Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (8 page)

Joselyn was terrified.  She
fought and kicked as the fawn bleated in terror.  They hadn’t made it twenty
feet when the soldier’s commanding officer, having heard the commotion, came
upon them.

“You, there,” he shouted at the
soldier as he strolled down from a berm overlooking the river. “What are you
doing with that woman?”

The soldier smiled lasciviously.
“I found her by the river,” he announced. “After I eat the doe, I plan to have
her for dessert.”

The commanding officer looked
closely at Joselyn and gradually, his features paled. Shoving the man in the
chest to push him away, he grabbed Joselyn at the same time.  The soldier lost
his grip and stumbled back.

“What did you do that for?” he
demanded.

The officer was focused on
Joselyn. “My lady,” he sounded strained. “Does your husband know you are out
here?”

“Husband?” the soldier repeated
loudly. “What husband?

The commanding officer looked at
the man as if he was an idiot. “Pembury,” he said, looking back at the lady.
“May I escort you to your husband, Lady Pembury?”

Joselyn was clutching the fawn
with a death grip; she eyed the soldier and his commanding officer. “Aye,” she
said hesitantly.

The commanding officer looked
rather ill as he took her elbow and helped her up the slope. “Are you well, my
lady?” he asked. “You are not injured in any way, are you?”

“Nay.”

“Be careful of this hill. It is
very slippery.”

He couldn’t seem to do enough to
help her.  The soldier who had slapped her was still standing where they had
left him, his face deathly pale and knowing he was a dead man if he remained at
Berwick. Pembury would undoubtedly take issue with the fact that he had slapped
his wife.  As the luscious little lady and his commanding officer crested the
hill and headed for the castle, the soldier took off in the opposite direction.

The commanding officer kept a
good grip on her as they made their way to the postern gate of Berwick.  It was
the same gate Joselyn had used when she had headed for the river. As soon as
they entered the gate, they could see that the entire castle was in an uproar;
soldiers were mobilizing into blocks and sergeants were screaming at them. 
Knights on chargers were forming loose ranks and she could hear shouting from
the walls.  Frightened, she clutched the fawn more tightly against her.

“What is happening?” she asked
the commander.

The man studied the activity. “I
do not know, my lady,” he replied. “It would seem that there is trouble
somewhere.”

She looked up at the man; he was
a seasoned man, older, with bushy blond eyebrows. He seemed to have an even
manner about him and she felt comfortable with him.  In any case, she was
thankful he had saved her from the lewd soldier.

“Are you a knight?”

He shook his head. “Nay, my
lady,” he replied. “I command a battalion of the Earl of Norfolk’s soldiers.”

“How did you know that my husband
is Stephen of Pembury?”

“Because I was in the hall last
night with my liege when your marriage was announced. I saw your marriage and I
saw what happened afterwards.  A true horror, my lady; you have my sympathies.”

She was not sure what to say to
that so she lowered her head and clutched the fawn to her breast.  The
commander, however, kept talking.

“De Lara was merciful in ending
your mother’s suffering,” he went on. “Later in the night when my men had watch
of the northern wall, I saw Pembury personally building what looked to be a
crate. I was told it was your mother’s coffin.  ‘Tis a good man that would take
the trouble to build a coffin himself, but I am sure you already know that.”

By the time he was finished,
Joselyn was looking at him intently. “He built a coffin for my mother?”

The commander nodded, looking
strangely at her and realizing that she probably did not know, in fact, what
Pembury had done by the expression on her face.  And with that knowledge, he
shut his mouth lest he say something else she did not know about.  But Joselyn was
not finished with him.

“You said de Lara was merciful to
end my mother’s suffering,” she said, coming to a halt and facing him. “What
did he do?”

The commander sighed heavily and
shook his head. “I… I am sorry, my lady. I did not know that you were unaware
of….”

“What did he do?” she cut him
off.

The commander prayed that Pembury
would not take his head off; he knew there was no way to avoid her.  Those pale
blue eyes were boring in to him and he braced himself for perhaps the stupidest
thing he had ever done. He told her.

“Your mother was in flames,
lady,” he lowered his voice. “There was no hope. De Lara put a broadsword
through her chest and ended her suffering immediately. It was the merciful
thing do to.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t fall
into fits. She simply stood there, staring at him with those piercing blue eyes
as if absorbing every word individually. When she spoke, however, her lower lip
trembled.

“What else did you see?” she
asked in a whisper.

The commander’s palms were
beginning to sweat; he very much wanted to get away from her at the moment.
“Not much else, my lady,” he said in a quiet voice. “My liege and I left the
hall shortly after that. The next I saw was your husband building the coffin. 
He and de Lara took it to the chapel before dawn.”

The little fawn bleated again and
Joselyn stroked the animal, comforting it.  She seemed stunned by the entire
conversation.  Slowly, the commander resumed walking towards the keep, gently
urging her along with him.  She followed stiffly, lost in thought.

Just as they were approaching the
keep, chargers roared around the corner from the stable block.   Joselyn heard
someone shouting her name and she paused, looking up to see a massive man
astride a dapple gray charger heading towards her.   She didn’t even recognize
her husband until he bailed off the charger and rushed towards her, flipping up
his visor.

“Joselyn,” Stephen’s cornflower
blue eyes were wide with surprise. “Where have you been? We were just leaving
to search for you.”

Joselyn was intimidated by all of
the weapons and steel; as big a man as Stephen was, dressed to the hilt in
weapons and armor made him larger than life. She clutched the fawn tightly,
struggling to find the correct words, when the commander at her side spoke.

