Archangel (34 page)

Lord de Lara eyed the woman, studying her exquisite profile. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman with a kind manner and warm sense of humor. They had spent some time together intermittently over the past two weeks, and more time together since the departure of Gart Forbes.  Lord de Lara knew the story - that the lady was fleeing from her brutal husband who was, in fact, having an affair with Queen Isabella. He felt deeply sorry for the woman, more now that he was coming to know her and her spirited children.  Even though he had a long-standing hatred of the king, he still felt strongly compelled to protect them all.

“Your gratitude is sufficient, my lady,” he assured her. “I do not consider that you owe me a debt.  Your company, and the company of your children, is payment enough. I live a lonely life so the advent of guests is welcome. I will miss all of you when you leave.”

She turned to look at him, smiling. “We may be here for quite some time,” she teased gently. “You may be quite eager to be rid of us by the time Gart returns.”

Lord de Lara snorted softly, shaking his head.  “I may beg him to let you stay.”

Emberley maintained her smile at the old man, her gaze moving to her children once again when Brendt slipped in the mud and let out a yell.  She sighed as she watched the boy try to pick himself up from the slime.

“Gart has been gone for quite some time,” she said pensively. “I hope he has not run into trouble.”

Even as she said it, she thought on the irony of that statement and felt foolish for voicing her thoughts.  The trouble that Gart was facing was monumental and she hung her head a moment, fighting off the depression and loneliness that she felt.  Every day since he had been gone had been a struggle for her.  She woke in an empty bed, thinking of Gart’s warm and powerful body next to hers, missing him more than she could express.  She’d never experienced such a thing in her life and was unsure how to gracefully deal with it.  Every day without him was like torture.

Emberley forced herself to face the days without him, focused on her children, focused on Gart’s return.  He had only been gone four days when she began looking for his return, perched in her bower with a view of the southern road that he had taken to London and watching the dusty path day after long day.  Sometimes people were traveling upon it and she would wait with baited breath, watching the ant-like figures in the distance as they passed by Trelystan.  Always, they passed the castle by, and her depression deepened when she realized another day would pass without him.

As her mind was swamped with thoughts of Gart, Lord de Lara watched her rippling expressions.   He was a man unused to womenfolk, as his own wife had died when his sons had been very small, so it was difficult for him to know how to comfort Lady de Moyons during this difficult time.  Still, he tried.

“Have faith, my lady,” he told her. “I am sure Forbes will return soon.”

Emberley glanced at him, a small but grateful smile on her face.  Over to their right, the boys were hacking away at each other and all of them had managed to slip down into the mud.  Emberley looked at her children, knowing she was going to have a messy group of children to clean up.  Even the baby was muddy as she played with Brendt’s little wooden shield, stolen from her brother as he had wallowed on the ground.

Puffing out her cheeks with a heavy sigh, she headed off towards her children with the intention of pulling them out of the mud and back into the keep where she could clean the muck off of them. Although dust, dirty and all things slovenly were a natural part of life and most people didn’t worry about the degree of their cleanliness, Emberley didn’t like for her children to be dirty. She didn’t think it was particularly healthy for them to wallow in dirt like the animals and she had an odd preoccupation with keeping them clean. Like Gart, she wasn’t fond of dirty clothing. So she hauled Brendt out of the mud by an arm, listening to him whine when he realized his mother was about to scald him with another bath. 

She captured Lacy as well, lifting the little girl on to her hip as she called to Romney and Orin, telling them to follow her into the keep.  The older boys complied somewhat but Lord de Lara was still standing there, still a target, and they raced at them with their swords to smack him.  De Lara accused them of being vicious and powerful men and begged for mercy, which puffed the boys up with arrogance.  Emberley, fighting off a grin, simply shook her head. In her opinion, which she would never voice, Lord de Lara was begging for trouble. Like Gart, he loved it.

 As she corralled her errant children, both Emberley and Lord de Lara were oblivious to the group of riders approaching Trelystan’s massive gatehouse.  They were too busy trying to capture Romney and Orin as the boys ran about like wild animals.  Neither boy wanted to go inside the keep and would have kept running had their mother not brought Gart’s name into the mix.  That seemed to get their attention.  As Emberley finally collared the boys with the all-powerful Gart threat, the riders heading in from the Southern road reached Trelystan’s gatehouse and were admitted.

Emberley had Brendt and Lacy while Romney and Orin followed begrudgingly, crossing the muddy bailey as they headed to the keep. The party of riders that had just entered from the southern road, now a cluster of men and horses in the gatehouse, were required to leave their weapons with the guards and the two groups passed within several feet of each other. Emberley wasn’t paying attention to the gatehouse and the men removing their weapons weren’t paying particularly attention to the activity in the bailey. All was normal and relatively peaceful. That is, until one of the riders in the gatehouse looked up and shouted.

“Lady de Moyon!”

Emberley froze at the base of the stairs that led into the keep, turning to see who had called her name. There was a cluster of men in the dark-stoned gatehouse, men bearing tunics and weapons. Her gaze fell upon a man who served her husband, a sergeant named Donnell, and she felt a jolt of shock when their eyes met.  Terror welled in her throat and she could only think of one thing at that moment, an instinctive reaction that fed her sense of horror. 

“Run,” she told the boys. “Run to your chamber. Hurry! Run!”

