Carolyne Cathey (11 page)

He pressed his
fingers into her upper arms.  "I won't allow you to leave.  I must meet
with Brigham, then I'll return and you and I will straighten out this apparent
deception."

The thought that
he meant to leave her alone halted her words, encouraged a plan.

Concern in his
eyes, he took a step back toward the chamber door.

She stood her
ground, impatient for his absence.

He took another
step back, his palms spread out as if to stop her.  "Stay where you are, Eleanor. 
I won't be long, I promise."

Eleanor
flinched.  "Promise?  As in, you promise to keep your word?  May this
promise be as much a lie as the other.  May you never return."

"I
will
return!  And you will heed me!  If you recall, you have a debt to pay!"

The rage in
Eleanor burned like her flesh, icy hot.  "I offered to scrub floors to
serve my debt, but you sought to take away my only possession, my purity.  The
game of chess was meant as a diversion. 
You
proposed the wager.  You
persuaded me to accept the terms.  The fact that I will not be your lady is not
what upsets me to this degree, for I never sought the position.  And now I am
relieved not to plight my troth with you, for you are without honor.  But 'tis
the deception, the lies, the betrayal that ravages my heart.  I trusted without
question.  You surely laugh at my innocence, Lord Kyle.  I cannot have been
much of a challenge."

"Nay, don't
Eleanor." 

She didn't
understand the pain he revealed on his face and in his tone.  "Do you know
what mocks me most brutal, my lord?  The dream.  The dream that lays in bloody
shreds at my feet, scattered like the carved ivory.  'Tis the dream that has
made me the fool, that betrays me, has always betrayed me.  'Tis a laughable
curse.  I am the fool of this game, after all."

"Cease,
Eleanor.  You must not---"

"I have
evolved on this day, my lord.  I am not the same innocent who left the convent
and never will be again.  Another type of purity has left my soul.  I have had
a taste of the world and my tongue tastes filth."

"Ah, lass,
don't . . ." He studied her for a moment as if in wonder what to say, then
he spun and strode from the chamber.

Eleanor listened
to the storm outside, a symbol of the tempest that shook her insides.  She
placed the back of her hand to her forehead.  Hot.  A shiver trembled her
frame.  In haste, she dropped to her knees and gathered the scattered ivory.

Her mind urged
her to hurry before he returned.  But where lay her queen?  She scanned the
hearth.

A flame leapt,
and so did her heart.  The winning piece lay in the edge of the fire, like her
future.  A woman.  In the flames.  Her?  Fighting to control her fear, she
grasped a shard of broken pottery and jabbed at the ivory.  The queen rolled. 

Heat seared her
face and hands.  She scooped again.  The piece rolled into the ashes.  Then she
urged the smoked queen until it tumbled onto the gritty hearth. 
Hurry
.

With the hot
ivory in her possession, Eleanor pushed to her feet, returned to the table,
then set the piece to one side.

Her hands shook
as she reset the players on the game board, then she positioned the queen. 
Eleanor did a hasty study of the options.  A heavy weight pressed on her
heart.  Aye, she had won.  Yet, she had lost.  And she had lost more than what
she had wagered.

Frantic that she
lingered too long, Eleanor rushed to the door.  Angry voices lofted to her
ears.  She could never slip out undetected through the solar.  Eleanor turned
and scanned the chamber. 

The window.  She
unlatched the shutters to see if she could climb along a ledge, but the storm
wrenched the wood from her hands and raged through the opening as if angry for
being shut out.  The cold deluge washed over her in blinding sheets.  To
attempt such an escape only assured her death.  Soaked and chilled, she turned
to see if another way out existed.

A curtain covered
part of the wall beyond the bed.  The garderobe, perhaps?  If she could hide he
might think her gone, then later she could slip out unnoticed.  Eleanor brushed
her wet hair from her face and hurried behind the draped cloth into total
blackness.  She felt her way along the wall for a place to conceal herself.  A
tapestry or rough fabric covered the stones.  Eleanor pulled back the cloth. 
Her fingers touched smooth wood.  A door?  Hope quickened her breath.  A secret
exit to the outside?  Or to a dungeon? 

With her
heartbeat in her ears, she retrieved a candle from beside the bed and returned
to the door.  She slid back the bolt and shoved.  No movement.  She shoved
again.  Hurry!  He might find her before she escaped.  Desperate, Eleanor threw
her shoulder against the barrier, then stumbled.

The door creaked
as the heavy wood swung back on its hinges.  Air, cool and musty, rushed
against her face, flickering her candle. 

