The Mermaid's Knight (5 page)

That was all the warning she got before he grasped the arrowhead on the other side of her arm and yanked the remainder of the arrow straight through her flesh.

Hot agony poured through her. She could feel her mouth open in a scream, but no sound came out of her throat. Blood gushed from the wound, and Leah felt dizzy with the pain. Tears poured from her eyes and she gasped like she was drowning.

Gentle fingers stroked her cheek. “It’s all right,” Royce murmured. “‘Twill be over soon.” He brushed the tears off of her cheek. “Maida will fix your arm, never fear. She was my nursemaid when I was but a boy, and she took care of me then.” A hint of a smile curved his mouth. “I have no doubt she can take care of you now.”

“Oh you,” Maida scolded, a girlish giggle escaping her throat. “Still a charmer after all these years.” She moved forward with a damp cloth and bustled past the large man, clucking over Leah’s arm. “Christophe tells me that the arrow was meant for you, milord. I’m thinking you owe her your life.”

“It would seem so.” At his words, Leah looked up and stared into his searching eyes. He gave her an odd, appreciative look and she blushed, remembering that he’d seen every inch of her naked. He’d even hinted that she should become his lover.

Maida’s touch was as gentle as she could make it, and Leah knew she was trying. When she winced at one particularly rough motion, the woman gave her an apologetic look, and Leah returned it with a faint smile of her own. “Such a pretty child,” Maida clucked. “Where is that boy with the knife?”

“Here,” Christophe said, returning through the door and breathing hard. “I ran the whole way.” He showed Maida the knife. “Cleanest one I could find.” Leah’s eyes bugged at the sight of the large carving knife with the wicked edge.

Maida took the knife from him and stuck it in the flames, wiping her bloody hands on her apron. “Almost done,” she announced cheerfully.

Long, silent moments passed. Maida returned to the side of the bed, the red-hot knife held by the carefully wrapped handle. The tip of it glowed white-hot. “Hold her arms,” Maida warned the men.

Before Leah could panic, both men were holding her down to the bed, even as Maida neared with the knife. Luckily for her, she passed out the moment the smell of burning flesh hit the air.

Chapter Six

Leah awoke some time later with a dull throbbing in her arm and a massive headache.

Her hand automatically went to her wounded arm, and she tore the covers off to see the damage.

Thick bandages swathed her upper arm, and they looked to be clean and wrapped tight. The faintest touch caused a shockwave of pain to shoot through her arm.

The crisp bite in the air told her that the fire had died and she’d been alone in the dark for some time. Since there were no windows to the room, she didn’t know what time it was.

She was also still naked, a fact that caused her more than a slight bit of consternation. Did no one clothe prisoners around here? Grabbing a blanket, she wrapped it around her body and slid out of bed, her feet touching the hard stone floor underneath. As soon as she put her full weight on her legs, a wave of tingling pain shot up her legs, reminding her that she needed to get to the shore, and soon.

On silent, painful feet, she padded over to the thick wooden door. A stream of faint light shone underneath. Her hands felt along the door jamb, looking for a doorknob, and came to a thick metal bolt. She moved it out of place and tugged on the door.

It wouldn’t open. She was locked in.

It didn’t register at first. She gave the door another tug, thinking that she’d underestimated the weight. When the second tug was equally useless, she began to panic. Using her good hand, she beat on the door, hoping that the ineffective sounds were heard.

I can’t even call for help
, she thought bitterly. She heard the shuffle of feet outside the door and the low murmur of voices. Encouraged, she pounded on the door again, her hand aching and raw.

A few moments passed, and then there was a soft knock on the other side of the door.

“May I enter, child?” It was a soft masculine voice, not that of Royce or his men that she had met.

Leah hugged the blanket close to her and took a few steps back from the door, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting. A small man came in and smiled at her. He wore long gray robes, and his hair was cut in a thickly fringed cap. “I am Father Andrew. Lord Royce has asked me to sit with you for a time.”

Probably to see if he could get more answers out of her
, she thought wryly.

The priest pulled a small wooden stool to her bedside and sat, smiling faintly. “Do you have a name, child?”

