Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance (6 page)

She shook her head. Of course. It was his brother, the bartender. Her mind searched for a name. Josiah, that was it. They must have called out every last man if he was on the road and not guarding the home base.

Josiah turned to the other men, his anger clear in his angular movements. “Come on, then,” he called to them. “That bastard has got to be somewhere. We’ll ferret him out, no matter what rat hole he has crawled into.”

The men looked nervously amongst themselves, and finally a burly man with dark curls spoke up. “But that’s
Avoca’s Folly
,” he stated almost in awe. “The place is cursed.”

“God’s teeth, Bronson are you nothing but a mewling infant?” growled Josiah, dismounting and striding toward the gates. “It is a building of stone and wood, and we
will
search it.”

He gave a solid push to the gate. There was a wild, drawn-out shriek, somewhere between the cry of a banshee and the howl of the damned.

Bronson screamed in panic, the horses reared and bucked, and Josiah jumped back a few paces, fear lighting his eyes.

The noise stopped, and the men settled the horses. Josiah took in several deep breaths, then stepped forward again, cautiously poking at the door with his sword.

There was a flurry of motion, and a trio of warthogs streamed through the opening, racing for the safety of the nearby woods.

Josiah gave a relieved laugh, pushing at the gate with his shoulder, opening it further. He stepped around it, looking at its back side. “Just a warthog nest,” he called out to the others. “Been here a long time, by the looks of it.”

“See!” replied Bronson, his voice agitated. “Nobody could have gotten in or out. We can mark this place off our list.

Josiah turned, his eyes bright with fury. “You three get in here now, or I turn you over to Caradoc and explain to him how you shirked your duty to find his brothers’ assassin.”

The men half looked like they would be willing to face that judgment, but, reluctantly, they dismounted. They drew their swords and came in slowly after Josiah, looking in every direction at once.

Josiah moved across the dusty courtyard, kicking at a stone with his boot. “Doesn’t look like this ground has been trod in years.”

Bronson’s movements were tight with fear. “Probably fifteen years,” he muttered. “Since that crazy biddy flung herself out the window and smashed her brains open on this very ground.”

Erik stiffened, and Mary put her hand out to his arm, feeling the tension that lined each curve. After a long moment he let out a breath, his gaze never leaving the men who crept toward them.

Josiah looked around the empty courtyard before coming up the three steps to the tower’s main door. He gave it an experimental push. “Locked,” he muttered.

He took a step back, sheathed his sword, then took a running start at it. The shudder echoed throughout the tower, and a frisson of fear shot through Mary. There were four of them, and if that door gave way …

Josiah was stepping back, shaking his head. “Could be that rubble is blocking it from the other side,” he mused.

“Of course it is,” agreed Bronson. “The place has been abandoned for years and years.” He waved his hand at the courtyard. “Clearly nobody has been near this place since that suicide. There’s no way Erik would be in there. Right, Sander?”

Another man, flaxen haired with hollow eyes, stepped forward. “It was cursed by that unholy act,” he agreed promptly. “Just like your brother Arth-”

Bronson spun to glare at him, and Sander quickly changed his phrase. “I mean, of course
any
corner of Lady Cartwright’s land holdings would be the last place Erik would come,” he expanded. “After Erik burned that village to the ground, if he showed his face his own landholders would be the ones to attack him. That new Lady Cartwright and her keep guards wouldn’t even have to stir a finger.”

A low growl emerged from Erik’s throat, and Mary tightened her grip on his arm. They only had to last a few minutes and the danger would be past.

Just a few more precious minutes.

At last Josiah nodded, turning. “You are right, of course,” he conceded. “My guess is that Erik turned tail and fled south, maybe even to get a ship back to France and the Holy Land. He had only been back to England for a year – I would bet that the hot deserts of Jerusalem feel more like home to him now.”

The other three men were already striding toward the gate. “South it is,” Bronson agreed. “I’m sure Caradoc will see the sense of that.”

In a moment the four were mounted, riding hard toward the south.

Erik let out a long breath, resting his head on the shutter for a moment before turning to Mary with hollow eyes.

“I did not burn down the village,” he stated wearily, as if this had been a discussion he’d had many times in the past.

Mary knew she should soothe him, should celebrate the departure of the threat. But his words lanced at a sore within her, ripped off the scar, and stirred into life the pain and grief which always seemed to boil so near the surface. She turned away from him, shielding her face, sinking down onto the bed.

“What did happen, then?” she asked, striving to keep her tone even.

His eyes flashed, but after a moment he nodded, moving to the barrel and pouring out a mug of ale for each of them. He handed her one, then took the other and sat down at the table.

“With all you have done for me, you have the right to ask any question you wish,” he stated at last.

He took a long pull on his mug. “I was sixteen, and I thought I knew everything.” He sighed, looking off toward the west, toward the shadow of a keep through the narrow beam of light. “I could best any man in the region. I was the only child, in line to inherit the keep and its lands from my mother. I was young and arrogant.”

He took another drink. “When rumors of bandits came to us, I laughed at them.” He shook his head at the memory. “I insisted I be given command of the troops and assess the situation.”

He ran his thumb along the edge of the mug’s handle. “Cintersloe was the name of the town. It was a beautiful little farming village, nestled alongside a gentle stream, with a small church and even a cozy tavern. The people were friendly and warm. They were nervous about the threat, of course, but when I arrived it put their hearts at ease.”

His brows drew together, and he looked down.

