Carolyne Cathey (42 page)

"If aught
happened to Rupert, I think I'd die."

'Twas Rupert
Beth wanted
.  The knowledge unraveled Eleanor's jealous knots.  "Then,
Beth, we must help him to live.  Please, lass, gather buckets of water in case
of fire." 

"Aye,
milady."  Beth released her hold, then halted. "Fergive me fer all
the terrible . . ." Her tears flowed again and she turned and dashed to
the well. 

Obviously
surprised, Lord Alex cocked a brow.  "My apologies . . ."   He
bowed.  "My lady."  Then he straightened and his disapproval had
shifted to respectful concern.  "I can see that despite your timely
rescue, you still suffer.  Lock yourself in Lord Kyle's chamber.  If aught
happened to you, the world would not withstand his wrath."

"I accept
your apologies, my lord, but I will not hide while--"

Death screamed
beyond the wall.

Eleanor whirled
and forced her still-trembling legs across the bailey and up the stone steps of
the curtain wall to the parapet. 

The grain fields
blazed like seas of fire.  Black clouds boiled to cover the moon 'til only
firelight cast the reddish glow of hell.  Lightning flashed within one
ponderous cloud, then another, revealing the fearful shapes, splashing the
round sky with persistent light.  The air smelled heavy with smoke, with rain,
with slaughter.

She searched the
nightmare for Kyle but saw only a constant agony of black, white and blood. 
And with every scream she knew a man suffered horrid pain and injury, or ceased
to exist.  She hated the killing.  She hated the greed and the lust for power
that devoured the innocent and blackened men's souls.

Clouds bared the
moon and she saw the gleam of a white cross on a black surcote.  From the way
the knight swung his sword, the way he dodged and spun, she knew she watched
Kyle.  He fought close to the keep.  And afoot.  He battled a man in hand to
hand combat, then he stumbled over a body and went down

She stifled a
scream.

Kyle rolled to
his feet with his sword on the upswing and caught the knight just below his
helm.  As the enemy fell, two more took his place in the attack.  Eleanor
pressed her palms against the ache in chest, afraid to watch, afraid to look
away.

The earth
vibrated.  Eleanor jerked her attention back to the field.  A horde swarmed
from the North like locusts.  Eleanor's lungs tightened as she peered into the
fire-tinged moonlight to detect the colors. 
Lord Hanley's
.  Fear ripped
the strength from her body. His army rode as if the devil nipped at their
heels.  Then the troops rode past the battle . . . to the Avon?  A tactical
maneuver?  Would they surround the castle?

"The king! 
The king!"

Terrified at the
shouted announcement, Eleanor studied the swarm again.

A tall knight
streaked at full speed on his steed across the burned field.  A leopard adorned
his chest.  He must be the king, for, other than Kyle, no one else claimed his
height.  He rode as if he had death on his royal mind.

Astride a dappled
stallion thundering alongside the king sat a black knight with a white cross on
his surcote.  A traitor.  Then she recognized the steed, the one owned by . . .
Sir
Jerrod
.  Surely he wouldn't betray Kyle.  And yet, he rode beside
the man whom Kyle said had sided against him.

Sickened, Eleanor
gripped the embrasure to keep her on her feet, watching as Kyle battled for his
life unaware of who now waged war against him, knowing that despite his
courageous efforts, he had lost, for although Kyle claimed otherwise, and
although he loved her, Eleanor knew the depth of his heart. 

Kyle would never
fight his king.

T
he Apocalypse--hell
uncovered.  Blood spewed as clouds churned, fires raged, lightning gashed the
inflamed sky.  The stone wall trembled beneath Eleanor's feet like her body
that trembled with fear for her warrior.

King Edward sat
tall upon his steed as he thundered toward Kyle, a vision of royal vengeance,
sword raised. 

Terror of the
inevitable merged with her anger, her pain, her hatred for those who hungered
for Kyle's death.  Were that she were a falcon and could streak from the
parapet, claws bared, to defend her love, to impale her heart on the king's
sword and stop the felling blow. 