She rubbed at her
sore arm and stared.  In the halo of unsteady light, steps wound downward into
midnight.  Determined, she stepped through and closed the door behind her.  The
draft died, as did all sound.  Protecting the precious flame that quivered as
much as her hand, she lowered her bandaged foot on the first triangular wedge
of stone.

A cobweb caught
her face.  She brushed at the sticky threads and descended, wound downward,
following the weak circle of the candle's glow.  When she reached level ground
her candlelight revealed another door.  But to what?  She slid the bolt and
pushed.  Eleanor stood, drenched in cold wetness.

Rain.  Merciful
rain. 

She had escaped. 

Checkmate,
Kyle.  Checkmate
.

"
E
xplain, Brigham."  Kyle
studied eyes that gleamed as cold steel in firelight.  Brigham.  His bastard
brother.

And because of
his father's last wishes, Kyle's responsibility.  Yet, how in creation could
Brigham know about the king's request for Kyle to marry Lady Mellisande? 
Except for Jerrod, Kyle believed the news secret.  Kyle glanced at his friend
whose humor seemed subdued for a rare moment.  Jerrod wouldn't have told. 
Would he?  Kyle's stomach clenched as tight as his jaw, as tight as his fists. 
Did the dragon rise again?

Brigham's gaze
darted from Kyle's to obscure points about the solar, then back to Kyle's
again.  He licked at his lips.  "I only wanted to cease the wench's
tirade.  I knew if she believed you to be betrothed, she would realize how
impossible her demands.  And the ruse succeeded; she ceased her struggle."

Brigham only
attempted a ploy?  He didn't know?  Kyle's shoulders sagged.  Suddenly, fatigue
drained his energy.  "Aye, Brigham.  Eleanor no longer fights, but her
spirit is broken.  If the truth be known, I'd rather she strike back.  I hate
what I've done to her trust."  Kyle sank onto the wooden settle that faced
the fire.  "She'll discover the lie about the betrothal soon enough, which
increases the ugliness of the deception.  Eleanor speaks true.  This night, I
am without honor."

Kyle watched
Jerrod move to stand on one side of the hearth.  What did he think of the
matter?  For certain, Jerrod didn't approve of the wager.

Brigham's body
formed a blotched silhouette in Kyle's view of the flames.  "Perhaps the
betrothal won't be a lie, Kyle.  I know from Lord Hanley himself that he and
Lady Mellisande hope for an agreement."

Kyle drew in an
ominous breath and glanced up at Brigham's shadowed visage.  "What do you
mean?  How would you know this?"

Heat warmed
Kyle's face and hands again as Brigham moved from in front of the fire and sat
beside him.  "I have seen Lord Hanley on occasion during your absence.  I
mean, I sometimes must travel on one errand or another, and well . . . well . .
. "  He paused.  "At any rate, he confessed his desire to . . . to
visit with you about a merging of your adjoining properties.  Lady Mellisande
is agreeable."

The dragon
threatened after all.  Kyle had hoped that beast slain, but the serpent's tail
had just stung him a blow.  Even Eleanor had mentioned the dragon . . . a fact
she shouldn't know.  And she had mentioned screams.  And death.  His?

In truth, Kyle
had not given his word to the king.  And he had hoped he had successfully
maneuvered around Edward's request for the marriage.  Apparently not.  The
dragon only lay in wait for Kyle to slip, which he may have done that night
with the wager.

Light flickered
on Brigham's face, and Kyle sensed a hesitation, a further mystery.  Yet,
Brigham had always been of such a nature.  Even though Kyle had attempted a
close relationship, Brigham had insisted a distance, had maintained a cool
reserve.  Kyle leaned back and rested his ankle across his knee.  "Why
would Lord Hanley speak to you about the matter?"

Brigham glanced
away, then cleared his throat.  Kyle noticed how he clasped and unclasped his
fingers.  "Uh . . . he didn't know where you were, or how long you might
choose to be away.  He only sought information from me, asked me if I thought
you might be amenable."

"I prayed
the matter had been dropped."

Brigham's
silhouette thickened as he turned to face him.  "You know?"

"Aye." 
Kyle set his foot on the rushes again.  "The subject has been discussed
before now."

"With
Mellisande?"

Kyle detected the
incredulity in Brigham's voice, as if he should have known that fact.  He also
caught Brigham's familiarity with the woman, for he had neglected to use her
title.  Furthermore, Brigham assumed Kyle had spoken with the lady in question,
not with her father, as expected.  How peculiar.