“I found her down by the river,
my lord,” he told Stephen. “She was at the water’s edge with her little
friend.”

Stephen didn’t even realize he
had her by both arms; he didn’t remember grabbing her.  Gazing down, he saw the
tiny fawn in her arms and his confusion grew.

“Where did you find this?” he
asked her.

Joselyn found her tongue. “I was
at the water’s edge when a doe and her fawn came to drink.  Some soldiers
killed the mother and I took the baby. It is too young to be alone.”

He sighed, more relieved that he
cared to admit that she was well and whole. He had been terrified that she had
run off in her grief.  Or perhaps she had been abducted by bitter Englishmen;
in truth, he hadn’t known. To see her well and safe was a surprise and a
tremendous relief. With a great sigh, he put his gloved hand on her chin,
forcing her to look at him.

“Are you sure that you are all
right?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I am fine. Just...
hungry.”

The cornflower blue eyes
twinkled.  Then, they abruptly darkened.  Removing one of his massive mail
gauntlets, he touched her left cheek with big, warm fingers.

“What is this?” he demanded
quietly.

She had completely forgotten
about the slap and tried to lower her face, but he would not allow it.  He held
her chin firm.

“I… I do not know what you mean,”
she replied evasively.

“There is a perfect handprint on
your face. Who struck you?”

He immediately looked at the
sergeant, who visibly blanched.  Joselyn could see where Stephen’s thoughts
were and she shook her head vigorously.

“Nay, not him,” she insisted. “He
has been extremely kind. It was not him.”

“Not him?” Stephen turned back to
her, his square jaw ticking. “Then you know exactly what I mean. Who did this?
And no more lying.”

“I was not lying,” she insisted
hotly. “I simply do not see the need for you to punish some man who was only
reacting because I kicked him.”

Stephen was very close to losing
his temper, highly unusual for the collected knight.  He took his wife by the
arm and pulled her into the keep, away from the men cluttering the bailey. Once
inside the cool, dark entry that smelled like must, he faced her.

“Where have you been and who
struck you?” he demanded in a voice that invited no dispute. “If you do not
give me the answer I seek, I will lock you in our chamber and keep you there
day and night. Tell me now or my punishment will be swift.”

She was angry, frightened,
exhausted and hungry.  She opened her mouth to argue with him but tears came
instead.  She was having a devil of a time fighting them off.

“I went to the river because I
wanted to be alone to think,” she told him, trying not to sob. “While I was
there, a doe and her fawn came to drink.  The mother was killed by men from the
garrison and one of the soldier’s saw me on the banks. He tried to take the
fawn from me so I kicked him.  He slapped me in response and that is when the
sergeant found me. That is all there is to it. I was not attempting to run away
if that is what you were thinking. I simply wanted to go someplace to collect
my thoughts and I ended up at the river’s edge.”

Stephen stared at her a long
moment before finally wiping a weary hand over his face.  He had just spent the
past half hour in total panic and was not quite over it yet.  “Who was the
soldier?”

“I do not know his name.”

“The sergeant will. I will ask
him.”

He was heading out the door and
she grabbed him. “Where are you going?”

“To get answers from the
sergeant.

He pushed forward but she dug her
heels in and held fast. “Wait a moment, please.”

He
came to a halt. “What is it?”

She
still had a grip on him, blinking away the remnants of her tears. “I was told
you built a coffin for my mother last night. Is this true?”

She could see his expression
soften at the swift change of subject. He didn’t seem entirely angered by it;
if anything, he seemed to calm dramatically. “Who told you this?”

“It does not matter. Is it true?”

He paused for several moments
before reluctantly nodding. “It is.”

“Did you put her in it yourself?”

“I did.”

“And de Lara; I was told he ended
her suffering at the tip of a broadsword.”

Again, Stephen nodded slowly.  Joselyn
stared at him, realizing that what she had been told was true and the mercy of
the two English knights struck her deeply; men who did not even know her mother,
who was in fact, an enemy, had shown her such compassion as most men would not
have.  It was an unexpected element from the same men who had hanged her young
brother, a paradox she could hardly comprehend.

Fighting off tears, Joselyn
slowly moved towards Stephen. It seemed as if she wanted to say something more
but the words would not come. She came closer and closer until she brushed
against him, her sweet, warm body against his hard mail. Stephen watched her,
electrified by her close proximity, wildly curious about her behavior, when she
reached up and gently put a hand behind his mailed neck.  Tears streamed down
her cheeks as she pulled gently, bending him down until his face was almost
level with her head.  Stephen waited for a slap or a punch, unsure of her
motives, when she suddenly leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the cheek.
The unforeseen gesture was enough to send his heart wildly racing.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her
lips against his rough flesh. “For the kindness you showed my mother, I thank
you deeply.”

With that, she let him go and he
watched, his heart in his throat, as she silently ascended the stairs to the
chamber above. He could hear the fawn bleating and eventually a door closed
softly. Still, he continued to stand there, feeling her kiss upon his cheek as
he had never felt anything in his entire life. 

All thoughts of anger,
retribution and punishment were sucked right out of his head with that one
tender gesture. When he emerged from the keep, it was to disband the search
party and thank Norfolk’s sergeant for his escort.

“What is your name, sergeant?” he
asked.

“Lane de Norville, my lord,” the
man replied. “I serve Norfolk.”

Stephen nodded shortly. “Sergeant
de Norville, you have my thanks for tending my wife. I will make sure Norfolk
knows of your diligence.”

The sergeant saluted smartly and
was gone. Even as Stephen went about his business, thoughts of the blue eyed,
dark haired lady filled his brain until he couldn’t see or think of anything
else.