Dragonblade Trilogy - 02 - Island of Glass (19 page)

“You will forgive me for changing
the subject, but I am afraid I must. I did come here for another reason other
than to ravage you.”

“What reason is that?”

He hated to tell her what he
must. He struggled to find words that would be the least upsetting, as horrible
as the news was. Shifting himself off of her, he took her in his arms
comfortably, so that they were lying side by side. A big hand stroked her hair
as he tried to maintain the warm ambiance. He hoped it would make it easier on
her.

“Do you recollect that I told you
I had sent a messenger to Highwood House to inform your mother of the earl’s
death?” he asked.

“Aye,” she nodded.

He reached into a small pocket in
his breeches where he had put the emerald ring. He held it in front of her
face.

“Do you recognize this?”

She blinked, focusing on the
ring. It was a second or two before recognition dawned. “My mother’s ring,” she
plucked it from his fingers and sat up, examining it. “Where did you get this?”

Receiving confirmation of what
they had suspected, his tone grew increasingly gentle. “The messenger returned
this night and gave this to me.  It seems that Highwood House was destroyed by
fire somewhere in the past two days. Aubrielle, there is no easy way to tell
you this and I pray you will forgive me for being tactless, but your mother was
in the house when it burned. Her servants took this from her body for you to
identify.”

Kenneth waited for the eruption.
He could only imagine what outpouring of grief he would be forced to contain.
But she remained still and silent, staring at the ring. He wasn’t sure she even
heard him, so non-existent her reaction. He stroked her hair.

“I am so sorry,” he said gently.
“If there is anything I can do for you at this time, all you need do is ask.”

She stared at the ring a moment
longer. Then she shook her head and lowered her hand. It was then that silent
tears fell in big splashes on her cheeks. She collapsed back on the pillows,
sobbing softly into the linen. Kenneth continued to stroke her hair.

“I will go to Highwood House
myself and retrieve your mother,” he murmured. “We will bury her here, with her
brother.”

She shook her head, her voice
muffled by the pillow. “Bury her with my father. That is what she would want.”

“As you wish.” He leaned over and
kissed her temple. “If you would like me to leave you to your thoughts, I
understand.”

She grabbed his hand, holding it
tight. “You promised never to leave me.”

“Then I will not leave.” She
looked so sad lying amongst the linens. He pulled her gently up by the wrist
and into his arms again. “Let me hold you for awhile.”

She didn’t argue, nor did she
resist. His power and warmth was more comforting than she ever imagined it
could be.  Her sobs had faded and she fell quiet with her thoughts.

“My mother and I were never
particularly close,” she said softly. “It is awful of me to weep for her because
I must. But I am sad; she did the best she could, I suppose. I was not an easy
child.”

His cheek was against the top of
her head. “I can only imagine what a terror you must have been.”

Aubrielle tipped her head back to
look up at him, her eyes moving over the strong lines of his face. There was so
much power there. “Kenneth?”

“Aye?”

“You believe in God, do you not?”

He snorted. “Of course.”

“Why do you laugh at the
question?”

“Because everyone believes in
God.”

“That is not necessarily true. I
have met a few people who question God’s existence.”

He lifted a disapproving eyebrow.
“Probably scholars. They think they know everything and shall burn in Hell for
it.”

“That is Mankind’s natural
curiosity. ’Tis not a sin to question the existence of something we cannot see,
taste or feel.”

“You cannot see, taste or feel my
affection for you. Do you question that as well?”

She shook her head. “I feel it
right now with your arms around me. I taste it whenever you kiss me.  I can see
it when I look in your eyes.  That,” she winked at him,” was not a suitable
comparison.”

He smiled, glad to see her humor
wasn’t gone completely. “Even so, you avoid the true issue. God is the reason
for our very existence. We only exist to serve Him.”

Her bottomless eyes gazed up at
him. “Do you believe He has a hand in your destiny, then?”

“Without question.”

“Did He plan that you and I would
meet?”

“That has been preordained since
the beginning of Time. Though I have never married and have yet to produce sons
to carry on my name, I was never concerned. I knew the time would come as God
allowed.”

She was silent a moment,
thinking. “I do not want you to think me blasphemous if I speak my thoughts.”

“I will not.”

She sat up, taking his enormous
hands in her small ones and toying with his fingers. “As a child, neither of my
parents stressed a strong obedience to God. Of course, we were pious people and
attended Mass regularly, but my father encouraged me to explore beyond
conventional means. When I was sent to St. Wenburgh, strangely enough, the
Monks encouraged the exploration of science and philosophy as it did not
pertain to the Church. I was well-read on Hinduism and Islam by the time I had
seen my thirteenth year and have, therefore, always questioned the existence of
God. But…,” she gazed intently into his handsome face, “since the day I met
you, I have had a feeling that God has had a serious hand in all of this.  You
have made me feel more and think more than anyone ever has, and you have been
here in my time of need. This has all been so simple and so right. I cannot
imagine that God did not plan for our lives to cross right now, right at this
moment.”

He tenderly stroked her hair.
“Somewhere in my life I must have accomplished something tremendously good to
warrant such an honor as you.”

Aubrielle could only gaze into
his eyes, hypnotized.  This moment, when it should have been so dark, was
filled with hope that she could not begin to describe.

But the hour was late and she was
feeling her fatigue.  She and Kenneth seemed to have run of things to say to
one another, yet it was not an uncomfortable silence. She could have gazed into
his handsome face, unspeaking, all night.

 “’Tis late,” she finally
murmured. “I suppose I should try to sleep.”

He kissed both of her hands and
got up from the bed. “We shall discuss my return to Highwood House come the
morrow.”

She let him tuck her in. He
swaddled her up so tightly that she could hardly breathe. She started laughing
and he was forced to loosen the linen.

