Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance (2 page)

The mood in the room crackled with energy, and Mary clung desperately to her path. If she could not divert the thieves now, Erik would be slain. All she had worked for would be lost.

Lost forever.

She pitched her voice low, low enough that Caradoc would think it meant for him alone, but she held her body pointed at Erik. She hoped with every ounce of her being that the man contained a shred of instinct for self-preservation.

“Dear Caradoc, you are no man’s master,” she insisted in a seductive purr. “Least of all that arrogant sheriff. Yes, you want to make them pay. But do it on your
own
terms, on your own schedule. Choose your own location.” Her voice became husky. “Create an epic tale which will ring in the great halls for centuries to come.”

Caradoc’s eyes lit up at that, and Mary warmed with the slightest kindle of hope. She had studied him carefully for weeks now, preparing for this eventuality, and her research might just pay off. If there was one thing Caradoc craved, it was to build a legacy for his name.

Caradoc puffed up his shoulders, tossing his hair back as he strode forward to stand before Erik. His head only came up to Erik’s chin, but with his barrel chest and muscled hands … Mary held in a shiver. It would be an even enough contest just between those two, never mind the twenty rabid men who ringed them.

Caradoc’s voice was the soft growl of a wolf. “
I am
the master here,” he stated, “and I will not have our sanctuary disturbed by the likes of you. Go, and take that pale trollop along with you.” Lynessa gave a soft cry of outrage, but bit it back when Caradoc’s amber gleam swung around to pin her. After a moment Caradoc returned his gaze back to Erik. “Do not think this is the end,” he warned, his voice deceptively quiet. “No matter where you hide, no matter who you hide behind, we are everywhere. We will find you, and we will have our fun. On our own terms. In a place of our own choosing.”

Mary had no doubt that any other man would have been running for the door, pleading for his life, scampering from the palpable threat which pulsed in the smoky air. But Erik took his time, his eyes making a slow circuit of the men in the room, drawing around to –

His gaze settled on hers, and Mary gasped as if an electric shock had coursed through her. For so long there had only been that one painting over the keep’s fireplace, the eyes dead and stagnant. But this Erik was vibrantly alive, full of passionate energy, and the corners of his eyes creased with dawning understanding. She was not sure what he thought he knew, but she prayed to God that he would turn and leave before all Hell broke loose.

He nodded, and then he was taking Lynessa by the arm, stepping back toward the door, and ushering her through. He gave one last look to the room before closing the door behind them.

Mary leapt into the center of the room, shimmering her tambourine in triumph, raising her voice high. “Caradoc!” she cried out, hoping with all her heart to distract the men, to give Erik the cover he needed to safely get away. “Caradoc!”

The cries were taken up on all sides, tankards of ale were raised in toasts, and at long last Mary’s breaths came in full, even draws.

Caradoc’s eyes glazed in fury. “When I find him, I will kill him myself,” he vowed. “I will break every bone in his body!”

“I know you will,” encouraged Mary, taking the mug of mead that the barkeep pressed into her hand. “But make sure he is brought to you unharmed! You want to savor every moment of his punishment for yourself.”

Flames of delight blossomed in Caradoc’s eyes, and he climbed onto a nearby table. The surface groaned under his weight, but held steady.

“You men!” he cried out to the roiling masses. “Tomorrow we will go out to hunt down this Erik. But I want to make it clear – he is MINE. He is to be brought to me without one scratch on him. And then we shall have an arena!”

Cries of delight and anticipation thundered around her, ringing in her ears. She hoped by all that was Holy that she could get to Erik before Caradoc’s clan put into motion their plans for revenge.

Chapter 2

Mary drew in a deep breath, wrapping her heavy, black cloak close against the late afternoon chill. The tambourine hooked at her hip dug into her flesh, and she adjusted it to the left. She carefully stepped across the courtyard, watching for the pushed-up stones which protruded in dense constellations before the central tower. As she had hoped, Espan and Arbert had been more than happy to open the main gates to her and send her through. She could see three other men on the walls, but no more, and she mouthed a prayer in thanks. Success tonight would be a miracle of the highest degree. She would light candles at the chapel every blessed day without fail if she and Erik survived this.

She shook her head as she approached the door. She had not in a million years thought Caradoc would act so quickly against Erik. She had assumed she would be granted two or three days in which to plan her next move. Instead, less than a full day had passed before news came that Erik had been captured and was being held in the abandoned watchtower.

Mary shuddered. Caradoc was, at this very minute, out gathering up every last member of his clan of wolves’ heads for a gathering of massive proportions. By tomorrow night a full fifty men would be present for drinking, gambling, and the Grand Arena.

She could only hope that her guidance last night in the tavern had been successful. If Erik was truly unhurt, she might have a chance. If not …

She pushed open the door with a gloved hand, stepping into the small anteroom and shouldering the door shut behind her to hold out the sharp breeze. An unkempt, lanky man with mouse-brown hair glanced up from his chair in the corner where he sat by a small fire.

His eyes sharpened with delight as he took her in. “Caradoc ain’t here,” he snapped. “He’s out with the men. Be back tomorrow morning.”

She drew her lips into a smile. “Ah, Wymon. I am not here for Caradoc,” she assured him. “I am here for you and for the guards below.”

His beady eyes widened at that, and a lecherous grin grew on his face. “That is the best news I’ve heard all day,” he murmured, drawing to his feet. “I claim first dibs on you then.”

She gave a regretful shake to her head. “I am afraid I go down and take care of the others first,” she sighed.

Wymon took a step forward with a surly frown, and she put her hands out to forestall him. “This way you get me all night long,” she pointed out. “As soon as I am done with them, I am all yours.”

A wolfish grin spread across his face, and he waved a hand toward the sturdy door at the side of the room. “Better get started, then.”

