[The deBurghs 07] - Reynold De Burgh: The Dark Knight (10 page)

‘She’s right, my lord. This is your quest, no one else’s,’ Peregrine said.

Reynold heard the boy, but he had eyes only for Mistress Sexton, gazing at him calmly. And he had ears only for her words, which were far more welcome than any nonsense from the l’Estranges. When given the opportunity to call upon his brothers, she put her faith in him, alone, a faith that Reynold sorely needed.

The time might come when he would have to send for his family, when whatever menaced Grim’s End could not be caught or fought by Reynold and his squire. And perhaps he was just postponing the inevitable. But for now, only he would try to solve the mysteries of the abandoned village, keeping Mistress Sexton to himself for a little bit longer.

With a stiff nod of acceptance, Reynold turned to head toward the manor, and Mistress Sexton and Peregrine fell in beside him. Their company was familiar and welcome, and Reynold felt his tension ease. As long as they both forgot about the kiss, perhaps things could continue on as they had before.

As they followed the old track, Peregrine pointed towards the church with its elaborate carving. ‘Maybe there never was a dragon,’ he said. ‘Maybe the founder of the village killed some invader or had a dragon as his device.’

Mistress Sexton looked so appalled by the notion that Reynold barked out a laugh.

‘Well? It could be true,’ Peregrine said. ‘Like Uther Pendragon, King Arthur’s father!’

‘You are awfully well read for a squire,’ Reynold said, not for the first time.

‘Thank you, my lord. The Mistresses l’Estrange have been training me up for knighthood.’

‘Yes, so you’ve said.’ Reynold slanted the boy a glance. ‘I’m thinking that’s not all they were training you for.’

Peregrine flashed a grin. ‘I admit that they did place special emphasis on dragon lore, just to make sure I would be able to aid you in your quest.’

Reynold shook his head. He had not yet put his mind to fighting the new enemy, but he was heartily relieved not to be facing a giant winged foe.

‘Who are the Mistresses l’Estrange, and what do they know of our worm?’ Mistress Sexton asked.

‘Not much, apparently,’ Reynold said. ‘Else they would not have wasted so much time training Peregrine in old legends and stories of exotic beasts.’

‘’Tis time I do not regret, for ’tis better to be prepared than not,’ Peregrine said. He flashed another grin. ‘But at least now you don’t have to don those furry breeches!’

Sabina followed the two males into the hall as if in a dream. Although they seemed to be in high spirits, she felt dazed and battered by the events of the past two days. And even as she tried to sort through her thoughts, they returned to one moment in time.

Like a treasured memento to be taken out and viewed again and again, one memory came to mind. And once
more, she felt the soft grass upon her back, a heavy weight above, and opened her eyes to see the incredibly handsome face of Lord de Burgh above her own. The nearness of any other man might have startled her and sent her into a panic, but not this one. She had never felt so secure, so free from fear, and yet so alive, so full of something else…

She had but a moment to savour the nearness of him, to study each cherished feature, and then he kissed her. It was a shock, unexpected since he often seemed so distant, yet Sabina had seized the moment, slipping her arms around his strong shoulders and lifting her mouth to his. She was hot and breathless and trembling, but in a good way, in a way she had never known before, in a way she wanted to last for ever.

But it was over all too soon. Sabina was still amazed that something so brief could have such enormous consequences. Lord de Burgh had been dismissive afterwards, and while that pained her, Sabina was glad, for, unlike Ursula, she knew that nothing more could come of it. Still, her conscience kept her awake that night as she struggled with the truth. The final realisation that she had come to care more about this knight, a stranger, than her own home, her people, and her father’s wishes, had shaken her to the very core.

Today it had taken all of Sabina’s strength for her to release him from his vow, to save him, rather than herself. She had never expected him to refuse. Nor did she understand much of what had followed: Lord de Burgh’s coldness, his inexplicable behaviour and his wild claims of fire in a jar and sand that turned into
glass. Of vast armies at his beck and call. And the dragon that wasn’t a dragon.