Thankfully, Romney and Orin didn’t ask questions. They had no idea what had their mother so spooked and were afraid by the tone of her voice.  Emberley began to run up the stairs, urging them along with her, and the five of them raced up the slippery stone steps as fast as they could go. Into the dark keep they ran, Emberley’s pleading whispers urging them up the stairs.

Bootfalls were suddenly behind them and Emberley shrieked when a big leather glove grabbed her.  At a disadvantage with Lacy in her arms, she tried to pull away but she slipped on the steps, dumping the baby onto a stair.

 Lacy fell harmlessly on her bum, screaming, as Orin reached down and grabbed his sister to keep her from falling further. Romney rushed to the aid of his mother, whacking the man who had her with his wooden sword. It was chaotic, with men shouting and children screaming. In the midst of the madness, Emberley’s beseeching gaze sought out Orin and Brendt.

“Take your sister,” she cried as she struggled against Donnell pulling her down the stairs. “Take her to your chamber and bolt the door. Go!”

Orin wanted to help his brother fight off the soldiers but Brendt couldn’t manage their baby sister on his own, so he helped Brendt lug Lacy up the stairs, pulling her away from their mother and Romney as their mother urged them to move faster. Brendt was crying but did as he was told, trying not to fall down the stairs as he pulled Lacy to the upper floors. 

It was a painful and frightening scene, made even more painful and frightening when Lord de Lara and several of his soldiers rushed into the keep, armed to the teeth, and began fighting off the men who had captured Lady de Moyon. 

Romney was fighting furiously with his wooden sword, banging the man who held his mother.  He recognized the man as a soldier who worked for his father, which terrified him. He thought his father was here since his men were and he was angry as well as frightened. 

Donnell eventually grew weary of having a wooden sword smacking him around, infuriated when it poked him in the cheek and drew blood.  Sweeping his free arm, he caught Romney on the side of the head and knocked the child down six steps.  Romney ended up in a heap at the bottom of the staircase.

The skirmish for the lady was quickly turning deadly as the battle intensified. One of de Lara’s men was gored in the gut and the man fell to the stone, bleeding heavily. Eager to put an end to the skirmish, Donnell unsheathed a dagger he had hidden in his gauntlet, yanked hard on Lady de Moyon, and ended up with the lady trapped against his chest. The dirk went up against her neck.

“Cease!” he roared. “Cease resistance or she dies!”

Lord de Lara and his men came to a halt, their eyes falling on the soldier who had Lady de Moyon in a very precarious position.  Furious at his keep having been breached and his hospitality violated, Lord de Lara dropped his broadsword and approached the soldier.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “How dare you despoil the welcome of Trelystan. You will release the lady immediately.”

Donnell’s gaze was steady on the old man. “Alas, my lord, I cannot,” he said. “I have come on behalf of the lady’s husband. I am ordered to bring her to London.”

In his grasp, Emberley flinched. “Never!” she screamed. “I am not going to London.”

Donnell pressed the dirk against her neck and she gasped as it drew blood. “You do not have a choice, Lady de Moyon,” he told her. “Your husband has ordered me to return you to London and I shall.”

Emberley struggled not to panic for she knew if she did, all would be lost.  “Please,” she sounded calmer. “Please do not do this. I do not want to return to Julian. I cannot. Please do not force me.”

Donnell harsh stance wavered. In fact, he was still reeling from having found Lady de Moyon at Trelystan in the first place. It had been a wild stroke of luck. When he had first seen her crossing the bailey with the children, he thought he had been imagining it. 

When he had set out to the Marches a week prior, his heart still wasn’t in the search. He hadn’t truly expected to find anything, perhaps hoping he wouldn’t, and was vastly shocked to see that Lady de Moyon was, in fact, at de Lara’s holding.  Everything Buckland had suspected had been correct, and Kevin de Lara had indeed smuggled Lady de Moyon out of Dunster those weeks ago.

But the fact remained that she was here and Donnell had captured her.  It was his duty to return her to her husband no matter how he felt about it. He was a soldier and did as he was told.

“I must do my duty, Lady de Moyon,” he told her. “Your husband is expecting you.”

Emberley closed her eyes and the tears streamed down her face.  Lord de Lara stepped forward, a hand outstretched pleadingly.

“Please,” he begged softly. “Do not take her. I will pay you handsomely to forget you ever saw her here.”

Donnell looked at the old man. “I will tell Baron Buckland that your son absconded with his wife and that you have been hiding her from her husband,” he said. “I am sure he will be extremely displeased. You will forgive me for not accepting your offer.”’

He moved towards the keep entry, knife still to Emberley’s throat as the men from his escort began backing away from de Lara’s soldiers.  It was clear they had the advantage so no one made a move to stop them, but the tension was thick and brittle. Eyes were riveted to Emberley and Donnell, her miserable face and his serious one.  As they reached the doorway, Romney suddenly came around and groaned, pushing himself to his knees.  Donnell caught sight of the young boy and nodded to one of his men.

“Bring him,” he told him.

The soldier moved to Romney, who hollered and kicked as the man captured him.  Lord de Lara followed the escort party as they backed out of his keep.

“Please,” he continued to beg. “There must be some manner of agreement we can come to.  I will offer you a great deal to leave them here and not tell de Moyon of their location.”

Donnell was already on the top step leading down into the bailey, the dirk pressed up against Emberley’s neck bringing a small trickle of blood. “Be fortunate that I am not demanding the rest of the children,” he told him,” but I suspect they are well protected now and I do not have enough men to fight for them.  But I have the lady and the heir, and that will have to suffice at the moment.”