Mary took a step toward the door, then turned to look at him over her shoulder. “No fair peeking, now,” she advised him. “No matter what you hear, you just wait up here for me. That way it will be all fresh and new to you when I return.”

He gave a sharp laugh at that, sitting back down on the worn stool. “That won’t be a problem,” he promised. “They sunk those dungeons deep, so the screams of the victims wouldn’t disrupt the feasting of the delicate highborn.” He rubbed his hands toward the fire. “Make all the noise you want.”

Mary smiled at that, then turned to the door.

Wymon hadn’t been exaggerating about the depth of the structure. As she continued to descend the spiral staircase past guttering torches and skittering rats, Mary began to believe all the tales she’d heard about the torture that went on here.

By the time she reached the small landing at the staircase’s foot a visceral force was pressing in against her chest, restricting her breathing. She took a moment to settle herself, to focus on the task at hand. The door before her was banded with iron and featured a small grate at eye level. She peered in.

Thank God, he seemed unhurt
.

Erik wore the same dark leather from the tavern. His arms were tied with rope to metal rings high on the wall, out at forty-five degree angles from his head. There was a dark smudge on one cheek, but overall it looked like Caradoc’s men had heeded her suggestion and brought him in unharmed.

Now all she had to do was get him back out again.

She let her breath out, the tambourine gave the softest of chimes, and to her surprise his eyes flashed up to hold hers. The blue-grey gaze swept with confusion, then melded with understanding and alarm. He gave his head the smallest of shakes.

She gave a wry smile. She was certainly not going to back down now.

She gave a sharp rap to the door, and there was a scrambling noise from the left. In short order five men were striding toward the door. She looked them over as they approached the window, counting her blessings. Caradoc had left his weaker men to guard the shackled prisoner, leaving the better fighters up on the wall. It would serve her well.

The taller one, with a shock of flame-red hair, stepped up to the window. Mary recognized him as Geoff, brother to the barkeep at the tavern. His voice was thin and reedy. “Mary, is that you?”

She slid a welcoming purr into her voice. “In the flesh,” she agreed. She unhooked her tambourine, drawing it up to give it a shimmer of sound. “I have come to keep you lads company for a while.”

Geoff had the door open before she finished speaking, his eyes roaming her with heated pleasure. “Come in, come in,” he welcomed. “We were just having some ale and discussing how Caradoc would bloody Erik first. You know, for the pre-fight entertainment. What do you think – wild dogs, perhaps?”

They piled back onto their stools, and Geoff had a mug before her in a flash, filling it to the brim with ale. “Stan here thinks it’ll be a boar,” he added. “But I think Caradoc wouldn’t want to hurt the man
too
much before the main attraction began.”

Mary gave a hearty laugh. “Whatever it starts with, it’ll end with his death!” she cried out with rich pleasure. “To the fight!” She raised her mug in a toast. The men clunked their own mugs against hers, and then she brought the ale to her lips, drinking it down in one long swallow.

The men looked at her with delight, then promptly did the same, wiping their mouths off on their sleeves when they were done.

Mary flashed a brilliant smile at them. “Another round!” There was a cheer as the ale was poured out, and once again she raised her mug. “Here’s to Geoff – I bet five pounds on Geoff’s brilliant gamble. The first challenge Erik will take on will be a pack of wild dogs.”

Geoff’s eyes lit up with pleasure. “To wild dogs!” Mary brought the mug to her lips, and the men raced to drink down their ale before she did. She paused, as if contemplating something, then absently put her mug down. She stood and walked toward Erik.

She drew the front of her cloak open as she approached him, revealing the long sword she wore at her left hip. The scabbard was nondescript. No mark on her clothing or gear could tie her back to the keep he had grown up in; the keep that had been her home these past ten years.

His eyes flashed from the sword back to her face, his gaze haggard. “You need to leave,” he insisted. “What you are planning to do –”

The men behind her laughed in raucous delight. Geoff’s voice was rich with pleasure. “You will be witness to exactly what you will be giving up, Erik. First you turned your back on your family; now you will lose your hold on mortality as well. Seems fair that we celebrate life as you tick out your remaining minutes toward a brutal, tortured death.”

Mary held Erik’s gaze with serious intent. The man was a master swordsman. If ever she could use advice, now would be the time. “What would you recommend?”

“You should turn around and go –”

She gave a sharp shake of her head, interrupting him. She dropped her hand to the dagger at her side; her voice was a low murmur. “I will do this with or without your help.”

He held her eyes for a long moment, then blew out his breath. He nodded, his gaze firming in resolution. He briefly scanned the five men behind her, then drew his attention back to her. “Start with Geoff,” he instructed, his eyes glancing to the dagger. “Short and swift. Then you’ll have to take the other four on together.”

Geoff’s voice was an outraged shriek. “Short and swift?”

Mary turned, drawing the dagger at the same time, and launched it toward his throat. The surprise was complete – he didn’t even put his hands up in defense as the sharp blade buried itself into his carotid artery, creating a fountain of blood that sprayed across his friends.

Mary drew her sword in her right hand, swirling off the cloak with her left, sending it snapping into the eyes of the stocky man to her left. He threw his hand up to his face with a cry, and she spun hard to her left, drawing her blade down into the cleft of his neck and shoulder. He dropped with a gurgle as she turned to face her remaining three opponents, putting herself between them and Erik.

The wolves’ heads now had their swords drawn and were staring at her with fury in their eyes. The man on her left shook his head as he looked her over. “We thought you were one of us,” he spat.

She raised an eyebrow. “I was in your bar maybe five times at the most,” she pointed out. “Surely you need a little more than that to join your den of thieves.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Maybe a blood oath,” he growled, and then he was in motion.