Juliana Garnett (27 page)

D
arkness slowly shrouded the inner ward of Dragonwyck. Shadows stole over stones slick with blood and scattered with bodies. The grating creak of the portcullis rising mixed with the sounds of groaning men and the clank of weapons.

Grimly, Rolf surveyed the carnage. Many of his men were dead. Of all the invaders only a few remained alive. Those who could had managed escape. The others had been taken below to await questioning in the dungeons. The colors of Mowbray were almost obscured with blood and sweat now, but he could find little satisfaction. Long had he abided close to William of Mowbray, and though they did not agree on John’s rule, both men had kept a cautious truce. ’Twould weaken their forces were they to come to battle, and he could not understand Mowbray’s sudden decision to end that unwritten pact. Yea, these were perilous times indeed, when men would rend asunder beneficial truces.

Rolf had entered the bailey with his armor still unbuckled in places, using his sword to cleave a path to the guardhouse
and his groggy men-at-arms. He’d rallied them with curses and blows, spurring them to battle Mowbray’s forces. It had taken great effort, and at times he’d thought the contest lost, but at last they had prevailed.

Weary, he lifted an arm to remove his helm. Sweat banded his forehead and stung his eyes. His armor had been hastily if not properly donned and had shifted, cutting into unprotected skin in places. Corbet would be horrified by such carelessness. If he had survived, Rolf amended silently. The young squire had not been seen since early morn, when the battle had raged so fiercely inside the hall. The last he’d seen of him, Corbet had been herding hysterical serving wenches to the comparative safety of the kitchens.

With the approach of sunset and the battle done, servants were emerging from their hiding places. Most knew better than to intrude in the midst of warfare, risking injury or death from even their own should they be in the way. It was one of his strictest rules, that should the castle ever be attacked, noncombative residents were to seek shelter as best they could. Long had it been since Dragonwyck had suffered a direct assault. Not since the early days—when scaffolding still clung to half-finished walls and men still dug the inner moat—had any dared invade his keep.

Now, surveying the damage wrought by Mowbray’s forces, Rolf fought a rising surge of fury. Yea, he would muster his men and retaliate, and Mowbray would ever be sorry that he had begun this conflict. Not even the king would dare interfere.

With his helmet tucked beneath his arm, Rolf strode toward the ruined doors leading into the great hall. He had best send word to Annice, lest she fear the worst. He was faintly surprised not to have seen her, as the battle had ended an hour before.

The sight that met his eyes when he entered the hall again was hardly surprising, but he still felt a tremor of shock. Hangings had been pulled from walls and shredded. Tables were overturned, some now fit only as firewood, and benches were scattered. Candle stands had been knocked over, and there was a huge charred circle in the rushes where a fire had ignited and been put out. Bodies were being
removed and the wounded cared for, and he walked among them offering comfort where he could.

Even his dog, Bordet, had been wounded. As Rolf approached, thinking the dog dead, it lifted its great head and whined, tail thumping against bloodstained rushes. Rolf knelt beside the faithful animal, anger filling him anew.

“Ho, my loyal servant,” he said through a tight throat, and the dog dragged its tongue over his hand as if offering comfort. A deep gash had been cut into his ribs, bone showing a dull white through the blood-matted skin. He fondled the dog’s ears gently.

“Milord,” a soft voice said, and he looked up. Belle stood in trembling uncertainty, but he saw no sign of Annice.

“Yea, girl,” he said roughly, and gestured to the injured dog. “See that Bordet is cared for as well as the others. He has long served me faithfully, and I would see him cared for, too.”

After a brief hesitation Belle nodded. “Aye, milord, I will tend him myself. ’Tis said that I have a gift of healing and have long studied the ways of herbs and poultices.”

She paused again, hands twisting in agitation, and he frowned. “Is there more you wish to say? Tell me, and then take word to your mistress that she is needed here.”

“But, milord,” Belle blurted, breaking into sobs, “that is what I maun tell ye!”

Rolf rose slowly. Impending doom hovered, and he sensed that he would mislike hearing what she would say. “What? What wouldst thou tell me?” he demanded in English.

Gesturing to the dog, Belle said between shaking sobs, “It was hurt trying to protect thy lady. I could do naught, though I tried, my lord, I swear I did!”

By now Rolf had grabbed her by the shoulders, cold seeping into his very bones as he tried to make sense of the girl’s babbling. He gave her a harsh shake.

