Kathryn Le Veque (3 page)

“This is my property,” he
growled. “You will remove yourself immediately.”

Dodge gazed at the massive man
with the equally massive sword.
 
He was
more irritated than alarmed. “Who are you?”

Roane assessed the knight; in
truth, he had been doing precisely that for the past several minutes. He had
heard the majority of the warrior’s conversation with Alisanne and it was
blatantly obvious, even to a suspicious man like himself, that the knight was
not interested in the hermit named Roane de Garr, but in a young lady named Alisanne
de Soulant.

“Who I am is of no concern to
you,” Roane said. “You will do as I say and leave immediately.”

Dodge looked at Alisanne. “Did
you hire a protector?” he asked mockingly. “You should have found someone a
little more worthy, my dear. Why, he does not even have any armor.”

“He is not my protector,” Alisanne
said, though she was both surprised and pleased Roane was taking it upon
himself to defend her. “But you should do as he says and leave. I do not want
your death on my conscience, as much as it would relieve me.”

Dodge couldn’t decide whether to
laugh or become angry. But the immediate need was to rid himself of the
intrusive protector and he unsheathed his sword.

“You have invited more trouble
than you can handle, little man,” he said to Roane.

Roane cocked an eyebrow; he had
been called many things before, but never a little man.
 
As Dodge charged at him, he didn’t flinch nor
did he lift his sword until the very last possible moment.
 
Fending off a crushing blow, he spun around
and used the flat side of his weapon to whack Dodge across the back and
unbalance him.
 
The knight wobbled
dangerously before righting himself. Turning his horse about, he glared angrily
at Roane.

“Don’t use your childish tactics
on me,” he snorted. “Fight
like
a man and I will be
merciful.”

Roane couldn’t help it; he smiled
with genuine humor, probably for the first time in months.
 
He shrugged his big shoulders as if the
thought of clean fighting had actually just occurred to him.
“As
you wish.”

Dodge charged at him again. This
time, Roane reached out and neatly yanked the knight from his horse, unseating
him so quickly that Dodge had no time to react.
 
Face down in the mud and seeing bright bits of stars dance across his
vision, Dodge grunted as he struggled to roll over.

“Bastard!” he roared. “Now I
shall kill you as painfully as possible, wheedling away your innards so that
not even the buzzards will find a good meal!”

Roane stood over him. Suddenly,
the tip of the massive weapon was pointed at Dodge’s throat and the armored
knight saw the need to mayhap amend his hasty insults. Gazing up into the eyes
of his opponent, he could read the cold resolve in the depths and a chill of
fear ran through him.

“If you kill me, you will bring
the House of de Vere down upon you,” he said, his pompous nature deflated. “I
warn you to consider what you are about to do.”

Roane appeared thoughtful. “You
were about to kill me. Have I not the right to defend myself?”

“I am no threat at the moment.”

“You never were.”

Dodge’s face reddened.
 
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight
of Alisanne, watching the battle with wide-eyes, and his humiliation deepened.

“Why would you defend this
woman?” he demanded. “She cannot pay you. I know she has no money.”

“I do not defend her. I simply
want you off my land.”

“And suppose I leave. Then what
will you do with her?”

“That is my affair.”

Dodge grew furious as he realized
the knight’s true motive. “Her purity belongs to me.”

“From what I heard, nothing
belongs to you. Be gone before I change my mind and string you up amongst the
oaks.”

He moved away from the
mud-covered knight.
 
Dodge pushed himself
up heavily, grunting and growling like an old bear. He stumbled to where his
horse stood nibbling on wet grass and roughly grabbed the animal’s reins.
 
He was too heavy and too slovenly to mount
the horse without a good deal of help, so he had to walk from this place in
humiliation.
 
Alisanne watched him go,
making sure to stay well clear of him. She avoided his gaze, but Dodge stared
her down harshly.

“I will wait for you at the
bottom of the hill, Alisanne,” he grumbled. “You cannot stay up here forever.”

