Juliana Garnett (29 page)

“The Dragon,” he muttered, and there was fear in his voice. Then he straightened in the saddle, and she heard him say, “I am sworn to guard this lady with my life.”

Before she could stop him, tell him that ’twas her husband who had come to her rescue, Rolf had spurred his destrier forward to meet the defiant soldier. Sunlight skittered along his uplifted blade, gleaming bright and lethal along the edge. Wulfsige’s great hooves churned furiously in the wet road, and the ground shook from the force of his heavy gallop.

To meet this challenge, her guard turned his mount to take the brunt of the impact, his own sword and shield held at the ready to parry the thrust. Annice closed her eyes and shuddered. She heard the first clash of swords, the horses’ grunts of effort, and the rasping breaths of the two men. She could not bear it.

Opening her eyes, she saw that Rolf’s attack had carried him past them, and he was already turning Wulfsige. The well-trained destrier positioned himself for the next assault, while Rolf tightened his grip on sword and shield.

“Nay!” Annice shouted, spurred into action by the sight of her guard’s bloodied arm. “Do not, my lord!”

She tried to kick her mount forward, but the horse only snorted and backed into a hedge. Desperate, she flung herself from its back and into the road, stumbling to her hands and knees before regaining her balance. Hands outspread, she staggered to the middle of the road.

“Nay, milord,” she panted, “do naught!”

The destrier pranced impatiently, chafing at the bit, nostrils flared and pink. Annice saw Rolf’s eyes beneath the helm glitter at her with icy green fury.

“Move from the path,” he snapped, but she shook her head.

“Nay. But listen.…”

Her guard growled something she didn’t understand, riding close enough to her to yank at her hood. “Milady, I repeat that you are in danger!” he said more loudly.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “ ’Tis le Draca—’tis you who are in the greatest danger,” she shot back.

Her guard glanced toward Rolf, and his jaw clenched. “I was sworn to see you safely to Stoneham,” he said stubbornly.

Though she couldn’t have said why—p’raps ’twas because he had said what he had about being born to his station in life—she felt an obligation to keep him from harm if possible. He had not been unkind to her, for all that he had intended to return her to Thurston.

“Surrender or he’ll kill you for certes,” she retorted. There was not enough time to be tactful and spare words. “Is Seabrook worth your death? I think not. I know him, and he will not thank you for risking your life, nor even for losing it.”

The man hesitated, eyes flicking toward Rolf. His grip tightened on his sword hilt. “I swore an oath.”

“To see me safe? Then release me to my husband.”

“The Dragon?” Uncertainty tinged his voice. His mount shifted restlessly beneath him. “I was told that you were abducted and in danger.”

“Yea, that I was, but we are now wed.” She glanced at Rolf, who sat silent and furious, watching them with narrowed
eyes. Taking a deep breath, she looked back at her guard. “Only yesterday we swore our vows before a priest and half of Lincolnshire. Would you steal a wife from her lawful husband?”

His sword wavered, and he shifted his shield slightly. After a moment he shook his head. “Nay. But you were forced to wed.”

“Nay, lower your weapon, brave knight. I wed him most willingly. Be certain there is no shame in yielding what you have sworn to protect to the man who first swore to keep it safe.…”

After a moment he slowly lowered his sword, though he kept his shield at the ready. Rolf did not move but sat his destrier in tense silence, and Annice began to think he would not accept surrender. There was a fierce light in his eyes, and his huge mailed fist still held tightly to his sword.

Then, finally, he bent his arm to touch the flat of his sword against his helm in a salute. Wulfsige pranced forward, snorting and shaking his great head with a flurry of his long black mane.

Riding to where she stood in the center of the muddy road, Rolf bent slightly to lift her. His arm curved around her waist, and he held her suspended for a moment, staring into her face. Then he placed her in front of him so that the high bow of the saddle dug almost painfully into her thigh. She ignored the discomfort. Relief flooded her. He had come for her, when he could so easily have let Thurston reclaim her.

