Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance (21 page)

It had been but a few hours’ ride the morning after her capture to reach Caradoc’s base, but after that her memory became hazy. They had fed her mead with an herbal flavor to it, and she sensed it was drugged, based on her foggy perception. Guards had come and gone, the torches had flickered, and it could have been one day that passed or five.

She turned her head toward the table. Bronson was waving his mug before him, holding court with the four guards who hung on his every word. He was re-telling the grand adventure he’d had at the keep, presenting an embellished and self-aggrandizing version that Mary barely recognized.

Mary swept her gaze across the dust-caked floor to the heavy, barred door, and the small, grated window in its center. The landing beyond was dark. No sound came from the stairs.

Thank all that was Holy that Caradoc had not arrived yet, but Mary knew her luck could not hold out forever. He would be here, soon enough, and then she might desperately wish for the luxury of her time bound in the wooden chest. She knew the only reason the guards had not abused her in any way was that Caradoc had far worse planned for her.

She swallowed. She had been around Caradoc and his men long enough to know just how ruthless they were. She would be made an example of. She would be used to show others just how important it was that they stay in line.

And then, eventually, of course, she would be dead.

A sense of clarity kindled within her, small at first, then growing with every passing moment. She had done her best. She had dedicated her life to following Lady Cartwright’s orders. She had taken on every challenge presented to her. She had unraveled the threads to show Lynessa for what she was. Surely Michael would quickly realize that he was chasing a ghost and would return to Erik. Michael would reveal the entire situation to Erik, and Erik would drive Lynessa from the keep. The blonde was, after all, just one woman. She could not hold out against the combined forces of Erik, Michael, and Lord Paul.

Mary’s job was done. Her time of living her life for Lady Cartwright must be over. For the first time in over ten years, Mary would forge a path of her own. She would act as she believed with all her heart.

All else had been stripped away. All other doors had been closed. The one thing left available to her was to die with honor.

She smiled. It would be enough.

She would have to watch carefully for her opportunity. Maybe a guard would have a knife which came within reach of her bound fingers. Maybe Caradoc would be less than alert when he first handled her.

However she managed it, she had to draw them into a fight, and either escape or be slain. It was a far better option than to let herself linger.

She closed her eyes, soaking in the calm. Somehow she would find that option.

And with it, peace.

The quiet thud of footsteps came to her ears, and she nodded. It had begun. Caradoc was finally here to extract revenge for the death of his brothers. Somehow she would convince him to release her right hand. Just one hand would be enough. And then she would either kill him – or make sure she herself was slain.

The steps drew down to stop on the landing.

There was the softest shimmer of sound.

Mary’s heart stopped. She intimately knew that sound. As a young child she had fallen asleep to it when her mother sang her lullabies. She knew exactly the number of small metal cymbals, knew exactly the feel of the worn wood within her hand.

Her eyes flew to the barred window. It could not be –

Erik’s blue-grey eyes held hers, calm, steady, and determined.

Mary’s face paled in shock. No. He could not do this. He could not walk into this room, not after all she had done to set him free. She had already accepted her fate.

She gave the slightest of shakes to her head.

He smiled at that, a wry smile that nearly broke her heart. And then he knocked on the door.

Bronson glanced up in surprise, and his eyes hardened to marbles when he realized who was standing there. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword, and he strode over to the door. Before he could say anything, Lynessa’s voice floated through the bars. “Bronson, it is me. Open up for us, please. We have some important business with your captive here.”

Bronson’s brow creased in confusion, and he glanced back at the other men who were now standing as well. His voice was gruff. “Caradoc’s orders were clear,” he growled. “No arms within this room, except for our own guards.”

Lynessa’s voice was lightness itself. “Of course,” she agreed. “We spoke with Caradoc personally, in the courtyard just now. Erik left his sword in Caradoc’s care.”

Mary’s heart thundered in her chest. It could not be true. Erik had come down completely unarmed, a sheep to the slaughter?

Bronson’s grin grew at that, and his shoulders relaxed. He looked again to his men, and they ranged along either side of him. Then he pulled open the door and stared at the two people standing on the other side.

Lynessa stepped forward and gave Bronson a grateful hug. “My dear Bronson, Sander realized that what he first told us was incorrect. He had thought Michael was chasing after a pair of fleeing lovers. But then, after talking with me, he realized that Mary here was the real thief – and that you were simply bringing her here for proper justice. It is all due to your quick thinking that you were able to discover who had stolen my jewelry. Words cannot express how grateful I am that you captured her.”

She made a fluttering hand motion to Erik. “I have explained everything to Erik here. How Mary had been routinely stealing from Caradoc, and how you and I had been watching her carefully since our arrival. How it was only right to bring her back to Caradoc, given the enormous harm she has done to him during these past weeks.”

She flushed in embarrassment and looked to Erik. “And of course, Erik now understands that his previous challenge with Caradoc was just a misunderstanding. We have that misfortunate affair all resolved now. He reassures me that far worse confusion happened in the Holy Land, and that the important thing is to put it behind us.” A look of angelic sweetness came into her gaze, and she folded her hand into his arm. “Especially now that we are to be married.”

Mary’s heart nearly hammered out of her chest in panic.
It could not be true. It simply could not be.

Bronson looked between them with a carefully neutral gaze. “Congratulations are in order, then. How can I be of service?”

Lynessa gave a wide smile. “It turns out there was a minor legal hurdle to our marriage,” she explained. “Despite all of Mary’s heinous crimes, somehow the woman is, technically, still Lady Cartwright. Erik’s poor mother was probably taken in by the girl’s swindling as well. It is time to wrench this chit’s grasp from the Cartwright family for once and for all.”