Leah nodded and mouthed her name to him, trying to enunciate.

It was useless. He gave her another faint smile and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you.”

Frustrated, Leah mimed holding a pen and scribbling. Maybe she could write it down for him.

He watched her motions and cocked his head to the side, trying to understand. “Your hand hurts you?”

She wished she could groan her frustration.

It must have shown on her face, for the priest gave her another look of embarrassment.

“Perhaps we could narrow it down, then. Is yours a common name?”

Leah shrugged. What was common to him?

“Norman? Saxon? You have the look of the Irish about you.” When those suggestions garnered no more response than a wrinkling of the nose, he tried again. “Something from the Bible?”

Her eyes lit up and she nodded, smiling at the priest. He thought for a moment, then hesitantly asked, “Mary?”

She shook her head, and he continued down the list of names. It took some time before he worked around to “Leah?” but when he did, she exploded with excitement, grasping his hand in her good one and nodding enthusiastically.

“Your name is Leah? How lovely.” He smiled at her. “And are you a noble’s daughter?

Or one of the castle folk?”

She shook her head, not sure how to respond to that. Peasant or noble didn’t factor in to her old life. Leah shrugged and looked away.

The priest gave up at that point, letting the questioning die down. “Well, Leah, my lord FitzWarren is at a loss at what to do with you. His men suspect you are a spy, but he thinks you are the leman of Rutledge. Since he now owns all in this castle, that would make you part of the bargain. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Her mouth thinned. She understood. The baron could do what he wished with her and the priest would not do anything to change that.

She felt his hands clasp her own. “If there is anything I can do, child, please let me know.

I know that you cannot give confession because of your affliction, but the Lord hears silent prayers as well. If there is anything that you need, I shall endeavor to get it for you.”

She needed to get to the ocean before her legs gave her any more pain. Leah gestured at the door, and then made a swimming motion. She even held her nose to see if that had any more success.

The priest shook his head again. “I do not understand.” Leah frowned in frustration, then touched her tangled hair and made a washing motion.

When faint recognition dawned on the priest’s face, she continued her enthusiastic gestures, pretending to rub her arms.

“A bath?”

She nodded enthusiastically, a happy smile breaking her face. It wouldn’t be as good as a dip in the ocean, but it might hold off the worst of the pain.

“But ‘tis winter outside, lady. You will die of sickness.” Despite the priest’s protests, Leah held to the idea, and he eventually returned a short time later with a large wooden tub and several servants in tow. They set the tub down and began to fill it with buckets of fresh, cold water. No hot bath for her, then. It was just as well.

Father Andrew handed her a lumpish gray cake of what must be soap and a wooden, wide-toothed comb. “I’ve asked for clothing to be found for you, though I must get it approved by Royce first.” A faint frown of disapproval creased his brow, as if he didn’t care for Royce’s tactics. Leah was warmed by his displeasure – it meant that she had an ally, at least, and one more reliable than Muffin. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” Leah thought for a moment, then tried the motion for ‘writing’ again. When that elicited nothing more than a confused response, she sighed.

“Needlework?” He pursed his lips, then smiled. “I am certain I can find something for you to embroider.”

Embroidery? Er, not exactly. Leah frowned at the priest’s retreating back. The room cleared out shortly, and Leah was left alone with the tub full of water. She wasted no time in sliding the bolt on the heavy door for privacy before shucking the blanket and heading for the inviting tub. A hiss escaped her when her flesh contacted the icy water, but she slid her body in, desperate to relieve the painful throbbing in her legs.

Within minutes, the pain had receded, and her gills had returned, her lungs filling with the heavy, familiar feeling of water. Her tail stuck out over the edge of the rough tub, but the effect was still the same – the throbbing subsided to a low, dull ache in her bones. Using the harsh soap, she scrubbed her body clean of salty residue and then worked on cleaning her hair. It was a snarled, tangled mess, and the soap only made the tangles worse even as it cleaned her hair. She slid down further in the tub, tail jutting in the air as she rinsed the soap from her head.

