Carolyne Cathey (37 page)

The night held
its breath.  And the banner died.

Nay
!

A frightful
sensation engulfed her, drowned her.  Oh, dear God.  What did the sign mean? 
Kyle's death?  Hers?  Nurse’s?  Or, only the natural result of still air?  She
rubbed her hands on her chilled arms in an effort to rub away the ominous
feeling.  Something horrid hovered over Trystonwood, in wait.  The dragon?        Nurse
moaned.

Eleanor raced to
the bed, placing her hand on Nurse's clammy forehead.  The woman's eyes opened
to clouded slits.  Eleanor patted her gnarled hand.  "Nurse, 'tis
Eleanor.  Tell me what happened."

Nurse's eyes
showed confusion, then panic.  "Milady, ye must hide, afore they find
ye."

Fear jolted
through Eleanor's body.  "The king and Lord Hanley?"

The woman shook
her head as tears rolled down the creases of her weathered cheek.  "Lady
Mellisande and Brigham.  I saw them sneakin' up the stairs into the master's
chamber."

Where she would
have gone if Jane hadn't come for her, if she hadn't come to assist Nurse.  Her
heart leapt into a wild beat and throbbed in her ears.

"So, the
lost is found."

Eleanor spun to
the sound of Lady Mellisande's voice.  Brigham stood by her side in the
doorway, blocking Eleanor's escape, and of a sudden she knew how a trapped
animal felt.  Desperate.

Mellisande
sauntered a step into the cottage, an evil grin on her porcelain features,
malicious delight afire in her amber eyes.  "We thought for certain you
would hide in Lord Kyle's chamber, so we awaited your cowardly entrance.  But
you never arrived, so we came searching.  I couldn't wait, you see.  The
celebration of my birth is on the morrow, All Hallows Eve.  I've come to claim
my gift from Cousin Edward.  You."

Eleanor willed
strength into her legs as she backed toward the window.  "Lord Kyle will
never allow you to take me."

Lady Mellisande's
grin widened to a life-threatening smile.  "Lord Kyle is chained in the
dungeon, arrested for treason.  His castration and execution is set for the
first rays of dawn."

Eleanor's heart
stopped.  "You lie.  Nurse saw you before the king's arrival so how could
you know of this?"

"The news
traveled through the keep like lightning.  Edward's and my father's armies
celebrate in the great hall."

Eleanor stared,
in shock.  While she had fought to save Nurse's life, Kyle had been sentenced
to death.  "Why should I believe you?"

"Whether you
believe me changes not the truth.  I first thought to let you stay to see
Kyle's face on the morrow when he realizes he cannot save you from your certain
torture by Brigham and me, to let you watch as your lover's manhood is severed
from his body, and then witness his disembowelment and his slow painful death. 
But I'm too eager to begin your . . . training.  Brigham and I will take you
with us now." 

Brigham's eyes
gleamed with anticipated sadism as he drew his sword and stepped toward her.

Eleanor whirled
and dived through the unshuttered window, landing hard on her hands and feet. 
She heard Nurse's scream and Peter's shout of protest, then a thud.

"Leave them,
Brigham.  Get the whore."

Terrified,
Eleanor shoved to her feet, lifted the hem of her gown and raced across the
bailey toward the entry.

"Catch her,
Brigham."

"Stop,
witch!"

Mellisande's and
Brigham's feet sounded behind her.  With each frantic breath she expected the
hack of a sword on her back, a preferable end to the one they intended.  But
Kyle . . .   She ran harder and leapt over the stone step into the great hall. 
Even more important than saving her life, she must convince the king to change
his decree.  Somehow she must save Kyle.

Eleanor shoved
toward the dais through the thick sea of knights that filled the smoky chamber,
appalled at their jovial mood.  How dare the king sentence to death a loyal
knight who had saved his life.  How dare they show so little compassion.

As she shouldered
her way past the center hearth, she saw through a slim opening between the
conversing knights a dark-haired man who surely claimed as much height as
Kyle.  He lounged on a throne he must have brought with him, one black-booted
foot at rest on the table, a golden goblet in his hand.  He laughed as if in
response to something said by someone past her view.

Rage burned in
her chest like a hot coal.  "King Edward!"

All stood frozen
as if the world had stopped except for the death-drum throb of her heart.  And
somehow, a widened path had opened to the dais.

