The Herald's Heart (25 page)

There he waited until Amis brought a torch to dispel the blackness. Once light bloomed inside the cavern, Talon examined the spots of blood on the floor. Spots that led off in an ever- thickening trail down one of three side tunnels. He took the torch from Amis, and very much afraid of what he would find at its end, Talon followed the ragged crimson line.

Had it not been for a flutter of bright blue wedged between the stones, Talon would have passed her by.

He dropped the torch to lift and hurl rocks away from Larkin. The torch sputtered and nearly went out before someone rescued it. He didn’t care.

Amis joined him on one side. “Take care where you toss these rocks, my friend. We need no other injuries this day.”

Without stopping, Talon cast one look at Amis’s solemn face. “Aye.” He took more care but did not slacken his pace.

Finally, they cleared her body of stones, and Talon leapt into the space. “Bring that torch closer, then pass the word to the other men to keep searching for any sign of Le Hourde.”

As the light grew, he saw Larkin’s chest rise and fall. She lived. Praise God. He checked her limbs for broken bones and her torso for broken ribs. He even checked her head for bumps and bruises. Nothing. Nor could he see any obvious wounds. What in all that was holy was wrong?

Best to carry her to the keep where wiser heads could examine her. She would be all right. She had to be all right.

Getting her through the crevice took extreme dexterity on both his part and Amis’s. In the end, they had to sacrifice Amis’s cloak to use as a litter. The jostling alone should have roused her. That it did not put Talon in a panic. A soon as he could, he scooped her up and headed for the stairs.

“Talon.”

“I cannot stop, Amis.”

“Aye, but you should see this.”

Impatient, he paused and shifted. “What?”

Handing his torch off to a guardsman, Amis held up his cloak. In the middle, where Larkin had lain on her back, was a large, darkly gleaming stain.

“Blood.”

Talon took the stairs at a run. Nay. His legs wanted to crumple with the dread he felt. He forced them to move, then forced more speed. He was shouting for Father Timoras by the time he reached the top of the staircase. He heard the clatter of movement from the great hall, then strode into the solar, laying Larkin face down upon the bed.

He took a cloth and soaked it in water, then turned and began to rip the bloodied gown from her back.

“Sir Talon, what are you doing? This is no time to slake your lust.”

His hands fought with Father Timoras’s as the priest tried to stop him from exposing Larkin’s wound.

“We must see how badly she is injured,” he snarled, and with one great jerk, ripped her bodice from neck to waist.

Blood covered her back so thickly that he could not tell where any injury might be. He set to work cleaning the stains, revealing three ragged stab wounds.

“Sweet Jesu,” he whispered. How could anyone survive such violence? Yet Larkin’s chest continued its shallow rise and fall. With each breath, blood seeped from the openings in her flesh.

“Father in heaven, save us,” prayed Timoras.

Talon towered above the priest. “You are trained in healing. Save her.”

Timoras took one look at Larkin’s bloodied back. “I can do naught but prepare her soul for judgment.”

Talon grabbed the priest by the front of his robe and lifted him so they were face to face. “Do not tell me she dies. I will not let her die.”

The priest trembled and shook, but his words were clear. “’Tis not for you to say.”

“Bah.” He tossed the holy man across the room and turned back to Larkin, wondering how best to stop the bleeding. The certainty touched him that his hope of heaven and happiness on earth hung by a thread, and he had little or no ability to keep that thread from breaking.

Timoras grabbed his arm. “Nothing can be done. She has lost too much blood.”

The words penetrated Talon’s hearing, but he would not believe them. If he did, they might come true. He shrugged off the priest’s grasp. “Say your prayers then, Father, but not here in this room. And before you do, send for Mother Clement. I would have her tell me all is hopeless before I believe the doom you say.”

“Here, Talon.”

He found clean rags shoved into his hands and raised his eyes to see Amis’s steady promise of help staring at him.

“We’ll bind her wounds until the abbess can get here.” Amis’s voice halted the inner terror. They worked silently, wrapping and lifting, then repeating the actions, until all of the wounds were covered.

