Return of the Rose (31 page)

~~~~

Derek blinked, tried to focus. Seeing that his wife was the one at his side caused his lip to curl. The teeth-clamping pain in his shoulder caused him to sway, but the searing sting was naught compared to the pain in his heart. He could not bear to look at her. She had betrayed him. And what ate at his gut most was the simple fact that he had known this day would come.

Women cannot be trusted. Women are like scavengers, leaving naught but destruction in their wake
. How many times had his father said the words? A cruel and heartless man his father was, but at least he had stood up to his responsibilities. He had stayed and provided Derek with shelter and food. He had not abandoned him as his mother had or left him to die in the woods as his father’s mother had done to him.
Bruised and battered…left to die. Scavengers, the lot of them
.

As he staggered to where Matti knelt beside Hugo, he recalled how every part of his being had alerted him to Amanda’s intended deceit, but he had failed to listen to his instincts. And now he would pay the price.

Matti whispered soothing words in her husband’s ear and brushed her fingers through Hugo’s hair.

“How is he?” Derek asked.

“He’s breathing steadily.”

He shrugged Amanda away when she tried once again to tend to his wounds.

A loud groan emanated from the brute on the floor and Derek used his good arm to pick up the man’s sword and raise it high above the giant.

“Nay, my lord,” Matti pleaded. “There has been too much bloodshed already.”

Derek shoved the sword in his scabbard and summoned the strength to drag the giant of a man to the bed. He tied him securely to a bedpost using his belt and strips of bedcloth. Noticing the gash on the man’s head, Derek’s gaze darted about until he saw the slingshot protruding from his wife’s belt. Once again her weapon had proven dangerous, he thought sourly. After Matti turned her attentions back to Hugo, Derek took the opportunity to knee the man in the head and then the gut, making certain Otgar’s man would no longer be a threat.

“You’re not trying to punish me for what you think you saw, are you?” Amanda asked as she followed him out the door and into the hallway.

He gazed down at her and she touched his arm, begging for his attention. He flinched as her visage became that of his mother, promising him she’d always be there for him, her soothing voice drawing him in like sweet music draws out a snake.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Nay, I have heard and seen enough.”

“I only hugged Robert because he agreed to help me get to the dungeons. The kiss was unexpected and he never would have done such a thing if he didn’t believe I was Amanda Forrester.”

Derek closed his eyes. Hot pain shot through his head as memories of his mother and father arguing filled his mind. Usually it was visions of his mother he saw as she made false promises or of his father as he lectured Derek on the evils of women. Not once before had he brought forth images of the two of them together. But clearly they were together now in his mind’s eye. Plainly, he saw his mother as she swore to Simon that she had not been unfaithful. Her eyes were filled with remorse…or mayhap fear? He could not tell, for suddenly she raised her arms before her face, covering her eyes as the same high-pitched screams that so often filled his dreams came to him now. He covered his ears.

I will not leave you, my son, not for all the riches in the world
.

“Lies,” he said aloud, dropping his hands. “I am tired of the lies.”

His wife blinked, but remained silent for once. He wondered if she understood as well as he that they had reached the beginning of the end. Aye, he thought…she knew.

“I must see to my people now,” he said before he left her standing alone in the empty hallway.

Instead of grief or sadness, he was glad for the familiar hollowness that quickly took its place. He and Amanda would talk again as they would be forced to endure a lifetime together, but things would never be as they were at Windsor. Never. He would not allow himself to be eaten up by jealousies, but neither would he listen to her endless falsehoods…or be taken in by her insincere declarations of love. Hogwash, all of it.

~~~~

Emmon’s very life flashed before him. For the first time since being ceremonially inducted into knighthood, Emmon realized he might not live to see another day. The man before him surely deviated from the norm, Emmon thought, for Otgar’s man appeared to be an unnatural force as he came upon him with great swiftness. Emmon attempted to lunge to his right but his bloodied leg betrayed him. Had he perished then and there, his last thoughts would have been of Shayna’s soft mouth and pale skin. But as it was, a huge iron cauldron came from the sky and fell upon his adversary, killing him in an instant.

