Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance (10 page)

His presence sung to her; she found herself relinquishing all her weight to him. He gave a low chuckle, pressing a soft kiss at her forehead. “And you are exhausted,” he added. “Let us get you to bed.”

They left the room, and he closed the door gently behind him. Then they walked the short distance down the hall to the master bedroom. He gave a glance toward the door, then nodded. “I am sure the Lady will take good care of you,” he murmured. “I shall leave you to the care of her maids.” He ran a hand tenderly down the side of her face. “I will see you in the morning.” His gaze stilled. “Now I need to speak with Michael, and tell him everything I know of the bandit threat.” He gave her a short bow, then turned and headed down the hallway.

Mary waited until he was gone before pushing open the door to her room.

The Lady’s large, ornately carved canopy bed sat to the left, its dark wood dominating the room, with gold-chased tapestries and embroidered pillows. A fire blazed in the marble fireplace to the right. The heavy curtains were pulled shut, layering the room in shadows even at this hour.

Exhaustion seeped into every corner of her being, and she stumbled without thought to the foot of the bed, to the small trundle set up there, facing the fire. His eyes were there, above the fire, gazing down at her as they always did. She pushed aside her covers, rolled into bed, and instantly fell asleep.

* * *

There was an odd noise, and she bolted instantly awake. The room was flickering in darkness, only the low embers of the fire sending stuttering shadows across the room. She strained to hear in the dark what had shaken her out of her chaotic dreams.

There, a soft thud, from just down the hall.

Her mind sorted and searched for its meaning, and suddenly awareness flooded through her, filling her with a glowing, golden warmth.

Erik was home.

The sound was one she had never heard, not in all her long years of living in this keep. It had been one Lady Cartwright had dreamt about, had prayed for, hoped for, cried for.

It was the sound of Erik closing his bedroom door.

Mary rolled to a sitting position, staring at the fire, straining to hear even the slightest noise. Would he go to stare out the window, taking in the view he had enjoyed throughout his childhood? Would he be resting on the bed? The sense of his presence loomed larger in her mind with each passing second, and every cell in her body craved his touch, craved his voice in her ear, his scent in her lungs.

She wanted him.

She knew she should resist, but then she was on her feet, moving swiftly through her door. Perhaps she would just ask him how his talk with Michael had gone. She would gain his thoughts about his first day home. She would …

She was at his door, giving the softest of knocks, and the door pulled open before her fist could land a third time.

He was pulling her in, his arms were around her, and her lips found his in the shadowy darkness. She could think of nothing else but that he was here, he was finally here, and she belonged to him.

Chapter 7

The crispness of the dawn air in the courtyard tickled her nose, and Mary stretched her arms over her head, relishing the sensation. Before her, the men of the keep were practicing thrusts and blocks, following footwork that she knew by heart.

Michael was at her side, watching over his men with an attentive eye. “So after all of this, he is still not quite free of her?”

She nodded, a weight pulling her heart. It had been hard enough to draw herself free of Erik’s embrace last night, the sweat of their lovemaking still fresh on her body. She had known she had to return to her own bed, to retain some small semblance of objectivity.

But to think of that woman …

Michael made a small motion of his head, and she glanced toward the keep. The front door was opening, and Erik was standing there, gazing out over the courtyard. To all appearances he was looking out over his home, assessing its readiness, and turmoil settled into her soul. What would he do when he realized she was the one who stood between him and all he held dear?

He came down the steps toward them, nodding his greeting as he approached. He wore his leather armor, and his sword was at his hip. His lips drew up into a smile as he joined them, looking out over the men.

“So many years, and yet the footwork is as familiar as my own breathing,” he murmured.

Michael glanced over with a smile. “Perhaps you would be up for a round?”

Erik’s grin was instant. “Absolutely.”

Michael stepped with him toward the center of the courtyard. “I’ll go easy on you, what with your injury and all.”

Erik’s eyes lit up. “Perhaps I should go easy on
you
,” he countered. “What with you nearing old age and all.”

Michael laughed out loud, drawing his sword and saluting. The men around him fell back at once, giving them room, and excited murmurs moved through the crowd. Stable boys and laborers emerged from the nearby outbuildings, drawn by the chatter.

Erik answered the salute, and the two men were circling. Mary leant forward, her heart pounding. She had trained with Michael for ten years, and knew every twist and turn of his attack. She had seen his imprint clearly on Erik’s maneuvers against Caradoc’s men. She was curious just how well the two men would be matched against each other. Michael had been the trainer – but Erik had faced the heat of battle for ten long years.

Her eyes went to his stomach, to where she knew the wound was healing. She wondered if it would hamper his efforts.

If it did, he didn’t show it. He launched a high, twisting attack, bringing his sword down toward Michael’s left shoulder. Michael dodged to his right, trailing his sword, deflecting the attack down and away. He spun his sword in a half-arc, aiming for Erik’s side. Erik leapt back, leaving just enough space for the sword tip to whistle across his front, then thrusting straight into the gap. Michael leant to the side, the blade barely missing his ribs.

Mary could barely keep up with move and counter-move. Cheers rang out all around as the footwork resounded on the cobblestones, the clang of blade on steel echoed against the walls, and the flash of a smile accompanied a particularly challenging block.

Then suddenly both men were still. Erik’s blade lay against Michael’s neck. Michael’s was pressed up into Erik’s groin.

The men in the ring erupted into cheers and delighted conversation. Erik and Michael clasped arms, Michael adding a solid pat on Erik’s back as the two approached Mary.

She smiled, shaking her head. “You weren’t kidding, Michael,” she commented as they drew to a stop before her. “You have done yourself proud, training this one.”

Michael looked Erik up and down, chuckling. “He has mastered much since he left my care,” he countered. “If he did not have that injury, I doubt I could last long against him.”

