Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (44 page)

In spite of her
emotional state, Toby could not help but grin. She smacked him gently on the
shoulder. “You are a lout,” she scolded softly, looking at Liam. “Just so you
are aware, if I were to order him up at this moment to do my bidding, he would
rise from his deathbed in order to see my wishes fulfilled. The man is as loyal
as a dog.”

Liam laughed softly
again. “I know this to be true,” he looked back to Kenneth. “My physic tells me
that you will survive. He says the puncture is deep but that it did not hit
anything vital.”

Kenneth nodded
wearily. “I should be fine by tomorrow.”

Liam just shook his
head; the man meant every word. He had known St. Héver for years and the man
was virtually immortal. Nothing could get him down for long. But he could feel
Toby’s gaze on him and he looked over at her, seeing the red-rimmed eyes. He
knew how frightened she was and he wished he had better news to offer her.

“Have you heard
anything of my husband?” Toby asked him before he could speak.

Liam could see the
strength within the woman with just that question. She had an unwavering manner
about her, besides the fact that she was enormously beautiful. It was his first
exposure to her and he could see what his brother found attractive in the lady
right away. He shook his head to her question.

“Not a word, my lady,”
he said quietly. “Perhaps we will very soon. Mortimer cannot keep quiet for
long.”

She nodded slowly,
absorbing the information. “Where is Edward?”

“I am told that the
king is asleep.”

“He has not yet come
to see me.”

“I know,” Liam nodded
faintly. “In truth, I have not seen him, either. He has made himself scarce as
of late. But I am sure he feels some guilt for what has happened. He gave his
mother the approval for this venture, I am told. You and St. Héver returned,
but Tate and Pembury are now trapped. Surely he is beside himself.”

Toby pursed her lips
in sorrow. “He need not feel that way. It was not his fault.”

“I know. But he is
young. He has not yet learned to deal with the weight of responsibility.”

“Are there any plans
for my husband’s rescue?”

“Not yet. We must see
what this day brings and go from there.”

“You are not going to
go after him right away?”

“I do not believe that
would be prudent. But have no doubt that we will act when the time is right.”

Toby let the
conversation die, her gaze returning to Kenneth once more. He was looking at
her, trying to gauge her reaction to all of this. Liam’s attention lingered on
the two of them before he politely excused himself, exiting the tent into the
day that was growing lighter by the moment. He had much to do and was pleased
at Lady de Lara’s brave attitude. It made his life easier.

But Toby wasn’t being
brave at all; she was reflecting on the conversation and growing increasingly
distressed.
We must see what this day brings and go from there.
 She
didn’t like the inaction or the waiting. Her husband was in trouble and just as
he sought to save her, she knew that she must seek to save him also. She had
to; she simply couldn’t sit around and wait for others to act. When the
situation had been reversed and she had been held captive, Tate’s plan had been
to involve Isabella. As Toby sat and pondered, she suspected that might be her
best option also.  

And why not? Toby
remembered how Mortimer fawned over Isabella the moment she arrived at Wigmore.
She remembered the sickening flattery, watching as the queen soaked it up. The
woman wallowed in the adoration. She wondered what the queen would say if she
knew that her lover had indecently propositioned another woman. And what if
that woman were to expose Mortimer’s lustful intentions? Toby wondered… an
exchange…
me for Tate
.  But she would make sure that Isabella knew the
details of the exchange; chances were that both she and Tate would see freedom
were Isabella sufficiently jealous and angered at Mortimer. God help her, she
had to try. If these men weren’t going to act, then she had to.

Abruptly, she stood
up. Kenneth was dozing off, startled when she moved suddenly.

“What is wrong?” he
asked sleepily. “Where do you go?”

“Nowhere,” she lied.
“Go back to sleep. I am simply going to stand by the door.  I… I just want to
observe the morning.”

