Heart's Ransom (Heart and Soul) (9 page)

Talon’s dagger slammed into his shoulder.  With a grunt the man sprang away but Talon’s fist followed and plowed into the man’s jaw.  The shadow staggered backward and Talon stepped forward, snarling in fury.

“Guards!” he bellowed and lunged again with his dagger.  “Aaron!  To arms!  In the gardens!”

The shadow dodged, and then sprinted away.  The moonlight fell on his face for a moment and Talon saw a dark beard and bloody scratches.  He took three steps to follow but terror for Gwen stopped him in his tracks.

He spun, searching the black grass for her form and found her slight shadow.

“Gwen?” he called, his voice shaking as he knelt and turned her still form.  Sweet Jesu, she couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t be too late.  Damnation he wished he could see more clearly.

She was so still, so quiet.  He gripped her shoulders.  “Gwen!” he called more urgently.  Her face was deathly white in the moonlight.  He felt blood, warm and sticky on her skin, then spotted the dark lines on her throat from the garrote and the terrible damage it had done.

“Christ Almighty, nay!” he cried.  His dagger flashed, cutting the tangled leather away from her throat.  He seized her in his arms and hauled her to his chest.  Her head fell backward, the silver light revealing more clearly the black lines of blood on her white skin.  “Gwen, my sweet, can you hear me?”

She wasn’t breathing.

“Merciful Saints,” he whispered terror threatening to shred his sanity.  “Gwen, breathe.  You must breathe!”

“My lord!” Aaron cried running towards him and carrying a torch, a step behind sprinted four guards.

“Someone tried to kill Gwen,” he said, his voice so hoarse he didn’t recognize it.  “Aaron, I want him found.  Post trustworthy guards at the gates and sally port.  The castle will remain locked and barred.”  He sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady himself.  “I wounded him with my dagger; he has a beard and scratches on his face.”

“Aye, my lord,” Aaron said and started to turn.

“Aaron, you stay, I need the torch light.”

The knight waved the other guards away then knelt next to Talon.  “Is she...?”

Talon shook his head, a sudden sob choking his throat.  He touched Gwen’s face, his fingers stained with her blood and trembling.

He thought he heard a tiny rattle of breath.  “Gwen,” he called urgently.  “Breathe for me.”

His fingers found the life-beat in her neck, it pulsated, weak and erratic but it was there.  “Gwen!”

Her mouth opened slightly and he heard another intake of air but the bloody rattle in her throat alarmed him even more.  He lifted her slightly, holding her tightly against his chest.  “Come on, Gwen, you can do it.”

More guards sprinted toward them and soon the bailey was in an uproar.  Aaron sent most of them to search for the assailant but the ring of torches around Talon grew.  Gwen battled to suck air into her lungs.  Each time Talon feared she would fail, the terrible rattle as each breath passed through her throat steadied a bit as long as he held her upright against him, her head back, resting on his shoulder.

“My lord,” Aaron said urgently.  “With the gates locked we cannot fetch the village healer.”

Talon gritted his teeth and silently cursed.  Gwen needed a healer desperately, she needed a miracle.

“My lord,” Alys cried as she pushed her way through the gathering crowd.  “Sweet Saints have mercy, what happened?”  She staggered to Gwen’s side, her eyes wide with fear.

But the maid calmed herself with admirable control, peering at Gwen’s injuries closely, her hands moving with surety.

A tiny hope blossomed within Talon’s bleak soul.  “Alys, I pray, do you know the healing arts?”

“I know some,” she said, her attention never wavering from Gwen.  “My lady is the healer.  I helped her tend to people many times and have learned much over the years.”

Talon blinked down at Gwen.  This was something new.  “A healer?”

“Aye.  She was taught by the best.  Brother Cedric was once an apothecary at Shrewsbury Abbey before he came to Powys to teach.”

Talon froze, his jaw hanging open.  “Shrewsbury?” he whispered in awe.  “My ancestor, Earl Roger de Montgomery, founded Shrewsbury in 1083.  Their gardens are their prize.”