“Give me your name,” Rolf said past her to the knight.

After a brief hesitation the man replied, “I am Sigehere, milord. In service to the Lady of Seabrook.”

“You are a courageous and loyal protector, Sigehere. There is always a place in my keep for men of your stature, should you ever decide to leave your overlord. But hear me well—I will not suffer more attempts made upon my lands or my lady. If not for her interference, you might well have earned your death this day.”

“If not for her interference,” Sigehere replied, “I would not have yielded.”

Rolf nodded. “I hope that if we meet again, it is not on the field of battle.”

Glancing behind him down the empty road, Sigehere apparently decided that his companions were not able to join him. He looked back at Rolf and nodded slowly.

“Yea, lord, as do I.”

“Go, and tell Lord Thurston that you succeeded in your mission. The lady is safe—with her husband.”

A faint grin split Sigehere’s face, and he shook his head. “I do not relish the reaction to my message, milord.”

“I regret that I cannot deliver it myself.” Rolf’s arm tightened around Annice’s waist, and he kept a steady hand on the reins to calm Wulfsige. The destrier was restive. “My advice is to ride to the east, then circle back. My troops are much about, and they are not in a pleasant mood of late.”

Reining his mount around, Sigehere nodded. “God’s mercy, my lord of Dragonwyck.”

“Is it true?” Annice asked when Sigehere had gone. She twisted to look at Rolf. “Are your troops spread about to search for me?”

Rolf’s gaze was icy. “What was that man to you?” he asked abruptly “Did you know him at Seabrook’s keep?”

Annice stared at him. “Nothing more than my guard. I have ne’er set eyes on him before yesterday,” she replied.

Some of the tension in Rolf’s arms eased, and she realized that he had thought the man a favorite of hers. Irritated, she gave him an exasperated look. It was not the time to explore the subject, but when he was calmer and they were rested, she intended that he not view every man she met as a possible suitor for her hand. Did he think her so ignorant of her station in life that she would dally with a soldier?

Easing her arm around his lean waist, she murmured with a sigh, “I thought you would never arrive, my lord. I had begun to suspect that you wanted Thurston to take me back. Has marriage palled upon you already?”

She had meant to tease him gently, to ease him from his sullen mood, but from the sudden flare in his eyes she knew she had erred.

In scant moments Rolf had swung down from his horse
and taken Annice with him. She was crushed against his chest, her cloak dragging in the mud of the road as he crossed to a copse of dense brush and trees. Without a word he snatched her cloak from around her shoulders and flung it to the ground atop a layer of leaves and grass. Then he pushed her downward with one hand, kneeling to loom over her.

For a moment she thought he meant to take her, there by the road upon a bed of cloak and leaves, but he only put both hands on each side of her so that his face was almost touching hers.

“Do not,” he bit out through clenched teeth, “ever come between me and another enemy. Not all men would be so easily checked as Sigehere. If he had chosen to fight, you would have been wounded, yea, and possibly killed.” He paused to draw in a breath between his teeth. “And do not think I would allow Thurston to take one more bit of my life from me. He has all he will take from me, and if I have to tear all of England apart to retrieve it, I shall do so.”

“Yea, lord,” she managed to say softly.

Rolf’s nostrils were flared, his eyes a hard, glittering green beneath the curve of his lashes. Even his mouth was hard, set into a taut line as he stared down at her. He sat back a little and worked at one of his gauntlets, removing it. Then he touched her face, her brow, cheek, and lips, before he lifted a free coil of her hair in his fist. His eyes closed, and he held her hair to his mouth and breathed deeply. She did not move or speak, did not dare to while he slowly let the tension in him fade. For long moments they sat there beneath the wet leaves of the thicket.

When he looked at her again, the fire was gone from his eyes and his mouth had eased into a faint smile. “I feared I would not be able to overtake you before Stoneham,” he said simply. “The delay was so long, and I was not certain which band of soldiers had you.”

She rested her palm against his bearded jaw. “I prayed you would come for me. How did you find me?”