Kyle looked up as
Edward neared, then lowered his weapon to his side in surrender.  He refused to
defend himself!

A white-robed
knight at Kyle's side lifted his sword for the kill, another rushed in from the
back, and yet Kyle stood erect and motionless.

"Nay!  Oh,
dear, God!  Nay!"  The prayer wrenched from her breast as she watched for
the certain slaughter.

The King slashed
and the white-robed knight next to Kyle collapsed.  The king had struck one of
Brigham's men, not Kyle's!  He swung again, and the man behind Kyle doubled
over, then fell.  The king aided Kyle!  Sir Jerrod sliced at the enemy like a
wild man, the white knights stumbling backward to escape his rage.  Kyle leapt
to protect King Edward's back, the strength of his slash severing one enemy and
downing another.

With trembling
fingers, Eleanor covered her mouth, afraid the building storm distorted her
vision and she saw not the truth but the frantic wishes of hope unsurrendered.

"Retreat! 
Retreat!" rose from the battlefield, then helmed warriors bearing the
king's heraldry flowed like spilled wine across the battleground.  A flurry of
white scattered, disappearing beneath the flood.  Shouts of triumph roared from
the victors.

Shaking with
relief, Eleanor closed her eyes and cried to God her eternal gratitude.  She
braced against the stones for support and fought the compulsion to collapse
into shuddering sobs.  Tears filled her eyes with the incredible realization of
horror defeated.  The dragon slain.

Eleanor stiffened
and grasped the parapet. 
Did
Brigham lie among the dead?  Or did the
wounded beast still prowl the night, even more dangerous than before, vengeful,
with nothing to lose?  She wondered about Lord Hanley and Lady Mellisande--and
Kyle.  She had lost sight of him behind the king's steed, then knights had
surrounded him.  Uncertainty twisted like a tight band around her lungs.  She
struggled to breathe, but the air hung thick and heavy.  She must find Kyle. 
She must see him.  Touch him.  Have proof of his survival.

Lightning ripped
the angry sky; a deluge gushed through the rend. 

Cold rain sheeted
over Eleanor's body, obscuring her vision, drenching through her gown to chill
her hot flesh.  She searched the swarm of knights, but the downpour darkened
the confusion to shadows and shapes.  Turning, she moved to the stairs, but all
of Trystonwood celebrated within the sodden bailey, so she stayed atop the walk
and strained her gaze through the wet veil of rain.  Despite the torrent, the
celebrants’ smiles shone bright with joy in the torchlight spilling from the
open doorway and unshuttered windows of the Great Hall.

Brightening
with joy. 

The last part of
the message.

As thunder
splintered the night, Eleanor shuddered with remembrance of the previous storm
that had raged contradictory to England’s usual rains by its severity, the one
on her first night in Trystonwood when the vision began.  Did this one signal
the end?  She prayed so.  All had come true as foreseen. 

But what about
Kyle?

 Eleanor ran the
prophecy again through her mind.  In the vision, she took Lord Kyle’s hand
before
the change, not after.  In truth, the vision indicated naught of their
destinies after the peasant’s shift from despair to joy, and whether she and
Kyle lived together, or apart.  Or whether Kyle lived, or died.

 Doubt
mushroomed into fear as Eleanor moved again to the wall and leaned over as far
as she dared.  Lightning flashed to reveal the indistinct shapes of knights and
horses streaming to the keep.  The storm rumbled along with the sound of
footsteps across the planked bridge.  She couldn't see Kyle.  He must be
alive.  Oh dear, God.  He must.

"I promised
you I'd take you in the rain-washed bailey."

"Kyle!" 
Eleanor's elation soared as she spun at the sound of his husky voice and saw
him standing before her, glorious and alive.  She threw her arms around his
neck, wishing he
would
take her in the mud--anywhere--knowing she
wouldn't experience completeness until he possessed her, inside as well as
out. 

