Warrior's Lady (14 page)

And now Greyebridge Castle vibrated with life. Roosters announced the coming of dawn, the lowing of cattle and oxen could be heard, mingled with the sounds of sheep and horses.

Soon, Greyebridge looked the way Leyla imagined it had before Jarrett’s arrest. New rushes covered the floors. The tapestries and hangings had all been aired and brushed clean. The mattresses had been turned, the bedding laundered.

When Jarrett decided they deserved a holiday, she wholeheartedly agreed. They had worked hard for weeks. It was time to dance.

The women immediately began cooking, and when Sherriza remarked that she had a taste for fresh pork, Jarrett decreed that she would have it.

So it was that early on a clear summer morn he took up his bow and a quiver of arrows and went in search of game.

He experienced a sense of peace as he prowled through the sun-dappled forest. As a boy, he had spent hours within the woodland, chasing rabbits and foxes and the other furry creatures that inhabited the timberland. As he grew older, he hunted the great gray stags and the wild pigs that were more vicious than any other beast of the forest.

On silent feet, Jarrett made his way deeper into the woods, his eyes and ears attuned to each shifting shadow and sound. A change in the wind carried the heavy scent of the Sea of Darkness, located on the far side of the island, and with it came the heady fragrance of the wildflowers that grew in abundance along the shore.

And then, ever so faintly, he caught the musky odor of a wild boar. Fitting an arrow to his bowstring, Jarrett moved through the woods, soundless as the sunlight.

He found the boar sniffing around a rotten log, its long narrow snout rooting in the soft earth.

Jarrett was taking aim when the island wind, always as unpredictable as a woman, shifted yet again, carrying his scent to the boar.

The animal’s head came up with a jerk. Its little pig eyes searched the shadows as it sniffed the wind, and then, with a high-pitched squeal, it charged forward, its short stocky legs propelling it toward Jarrett with astonishing speed.

Forcing himself to remain calm, Jarrett sighted down the long shaft, waiting until the last possible moment before he let the arrow fly.

The shaft struck home, killing the animal almost instantly, though the boar’s momentum carried it another three yards before it skidded to a halt mere inches from Jarrett’s feet.

Drawing his knife, he skinned the carcass, gutted it, and hung it from a tree. He would return later with a horse to carry the meat home.

With his bow slung over his shoulder, he started for home, his mouth already watering. It had been almost a year since he’d had fresh meat of any kind, and his stomach growled as he envisioned the meals to come, succulent pork, stuffed sausage…

It was near dusk when Greyebridge Castle came into view. Jarrett came to an abrupt halt as he reached the edge of the timberland, his gaze drawn to the red-and-black banner that hung upside down from the top of the west tower.

It was a warning to stay away.

Drawing his sword, Jarrett followed a narrow deer trail around the side of the hill to the front of the castle. Hunkering down behind a great clump of blue ferns, he stared at the scene before him. A dozen mounted men wearing the King’s colors waited near the drawbridge. He could see another dozen or so strung out on the bridge itself. No doubt there were more inside the keep.

Melting into the gathering shadows of sunset, Jarrett made his way to the east side of the castle. A small boat waited there, hidden in a dense thicket.

Sheathing his sword, he dragged the boat from cover and eased it into the moat. Praying that the ancient craft would stay afloat, he lowered himself into the boat and rowed across the narrow channel to a small opening cut into the castle wall, cleverly hidden by a tangled mass of water vines that grew up out of the moat, clinging precariously to the rough stones of Greyebridge.

It was awkward, trying to keep the boat from capsizing while he pushed the vines aside, then levered himself out of the boat and into the opening.

His hands were scraped and bloody by the time he managed to drag himself into the narrow passageway. On hands and knees, he made his way through the thick darkness, shaking off the memory of other dark places that had closed him in.

There were two hundred hand-hewn stone stairs from the passageway to the fourth floor. He had counted them often in carefree days gone by. He counted them now. When he reached one hundred, he made a sharp right turn, then crawled quietly along the damp stone floor until he came to a narrow door which opened into the Great Hall. The door, known only to members of the family, had been designed and painted in such a way that it looked as though it were a part of the hunting scene that covered the entire north wall from floor to ceiling.

