Kathryn Le Veque (6 page)

A man
standing nearby turned at the sound of his name.
“My lord?”

“Ride to
Birmingham immediately, to the Hospitallers’ stronghold of Clavell Hill on the
outskirts of the city. Tell His Grace Father Bordeleaux that Roane de Garr is
at Kinlet Castle. Tell him to send men immediately to collect him.”

Hook
appeared confused. “De Garr is at…?”

“Don’t argue
with me, you fool! Just do it! And tell the good priest to send my reward as
well; I’ll only turn over de Garr if I have my money.”

Hook nodded
and fled. Dodge, full of himself, turned to Peale and shook his fist in the
air. “I am brilliant!”

Peale wasn’t
sure how brilliant he was. But by morning, they were all riding like the devil
toward Kinlet Castle.

***

Roane took
them well off the main road north. Alisanne was exhausted from walking for
hours but he couldn’t spare the time to stop and rest. He finally collected her
in his arms and told her to lay her head against his shoulder and sleep. She
was unsure, mayhap even a little timid at being held so close, but he insisted,
so she finally complied.
 
Wandering
through clusters of trees and farmer’s clearings, it was close to dawn when Roane
came across a small town with a marketplace that was already bustling.

Farmers were
coming from their fields to sell wagons of turnips, beets, carrots, peas and
lentils. One farmer had huge baskets full of dried sunflower seeds. Roane came
out of the trees and onto the road, making a strange sight holding a limp lady
as he wandered into the town of small mud-brick buildings and several scattered
thatch houses. A few of the folks gave him a second glance, but most went about
their business.

The sunrise
was weak through a heavy bank of morning clouds. Roane’s worn boots were soaked
and falling apart as he walked upon the muddy ground, but his attention was
focused not on his poor attire but on a small building near the edge of the
village. It was a single story structure made of thatch and mud, but already he
had seen a couple of men wander in and out. It could only be a tavern or hostel
of some sort, and he made his way toward it. Even at this time of the morning,
the place was busy.

He tried not
to think on the fact that he didn’t have any money. Alisanne needed a place to
sleep for a few hours, and he needed the opportunity to beg, buy or borrow a
horse.
 
His mind wandered to the days
when he had a fine charger and armor and never wanted for anything. Even as a
youth, his family had been wealthy landowners and his father, a powerful
warlord. Roane and his older brother had been pampered with the best of
everything money could buy, but to Roane, it had never been enough. He had
always felt he lacked something. When he found that “something” in the
Hospitallers, his father had disowned him and his brother had inherited everything.
He never wished he’d had his share of the money until now.

The tavern
was unbelievably small and smelly. The floor was littered with broken-down
chairs and dog feces. With Alisanne slumbering heavily in his arms, Roane
walked up to the slovenly barkeep.

“My lady
requires a room and a bath,” he said. “Though I carry no money, I will be happy
to work off the price.”

Roane
couldn’t believe he had swallowed his pride so easily. The barkeep, however,
looked at him as if he was lower than dirt. “Get out of here,” he snarled.
“I’ve got enough poor customers. I am not runnin’ a charity here.”

It was a
brave thing to say to a man who stood head and shoulders above all the rest. Roane
could have spent all day begging and negotiating, but he had
not
the time nor
the patience. Freeing a hand, he snatched the barkeep
around the neck and the man gasped in terror.

“Then listen
well,” Roane growled. “My brother is Baron Coniston and controls all the land
from Kendal to Skipton, a massive expanse near the Pennines. He has hundreds of
men at his disposal, which I suggest you consider very carefully before
refusing me again. Now, you will give me a room and food and send him the bill.
Is that clear?”

The man was
rightfully fearful in the face of the great blond knight. “But… but you said…!”

“I said I
didn’t have any money with me. I did not say I was poor. I offered to work in
exchange for trade but you, in your ignorance, insulted my honor and now I will
tell you exactly what is going to transpire at this time, whether or not it
suits you. Is this in any way unclear?”

The man
started into Roane’s eyes with terror. “No,” he gasped.

“Excellent,”
Roane let him go so that the man almost fell back against the wall in his
haste. “Now show me a room.
Immediately.”

There were
only two rooms; one where the barkeep and his wife slept, and the other one, a
larger one, for paying guests. While Roane deposited Alisanne on the sagging
bed, which was surprisingly clean, the barkeep shouted for his wife to bring
hot water and the tub. Roane sat down beside Alisanne as the barkeep started a
fire in the small hearth and his fat, wild-eyed wife brought a large, dusty
copper tub into the room and began filling it with buckets of hot water from a
big pot over the fireplace in the main room.