Next to the king,
Kyle had halted, mid-sit, horror upon his face. 

Eleanor turned to
stone.  Tricked.  She had been tricked.

Lady Mellisande
laughed as she slipped into the seat beside Kyle.  Brigham glowered victory,
sitting at the other end of the table like an honored guest.

The king locked
his offended gaze onto hers, his goblet stilled mid-way.  "You
called?"

E
leanor could only stare at
the king, mouth agape, wishing she could vaporize before his gaze like steam
from a winter pond, for her blood had chilled to ice.  She now faced a public
judgment, and according to Kyle, only one choice could the king make.

"Come
here."  He had not uttered a request, but a command.

Eleanor clasped
her trembling fingers.  "Excuse me, your grace, I was told that Lord
Kyle--"

"'Tis not a
love-sick knight who bids you come.  'Tis your king.  I suggest you obey."

Eleanor attempted
a swallow but her mouth felt as dust, all dry and parched.  One tremulous step
after another moved her toward his table until her toes pressed against the
raised platform.

All color had
drained from Kyle's face.  He remained immobile, a flesh-carved statue.  He
appeared so grand, so beauteous in his robe the hue of Emperor butterflies, a
deep purple.  She cried inside to explain why she had disobeyed.  If he knew
about Nurse, about Lady Mellisande and Brigham...but all mattered not.  Not
now. 

The golden goblet
caught the light as the king turned the stem of the chalice between his
fingers, slow, steady, deliberate, like his speech.  "I know Kyle has no
sister.  And he has yet to reveal he has wed a lady.  So forgive me if I seem
confused.  From what noble family do you come?  What is your name?"

"Eleanor,
your grace."

Something bright
flashed in his eyes.  "Like my wife?  'Tis a grand name.  And who is your
Sire?  Perhaps I know him."

She knew what he
attempted.  Yet, what could she say?  "I know not my father, your
highness."

He showed a fake
surprise.  "Nay?  But, you dress as a lady.  Are you not as you appear? 
Are you, in truth, a peasant...who dons false airs?"  He withdrew his leg
from the table, placed his booted foot on the floor, and leaned forward. 
"Come closer."

Eleanor forced a
shaky step up on the dais.  She studied him while he studied her.  In the
torchlight, his hair seemed a darkish shade, his eyes blue, but more pale than
Kyle's, his years perhaps an additional decade, his build not as strong but
still muscular.  And even though he wore no kingly raiments, a fearsome power
vibrated from the man.

King Edward
swilled a draft from his goblet, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,
then set the gold on the table.  He pressed his forearms on the snowy cloth and
leaned further.  "Come closer."

Her heart fisted
into a knot and would never recover.  She moved until the edge of the table
pressed against her thighs.

Kyle's shocked
gaze wrapped around her fear and acknowledged her doom.

"Answer me. 
Are you but a peasant?"

"Aye, my
lord."

With the speed of
a viper, King Edward clutched a fistful of her hair and tugged her forward.

Kyle jerked to a
stand; his chair clattered onto the floor.  "Nay!  She dresses to please
me, King Edward.  She obeys my--"

"Cease!  I
asked not the question of you."

"But--"

"Kyle!" 
The king twisted his wrist, wrapping her hair about his fist.

Eleanor had to
lean closer--she had no choice.

King Edward's
eyes revealed the man who demanded surrender to his will.  Even though his left
eyelid drooped a bit and he spoke with a slight lisp, no one, least of all she,
would have doubted his power, his authority.

"Why did you
shout at me?"

She longed to
close her eyes but met his scrutiny.  "I was told--"

"Nay, let me
guess."  A slight grin curved his mouth.  He wrapped her hair another
turn, pulled her until her silk-covered breasts brushed the top of the table,
his face close to hers.  "You felt ignored and demanded to make my
acquaintance.  Am I right?  Do you wish to better your lot?  Do you hope to
seduce me?"

She couldn't
control her gasp.  "Nay, my lord!  I only..." The truth clogged in
her throat.  To accuse the king's cousin of treachery, or to even open the
discussion about treason and execution might doom Kyle for certain.  Her gaze
flashed to Kyle and she saw the angry thin line of his mouth.  She had
disobeyed him and entrapped him in danger.  And yet, if she had obeyed, she
would have been captured.