There was a knock at the door. Fear shot through Leah and she struggled to sit upright in the tub again, water sloshing on the floor beneath her. She shoved wet, tangled hair out of her face and stared at the thick wooden door across the room. Would they go away if she didn’t respond?

Her long, smooth tail gave a shiver as the knock came again, harder. “I know you’re in there,” the voice on the other side called, sending panic spiraling through her. It was Royce.

“Unlock this door.”

She couldn’t respond. When she opened her mouth, water dribbled out.

“Woman,” he called again, his voice barely controlled with anger. “If you do not open this door in the next moment, I am going to break it down.”

Panic erupted inside her and she struggled to get out of the tub. The sides of the damn thing seemed impossibly high for her suddenly, and she lacked the upper-body strength to haul herself out of the water and over the edge.

The door on the far end of the room shook with a bang, and she heard Royce grunt with anger, then rammed the door again. He was truly going to break into her room. Had he forgotten she was a freaking mute? He couldn’t see her with her tail. Panic flared through her body, making her flop in the tub, gills fluttering. If he saw that she was a mermaid, she was done for.

Finito.
Muffin would haul her right back out of this bizarre world and she’d be dead forever.

Fright fueled her into lunging out of the tub as the door crashed once more, and then the tub tipped, spilling the contents all over the floor. Thick, soapy water slopped across the floorboards and made a mess of the room. Leah forced herself out of the puddle, bracing for the pain of her transforming legs.

The red-hot agony erupted. Ribs and legs burning, she forgot all about the outside world for a moment as her body convulsed in agony. Water sprayed from her mouth and she struggled to breathe for long moments…

…And then she felt warm hands grab her under her breasts and turn her over. Callused fingers touched her cheek, brushing away her tangle of hair.

“Woman?” Royce’s voice touched her ears and Leah opened her eyes to stare into his concerned ones. “Are you well? What has happened?”

She buried her face against his chest, weary and exhausted. That had been too close for her liking. Her heart still hammered with fright at how close he had been to discovering her secret.

Royce’s large hand smoothed her hair away from her face and he wrapped her in a blanket, keeping her close to his chest. He was a very large man, and she felt small and dainty pressed up against him, and safe. Odd that the frightening warlord would make her feel safe, when he was the very person she should be most afraid of. But he held her close, still stroking her hair.

The sound of feet on the wet floor made Leah open her eyes again, and she looked up at the priest’s disapproving face. He carried a small basket in his hands and stared at the room in obvious surprise. “Is everything well, my lord?” His eyes rested on Leah and he gave Royce a questioning, reproachful look. “Did I interrupt—”

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Royce growled. “She was sick. I helped her.” The reproachful gaze focused on her. “I warned Leah that she would become ill—” Royce’s eyes focused on her, and she flinched at the sudden fury in his face. “She told you her name? She spoke?”

“She did not speak,” Father Andrew replied calmly. “I suggested names until she told me which one it was.”

His eyes remained on her face, searching for answers she couldn’t give him. “Very well.” With that, he stalked out of the room, leaving her alone in a bedroom full of water and a confused priest.

Chapter Seven

Royce must have been feeling guilty, Leah mused, because someone had brought her not one, but three dresses.

The serving-maid blushed as she handed them to Leah, patting the fabric. “They’re a bit unfashionable – we found them packed away with a few of the old family’s things – but it’ll be warm and dry.” The girl seemed young – much younger than Leah’s own age of twenty-four years old. Her teeth were bad and her face was too thin, but she had very pretty blond hair that curled around her face and escaped the plain brown cap she wore over her head.

Leah took the dresses in hand and gave the girl a warm smile, touching the fabric to show her appreciation.

“My name’s Ginny,” the girl gushed, clasping her hands in front of her and waiting expectantly. “They tell me you can’t talk. Is that true?” Leah patted her throat in demonstration, and was rewarded with a low whistle.

“Did they cut out your tongue?”

Startled, Leah shook her head. What a morbid thought. She fingered the fabric of one of the dresses. It was a thick, heavy brocade of an olive-green color that looked to be quite itchy.