She didn’t answer. The soft, wet
noises of his footfalls faded and Alisanne dared to turn to watch him as he
trailed off down the slope. She almost couldn’t bring herself to look at Roane,
unsure of how he was feeling at the moment. Just when she had established some
sort of rapport, Dodge appeared and ruined everything. It was a horrible
coincidence and she was positive that Roane’s wrath would turn on her next.

But she forced herself to look at
him.
 
In spite of everything, he had just
done her a great service and she needed to acknowledge him. “Thank you,” she
said softly. “I don’t know how I would have gotten rid of him.”

Roane gazed at her, so lovely and
sweet in the morning light. But she was also infinitely terrifying for reasons
he couldn’t even begin to understand and his sense of self-preservation was
overwhelming.

“You are trouble I do not need,”
he said quietly and turned back for the abbey. “I would suggest taking the
lesser used trail over to the right, between those trees. If he’s waiting for
you at the base of the main trail, he’ll miss you if you exit off the southern
side.”

He was helping her and vanquishing
her at the same time. Alisanne felt a terrible sense of desperation. “But, Sir Roane,
I still need your help!”

He walked away from her, shaking
his head. “I have given you all the help I intend to.”

The abbey door closed behind him
with the loud reverberation of finality.

CHAPTER TWO

It was
gloomy, wet and drippy. Alisanne sat upon a rotted stump, staring at the
crumbling old abbey and wondering if Roane was ever going to show his face
again.
 
It was increasingly difficult to
wait him out, for her instinct was to pound on the door again until he opened
it. But the marginal trust she had been able to establish two days ago had been
dashed by Dodge’s appearance, and she knew it would be difficult to regain
it.
 
But regain it she must. Beating the
door down wasn’t going to help.

She put
her head in her hands for a moment; Dear God, it had taken so much simply to
come here.
 
She simply couldn’t turn away
now. Everything in her life depended upon Sir Roane de Garr’s generosity. It
was so cold and wet upon this hill and the ruins of the outbuildings were
hardly any shelter at all. The dry wood she had found to make a fire the past
two days had dwindled down to nothing, and her throat was beginning to ache.
She knew that shortly she would become sick and she dreaded the thought. She
couldn’t become ill, not now when there was so much to accomplish.

Behind
her in the trees she had constructed a makeshift shelter that at least had kept
her dry. Heavy branches formed a sort of dome and a small, dwindling cooking
fire smoldered in front of it.
 
A small
satchel spilled open beneath the shelter, having held nothing more than a few bits
of dried meat, stale bread, a small iron cooking pot and an old woolen
blanket.
 
Alisanne had traveled light and
swift, carrying only what she needed.

The meat
and bread were gone and the pot sat atop the smoking fire, gently
bubbling
a thin soup of ingredients Alisanne had been able
to gather; the remainder of the cooked rabbit, turnips and wild brown beans she
had found locally, and then half of a wilted cabbage and a few carrots she had
scavenged from the town.
 
In truth, it
was a good soup and the smell had been tantalizing her all morning. Having
hardly eaten yesterday, she was understandably famished, but the soup needed to
simmer a good while before it would be consumable. The fire was weak, making
cooking difficult.

Finally
she could stand it no longer and slurped down nearly half the pot, burning her
tongue in the process. From the dark-stoned abbey, she could suddenly see
movement and she watched closely as something, an animal apparently, wandered
through the stones of the ruined outer buildings. A sleek black tail came into
view, followed by the rest of Sir Roane’s big black dog, who plopped himself
down several feet from Alisanne and wagged his tail.
 
She threw the dog a precious piece of cooked
meat.

“You
needn’t starve, even if your master intends to,” she said to the dog. “And your
name is Samson.”

The dog
wagged his tail happily in response. Alisanne thought it might be a very good
idea for the big dog to keep her warm and she called to it softly, encouraging
it to come and lie down beside her. Samson did just that, excited to be near
the food. Between the two of them, they finished off the soup and lay back
against each other in gluttonous contentment.

“Your
master, Samson,” she said as she reclined against the hairy back, “how am I
going to speak with him if he stays like a hermit inside his abbey?”