Emmon lifted his gaze to the high window.

Shayna smiled down upon him from a high open window. He gave her a wide grin, and she put her fingers to her lips and blew him a sweet kiss.

~~~~

Just past midnight there were no particular sounds to herald the end of the siege. But for the most part it was over and Braddock had withstood the attack.

Morgan made her way to the dungeons to check on Robert. Chaos and a foul odor reminding her of dead rodents filled the passageway. Otgar’s men, injured and bloodied, were being dragged and carried to the same cell where Derek’s men had been held captive earlier. A dead man was being carted away and Morgan maneuvered around the wheelbarrow when it passed. Anxiously, she gazed about the castle as she went. Robert was gone. Recognizing the man who’d been ordered to guard him, she hurried over to him and asked of Robert’s whereabouts. The man stuttered and was difficult to understand, but if she understood correctly, Robert had been well enough to leave Braddock on his own accord.

As she headed back through the main hall, she saw that the western side of the keep had taken the worst of the assault. Cries of children were muffled in their mother’s arms. The knights and men-at-arms already gathered supplies to cover the great gaps in the thick limestone walls. Maids, farmers, and all cuts of medieval life joined together in securing Braddock.

Odelia was nowhere to be seen. Outside, buckets of water were handed from one person to the next as the flames were slowly doused. Barrels of tainted ale, wine, and cider were being carried outside and dumped beneath the bushes.

The last of the dead were brought to the outer bailey and the bodies were counted. Nineteen dead: all Otgar’s men. Another eighteen had been locked in the dungeon. Only a few had escaped, along with Otgar.

Morgan quickened her pace.
Where was Odelia
?
Please, please let her be alive and safe
. She entered the kitchen where a sick bay of sorts had been set up. At least two-dozen people were being tended to. Deep cuts were cleaned and bandaged. Broken bones were set and bound as she weaved her way through the wounded. She was losing all hope when she spotted a bruised and battered woman across the way.

“Odelia!” she shouted as she ran to her side.

Odelia peeked through a swollen, purplish eye and gave a smile of sorts. Between swollen cheekbones and a string of bruises, Morgan hardly recognized her. Her stomach churned as she knelt beside Odelia and whispered close to her ear. “I couldn’t throw my knife. I was afraid I would hit you instead. My one chance at helping you…and I screwed it all up.”

“Rumor has it that you saved us all,” Odelia said, her voice barely audible.

“I didn’t save anybody. Robert was the one who risked his life for all of us. And if it weren’t for Derek pushing me out of the carriage—”

“Shush,” Odelia whispered hoarsely.

“Boy, you’re even bossy when you’re sick,” Morgan teased in hopes of easing the horridness of it all.

A corner of Odelia’s mouth curved upward.

Morgan smiled down at her and pressed a light kiss to the top of her head. After awhile Odelia fell asleep and Morgan helped tend to the rest of the wounded before returning to the main hall where she found Matti, Shayna, and many other relieved castle folk. They hugged and talked, comforted by the fact that none of Braddock’s people had been killed. Morgan learned that Emmon’s leg had been badly cut, but miraculously main arteries had been missed.

She spotted Derek leaning stiffly against the wall near the hearth, staring into the flames. As if he sensed her watching him, he turned her way and their eyes met. A relentless twitch set within his jaw and his swollen eye, bloodied lip, and bandaged shoulder added to the savage look he emitted.

Morgan boldly gazed back at him, daring him to come to her and say what he felt, which was fairly obvious. Why couldn’t he love her enough to trust her fully, to see that she would never betray him? Every bone in her body ached to hold him close, to bask in his familiar earthy scent, to have him look upon her with open fondness. She’d never loved a man before and the love she felt for Derek Vanguard was potent, passionate…and oh, so painful.

He gulped down the rest of his drink, cast the horn to the fire, and stalked from the room.

Morgan watched him leave. Not one of his men had been killed in the raid and that was a miracle she would have gladly celebrated with him if he’d only given her the chance. She stared at his unyielding face as he stalked by. Although he didn’t look her way, she flinched, for there was no mistaking the cynicism there.