Erik clapped the older man on the arm. “It is only due to your training that I lasted long enough to learn on the field at all,” he pointed out. “Many good men died there.”

A shout of alert came from the wall, and all three of their heads instantly turned to look. One of the men-at-arms was staring fixedly to the north. “Riders,” he called out. “Twenty.”

Michael sprinted toward the stairs, Erik close at his heels, and it was all Mary could do to hobble at a frustratingly slow pace to catch up with them. Every step up the long stone flight sent her wound a fresh volley of pain. Finally she made it up to the main corridor of the wall – and froze.

Lord Paul was pulling up before the gates, his troops milling about him. He wore an elegant crimson cloak over his leather jerkin, and his greying hair framed a leathered face.

She pulled back away from the wall, hoping against hope he had not seen her. For all of her planning, she had not taken into account the fact that he might come by. He had been a family friend of Lady Cartwright’s, and become something of a foster uncle to her. His lands lay on the northern front and his occasional visits had been wonderful breaks for Mary from the stark quiet of her daily routine.

But not now, not with Erik just returned home.

Lord Paul was calling up to Michael, his rough voice reflecting his love of mead. “Good morn, Michael. I’m here to lure your Lady out for a bandit hunt. I hear several have been spotted nearby, and I think a good day of scouting should get us clear of these vermin.”

Michael’s voice was tight. “I am afraid that Lady Cartwright is inconvenienced today, Lord Paul.”

Lord Paul’s booming laugh echoed across the courtyard. “You cannot be serious, man. That woman is as tough as my finest hunting dog. In the ten years I have known her, I have never once seen her laid low by injury or illness.”

Erik took a step forward. “Where did you see the bandits?”

Lord Paul’s head swiveled to take in this newcomer, and his eyes focused for a long moment before a steely look came into his gaze. “So the prodigal son returns home.”

Erik’s voice stayed even. “It is good to see you, Lord Paul.”

Lord Paul’s eyes sharpened. “So suddenly you are home, and suddenly a woman whose strength rivals any man I know is unable to see me?”

Erik’s gaze held his. “I have nothing to do with –”

Lord Paul stood in his stirrups, his gaze returning to Michael. “I insist Lady Cartwright be brought out to speak with me immediately.”

Michael’s jaw clenched. “Sir, you are in no position to –”

Lord Paul gave a wave of his hand, and his men lined up on either side of him, their hands dropping to the hilts of their swords. “Either you produce Lady Cartwright this very instant, or I swear –”

Michael swept down his hand, and as one the troops along the wall readied their bows.

Mary could not take any more. She ran to the edge of the crenelated wall, leaning over, calling down to Lord Paul. His greying curls, his sturdy strength, filled her with fondness, and she smiled at his loyal defense of her. “It is all right, Paul,” she reassured him. “I am all right.”

He settled back down into his saddle, his creased face easing. “What is all of this about, Mary?”

“I will tell you over dinner,” she reassured him. “A minor leg wound, nothing serious. But for now, I’ll send out ten of my patrol with you; they were about to head out for their rounds anyway. Hopefully you can catch up with the bandits before they leave the lands. Where were they spotted?”

“By the new bridge, down on the southern river,” he explained. “Four of them, snooping around.”

The main gates were pulled open, and the keep’s troops streamed out, mingling easily with those of Lord Paul. He gave a look between Erik and Michael, then nodded to her. “I will definitely want to hear the full story at dinner,” he prodded.

“I will have Ygraine make your favorite pheasant stew,” she promised with a smile.

That eased the severity of his gaze, and he nodded, giving a short bow. Then he wheeled his mount, heading out toward the south. The men followed along behind. In a minute the hoofbeat was lost in the distance.

Iron bands began compressing Mary’s lungs, and she was acutely aware of just how focused every soldier’s gaze was on the forest, on the road beneath them, on anything but her and Erik.

If she had envisioned the hundred different ways she might break the news to him, that she was the new owner of the keep he adored, this was not one of them.

She turned without a word, making her way to the steps, slowly hobbling her way down them, then the short distance along the edge of the courtyard to the small stone chapel that stood to one side. There were two rows of five pews, divided by a slim aisle, and a simple circular window at the end that radiated with a hazy glow of light. The candles she had lit earlier in the morning still flickered along one wall.

She half fell as she reached the main altar, the weariness of the world pressing heavily on her shoulders.

There was the creak of a door closing behind her, and then a presence that she knew could only be one man.

His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and rough with emotion. “Why did you want to keep it a secret?”

Something about his tone caused her to blink and turn. She leant back against the altar, looking at him in surprise. “You knew?”

He gave a wry shake of his head, his blue-grey gaze steady on hers. “When I saw you fight the men in that hellhole of a dungeon, I could see Michael’s imprint on you as clearly as if he had branded you,” he stated. “The way you moved, the angle at which you held your blade, all glowed with his training. When you reacted instantly to my reverse J command, I knew it as surely as if you had shouted his name out loud.”

He took a step forward. “The rest came gradually. Your survival of the massacre at Cintersloe brought sense to how you had arrived at the keep. Your explanation that a widow took you in connected your plight to my mother.” His eyes held hers. “But there was still the mystery. Why would you have come after me yourself? What was your intention?”

Mary could barely breathe. “And what is my intention?”

He drew another step closer. “When I talked with the staff, I was not sure what I would find. Would they be fearful of my return? Hopeful for rescue from a harsh mistress?” He gave a soft shake of his head. “To my surprise, they seemed more content than I had ever seen them. The kitchens were well stocked and neatly maintained. The soldiers’ gear was sharp and showed sign of regular use and care. They seemed pleased with their lot.” His voice dropped down. “More than that, they seemed content with my return. I posed no threat to their way of life.”