Rising to his feet, Jarrett peered through a slit to the right of the door, his gut clenching at what he saw. Sherriza, Tannya, and Leyla stood in the center of the Hall surrounded by several of the King’s men, while the King’s brother-in-law asked questions, one after the other.

Rorke! So much for the rumor that he had gone to Cornith.

“Where is Jarrett?” Rorke asked brusquely. “We know he’s been here. He was seen in the village. Has he left? Did he speak with anyone other than family while he was here? Have any Aldanites been seen in the area?”

Sherriza shook her head after each question, her expression placid.

“He managed to escape from the Pavilion, something that’s never been done before. Do you know who helped him? Do you know where he might have gone?” Again Sherriza shook her head. “The punishment for refusing to answer the King’s questions is imprisonment in the King’s Tower,” Rorke said, his anger rising. “Do not think you will be spared because you are related to the Lord High Ruler of Aldane.” Sherriza looked unimpressed by the threat. Tannya shivered, visibly shaken by the mere mention of the Tower. Her brother had died within its walls.

Leyla remained unmoving, her hands clasped together, her chin thrust forward in unspoken defiance. The King’s brother-in-law was tall and lean, with dark-brown hair, a full beard, black eyes, and a nose as thin as a blade. A hideous scar bisected his left cheek. She wondered if he could tell how frightened she really was.

Rorke’s narrow-eyed gaze lingered on each woman’s face. “You will all be sent to the King’s Tower if you do not tell me what I wish to know.”

“We know nothing,” Sherriza replied calmly. “You may search the castle. You may threaten us. You may flog us. But there is nothing we can tell you except that he is not here.”

Rorke fingered the scar on his cheek as he contemplated flogging Jarrett’s women. It would give him pleasure to do so, simply because he knew it would cause Jarrett a great deal of pain. Jarrett, who had been his childhood friend.

They had played together, learned to ride together, hunted in the king’s forest together. As they grew older, Rorke began to realize that he would always be second best. When they went wenching and drinking together, Jarrett always managed to end up with the most desirable woman.

They had trained together, but it had been Jarrett who excelled with the sword, the crossbow, the lance. Always, it had been Jarrett who had been the better horseman, the wiser strategist, the most skilled at hand-to-hand fighting. Jarrett who might have replaced Rorke in the old King’s affections if he hadn’t been sent away for disobedience. It was Jarrett’s one weakness, his refusal to obey orders without question, to be humble in the face of authority, to be silent in the face of discipline, deserved or not.

When the old king died, his brother Tyrell had inherited the throne. With a great deal of cunning and patience, Rorke had gained Tyrell’s confidence. He had courted Tyrell’s sister Darrla earnestly and unceasingly, not because he loved her, but because he coveted the throne, and an alliance with the royal house put him that much closer to the King.

Rorke stared at the young woman with the silver hair. She was a distant cousin, Sherriza had said. A dreamy child who had been sent to Greyebridge to put distance between her and an unwanted suitor. Perhaps, when this trouble with Jarrett was over, he would get better acquainted with the girl.

From his hiding place behind the wall, Jarrett listened to every word. Hands curled into tight fists, he glared at Rorke. It was all he could do to keep from bolting through the door and wrapping his hands around the man’s throat. But killing the King’s brother-in-law would accomplish nothing but his own death and that of those he loved.

“I know he has been here,” Rorke remarked. “I think perhaps we will await his return. Taark, take the Lady Sherriza and the young one to the dungeon and lock them up. You, Tannya, prepare food for my regiment at once. Gayd, go outside and tell the men we’ll be staying the night. Yorri, Parre, see to the first watch.”

Jarrett swore under his breath as three of the King’s men escorted Leyla and his mother from the hall.

The dungeon was dark, damp and cold. Sherriza was locked in the cell nearest the door. Leyla was thrust into a cubicle at the far end of the corridor. After making sure the locks were secure, the men left, taking the only source of light with them.

