Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance (9 page)

Michael’s eyes stayed calmly on his. “Bandits have been in the area.” He paused for a beat. “Perhaps you know something about that.”

Erik’s eyes shadowed. “Indeed I do,” he murmured. He took in a deep breath, looking the older man in the eye. “Mary and I officially request sanctuary in the keep. Once she is safe, I will explain all I know of the situation, and do whatever I can to help.”

Michael’s eyes moved to hers, a question held within them. She gave the slightest of nods.

Michael looked back to Erik. “My Lady Cartwright is currently indisposed, but I will grant temporary sanctuary to you and your friend until we receive full confirmation from her,” he offered. He looked down below him. “Open the gates.”

The thick, wooden gates swung wide. Erik paused for a long moment, his gaze on the large courtyard before him. Then he strode forward, stepping deliberately across the threshold, returning home at last.

Michael moved down the steps to join them, reaching the ground as the gates were barred shut. He came around to stand before Erik, his eyes carefully assessing the man. Mary could see the tension in Michael’s form, the warring between the fond Master of Arms who had been all but a father to him, and the loyal servant of the keep who had dedicated his life to its protection these past ten years.

At last he put out an arm to Michael. His voice was gruff when he spoke. “I’m glad to see the Saracens weren’t able to best you.”

A glimmer of a smile came to Erik’s face. “After the training you put me through, they were hard pressed to match me,” he stated, clasping Michael’s arm with warmth. “I gave thanks to you, after each battle, for the rigorous workouts you inflicted on me.”

“You were always my best pupil,” returned Michael, releasing his hand. “I was sore pressed when you left.”

A silence fell between the two men, and after a moment Michael turned to Mary. Mary could see the warmth in his eyes, but he pitched his voice to be distant. “And who is your traveling companion? Mary, you say her name is?”

Erik gently laid a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, and I would ask that you treat Mary with the greatest of honor. She risked her life to save me. When that bandit carved up her leg –”

Michael’s voice went hoarse. “You are injured?” He dropped to one knee before Mary and pulled back her cloak, revealing the bandage. He scanned it before looking up at her. “Have you checked for infection? You know that –”

She smiled fondly at him. “Erik has taken good care of me,” she soothed him. “What I could use right now is a warm meal and a hot fire.”

Michael drew up to his feet, nodding. “Of course.” His eyes creased and he rounded on Erik. “Wait, are
you
injured?”

Erik gave a wry smile. “Just a minor wound across my stomach. A few stitches, nothing more.”

Michael shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, you could get your leg hacked clean off and say it was a minor wound,” he muttered, but there was a sparkle in his eye. “Let us get both of you in and seen to.”

Erik slid his arm around Mary’s waist, and Michael fell in at her other side. Mary could feel the tension easing out of Erik’s stance with each passing step, the sense of comfort and relaxation he felt as he moved deeper into his home. Michael pushed open the main keep doors before them, and they walked through the narrow hallway before it opened into the great hall.

It seemed that the entire staff of the keep had found a reason to be present as Erik stepped into the room. Their faces were curious and cautious, but most held welcome as well. He had been their beloved young lord for so many years, and well Mary knew they had missed him sorely while he was gone.

Erik’s stride slowed, and Mary wondered how many times he had imagined this day, had thought of his return home. His arm at her waist drew her in, holding her close, and she leant against him.

His step hitched, and Mary followed his gaze. He was looking at the empty grey fieldstone above the fireplace. A frown crossed his face, quickly erased again.

Mary knew what he had reacted to. From the day he had turned one, a painting of him had hung in that spot. Over the years the images had been updated. The day he had stormed out, the painting had shown him as a strong young man, dressed in a forest green tunic, his blue-grey eyes gazing resolutely out over the hall.

Now there was nothing to show he had ever been there.

They walked past the long, wooden tables, heading for the main table setting across the back end of the hall on a raised dais. Erik’s mother had had a flair for the dramatic, and everything from her ornately carved chair to the elegant tapestry tablecloth and gold chased plateware spoke to her high station. Mary had often wondered what Erik’s father had thought of all this, but the man had passed away only a year after his son’s birth, gored by a stag on a Christmas day hunt. His wife had ruled with an iron fist, determined to pass a strong holding down to her son.

And then that son had abandoned her.

Erik’s eyes were steady on the chair as they approached, then he lowered his eyes and moved to his seat at its right. He helped Mary into the smaller seat beside him, and Mary fell into it gratefully, a sigh escaping her as she relaxed into the familiar chair.

It was going to be all right. She was home.

 Michael was at her right, Zelda poured her a glass of her favorite wine, and she smiled up at the buxom lady, giving her a toast before drinking down half of it in gratitude and relief. Tina, her tight red ringlets shining in the firelight, lay down a trencher with chicken stew and turnips, and Mary could have kissed her. The smell was nearly intoxicating.

She folded her gloved hands before her.

To her left, Erik’s voice was hoarse. “May I say grace?”

Mary started, shaken out of her near dream state. For a moment it had all been so familiar, the fragrant smells, the presence of Michael at her side, the chair she had sat in for over ten years. Erik’s voice zinged into that peace with the force of a lightning bolt out of a clear summer sky. He was here, now, present in the chair which had remained vacant for a decade. That empty chair had remained a stark reminder, throughout her time at the keep, that she was only second place in Lady Cartwright’s heart. There had always been a spot between them, and it would only take Erik walking through that door to permanently keep them apart.

Her voice was shaky. “Of course,” she murmured.

