The Rose of Blacksword (51 page)

The pony’s head was hanging low as he ambled up the littered path. Birds called back and forth through the forest canopy, and small creatures scurried through the wild blueberries and holly that almost overgrew the path. But no sound of human life could be heard. Cleve let out a short mutter of despair, but then he suddenly pulled up. A
hoofprint showed clearly in a muddy spot on the trail. And another! With renewed enthusiasm he nudged his mount on. At the first wall he jumped down and tied the exhausted animal to a protruding beam. Then he hurried past the broken wall, clambered over the ruins, and jumped down into the deserted bailey.

Cleve remembered very little of the time he’d spent within this eerily silent castle—only dark flickering shadows and a place with no roof. Now as he looked around him it appeared no more than vaguely familiar. He picked his way slowly—past a wildly overgrown garden and a broken stone bench. A chimney stood lonely sentinel where a kitchen had once been. Then he heard distant voices and he froze.

Was it Rosalynde? Was she safe? On stealthy feet he made his way around an open shed and peered cautiously beyond. What he saw caused his mouth to drop open in shock.

A woman—Lady Rosalynde, quite obviously—sat upon a stone-walled well, but she had not a stitch of clothing on! She was draped only in her long, glorious hair! Standing beside her, clad in braies and nothing else, the runagate, Blacksword—Aric, he was—lifted a bucket of water and doused her thoroughly. Though she shrieked and tried to escape, it was clear she enjoyed herself immensely, for she suddenly clasped the man to her, wetting him thoroughly with her own dripping embrace.

“If I’m to bathe, so shall you,” she vowed as she dropped the bucket back into the well.

A low chuckle came from Aric. “How I longed to do this to you when first we lingered here.”

“Did you? I thought you disliked me then.” One of her brows arched in mock disdain.

“You were more than filthy,” he replied. Then when she
pounded his chest in outrage at his words, he laughed and caught her small fists. “My sweet Rose,” he murmured before he lowered his head to kiss her.

In the silence Cleve was completely taken aback. How happy they appeared together! He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, wondering what to do. At once Aric wheeled, sensing the presence of someone else. He grabbed up his sword, which leaned against the nearby stonework wall, and stepped protectively in front of Rosalynde.

“Show yourself!” he challenged in a ferocious snarl.

Cleve edged nervously into view, staring wide-eyed at the man and Lady Rosalynde, who tried to hide her nakedness behind him.

“Cleve!” she cried out in relief when she recognized him.

“Mi-milady,” he stammered, still caught up in his embarrassment.

“Are you alone?” Aric demanded, not lowering the sword at all.

“Aye, I’m alone. But there are legions of men searching for you both.” His eyes darted away from Rosalynde, then crept back of their own accord. Aric dropped the point of his sword at that news, but he frowned at the direction of Cleve’s gaze.

“If you want to keep those eyes of yours, you’d best turn them away from her.” Then his tone calmed. “Get you to a shed off to your right. We shall join you directly. I would have news of Stanwood. And of Gilbert.”

Cleve scurried away at once, for he was chagrined to catch them in so intimate an act as bathing together. Rosalynde too was mortified to be found thus, but that emotion quickly fled for she knew that if Cleve had found them, so could Gilbert. A shiver went through her, despite
the warm sunshine, and she leaned forward to wrap her arms around Aric’s neck. Her bare breasts pressed against his warm back and she laid her forehead against his shoulder.

“Let us be away from here,” she pleaded softly. The words caught in her throat and she compressed her lips tightly to fight back her tears. “Oh, please, Aric—my love, my husband—I would give up Stanwood gladly to keep you safe.”

Aric turned, then pulled her from atop the well wall and held her close against him. A wet tendril of her hair caught between them and with one hand he slid it back from her cheek.

“Did ever a wife worry about her husband so?” he mocked her gently. “Have faith in me, my love. Have faith in me.”

Rosalynde did not press him after that, for she knew it was useless. With great haste she donned her kirtle and gown, blushing when Aric’s eyes stayed avidly upon her. Despite their shared intimacies, she doubted she would ever become accustomed to the possessiveness in Aric’s eyes whenever he looked at her. A warm knot tightened in her belly as she let her eyes slip over his powerful arms and wide shoulders. When he picked up his discarded chainse and tunic she averted her gaze, biting her lip in consternation at the wanton thoughts that had crept into her mind. She busied herself tying the laces on either side of her waist, but when she heard him slide the black sword into its plain scabbard she looked up in dismay.

