Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03 (4 page)

In a way, this journey was the embodiment of a childhood dream. How many times had she lain in the grass, staring at the birds flying overhead and envying them their freedom? She’d always known a whole new world existed beyond the abbey walls. Now she had the opportunity to explore it.

There had been a gatekeeper at the abbey years ago, a very old man who’d traveled far and wide. He told her of lands and people different from any she’d ever known.

His brief stay at the abbey shone as a rare bright spot in her memory. She’d never forgotten the tales he’d shared with her.

If the Dragon couldn’t help her, perhaps she’d make her way south, to Pembroke or Manorbier. Each castle had its own town, of a size she could scarcely imagine.

Strangers from foreign lands came there to trade, bringing with them news of places far beyond her ken.

Though she knew that for many the cloister provided a safe haven, to her it had been a prison. She’d never return, no matter what she had to do to survive.

The sound of the bar thumping against the door startled her. Her heart pounding wildly, she stood and tossed aside the cloak. Had the Dragon returned so soon?

The door flew open beneath the force of two brawny men. Before she could do more than gasp, one entered the cell and grabbed her roughly by the arm, while the other stood guard in the doorway.

He pulled her arms behind her and bound them with a coarse rope.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Already her shoulders throbbed with pain, so tight were the bonds.

“Did Lord Ian order this?”

“Ye’re to come with us,” the guard said.

“Don’t give us trouble, missy, else ye might get hurt.” He wrapped a musty rag around her mouth and tied it behind her head.

He gave her a shove to start her moving. Her feet slipped in the loose straw, and she scrambled for purchase, stumbled and almost fell on her face. Her burly escort saved her from that fate, but her arms felt wrenched from their sockets.

For the first time since the Dragon hauled her up the wall, she felt afraid. Her guards set a hellish pace. She tried to keep up, but they made no accommodation for her shorter legs as they hauled her through a maze of dark, winding corridors. The filthy gag made her cough; the fear in her throat made it almost impossible to breathe.

The ground sloped downward, the hard-packed dirt grew uneven. The distance between torches grew so great that she could scarce make out the walls. For all she knew, this might be the passageway to hell itself.

Her arms numb, Lily struggled to find her way, a task made more difficult when the hallway narrowed. One of the men continued to shove her ahead of him, pushing her into the rough-hewn stones whenever the walls curved.

Suddenly he jerked back on her bonds. Lily bit back a groan; her arms still had feeling, after all. Cruel hands dug at the knot holding her arms, then jerked the gag from her mouth before spinning her about and thrusting her into the shadows.

She landed on her hands and knees. The impact sent unbearable pain through her already aching body. But she found her footing and crawled to her feet.

“Wait!” she cried.

“Where have you brought me?”

Silence was her only reply.

Then metal clanged against metal, and the darkness became complete.

Lily bit back a whimper. The shadows pressed in on her from all sides as she wavered on her feet, then sank to her knees beneath their weight.

Her arms hung, useless, from her shoulders, yet already they tingled with the return of sensation. She forced her fingers to move despite the fiery pain, hoping to speed up the process. For now, any further motion was impossible.

Only darkness met her frantic gaze. Darkness meant the unknown. Her mind envisioned a thousand formless terrors lurking all around her. She drew a deep breath. Perhaps if she learned the bounds of her new prison, it would cease to frighten her. Since she could not see in the impenetrable gloom, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her other senses. The air tasted dank and moist upon her tongue. A foul stench emanated from somewhere to her left; she’d be careful not to move in that direction.

She had no intention of standing up, lest there be spiders or some other horrid creatures above her.

The faint sound of scurrying she recognized. Rats, loathsome but familiar. So long as they kept their distance, she had no objection to sharing her cell with them.

She found their company preferable to that of the men who’d dragged her here.

Why had they brought her here?

She hadn’t been surprised when the Dragon had locked her up. Though she posed no threat to anyone, she could see the need for caution, especially in the prince’s keep.

If the guards had been willing to allow a stranger in to see Llywelyn, she wouldn’t have ended up on the wall—or in the Dragon’s custody.