“Be quiet,” he said with mock
sternness. “Go to sleep.”

She dutifully closed her eyes,
biting her lips in an attempt not to smile. Kenneth kissed her on the forehead
but dare not kiss her anywhere else; that would only lead to temptation. She
needed to sleep and he had duties to tend to.

 Closing the chamber door behind
him, he saw no need to post a guard with Lucius under watch. She was safe this
night. Though he had come to hear bearing tragic news, she had handled it as
befitting a woman of solid character and he was proud of her strength. The more
he came to know of Lady Aubrielle, the more he liked.

***

Late and dark was the night.
Athelred waited until the big blond knight left before contemplating making his
move. Thomas was awake, sworn to watch for the return of the big blond beast and,
in such an event, create enough of a commotion to warn his companion. Their
plan was simple; it had to be. With a fortress this size, they had to be
exceptionally careful.

Athelred’s heart was beating
loudly in his ears as he stood up, making sure he was unnoticed by the sleeping
wounded. There were a few servants to tend the injured, but they were either
sleeping or had moved out of the room. He kept to the shadows, moving along the
wall and nearly tripping over a sleeping man. His heart beat louder still,
wracked with anticipation. Reaching the entrance to the stair hall, he made a
dash up the dark steps.

It was dark as a tomb on the
third floor, making it difficult to see. Athelred groped the walls as he crept
forward, glancing in the first door and seeing that it was dark and void of
human habitation. There were a few lavish trappings on the wall and he guessed
that it was the dead earl’s chamber. Moving to the second door, he quietly
lifted the latch.

There was a small fire in the
hearth.  In the bed against the wall lay a sleeping figure. The man’s heart
beat faster and he swore the lady could hear it. He was afraid it would wake
her.

Entering the chamber, he made no
noise. From his waistband, he pulled out a small dirk he had managed to slip
past the physics and those who had tended his wounded head. It was a very small
weapon, easily missed. But it would be enough to convince the lady that she
must do as she was bade. He and his companions had come too far for their
mission to fail now. He was half-way across the room, preparing to strike. His
beating heart eased as his confidence grew, knowing the task was finally at
hand. What the mother could not tell them, the daughter would.

But his confidence was shattered
as something scuttled across the floor at lightning speed. He realized too late
that it was a dog. The pup barked furiously, latching on to his ankle with
razor-sharp teeth.

It was an unanticipated variable.
The man howled, falling over at the shock and pain of it. Aubrielle, startled
awake, was angry and terrified to see a strange man in her chamber. Never one
to bask in indecision, she leapt from bed, racing to the fireplace for her
ever-favorite poker. But she realized with horror that Kenneth had removed the
poker after she had struck Everett with it. Yet it was of no matter; grabbing
the ash shovel, she wielded it high above her head. The man saw it coming,
dodging the blow and getting a hand around her wrist.

“I have come for the manuscript,”
he snarled. “Where is it?”

Aubrielle was terrified. She
struggled to release his grasp. “I do not know what you mean,” she grunted.
“Let me go!”

His response was to dig his nails
into her flesh. The dog was still giving him a fight and he was distracted by
it. “Your mother played stupid as well and was rewarded with pain and death.
Give me the manuscript and I shall be merciful.”

Horror rippled down her spine. It
was difficult to comprehend what the man was telling her, but comprehend she
did. But the manuscript he was referring to had no meaning to her; she had many
manuscripts and had no idea which one was valuable enough to kill for.  But the
larger horror was the implication of her mother’s death. She was enraged and
aghast at the same time.

“My… mother?” she hissed. “You
bastard!”

The man’s struggles with the dog
were increasing. His grip on Aubrielle was slipping as a result. “Scroll of
Munsalvaesche. Give it to me now or I shall make you wish that you had
cooperated.”

Aubrielle was so shocked that she
almost lost her grip on the ash shovel. But her shock quickly fled, replaced by
an enormous sense of self-preservation. She knew the man meant everything he
said. Her mother had suffered for it.  With a surge of strength, she managed to
pull her wrist free. Hurling the shovel through the air, she brought it down on
the man’s skull so hard that a sickening dull sound echoed across the room. He
instantly fell still.

 A small dirk, deadly sharp, fell
from his fingers and onto the floor. Aubrielle stared at the weapon, knowing it
had been meant for her. Perhaps this was the same man who had attacked her in
her room earlier, now returned to finish his job. Had she not kept the company
of the little mutt, she would be as good as dead. Just like her mother.

Aubrielle let the ash shovel fall
to the floor. Her body was beginning to shake at the seriousness of what had
occurred. She went in search of something to cover herself up with, digging a
heavy brocade robe out of her open chest. She pulled on the robe and tightened
the sash. Her fingers were quaking and it was difficult to move them. She
slipped her feet into her shoes next to the bed, picked up the still-snarling
pup, and fled the chamber.

Scroll of Munsalvaesche
. He had known she had it, but
how? No one knew, except perhaps the monks at St. Wenburgh when they had
discovered its absence. Aubrielle had spent so much time with it that she was
the logical thief. The attacker had wanted the scroll so badly that he had not
only tracked it to St. Wenburgh, but he had made enough of a concerted effort
to discover the supposed thief and track her to Highwood House where her
mother, not surprisingly, knew nothing about it. Ignorance had killed
Graciela. 
No
, Aubrielle thought with mounting sorrow.
My God, I did!

Her only thoughts were those of
escape. It was dim in the stair hall and she nearly tripped in her haste. The
great hall was dark, full of sleeping wounded. It was creepy and fed her
skittishness. Practically running from the keep, she made her way down the
outer steps and into the bailey. It was empty at this time of night, a soft
cold breeze upon the darkness. She could see a few soldiers near the main gate
and she made way towards them.