Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance (7 page)

She looked over to where he sat at the table, undoing the bandage on his hand. He nodded at her with a wry smile, then went back to his task.

A shaft of pain pierced her heart, that she was holding back information from the man who had faced overwhelming odds at her side. She pushed the thought away. Her job was to keep Erik safe and to find out if he was still under Lynessa’s influence. That is what she had been trained for these past ten years, and it was time to do her duty.

She pitched her tone to sound casual. “So, why did you return from the Crusades when you did?”

He scooped out a small amount of ivory ointment from the jar at his side, carefully dabbing it along the length of the scar across his palm. “Three years ago I received word that my mother had passed, and that, true to her vow, she had left me nothing. I was bitter, and for over a year I lost myself in battle and drink.”

He put the lid back on the ointment jar, then carefully wound a fresh bandage into place. “But finally I grew to accept what life had given me, and I took stock of my situation. I had amassed a healthy sum of money over the past years. Lynessa’s priest had sent messages from her every other month. She adored me, was thrilled to hear of my continuing success, and was waiting eagerly for me to return.”

He gave a soft shrug. “It took another six months or so for me to finish my work in the holy lands, and then at last I set out for England.”

Mary strove to keep her voice even. “And went to Lynessa?”

He gave a yank to the bandage, settling it in place. “And went to Lynessa,” he agreed. “Her parents had passed away, and she welcomed me warmly into the family home. I thought life would be simple. We would at long last marry, begin our family, and enjoy a full, contented life.”

“But …?”

Erik flexed his hand, watching his fingers contract and expand in slow rhythm. “She wanted to take her time. She wanted to get to know me again, after I’d been gone so long. I understood, of course. I had been away for ten years. So I took things slowly. I courted her properly.”

Mary pitched her voice to remain neutral. “That sounds reasonable.”

He stood, walking over to stare out through the narrow arrow slit. “She had repairs she wanted to make to her family home; I gladly made them. There were banquets to throw, trips to take, and fresh horses to buy. I funded each one with contentment. This was my new life I was building, my future family I was taking care of.”

He was still for a long moment. “But finally, about a month ago, I sat down and had a talk with her. I felt we were ready to move forward with our wedding.”

He shook his head. “A few days later, when we were out on a trip to see friends of hers, robbers struck the house. They knew where my gold was kept; they took every last coin. And even then I did not begin to suspect. When we worked with the sheriff to investigate who might have done it, Caradoc’s name came up. Lynessa said she had the perfect plan for figuring out who the guilty party was. It involved her and me going, alone, to a certain tavern.”

Mary nodded in understanding. “And you walked into her trap.”

He gave a short laugh. “It was right there, before my face, and even so I could not believe it. Half of me believed I was lucky to have you there, my guardian angel, to deflect a dangerous situation. And the other half, precision-guided by Lynessa, believed her explanation – that her plan had been working perfectly until you meddled with it. That you were a harlot working to do me harm.”

Mary tilted her head to one side, intrigued. “So, how did you end up in that dungeon?”

His lips pressed together. “She had waited for me for ten long years. I had abandoned my home and family for her. I had vowed to keep her safe. I still could not bring myself to believe that she had turned on me so thoroughly. I gave her one last chance. She promised, if I met her by the crossroads church the following afternoon, that she would prove her plan was worth pursuing. And so I went.”

“And Caradoc was waiting?”

He nodded. “Caradoc was waiting, with twenty of his men, and Lynessa was nowhere to be found.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Even then, some small part of me insisted that she was ambushed, that she had nothing to do with my capture. After all these years, it was hard to let go of that dream.” His eyes shadowed. “It was hard to accept that I had lost everything for no reason.”

Mary watched him stare out into the distance, knowing that there was nothing she could say to ease that burden.

* * *

Only the faintest glow frosted the edges of Erik’s face as he gazed through the shutters. Mary wearily blinked into wakefulness. Dawn had not yet arrived, and her breath billowed in frosty clouds. The impression of his body in the blankets was still warm, and she knew he had just risen.

She could see the shadows beneath his eyes. “Come back to bed,” she murmured. “It is too cold to be up yet.”

He turned, holding her gaze, and for a moment she saw a wave of longing, of desire, course through him. Then it had been shuttered, as carefully as if he had eased closed the wooden slats before him. “You deserve the most honorable of treatment,” he stated. “I will not put us in a position where –” He cut himself off, looking back out the window, his shoulders tense.

Mary burned with heat, and every ounce of her body called for him to come to her, to slip beneath the blankets and be hers. She had dreamt about him for so long, and here he was, all she had ever imagined.

She dampened down the flames with effort. She had to be objective. If they slept together, she would be unable to judge him clearly. She would be incapable of –

She blew out her breath, turning, pulling the blankets over her head. Who was she fooling? Even now, when it had only been his body against her at night, the soft heat of his breath against her neck, she knew that she was enraptured by him. Ten long years of living in his home, of hearing his name, of waiting eagerly for the monthly letters from his commanding officer describing his latest ventures, had soaked him into her heart as surely as if they had lived together as man and wife.

At last she flung off her blanket, sure that sleep would never return. “All right then,” she ordered. “If you are up anyway, let us take a look at that stomach wound of yours.”

He glanced over in surprise. “You have some medical knowledge?”

Mary snorted. Lady Cartwright had certainly insisted on her learning all about broken bones, gaping wounds, and whatever other grisly injuries happened within the keep’s radius. “Come on,” she prodded. “Sit down and let me see.”

