Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (32 page)

Her palms were
sweating and her breathing began to come in pants. If they were to capture
Tate, then Edward was surely with him and both of them would die. She had
little doubt.  She could not allow that to happen, not if she could possibly
save them. It was an idiotic notion and she knew it. But her fear for Tate
outweighed her sense of self-preservation, so she did the only thing she could
think of.

Kenneth was too far
away to grab her when she suddenly shot out of the passage. Toby raced through
the chapel and exploded out into the snowy bailey. The trouble was, however,
that most of the men were concentrating their search near the stables and
kitchens. They were fairly far off and she could see their dark outlines
through the white haze. Even though she had just bolted from the chapel, they
had not seen her. 

Several horses stood
off to her right and their presence suddenly gave her an idea. Toby suddenly
began screaming and waving her hands.

“Here!” she hollered,
watching several helmed heads turned towards her. “Here I am! I am over here!”

Fed by panic, she
raced to one of the horses and managed to scramble into the saddle. Gathering
the reins, she dug her heels into the side of the beast and nearly lost her
seat with then horse took off. Soon, she was racing from the bailey as at least
a dozen soldiers ran to their horses in pursuit. Within seconds, an entire
posse was roaring after her into the dark and snowy night.

Kenneth bolted from
the chapel in time to run into two soldiers. He made quick work of them with
his broadsword, all the while swearing under his breath at Lady de Lara.
Suddenly, the stables came alive with the sounds of a sword fight and Kenneth
raced into the dark, cold stable just as Tate and Edward put away three men.
The dragonblade broadsword in Tate’s hand dripped red with blood. Four more
intruders were in the kitchens in a massive battle with Stephen and Wallace.
Edward raced in the direction of the fight but Tate grabbed Kenneth before the
man could follow.

“What in the hell happened?”
he nearly shouted. “Where is Toby?”

Kenneth felt like he
had failed by letting her get away from him; on the other hand, it was the
bravest, most foolish thing he had ever seen. “She rode off on a stolen horse
with about a dozen men in pursuit,” he couldn’t explain better than that.  “She
ran away from me before I could stop her.”

“Why in God’s name did
she run?”

“Bait, I believe.” He
could think of no other reason.

Tate looked at him as
if the man had lost his mind. “She… she lured those men out of the stables?”

Kenneth nodded. “She
must have heard the commotion and thought to divert their attention. I, in
fact, thought they had located you.”

“They had,” Tate
growled, then ripped his helm off and tossed it to the ground in a fit of
anger. “Damn her! She is going to get herself killed, the silly wench. I must
go after her.”

Kenneth stopped him.
“Nay,” he said firmly. “Take Edward and the rest of them and get to the horses
north of the castle. Do not waste her sacrifice. She pulled those men off for a
reason. I will go after her.”

Tate had never been
more torn in his life; his momentary anger at her actions suddenly gave way to
terror.  “My God,” he breathed. “I said that she was brave but I had no idea
just how brave she really was.  Did she truly gain their attention to draw them
away from Edward and me?”

“I can think of no
other explanation,” Kenneth replied. “She moved before I could stop her.”

Tate swallowed hard as
sounds of the swordfight near the kitchens died away and he turned in time to
see Wallace dispatching the last soldier. Edward and Stephen were running in
Tate’s direction, swords up and in full battle mode, but all Tate could think
of at the moment was Toby. He put his hand on Kenneth’s shoulder, struggling
with his emotions.

“She is all to me,” he
whispered. “Know this.”

“I do, my lord. I
shall not fail, I swear it.”

Kenneth was off,
racing for the horses that were still tethered in the bailey. Tate watched him
thunder from the outer ward before turning to Stephen, Edward, and now Wallace.
In the distance, he could see Althel and the men at arms approach. His heart
was aching but he forced himself to focus. He would not waste her sacrifice, as
much as it was paining him not to help her. He would have to trust Kenneth.

“We go,” he growled,
shoving Edward back in the direction of the kitchens where a postern gate lay
lodged in the northern wall. “We have a very long night ahead of us to
Carlisle.”

Edward, however, had
heard the entire conversation about Toby.  He was pale with anxiety.

“Is it true?” he
demanded as Tate shoved. “Did Toby really pull those men off so they would not
discover us?”

Tate realized that he
was very close to tears. His heart screamed to save his wife but his head
demanded he follow his duty to Edward. It was a horrific struggle.

“It would seem so,” he
labored to stay on an even keel. “Kenneth is going to help her while I take you
to safety.”

“But we must all go
and help her!” Edward insisted. “I cannot allow her to sacrifice herself!”

Tate grabbed him
around the neck, so hard that Edward visibly flinched. His eyes were like
daggers as he stared at the boy. “To allow yourself to be captured would be to
shame the courage she has shown,” he hissed. “We will honor that sacrifice. She
has given us this gift and we will not waste it.”

Edward nodded
unsteadily as they continued on, rubbing his neck where Tate had grabbed him.
Together they moved to the postern gate, unlatching the nearly-frozen bolt and
shoving it open. The snow was beginning to pile up, making it difficult to move
the gate. But they managed to get it open and spill out into the yard beyond.

De Roche was waiting
for them.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Toby wasn’t sure how
long she had been riding. With the snow and darkness, she had lost all sense of
time. More than that, it was increasingly difficult to follow any given path.
The snow was completely obliterating it. So she followed what she thought was
the road as the snow built up and the horse began to tire. She had stopped
looking behind her long ago, fearful of what she would see, and just kept
riding. So far, she had remained free. She thought she might even escape. But
all of that eventually came to an abrupt, painful end.