Leyla shuddered as the moldy hay piled in the corner of her cell began to rustle. She screamed as something scurried over her foot. “Sherriza!”

“I’m here, child. Do not be afraid.”

“Something touched me.”

“A rat, most likely.”

“A rat.” Leyla shuddered with revulsion. “Sherriza.” Leyla’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Jarrett is near. I could feel his presence in the hall.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“I hope he has the good sense to stay away.”

“When have I ever shown good sense, my mother?”

“Jeri!” Sherriza exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you expect me to leave you in Rorke’s hands? Where are the others? Paull and Dann, Jorrad…”

“Paull and Jorrad were killed trying to defend the castle. Dann and several other men were badly wounded.”

Jarrett swore under his breath, berating himself for thinking that he could return to Greyebridge and make everything right again. He never should have let his people come home. They’d been safe before, living in the hills. Now the survivors were Rorke’s prisoners.

“You must go, Jeri,” Sherriza urged. “If they find you, they’ll take you to the Tower, or worse, back to the Pavilion.”

“I know.” He took his mother’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly before he continued down the corridor to the last cell. “Leyla?” He could scarcely see her for the darkness.

“Here. Oh, Jarrett, it was awful. Our people fought so hard, but they were badly outnumbered. So many were hurt and there was nothing I could do to help them.”

The anguish and regret in her voice tore at his heart. But for him, she could have healed the wounds of his people. But for him, she wouldn’t be here now. But for him, his men would still be alive. The fact that he had warned them of the danger lessened his guilt not at all. They were his people, his responsibility, and he had failed them.

“Jarrett, what are we to do?”

What, indeed?
he thought bleakly.

Reaching through the bars, he cupped her face in his hands. Her cheeks were damp with tears. “Don’t weep, beloved,” he murmured, and leaning forward, he kissed away her tears. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be nearby.”

“No. There are too many of them. Does thee hope to fight them all?”

“No, only to outsmart an old rival. Kiss me now, quickly, and then I must go.”

The touch of his lips boosted her courage and then he was gone, silent as a shadow.

Moments later, one of the king’s men entered the dungeon bearing a lantern and two tin plates. He slid a plate under the door of each cell, shrugged in apology at the poor fare, and left the dungeon, plunging them into darkness once again.

Chapter Seventeen

Leyla sat in a corner of her cell, her legs drawn up to her chest, her arms folded around her knees. She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid to sleep for fear she’d wake to find rats, or worse things, crawling on her skin or nesting in her hair.

The darkness was oppressive, and she wondered how Jarrett had survived in the Pavilion for so many months, how he had endured the long dark nights, the endless days of pain, the thick black hood. She knew she would have gone mad if she’d been forced to wear that awful hood for more than a day. It was a constant reminder that death was never far away, a subtle form of imprisonment far more cruel than the shackles that had bound him or the cell that had caged him.

The darkness. It was stifling in its completeness. She held up her hand and saw only blackness. She had never realized she was afraid of the dark until now, but then, she’d never been completely alone in darkness like this.

How slowly the hours passed! The stone floor was cold and damp. The chill crept into her, climbing up her legs, her arms, her back, until she was shivering uncontrollably.

How long until dawn, she wondered, and then laughed. What difference did it make? She wouldn’t be able to see the sun. It could be morning now and she’d never know it.

A faint light appeared at the far end of the passageway. Leyla scrambled to her feet and moved toward the front of the cell, her heart pounding with hope.

But it wasn’t Jarrett come to rescue them. It was Rorke. He stopped at Sherriza’s cell. “Are you ready to answer my questions now?” be asked, his voice curt.

“I have nothing to tell you,” Sherriza replied.

“Perhaps you’ll think more clearly on an empty stomach.”

“Your threats do not frighten me, Rorke. Do to me as you wish, but I would ask that you let my cousin go. She has no part in this.”

“You try my patience, woman. Now, hear my decree. You will be sent to the King’s Tower this very day. Perhaps a night or two in the company of the King’s Executioner will loosen your tongue. As for the girl…” Rorke shrugged. “I shall keep her here with me. I shall abide here awhile, just in case Jarrett shows up. She can keep me company.”