Roane saw
bits of straw floating in the water and was told the tub was used to feed the
livestock when not in use as anything else.
 
It took some time to fill it half-full and Roane thought that was good
enough, but it took quite a while before the barkeep located a bar of soap.
Made from fats and tallow with bits of rose petals and calendula, it was the
barkeep’s wife’s personal soap. From the looks of her, she hardly ever used it.
Roane chased them both away and closed the door.

“Are you
really Baron Coniston’s brother?” Alisanne, who had presumably been asleep
during the entire commotion, opened her blood-shot eyes and grinned at him. “Or
were you just making that up so he would give us this room?”

Roane tried
to look serious but it was difficult when she was smiling so openly at him. “Of
course I didn’t make it up. I was born and raised at Gargrave Castle in
Yorkshire, seat of Baron Coniston.”

“But that does
not make you the baron’s brother. You could have been the lowly son of house
servants.”

He cocked an
eyebrow. “Do I
look
lowly?”

She giggled.
“You know better than to ask me that.”

He pretended
to frown; a foot was sticking out from beneath her gown and he grabbed it,
pretending to tear off her shoe and tickle her small foot. “Insolent wench,
I’ll teach you some respect.”

She squealed
in delighted terror. He grinned and let go of her foot. “Your bath awaits you, my
lady.
 
I thought you might enjoy one.”

She sat up
on the bed, her shimmering brown hair askew. “You noticed my smell, did you?”

“Everybody
smells.”

“Not this
bad.”

“Aye, I’ll
agree you are hard to miss.”

“You should
be on my end.”

His smile
broadened and he put his hand on the door latch. “I would like to be.”

He quit the
room chivalrously. Alisanne sat on the bed, smiling like an idiot for the
longest time. When the giddy warmth passed over her, she shook herself free of
her thoughts and tore her mucky, stinky clothes off with eager abandon. It was
cold in the room but warm in the tub, even though there was barely enough water
to cover her. Still, a bath was a bath. Lathering herself up with the barwife’s
soap, she scrubbed vigorously with the cheesecloth that had been left for her.

She had soap
on her face and in her eyes when she heard the door open. “Who’s there?” she
demanded.

Roane
laughed softly. “Forgive me, my lady, I swear I am not looking. The barwife offered
to clean your clothing.”

She put the
cheesecloth on her face, wiping the suds off. “But I’ll have nothing to wear
for hours!”

“You would
rather put dirty clothing back on?”

She
peeped
one red eye open. True to his word, he wasn’t looking
at her. “Well, I suppose not,” she said.
 
“But what am I going to wear in the mean time?”

“Trust me.”

He closed
the door again and was gone. Alisanne doused her whole head in the water to
wash off the soap, wondering if she was going to spend the rest of the day
wrapped in bed linens to keep from catching her death. She felt rather
vulnerable without her clothing.

She sat in
the tub until the water was tepid and still no Roane. Climbing out of the tub, she
tore the coverlet off the bed and wrapped herself in it, and went to sit by the
fire. Running her fingers through her hair, she felt it slowly dry in the
warmth of the blaze.
Still, no Roane.
The morning
advanced and the barwife came and brought her bread and tart, white cheese to
eat, but said nothing about Roane when Alisanne inquired. She was beginning to
think she may have been abandoned.

Finally, her
hair was dry in shiny brown waves. The barwife had left her a fishbone comb and
she stroked her hair absently. More than perturbed and just the slightest bit
fearful, Alisanne nearly jumped from her skin when the door popped open and Roane
entered. He moved so quickly that she didn’t see what he had in his hands until
he thrust it in her face.

“Well?” he
demanded. “What do you think?

It was a
wonderful garment of yellow linen, very well made and lined with several layers
of a soft cotton fabric so the skirt was thick and full. The bodice was laced
with a fashionable crisscross corset, the bust line daringly low cut, and the
sleeves long and flowing. Holding it up in one hand for her to see, he tossed
something on to the bed with his other hand. Alisanne saw a pair of matching
slippers.
 

“Well?” he
repeated.

She was
stunned. “I…
it’s
lovely,” she fingered the linen.
“But… where did you get it?”

“From a
woman in town who makes gowns and other garments,” he said, somewhat quietly.
“She is a friend of the barwife’s. We determined your dress to be unsalvageable,
so I thought mayhap a new one was in order. Do you like it?”