Sabina sank into her chair without even changing out of her gown, still damp and dirty from the fire, and felt so weary that she wanted to slump in defeat. Ursula, seated nearby, leaned forwards with an expression of alarm.

‘What is it?’

At first, Sabina simply shook her head, for there was too much to explain properly, too much she did not want to share. And when she did speak, it was not of the most private of her concerns, but the most pressing. ‘There is no dragon,’ she said, as if saying the words aloud would make them more convincing.

‘What?’ Ursula asked.

‘
What
?’ Urban moved closer, appearing even more frightened than usual. Indeed, everyone looked to her, and Sabina felt her heart pound in response.

‘There is no dragon,’ Lord de Burgh said. And her tension eased, bolstered by the relief that he wasn’t leaving, that he was still here to lead, to protect, to do battle. For one more day, at least, Sabina could lean upon his strength, if necessary. And so she simply listened as he gave the others a short version of what he had told her, that he thought the fire was manmade and saw no evidence of a dragon.

As usual, Urban was the most sceptical. ‘But what of the attacks on the animals? We saw the remains of those that had been mauled,’ he said, and the others nodded.

Lord de Burgh did not seemed concerned. ‘Perhaps another creature was responsible, by coincidence or design.’

‘What do you mean
by design
?’ Urban demanded.

‘I mean that someone might have loosed a beast, such as a wolf or bear, on purpose,’ Lord de Burgh said. ‘Or that same someone might have killed the animals himself.’

‘You mean someone like a werewolf?’ Alec asked, his eyes round.

‘No, someone with a knife or axe, an outlaw or a lunatic who might well call himself The Dragon.’

Everyone from Grim’s End appeared dumbfounded at that. And no wonder. For months they had been living in fear of a flying monster that killed and burned with its breath, only to be informed that there was no such thing. Sabina tried to remember who first claimed a worm was to blame for the attacks, but her memory of that time was hazy, full of confusion, fright and tension. Had someone simply linked separate events? Or had someone thought of the village’s founder and drawn their own conclusions?

Sabina drew in a deep breath as she realised how quickly she had fallen in with the claim. She had even suspected someone might have stirred the dragon to life, someone who had disturbed its rest…

‘What will you do now?’ Alec asked. Although he put the question to Lord de Burgh, not the mistress of the manor, Sabina felt no outrage, only a sense of relief.

‘Well, we don’t have to wait for the chain to be completed,’ Lord de Burgh said. ‘We can scout the area to see if we find a camp.’

‘There might be more than one,’ Alec said. ‘There
might be a whole band of brigands trying to drive us out in order to take over the village.’

‘That’s certainly possible,’ Lord de Burgh said.

Sabina couldn’t tell whether the knight was humouring the boy or if he actually had heard of such a case. She knew little of the wide world, but she supposed that villains might want a location convenient to other villages and the main road, yet out of the way. If so, they had gone to a lot of trouble when they could have just ridden through Grim’s End, wreaking havoc. But perhaps her liege lord would not ignore wanton violence as easily as he had claims of a dragon.

‘Do you have any idea why anyone would want to destroy the village or see it abandoned?’

Startled by Lord de Burgh’s question, Sabina glanced up to see him sombrely surveying the group. They all shook their heads, as did she. For who would desire such a thing? Surely no one in their right mind would do such a thing.

‘I cannot believe that all this time we feared a monster where there is none,’ Alec said in an awed tone.

Urban shook his head, as though still unconvinced, but it was Adele who spoke. ‘There is a monster all right,’ she said softly. ‘Even if a man is responsible, that man is a monster.’

R
eynold slid from Sirius and stumbled, nearly falling. With a low oath, he cursed his aching leg, which could withstand a day in the saddle better than the riding and dismounting and crouching he had done for hours today. He had gone out at first light to search for signs of a camp, alone, though Peregrine had wanted to accompany him. But the knowledge that something other than a dragon was menacing the village made Reynold leave the boy to watch the others.