Suspicious, Kyle
released a sigh.  "Nay, friend.  I've not discussed the subject with Lady
Mellisande, or Lord Hanley.  But with another."  Weariness clothed Kyle's
body.  He placed his forearms on his thighs and rested his head on his
propped-up hands.  What should he do? 

"Kyle?"

He glanced up at
his brother.

"You know
that King Edward reaches out to gain more and more control over his subjects. 
You know he now insists certain properties be passed down to a legal heir or
the property reverts back to him.  He would accept no heir other than one from
a lady of noble birth."

Revulsion coated
the inside of Kyle's mouth.  "Aye.  But Lady Mellisande has been sired by
her father, Lord Hanley, and she might have inherited a touch of his madness. 
You know his treachery as well as I; he breathes evil.  You also know he has lusted
for this property even before he learned to spell the word greed.  Ever since I
killed his only son during one of their raids on Trystonwood, he has been
possessed with revenge.  And even if none of this were true, what he did to
Mother, out-evils Satan himself.  I even suspicion Father's unusual
death." 

Kyle fell silent
in remembrance of his parents who had given their lives so that Kyle could have
property and thus a title and position.  Because of their sacrifice, the estate
reigned as the only importance in his life, besides his sworn fealty to King
Edward. 

"Nay,
Brigham.  I will not surrender to the enemy.  This proposal is only another
excuse to gain our land."

"
Your
land."

"Brigham . .
." Exasperated, Kyle sat back and combed his fingers through his hair.  He
released a tense breath, unwilling to delve again into the same useless
argument of Kyle ruling as lord instead of Brigham.  "Lady Mellisande was
but a child the last I saw her."

"She's eight
years and ten, a woman of extreme beauty."  Brigham sighed.  "You may
be pleased to discover that her coloring and manner are much like your wife
Cathryn's."

"You sound
besotted with the lady.  Perhaps you should be the one to pledge the
troth."

Brigham jerked
his shoulders upright.  "I may be illegitimate, but I am still a man; I
recognize beauty when a lady stands before me."  He shoved to his feet and
moved to stand opposite Jerrod at the other end of the hearth.

"Don't take
offense, Brigham.  I meant no insult."

He turned to face
Kyle, his fists raised in defiance.  "How can I not be insulted?  You
score deep my wound with your words.  You jest that I pledge my troth, yet I
possess no property, thus I cannot wed."

"Ah. 
Property.  'Tis true that."  Kyle rubbed his hand across his mouth. 
"Perhaps I can arrange some land for you.  In fact, I should have done so
before now."

Brigham uttered
an angry laugh.  "A token?  A worthless piece that cannot support life? 
What about income from rents?  What about labor to work the fields?  Do you
also give me the village?  The peasants?  Nay.  Even so, you know that no lord
would allow his daughter to marry a bastard."

"I'm certain
we could find you a respectable wife."

Brigham stood so
near to Kyle that his black form blotted out the light.  "I'm a bastard! 
You cannot make me respectable.  Not enough for a woman like Lady
Mellisande."

Kyle leaned back
to peer up into Brigham's dark face.  "Bastards have been known to
marry."

"The King's
bastards.  But no one as low down on the scale as I.  Unless the woman is poor
as well, or so homely even the promise of property is not incentive enough. 
For certain, no one like Lady Mellisande."

Kyle waved at the
ebony shape.  "Sit down, Brigham.  Sit beside me."

Brigham moved and
the fire flared in Kyle's vision again.

Flames separated,
merged, writhed, entwined.

Eleanor.

"I have a
problem, Brigham.  I gave my word in a chess game this night.  A game I
lost."

Brigham gripped
Kyle's shoulder.  "You can't be serious?  You surely don't consider
marrying the wench."

Kyle saw the surprise
on Jerrod's face as he turned at Brigham's last comment, but Jerrod remained
silent.

"What think
you, Jerrod?"

His friend
shifted his stance to stand, legs apart, hands clasped behind his back. 
"Well, since you ask me, such a marriage is against tradition, and of most
import, against English law."

"But?"

"Aye. 
But---"

"I gave my
word."

"Aye.  But a
dangerous one.  Whatever were you thinking?"  Jerrod laughed.  "An
inane question that one.  But still, you knew the risk.  'Twas a deadly error. 
How will you inform Longshanks, our Plantagenet King?"

"I never
once thought she would win, Jerrod.  Never.  She's a clever wench."

"Aye. 
Perhaps, too clever."

"But still,
I promised."

Kyle shook with
the shove of Brigham's hand.  "Nay.  You cannot honor the wager.  You must
wed a lady, like Mellisande."