Kenneth was weakened
and exhausted and took her for her word. He could never have imagined what she
really had in mind; if he had, he would have latched on to her leg and never
let go. But he drifted off to sleep again, unaware that Lady de Lara was about
to take her life into her hands again. In hindsight, he should have guessed it
knowing her as he did.

Toby stood by the tent
flap, watching Kenneth and waiting for him to drift off again. She wanted to
make sure he was asleep before planning her next move. She was about to steal a
horse again and try to leave the camp unseen, both of which would be tricky.
But she was determined. 

Tate and Kenneth had
once called her brave; she had never thought on herself as being brave until
this very moment. With what she had in mind, she was about to find out just how
brave she truly was.

***

Thank God for Isabella
.

That was the thought
foremost on Tate’s mind as he sat in the great hall of Wigmore, watching
Isabella and Mortimer interact. It had been Isabella who had saved him from a
quick death in the bailey and Isabella who insisted he be given the respect of
the royal family. When Toby and Kenneth had fled the gates, no one had touched
him.  There had been enough noise and saber rattling to believe he had been
taken apart limb by limb, but no one actually came close enough to do it.
Several angry soldiers had brought him into the great hall and planted him in a
chair while a good deal of arguing went on around him. That had been several
hours ago.

So he sat in the great
hall all night and well into the morning. He was also thankful that Stephen and
Wallace had not yet been discovered. They maintained their disguises as guards
of the queen’s household although Stephen had managed to position himself very
close to Tate. The two of them were able to speak briefly. So far, none of the
other guards had given Stephen or Wallace away. Tate did not expect them too;
they were the king’s troops and loyal to the monarchy. It was Tate, in fact,
who commanded them, so in a sense he had his own contingent of troops in the
room.  But they were insignificant compared to Mortimer’s hundreds.

De Roche had been
brought back into the keep, moaning and groaning from the injuries that Toby
had inflicted on him. As Tate had learned, it was their epic battle that had
roused attention in the keep, leading to his capture. The physic had been
killed trying to warn them. Even though de Roche was in another room, they
could still hear him in the great hall, bellowing his agony. The man was
paralyzed and doomed. Every time de Roche screamed, Tate was reminded just how
brave Toby was. He was incredibly proud of her. He was also incredibly grateful
that she had escaped.

But there was another
lady on his mind at the moment; Isabella had not let him out of her sight since
his capture. She had remained in the great hall all night, arguing with Roger,
and her stress showed. At first, the argument had been about Tate. Hours later,
it wasn’t even about him any longer; they were arguing over a lordship in
Yorkshire. The entire night and into the morning had been a mass argument about
almost everything other than Tate. Oddly, Edward’s name had never even come up.
Tate wasn’t even concerned for his own life any longer; it was clear that he
was not to be killed. Now, he was just bored.

It was close to the
nooning meal when the keep began to stir once again; Isabella and Roger were
still in the hall, now at separate ends of the room in their mutual exhaustion.
The Earl of Suffolk had joined them at some point and stood with Roger in the
corner, quietly conversing. Tate wondered why the man had two black eyes and a
swollen nose. It never occurred to him that the injuries had anything to do
with Toby, but had he known, he surely would have laughed about it.

As he pondered the
stark tedium his life had become over the past few hours, servants began
dashing into the hall, scattering like chickens in the wake of several soldiers
entering from the bailey. There was much activity that had Tate curious.
Whispers seemed to be floating about the hall but he could not discern what
they were about. It was apparent that something big was happening, big enough
that it had everyone’s attention, and he was soon to find out what it was. His
curiosity fled the moment he saw a familiar figure emerge into the stale warmth
of the great hall.

Toby strolled into the
room as if nothing was amiss. She walked in as easily as if she would have
walked into her own home. Soldiers skirted her and servants fled from her; in
their distant corners, Isabella and Mortimer suddenly emerged from their
exhaustion. All eyes were on the lovely lady as she lit up the room like a
thousand candles. They were so focused on her beautiful golden-brown head that
no one thought to look at Tate. It was their undoing.