“Aric, please,” she began.

He silenced her with a quick kiss. “It will be all right,” he murmured once more. “Now let us hear what Cleve has to say.”

Aric kept his arm about her shoulder as they walked
back to their shed, and Rosalynde took what comfort she could from his reassuring warmth.
Let him be safe
, she prayed.
Please, let him be safe
.

But her prayers seemed to go unheeded, for when they rounded the broken wall, the devil himself confronted them.

“My, my,” Sir Gilbert drawled as he took in their cozy embrace. “Isn’t this a pretty scene.”

Despite her own shock, Rosalynde was well aware of the immediate tension in Aric. But when she would have drawn back, he would not remove his arm from her shoulder. As he stood there—to all appearances not in the least unsettled by Gilbert’s unexpected presence—she saw Gilbert’s face grow dark with anger even as he gave them an evil smile. Beyond him three knights stood, one huge brute with an arm around Cleve’s neck. Not for a minute did Rosalynde think Cleve had deliberately led the men to them. But that hardly mattered, she realized. They were outnumbered and she could see no way out of their dire predicament.

“If you think to save yourself by the Lady Rosalynde’s presence, think again.” Gilbert’s eyes flickered furiously to her, but he must have fought back his urge to lash out at her as well. “Your father believes you have been abducted, Rosalynde. But ’tis clear to me that he has been duped by the pair of you.” He took a casual step forward. On his face was a mocking smile. “However, despite your unseemly behavior with this blackguard, it is not too late to save what is left of your tattered reputation.” His voice became hard and his pale eyes bored into hers. “Come here, Rosalynde. Now.”

In the heavy silence that followed his command, Rosalynde hesitated. She did not begin to consider cooperating with Gilbert. If he was Aric’s enemy, then he was
hers also. Yet she was consumed with fear for Aric’s safety. He could not win against four men! But if she could appease Gilbert in some way—

Aric’s fingers tightened on her shoulder as if he read her desperate thoughts.

“I love you,” she murmured very softly as she turned her wide eyes up to him.

Although he did not respond or even smile, she felt the love in his clear gray eyes. Then he turned his face back to Gilbert. “Leave Rosalynde and the boy out of this. Our difference does not concern them.”

“What does it concern?” Rosalynde interrupted. She hoped to forestall any fight, yet she also did not understand the venom between the two men.

“Has he not told you then?” Gilbert gave her a keen look. Then, as comprehension dawned, he began to laugh. “So,
Aric
,” he began, putting emphasis on the absence of any title. “You keep her uninformed about our dealings. I commend you for your foresight, for should she know too much … well, I can see you fear I might be forced to kill her too.” He broke off with a malicious shrug, then let out a full-throated laugh.

Although she did not know what he meant, Rosalynde knew that Gilbert’s words had struck a chord of truth, for she felt Aric go rigid in response.

“What is the truth?” she asked, leaning harder against Aric as she stared pleadingly up at him. “It will not matter to me. I swear it!”

“Although I mislike agreeing with him, Rosalynde, ’tis best that you stay innocent of our dealings. We shall speak on it later.”

“Only there will be no
later
,” Gilbert said with a snarl, brandishing his sword menacingly. “This should have
been ended in London—or in Dunmow. But we will end it now.
I
will end it!”

Before Gilbert could advance even half the way toward them, Aric thrust Rosalynde to the side and drew out his own wicked blade. Then the men met in a violent crash of metal against metal.

Rosalynde backed away in horror from the two as they locked in deadly combat, but she was unable to tear her eyes away. Although Aric had a slight advantage in height, he had only his sword and was barefoot, clad just in braies. Gilbert, by contrast, was fully garbed with leather boots and a thin mail hauberk and protective hood. In the angled sunlight Aric’s skin glinted golden—and vulnerable—as Gilbert pressed his attack. Slowly Aric gave way as Gilbert hacked at him. The black sword raised to fend off the fierce assault. In desperation Rosalynde looked around for some means of help. It was then her eyes met Cleve’s.