The dog
wagged its tail in reply, thumping against the wet ground. Alisanne scratched
the dog’s
fur,
surprisingly clean for the conditions
he apparently lived in. Soon, she fell asleep and when she awoke, the sky had
cleared and the late afternoon sun shone brightly. Feeling refreshed, Alisanne
rose and, with the dog in pursuit, began to walk among the outer buildings,
trying to think of a way to coerce Roane from his cave.

Samson
trotted past her and skimmed the length of the abbey.
 
As Alisanne watched, he slipped into a hole
in the side of the building half-hidden by crumbling debris. Alisanne gazed at
the hole a moment; why should she lure him out when she could just as easily
enter? Swiftly, she followed the dog.

 
The interior of the abbey wasn’t much of an
improvement over the exterior. Green moss coated the damp walls in some places,
giving the air a moldy smell. The ground was uneven and worn, and she could see
the evidence of pews and an altar.
 
Cautiously, she crept her way along the old wall, heading toward the
area at the back of the abbey where Roane lived. Samson kept running up to her,
happily, as if to show her the way, and she tried to shoo the dog away as
discreetly as she could.

Finally,
she reached the area that Roane had carved out for
himself
,
a rough pallet to sleep upon and a crude firepit for cooking.
 
As her eyes struggled to acclimate themselves
to the darkness of the abbey, her gaze fell on a worn table and chair, both of
which were cluttered with expensive parchment and other writing materials.
 
She thought it rather curious that such an
obviously destitute man should have parchment and other scribing items usually
reserved for the rich or the important. All of it simply added to his air of
mystery.

Samson wouldn’t
leave her alone. He kept sniffing and licking, and Alisanne was positive the
dog would give her away. She had wanted to approach Roane carefully, but with
the element of surprise so he couldn’t run her off. In truth, she really didn’t
know why she had sneaked her way into the abbey. He was only going to chase her
away again. But something inside her simply wouldn’t give up.

“Did
anyone ever tell you that you have the persistence of a gnat?”

Alisanne
jumped at the sound of Roane’s voice. He stood behind her, in the cavernous
shadows of the dark abbey, as Samson ran excitedly between the two of
them.
 
Heart thumping in her throat, she
faced him.

“I would
not have to be so bothersome if you would simply give me the opportunity to
speak with you,” she said.

He
stepped into the light and she was surprised to notice that he did not appear
angry.
 
He looked rather nonchalant, in
fact.

“You did
speak to me, if you recall,” he said. “I cannot help you.”

She
looked puzzled. “How do you know that you cannot help me when I haven’t even
told you what it is I need?”

“You
don’t need to tell me,” he walked past her, his great lumbering presence
comforting and frightening at the same time. “What you need is quite obvious,
and I have no idea who told you I could help you.”

She was
more confused than before. “Obvious? What is obvious?”

He moved
to the firepit and stirred it. It seemed to Alisanne she had seen him do this
before and it was apparently a nervous habit. “I cannot protect you from the
man who seeks to marry you, no matter how much you will pay me. Is that clear?”

She
followed him timidly, finding herself lingering by the dying fire. “That is not
what I came to ask.”

He
looked up at her, struck by her beauty in the soft light of the fire. She had
the most magnificent eyes he had ever seen, and there was a sensual curve to
her face that invited exploration. But he shook off those thoughts.

“Then
what did you come to ask?”

Alisanne
suddenly forgot how to speak, realizing the moment of truth was finally upon
her. All of the pre-rehearsed things she had planned to say flew out of her
head and she struggled to say something, anything, to him that would make some
sense.

“Father
Joseph Ari sent me to you,” she said softly.

“I don’t
know Father Joseph Ari.”

She
swallowed nervously, nodding her head. “I know that you do not recognize the
name. But you indeed know the person. You see, he is my uncle, my mother’s
brother.”

“What is
he to me?”

“You
knew him as John Adam.
 
He took the name
Joseph Ari when he returned from the great quest.”

Roane
felt as if he had been hit in the pit of his stomach. The room suddenly grew
unsteady but in spite of that, he rose to his feet. The expression on his face
was one of extreme suspicion and extreme disbelief.

