Juliana Garnett (6 page)

Her breath frosted the air in front of her face, her words giving the lie to her actions. “I am but slightly chilled, Sir Knight.”

Sympathy prompted him to remove his cloak from the saddlebow to sling around her shoulders. “Shall I ask again for a halt?”

“Nay I would not have your lord chastise us for being laggard.” A faint smile twisted her lips. “Though I could wish for a more even-gaited palfrey.”

Grinning, Guy nudged his destrier forward. “A frail horse such as that could not bear our weight, milady. But I shall endeavor to keep a more even pace.”

After a moment of silence broken only by the clopping of hooves against roadbed, the lady shifted again to look at him over her shoulder. “Sir Knight,” she whispered softly, and there was a quiver in her voice that betrayed her fear,
“I do beg a boon of you. I can pay well for a moment of inattention and a horse.…”

Guy was half expecting it and had already begun to shake his head when the lady tugged at one of her long, slim fingers and removed a ring. She held it up so that it caught the light in a sparkle of blue glitter. Quickly he closed his first around ring and hand to hide it.

“Nay, milady,” he said harshly. “Do not ask of me what I fear you will—I am sworn to yon knight and would be ever loyal.”

Her lashes cast long shadows on her pale cheek. The sapphire-and-diamond ring in her palm and his fist would have bought an entire suit of armor, a horse, and p’raps a year’s lodging. But even if he were inclined to betray Rolf, the dishonor of it would have killed him ere that fierce warrior could do so. He shook his head again, his voice kinder.

“I understand your desire to flee, but have more faith in my lord’s honor.”

As he released her hand and she slid the ring back onto a shaking finger, she said in a bitter tone, “I understand well the honor of most men and have found nothing to recommend it.”

“I am sorry, milady.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment but finally inclined her head and turned around to face forward. “Aye, Sir Knight. As am I.”

As the lady settled back against him, the woolen cloak snug around her form and cushioning his chest, Guy had the thought that she was much stronger than she appeared. Few females of his acquaintance would have suffered the rigors of the day without loud complaints and wailing, yet beyond her first protests, this lady had made no other murmurs. She had to be uncomfortable. The clime had grown chill and damp, and the road was hard. Yet she bore her discomfort more silently than she did her indignation at being taken hostage.

He hid a grin. It occurred to him that Rolf of Dragonwyck might have met his match in this one small female. She possessed a stubborn streak to match that of the Dragon’s, and he anticipated most interesting days ahead. How
would Lord Rolf react to a woman who dared say him nay? It should be most entertaining to observe.…

Their pause had not gone unnoticed. The Lord of Dragonwyck waited until they had ridden abreast of him, then kept apace.

“Is there trouble, Sir Guy?” His words were directed at his knight, but his gaze shifted to Annice. She met it steadily. Nay, not for her the cowering prisoner. Rolf le Draca would soon discover that he had no meek maiden in his care, but a woman full-grown and well versed in defiance. Not for nothing had she endured the beatings and rages of her husband with an unbowed head. It was that, she had often thought, that had enraged Luc most. ’Twas a small victory, to be certain, and had often cost her dear in bruises and stripes, but her inner spirit had taken great satisfaction in the triumph.

“Nay, lord,” Sir Guy said, taking Annice by surprise. He shifted her slightly in the saddle, one arm holding her to him. “I but paused to situate myself more comfortably.”

“We do not stop until nightfall.” Dragonwyck gestured toward the east. “Then we shall rest only a short time. If we ride hard, we will reach our destination before Seabrook’s knights can find us.”

The past hours had not been spent on any road, but riding over thicketed vales that had no more than sheep tracks as lanes. Avoiding villages and scattered cottages, le Draca clearly intended to reach Dragonwyck with none to mark his passage.

Annice clutched at the high pommel of the saddle with both hands, her voice steady. “And do you think you can withstand both Seabrook and the king’s combined forces, my lord?”

“John is in Poitou,” he said abruptly. “When I left, he was at Geoffrey’s castle of Mervant, with no intention of leaving France too quickly.”

“When he learns of this outrage against a ward he safely placed, he will hasten to send troops to lay siege at your gates.”

“Let them come.” A merciless smile curled his mouth. “If they think to effect a rescue, I shall send out a portion of you at a time until they have the whole. Do you think, my lady, that would satisfy them?”

