Keeper of the Stone (37 page)

Authors: Lynn Wood

She found her first smile in long weeks at the sight of Michel’s dagger still clinging precariously to the leather strap she fashioned around her thigh beneath her skirts. At least if she was forced to confront a wild beast thinking to make her its next meal, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Still smiling, Melissa adjusted the strap, secured the precious dagger and dropped her skirts, lifting her face to the warmth of the sun as it peeked out behind the oppressive clouds that threatened a fresh storm.

For a moment Melissa allowed her thoughts to dwell on the few remaining members of her family she left behind, and wondered if Heaven’s Crest still stood or if it was already under the control of the Norman forces advancing relentlessly across the Saxon countryside. She wondered about her mother, and her sister, Rhiann, but as always, her thoughts and prayers lingered longest on Michel. He wasn’t dead. In her heart she knew he must still be alive.

They were twins. Their bodies may have separated at birth, but their souls were forever joined. The bond between them could not be destroyed by distance. Even in death Michel would have found a way to come to her, to let her know it was time for her to surrender her long, hopeless vigil. It was the fact he had yet to do so that kept her going now. If she knew for certain her twin was dead, if she believed in her heart Michel was gone, she would give in without regret to the exhaustion and cold even now sapping her will and beckoning her to lie back down and allow death its just reward.

She spared not a few of her thoughts and prayers for Rhiann and wondered how she was coping with their grieving mother. Melissa felt guilty about leaving her younger sister alone to deal with their mother’s anguish. Though she thought it likely her mother would remain unaware of her absence. By the time Melissa snuck away from the keep her mother was already more dead than alive anyway.

One blow after another battered her slight frame and fading will as the news of each of her sons’ deaths was carried to the keep by her father’s loyal men. The final blow brought her mother to her current unrelenting heartache. Their father’s death at the hands of a Norman sword proved to be the mortal one, the shock that finally broke her mother’s spirit. Given her current predicament Melissa was glad she didn’t try to persuade Rhiann to accompany her on her journey north. Though she wasn’t certain her sister’s fate at the hands of Norman soldiers would be preferable to her own likely death awaiting her in the wilderness.

Deciding she wasted enough precious time worrying about what was and what could never be again, Melissa turned her attention to the task of retrieving whatever supplies she could carry on what would no doubt prove a fruitless trek through the wilderness in search of her grandmother’s men. As she searched through the wreckage she shivered beneath her damp cloak as the sun returned to its previous hiding place behind the heavy cloud cover, taking with it any hint of warmth the dim rays of approaching winter brought to the chill air.

She was relieved to discover the precious leather pouches filled with fresh water managed to survive the storm, along with some of the cheese and bread she took from the kitchen. The bread was wet and unappetizing but she was hungry enough to eat it. The rich cheese, accompanied by a few precious sips of fresh water, chased away the salty aftertaste from the sea. Feeling almost human again, Melissa considered her options.

The trek back on foot to Heaven’s Crest would be slow and treacherous. She would likely be attacked by either wild beasts or Norman soldiers before she ever made it to the secret passage way she exited the estate from. Her other option was to continue along her way north, hoping to come across a Salusian scout who would lead her to her grandmother. That was her plan all along…to try to find her grandmother and beg for her help in finding Michel. Her twin was lost in the war on the northern front, not in the contest with the Normans that took her other brothers’ and father’s lives. Weighing her choices, she acknowledged she likely wouldn’t advance much farther along her original route without being intercepted by some deadly threat than she would if she attempted to return to Heaven’s Crest on foot. There was always the third option. She could simply wait for fate to play its hand. Either her father’s men would find her, or she would die on this beach of either starvation, a lack of fresh water, or as a hearty meal of one of the beasts of the forest. Any of the former would be preferable to the more heinous option of becoming a helpless victim of a more vicious, two-legged predator.

Even if she settled upon the third option and, by the grace of God, her father’s soldiers found her alive they would never agree to take her north to search for Michel. No they would drag her, by force if necessary, back to Heaven’s Crest to await the Norman siege. If the rumors that reached them in the days before she left the keep in regards to the fall of the last Saxon defense at the battle of Hastings were true, then she would meet her death in Heaven’s Crest last stand or be taken to London to meet her death at the hands of the new king. Since the latter option was as unappealing to her now as it was when she made her escape, she would continue her journey north and hope. For what end she now thought worthy of such an emotion she was no longer certain, but hope was ever the mocking companion of the truly desperate and she was pleased at least her final companion had not yet deserted her.