“John
Adam,” he breathed. “He is your uncle?”

Alisanne
nodded. From the look on his face, she wasn’t sure if she was helping her cause
or hurting it. “When he returned from the Crusade, he devoted his life to the
priesthood,” she could sense she was losing ground with Roane and struggled to
bring forth everything. “Sir Roane, I know about your gift. I know that when
the Hospitallers found out, they accused you of witchcraft and punished you
unspeakably. I know that you have been hiding from them for the past three
years because if they find you, they will surely kill you. My uncle helped you
escape, and it is he who has sent me here.”

It was
almost too much for Roane to absorb.
 
He
sought out his chair and sat slowly, listening to the wood pop and groan.
 
His chest was constricted with conflicting
emotion, made worse when he gazed into Alisanne’s magnificent eyes.

“Your
uncle and I made a pact when I fled the Holy Land,” he said after a moment, his
voice hoarse. “We would never again see or speak of one another because of our
association… it would be deadly should those who seek to persecute me find out.
To send you to me is seriously dangerous at best. I simply cannot believe he
would break our pact.”

Alisanne’s
face was solemn. “He had a very good reason, Sir Roane, if you would just….”

“On your
trip here, how many people did you ask directions from? And, Christ, how many
times did you mention my name?”

She shook
her head. “I never mentioned your name. I was simply looking for the deserted
abbey near Church Stretton.”

He
stared at her a moment before sighing heavily, running his fingers through his
cropped blond hair.
 
“It does not
matter,” he rumbled. “If there are brothers out there, they will hear of this.”

“How
could they hear of anything if I never mentioned your name,
nor
my reason for coming?”

He still
wasn’t comforted. Samson meandered by, rubbing his big hairy body on Roane’s
leg; the knight reached down to absently stroke the dog. His eyes were distant,
staring off into the darkness until the silence became heavy and uncomfortable.
Alisanne wasn’t sure what else she could say or do to ease him.

“Please,
Sir Roane,” she finally said, rounding the firepit and coming to kneel beside
him. “I am not here to lead you to doom, nor coerce you into defending me
against an imbecile. I am here for a far more serious reason.”

He
looked down at her, like an angel at his feet.
 
Before he could stop himself, his eyes greedily drank in every contour
of her face, every glittering strand of her buttock-length hair. He had to turn
away lest he reach out to touch the magic.

“Tell me
what that reason is and be done with it.”

Alisanne
gazed up at his strong profile, his impossibly powerful and handsome features.
She realized she was shaking again; it seemed that all she ever did was
shake
around him. He had the ability to elicit the most
potent, yet odd, response from her, so much so that it was difficult to
maintain her focus.
 

“It is a
complicated story, but I shall be brief,” she said quietly. “My father is a
baron with a good deal of land. It is excellent land, to which I am heiress.
Dodge de Vere is the bastard of Sir Aubrey de Vere, the man who built Rochester
Castle in Kent, and also a member of the widely powerful de Vere family.
Dodge’s
lands surround our own and has
demanded that
my father pledge me to him.”

Roane
looked at her again; somehow she was closer to him than he originally thought
and a peculiar warmth began to blossom in his chest. “Surely you’ve had other
suitors.”

Alisanne
nodded. “Many. But Dodge has chased them away.”

Roane
cocked an eyebrow. “I cannot imagine, lady, that any man would be easily chased
from you. They must have all been weaklings, and undeserving of you.”

She
blushed furiously and Roane held back a smile; Christ, she was such a lovely
creature. “No one wants an invalid wife, my lord. They were understandably
swayed,” she said.

His urge
to smile vanished. “Invalid? What do you mean?”

Her
blush deepened and much to her embarrassment, tears filled her eyes. Swiftly,
she turned away from him. But before she could move completely out of range, Roane
reached out and grabbed her.
 
She pulled,
he pulled, and she ended up stumbling backwards onto his lap. The more she
struggled, the tighter he held her.

“Cease
your struggles,” he said in her ear.

“Let me
go!”

“Shhh,”
he whispered. “Tell me why you weep.”