Kyle removed
Brigham's hand from his arm.  "I am sick to the point of vomit with the
sound of that lady's name. I do not wish to hear of her any more this night. 
Besides, I gave my word, brother."

"Don't call
me brother when I'm not!"

"Brigham---"

"Nay!  The
title is only a further insult of what might have been, for I'm older than
you.  I tell you this, Kyle, if you succeed in flaunting the law about marrying
a peasant, I should be allowed to flaunt the inheritance law regarding my
bastardy."

Heaviness weighed
in Kyle's chest.  "At this moment, friend, I would that I could trade
places with you.  'Twould be the perfect solution, for then you could wed the
lady for whom you so obviously lust."

Brigham's burst of
angry laughter assailed Kyle's ears.  "An easy gesture when such cannot be
accomplished, my lord and master.  Which brings us to the impossibility at
hand.  No one would fault you if you ignored the wager.  In truth, no one need
even know.  You'll be ridiculed, mayhaps even punished, if you honor such a
rash promise.  Claim you were drunk.  Claim aught you will, but don't ruin your
life.  Especially when you see how comely Lady Mellisande has become.  At first
sight you will forget about this witch who has cast her spell upon you, for
that's all this madness is, a witch's spell."

The dragon loomed
amidst the flames.  Kyle felt his presence, saw his hungry eyes, heard his
rumbly laughter.

Yet, another
image glowed in the red and gold.  Eleanor.  The fiery spears danced, embraced,
copulated, again and again.  He ached to feel her body beneath his, to feel her
satin legs surround his flanks, to feel her slickness when he delved deep into
her hidden recess, and then plunged and plunged until he released his liquid
lust.  Nay, the fire housed not the dragon.  The flames were Eleanor.  Or were
they both, and the same?  Cold doom shuddered along his spine.

"Kyle?"

Brigham had moved
to the end of the immense hearth again, opposite Jerrod.  The two figures
seemed as life-sized andirons, their faces angled to him in wait for his
response.

"We'll
discuss this at a later date, Brigham.  In truth, I don't wish to wed any
woman."

"But you
must have an heir, and this would be a profitable merger."

Kyle's limbs
weighed heavy.  "Brigham, if I was anxious to increase my holdings I would
have wed the lady suggested by King Edward when he sought to honor me.  I
succeeded in a refusal without an insult, and he respects my desire to remain
unwed, at least for now." 

The dragon lifted
his head and stared at Kyle with eyes that blazed the flames of hell. 

Kyle felt his
life sift through his fingers like sand in an hourglass.  His king had already
announced his visit.  This time his liege lord would expect Kyle to agree to
the betrothal.  Except, Kyle had given an unbroken vow to the very one who
might be the dragon--temptation in womanly form.  What would Edward say about
the wager?  Treason?  Treason because Kyle chose to wed a peasant instead of
Edward's cousin?  'Twould be as a slap to his royal face.  Death hovered as
certain as Kyle's next shaky breath.

Brigham moved
toward Kyle and spoiled the balanced image of human andirons against the
light.  "But think.  This plight of troth would---"

"What is
this to you, Brigham?"  Kyle struggled to tamp down his anger.  "Why
are you so insistent?"

Brigham's figure
became motionless, frozen against fire.  "As I said before, if you flaunt
the law, I should be allowed the same breach."

"Then you
should applaud my dare."

Brigham raised
his fists.  "Fool! 
Both
are impossible.  Accept the responsibility
of your blessed birth and wed Mellisande, for if you issue no legal heir,
should aught untoward happen to you, the lands will revert to Edward.  Where
will I go then?"

Brigham’s
argument rang true.  Yet something stirred foul.  Might Kyle be mistaken about
what he saw in the flames?  Instead of Eleanor, might Brigham be the dragon? 
Nay.  Not his brother.  Yet, the intensity of Brigham's emotions shimmered a
warning.  Perhaps Kyle should test Brigham by agreeing to wed any lady but
Mellisande, then assess his response.  He shook his head.  The best plan would
be not to reveal his suspicions.  Watch and wait.  Besides, enough deception
had filled this night, or rather, knight.  Kyle sighed and pushed to his feet. 
"Excuse me, friends, but I'm weary.  I go to my chamber.  And I hope not
to see either one of you until the sun moves again toward the horizon to
sleep."  He took a step, then halted.  "I'll think on the matter.  I
promise."

"If you
would just agree to see Lady Mellisande, Kyle, I know you would---"

"Enough,
Brigham!"