The Dark Lady (2 page)

As the two circled, his rescuer came back into sight and his hairless face came into view. Lit by the fire it was obvious that he could be no more than fifteen. Shock rippled through Peter as he realized he wasn’t a man. He was just a boy.

Peter struggled to get to his feet, knowing this boy didn’t stand a chance against the larger, more experienced warrior. The pain and loss of blood made him weak. He managed to get one knee under him before his vision blurred and the world spun around him. The slick mud gave way and he fell back.

The boy grinned as he continued to circle through the swirling fog like a vulture who knows that death is imminent. The boy’s grin only widened as the large man began to yell at him, getting angry enough that his voice was audible over the winds and the fire. He told him that his mother was a whore and that he was a bastard. He told him he was in the land of men now and he would die without ever seeing a woman naked.

The boy just laughed, yelling loudly, “I had seen more of a naked woman’s body by the time I was ten than you have yet to see. One has been filling my bedding every night for many years now.” Amazingly, no fear was shown, no hesitation evident.

A tight band of worry wrapped itself around Peter’s chest and refused to let go. He knew it was going to end badly and he didn’t want to see this boy die for him. He cupped his hand around his mouth and shouted for help, but he knew it was useless.

Reason stood that if he couldn’t hear them over the blaring sounds of war and nature they would not be able to hear him either. Still, this kid had no business on the battleground. Peter could not just lay here with the cold seeping into his bones and do nothing. Struggling to his knees, he fought a surge of nausea as the world wavered around him.

The huge man lunged at the boy. The young kid waited until the big man was off balance and then he jerked to the left, not to avoid the man, but to ram a wide shoulder into his side. The man growled as he teetered to the opposite side. As his arms pin-wheeled for balance, he lashed out with the dagger.

The boy jerked back as the blade sliced across his bared cheek, laying him open from his ear to the corner of his mouth. Blood welled, and then flowed freely covering the front of his armor before the rain washed it away.

As the big man tried to catch his balance, the boy slipped in behind him. He gave his wide backside a kick, sending the outraged man face first into the mud with a great splash. The man was surprisingly agile for his girth and took no time getting to his feet and charging the boy. The boy laughed.

Laughed! Peter could not believe the gall of the kid. Once again the kid waited until the last moment. Peter’s breath caught in his throat as the enemy got within grasping distance. The giant made a final lunge at the motionless kid. Relief washed over Peter as the boy dove out of the way. Hidden behind the kid was one of Peter’s men.

Richard Devenroe instantly brought his sword up. The big beast had no chance of stopping and ran full force into the long blade.

The whole act became clear even to his pain-clouded mind, and it had been an act. Dangerous, but all to a purpose. It had been devised to distract the man. To anger him to a boiling rage, one that would cloud his thoughts and make him careless. It had worked flawlessly, minus the heavy gash in the cheek.

The boy shrugged off Richard, who was trying to check his rapidly bleeding cheek, and rushed to Peter’s side. Richard followed behind, a look of irritation on his face that made Peter want to laugh, if only he had the strength. Right on Richard’s heels were several of Peter’s men. Their concerned faces faded and disappeared as Peter’s vision spun. He shut his eyes tightly.

Pain washed over him as he was dragged roughly to his feet. An arm slipped around his shoulder, supporting him. Opening his eyes, he saw the kid. The boy urged him forward, but his feet dragged through the mud, his legs not wanting to cooperate. The world around him swayed and he was forced to allow the boy to take his full weight.

A blurry lean-to appeared before him. Its opening faced the fire allowing in light and needed warmth. He bit his lip, staying a moan of pain as they placed him into the small shelter. He closed his eyes to keep the world from spinning. It didn’t work.