“Where is she? Where is Lady Annice?”

“Gone … they took her … soldiers … and Sir Guy is missing—”

Releasing her with a shove, Rolf stared incredulously at
the girl as she gestured toward the stairs leading upward. Sir Guy? Was he involved? Was it he who had taken Annice?

Already striding toward the stone steps, Rolf did not at first see the limp form lying at the foot of the stairwell. It was Belle’s cry that alerted him, and he paused and looked down.

Guy FitzHugh lay still and pale upon the stones, leg twisted at an awkward angle beneath him. Kneeling, Rolf stripped off a gauntlet and placed his hand upon Guy’s throat, fingers back-curled into his palm as he felt for a pulse. It was there, thready and weak, but a definite sign of life. Still kneeling, Rolf pivoted to scowl at Belle.

“Has no one seen to him? Would you have let him lie here until he died? Here—come with me.”

Scooping Guy up in his arms, Rolf carried him into a chamber. It had seen fighting also, and furniture was overturned and shattered. He kicked a broken chair from his path and moved to a corner to place Guy gently on a pile of torn-down hangings. They cushioned him, and he motioned for Belle to come forward.

“Stop that foolish wailing and see to his hurts. I will find a man to come help.”

Tears wet her cheeks, and Belle mumbled, “I did naught see him until thou almost trod upon him, milord, I swear it.…”

“Silly wench. Isn’t there enough to think about without trying to explain?” Rolf glanced down at Guy. He’d been struck upon his head. A bloody gash still oozed, but it was shallow and only appeared mortal. “He’ll come round soon. Ask him what he knows,” Rolf directed, then left the chamber.

Within minutes he had a squire tending Guy’s hurts as well as the dog’s, while he took the steps two at a time. He knew what he would find when he reached the bridal chamber, but the sight still took him aback when he stood in the doorway.

The door had been left ajar, creaking slightly when he pushed at it with one hand. Bed hangings were shredded, torn down or left hanging by barely a thread from the bedposts. Annice’s trunk had been opened, and its contents
were strewn about the floor. Broken shards of glass were scattered on the carpet. The table that had been burdened with wine and food was broken, one leg snapped in two, the food dumped onto the floor. A pile of silk caught his attention, and he shoved away from the door frame and crossed the chamber.

Amber silk and cloth-of-gold lay in a tangled heap. He knelt slowly and lifted the silk, remembering Annice clad in the beautiful gown, her face hopeful as she’d looked up at him before the church altar. God’s teeth, but he was an utter fool at times. He’d hardly been able to look at her, so full of misgiving he’d been. Being too close to her, too caught up in emotion, was a new sensation for him. A dangerous one.

Wadding the silk in one fist, he knew now why he’d resisted any tender emotions. ’Twas much safer to feel only lust. Anything more was a risk he’d not been prepared to take.

Shadows crept across the chamber, and the light through the open windows grew fainter and fainter, until he was left kneeling in the dark. When he finally lifted his head, it seemed to him that he had knelt there on the littered carpet, with the remains of Annice’s garments, for an eternity.

Shreds of daylight barely lightened the sky outside the window, and he stood slowly. His legs were cramped, and he suddenly felt all the aches and hurts of the day. In the thick of battle a man learned to disregard the sting of sword cuts and the impact of weapons. Once the battle was ended all his wounds tended to hurt at once.

He frowned down at the colors he held in his hand, the amber and gold. A nagging memory pricked him, and he thought again of the invaders. They had worn the colors of Mowbray, but there had been no rallying cry to that standard. Now that he pondered on it, there had been a furtiveness about the soldiers that smacked of more than treachery.

Releasing the amber silk, he let it drift slowly to the floor and turned to the door. Vachel stood there, a dark shadow against light from wall torches in the corridor. A familiar voice in the night.

“Milord … Sir Guy is awake and asking for you. He says it is urgent he speak with you.”

Rolf nodded stiffly. “Yea, Vachel. I begin to think I know what he might say.”

The chamber where he’d left Guy now had several more occupants, all being tended. Even the dog lay stretched upon a pallet of blankets, bandaged and sleeping. Rolf crossed to Guy’s pallet and sat down on a stool at his side. The wounded knight’s head was wrapped in linen; his voice was slurred but amazingly vigorous.