She nodded
her head, too surprised to speak for a moment. “Where did you get the money?”

“I traded
your gown, and a few other things, for it.”

She looked
at him suspiciously. “What else did you trade, Roane? You had nothing of
value.”

He shrugged
and laid the dress across the mattress. It was then she noticed that he was not
wearing his heavy leather tunic and she pointed at him accusingly.
“Your vest.
Did you trade it as well?”

He avoided
her question. “Try the gown on. I wish to see how it looks. It’s been a long
time since I’ve seen a lady in finery.”

She reached
out and grabbed him before he could leave the room. Her grip was minimal but it
was enough to stop him. “Roane,” she said softly. “Why did you trade your vest?
It must have cost you a small fortune!”

He gave her
a lop-sided smile. “It does not matter. It is more important that you be
clothed in something suitable.”

“But I could
have made due with my other gown.”

“How old was
it?”

She
faltered. “A few years, I suppose.”

He lifted an
eyebrow. “A few years?” he disputed her. “There were worn spots and mended
areas all over it. If it wasn’t the only gown you had, then it was close to
it.”

She shrugged
and lowered her gaze. “I make due.”

He picked up
the linen dress and tossed it on her lap. “No more making due,” he said with
gentle gruffness. “Put it on.”

She picked
it up, the light of gratitude in her eyes, and he didn’t mind losing his
leather vest one bit. It had been the one bit of protection he had since he no
longer possessed his armor, but he didn’t care. It was more important that Alisanne
be properly clothed and he held no regrets.

“I am really
not your responsibility,” she said softly.
 
“I am not sure I can accept this in good conscience. I cannot pay you
for it.”

“You paid
for it when you helped me escape.”

He left the
room. After a moment’s hesitation, she put the gown on, feeling Roane’s concern
and warmth embracing every inch of her.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Your daughter is a traitor,”
Dodge said. “You know, of course, how traitors are dealt with.”

He was directing his venom to a
small, older man seated near the hearth in the great hall of Kinlet Castle. Kinlet
was comprised of a stout
pele
tower, several out
buildings, and a great hall, relatively new compared to some of the castles in
the country, having been built by Edward de Soulant’s father a mere fifty years
before.
 
Unfortunately, the years had
seen the de Soulant fortune deteriorate and the once-fine castle looked twice
its age without the care and money devoted to its upkeep.
 
There had never been a great deal of soldiers
or servants populating the place, but now it was almost deserted.
 
Every time Dodge looked at the place, he
could see what his ill-gotten gains could improve.

Edward still could not stomach
the thought of his daughter married to a bounty hunter, no matter what it would
mean for the good of Kinlet.
 
“Is that
what you plan to do, kill her?”
 
he
asked, his voice soft. “You’ll never gain what you want
that way.”

Dodge laughed bitterly. “I don’t
plan to kill her, at least not before the wedding,” he said. “But I will punish
her. Mayhap not directly, but I will punish her, rest assured.”

“What does that mean?’

Dodge leaned forward, his lip
curled in an unattractive snarl. “It means that I have sent word to Birmingham.
I’ve told the Hospitallers to come to Kinlet and collect their criminal. It
means that your daughter will see her lover taken away in chains and her father
thrown in the vault permanently and that, my dear Baron, should be punishment
enough.”

“You have no heart, de Vere. You
are an animal.”

Dodge only laughed again and
turned away. Beside Edward sat a man with shaggy brown hair, his hazel eyes
clear and bright. He watched Dodge pace around the barren great hall, grumbling
to the hoodlums that had accompanied him. Father Joseph Ari leaned over to his
brother-in-law.

“They’re going throw us all in
the vault and destroy the key,” he whispered.

“Mayhap,” Edward said steadily.
He dared to glance at the priest. “Tell me of this friend of yours, de Garr.
What kind of man is he that my daughter has risked her life for him?”

Father Joseph Ari kept his eyes
on the men holding them captive. “A finer man I have never known.
Brave, wise, strong.
Surely Alisanne saw that in him. And if
I know Roane, and I did very well once, he is not running to save his own hide.
He is thinking of a way to help us.”

“What makes you so sure?” Edward
hissed. “My daughter helped the bounty hunters capture him.”

“But then she helped him escape,”
Joseph Ari reminded him. “Nay, Edward, it is my suspicion that Roane is coming
to our rescue. For certain, our captors think so.”