Listening to the noises around him, Peter could feel the comforting warmth of the fire seeping through him. He growled deeply, opening his eyes as he was moved around. The boy shifted him slightly to remove his armor. Pain rushed through his shoulder, but the heavy weight of the metal seemed not to be of any bother to the young man. Peter ground his teeth together as he was moved again from side to side. Finally he was bared to his dingy white tunic.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the boy to remove it as well. Instead the boy used a dagger to start a cut in the material. Then grasping the jagged edges of the shirt in blood-stained, dirt-encrusted hands, he jerked the tattered remains away from the mangled shoulder. Peter closed his eyes against another onslaught of pain.

He sucked in a breath and jerked his eyes open as pressure was put onto the wound. The boy looked over his shoulder at Richard. “Go get the doctor. If he does not want to come, and come now, you have my permission to get him here at your enjoyment.” The voice came out in a growl, an order too full of self-assurance to come from a mere page. No, he was a squire, no doubt. The kid had battle under his belt. Instinct and experience told Peter that the trick with the monster of a warrior who had almost killed him was just the beginning of his cunning.

Peter closed his eyes and his breathing became shallow. Numbness was beginning to overtake his mind. His thoughts were getting slower. He could feel it. He tried to concentrate on the boy’s voice above him, but his mind felt heavy and sluggish.

The voice that had been gravelly and deep at first had changed—softened, like a gentle breeze across his heart. He was confused at his thoughts. His mind was hazy. Delirium was obviously setting in. A groan slipped from beneath his numb lips.

The sweet, concerned voice caressed him, washing over him like a warm caress. “Are you with me? Can you focus on my face? Come on, talk to me. Open your eyes. I need to know you are going to be all right.” The gentle voice was like a melody to his war-ravaged ears, a loving voice that brought forth images of that life his father had spoken of. Of children to hold and to love, not just some faceless heir to be his future, but a child to be his life.

He opened his eyes to the young boy’s blurry face. The light from the fire pierced into him, cutting through him like a dagger. He shut his eyes again with a moan.

“
Come on, focus. You are going to be all right.” There was fear in that soft voice that told him he was cared for. That he was needed. “Look me in the eye.” The worry that he heard enveloped him in warmth in a way no fire ever could. He could almost picture the mother of those children who would hold him at night when he was cold, as he was now. She would be beautiful, dark, and exotic.

When he opened his eyes once again the boy was gone and in his place was the beautiful, yet blurry, face of a girl. “Are you all right?” she asked sweetly as she leaned close to him.

“
I am here with you.” Concern filled him as he spotted the large gash on her cheek, oddly in the same spot as the lad’s injury. He shook his head to clear it. Confusion swirled through his weary mind. Peter lifted his hand and ran his fingers along the uninjured cheekbone as blood dripped onto his injured shoulder. “Your face. You are hurt. You must have it looked at.”

The face swirled in and out of focus and the boy was there once again. Peter closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. “I will. You first, I can wait,” the soft voice told him.

When Peter opened his eyes once again, she was smiling down at him. Her face was still blurred, but he knew it was her from her melodious voice.

“
You have such dark eyes, almost black. One could get lost in them.” Peter continued to stroke the smooth cheek above him, sliding trembling fingers down the warm and inviting skin gently cupping the soft and shapely chin before starting again. He squinted in an effort to keep the world focused as he looked deeply into those black eyes and thought of his future. “You are so beautiful.”

Full lips parted in a sweet tinkling laugh, like water rippling over stones. “I will forgive you that since you have lost so much blood. Your thoughts must be scrambled and your vision faulty.” A wide, beautiful smile took the sting from the words.

A deep trembling breath caused the world to shimmer and the image of the boy was once again before him.

Peter pulled his hand away in confusion. “Quite. I have lost a great amount.” His arm dropped as darkness swallowed him.

CHAPTER 2

Sounds of anger invaded the peaceful cocoon of darkness that shrouded Peter. He blinked several times to adjust to the brilliant sunlight that poured through the flaps of the tent. The irate voice that had penetrated his sleep was coming from the boy. He stood stiffly, with his back to Peter.

