The Defiant Bride (3 page)

Someone groaned. She strained to listen. The two men had declared him dead. Were they wrong? She peered out from around the oak and listened. Nothing. She stepped out and approached the sound as one compelled. There was no one there. Nothing. Perhaps she had conjured the noise from her terror. She turned to go and stopped. What if there was someone and he was hurt? Needed aid? What if it was a trick to ensnare her? She could not go without knowing. How could she live with herself if she left a man to die?

Emboldened, she stepped into the clearing. A man lay motionless on the ground. The clothes he wore declared him as nobility. He was magnificent—a chiseled jaw, straight nose, and white-blond hair suggesting the Vikings of old. His body was strong and well-formed. In horror, Dariana saw an arrow rising from his shoulder. It took her a moment to realize his gray eyes were open and focused on her.

“Help me,” he croaked through parched lips.

A scream rose in her throat. His eyes closed again, his lifeblood pouring into the earth. The two men had been right after all. The knight must now lay dead.

She knelt beside him and placed her hand on his neck. Still warm, and there was a pulse of life there. She closed her eyes. This could mean the end. If he lived, he might tell others of her existence and her terrible secret would certainly be revealed. Then her father would die for certain.

She could not save herself with the blood of another. It would be far worse than any act against the crown. If this man died because she turned away, how could she live, no mater the consequences?

Dariana roused herself into action. She grabbed the dagger from its sheath at his hip and cut away his leather jerkin, the dark green velvet doublet, and the soft, white linen shirt beneath. She was careful to avoid the arrow that stood out in vivid relief, buried as it was in the flesh above his heart. She was quite near her cottage, but she would be unable to move the powerfully built man. In his current state, he could not be counted on to assist her efforts. She would do what she could to minister to his wounds here. Then she would fly before he woke. If, of course, he even survived.

Dariana ran home and pulled some warm furs from the bed. She hurried back to the injured knight. She covered him with the skins and cushioned his head, each movement eliciting a moan of pain, although he appeared to remain asleep.

She shifted him and examined the wound. The missile had penetrated deep into his flesh, the tip visible through the torn skin of his back. Dariana was grateful the assailant hadn’t had better aim. It was lucky, too, the arrow had gone completely through his shoulder. This would make the extraction easier, though perhaps no less painful.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she snapped the arrow close to its entry, grimacing at the thought of the agony this must be imparting, grateful the man still lay unconscious. Summoning all her courage, she turned him over, then grasped the end of the arrow. Her hands trembled violently and she had to concentrate to steady them. With a prayer to God for aid, she grabbed the barbed edge and pulled with all her strength. The arrow moved forward, but it took three more tries before the thing came away.

Blood flowed copiously from the wound. Dariana tore away pieces of her soft woolen skirt. She pressed the fabric against the holes to stanch the gore. The man fell back against the furs and his rest deepened. Convinced he was unconscious but still alive, she sought a bucket and hurried to the nearby stream.

She returned and washed away his blood and cleaned the wounds. She tore more strips from her gown and made bandages. Satisfied with her work, she ran back to the cottage to put on a proper dress lest he wake and humiliate her for her improper attire. She laughed at herself, thinking how silly she was to care as to her appearance.

Her old gown, once a lovely shade of pale gray wool, was ruined, but she tucked the scraps away under the cot in case they should prove of some use later. It struck her as odd that she had learned to value even scraps of fabric in her new life, wasting nothing, so unlike her other existence as the pampered daughter of an earl. She found another dress, the color faded to a soft mauve, and donned it. The new gown Tamara had brought was still tucked away, as though saved for an occasion. Then she returned to her charge and sat beside him as he slept.

After some time had passed, Dariana realized she hadn’t eaten this day. The knight, too, would need some nourishment if he was to recover. She did not know how damaged he was or if he had sustained other injuries in his fall from the horse, but she prayed her efforts had been enough.

Darkness would be upon them all too soon, so she walked back to the cottage for some dried strips of meat and a pot. She filled the vessel from the stream, gathered some wood, and built a small cooking fire, hoping this time it might actually attract his vassals looking to find their lost lord. Certainly someone would come. His attackers thought they had succeeded, so she was certain he was safe from them.

When the food was ready, Dariana sat behind him and lifted his head. His eyes opened, but they appeared unseeing. She held a spoon with some broth against his lips and he sucked greedily. His parched lips softened and the tension in his face eased. Once he had swallowed a fair amount, she lowered his head again and he slept.

After having taken such care with fires for so long, Dariana felt an almost joyous sense of freedom to have the crackling flames visible. It was comforting to have another beside her, even if her guest was unaware of his status as companion.

Tamara had not been for a visit of late. Dariana hoped she would come soon. If her friend could take the man from the forest before he was aware of his surroundings, her secret would be safe. Those at Tamara’s castle could tend him until he recovered. Of course, Dariana could never see him again. The thought brought an odd ache to her chest. She curled up next to her charge and slept.

Dariana was suddenly wide awake. Daylight had not yet penetrated the leafy canopy and no birds’ voices pierced the
quiet. She leaned over to check her companion. His chest rose and fell easily in the depths of sleep. She was fascinated by the play of light from the fire on his chiseled features. Perhaps he was her knight come to save her. She laughed at her own silly turn of mind. Too many fairy tales.