“Sir Simon.” When her brows lifted in astonishment, he said, “He saw some of the men take you and recognized one of them from Seabrook’s keep. Taking only a few men, he
was able to follow without being seen. ’Twas Sir Simon who intercepted us with the direction.”

“What of my other vassals? Do they live?”

Rolf looked down at the loop of her hair he held in his hand and frowned. “Yea, as far as I am aware. Sir Simon and Sir Cleit rode with us until we split into different bands. ’Twas Sir Simon who bade me take this road, thinking that the abductors would go this way.”

“And Sir Richard de Whitby?”

Rolf’s frown deepened. “He nor his men remained at Dragonwyck when the fighting was done. I know not which side they chose.”

She expelled a long breath of disappointment. Sir Richard had long been a vassal of Beauchamp. That he had obviously chosen to side with Thurston was discouraging, but not unexpected. She studied Rolf’s face for a moment.

“You do not suspect him of being the traitor, do you?”

He flicked her a glance and shrugged. “I do not know. Someone opened the postern gate to allow in the enemy. If not Sir Richard, then it must be someone else we did not suspect.”

“To have a traitor in our midst, supping at the table, drinking wine with us—milord, he must be found and hanged.”

A faint smile curved his lips. “Vicious little countess. Yea, I do agree. Or best, his identity must be discovered without his being made aware of our knowledge.”

“What? You would let a traitor live?”

Rolf shrugged. “ ’Tis always wise to keep one’s friends close, and one’s enemies closer yet. If we do not kill the traitor, then he will be much more valuable.”

Straightening, he held out a hand to her to pull her to her feet. “Come, wife. We shall return to Dragonwyck and prepare a warm welcome for the viper in our midst. Pray he returns.”

“But how will we know?”

“ ’Twill be simple. The traitor will be the man with the most charming smile and facile explanation for his absence from the hall.”

It was not a very comforting thought.

D
ragonwyck torches had already been lit, though night was yet a vague blur of shadows hovering over the forest spires beyond the village. The portcullis lifted with a scraping of chains and loud rattle to allow the returning troops and their lord passage inside. Hoofbeats echoed forlornly on the stones of the outer bailey as they crossed the drawbridge and entered.

An eerie silence pervaded the castle. Rolf glanced up uneasily at the murder holes pocking the walls overhead, half expecting to see a flurry of enemy arrows descend upon them.

But nothing moved there. Beyond the distant clatter of the guards in the barbican, he had seen no signs of familiar life. His hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword. Had the invaders returned in his absence? Sir Simon, riding behind him and abreast with Annice, muttered a soft oath, and it was echoed by another man.

It was Sir Rannulf who voiced aloud his fears. “Milord,” he said, spurring his mount next to Rolf in the narrow passage,
“ ’tis dismal and quiet for a keep of such size. Is’t always this way upon thy return?”

“Nay.” Rolf’s short answer did not satisfy Sir Rannulf, who kept his eyes shifting from wall to wall as if expecting men to leap out at any moment. After a moment Rolf added, “No doubt Sir Guy has given orders to watch us closely. The traitor has yet to be caught.”

Rather taken aback, Sir Rannulf protested, “But he would hardly ride with you, milord!”

Rolf slid him an amused glance. “How not? He sat at my table, ate of my meat, and drank of my wine—would he not be bold enough to ride at my side disguised as friend rather than foe?”

Sir Rannulf’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then he gave a shrug. “Yea, I see the sense in it. Yet it leaves us all as suspect, to my mind.”

“Yea, Sir Rannulf. That is quite true.”

Whatever Sir Rannulf would have replied remained unspoken, for at that moment the small band of men passed under the arch and into the inner bailey Remnants of the battle were evident there. Workers had cleared most of the mess of shattered furniture and charred rushes from the hall, and there were piles of wreckage scattered about waiting to be carted away. Puddles of rainwater dotted the stones in places, reflecting towers, walls, and torchlight in undulating images. The smell of roasted meat teased him, and a fire burned against a far wall.