Laughing, he
grasped her waist and swung her around.  She saw the world whirl beyond his
magnificent face, the continuous circles a symbol of her unending love, Kyle at
the center, the end, and the beginning.  Happiness bubbled like a warm spring
in her chest, melting her icy heart into tears of joy. 

Kyle crushed his
lips against hers, desperate, hungry, feverish.  She closed her eyes in
ecstasy, and even though he had ceased his spins, her mind reeled from his
nearness, from the reality he lived.  She melted against his body of wet steel,
savoring the kiss that defied king and tradition, hatred and treachery, a kiss
forbidden, sensuous, a bonding of mouths and hearts, of passion and desire.

He slid her in a
slow caress down his metal-clad body as he lowered her feet to the walk.  And
all the while, Kyle moved his lips over hers, devouring her with his kiss. 
Eleanor surrendered to his mastery, tasting salty tears amidst the warm honey
of his mouth, not certain if they were her tears or Kyle's, or both.  She
pressed into his embrace, yet she couldn't seem to press close enough.  Too
much separated them--armor and clothes, flesh and blood.  She longed to merge,
soul-to-soul, one, for eternity.

Kyle gasped for a
breath.  "Oh, love.  I feared I'd failed you, that I'd be too late to save
you.  Yet, here you are in my arms and in my life.  Oh, my sweet."  He ran
his trembling fingers over her face wet from rain, from tears.  "I love
you, Eleanor.  And I feared I had lost you for eternity, never to see you or
hold you again.  Never is the most frightening of words."

He trembled
beneath her hands that gripped his rain-drenched shoulders.  "Neither life
nor death will separate us, Kyle, for should I have died, I would have come
back as the air you breathe, as the wind running my fingers through the golden
strands of your hair, as the warm rays of the sun embracing your body, or as
the rain kissing your wondrous face."

He groaned, then
brushed his lips across her forehead.  "'Tis not as the air or sun or wind
or rain I want you, but as you are, warm and passionate within my arms,
laughing, loving, the substance of my very soul."

Surely her heart
would burst with love for him.  Needing to feel him against her, she rested her
cheek against his chest. Then she saw that blood soaked the cross on his
surcote, and an invisible hand grabbed her heart and squeezed.  Frantic, she
pushed away and ran her fingers down his arms.  "Where are you injured?

He smiled down at
her.  "So little faith.  'Tis the blood of those who sought my life.  Ah,
love, how bad are your burns?"

"Nothing
that Nurse's balms can't heal.  But Kyle, what about Brigham and Lord
Hanley?"

Kyle frowned and
she wished she hadn't asked.  "King Edward slew Lord Hanley before coming
to my rescue.  Brigham?"  He shrugged.  "Whoever finds his body is to
notify me."

"And Lady
Mellisande?"

Kyle said naught
for several breaths as if in thought.  "She left with Hanley before I came
for you.  Most likely she made haste for Hanley Hall.  If Brigham survived,
he'll go to her.  They're too astute to stay here.  'Twould be suicide."

Eleanor leaned
into his arms.  "Even so, my courageous knight, watch your back.  If the
dragon still lives, his tail might swing a death blow."

E
leanor yawned as she carried
a tray of bread and ale to Kyle's chamber, her legs so tired that she had to
force her sore feet to take her up the spiral steps.  While Kyle had brought in
the wounded and had overseen the placement of the dead below ground, she had
tended the ill and dying in the great hall.  She had depleted Nurse's herbs and
medicinals before all the injured were treated.  Next time she promised to be
more prepared, then prayed there would never be a next time.  Never.  Sometimes
a most desirous word. 

As she entered
the fire-lit chamber that she had believed she would never see again, sudden
apprehension rippled up her spine and tensed her nerves.  She scanned the
hearth, the bed and shadowy corners but saw nothing amiss.  Shaking her head at
her overwrought imagination, she set the tray on the table that flaunted the
chessboard.  Hah.  What a debacle, that game.  A lesson of life learned at
painful cost.  She would never again wager, not for any reason.