Edward’s brilliant green eyes
trailed to the men milling about his beloved hall, spitting on the floor and
cursing so that the very walls were tainted.
 
He wished to God that he was stronger, that he possessed a few soldiers,
for he would run the ruffians out and hex them should they ever return. But his
health was gone, his men gone, and there was nothing to do but wait.

“If that is true,” he said, “then
de Garr and my daughter are walking into a trap.”

Joseph Ari’s eyes twinkled. “Roane
isn’t that stupid. You must have faith, brother. He has outwitted the
Hospitallers before, and bounty hunters are mere toys for his intellect. He
shall prevail, have no fear.”

Edward was silent a moment as he
watched one man urinate in the corner of the room near the vestibule that
contained a makeshift altar. He turned away, unable to watch any longer. “I
pray that you are correct.”

Joseph Ari nodded confidently.
“Have faith,” he repeated.

***

Roane’s leather vest hadn’t
merely purchased Alisanne a gown; it had also purchased a rather worn-looking
mare that turned out to be swifter than it appeared.
 
Bathed and dressed and re-clad in the old
worn cloak that the barwife had actually managed to clean adequately, Alisanne
was mounted behind Roane as they cantered gently along the road leading north.

Evening was setting in, not a
particularly ideal time to travel, but Roane knew he could waste no more time.
There had been no sign of Dodge’s men, though they had managed to stay out of
site, and it was his suspicion that Dodge, being a logical man, assumed where
they were heading. In fact, he suspected that Dodge was already at Kinlet
waiting for them. Dodge knew Alisanne would not leave her father to the wolves,
and he further knew that Roane more than likely had offered to help her. Thus,
Dodge was doing the smart thing by letting his prey come to him, and Roane was
planning to do just that.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked Alisanne;
she was seated in front of him, wedged up against his broad chest.

She nodded her head, tickling his
chin with her silky brown hair. “For the first time in a great while, I am.
Mostly because you generate more heat than a roaring blaze.”

He grinned. “It is a rare day
when I am cold.”

“Good,” she said. “You stay right
there and keep me warm. I am always cold.”

To prove her point, she put her
arm up and lay her hand against his stubbled cheek. He clapped a big hand over
it as if she had shocked him with her touch.

“Christ, woman, you are
freezing,” he snorted.

She giggled but she did not move
her hand. He gradually wound his fingers into her own and brought her hand
down, holding it, and her, against him. Alisanne’s stomach twisted wildly and
it was a struggle to maintain her steady breathing; everything about his touch
seemed to ignite her beyond reason. Never in her life had she felt more safe or
protected, in strange competition with the dread she felt for her father and
for Roane.

It was a peculiar dilemma,
compounded by the always-present physical discomfort of her eyes. They were
very irritated and the cold air seemed to aggravate them even more. With her
free hand, she began to rub them vigorously.
 

He watched her poke and scratch.
“Are your eyes troubling you?”

“They ache.”

“How is your sight?”

She shrugged.
“Blurred.
But that is usual.”

She sounded so resigned. But in
truth, he’d never once sensed any self-pity from her and refrained from asking
again if she would allow him to touch her eyes. Mayhap the truth was that she
was afraid of him; many people were. The Hospitallers
were,
which is why they were intent on persecuting him. It wasn’t as if lightning flew
out of his fingers or anything; in fact, John Adam was the only person he had
ever healed, but it had been enough to convince his sect that he was a grave
danger. He knew he was viewed as nothing short of a witch by some.

He pushed those thoughts aside as
they rode into the steadily deepening night. He didn’t want to think of old
wounds right now. Roane knew their traveling in the dark wasn’t safe and he
wished he had his sword with him. But he wouldn’t dwell on the negative; all
that mattered was getting to Kinlet Castle, which, he estimated, was still a
day’s ride away. With the wide berth they had taken to stay off the main road
and away from Dodge, they had to make up lost ground.

The dead of night came and went,
with Alisanne sleeping dreamlessly in his arms. He watched her, the fragile
curves of her face, the long dark lashes that fluttered every so often,
thinking that God must have brought her to him for a reason. Thoughts of his
curse came back to him once again and he thought mayhap that God had given him
this
curse,
or gift as some called it, for just such a
reason. Mayhap the reason was lying in his arms right now and he was too blind
to realize it. In spite of her protests or fear or whatever reasons she held to
refuse him, he felt at that moment that he needed to heal her more strongly
than he had ever felt about anything in his life. It was ridiculous, even
sacrilege, for him to possess this talent and not use it for the only valuable
reason he’d ever come across.