She stared at him. A chill settled in her internal organs that rendered her speechless. There was no doubt in her mind that Rolf le Draca would do what he threatened. Frozen with fear and horror, she watched as he gave her another mirthless smile and wheeled his horse. He rode away without a backward glance.

Shivering, she barely heard Sir Guy’s murmured words; they made no sense to her anyway. All she could hear was le Draca’s mocking voice sounding her doom.

God help her. And she had once thought, however naively, that the Dragon possessed a soul.

Light from sputtering torches placed in sconces on the castle walls were all that illuminated the dark night when the small band came to a halt at Dragonwyck’s fortifications. True to his word, Rolf had paused for only brief rests. Haste had earned him safe passage to his castle. Tilting back his head, he bellowed out his name to the sentry in the barbican, though ’twas hardly necessary. Dragonwyck thrust up from a hilltop, commanding a view of the surrounding countryside for five leagues or more on a clear day. They would have been seen an hour before, when light still lay on the land.

A dark shape appeared in an arrow slit, silhouetted against the fitful light of a torch. Recognizing his lord, the sentry withdrew immediately and called an order to lower the bridge. Sensing rest and fodder, the horses stamped and blew impatiently, harness bits jangling in the night. There was the crisp smell of newly plowed earth in the air beyond the castle walls, familiar and reassuring. He was home.

Accompanied by a loud, rasping rattle of chains, the drawbridge slowly lowered. It came to rest with a heavy thud, and Rolf nudged his destrier forward. Hooves sounded overloud on the wooden bridge as they passed beneath the teeth of the portcullis. Moving slowly along angled
passages pocked with murder holes in the high walls, the weary band passed through five more doors and under six portcullises before crossing a second drawbridge and moat. This sluggish ribbon of water was just as dank and murky as the first, and a light mist hovered above its surface.

After traversing walls twenty feet thick, they finally entered the inner bailey Topped by runways, the walls bore crenellated battlements as protection for defending archers; faint shadows moved along them, posted guards to keep Dragonwyck secure. At regular intervals bastions swelled the walls. ’Twas unlikely indeed that any enemy fortunate enough to penetrate this far would be victorious.

More torches flared, shedding pools of light into the deep shadows of the inner bailey. Liveried squires and servants scurried toward them, yawning sleepily as they greeted their lord. Hounds bayed a deep-throated welcome. The familiar humps of the outbuildings were dark outlines in the night. Rolf dismounted and turned to his squire.

“See to Wulfsige,” he ordered, thrusting the destrier’s reins into the youth’s hand. “Give him an extra measure of grain, for he has earned it well this day, as have the others.”

Turning, Rolf strode to Guy FitzHugh, who was still mounted and holding Lady Annice. She was pale, even in the murky orange-and-rose light of the torches. Her dark-red hair fell past her hips; the bound strands had loosened, wisps framing her delicate face in loose tendrils. Without speaking he reached up to take her down, his hands firm around her waist. She was lighter than he’d thought she would be as he lowered her to her feet. And smaller than he recalled. The top of her head rose only to his chest.

Though she gave a slight gasp, she did not offer resistance at his handling of her. ’Twas just as well. His temper was none too sweet, and he would not have borne opposition with good grace.

Sir Guy’s cloak hung off her shoulders to drag on the ground. Keeping his hands on her waist, Rolf said mockingly, “Welcome to Dragonwyck, milady”

She glanced around her at the well-tended buildings and dense fortifications, then up at him. “ ’Tis not so needy of repair as you would have Seabrook believe, I think.”

“ ’Tis my hope that the earl presumes my keep is crumbling into ruins. ’Twould give me great pleasure to have him at my gate for a change.”

“You may well get that desire fulfilled, my lord.”

She trembled slightly, and he realized that it was as much with weariness as it was with chill. Faint bluish shadows like bruises marked her eyes, and her shoulders drooped. Yet she held her head high, refusing to cower. He felt a certain grudging respect. His hands fell away and he took a step back.

“On the morrow you shall make your mark upon a letter to send to Seabrook, milady.”

He lifted his hand to beckon a servant forward, then gave a start of anger when Lady Annice said coolly, “I have no intention of signing any missive to him. Do what you will. I’ll have no part of it.”

