavering. Never in
his life had he lacked faith in his abilities or decisions until now.

He had to get to her.
 
He couldn’t stand around here and lament what
had happened, but it was difficult to think clearly through all of the physical
agony he was experiencing. His stomach twisted and his heart churned painfully.
Emotions he had never experienced were making him crazy with fear, but he knew
a craze such at this could be deadly.
 
He
had to calm down and think like a rational man. He wouldn’t do Alisanne, or
himself, any good if he was dead.

He snatched the horse where it
stood grazing several feet away.
 
Mounting lithely, he spurred the tired old horse in the direction of Kinlet,
all the while knowing he had no plan, but hoping one would come to him as he
rode.
 
Out of the glen and onto the muddy
road, he was so focused on the castle in the distance that he failed to see a
small party of incoming riders trailing behind him less than a quarter mile
away.
 
They, too, were heading for Kinlet,
flying the black and white banners of St. John the Baptist.
The
Hospitallers.

Roane’s horse tripped on a rut in
the road and immediately came up lame. Roane dismounted and felt the animal’s
right front forelock, but not without a good deal of frustration. Not having a
horse, even an old tired one, would make his life far more difficult.
 
But the beast was exhausted and Roane knew
there was no hope; the leg was already swollen. Now, on top of everything, he
had to find another horse somehow. He was so lost to his own turbulent thoughts
that by the time he spotted the incoming party of warrior-priests, it was
already too late. Father Tertious Bordeleaux was at the head of the procession
and knew Roane de Garr very well on sight; their gazes locked in an instant
maelstrom of surprise and fury.

Roane wasn’t sure how to react.
He could hardly believe what he was seeing yet in truth, he shouldn’t have been
surprised.
 
Several soldiers had their
crossbows trained on him and he knew running would be futile. Oddly, a strange
calm settled over him as he envisioned men he had once fought beside, arm to
arm, men he had trusted with his life. So many memories flooded him all at
once, good and bad. The men met his gaze, most of them recognizing him, their
expressions torn between warmth and fear. It had been a long trek for them as
well; chasing a man they had once admired, now had come to fear.

Roane simply stood there as the
party closed around him in an ominous embrace. Bordeleaux reined his horse
close, appraising Roane as carefully as he would appraise the devil himself.
Bordeleaux was a thin man with long brown hair and dirty robes, resembling, in
fact, every representation Roane had ever seen of Jesus Christ. Roane thought
the man looked that way intentionally. In any case, though the Hospitallers
practiced poverty and medicine, they rode fine horses in direct contradiction
to their vows. And they also had enough money to pay bounty hunters to track
down one of their own.

Strangely, Roane thought of his
father as he stood gazing at the dirty, smelly warrior-priests astride
expensive chargers; Darwich David de Garr, second Baron Coniston, had very
nearly cried when his youngest son had told him of his choice in life.
 
The older man had pleaded for hours with the
strong-willed lad, begging him not to join a church sect.
They’re all corrupt, Roane, can’t you see?
He had pleaded. No, Roane
couldn’t see. Darwich was afraid the Hospitallers would take all of Roane’s
inheritance if they knew he had such a thing. It had been the most difficult
thing of Darwich’s life to disown his son. But it had been for
his own
good, and the good of Coniston.
  
Roane saw all of that, very clearly, now for
some reason.

They’re
all corrupt….

Had he really been that foolish?
Of course he had. But his motives had been pure, to serve God and practice the
arts of healing. This rag-tag band of hooligans didn’t look like anyone he
would want to associate with now. They looked like everything his father had
ever warned him about.

“Let me guess,” Roane said
slowly, with contempt. “Someone told you that I would be at Kinlet.”

Bordeleaux smiled humorlessly,
his high-pitched voice full of venom. “What a striking coincidence to find you
along this road.”

Roane looked at him. “Not so
coincidental considering that Dodge de Vere is waiting for me at yon distant
castle.
Trapping me between both enemies, as it were.
So which rabid dog gets me first?”

Bordeleaux shrugged his thin
shoulders. “We have unfinished business, Roane,” he said frankly.

“Our business is quite finished.
I am no longer a Hospitaller or subject to your laws.”

“Not so. We never
did
finish our business.”

Roane could feel his anger
rising. “After three years, I should have thought you would grow bored of this
foolish pursuit and focus your attention elsewhere. I am not dangerous, nor
have I ever done anyone, save the enemy, harm. Why should you make it your life’s
goal to hunt me so?”