His young squire might not have fared well against a winged worm, but he had been practising his sword skills and had learned to throw a dagger. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep Mistress Sexton safe, Reynold thought as he limped toward the manor. For the first time since leaving the luxuries of Campion behind, he longed for them, mainly a hot bath in which to soak his protesting body.

It was an impossibility here. Adele would be willing to heat the water, but who would carry it? Urban would
probably sneer at him and tell him to go swim in the pond. Alec and Peregrine could be pressed into service, but everyone in Grim’s End already had much to do, rather than wait upon his wants. And, as always, he did not want to draw any attention to himself, to his infirmity.

Lost in his thoughts, Reynold nearly ran into Mistress Sexton in the kitchens. The woman was light of foot, as well as graceful, and he had not heard her approach. But at the sight of her, Reynold drew himself up straighter, torn between his relief at finding her safe and his dismay that she would see him thus.

‘What happened? Were you attacked? Are you hurt?’ she asked, her face pale.

‘No. I found nothing,’ Reynold said. He had known the brigands wouldn’t be easy to find, for he had seen no evidence of them before when scouting the outskirts of the village. Obviously, their camp was not close by, and they came and went, preying upon Grim’s End as they pleased. But his lack of success today was grating.

Reynold might admit to a certain uneasiness about fighting a flying creature that spouted fire, but he thought himself more than a match for any man. There were few who could best a de Burgh, and only then through deceit. Yet, his foe remained elusive.

‘But your leg,’ Mistress Sexton protested.

‘Tis nothing,’ Reynold said. Trying even more to hide his pain, he stumbled and winced.

‘It is something,’ Mistress Sexton argued. Then she stepped close and slipped an arm around him, as if to help carry his warrior’s weight.

Reynold had never leaned upon anyone, and he was
so shocked by the gesture that he froze, unable to move, perhaps even to breathe. No one had ever offered to help him. Indeed, any man who did so would have found himself knocked to the ground. But Mistress Sexton was not a man, and Reynold did not know how to react.

‘’Tis nothing,’ he finally repeated, shrugging as though to throw off her touch. But she only tightened her grip. This woman dared much, and yet Reynold told himself that he did not want to hurt her, should they continue to scuffle. And so he remained where he was, unmoving, uncertain.

‘Let us go to your chamber, where you will be more comfortable, and I will bring you some food,’ Mistress Sexton said. And before Reynold knew what she was about, they were heading toward the hall and the stairs together, moving slowly. The ignominy might have been too much to bear, but for the feel of her slender body aligned against his, the scent of her golden hair drifting close, and the gentle strength of her touch.

Those small pleasures kept Reynold beside her, although he did not let her take any of his weight, until he realised they had an audience in the hall. ‘There is no need for this,’ Reynold said, pulling from her. ‘I can make my own way.’

‘Nonsense,’ Mistress Sexton said, tugging him back. ‘Everyone needs help sometimes.’

Reynold barked out a laugh. ‘Not in my family.’ But he let her guide him toward the steps, grimly going upwards, for he could not bring himself to push her away.

‘Nonsense,’ Mistress Sexton said. ‘I don’t believe that your six brothers are perfect.’

Reynold laughed again. ‘I did not say they were perfect, only that they never need help.’

‘That can’t be true, for didn’t you say that your one brother, Geoffrey, asked you all to help him with his experiments?’

‘That’s different,’ Reynold said, with a frown. The young de Burghs hardly needed to be coaxed into playing with fire, and Geoff could have managed without them. Yet, something else nagged at his memory, and suddenly Reynold recalled the time Geoff’s wife had been kidnapped. The most learned of the de Burghs had wept, relying on his siblings to find her. And mighty Dunstan had required his brothers to free him from his enemy’s dungeon. And Robin had a problem with the courts…

‘That’s different,’ Reynold repeated. Those were rare instances, not an ongoing situation like his own.

‘Still, you gave your aid freely, did you not? And you would do so again?’

Reynold nodded, though he wanted to shake his head, for the circumstances were not the same.

‘If people care for each other, they help each other, without expecting anything in exchange.’