Dariana’s back ached from the too-hard ground and she rubbed it to ease the tightness. It took a moment for her to remember she was still in the forest and near her cottage. Her dreams were fading and the morning wind now freshened the air, as if attempting to banish any possible bad thoughts. Alert, she gazed at ‘her” knight, as she now considered him. He remained in the arms of Morpheus and lay peaceful. Satisfied he was at ease, she rose and slipped into the trees, blending into the foliage.

She hesitated at the sound of approaching footsteps. What to do? Certainly it was his own men come for him. It was with a sigh of relief that she recognized Tamara in the distance and ran to meet her.

“Tamara,” she whispered. “Thank all that is holy.”

Tamara started as Dariana’s disembodied voice reached her. “You frightened me. It is unlike you to come to meet me like this. Is something amiss?”

“Not exactly. But, yes.”

“That is not exactly clear, love. What is wrong?”

“I have a visitor from the court.”

“What?” Tamara’s horror was obvious.

“It is not what you imagine. I am safe and as yet undiscovered. But I need your help.”

“Again, you speak in riddles. Tell me all in a way that makes sense.”

“Near the cottage on the north side a knight was riding through the forest yesterday. As I watched from the shadows, the knight was pierced with an arrow that felled him from his horse. I could not leave him thus—”

“What means this? Could not leave him? What have you done?”

“I tended his wound and even now he sleeps not far from here.”

Tamara took a deep breath. “Will he die of his wounds? Did he see you?”

“He will not die! And yes, he saw me.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“I know not his colors, but there is no doubt he is nobility. I was thinking I could create a story for my existence here. Would it be believable that I was the daughter of the old caretaker of the cottage?”

“Nay, I think not. You are far too fair. And it is obvious that you are not of common stock. Your dwelling is old and obviously spent many years abandoned. No, that will not do.”

“He is not in his right mind and he is a man after all. They are so easy to confuse.”

“You are right. They are easy to bewilder. However, I think it better to try and convince him he imagined you in his injured state. I will have him brought to the castle and when he can ride, send him on his way. In the meantime, I will dispatch some messengers to see if we can discover his identity.”

“He is so handsome.”

“Do not even think to entertain yourself with such notions. He could be the instrument of terrible punishment for all of us. Forget that not.”

The bright sunlight streamed in through the window, waking William from a dream of dragons and villains. He shook the sleep from his eyes and struggled to sit upright, the pain in his left shoulder halting his progress. He was in a soft bed with clean white linen and he was naked. A sturdy bandage was wrapped around his left side. It reminded him there was a villain in this piece who had tried to see him in his grave. How had he come to this place? Surely he was among friends who had seen to his care. He was searching his memory when an image of an angel filled his thoughts, an angel with blackest hair and fairest skin whose eyes were were the color of an emerald meadow. He was so intent on the vision he did not notice a woman approach his bed. He jumped when she spoke.

“My lord, you should rest. I have brought food, and once you regain your strength, we must see to a safe return to your own lands.”

William was amused. He looked the girl up and down. A young servant, certainly less than a score in years. She was built
for the work she did, but there was a simple prettiness there. Certainly not his angel. “Who might you be? Oh, and where am I? How long have I been asleep?”

“My name is Alyssa and I serve the countess of Westonbury. You are in the castle of the earl. You were brought here from the forest where you were discovered injured. You needed aid and it was feared that the one who attacked you might return to see his evil deed confirmed. That was two days ago and you have fought the demons of the fever ever since. Blessedly, you have won the battle. It attests to your strength and will to live.”

“Do you know what did occur in the forest?” He lay back against the soft pillows. “I only have flashes of memory.”

“My lady told me she removed an arrow from your left shoulder and dressed your wound. It appears you were attacked and left for dead.”

“And where is the angel?”

“My lord?” Alyssa appeared totally confused.

“The beautiful angel I beheld in the forest. Black hair, flashing eyes. Beauty of an otherworldly nature. Forgive me, but I fear I have been bewitched and can think of nothing else.”

“There was no one like that, my lord.”

“But you said ‘we.’ Is the angel your mistress?”

“My mistress has flaxen hair and I am certain that your wound has befuddled your thinking, if you’ll pardon me for saying it.”

William tried to sit up again, but the wound was too painful and gave him pause. “I must meet your mistress, then, to offer my thanks and to assure myself she is not the one I saw in my—delusions.”

“Of course, my lord. Please, pray you lie back. The fever might return to take you. I have brought some broth to help you regain your health. And my mistress has sent word to your home that you are here. She sent out word of your presence here and now knows of your castle. Your household must have been distressed at your absence.”

“You are too kind. But I wish to meet your lady as soon as possible. Is there another here? One with hair like blackest midnight?”

“My lord, I fear there is no other. My mistress and I are the only women who have cared for you.”

“Be kind enough to bring your lady to me. I fear I am not yet well enough to seek her out, but I would like to make her acquaintance.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

William fell again into the arms of sleep, dreaming of the magnificent woman with midnight black hair and sparkling eyes, perfect of face and form. She was reaching out to him, caressing his cheek, and he was basking in pure pleasure at her touch. He touched his lips to hers and it was more intoxicating than the finest wine. His very being was enraptured as she entangled him in her spell.

A rude noise shook him from this exotic pleasure and he was pulled away. His anger rose at this intrusion and he came alert, the beautiful face replaced by that of John, one of his knights.

“My lord? We have been so worried. Are you well?”

William was momentarily confused. “John?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You are here?”

“Yes, my lord. Lady Tamara sent a message that you had been felled by an arrow. I came as soon as I heard. We feared you dead when you did not return from hunting.”