The man who held the boy was watching the battle avidly, his arms and shoulders twitching as he reacted to the two warriors’ moves. Likewise, the other two men stared, absorbed in the action before them. They clearly were not concerned with the meager threat offered by the boy and the maiden, and for this Rosalynde was grateful. Carefully she eased around the two combatants and out of the line of vision of the three knights. Following Cleve’s eye signals, she reached an oak staff that lay propped against a fallen stone. With the heavy weapon in hand, she crept behind the three, trying hard not to concentrate on Aric’s desperate fight.

As the battle progressed, the man who held Cleve had become more and more lax, edging toward the fighters who moved across the bailey.

“By Gor!” the man crowed when Aric stumbled over a fallen beam.

Rosalynde had to stifle her own cry as Gilbert swung viciously at Aric’s neck. But Aric rolled backward to come immediately up in a crouch.

Cleve’s captor dragged the squire nearer the combat, and it was then that Rosalynde struck. With every bit of her strength she swung the staff at the nearest man’s right elbow. When he screamed in pain and dropped his sword, she prayed she had broken his arm. At the same time Cleve slid down in his captor’s arms, then stood up hard so that his shoulder lodged squarely in the man’s loins. With an agonizing howl the fellow collapsed, doubling over in his misery.

Seeing his two comrades fall, the third man pulled his own sword and swung around to the attack. Cleve grabbed up the fallen man’s sword and dragged Rosalynde behind him, but a chilling war cry from Aric brought all three of them to a halt.

After having retreated under Gilbert’s determined assault, giving the man and his cohorts reason to think victory was in their grasp, Aric now went on the offensive. With Rosalynde and Cleve relatively safe, he began to use his full strength against Gilbert, turning back the man’s attack, forcing him to defend himself as the tide of the battle shifted.

“Gregore!” Gilbert cried as he barely held off a trio of crashing blows. “Behind him, man! Behind him!”

While the other two men still rolled on the ground in pain, the one called Gregore leapt forward to help his hard-pressed liege lord. But Cleve would not allow it. With a fierce growl of his own, he blocked the man’s path.

“Begone, boy, before you feel the weight of my blade.” He slashed his broadsword through the air in threat. But Cleve held his ground and was quickly joined by Rosalynde.

“Shall I feel your blade as well?” Rosalynde taunted the man. “Shall you kill me also, and never fear for the consequences? What of your vows of knightly duty?” she finished, disdain clear in her scathing tone.

But although the man hesitated, Gilbert did not. Even as he fought back Aric’s deadly onslaught, he screamed at the wavering Sir Gregore. “Kill the boy! Kill him!”

“And then what?” Aric goaded him. “Kill the Lady Rosalynde as well?”

“If that’s what it takes!” Gilbert turned aside a slashing cut from Aric’s deadly sword.

“You would kill her, and all because I defeated you in the lists in London?” The scorn in Aric’s voice could not entirely hide his disbelief that a knight could stoop to so low an act.

“If you had died at Dunmow, this would not have been necessary!” Gilbert snarled as the two circled one another warily, both breathing hard.

“Why pick such a curious death for me, if my death was what you indeed desired? Why not simply slay me when you captured me?”

Gilbert glanced from the hesitant Gregore to where his other two men were struggling to their feet. A smug smile split his cruel face as the odds turned once more in his favor. “I killed two birds with one stone that night. I rid myself of the fool who dared to humiliate me.” He lunged forward, forcing Aric back into a rock-strewn area. “And I found a scapegoat to take the blame for my other activities!”

Aric stumbled as his bare heel hit a sharp stone, and Rosalynde stifled a cry of terror. Gilbert was a madman, she realized, sputtering vague inanities that made no sense. But that only made him more dangerous.

“A scapegoat?” Aric met Gilbert’s challenge with a swift
undercut, turning back the attack and glancing his blade off the others hauberk. “A scapegoat for what?” Then his face went black with fury as he suddenly understood. “ ’Twas you! You are the outlaw who plagued the countryside! I was to assume your guilt and hang in your stead! Only I didn’t die.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gilbert growled. “Your death today will accomplish the same goal.”

“Only now there are witnesses.”

“Then they shall die as well!”

The two blades clashed as the men battled for dominance. Gilbert fought like one possessed. And indeed he was—by the devil himself. But Aric struggled as only one who fights for his loved ones can struggle—with his body and his heart and his soul.