“What is bothering Lord Vanguard?” Matti asked. “Verily, he should be rejoicing his arriving in time to save Braddock.”

“He thinks I have my heart set on Robert DeChaville,” Morgan answered bluntly. “He’s too stubborn to see the truth.” Morgan set her cup on the table. “I think I’ll get some rest now.”

Matti nodded as she watched her ladyship walk away. She leaned toward Shayna and said quietly, “‘Twould seem Hugo and I have our work cut out for us, would you not agree?”

Shayna sighed. “Love, such a complicated sentiment. Someday I hope to be worshipped and adored like the return of the rose.”

Matti raised a questioning brow.

“Emmon says naught is more beautiful than his roses,” Shayna explained. “And he delights in the fact that each year they return: new blooms, each more striking, more colorful, more fragrant than the year before.”

CHAPTER 17

Early the next morning, Derek rose from his bed and washed himself. Every muscle ached. After the more imminent dangers had been put to rest yester eve, the women had hugged and fawned over one another, giving thanks to all, especially to his wife.

It had repulsed him to watch her last night, acting as if nothing had changed between them. It angered him further to find he had not the strength to look away, his gaze resting on the angelic face that had only hours before looked unto his own with feigned love and tenderness. How she must have laughed at his falling for her ploy of love. When was the final performance to be executed? he wondered. How confident and sure of herself she appeared, invariably quite certain she’d have him believing new fabrications on the morrow. He shook his head at the fool he’d been, recalling in detail her relentless falsehoods of another life and how she’d relayed her stories with convincing sincerity.

Damn the wench to Hell. He might have come to believe anything she uttered, including her tale of being from another world, had he not finally been forced to see the light.

He drummed a finger against the side of the tub. His wife had indeed held him within her slender palm just as Leonie declared she would. No longer, though. Women were not to be trusted and not again would he forget his father’s words. As far as he was concerned, Amanda was dead. Not buried though, he mused without feeling, for even last night her betrayal failed to stop his body from responding to her shapely hips and firm breasts. As his gaze had roamed over her curves, his arousal had fueled his anger all the more. Verily ‘twas two necks he wished enwrapped within his hands just now.

Derek finished his bath with thoughts mainly of Braddock and his men. He donned his stockings and leather boots. Next, he threw on a cotton shirt and leather breeches. Braddock would require many hours of repair before its walls were back to normal.

He rubbed the tenseness he felt at the back of his neck. He’d sent a dozen men-at-arms in search of Otgar. Ignoring Matti and Hugo’s protests, he held DeChaville prisoner in the upper towers. Robert DeChaville refused to speak of Lady Amanda’s plans and it was clear DeChaville would not stay far from Braddock until Amanda was in his clutches. Until Derek decided what to do with the man, he would stay locked up.

Without bothering to tie the laces on his shirt, he swept through his bedchamber door and into the hallway, intent on seeing that the repairs to Braddock were finished before sundown.

A feminine gasp stopped him in his tracks as he realized he had nearly run down his wife. She raised her hands to stop him and her splayed fingers rested against his chest as she gazed up at him. “Good morning,” she said, appearing flustered, yet confident in her actions. “I was hoping we could talk.”

At first he remained unyielding, but then thought better of it upon feeling the tightening of his groin. Turning back toward his bedchamber, he motioned for her to enter. He followed her in and shut the door behind them.

Circling her, he tried to read her mind, surprised once again by her silence. Usually she twittered on like one of the birds that awoke him each morn. When he finally spoke, his voice rang deep and clear. “From here on out, you will address me as my lord, as all others within Braddock see fit to do.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Perfectly,” he said flatly.

Her chin came up a notch. “Why are you doing this?”

He put his hands behind his back and arched a thick brow. “‘Tis amusing to hear you ask one of the many questions I should ask of you. For instance, why do you find it necessary to wrap incredible stories around every lie? Why did you run away from my men all those weeks ago, and why, my dear wife, are you still here at Braddock?”