Alys’s concentration never wavered then she shook her head.  “Her throat is badly damaged, my lord.  I fear this is beyond my skills.”

Hope crashed and died a violent death.

“My lord,” Aaron said.  The apothecary in the village, his knowledge is great.”

But that would mean opening the castle and risking the attacker’s escape.  Yet Talon knew he had no choice, Eleanor had died in his arms and he could not bear to have the same thing happen to Gwen. 

“Marcus!”

“Aye, Talon,” Marcus said stepping forward, his expression grave.

“Aaron will fetch the healer, alone.  Escort him to the sally and witness his departure, lock it after his cloak clears the frame.  Remain there until he returns.  Only Aaron and the healer are to pass through that portal.  I will have the ballocks of any man who allows the attacker to escape my grasp.”

“Understood.”

“Aaron, I do not care what the healer is doing, get him here now even if you have to toss him over your shoulder.”

“At once, my lord.”

The two men hurried away.

“We should take her inside, my lord,” Alys said softly.

“She breathes easier if I hold her like this, Alys.  I fear moving her.”

Alys moved to his side.  “I will steady her head, move slowly, my lord.”

Taking a deep breath for courage, Talon gathered Gwen more securely in his arms and stood.

“Clear a path,” Talon barked to the onlookers crowded around them.  The bodies moved aside like the parting of the Red Sea.

Talon strode through, moving carefully so Alys could keep up with him although his heart battered his ribs mercilessly.

God’s bones, what had happened?  Was this another assassin hired by her father?  Or was this caused by those who took Rose?  She had disappeared from the gardens.  Had the same thing happened to her and her body dumped where he would never find it?

Sweet Jesu, he could not bear such a thought.

Grief spiraled through him, clawing at the core of his being.  First Rose and now Gwen.  Who was doing this and why?

A soft whimper next to him diverted his morose thoughts.  He glanced down and saw Mince trotting alongside, gazing up at him with bright golden eyes, his expression as worried.

Talon’s step slowed as he looked at the dog, remembering how it had appeared before him in the garden then ran back to Gwen.  He shook his head.  Here he thought the dog was being foolish but it had been trying to tell him.  In the better light of the torches he saw that Mince’s coat was covered in dirt and blood dotted his muzzle.  Talon scowled but could not give the dog his full attention as he approached the stairs to the keep.  The crowd of people followed him inside, as silent as a funeral procession.

Talon gritted his teeth and immediately shoved the thought away.

In the hall Mince bounded past him, sniffing the ground.  Samson had returned at one point or another and rose from his spot growling.  Mince yelped and bolted behind Talon.

“Bloody hell, Samson,” Talon roared.  “Leave the poor creature alone.”

Samson gazed at Talon wounded but returned to his spot before the hearth.  Talon strode to the stairs leading to Gwen’s room, noting that the puppy did not follow; instead he continued to explore the hall.

A page, Leo, opened the door to Gwen’s room and Talon with Alys bracing her head entered.

“Allow me to prepare her bed first,” Alys said and cautiously moved away.

Talon waited, trying not to tremble but his entire body quivered.

Alys adjusted the pillows and Talon eased Gwen carefully onto the bed, only now seeing the terrible bruises forming on her face.  “Good God,” he whispered.  “What did the sod do to her?”

Alys, her lips pressed into a hard line shook her head.  She adjusted the pillows under Gwen until the rattle in her throat eased slightly.  “Now, my lord, I must ask you to leave until I get her settled.”

“Nay, I will not leave her side.”

“My lord, please.  I must remove her gown and make her comfortable.  It will only be a moment and then you may return.”

Talon sighed, suddenly weary, and dragged his hand through his hair.  “All right,” he growled reluctantly.  “But after this I will not be moved a second time.”

Talon strode from the room, closing the door behind him.  At least he could organize the search instead of counting on a haphazard hunt.