Something hit her from
the side, so hard that the horse went down and her with it. She heard bones
cracking in her torso and she groaned in pain as a large, armored body came
crashing down on top of her. There was so much pain that she couldn’t even
fight back. All she could do was lay there and struggle to breathe.

The man pushed himself
off of her, roughly reaching down to yank her to her feet. But Toby was in so
much pain that she screamed the moment he tried to move her so he let go of her
arm and stared down at her. She lay in the snow, gasping in agony. Soon,
several more faces joined him.

“Who are you, girl?”
one of the men asked.

Toby could hardly
breathe; tears were stinging her eyes as she struggled. “To.. Toby Cartingdon.”

“What were you doing
at Harbottle?”

“V-visiting friends.”

The man doing the
questioning pursed his lips irritably. “Get her to her feet,” he commanded.
“Take her back to Mortimer.”

The same man who had
knocked her off her horse turned to his commander. “She is injured, m’lord,” he
told him.

“That is her fault.
Get her on a horse.”

The soldier turned his
attention back to her and, obeying orders, grabbed Toby by the wrist and yanked
her into a sitting position. Toby screamed again in agony and, upon being
jostled a second time, succumbed to the welcome shroud of unconsciousness.

When she finally came
to, she was in a dark, cold shelter that she did not recognize. She lay there a
moment, eyeing her surroundings and having no idea where she was. But she did
remember the chase, the fall, and her heart began to pound loudly in her ears.
Wherever she was, it was no place friendly. She had no idea how long she had
been unconscious or what had happened during that time. All she knew was that
she was in a good deal of trouble. She could only hope that Tate and the others
were able to get away.

She took a deep breath
and pain shot through her torso. Agony returned full bore and she groaned
softly, her hands against her ribs as if to hold in the pain. Tears ran down
her temples as she wondered just how badly she was hurt. Any movement was
torture.

“What is your name,
lady?”

The voice was soft in
the darkness. Startled, Toby tried to twist her head around to see where it
came from. She could see a body off to her right, back behind an old vizier
that was struggling to give off some heat. But the twist of her neck hurt her
torso so she resumed her former position, lying still and staring up at the
ceiling. 

“Who is asking?” she
replied breathlessly.

The man didn’t say
anything for a moment and Toby heard rustling, as if clothing was being shaken.
Suddenly there were footfalls near her head and she closed her eyes, praying
that the man wouldn’t step on her skull. But the footfalls came to a halt and
she could hear breathing as the man stood over her.  He was silent for quite
some time because, Toby was sure, he was inspecting her.

“You are a captive of
Roger Mortimer,” the man finally said. “I would suggest you cooperate so we can
have your ribs attended to.  I was told you were injured in a fall.”

You are a captive of
Roger Mortimer
.
More tears trickled down Toby’s temples.  She was terrified. While most of her
refused to let the man know who she was, a small part of her was adamant that
she tell him. If he did not know who she really was, he might think she was
just another peasant girl and kill her. Worse than that, they might take her to
sport. If they knew she was de Lara’s wife, it might give her some amnesty. 
Frightened, injured, she had never even been in a battle until a few days ago
and was naïve to the rules of engagement or captivity. She could only go with
her instincts and her instincts, weakened by her pain, lessened her resolve to
be a difficult prisoner. She was afraid of what would happen to her if she was
less than cooperative.

“I was injured when
one of your men threw me off my horse,” she whispered, opening her eyes to look
at the tall, thin man standing over her. “If you tell me your name, I will tell
you mine.”

The man’s brown eyes
glimmered in the weak light of the vizier as he crouched beside her. “My name
is of no consequence. I was told you were discovered at Harbottle Castle.”

“I was running from
Harbottle Castle.”

“Why were you
running?”

“Because there were a
dozen armed men in the bailey and I was frightened. What else was I supposed to
do?”

“Why were you there?”

She paused, eyeing him
in the weak light. “What you really wish to know is who I am. I told you; tell
me your name and I will tell you mine.”

The corner of the
man’s mouth twitched. “You drive a hard bargain, lady.”

“I have been told
that.”

“You are also
exquisitely beautiful so I would suspect that you are not a servant.”

“Are all servant girls
so ugly?”

“I have never seen a
servant girl look like you. In fact, I have never seen any woman look like
you.”

Toby was feeling
uncertain and uncomfortable. She didn’t like the tone the man was using nor the
way upon which he was looking at her. But she was in a very bad position to
defend herself should he try to force himself upon her. Fear began to creep
into her veins.

“Who are you?” she
demanded in a harsh whisper.

The man cocked an
eyebrow. “I told you. You are the prisoner of Roger Mortimer.”

“Are you Mortimer,
then?”

He nodded vaguely. “Now,” he sat down on his
buttocks next to her. “Have I earned your trust enough so that you would tell
me your name?”
     
Roger Mortimer
. Toby stared at the man, wide-eyed, hardly
believing it was true.  He had dark hair with flecks of silver in it and was
rather long-jawed. For a man with such a powerful reputation, he didn’t seem to
fit the mold. The Roger Mortimer she had imagined was nine feet tall and breathed
fire. Not this ordinary wisp of a man. He did not fit the ideal. 

“Do you swear it?” she
breathed.

“Upon my oath.”

She continued to stay
up at him, debating on whether or not he was telling her the truth. He didn’t
seem the lying type, but then again, the man could be prolific at it and she
would never be wiser. Yet now was not the time to mistrust. She was a captive
and she was injured and, as much as she loathed the idea, she would have to
depend on others for assistance. She had no choice.