When the horse slowed to a walk
and all was still and quiet around them, Roane timidly put his hand across her
eyes, unsure of what he was doing but determined to do it just the same. He
found himself praying so hard that tears sprang to his eyes. He hadn’t prayed
in three years, not since he had denounced God for giving him this horrible
curse. But the more he prayed, the easier it became, and he found himself
begging for Alisanne’s sight.
 
God, if you’ve never heard me before, then
hear me now. Help me heal her!

Over the battered road they
traveled and Roane had no idea how long he had been praying. He prayed and
prayed as if he had been doing it all of his life, the words flowing freely in
his mind and his body enveloped by a holy warmth. But the warmth eventually
faded, like a dying fire, and suddenly Roane awoke as if from a deep sleep,
looking around to notice unfamiliar ground, strange trees and fields. He didn’t
even recognize the road behind him.
 
His
head hurt and his hands were shaking, and he was baffled that he had lost so
much time.

Against him, Alisanne continued
to sleep peacefully and as he gazed at her, the oddest sense of contentment
swept him, as if he had finally done something good and right with his life. He
suddenly wasn’t sorry in the least that he had been cursed. Still a bit dazed
but nonetheless confident, he kissed her on the forehead and prayed again, this
time that his attempt had worked.

Pink and gold ribbons of dawn
began to fill the eastern horizon. It was freezing at this time in the morning,
but Alisanne and Roane were warm and content wrapped in each other. Roane
hadn’t slept all night and he looked worse for the wear; his face was pale and
sporting a two-day’s growth of beard. His sea green eyes were dark circled, but
they were nonetheless alert.
 
He wished
they could stop and rest, but Kinlet wasn’t far in the distance and they needed
to make it there in quick time.

He was lost to his thoughts when Alisanne
stirred in his arms, mewling like a newborn kitten. Her nose wrinkled and she
sneezed, and then she immediately began rubbing her eyes. He smiled at her even
though she couldn’t see him, helping her to sit somewhat upright. She rubbed
and rubbed, picking at the morning crust around her lashes.

“Good morning,” he said softly.
“Did you sleep well?”

She stopped rubbing her eyes long
enough to blink them several times. Then she rubbed them again, more furiously.
Her eyes were red and tearing when she stopped rubbing, and she suddenly looked
around wildly, blinking and blinking.

“My God,” she gasped.

Roane’s heart leapt into his
throat. He was excited and terrified, afraid to ask if his attempt had been
successful. He couldn’t tell from the look on her face and the suspense was
maddening.
Please, God, give us a
miracle!

“What’s wrong?” he asked as
evenly as he could manage.

She didn’t say anything for a
moment. Then, her expression crumbled and she began rubbing her eyes again.
“Dear God, no,” she wept.

Roane was seized with horror. He
drew the horse to a rough halt. “Alisanne,” he said. “What’s wrong? What’s
happened?”

She pulled her fists from her
eyes, looking at her gown, turning her hand over in front of her face, as tears
poured down her cheeks. “I can’t…” she gasped. “
It’s
worse, Roane, so much worse!”

He felt as if he had been struck.
Everything horrible and odious that could befall him suddenly had, and for a
moment he could hardly breathe.
It
couldn’t be…!
 
He thought
desperately. Grasping her face between his hands, he forced her to look at him.

“Look at me, love,” he whispered
urgently. “Look at me; what do you see?”

She was looking at him, but her
red-rimmed eyes were unfocused.
 
“I…,”
she was struggling against her sobs. “I can see you but you are terribly blurry….”
She put her hand out and touched his head. Then she burst into renewed tears.
“But it’s so foggy. I can barely
see
anything!”

He didn’t know what to say. But
it was clear to him that his curse was indeed a curse, for the one good thing
he had tried to accomplish with it had gone awry. Instead of curing her, he had
only made her worse. He’d done this to her as surely as if he had gouged out
her eyes himself. Struggling with his guilt, he pulled Alisanne against him
fiercely, feeling every sob to his very bones.

“Oh, God,” he muttered. “I am so
sorry, love. I am so very sorry.”

She cried and cried, and he
continued to hold her. “Don’t worry, love,” he murmured into her hair. “’Twill
be all right, I promise. You... you needn’t worry about anything. I’ll take
care of... everything, I swear it.”