That done, they checked once more for other injuries and found a long cut just above her hairline. Talon had thought the blood in her hair came from the stab wounds. He swallowed at the sight of the oozing gash. He’d seen men die from far less. Her life was slipping from his grasp. He forced energy into hands gone nerveless with fear and set to cleaning and binding the gash as best he could, relying on Amis to manage everything else.

Servants came and went, bringing all that he needed. Amis relayed news from each person.

“Cleve sent for the abbess and begs speech with you at your first chance.”

“Very well.”

“The priest is gone.”

“Better. I’ll not have him in this room again.”

“I’ll see that Cleve gives the order.”

Talon looked at Amis. “Le Hourde did this.”

“I wish I had doubts, but I do not.”

“Why?”

“When Le Hourde finally believed I was your rival, he felt comfortable drinking with me. My head is harder than his. He said things that implied he’d done a great deal of killing for the earl, and not all of it on the battlefield. He passed out before I could get more out of him. By the time I woke this morning, he was gone. I rode posthaste to tell you I’d lost him. We’ve been too busy searching for him for me to give you this information. While it isn’t a confession, it was enough for me to encourage your idea to lay a snare for our prey in the caves. I suspected that Le Hourde would be the rabbit who tripped the snare.”

When they found the baron, Talon vowed to strangle him. Hanging was too good for the man. “Do the men continue to search for Le Hourde?”

“Aye. If you have no more need of me, I will join the search.”

“Go.” Talon sat, praying, willing Larkin to stir, to open her beautiful blue eyes and smile at him. To curse him. To do something. But she just lay there, her breath shallow, her body still.

Was he to lose her now more surely than any church law or lack of trust could separate her from him? “I’ll not suffer your lack of faith any longer.” Her last words to him echoed in his mind and pummeled his heart. She’d been right. He’d not trusted her when she told him the truth of her identity. He’d failed to trust her when she said she’d not murdered the earl. He had not even trusted her ability to save their lives in the sea. He’d thought it better to drown to ensure she could live than trust her with the information that he could not swim. He’d not trusted in, not even considered, the loyalty that would not let her abandon him, even after he released her and gave himself to the waves.

Time and again, he’d had the chance to have faith in her word and her abilities. Out of arrogance, he’d failed her on every occasion. ’Twas amazing in light of his mistrust that she’d given herself to him. No doubt she’d been overcome by their lucky survival and had forgotten the consequences. He certainly had not bothered to remember that legally she was his stepmother. They had risked their souls for passion. In taking that risk, she’d given him a gift he knew he did not deserve. He did not now deserve the gift of her life, yet he prayed for that gift with every bit of faith he could muster.

Behind him, the solar door opened.

“Heavenly Father, forgive us both and let her survive. I’ll not abuse her trust ever again. I’ll remove myself from her presence, take pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and dedicate myself to your service. Hawksedge and Rosewood will be hers, for I will not need a home. Please Lord, save her life.”

He felt rather than saw or heard Mother Clement move into the room and kneel beside him in prayer. Grateful as he was for the abbess’s support and skill, he wanted nothing but Larkin. Larkin alive and well, even if his vows meant they never spoke or touched again.

Long days later, when she was finally able to leave her bed, Larkin descended the stairs from the solar, looking for Talon. He’d been avoiding her, and she decided to confront him. She must convince him that she had changed her mind. They could work out their trust issues, even if being his stepmother meant they could never again share the passion they’d found on the beach.

She found him in the bailey training with some of the new knights. Amis was traveling south with messages to King Edward and had promised to spread the word that knights were needed at Hawksedge. According to Alice, who’d brought Larkin’s meals, men had been arriving since the day after Amis left.

“Well, that is good news,” she’d said. As she’d eaten the hearty soup the cook had brought, Larkin wondered what, if anything, more men at Hawksedge might mean for Rosewood. Now that Le Hourde was dead, Rosewood stood without a master or even—as far as she knew—anyone to oversee matters until ownership of the castle could be decided. ’Twas one more thing she must discuss with Talon. It might be better to begin there, than to plunge into the murky waters of trust between them.