The rough growl was back in his voice, if it had ever been gone. “Aye, that is right, I am still here and I will be the next time you come.”

The boy stood at least six foot tall, hands on narrow hips, covered by a large wrinkled tunic that fell past the tops of his thigh high black leather boots. The armor and mail were gone from Peter’s young rescuer and were now stacked in the corner of the tent. Peter glanced back at the bright sunlit opening and concern filled his chest as he considered how long he had slept. It was dangerous for his army to remain in one place for long.

“
I am not leaving his side ‘til he wakens,” The boy growled. Peter shifted his head to see who the boy was challenging. Pain shot through his shoulder so he contented himself with glancing around the crowded tent.

Three men stood with the boy between Peter and whoever the kid was arguing with: Telpher Constaire, his brown hair standing on end and in disarray; Grant Hestlay, Peter’s right hand man, his lanky frame stiff and unmoving; and Richard Devenroe, one of his higher ranked knights, as well as his good friend.

Richard stood motionless, his arms folded before him, his short sword still in the scabbard at his thick waist. Peter looked from Richard’s stern profile to the side of the boy’s face. Now stitched, it still looked brutal, damaged more than necessary by waiting to have it looked at.

As his gaze roamed across the jagged line of stitching a quick memory of the woman he had spoken with that night flashed across his vision.

God, had he really stroked the boy’s cheek? Had he really said those things? He prayed it had all been a dream.

“
You will move aside.” The familiar voice of the doctor came from beyond Richard and the boy. Peter tilted his head until he could see the massive man. He was red faced in anger. His dark brown hair brushed the top of the tent. Dr. Jonas Cobb towered over everyone Peter knew, which was one of the reasons he had never seen anyone stand up to him before now.

“
He will die if you do not let me help him,” Cobb growled. “He will not awaken until I have bled him. You will be responsible.” The doctor raised one thick fist in the air. The boy didn’t move, but Richard edged a little closer to him.

Peter smiled at his friend’s protective nature.

“
Nay, you are wrong. I allowed you, without opposition, to help him. You stopped his bleeding.” The boy gestured to Peter, but not one of the men looked at him. “You stitched him up and gave him medicine to help him heal. You now propose...” he shook his head in frustration and took a stiff step forward. “After all the good you have done, after all the blood he has already lost—” The boy’s gruff voice trembled slightly, but whether it was anger or worry Peter could not tell. “Now you think to bleed him and you have the stupidity to call it helping him.”

The boy tried to take another step forward, but Richard grasped one arm and Grant the other. They pulled him back, but his tirade never ceased. “Do you know how many men I have seen die because doctors bled them? I will not allow it to happen again, not with this man.” His gravelly voice cracked in passionate anger.

Peter shared his anger. He had seen many men die from that same injustice and had stood toe to toe with surgeons himself to protect them.

“
Are you accusing me of killing men?” The doctor lunged at him.

Peter was about to call out when the lad shoved hard against the doctor’s barrel chest, retreating a step as the doctor stumbled back. By the time the massive man recovered his balance the tall squire had pulled the short sword from Richard’s scabbard. A quick step forward found the doctor facing the steady blade.

Standing tall, legs spread wide for balance, the young man held the sword steadily in one hand. “I will stay by his side until he can speak for himself and if you want to change this then you can move me. But if you are thinking you will find help in this with any of the men, you are sorely wrong.” To prove this point all three men with him took a step forward, situating themselves in between Peter and Jonas Cobb.

Peter didn’t think he had ever felt so important and respected. His chest swelled with pride to see them beside the arrogant squire, all four heads held high.

The doctor’s face was almost purple with anger as he shifted from foot to foot. “The king will have your head for this. Do you not know who this man is that you are jeopardizing?”

“
Nay. As a matter of course, I did not stop to inquire about his identity when I decided he was in danger. So nay, I knew not who he was. At the moment it was not all that important.”