Reynold’s lips curled at the tender homily, which was easily spoken, but less easily put into practice. If his view of the world was more jaundiced than the lovely damsel’s, it was justified, for when they reached the top of the winding stair, Reynold saw Urban watching them intently. He stiffened, unwilling to allow that one to see his weakness, and Mistress Sexton turned her head to follow his gaze.

‘Why concern yourself with Urban’s opinion when you are so obviously the stronger?’ she asked, leading him towards his chamber. ‘’Tis only a weak man who seeks to brag and boast, making more of himself than he is.’

While Reynold knew he was the better man, there was no denying that Urban had something he did not: two good limbs. ‘’Tis simple for you to say, for a woman is not measured by her strength,’ Reynold muttered.

‘Maybe we should be, though I would be found wanting.’

Reynold eyed her up and down. Unless she was concealing some infirmity beneath that supple gown, she was more than capable. Perhaps she wasn’t an Amazon like his brother Simon’s wife, but she had strength where it counted, the heart to lead these people and keep her village alive.

‘No one could find you wanting,’ Reynold said, his voice hoarse with barely suppressed emotion. For despite all his warnings to himself, he was here, beside her, hungry for all that he could not have.

She shook her head, a blush tinting her cheeks. ‘You do not know all, my lord.’

The statement simply spurred Reynold’s interest, making him want to learn everything about Mistress Sexton from her fondest memories to her favourite foods, games that delighted her, people who did not. ‘Tell me,’ he said in a whisper.

But she only shook her head once more and thrust open the door to his chamber, pausing to survey the small space with a frown. ‘Let me get Father’s chair for you.’

‘No,’ Reynold said, annoyed by both the change in
subject and the reminder of the real reason she was here with her arm around him.
Because of his lack
. Nothing else.

‘But there is nowhere for you to sit except the bed or the trunk.’

‘The trunk will do.’ To prove it so, Reynold eased himself on to the hard wood and stretched out his legs, leaning back against the rough wall behind him. ‘I’m fine,’ he said in dismissal, eager now to be left alone.

‘But I shall bring your food,’ she protested.

‘I don’t want any.’

She stepped out of the room, and Reynold grunted in annoyance, for she had not closed the door behind her. He did not want to rise again, even though his berth was not exactly comfortable. He loosed a sigh, tired and angry at her, at himself, at things he thought accepted long ago.

‘Adele will bring your meal.’

Reynold looked up, startled to see that she was back. If Adele was fetching him food, why was Mistress Sexton lingering? Did she plan to eat with him? Reynold wanted to tell her to go, to leave him be, but his mouth was suddenly dry. He had never been alone in his bedchamber with a woman and so he could only gape when she pushed up her sleeves and knelt before him.

‘First, let’s get your boots off,’ she said. ‘Then I want to take a look at that leg.’

Reynold blinked in astonishment. Surely he had not heard her aright? ‘What did you say?’

‘First, the boots,’ she said. Lifting his good leg, she tugged at the foot covering, pulled it off and set it aside. Then she reached for his other leg, and Reynold flinched
when her fingers made contact. No one touched him.
No one had ever touched him
.

‘Does that hurt?’ she asked, a look of concern on her lovely face.

But Reynold couldn’t speak. He could only stare at her, dumbfounded, as she sat back on her heels holding his foot in her hands.
No one had ever dared touch him.

Since he said nothing, she removed the boot, but when she put her hands on his ankle, he jerked. ‘Is it sore to the touch?’ she asked.

Reynold only gaped like one of slow wit.
No one had ever wanted to touch him
.

‘I ask because my mother taught me the uses of herbs and poultices for healing, as well as massage,’ she said. ‘Is there something that you use to make it feel better?’

Reynold shook his head and finally found his voice, though it sounded rusty. ‘I take nothing.’ Long ago Geoff had warned him against well-meaning people offering to dose him with some concoction that could prove dangerous. ‘There are too many poisonous plants and too few people with the kind of wisdom to handle them property.’

‘Your mother—’ she began.

‘Dead.’

‘I am sorry.’