“You,” he said with soft menace, “have no choice. I care not whether I dip my quill in ink or blood, so be forewarned—I am in no mood to quibble with a woman.”

He’d not thought her face could grow any paler; he saw now that he was wrong. All color leached from her complexion, and her lips looked almost bloodless as she tightened them. Deep-blue eyes fringed with dark lashes regarded him for a long moment.

“That is twice you have threatened me with grave harm, milord,” she said quietly “Is it your wont to war on women now?”

“I do what I must to achieve my ends. If it includes making war on women, then so be it. I’ve not noticed any lack of restraint on Seabrook’s part for using children to further his ambitions. Should I be more squeamish?”

“Nay, not the Dragon,” she retorted. “ ’Tis said that you have few scruples at gaining your ends.”

Fury narrowed his eyes and stoked his temper to a blaze. His hand flashed out, grasping her by the chin to hold her head up and still. “Yea,” he ground out, “ ’tis true enough that I do what I must without regard for those who would gainsay me. Yet hear this, my lady—those who have been foolish enough to thwart me swiftly bemoan that decision.”

“I have seen no sign of lament in my lord Seabrook’s manner,” she shot back at him. Her thick words were forced out between lips crushed by the grip of his fingers against her jaw.

Rolf stared down at her, half-amazed, half-angered by her temerity. A brindle hound whined as if sensing disaster. Around them he could hear the shuffle of feet and sputter of torches, while all else was still and waiting. Few men dared defy him so openly, much less a lady of small stature and great foolishness. He drew in a deep breath to dampen his flaring temper.

“You shall,” he said softly, and released her chin. Marks from his gauntlets splotched her face, and he felt a moment’s sorrow at marring such beauty. He had forgotten he still wore them and had not considered the effect of rough mail against tender skin. He stared at her. “You shall soon see more than regret in Seabrook’s manner, I vow.”

Turning, he beckoned his steward, Vachel, forward. “See that the lady Annice is taken to a chamber,” he commanded. “And bring me the key once she is secured inside.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Sir Guy’s head snap up and a faint frown crowd his brow. But the knight said nothing, merely glanced from Rolf to the lady, then toward the steward.

“Aye, milord.” Vachel hesitated, then asked, “Shall I ready a chamber in the east wing, seigneur?”

Rolf paused. It was Vachel’s delicate way, he supposed wryly, of asking if the lady was to be given a chamber due her status or cast into a damp cell. He nodded. “Aye, Vachel. A small chamber in the east wing will be most sufficient.”

’Twas immediately plain that Lady Annice had well understood this small play, for she said with rich contempt lacing her words, “How noble a captor you are, my lord. I shall pray daily for the repose of your immortal soul.…”

Wheeling around, he said softly, “ ’Twould be well-advised that you pray for your own soul in these times, milady. You stand much closer to heaven’s gates than you know.”

It gave him much less satisfaction than he’d thought to see her eyes widen and her mouth tremble with barely suppressed
fear. He should have been fiercely pleased at her reaction. Yet he was not. Instead he began to feel more like the savage beast she obviously thought him, and it was not a pleasant sensation.

Alone in a small, dimly lit chamber that smelled of burning oil and musty stone, Annice was able to yield to the exhaustion and fear that had been weighing heavily on her since before dusk. Long hours of mental and physical torment had taken their toll. She removed Sir Guy’s cloak, then sagged onto the bleak comfort of a straw-stuffed rope bed and put her face into her palms. At least she was alone with her suffering.

Passing through the great hall to the staircase that wended upward in a full circle, she’d had a brief impression of curious faces and stone dragons. It was the last that had unnerved her most. The walls seemed full of dragons, cut into corners and over doorways, grinning, slathering beasts with bared fangs and drooling tongues to guard the halls. Even windowsills bore squatting scaled beasts carved into stone. The vast hall of Dragonwyck had seemed full of grotesquely staring faces as she had been escorted past, and she’d dreaded confrontation when she felt so drained.

But Vachel, who seemed to have a kind heart despite his service to le Draca, had buffered the few hostile queries thrown at them with his casual replies. The slightly built steward had been gentle in word and deed, shielding her from the unfriendly glances and muttered words of her armed guard sent with them.