Erik clasped his fingers together, bowed his head, and Mary could hear the raw passion in his voice as he spoke. She wondered how many times he had recited these words when huddled around a tiny campfire in the deserts of Jerusalem, or crouched over a small hunk of bread in the creaking hull of a merchant ship.

“Dear Lord, bless You in Your wisdom. I cannot fathom the plan You have for me, or the twists my life must take to reach Your goal. I can only pray for the strength to meet the challenges You have set for me, and the courage to do what must be done. Thank You for this nourishment, that I might live another day and move one step closer toward –”

There was a rough break in his voice, and Mary glanced sideways through shuttered lids. Erik had brought his forehead to his hands, and there was a glistening at his lashes. Mary looked down at her food again. She could only imagine how hard this must be on him.

At last he spoke again, his voice rough. “Thank You,” he said simply. “Thank You.”

Mary found her own throat was tight. “Amen.”

They opened their eyes, and the feasting commenced. She had always loved Ygraine’s cooking, and the woman had clearly outdone herself, knowing that the master might be returning home any day. The chicken was spiced to perfection, the rosemary and sage gravy brimming with love.

Zelda moved to Michael’s side, whispering in his ear, casting a sidelong glance at Mary as she did so. Michael nodded, then leant forward, speaking to Mary and Erik.

“The Lady of the house wishes you welcome, and bids you stay as long as you will. Erik, you can have your own room. Mary, she prefers that you stay with her, as there is not a room suitable for a woman currently made up.”

Mary kept her face steady. “As she wishes.”

Erik’s gaze was still, and Mary wondered what emotions lurked behind that mask. “So she will not come out to greet us?”

Michael gave a short shake of the head. “She is currently indisposed,” he informed Erik. “I am sure in time she will feel better and come out to welcome you properly.”

It seemed only minutes before Mary was leaning back in her chair, comfortably full, the flickering heat of the hall seeping into her bones. For so long there had been an edge of cold in every motion; it was almost an unremembered luxury to feel this warm. Then Michael was rising to his feet, offering them both a short bow. “I must return to the walls,” he murmured. His eyes went to Erik. “Perhaps later you can find me there, and we can discuss what we face with these bandits,” he added.

Erik rose to his feet. “Of course,” he agreed. “I will share everything I know.”

Michael held his gaze for a long moment, a look almost of contentment coming to his eyes. Then he turned and strode down the length of the great hall before vanishing from sight.

Erik watched him go, then at last turned to Mary. “I would like to take a walk around and determine how my home has changed since I left,” he murmured. “If you would like, I could see you to your chambers first.”

Mary gave a shake of her head. “I would prefer to go with you,” she countered. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

He smiled at that, offering his arm. “I would be delighted to show you my home.”

They walked together toward the courtyard. Mary was touched by how well he knew every person there, their relationships, their interests, their dreams. It was as if he had never been gone. The staff glowed under his attention, came to life, and Mary realized just how cold and sterile the keep had become under his mother’s harsh rule.

Erik’s feet turned toward the stable, and a tremor of nervousness ran through Mary’s heart. She hoped against hope that Michael had remembered to stable her own steed at the farmstead down the hill, not in her own stall. If Erik saw the horse …

A sigh of relief escaped her as they moved into the low building. The stall was empty, the halter missing from its peg.

They moved up to the wall, talking with the soldiers, Erik examining the chain of the gate and the readiness of the armory. His face grew still as he looked down the line of weapons, and a fresh nervousness built within Mary. What if he did not approve of how she had maintained the keep over the past few years? What if he was disappointed in this home he had returned to?

They were climbing the steps back toward the great hall before she ventured to put her thoughts into words. “You have been away for ten long years,” she murmured. “You have seen great palaces and elaborate temples. Does your home now seem small in comparison?”

He looked over in surprise, shaking his head. “Far from it,” he stated. “If anything, I am reluctantly impressed with this new Lady Cartwright. My mother had always been more interested in outer appearance than inner substance. For her it was about the embroidery on the guest linens and the presentation of the great hall.” He turned and looked back up toward the line of guards on the wall. “The men are better equipped than I have ever seen, and seem more comfortable with their arms as well. I have to say I am impressed.”

A glow eased through Mary, and she looked away. That he approved of her efforts meant more than she would have thought.

He was walking forward, his stride slowing, and she had no doubt where he was headed. He moved to the spiral staircase at the side of the hall, taking the flight with steady steps, then walked down the hallway. At last he stood before the wooden door of his room. He placed his hand on it for a long moment before pushing it open.

Mary knew exactly what he would see as the door swung open. The room had been frozen in time since he left. The maids had cleaned it daily, the linens were always kept fresh, the surfaces dusted.

The forest-green curtains on the double windows were pulled to the side, letting in the streaming afternoon sunshine. To the left lay a low bed, with matching blankets, a trunk at its side. A dresser on the opposite wall displayed several knives and a pair of buckles. Shelves stored tunics, leggings, and a training sword.

Erik stood still for a long moment, as if disbelieving that it really was just as he had left it. Then he stepped in, moving from place to place, running a hand over a hilt, breathing in the fragrance of the place.

Mary closed her eyes. So many days she had sat here, in the center of the room, drawn in by the melding of leather and anise. She had wondered just who this young man had been, and what had driven him to leave.

Her eyes flickered open, and he was there. He was standing there, before her, his eyes tinged with wonder.

He stepped forward to take her hands in his. “It is still so hard for me to grasp,” he murmured in a rough voice. “That it is all here, just the way I left it. I saw so much destruction, so much desolation, in my years in Jerusalem. I half expected to return and find the keep in ruins.”

“But it is whole,” murmured Mary.

His eyes eased at that, and he drew her in against him. His voice was a sigh. “It is whole.”