Reynold did not want to discuss that, so he kept to the subject at hand. ‘Geoffrey has a little knowledge, and he always claimed that while certain plants can relieve aches and induce sleep, sometimes they cause more problems than they cure.’ Reynold even refused to take wine to dull the pain, for he had seen how too much of the drink affected Stephen.

Mistress Sexton nodded. ‘Yes, my mother advised to stay away from those plants that cause sleep, for that meant they could cause death, as well. But I don’t think you could go wrong with a bit of willow bark.’

Willow bark? Reynold thought Geoffrey had mentioned that, so he nodded. But he found it hard to concentrate on the conversation when his leg rested in her palm.

‘What about a poultice?’

Reynold had a vague memory of smelly plasters and darkened rooms, of wanting to be free to run outside with his brothers, but he said nothing.

Mistress Sexton looked down at his leg, encased in hose beyond his braies. ‘However, I would need to know more about the source of your discomfort. Do you suffer from an injury?’

Reynold shook his head.

‘So it has always been with you?’

Again, Reynold did not answer. It had been difficult enough to discuss his infirmity with his youthful squire, but to calmly speak of so private and painful a subject with this beautiful woman was beyond him.

‘I would only know more in order to better treat you,’ Mistress Sexton explained. ‘There are a number of plants that can be used for wounds, whether new or old, such as pine resin, which also helps the muscles, so that might be something to consider. If your skin is sore to the touch, almond oil is known to be soothing, while waterweed is good for inflammation of the legs.’

She paused to glance up at him. ‘Is it an inflammation or is it muscular?’ When he did not answer, she simply continued, as though talking to herself. ‘Bay
would probably be helpful, for it treats bruises and certain aches. You should be soaking in a hot bath, with bay leaves or perhaps mustard seeds. They also can be made into an excellent poultice.’

Reynold was so appalled by the conversation that it took him a moment to realise that she was tugging on his hose. By the time she had his attention, his bare foot was in her lap and her hands were moving up his calf to his braies.

Astonished, he jerked, but she held his limb steady, pushing up the edge of the garment, while Reynold stared. His protest lodged in his throat, his breath seized and his heart stopped. No one had ever seen his leg, except perhaps his family long ago when he was too young to prevent it.
He never let anyone see his leg
.

Wild thoughts careened around in his head as he groped for his wits. For an instant, he considered leaping to his feet, throwing Mistress Sexton aside, and running from the room. But he was frozen, immobile upon the trunk, unable to do anything but watch in horror as she prepared to reveal the part of him that he most despised.

In size and shape, the limb was nearly the same as its twin. It was not withered or twisted or topped with a clubbed foot, as Reynold had seen in others who were lame. In fact, only he could tell that it was not quite the same length and didn’t move the same way as the other one. But the flesh itself was glaringly different. Where the other thigh was firm and unmarked, this one was mottled in the manner of a burn, red and ugly, the surface alternately smooth and rough, the hair oddly sparse.
Which is why he wanted no one to look upon it
.

As Reynold stared, too aghast to move, he saw long fingers, pale and slender, move over the misshapen area, gently touching, smoothing, soothing. And then, not only did he see what was happening, he felt it, and some sort of sound escaped him.
For no one had ever touched his leg
.

‘Does that hurt?’ she asked.

Reynold could not answer. He had expected her to recoil in disgust, but she kept stroking his skin, speaking with the same matter-of-fact calmness. And this was no old hag of a healer, but a beautiful woman,
Mistress Sexton
. Reynold blinked as moisture suddenly pressed against his eyes, and he swallowed hard.

‘Yes, I think a hot bath or a poultice of mustard would help,’ she said. ‘But I have noticed you rubbing it, so I suspect that massage would be the most effective.’

Reynold nearly swallowed his tongue as she lifted his foot and pressed firmly but gently against the rough skin. She rotated the appendage, then his ankle, and then her fingers closed around his leg, spreading and kneading. As her hands moved upwards, Reynold braced himself for pain, but her movements
relieved
the pain. He groaned, leaning back and relaxing, as if his aching body were liquid, supple and warm.