The king twisted
his hand again.  The pull hurt her scalp.  She had leaned forward as far as she
could, yet, when she lifted her knee, her gown prevented movement.  But the
pain!  Eleanor tugged up her robe and placed one knee on the table to release
the pressure of his pull on her hair.  She could no longer see Kyle.  The king
kept her head down, near his determined face.  Sweet wine scented strong in her
nostrils.

"You protest
seduction with such strength.  Does the thought of me buried inside you turn
your stomach?"

"Nay!" 
Kyle's protest rang off the stones.

"Cease, Kyle,
or I'll have you dragged from the hall."

All she could see
of Kyle was how tight his grip on his clay tankard, his knuckles blue-white
from the strain.  How to answer the king without an insult?  He twisted again. 
She pulled up her other leg until she rested on her hands and knees atop the
table, demeaned.

"You're slow
to respond, Eleanor."

"'Tis only
that I love another, your grace."

"Ah, I see. 
This other, might he be Lord Kyle?"

She thought to
nod her head but he tightened the coil another turn.  "Aye, my lord."

"Has he
bedded you?"

How could her
face burn so hot when she felt as ice?  "Aye, your grace."

"Have you
plighted your troth?"

"Nay, your
grace."

Did he release a
slight sigh as if relieved?  "Then you are the castle whore and available
for my knights' use."

Kyle lunged. 
"Nay!"

Soldiers grabbed
Kyle's arms, one knight on each side and one from behind.  Yet she knew if Kyle
decided he could throw them aside as nothing.  But an army?  To fight what
Wales could not?

"Curse, King
Edward!  I'll not allow--"

"Take him
from the chamber."

She heard a
scuffle.

"Nay!  King
Edward!  My liege lord--"

The king tilted
his head upward in Kyle's direction.  "Aye. Your liege lord.  You've sworn
your fealty.  Do you now change your pledge?  Do you choose to disobey?"

The king's man
. 

A dragon he
cannot slay
. 

"You fall
silent when I ask you if you choose to disobey, Kyle?  'Tis not an answer. 
Yet, if you will remain thus, you may stay."

She could see
Kyle strain against the hands that held him prisoner.  He could not even defend
her, for the king's army outnumbered Kyle's and if he retaliated, all he knew
and loved might be destroyed.  And even more certain, Kyle would never fight
his liege lord. 

King Edward
pulled, slow but steady, painful, as if he sought to rip her hair from her
scalp.  Eleanor crawled across the table toward him to relieve the agony.

"Aye.  I
like you in this position..." The king wound her hair until his hand
touched her scalp, then he tightened the pressure.

She heard the
hiss of Kyle's breath, saw his desperation.  He clutched his tankard as he
might the hilt of his sword--tight, coiled for impossible action.

She reached her
foot for the floor beside the throne so as not to fall.  The action exposed
more of her leg.  And still he tugged. 

"'Tis
inappropriate, this attire.  'Twill upset the social balance, cause
chaos."

The other leg she
slid from the table until she stood on both feet beside his throne, her face
tilted downward to his.

"'Twould be
a deadly precedent.  You see, if I allow a whore to become a lady..." And
still he pulled.

She bent her
knees.

"Then a
knight might lust to become king."

Her scalp
burned!  She knelt at his feet.

"You can see
why 'tis unacceptable."  He nodded.  "Aye. I like you best when I
look down upon you.  Like so."

Kyle's tankard
shattered.  Wine, the color of dark blood, gurgled a stain on the white cloth
and seeped through his tight fingers.

"Kyle, I've
decided to do you a favor.  I hope you will show me the gratitude due me for my
beneficence."

She didn't think
her dread could grow more fierce, but something akin to panic beat its fists
against the inside of her ribs.

"'Tis
obvious I must remove this impediment to our arrangement.  As a wedding present
to you and Lady Mellisande, I shall take this woman to court to become one of
the castle whores for the visiting males.  Who knows, when you grace my
presence in London, you may choose to bed her while there.  Are you not pleased
for her?  'Twill be quite an honor for such in her position.  Tell me how grateful
you are, Kyle."

She could see
Kyle tremble from rage.  Perspiration beaded his brow.  He still clutched the
shards of broken pottery in his fist.  Blood dripped red from his hand to gleam
fresh atop the spilled wine, but more bright. 
Dear, God!  Tell her what to
do
.  And what would the king do when she grew large from Kyle's seed?  She
peered up into King Edward's face.  He still watched Kyle, in wait for a
response.  She had to tell her liege lord.  She must.  Might such a confession
make a difference? 