Eleanor tossed a
few small logs onto the fire to increase the warmth within the walls, then
moved to the window seat that overlooked the village and fields.  She grasped
the wooden closure with the intent to open the shutter, but she stilled as a
cold draft swept across her flesh.  Thinking she heard the grate of footsteps,
Eleanor whirled to scan the chamber again, her gaze settling on the doorway. 
"Lord Kyle?"

No one.

Eleanor shook her
head at her foolishness.  The air merely swirled around the window.  And yet,
foreboding whispered that evil lurked among the shadows.  And death.  Eleanor
rubbed the sudden tingle at her nape, assuring herself she only experienced the
aftermath of horror.  Perhaps a soldier had died below and his spirit brushed
hers as he soared heavenward. 
God have mercy upon his soul.

Opening the
shutter, she released the held-back wind as she knelt on the cushioned seat and
stared at the black of night.  The now-gentle rain pattered a soft monotony
against the stones, misting her face, dampening her gown.  All fires but the
one within her heart had been doused in the first moments of the storm, but she
wondered what remained.  How would Kyle feed so many with the coldest months
yet to come?  And yet, how sinful to ask for another miracle.  The fact that
she still lived, that Kyle still lived, witnessed such a happening.  Even so,
she prayed for one more.  How to feed so many on nothing?

Footsteps scraped
from the doorway and halted by the hearth.

Her pulse raced
with excitement as she hastened to close the shutters.  "Lord Kyle, I
wonder if 'twould be possible to receive back the stolen food Brigham stashed
at Hanley Hall."  Her fingers fumbled with her hurry to fasten the latch. 
"I'm grateful the king aided your plight, for he made possible your
victory, but I can't help but worry how . . ." 

She turned and
saw the tall figure against the fire.  "King Edward!"  She became as
stone, inside and out, cold and dead, then terror pulled her to her knees.

Her sovereign
stood a silhouette against the blaze, stillness against writhing flames.

"Forgive me,
your grace, I thought--"

"Aye.  I
know.  Eleanor, I believe?"

Truth slammed her
heart into her throat.  Nothing had changed.  Nothing.  Triumph over death had
dazed her senses, causing her to forget the impossibility of her dreams.  Kyle
still stood a knight, a king's man.  She still knelt a peasant.  The gap
measured as between joy and despair, heaven and hell . . . life, and death.

Another memory
curdled.  King Edward had threatened to take her to London as a lightskirt. 
Her
destiny?  Only Eleanor’s future remained a mystery.  Had she served her
purpose, and her life spun a different turn?  A horrendous turn? Panic pressed
into her chest as unyielding as the stiff rushes that pressed into her knees. 
"I'd not make a good whore, my lord.  I came here from the convent as a
virgin.  Lord Kyle is the only man who--"

"What's
that, you say?"  He didn't move as he studied her, yet his tone indicated
surprise.

She prayed he
hadn't taken offense at her speaking without permission.  Eleanor sought the
verdict from his eyes but saw only shadow against the light.  Yet she knew he
could see her eyes, for she faced the hearth from across the chamber.

"Did Lord
Kyle know you were a virgin?"

Not the response
she had expected.  "Aye, my lord."

"Hmmm." 
Then he fell silent as if fitting the information into his mind.

Feeling powerless
against the powerful, she clasped her shaking fingers and placed them over her
heart to ease the ache.  "I must warn you, my lord.  'Tis only right you
should know.  I'll do my best to escape.  If I cannot, I'll not be easy to
bed.  I'll fight any man who dares touch me.  I'll seek to point out to them
about the sins of adultery and to remind them of their wives and ladies.  And
if that fails, I'll quote Bible verses all the while until all are warned I'm
not what they seek as entertainment."

"You'll . .
."   His laughter filled the chamber.

Stunned, Eleanor
watched, uncertain of the drift of his thoughts.