The sudden chill in her heart rivaled the cold ak surrounding her. The Dragon had to be responsible for her new accommodations. She thought he understood her dilemma, the need that had driven her to Dolwyddelan.

How could he do this to her? And why?

Lily huddled in a ball on the floor, her arms wrapped tight about her knees for warmth and comfort. His betrayal cut deep. Although she’d confided in him, trusted him with her story, he owed her nothing. And the pull of attraction she felt in his presence simply meant she was ignorant of men, a fool.

Shame and anger jolted her. Self-pity solved nothing.

Her journey thus far hadn’t been easy, but she knew her situation could be worse. Battered and bruised, cold and hungry—she’d been all those things before. But she was still whole and healthy, with a spirit to match.

She would survive. And triumph.

A lifetime spent within the imprisoning walls of Saint Winifred’s Abbey had taught her the value of patience.

She’d use that patience again. What else could she do but familiarize herself with her surroundings and make her plans? In time she would discover what the Dragon wanted of her, why he’d sent her here.

And he would learn her spirit would not break so easily.

Ian’s interview with Llywelyn haunted him long after he left his overlord’s presence. Something about the meeting disturbed him, though he had yet to figure out why.

Llywelyn had listened to his words and agreed to consider permitting Lily to meet with him soon. There was nothing unusual about that, contrary to what he’d led Lily to believe.

Llywelyn possessed a deep sense of curiosity and a well-developed mind. Ian admired his ability to look ahead and plan for the future.

It was their shared vision of a united Welsh people that had led Ian to join forces with Llywelyn. Llywelyn could bring that dream to fruition, draw together the independent nobles into a power to be reckoned with, whether dealing with Norman tyrants—or Welsh ones.

In this quest, he’d committed deeds he could never have imagined in his youth, before the destruction of his family.

The bastards responsible for his parents’ deaths had paid with their worthless lives long ago, but his desire for justice remained. He knew his sister wondered at the change in him, perhaps even mourned the loss of the man he had once been. When he looked back at that innocent, he did not recognize himself. But what did that matter, in the greater scheme of things?

He would do anything necessary to achieve his goal.

At times, that task seemed nigh impossible. His latest chore promised to tax his patience—and that of his small company from Gwal Draig—to the limit. Dai and several others had joined him in the bailey to watch as ten young men from the hills—future warriors all, he reminded himself with a snort of disbelief played at mock combat.

“D’ye think any of them has ever seen a weapon close up, milord?” Dai asked, his voice choked with pent-up laughter.

“Look at how they’re holding their swords.

Were we ever so daft?”

“I hope ‘tis just ignorance, not Stupidity. We’ll find out soon enough.” He saw nothing to laugh about in the chaotic scene. Rarely did they find men like these, freemen without an overlord to command their loyalty. With luck, they’d gain some decent fighters, always in short supply.

If not, he didn’t doubt he could find some task for them.

He’d suggested this exercise to determine what he had to work with.

But he could tell right off. Shepherds and farmers, the lot of them. When he could no longer stand to watch their clumsy attempts, he stripped off his shirt and tunic and, snatching a practice sword off the ground, leaped into the fray.

His first battle roar sent half the company to the curtain wall, backs pressed against the stone. They blanched and shook with terror, much to the onlookers’ amusement.

Once he began to lay about him with the dull blade, only two men held their ground to parry his attack.

Their movements were awkward, but he saw their confidence increase with every swing of his sword. He didn’t try to overpower them he wanted to test their mettle, if they had any, not scare them off. But, unlike the others, they rose to the challenge and worked harder still.

After a time, one stepped away, sweat streaming down his face as he gasped for breath. But the other pressed on, grinning, his eyes alight with the joy of battle.

Ian pushed harder and brought him to his knees, the blade at his throat.

“Do you yield?”

“Aye, m-milord,” the youth stammered. He looked Ian straight in the eyes.

“But only ‘cause I got no choice.”

“Get up.” Ian handed the sword to one of his men and picked up his shirt.