He paused for a moment, then nodded, bringing one of the chairs over by the window where it caught the delicately growing golden streams. He carefully raised his arms up over his head. She stood behind him and drew off the jerkin with practiced ease. She had trained with the keep soldiers for enough years to know the ins and outs of a man’s equipage.

A jagged scar coursed like a lightning bolt diagonally down his back, starting at his left shoulder, zigging over his spine before trailing away over his right hip. She stared at it in awe, and without realizing it her hand reached out to trace its path.

Erik’s voice had a hint of amusement in it. “Forgot about that. A memento from the Holy Land. A minor action in Arsuf.”

To Mary it was as if a Celtic legend, long thought to be a fairy tale, had suddenly sprung to life before her. She knew about the event, of course, knew every tiny detail of it from the letters the Commander had sent. Nine of Erik’s men had been captured by the enemy and were set to be tortured as a warning to others. Erik had snuck through enemy lines, taken out countless guards, and gotten all nine men to safety. This grievous wound should have laid him low for months, but the commander had proudly stated that Erik was back in action after only a few weeks’ rest.

Giving herself a shake, she knelt at his side, carefully unwrapping the bandage. She winced as she saw the long gash across his abdomen. The stitches were steady, neat, and she wondered how he had managed such a task on his own, especially with a wounded hand. He watched without comment as she drew two ointments down from the shelves and attentively cleaned the wound, then re-dressed the line. She looked with a critical eye along each side of the cut.

“No infection that I can see,” she reported with relief. “You did a good job. But you will have to be quite careful in the coming days. If you tear any part of that open, an infection could kill you before you realized it had taken hold.”

“Well do I know,” he agreed. “We will have to hope the bandits give us that time.”

She took down a fresh bandage, wrapping it around his stomach, tucking in the loose end to hold it fast. Then she eased the jerkin back down over his body.

Her hands lingered on his shoulders as she finished settling it into place. For a long moment she wished they could just stay at the Folly, suspended in time, safe from vows and machinations and duties. Her fingers strayed, just for a second, to gently brush against the side of his neck.

Then she stepped back, forcing herself to break the spell.

She had one more day.

Only one brief day remained for her to watch this man before her, to strive to gaze into his very soul.

* * *

Oranges and crimsons were streaming across the floor when the sound of hoofbeat tickled at Mary’s awareness. She glanced at Erik, and in a moment both were at the shutters, straining their eyes across the lengthening shadows, seeking any sign of movement.

The rhythm came closer, and soon the four riders were in view. Josiah’s red hair glowed in the sunset, and his temper seemed even shorter than on his last visit.

The bartender pulled hard on his reins as the group neared the gate. “I swear, he seems to have vanished into the mist,” he snapped, “It is ridiculous even to return here. Surely he is in Gaul by now.”

He swung down off his horse, drawing his sword, moving to the partially open gate and giving it a vicious kick. There was a squeal from the warthogs, and they streaked toward the tower, running to hide behind it.

“Damned beasts,” snarled Josiah. “This place is cursed. Anybody would be a fool to stay here.”

The three other men followed, leaving a cautious distance between them and their irate leader. Bronson made a wide circle around the gate, his dark curls bobbing nervously.

Josiah strode across the courtyard, coming up to the door, giving it a solid kick. The tower shuddered, and Mary grabbed at Erik’s hand, lacing her fingers into his. They had certainly healed some in the last six days, but they were nowhere near full strength. Erik’s wound would be torn open with his first swing, and she doubted even he could last long after that.

If the men got in …

Josiah kicked again, shouting out in anger. “You fiend, are you in there?” he bellowed. “Come out and face me, you coward!”

He spun on his men. “You – Sander - go around back and see if there’s any other way in.”

The flaxen haired man blanched, then nodded and headed off at a trot. Mary glanced at Erik in concern. The bars on the other window were old and rusted. If the men made a concerted effort to pull them free …

There was a squeal, and a scream, and Sander came running back toward the group, limping heavily. Blood spurted from a wound in his calf.

“Damn beast jumped me when I wasn’t looking!” Sander cried out in fury. “Look what he’s done!”

He plunked down on the steps, and Bronson cut some cloth from his cloak, tying it around Sander’s leg.

Josiah shook his head. “Did you find anything?”

Sander lurched to his feet. “Give me a moment.”

Mary’s heart thudded in her chest, and Erik glanced toward the door, his eyes settling for a moment on the bar which sat securely in its channel. His lips pressed into a thin line as he ran a hand along the bandage at his waist.

Sander stumbled his way to his horse, moving his hands to the saddle, yanking off the crossbow that hung there on a loop. He slipped a bolt into its groove and cranked the winch back as he moved again toward the tower. He vanished from sight below them. Mary found she was holding her breath.

There was a sharp pop, a whistling noise, and then a high pitched scream of pain which cut off into silence.

Sander came into view again, a satisfied look on his face.

Josiah growled in exasperation. “God’s teeth, Sander. Was there another way into the tower?”

Sander shook his head. “Nah, just one tiny window. Barred. No way in.”

Josiah turned to the door and slammed his fist hard into its center, causing the tower to shudder. “Cursed,” he spat.

He stepped back, looking around the desolate courtyard. “I ain’t wasting another drop of blood on this place. The man is in Gaul, and if Caradoc wants to seek him there, good luck to him.” He turned on his heel, striding out through the gate. Bronson looped an arm under Sander’s shoulder, helping him back to his horse. In only a few moments the foursome was streaming south.

Mary found her hand was still intertwined with Erik’s, and she folded against him in relief as the hoofbeat faded from hearing. His arms came up around her, and nothing else mattered.