It came as no surprise that Thurston of Seabrook was behind the unexpected assault. Rolf was vaguely surprised that the earl had been able to accomplish his ends so easily. Rolf had the bitter thought that had he not been so intent upon the lady, he would have paid greater attention to his instincts and taken better precautions.

As if reading his mind, Sir Guy said hoarsely, “No man could have known what he was about, milord. To put a traitor in our midst and use Mowbray’s colors—even the king should condemn him for this.”

“But will he?” Rolf’s smile was mirthless. “And even more, will the lady wish it? She left so quietly, with none to mark her passage, that I begin to wonder if p’raps she did not encourage Seabrook to rescue her. It would not be impossible to annul our vows, though all in the village were witness to the lady’s oaths.”

“Nay, milord,” Guy protested, trying to sit up. He stared at Rolf for a moment, then said, “You foully misjudge your lady.”

“Do I?” Rolf shrugged. “Mayhap. But recall, Sir Guy, that she was abducted against her will. The vows were spoken against her will, even though in front of the king’s men as well as mine. It is not impossible that she made a pretense of accepting John’s edict to catch me off guard.”

“Not impossible,” Guy snapped with remarkable vigor, “but highly unlikely! She is a woman of honor, and you do her a great disservice by thinking otherwise.”

Looking away, Rolf muttered, “I hope so. Yea, I pray that I am wrong.” His hands curled into fists on his bent knees. He felt helpless and wanted to mount an entire troop and follow the intruders without waiting for light. Unfortunately, the men were exhausted, those who had not already been
injured, and there would be little light to show them which direction had been taken. Patience had never been one of Rolf’s greatest virtues, and it was even more chafing now.

A wall torch sputtered loudly, and sparks shot out in a sizzling arc to shower down. Rolf reached out to brush a glowing ember from his arm. He still wore his mail. He’d left his helmet somewhere but did not know where. P’raps by the dog, when he’d knelt in the rushes to see to it. Or even by Guy as he’d knelt to feel for a pulse, or in the wrecked bridal chamber.

“Milord.” Looking up, Rolf saw Vachel hovering nearby, a silver cup of wine in his hand and an anxious expression on his face. “Fortify yourself with this, milord. I have seen to the comforts of your chamber and sent Corbet to ready your weapons for the morrow.”

“Corbet.” Rolf drew a weary hand across his eyes. “He is safe, then. I wondered. Gareth of Kesteven will go with me. We leave at first light. See that the men are well provisioned and rested. I will not return to Dragonwyck without her.”

“Aye, milord.” Vachel held the wine closer. “Sir Rannulf and Sir Cleit beg leave to speak with you. As does Robert de Vieuxpont.”

Rolf frowned. “What of Sir Simon and Sir Richard?”

Vachel hesitated, then said, “They have not been found, milord. I do not think they are among the dead or wounded.”

Glancing at Guy, Rolf said slowly, “If they are not found, I will assume them guilty of treachery. Do their men stay?”

“They brought only a few men with them, and some of those serving Sir Simon are still here. They do not know where their lord has gone. Whitby’s men are disappeared.”

After a moment Rolf said, “Have Sir Rannulf and Sir Cleit meet me in my chambers. And send Corbet to me, if he is not already there.”

“Milord,” Guy said with a troubled frown, and Rolf looked back at him. “There is something I should have mentioned, but it did not seem important at the time … Sir Simon. During the hunt he was not with us. When I found you, I could have sworn I saw him in the trees just beyond
the clearing. But then everything happened so quickly, and when I was gored—”

Rolf put up a hand to stop him. “Do not think on’t now. First I must go after Annice. Sir Simon will turn up soon, most like.”

Rising, Rolf met Guy’s gaze. His earlier suspicions were not entirely eased by his knight’s injuries, or his protests. Sir Simon had said Guy had driven the boar toward him. It would be reasonable for a man to attempt to place a seed of doubt in his mind—but was it Guy? Or Sir Simon? Rolf sensed Guy was still holding something back, though he did not know what it could be, if not his guilt.

Guy cleared his throat and gestured to his injured leg. His voice was helpless and frustrated. “I could not go to the lady’s aid, milord. If I could have done so, I would have. My first thought was to warn you, so that you could halt them.…”

Rolf put up a hand. “Nay, Sir Guy. Whatever else I might think, I know you would not willingly allow harm to come to my lady.”