"Even though
you are no longer a virgin, you are still innocent of the unusual ways of men,
for your actions would only stoke the fire of their desire.  Aye, we're a
strange lot.  And adultery?  They'd only scoff.  With most men 'tis
acceptable.  'Tis the way of the world."

"But, my
lord, the Scriptures--"

"Most cannot
even read.  And many of our priests practice the same, so why should banal
mortals be more pure?  Merely the men, of course.  'Tis unacceptable with
ladies."

Eleanor
stiffened, offended.  "Since the act requires both a man and a lady, how
can one be acceptable and the other not?"

"'Tis why we
have light-skirts.  'Tis why we have whores at manors and village inns.  And at
court."

Terror snaked up
her throat and blocked her swallow.  "I'd rather not, my lord."

"By all
that's holy, are you always such a problem?"

"In truth, I
am a trial, my lord."

He quirked a
small grin, yet she couldn't tell his mood or the direction of his thoughts. 
She watched him drag over a chair and sit in front of the fire.  He motioned
with his hand.  "Up, lass.  Off your knees."

Afraid to hope,
Eleanor scrambled to her feet and snatched up the tray.  "Would you care
for some ale and a bite of bread?  I apologize I cannot offer you more.  'Tis
all we . . ." She bit her lower lip, then winced with pain from the tender
and swollen flesh, yet she had not noticed the soreness when Kyle had kissed
her. 
That kiss
.  Had he remembered what she had forgotten?  Had Kyle
meant the kiss to last her a lifetime?  Dread yanked her hopes and left her
torn and hollow.

King Edward took
the offered tankard.  "You say you came from the convent?"

"As a
laborer, your grace.  My mother abandoned me there when I was but five."

"And you say
you know not who your father might be?"

"Nay, your
grace.  I wish I could claim a mighty lord as parent, but I know not who sired
me, whether noble or peasant."  Eleanor drew over a stool and placed the
tray where the King could reach his bread.

She dare not sit
unless he bade her, so she moved back several steps.  "Your grace, if I
may speak, I--"

A cloud darkened
his expression.  "Don't go too far, Eleanor.  I warn you."

"Nay, 'tis
not what you think, your grace; I don't ask to be a lady.  I plead for Lord
Kyle.  I never knew a person could be as good.  He is kind and compassionate;
he cares for all people, no matter their birth.  I pray he be allowed to wed a
lady of similar nature.  He deserves affection and love, not wickedness and
evil."  Her heart jolted.  She shouldn't have said the last.

"You speak
of Lady Mellisande?"

Reckless, she
knelt before King Edward, her hands clasped in supplication.  "Oh, my
lord, I've heard how in moments friends can become enemies, and enemies
friends.  I know Lady Mellisande is your cousin and you might still be of a
mind to wed her to Lord Kyle, but--"

"I suggest
you say no more."

She closed her
eyes.  She had failed, yet again.

"And what
shall I do about you?"

The fire hissed a
warning. 

"Shall I
take you to London?"

Dryness coated
her mouth.  She loathed what she must do, but even so, she must force the
atrocious words past her pain.  She met the piercing blue of his eyes.

"Nay, my
lord.  I beg you.  I promise to go to the convent and . . ."   Her throat
closed in an attempt to stop her unbreakable vow.  "And never return.  I
won't even tell Lord Kyle I've left."  Never.  A most hateful word, bleak
and desolate.  Feeling as if darkness surrounded her like an unending night,
Eleanor pushed to a stand.

King Edward took
a swallow of ale then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  He studied
her, his eyes mysterious, unreadable.  "How much do you love him,
Eleanor?  How much will you sacrifice?" 

Eleanor's pulse
pounded in her ears and warned her to run, but fear nailed her to the floor.

"Would you
become a castle whore in exchange for Kyle's freedom to choose his life's
mate?"

A log crumbled
into coals, defeated.  Rain wept against the shutters.  A chilling draft
swirled through the room and into her heart.