“I warn you, Rorke, do not lay a hand on that child. You will sorely regret it if you do.”

“A threat, my Lady?”

“A warning.”

“Take her,” Rorke said, and four men appeared out of the shadows. Unlocking the cell door, they escorted Sherriza out of the dungeon.

Torch in hand, Rorke walked to Leyla’s cell. “So, have you anything you would like to tell me?”

Leyla stared at him, at the cruel twist of his mouth, the cold black eyes, and shook her head.

“This is no place for a lady such as yourself. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll see that you’re taken to your home in safety.” His gaze narrowed imperceptibly. “You know where he is, don’t you? Don’t you!”

She had never told a lie in her life. It took all her willpower to speak one now. “No. I would tell thee if I did.”

“Would you? I wonder.” His gaze moved over her in a long assessing glance. “We shall see what song you sing after a few days without food and water, my little silver-haired angel. And if that doesn’t loosen your tongue, there are other ways.” His black eyes glittered. “Ways that I’ll find most pleasant.”

Leyla stared after him as he walked away, her gaze fixed on the light of the torch as it grew fainter and fainter and then disappeared.

And now she was truly alone.

No one came to her for what seemed like days. She lost all track of time. Hunger gnawed at her belly, her throat grew dry. She huddled in her corner, shivering from the cold, from the fear that held her fast. Where was Jarrett? Why didn’t he come for her? Had he been captured? But surely, if he’d been taken prisoner, he’d have been brought here. Had he decided the risk was too great and abandoned her?

No! She would not believe that.

She tried to think of something pleasant: the unicorn meadow at home, the touch of Jarrett’s hands, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything other than the awful fear that she’d been left here to die, alone, in the dark.

When she heard the muffled sound of footsteps, she didn’t bother to look up, assuming it was Rorke coming to see if hunger had loosened her tongue.

“Leyla.”

His whispered voice went straight to her heart. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried toward the cell door. “Jarrett! Oh, Jarrett.” Tears of joy and relief burned her eyes.

“Shhh, it’s all right.”

She heard the harsh rasp of a key in the lock, and then the door swung open and she was in his arms, holding on as if she would never let go. He was here. She breathed in the scent of him, let her arms twine around his neck. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her cheek. Yes, he was here. He was real.

She clung to him when he tried to loosen her hold. “A moment more,” she begged.

“Leyla, there’s no time for that now. Come, we’ve got to get out of here.”

He took her hand and led her down the passageway. It was narrow and cold, so dark she couldn’t see him ahead of her. They walked for a long distance, then turned left.

She felt Jarrett’s arms wrap around her, and then he was pulling her close, his hands moving over her shoulders and back, caressing her face.

She pressed herself against him. “Is something wrong?” she asked anxiously.

“No.” She heard the smile in his voice. “I just can’t wait to hold you any longer.”

For several moments they stood in each other’s arms. And then, reluctantly, he let her go. “We have to crawl the rest of the way,” he said, “but it isn’t far.”

The stones were hard and cold beneath her hands and feet as she followed Jarrett along the narrow passageway. She felt his tension as they made their way through the darkness, knew he was fighting memories of another kind of darkness.

At last, she saw light ahead. Moments later, they were in a small vessel headed across the moat.

When they reached the far side, Jarrett caught hold of a sturdy vine and climbed up the side of the moat.

“Grab hold,” he called, tossing the vine to her, “and I’ll pull you up.”

She knew a moment of sweet relief when she was standing beside him.

“Let’s go,” he said, and taking her hand, he led her into the cover of the trees.

“What now?” she asked when they were out of sight of the castle.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I can’t very well storm the King’s Tower alone and I can’t leave my mother in there to rot at Rorke’s leisure. Rorke.” He spat the name as if it tasted bad. “I can’t believe the King knows what’s going on.”

Jarrett ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe Rorke was acting on Tyrell’s orders when he sent me to the Pavilion. I can’t believe Tyrell would think I’d turn traitor, that he would strip me of my lands and title because I refused to kill those women and children.”