The hall was still somber but the people milling around gradually returned to their duties.  Two knights met him at the table and he sent one to his solar to fetch the plans and drawings used in the building of Montgomery Castle.  He would leave no stone unturned.

“My lord,” the second knight, Sir Simon said.  “Until Sir Aaron returns, I have organized the serjants into groups of four, each group headed by a knight.  But we’ve spotted no sign thus far.”

Talon nodded as Leo brought him a cup of wine.  He gave the boy a weary smile of gratitude.

The first knight, Sir Richard, returned with the plans and they spread them over the giant table.  Simon pointed out various locations.  “We searched the gardens first, my lord, and found nothing.  After I formed the groups, I requested one to search more thoroughly, and sent the others into the bailey.”

“Excellent,” Talon said, rubbing his eyes in order to focus on the plans.  “We will work outward from the gardens; I want nothing ignored, Simon.”

“The watches are doubled on the walls and gates, the men extra vigilant.  As long as we keep the castle barred, the bastard will not escape us.”

“Our only weakness is opening the castle for the healer but I trust Marcus and Aaron.”

“Aye, my lord.  He will not escape past them.”

Mince yipped loudly, causing Talon to start.  He turned on his heel, seeing the pup scratching at the door to the kitchens, his high pitched bark grating on Talon’s nerves.

“Someone silence that dog,” Talon muttered and dragged his hand through his hair.

Leo hurried forward and scooped the pup in his arms.

Talon sighed, drained his cup, and called for another.  “I imagine the stables and the stock pens should be our focus at first.” 

A servant opened the door to the kitchens and Mince yelped as if Leo had taken a hot poker to him.  Everyone jumped at the dog’s shrill cry, especially Leo.  Mince jumped from the boy’s arms and fell to the ground but was on his feet in an instant, bounding towards the open door to the kitchens.

“Don’t let him--”

Mince slid around the corner of the door and shot through it.  His high pitched yap repeating like the miniature baying of a hunting dog.

“What the devil?” Talon snapped, striding forward.   Gwen never allowed Mince in the kitchens.  His barking drove daggers of pain through Talon’s skull.  “Peace, Mince!” he bellowed.

He heard startled shrieks and the crashing of pots mixing with Mince’s earsplitting yaps. He groaned and entered the kitchens.  “Mince, come!” 

But the pup ignored him.  He scurried around tables, dodged between legs, darted under skirts, and created a general havoc.  He shot past the door to the dungeons then stopped before the one leading to the cellars, scratching and continuing to bark furiously.

“God’s bones, Mince!” he roared.  “What has gotten into you?”

Leo hurried past Talon, a deep frown creasing his brow.  Instead of grabbing the pup, he opened the door.

“Leo,” Talon snapped.  “Nay, we’ll never find him in--”

But it was too late.  Mince bounded down the stairs, still yapping.  Talon cursed in exasperation.  He did not have time for this.  But the page grabbed a lantern and darted after him.

Talon leaned heavily against a table and rubbed his eyes.

“My lord!” Leo called.  “Come quickly!”

“Leo, I have better things to do than chasing Gwen’s addle brained pup.”

“Please, my lord!”

Sighing in resignation, Talon descended the stairs, wishing the blasted cur would stop its infernal yapping.

“My lord,” Leo said, standing before the door.  “I do not have the keys.”

Talon scowled, seeing Mince scratching at the door, still barking.  “What the devil has gotten into him?” he asked, pulling his keys from his belt.  He opened the door and Mince entered.  Finally falling silent, the pup sniffed around the dusty storeroom frantically, sneezing several times.

“Leo, my patience is worn thin.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” the boy said, holding up the lantern and gazing around the room.  Several crates, mostly reused weapons boxes larger than Leo was tall, filled it.  Storing bolts of woven cloth, raw pieces of cedar wood Talon had purchased from London to make chests for clothing, and other items.  In one corner sacks of flour were piled waist high.  In another were smaller sacks and parcels of varying items, mostly for the kitchens.  Next to that, long boards left over from the building of the keep along with various tools leaned against the wall.  On another wall were shelves with candles, oil, jars of herbals, and other miscellany.