Mary waited, her ale untouched between her hands, her heart pounding. Lady Cartwright had refused to speak on the subject, had refused to speak one word about what had caused the rift between her and her son. Even the staff at the keep had been little help. The stormy fight had gone on behind closed doors, in the Lady’s bedroom. Afterward, all they had seen was the boy storming out, saddling his horse, and thundering away into the night.

Erik ran a hand through his blond hair, riffling it. “Word arrived that Lynessa was traveling with a small entourage perhaps three miles to the south, and that the bandits had been seen in the same area. I did not hesitate. I gathered up the men, and we headed south.”

Iron bands constricted Mary’s chest. She remembered the stirring of the men, the wheeling of the horses, and the baffling confusion coursing through her as they streamed away south, toward miles of empty forest.

Her voice was a mere whisper. “You took all the men.”

He glanced at her sharply, his eyes defensive, but after a long moment he nodded. “I thought Lynessa was in trouble,” he stated in a low voice. “She was special to me. I had hoped that someday she would consent to be my bride.” He paused for a moment. “I had pledged to protect her. I took that vow seriously.”

He took another long draw on his ale. “But in the end I could not find her. It was pitch dark by then, moonless, so we made camp in a small clearing, and waited until morning to return to the village.”

Mary put her head down. The screams had lasted all night long, the angry licking of the flames as they pulled down the houses, the sharp grunts of the bandits finishing off the survivors. She had huddled, alone, unable to breathe, in the bottom of the grain storage bin where her mother had hid her.

Erik’s voice was flat. “They were all dead by the time I returned,” he stated. “The buildings were smoldering ash heaps; the bodies were strewn everywhere. We went immediately back to the keep, to let them know what had happened and to make sure the rest of the villages were warned.”

Mary’s voice was tight. “And your mother had a talk with you.”

He gave a low laugh, finishing off his ale, standing to pour himself a fresh one. He stared at the barrel for a long moment. “A talk,” he repeated. “She was beyond furious. She had always been a hard woman, and perhaps the death of my father and my aunt had something to do with that. But I had never seen her in a rage like this. I could understand it, but when –”

He shook his head, returning to sit. “She accused Lynessa of being involved in the atrocities, and I snapped. I told her that Lynessa would soon be my wife and mistress of this keep. My mother swore she would disown me before she saw that happen.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “I challenged her to do it.”

He looked down at his hands as if the shock of the scene, ten years ago, was fresh in his vision. “And she did,” he murmured, his voice resonating with surprise. “In one instant, all I held dear was gone. You should have seen the look in her eyes. It was absolute and final.”

Mary laced her gloved fingers together. She knew well the look that Erik meant. She had seen it every day, had seen the sharp, angular motions of the woman, the thin lines which seemed to barely hold back fury. Up until the illness had taken hold of her, Lady Cartwright had been a force of nature.

Erik looked back out toward the west. “And so I left. I rode to Lynessa’s family.” He gave a wry smile. “While they were welcoming enough, they made it clear that a sixteen-year-old boy with few prospects in life was not an appropriate match for their daughter.”

His gaze became distant. “I think they meant for me to go back and apologize to my mother, to regain my lands. But pride kept me from doing so. Instead, I signed up for the Crusades to earn my fortune and make my own name.”

He took another pull on his ale. “Ten long years ago,” he murmured. “It hardly seems like that much time has passed.”

Mary nodded, finally bringing her own mug to her lips, her own thoughts lost in the distant past.

Chapter 4

Strong winds swirled the thick oak branches by the church into motion, the horses milled in agitation as the men clambered onto their backs, and Mary ran toward Erik, her heart thudding in her chest.

“Where are you going?” she cried out. “You can’t leave!”

He looked down at her with a calm smile. “I will be back soon.”

Agony ripped at her chest. “You won’t!” she insisted. “You will leave, and the bandits will come, and everything will be engulfed in flames. My friends will be killed. My parents will be slain!”

He climbed easily onto his horse, wheeling it around. “I will be back soon,” he reassured her. He waved to his men, and the group thundered away toward the south.

She ran after them, racing as fast as she could, but he was drawing away from her, ever further, and she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Erik! Don’t leave me! The bandits are coming!”

She was sobbing, her entire body shaking, and Erik’s arms were wrapped around her, holding her close against his chest. Pain lanced through every part of her body, and it was all she could do to suck in breath through the emotion that engulfed her.

His voice was a murmur in her ear. “I won’t leave,” he promised. “I won’t leave you.”

“But you
did
,” she moaned, the past and present melding into one fiery ball of torment. “You left us! My home burst into a blazing inferno!” She could barely get the words from her throat. “They ripped down the altar at the church. They ruthlessly slaughtered everyone I loved.”

Erik stiffened, then his breath blew out in surprise and he pulled her in. Her sobs overwhelmed her.

Time seemed to be lost.

At last her crying slowed, and she slumped, drained, against him. Erik gently pressed her back to look her in the eyes. His voice was hoarse with shock. “I had thought no one was left alive. You survived that hell?”

She nodded, drawing her sleeve across her face. “My mother hid me in a grain bin, and told me to stay within it, no matter what I heard. She told me to stay there for two days, in case they came back.”

“Oh, Mary,” he sighed, wrapping her in a comforting embrace. “I am so sorry.” He ran a hand down her hair, soothing her. “Where did you go?”

She closed her eyes, beyond exhaustion. “A widow took me in.”

* * *

Mary hobbled around the room, easing more weight onto her left leg, relaxing in satisfaction as it bore it without much complaint. They were five days into their stay at the tower, and she knew in two more that Erik would be ready to move on. She had to learn as much as she could in this time she had with him.