At this point
unguarded, Tate shot to his feet, vaulted over the table, and made it to his
wife before several soldiers tackled him. He grabbed Toby, the soldiers grabbed
him, Stephen and Wallace grabbed the soldiers, and everyone went down in a
pile.

Screaming erupted from
various women in the hall, including Isabella, as chaos ensued. Suddenly, the
queen was scampering to the struggling mound of men.  Somewhere at the bottom
was a small woman who was surely, by this time, crushed.

“
Se lever!”
Isabella hollered, smacking the soldiers on the top of the heap.  “Get up and
release them!”

There were at least a
dozen soldiers she had to weed through, slapping and yanking at them. Roger was
on the opposite side of the pile, his dark eyes wide with surprise. As Isabella
commanded the men to release Tate, Roger was far more interested in Toby’s
arrival. He was strangely thrilled by it. But he suspected, as he watched the
uproar, that her reappearance could not be a good thing. In fact, he had a
deeply unsettling feeling about it. But he waited, apprehensively, to see what
would transpire.

It wasn’t long in
coming. As the soldiers removed themselves from the mound, including Stephen
and Wallace, Tate finally appeared at the bottom with his arms around his wife.
She hadn’t been hurt in the crush, thanks to Tate’s strength, but she was
furious at having been shoved to the ground. Tate stood up and pulled her to
her feet, his arms around her protectively.

“Back away,” he
bellowed at Mortimer’s men. “Touch her and you die.”

It was not a threat;
it was a promise. Tate’s tone was full of power and hazard. Toby, in fact, had
never heard that inflection in his voice and it was frightening. Stephen and
Wallace had placed themselves close to him, unfortunately revealing their
loyalties as they did so. Stephen even pulled off his soldier’s helm, revealing
his face to Mortimer and his men. He heard the name
Pembury
whispered
through the room but, at this point, he didn’t care that he had revealed
himself. As Mortimer’s men knew Dragonblade, they knew his ally Pembury also.
And his duty was to protect Tate and Toby. 

“You heard him,”
Stephen growled as he unsheathed his sword. “Back away or feel my wrath.”

The men backed off.
Isabella was still slapping soldiers away, widening the circle of wolves that
were surrounding Tate and Toby. Tate, however, was not paying much attention to
the ring of doom all around him; his focus was on his wife as he took her by
the arms and shook her gently, beseechingly.

“What are you doing
here?” he demanded quietly.

Toby’s reply was to throw
her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly. He held her close, inhaling her
scent, his shock fading and being replaced but a fierce sense of
protectiveness. She had returned to the lion’s den and he would know why.

“I do not understand,”
he rasped into her hair. “Why are you here? What has happened?”

Her mouth was on his
ear. “I had to come,” she murmured. “I had to save you.”

Tate felt as if he had
been hit in the stomach. “Save me?” he repeated, incredulous. “Sweetheart, you
were safe. You were free. What are you…?”

She cut him off
abruptly by releasing him. Tate gazed into her beloved hazel eyes, never more
in love with her nor more terrified for her. His control, so carefully held
when it was only himself to worry about, was in danger of shattering.

“Whatever I say, do
not fight me,” she whispered. “You must let me do this.”

“Do what?” he was
becoming increasingly agitated. “What are you doing?”

She smiled bravely at
him and he nearly came apart. He just knew it was something awful. Toby
squeezed his hand and released him, turning for Roger.

Mortimer was gazing at
her with suspicion and delight, an odd combination.  Toby’s heart was pounding
in her chest as she summoned the courage to do as she must. She had reviewed
her plan as she had ridden to Wigmore and was convinced that the only way to
gain Tate’s freedom would be to play on Isabella’s jealousies. More than that,
it was the only plan she had. She could not think of anything else. She prayed
that it was enough.