Mince barked again, scratching furiously on a large crate in the bottom right corner, buried under two other crates.  Talon stepped forward to grab the animal.  Mince growled at him.

He stopped short in absolute shock that the impertinent whelp would dare such a transgression.

Mince kept scratching, alternately growling and whining.

A sense of movement on the other side of the crates caused Talon to stiffen, his hand falling to his dagger.  He saw a small drop of blood on the wood.

“Leo--”

Suddenly a shadow exploded forward.  Talon reacted instantly, shoving Leo back and lunging with his dagger.

The man caught his wrist, deflecting the dagger.  Talon seized his wounded shoulder with his left hand and curled his fingers claw-like.

The man howled and staggered.

Talon stepped forward, viciously slamming his knee in the man’s groin.  The attacker folded and dropped like a stone.  Talon adjusted his hold, yanking the man’s injured arm behind his back and dropping his weight on top of him, his dagger pressed to the man’s neck.  His body trembled with rage and he fought to keep from slaying him instantly.

Talon’s senses slowly returned as he panted for breath.  He heard Mince snarling furiously and Leo screaming for Simon and Richard.  Within an instant the knights appeared at the door.

“The E
arl has taken the sod!” Leo cried.

“Saint’s blood,” Simon growled and hurried forward.  “Earl, are you all right?”

“Aye,” Talon said through clenched teeth.  He waited for the two knights to grab the man before moving away and sheathing his dagger.

“Here my lords,” Leo said handing them a length of rope from the pile of equipment in the corner. 

Richard took it and bound the man’s hands behind him but he did not fight.  Talon had knocked him witless.  Richard and Simon hauled him to his feet, the man sagging between them.

“So this is the bloody sod who would murder a defenseless maiden,” Richard growled.

Talon abruptly realized Mince was still growling.  He glanced down and saw the pup latched onto the man’s ankle, tugging with all of his strength.  The man’s hosen and his ankle high shoes were shredded and blood streaked.

So that’s why the pup had blood on his muzzle.

“I’ll be damned,” Talon muttered, amusement tugging at his lips.

The two knights looked down at the pup and Richard chuckled.  “Well now, it appears as if the little mongrel’s heart is in the right place, my lord.”

“Aye,” Talon said and grabbed the dog.  “Enough, Mince, you’ve made your point.”

The pup immediately released the man and looked at Talon, wagging his tail happily.

Talon chuckled and scratched his ears.  Mince had tried his best to defend Gwen.  “Mongrel or no, you will be a fine dog someday, Mince.”

“What shall we do with this sod, my lord?”

Talon studied him critically, abruptly recognizing him as one of the handymen who worked at Montgomery, repairing various items around the castle, which usually saved the expense of calling a master-worker.  He spotted the few keys on the man’s belt.  Because of his duties, the man had access to the storerooms of the keep.  That explained his entrance into the locked room.  And locked areas would have been the last searched.  If it hadn’t been for Mince, it might have taken days to find him.

“Take him to the dungeons, question him thoroughly.  I want to find out who was behind this attack.”

“Aye, sir.”

Richard hauled the man away and Talon pulled Simon aside.  “I also want to know if he had anything to do with Rose’s disappearance,” Talon growled.

Simon nodded, his expression grim, his dark eyes radiating fury.  “I will discover the truth my lord and after that this bastard will pay for his crimes.”

“That duty will fall to me and me alone,” Talon snapped.  “See to it he does not die before then.”

“Of course, Earl.”  Simon strode from the room.

Talon and Leo returned to the great hall just as Marcus and Aaron entered with the healer.  Aaron took the man upstairs while Talon told Marcus what had happened.

“Keep the castle barred, Marcus, until we know if he has allies.”