She gave a delicate shrug. “So we just have to get her to sign a release, to turn the keep over to Erik, the man who rightfully owns it. Once that is done, we can at long last marry and have full ownership of our keep.”

Mary’s body was trembling with emotion. There was no way on God’s green earth she would turn over the keep to that vixen. No matter what it took, no matter how she was tortured, she would refuse to sign. Her eyes moved to Erik’s, hoping for even the slightest sign that he was not fully under Lynessa’s manipulative spell.

There was a soothing in his gaze, a reassurance, and a kindle of hope swelled within her chest. Could it be that Michael had talked with him? Did he realize the fullness of what had gone on these past few weeks? The thought brought a tangled mixture of hope and agony. If it were true, then he was here to try to rescue her. Her eyes dropped automatically to his hip, to where his sword should have hung.

The space was empty.

Bronson’s eyes were also directed at the bare spot at Erik’s side, and a relaxed chuckle came from him. “So that’s all you need? Just a signature, eh? Sounds easy enough.”

Erik’s gaze was neutral when he turned to Bronson. “Just a few minutes, and we’ll be out of your way for good,” he agreed. “But in order for her to sign this legally, you’ll need to untie her right hand.”

Bronson shrugged. “Sure thing.” He stepped forward to stand before Mary, carefully unknotting the heavy rope. It took him a few minutes, but at last it came undone.

Mary only half-feigned the exhaustion which cascaded along her muscles when the support was freed. She slumped wearily down against Bronson.

He smiled at that, pressing his body in against hers. He murmured low in her ear. “One last time, my dear, before the true fun begins.”

That was all Mary needed to hear.

She lunged for the hilt of his sword, drew it in one long pull, and tossed it into Erik’s waiting hand. He spun, slashed, and two of the guards went down in geysers of blood. Erik leapt to put himself before Mary, and Lynessa vanished up the stairs without a sound. Less than ten seconds had passed.

Bronson grabbed the sword of one of the fallen men, then turned to his two remaining companions. “What are you waiting for? Get him!”

A pair of yells, a flurry of action, and both lay bleeding in twisting agony on the floor.

Bronson’s grin grew wolfish. “This is perfect,” he taunted Erik. “Now I kill you, and there are no witnesses left to see what I do to your beloved Mary. Lynessa is undoubtedly a county away by now; it could be hours before the next guards come down to check on us. By then, I would have had my fill of this whore and killed her.” His eyes sparkled in delight. “And then I will simply knock myself out and claim you were responsible for everything.”

Erik’s gaze darkened with emotion, but he did not say a word. He held still before Mary, guarding her. He waited, steadily, for Bronson to approach.

Bronson raised his sword high, gave a screech, and then dove in. The men were a flurry of motion, twisting, slicing, jumping back, moving over the tangle of bodies at their feet.

Mary tugged desperately at her left hand, but she could not release the rope which still bound her to the iron ring on the wall. She looked desperately for anything within reach – a knife, a sharp piece of metal – but there was nothing she could get to. All she could do was watch, heart pounding, as the two men battled for their lives.

Bronson was edging his way left, trying to get closer to Mary, but Erik resolutely held himself between the two. Bronson’s foot slipped in a pool of blood, and he caught himself, his breath coming in long draws. He looked up at Mary, and his eyes grew crafty.

He slid his eyes down the low-cut front of the crimson gown she still wore, directing his question to Erik. “Did she tell you?” He gave a guttural laugh. “Did she tell you how eagerly she came into my arms at night, how sweet those curves felt under me?”

Erik gave a low growl, but he did not move forward from his guard position.

Bronson’s gaze darkened. “She is mine,” he challenged. “And after I’m done with you, I will prove it!”

He dove at Erik, bringing his sword high and right, aiming to take off Erik’s head with one massive strike.

Erik dove forward into the attack, driving his sword straight into Bronson’s chest, forcing their momentum to send them backwards. Bronson’s outswept sword shaved a thin line in Mary’s dress as they tumbled to the ground.

Erik yanked his sword free of Bronson, standing above him, his chest heaving with the exertion. There was a long moment of silence as he stared at the body, watching the last spark of life leave Bronson’s eyes. Then he turned.

Mary’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked at him. His leather jerkin was streaked with blood, his eyes blazed with determination, and she knew with all her heart that she belonged to him.

Her body rang with the truth of it, and she gave him a wry smile.

“I love you.”

His breath eased out of him, and then he had crossed the space between them and drawn her into his arms, holding her as if he would never let her go. She was laughing and crying, and he pressed his lips against her neck, his breath warm against her skin. It was a long moment before he drew back and cut away the remaining rope, before he lowered her down to a stool.

He reached for the mead, but she shook her head. “I think they did something to it,” she warned him. “I feel sluggish.”

He gave it an experimental sniff, then poured it out onto the ground. He went to the ale instead, and took down a swallow himself before nodding and handing it to her. She drank it down gratefully, drawing strength from the rich flavor.

He moved to one of the smaller men and removed the belt and scabbard from him, returning to settle it on Mary’s hip. “Just in case,” he murmured.

Mary glanced at the stairs. “Is Caradoc really up there?”

He nodded, his lips in a thin line. “Caradoc and all fifty of his men.”

Mary blanched. “Why didn’t they come thundering down when Lynessa told them what was happening?”

Erik gave a wry smile. “If I know Lynessa, the last thing she would ever admit to is that she helped in any way to bring me in to save you,” he pointed out. “My guess is that she made her way outside the gates as quickly as possible, and she is likely still running.”

He put a hand out to her. “Ready?”

She nodded, and settled her own hand into his. “With you at my side, absolutely.”