It was already late afternoon. The sun would soon sink behind the ancient trees of the old forest. Accompanying its descent would be a darkness so deep she wouldn’t be able to see where her feet met the ground. Though her own vision might be compromised in the deep stillness of night, any beast intent on stalking her would suffer from no such weakness. A quick scan of her surroundings decided her direction. Her best chance of evading an attack from one of the predators who hunted after dark would be to take refuge in the cliffs. If she could barricade herself in a narrow cave there was a chance she could fend off a beastly assault. Plus any animal capable of defeating her in the dense forest would not find the bare and slippery cliff face to its liking.

The decision made, Melissa gathered up the water and the rest of the food, wrapped a blanket around her waist and cast a final longing gaze out on the horizon, wondering how in God’s holy will she managed to find herself in this situation. A few short months ago, she was the pampered first daughter of the Duke of Heaven’s Crest. Her greatest worry was how to elude her father’s matchmaking schemes for as long as possible. She was in no hurry to wed. If there was another option open to her besides taking the veil and becoming a bride of the church, she thought she would be quite content to remain single for the remainder of her life.

Her family was appalled at her radical point of view. Everyone except Michel. He merely laughed at her outrageous claim and told her she would no doubt feel differently when the right man came along. Since her father seemed intent on pushing every man in all of Saxony in her direction, and none presented the least temptation to alter her viewpoint, she retained serious doubts about Michel’s assertion.

Melissa wasn’t certain there was such a thing as the right man. At least for her. Rhiann should have been the elder daughter. She would have happily bowed to her father’s assertion he knew what was best for her and would have no doubt been perfectly content in whatever marriage their father arranged for her. But since until Melissa’s future was settled there could be no talk of arranging for his younger daughter’s future, Rhiann was blissfully free of parental pressure to wed.

Melissa’s attention was drawn from her inward musings and captured by fresh movement on the horizon. She tried to make out the source and convinced herself she must be imagining things. Could her father’s men have caught up with her so quickly? Was that a ship coming towards her? Her heart stuttered as she took in the significance of the flag the ship was flying. Not her father’s colors, it was a Norman flag and a Norman vessel. A smile curved her lips at the thought of the fate awaiting her enemy if their intent was to try to drop anchor at Stony Point. From their viewpoint the cove no doubt looked like an inviting place to take shelter from the approaching storm. The stupid Normans were probably thanking God for the evidence of the miracle in front of them. Even now the ship was turning in the brisk wind and heading straight towards her, hurried along by the strength of the tide.

By the time they realized the truth, it would be too late and their vessel would be torn apart by the sharp rocks lining the base of the cove. Melissa wanted to remain behind and watch the enemy vessel be crushed to pieces beneath the relentless sea, but she dared not risk it. She managed to survive being shipwrecked in a much smaller vessel. She had no wish to confront any Norman survivors face to face, unless it was to sink her dagger into their greedy, land-grabbing hearts.

At the reminder of the trek ahead of her, she bent down, removed the dagger and slit her skirts, and then tied them tight around her legs to make them less burdensome. Then she slipped her dagger back in its sheath next to her skin. A last look on the horizon, a cheerful wave in the direction of her soon to be dead enemies, and she started off up the beach.

Her initial lift in spirits at the thought of the fate awaiting the hated Normans soon dissipated as the hopelessness of her own situation penetrated her temporary optimism. She was bone cold and her food supply was woefully inadequate for the long journey ahead of her. While finding drinking water would not present too much of a problem in the fresh stream she was following, every time she plunged her hand into the icy water the cold shot straight through her skin and settled deep inside of her. She dared not risk starting a fire and drawing the attention of any stray Norman patrols, nor even a Saxon one.

She comprehended all too well her former status as the daughter of the Duke of Weston was meaningless now and she would be considered fair game for soldiers on patrol, friend or foe, to exercise their vile lust upon. She was grateful she still possessed the dagger Michael gave her on their last birthday. Of course, as a woman, she could never officially earn the title of a Salusian warrior, so Michel devised a series of challenges to mimic the ones he endured during his final initiation. When she successfully completed them all, he presented her with the warrior’s dagger she carried strapped to her thigh, so like the one he and the other Salusian warriors wore.

If presented with a choice between rape and death, she would choose death at her own hand. She shivered in the brisk wind and wrapped her cloak more closely around her slender form, even more slender now after several long days of deprivation. Sadly, she acknowledged it was unlikely to be her choice as to the manner of death she would face. It was far more probable her death would come about as a result of either starvation or the fever she could sense was beginning to take hold within her than the more rapid death the use of her blade would afford her. Part of her just wanted to sit down and rest against the broad trunk of a nearby tree, but she forced herself to go on. Giving up was not in her nature. In the end she might choose death, but it would be her choice. No one was going to take it from her by force.

FINDERS KEEPERS

Coming Spring, 2014

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