“Aye, sir, I will assist Richard and Simon unless you have need of me.”

“Nay, I will be with Gwen.”  He handed Mince to Leo.  “Clean him up and see that he gets a good meal, Leo.  He’s earned it.”

“Aye, my lord,” the boy said and took the pup.

Talon hurried up the stairs to Gwen’s room, praying with all his heart.

He opened the door to discover the healer cautiously exploring the wounds on Gwen’s throat.  Talon swallowed hard, he stopped a pace away, his arms folded tightly over his chest, unwilling to disturb the healer as he worked.

“The cuts bleed but in truth they are not that deep,” the healer said.  He continued to work, peering into Gwen’s mouth and down her throat as best he could, then settled his ear to her chest, listening to her heart and breathing.  “She strengthens and there is a bit of blood in her throat but it is not severe.”

Hope once again blossomed within Talon.  “Will she live?”

The healer and Alys looked at him startled.  “My lord Earl,” the healer said and bowed.  “I did not hear you come in.”

“Will she live?” Talon asked, his jaw aching.

“’Tis too soon to tell, my lord.  Her throat was damaged but how severely, I do not know.  The lack of blood is encouraging.  But sometimes people with this injury appear fine then they suddenly die.”

Anguish lanced through his heart.  “She cannot die.”

“We will do our best, my lord.”  He turned back to Alys.  “A warm tea of lemon and honey will soothe her throat.”

Alys wrung her hands.  “I do not mean to argue, but I know my lady would order cold water first, to take the swelling down.”

The healer scowled at her.  “What mean you?”

Alys moved to a sturdy wooden box on the bedside table.  Talon abruptly recognized the chest Gwen had requested brought with her - some items from her mother, she had said.  Alys opened it and Talon’s jaw went slack.  It held not ribbons or jewels, trinkets a mother might give a daughter, but pouches and vials of herbs and medicants, a mortar and pestle, squares of cloth,
some loosely woven others tightly knit.  Neatly organized, everything was marked or labeled in some form or another. 

Alys carefully rummaged through the box and pulled out a tightly bound stack of parchment, each page about the size of Talon’s hand.  He stepped closer curiously as she untied the string and carefully leafed through the parchment.  He noticed a neat script flowing over the vellum, some with painstaking drawings.

“What is this?” he asked softly.

“Gwen’s mother gave her this chest before she died,” Alys replied, her voice reverent.  “For generations the women of Gwen’s line have been healers.”  She tapped the parchment, and Talon noted some were very old and faded, cracked and brittle around the edges.  “Each lady has made a point of documenting her knowledge so it will not be lost to the next generation.  Gwen faithfully maintains the tradition.  Here you see the healing knowledge of four generations.”

Talon gaped at her.  What a treasure indeed!  He saw the healer step forward with a similar expression.  “May I?” he asked softly.

Alys nodded and moved out of the way.  The healer carefully scanned the vellum, his eyes growing wider and wider.  “Amazing.  The information here...some of this has been lost to us.”  He looked up at Talon.  “My lord, I beg you, allow me to have a copy of this.”

Talon sighed as earl he could order it, the healer was not out of line by asking him, but Talon would not insult Gwen in that manner.  “’Tis the lady’s property, healer.  I’m sure she would not begrudge you the information but it is from her you must seek permission.”

The healer blinked at him startled but nodded.  He looked back to the parchment, studying it more thoroughly.  “Lady Alys, I see here you are right.  Many references are made to cold to first take the swelling down.  It will ease her breathing as well.”

“The water from the castle well is colder than the water from the river,” Talon offered.

“Very good.”

Alys moved to the door and summoned a servant to fetch it.  Talon moved to Gwen side and sat in a chair next to her, gently gripping her hand and pulling it to his lips.  Alys and the healer continued to plan and discuss, sending several servants running.  But Talon’s attention remained locked on Gwen.  Her breathing still sounded awful.  He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back sudden tears.  “Please, my sweet, do not die.”