Bordeleaux’s moderate expression
of tolerance vanished. He motioned to the men behind him. “We have what we came
for,” he said. “Take him. And watch his hands; the devil works through those
hands. Mind you don’t find yourself a victim of his witchcraft!”

The men seemed awed; Bordeleaux
fed upon their fear. “He’s a minion of Satan. It is our duty, as brothers, to
purge the earth of his malignancy. Take him and be quick about it!”

Roane instinctively stiffened;
they were not going to take him without a fight. His comrades knew this; one
man dismounted, an older man who had known Roane many years. He held out a
quelling hand to the others, silently gesturing for them to wait. He then
approached Roane carefully, his craggy features laced with remorse.

“Roane,” he said softly in
greeting.

Roane didn’t dare let his guard
down, but he could hardly refuse to acknowledge him. “Albert,” he replied.

Albert stopped a few feet away,
knowing that Roane would be wary of anyone coming too close. He put out his
hand in a helpless gesture. “Bordeleaux will take you dead or alive,” he
pleaded softly. “Please come peacefully. ‘Twill
be
better for you.”

“Do you believe I am a devil,
Albert?”

“You are my friend, Roane.”

“That was not an answer.”

Albert stared at him for a
moment. “Please, Roane….”

“Answer me.”

Albert’s friendly warmth was now
peppered with confusion. “All I know is that John Adam was going blind and you
healed his eyes.”

“Jesus healed the blind. Did that
make him a devil?”

“But you are not Jesus, Roane.”

“I am not the devil, either.”

“He’s a false prophet!”
Bordeleaux roared, interrupting them. “Albert, subdue him, as is your duty!”

Albert looked to his liege and
then back to Roane again. His indecision was blatantly evident. “Please, Roane.
Don’t make this hard on yourself.”

Roane didn’t say anything for a
moment. He had no options left, except to fight, and that would only spell his
demise. He’d be no good to Alisanne or her family if he was dead. Bordeleaux
was looking for an excuse to kill him, to stamp out his evil, but Roane would
not give him the opportunity. He was trapped. Without a word, he put his wrists
together, held his hands out, and moved toward Albert in a gesture of
submission.

“He’s going to touch him!”
Bordeleaux suddenly screamed. “Stop him, oh,
stop him
!”

The men panicked. A crossbow
launched in the commotion; the long, wicked arrow struck Roane in the chest,
sending him to the ground in a hard crash of flesh and bone. As he lay upon the
muddy road staring up at the cloud-spattered sky, he could hardly believe he’d
been hit.

His brain slowly fogged and his
blood ran heavy into the dirt, and he knew he was going to die. His last
cognizant thoughts were of Alisanne; he regretted so badly that he would never
see her again. Now that he’d found what he’d waited his whole life for, he
thought it a rather wicked trick of God to separate them so suddenly. They had
so much potential as lovers and friends.
 
Rather than pray for himself, he muttered a prayer that God would watch out
for her. He didn’t know why God should listen to a cursed man, but at least he
had to try.

He could hear Albert’s voice,
growing more distant by the second. His ears seemed to be strangely
muffled,
his body lethargic and weightless at the same time.
Gradually, the world faded away until there was nothing left but light and
shadow, and then everything turned to black.

***

Alisanne sat with her father and
uncle on the floor of the great hall of Kinlet. The stone was cold and hard
against her backside, but she would not show her discomfort. In fact, all of
her energy was directed at comforting her father who, upon realizing his
daughter’s sight had grown worse, fell into a numbing mood of grief.

She tried to assure him
everything would be fine. Roane would heal her when given the opportunity. No,
she hadn’t asked him yet, but she was positive he would. Father Joseph Ari
heartily agreed. Edward felt better, but not entirely. To see his beautiful
daughter blinded, lusted after by a bounty hunter and confined to a corner of
his father’s great hall made him ill with sorrow. He could hardly believe his
life had come to such a crossroads. There seemed no other path to take.

Alisanne tried not to give in to
her father’s misery. Edward was a normally gloomy man as it was, but his
self-pity was a cloaking, devouring mood.
 
She sat next to him, feeling his heat, listening to the quiet
conversation between him and Father Joseph Ari and wondering what had become of
Roane. Surely he had returned to the glen by now. She could only suspect that
he was formulating a brilliant plan of rescue.