Jarrett swore under his breath. “Tyrell’s a hard man, but he’s never made war on helpless folk before. Why would he change now? Why wasn’t I allowed to plead my cause before the King?”

“Do you think he will help thee?”

“I don’t know.”

He shook his head again. There were too many things he didn’t know, too many things that didn’t make sense.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand, “we’ll rest until nightfall, and then I’ll see if I can steal a couple of horses.”

She was too weary to argue, too worried to do more than follow him deeper into the forest. Exhausted mentally and physically, weak from hunger, she curled up in his arms as soon as they found a place to hide. Moments later, she was asleep.

When she woke up, Jarrett was sitting beside her slicing into a loaf of black bread. Her stomach growled loudly, bringing a flush to her cheeks as she sat up.

With a grin, Jarrett handed her a chunk of bread and a flask of wine.

“Go on,” he said, “it’s all for you. I’ve eaten.”

She took a bite of the bread. It was fresh from the oven and she was certain nothing had ever tasted so good. The wine was warm and sweet.

“Where did thee get this?” she asked when she’d taken the edge off her hunger.

“From Tannya.”

“She is well?”

Jarrett nodded. “They won’t hurt her. She’s too old to be a threat, and if they did away with her, they’d have to cook for themselves.”

He stared out into the darkness. The outline of Greyebridge Castle rose in the distance, shadowy, mystical. Home. The only home he’d ever known. And now Rorke was there. Was it possible that Greyebridge was what Rorke had been after all along? Had sending Jarrett to the Pavilion been the first step toward that end? With Sherriza locked in the King’s Tower, there was no one to protest if Rorke decided to take over Greyebridge Castle.

Jarrett frowned thoughtfully. Rorke was the King’s brother-in-law. He had security and wealth and the King’s confidence. His wife had a small estate near Heth, as well as several other places of residence. But Rorke didn’t have lands or a castle of his own.

And Greyebridge was a castle almost without equal. If Rorke could gain possession of Greyebridge, he might be able to persuade the King to restore the surrounding lands and holdings that had been forfeit to the Crown when Jarrett was accused of treason.

“My Lord?”

He turned to see Leyla watching him carefully. “Feeling better?” he asked.

Leyla nodded. She licked the last of the bread crumbs from her fingers, took a sip of wine and handed the flask to Jarrett.

He took a long drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ready?”

“Where are we going?”

“To see the King.”

“Is that wise?”

“You mean is it safe, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I hope so, but one way or another, I have to get my mother out of the tower. And I have to know if Rorke was acting on the King’s orders when he sent me to the Pavilion.”

Taking Leyla by the hand, Jarrett helped her to her feet, then drew her into his arms. His gaze held hers for a long moment, and then, ever so tenderly, he kissed her, his lips moving in a gentle caress over her mouth and nose, her closed eyelids, the curve of her cheek.

He had been wrong to take her away from her home in the mountains, he thought, wrong to make her his wife when his life was in such turmoil. And yet, selfishly, he was glad of her presence at his side.

Leyla smiled up at him. “I would not have let thee leave me behind,” she remarked, her eyes sparkling like costly jewels. “I would have followed thee to the bowels of Hadra and back again.”

“Would you, my beauty?”

“Thee knows it’s true.”

“I fear such devotion will bring you harm, beloved. More harm than you can imagine.”

“I am not afraid.”

“You needn’t be. I’m frightened enough for both of us.”

Bending, he kissed her again, his lips claiming hers in a kiss filled with passion and possession. He longed to press her down on the grass, to take her, there, in the shadowed woodlands, to brand her as his for all time, but Rorke was too close, the chance of discovery too great.

He hugged her close one last time and then he released her. “It’s time to go,” he said. Finding a leafy branch, he erased their footsteps, then scattered dirt and leaves over the smooth ground. It would not fool a good tracker for long, but it might stall Rorke’s men for a while.

Two horses waited for them in a clearing a short distance away. Jarrett lifted Leyla onto the back of a long-legged bay mare, swung onto the back of a blue roan and turned his horse north, toward the sea.