“You and you—” he nodded to his other opponent “–come with me. The rest of you,” he said, raising his voice to reach the men along the wall,

“stay here with Dai. See if you can learn something from him.”

Dai rolled his eyes and offered a mocking salute.

“Whatever I did to offend you, milord, I apologize—a thousand times over. By Christ, you don’t really expect me to make fighters out a them, do you?”

“We need every man we can get. If you can’t teach them to use a sword or a bow, at the least they should be able to handle a spear. It’s not too different from a shepherd’s crook,” he added dryly. He tugged his shirt over his head.

“When you’ve finished here for the afternoon, come to me in my chamber. I’ve another task for you, one I’m sure you’ll find more to your liking.”

Laughing at Dai’s grumbled curses, Ian led his two apprentices away.

He practiced with them until they looked ready to drop and he’d worked up a sweat, as well. But the labor brought satisfaction, as hard work always did; he couldn’t help smiling as he returned to his room to wash and change his filthy clothing before the evening meal.

He found Dai leaning against the wall outside his room.

His lieutenant’s sparse, grizzled locks stood out from his head as though he’d dragged his hands though them more than once.

“Seems you had a good afternoon,” he snarled as Ian unlocked the door and motioned him into the room.

He flopped onto a stool with the ease of long acquaintance.

“Wish I could say the same.”

Ian grinned.

“I think we’ll make fighters out of those two.” He filled a pair of mugs with mead and handed one to Dai.

Here. Your favorite, made by my sister’s own hands. I can see you need it. Getting too old for this work?

You know there’s a place for you at Gwal Draig.” He tried not to laugh at Dai’s expression of disgust at the familiar taunt—and his typical reply.

“Aye, beneath six feet of dirt.” Dai drained the brew, then stood up and helped himself to more.

“They worked you over good, eh, lad?” he asked, tugging on the trailing cuff of Ian’s sleeve.

“Not a scratch on me. They look worse than I do. I doubt they’ll be jumping too lively with the ladies tonight.”

He finished his mead in one swallow, then poured water to wash.

“Did you have any luck with the others?”

he asked, without much hope. Yawning, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto the chest, then stretched the kinks out of his shoulders.

“Are you daft? You know as well as I, that lot’ll never be ready. Even after all I put them through,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation, “or mayhap because of it, most of them will still turn tail at the first sign of battle.”

He sipped at his mead, then asked, “What of the lad you pulled from the wall last night? Anyone willing to try that must have a measure of courage.”

In the process of scooping cold water over his head, Ian chuckled, and he came up sputtering. He groped for the drying cloth.

“That she does.”

“Something wrong with my ears, lad? I could swear ye said ‘she.”” “I did.”

‘ He took his time drying off, savoring the other man’s glare. Dai hated to wait more than almost anything.

“Twould do him good to learn patience. By the time Ian had tugged a clean shirt over his head and picked up his comb, Dai looked ready to explode.

“She’s the reason I asked you here.”

“Who is she?”

“She says she doesn’t know.”

Dai leaped to his feet.

“Did she hit her head on the way up the wall?” He slammed his empty cup onto the table.

“Or did you hit yours? Enough of your foolery, milord.

“Tis a jest, am I right?”

““Tis no jest.

“Tis more a puzzle.” He walked over to the bed and stared down at the place where Lily had sprawled. He could see her there still, her hair shining against the dull gray coverlet. Thatimage had haunted his dreams, just as the look on her face when he agreed to help her had dominated his thoughts throughout the day.

Mayhap he’d have time to see her before the evening meal. He’d take Dai to meet her, he decided, instead of simply sending him-“Come on then, milord,” Dal said, cutting into his thoughts.

“Can’t say something like that, then leave me hanging. Tell me more.”

“In good time. Will you allow me to finish dressing, or must I parade through the bailey bare-assed?” Ian asked as he settled a clean tunic over his shirt and leggings.

Dai snorted.

“Aye, the ladies’d like that, I make no doubt. Not that you’d notice. Never saw a man turn away so many invitations as you, milord.”