She stopped at the short fence that marked off the training area and waited while her knight and a new man exchanged blows with blunted swords.

Shirtless and sweaty, Talon was a sight to please any lady. She had hopes that the two of them could soon spend much more time pleasing each other.

The bout ended with a shaking of hands and much backslapping. Talon turned in her direction as his squire brought a bucket of water and a clean shirt.

Talon doused himself, slipped his shirt over his head, stared straight at her, and then turned on his heel and strode quickly in the opposite direction.

Oh no you don’t. I’ll not allow you to avoid me any longer.
“Sir Talon,” she called out loud enough that all in the bailey could hear. “Are you a coward?”

He spun around with his mouth hanging open.

From every corner, she heard gasps and titters. “Well?”

“Do not do this, Lady Rosham.”

His formality conveyed chilly anger.

“Do not do what? Call coward a man who runs away at the sight of me?”

His fists clenched, and he advanced on her faster than he’d been walking away. She almost quailed beneath the force of emotion that sped her way. But she stood her ground. Never show fear. And she was afraid. Afraid that by forcing a confrontation, she may have driven him farther away.

“Come,” he snarled. He grasped her arm and dragged her with him—much as he had done the morning after he’d found her haunting the keep. She scampered to keep pace with him all the way into the stables, down the row between the stalls, through a door at the far end, and into a tiny room. He placed her on the only stool, slammed and bolted the door, and then took a seat on a wooden box.

She waited, certain he was not calm enough to speak.

He thrust his hands through his hair. Looked at her. Looked away. Looked back. “You have no reason to call me coward.” Confusion glared in his eyes, and hurt sat in his hunched shoulders.

She longed to ease his troubles, but she couldn’t allow empathy to distract her—not until they reached an understanding. She finally had his attention, and she would make every use of the opportunity.

“Then why do you avoid me?” Would he trust her with the truth? No, he would not. She saw it in the narrowing of his eyes and almost lost heart.

“Because I vowed to remove myself from your presence, if God would let you live.”

She stared in astonishment. He’d told the truth. Such a vow was so incredibly stupid and noble at the same time that it had to be true. No one would create such a thing as a lie. “Why in the world would you do something so absurd?”

“You were dying.” Unmistakable anguish lived in his words.

“Did Mother Clement tell you that? ’Twas she who tended my wounds and directed my care for the past weeks.”

“She did not have to say anything. Father Timoras had already said naught could be done.”

“And you believed him? He has much less skill and knowledge than Mother Clement.”

“You don’t know how much blood you’d lost. You did not see the gash in your skull. I’d seen men die from wounds much less severe.”

“Men who did not get treatment from Mother Clement.”

Talon blinked for a long moment. “You are right. Few if any physicians and healers are readily available in battle.”

She sighed. Her goal of trust had just become much more difficult to achieve. “Once again, you lacked faith in me and my will to survive.”

He covered his face with his hands, and his shoulders shook. He made one gasping sound after another.

Was he weeping?

“No, no, no. Please God, no.”

“Talon?” She rose and went to place a hand on his arm.

His arms went around her, and he pressed his face to her shoulder.

She held him, stroking his head until his shaking ceased.

He straightened, set her away from him, dropped his hands, and bowed his head. “All I wanted was for you to live. I did not think of your will to survive or trusting you. I put my faith in God and begged him for your life. If that is a betrayal of you, I am sorry.”

Her determination cracked. Kneeling before him, she lifted his chin and fixed his gaze with hers. “You were right to trust God. Whether I was dying or not, trusting in the Lord and accepting his will are always right. You know this.”

“Aye.” He nodded. “Just as I know that the vow I made must be kept.”

“Truly? Why?”

“’Tis an oath sworn to God. Mother Clement heard me make the vow. I cannot unmake my promise. Even if I could, I would not. I gave in to passion once and put both our souls at risk.”

“I asked it of you. ’Twas worth every risk, and I do not believe the Lord would condemn us for the joy and glory we shared.”