"I carry his
child, your grace."

Kyle's eyes
widened in a mixture of pain, horror, and...what?  How could he feel joy?  He
might never see his child.

"Nay!" 
Brigham's denial shattered the silence. 
"'Tis a lie!" 
The table shook as if he had shoved away.

The king didn't
even blink in surprise.  "Brigham seems displeased.  But, who can blame
him?  He just slipped down a notch on the scale of bastards.  The lord's
bastard ranks higher than a bastard brother.  How unfortunate."

Brigham stormed
past her limited view and into the crowd.

"The man
must be distraught.  He didn't even ask my permission to leave.  'Tis a remiss
state of protocol here at Trystonwood."  With his one hand still in a grip
of her hair, Edward leaned toward her and reached his other hand to Eleanor's
abdomen, then rubbed as if in examination.  She steeled not to recoil. 
"'Tis early, yet.  There are potions a woman may take to rid her of
unwanted burdens."

"Curse you,
King Edward!"  Kyle broke free.

"Did anyone
hear a man curse his king?"  King Edward scanned the great hall where all
stood as still and silent as a painted mural.  "Nay?  No one?  Then
perhaps 'twas the wind around the windows I heard.  I hope as much.  A king
would not dare to tolerate a curse."

"You have
hold of my future wife, your grace."

Nay!  He
mustn't
!

Surprise flashed
on King Edward's face for an instant, then control, once again.  "Your
eyes deceive you in this dim light, Kyle.  Lady Mellisande sits to your other
side, and I touch her not."

Kyle inhaled a
ragged breath.  He picked up King Edward's goblet.

Eleanor fought a
scream.  Surely he didn't intend to throw wine in the king's face.

Kyle reached out
for King Edward's wrist and disengaged the king's hand from the coil of her
hair.  He placed the chalice in his liege lord's now-empty palm.  "I'm
certain you must be thirsty, my lord."  Controlled fury trembled in his
tone.

King Edward
lifted his gaze.  "Aye.  Perhaps I am."  He tilted his head back and
swallowed, then reset the goblet and wiped the back of his hand across his
mouth.  "And hungry, as well.  Carver, bring me meat."  He drew a
knife from his belt.  "Philip, heat my dagger."

A man knelt as he
clanked a golden dish on the table in front of the king, the plate heaped with
lamb and partridge glistening with grease in the flickered light.

"I gave a
vow, King Edward.  I made a wager at a game of chess that I'd wed Eleanor.  I
lost."

"Eleanor is
already wed to me."

"The Eleanor
who kneels at your feet; the Eleanor who carries my child."

"I
understand the game remains unfinished."

The king had
given Kyle an escape. 
Pay heed, love.  Agree
!

"She won. 
'Twas checkmate."

The king's gaze
pierced hers, cunning, sly.  "Checkmate?  The word means death to the
king.  Is that what you called out?"

Eleanor stared at
the master of strategy.  He laid a trap.  She dare not utter a sound. 

"King
Edward, I gave my word as knight.  I repeat what you said in Sicily ere we went
to Acre in the Holy Land on Crusade: 'I will keep my word and my oath...to the
death.'"

Nay!  Nay,
love
!  Could he hear her silent plea?

"Philip, is
my dagger heated until it glows red?  Good.  I have need of the weapon."

Eleanor wanted to
scream out that she would refuse to wed Kyle, which she had, and that if the
king would forgive her knight, she would leave and never return, but each time
she had hoped to make the situation better, each time she had interfered,
horrid failure resulted, so she held her tongue.

"To the
death?  Surely I misunderstand, Kyle.  You made a vow to me, first, a year ago,
after the death of Davydd.  For certain you remember." 

The king reached
out, took the offered knife and held the same in front of her eyes.  The blade
shimmered heat on her face, held her focus, defied her to look away.

"You had
just relayed to me the details of Davydd's castration and execution for
treason.  Do you remember, now?  Then we discussed about an arrangement between
you and my cousin, Lady Mellisande, my noble attempt to honor you for service
well done...for when you saved my life.  Are you sorry now that you rescued
me?"

Her gaze
flickered to Kyle.  He stood as a rune stone, betrayed by the twitch of his
angry mouth and irate expression.  "I never vowed to wed her, your
grace."