“Eternal
damnation?”  She had survived hell only to be thrown back into the flames, and
this time without rescue.  To share her body with strangers, to do unspeakable
things with unspeakable men, until her soul blackened with rot . . . Until she
died.  All, so the man she loved could share his life and love with another
woman.  If she had burned, she would be beyond this torture.  Kyle had saved
her, for this.  Numbness crept up from her toes to her head until she stood
cold, and dead.

"I prefer death,
my lord."

Her answer must
have surprised him, for he didn't speak for several moments.  "But, if I
insisted--" 

"Aye, your
grace.  I will do aught to spare Lord Kyle."

Eleanor remained
like an upright corpse while King Edward sat, his gaze on the blaze in the
hearth.  No matter his decision, whether convent or castle, she had lost Kyle. 
Suddenly, the world dropped from beneath her feet and left her alone and
unprotected in a black void.

Voices lofted
from the solar, a reminder that, for others, life went on.  Another draft
taunted her already chilled flesh, stirring the flames in the hearth.  Shadows
danced and flickered on King Edward's face as he stared, in thought.

King Edward broke
off a chunk of bread.  "If Kyle should have to choose between us, I wonder
who he'd select."

"You, my
lord.  He would choose you above all." 

"I
wonder."

"'Tis true! 
'Tis only that Lady Mellisande is so vile."  Eleanor widened her eyes in
horror.  She had gone too far.

"Cousin
Edward?"

Lady
Mellisande
.

Eleanor spun to
confront the woman who plotted to destroy Kyle.  Four knights slipped in
position behind Her Wickedness, swords in hand.  Brigham loomed to her side
with a loaded crossbow aimed at the King's chest. 

The dragon
lived after all
.

King Edward
jumped to his feet.

Lady Mellisande's
waxen mouth curved an evil smile.  "Worry not, Cousin Edward, Lord Kyle
won't have a chance to decide which of you to choose.  He'll find both you and
Eleanor dead, before he dies." 

The locking bolt
thumped as one of the knights secured the door.

Trapped
. 
Eleanor's heart lurched, then leapt into a frantic rhythm.

Brigham's eyes
gleamed insanity as he tightened the bowstring.

Horrified,
Eleanor leapt in front of King Edward as a human shield.  "Nay!  You must
not!  He's the king!"  She had acted without thought, but the sight of the
sharp point now aimed for her forehead, jolted her sanity.  Doom crept along
her flesh like spiders and burrowed into her courage.

Lady Mellisande
laughed.  "You think the arrow will not pierce you both?  But, what is the
challenge in that?  Then we'd have no need for these future lords."  She
waved her hand to indicate the four knights.  "'Twill be their reward for
when I rule England as Queen, and Brigham, as King."

King Edward moved
Eleanor aside.  "I appreciate the gesture, Eleanor, but I'll not hide
behind your fire-tinged skirts."  He crossed his forearms over his chest. 
"What madness is this, Cousin?  You think to take my life?"

A sneer curled
Lady Mellisande's lip.  "You betrayed me.  Did you think I'd accept
defeat?  I, who have royal blood in my veins?"

Edward cleared
his throat as he crept his hand toward the hem of his sleeve.  "I have
heirs, Mellisande.  I have kin with thicker royalty in their blood than
you."  He slid his left hand further along his forearm toward the edge of
the fabric where Eleanor surmised he kept a hidden dagger, but to what purpose
she didn't know, for the weapon would be useless against a crossbow and four
knights.

Lady Mellisande
scowled and marred her porcelain perfection.  "Be still, Edward, or
Brigham might pierce you before you know the fate of your loved ones."

King Edward
froze.

"Queen
Eleanor will never suspect me when I pay my respects. Your heir is but a babe,
and life is fragile when one is new and delicate.  You should know, since so
many of yours have died.  The others will soon follow you to your grave from
one mystery or another."

King Edward
flexed his hands and nodded to the men who stood behind Mellisande. 
"Knights, surrender now, and you'll not hang for treason."