Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (35 page)

“Is she going to die?” he heard
himself ask the surgeon.

The old man was at Chloë’s feet
as he finished his inspection. “Only time will tell,” he repeated. “It depends
on a great many things.”

Kurtis turned on his heel and
quit the chamber without another word.  He could hear Coverdale calling after
him but he ignored the old man as he made his way out of the keep.  He was
heading for the stables, already mentally preparing what he was going to say to
his brother and hope that Keir didn’t run him through. 

The situation was out of control
and he felt like a failure, like he had contributed to it somehow. All he was
supposed to do was watch over Chloë and somehow, somewhere, it had turned
horribly wrong. By the time he reached the stables, he was barking at the grooms
to prepare his charger.  His emotions had the better of him.

He entered the storage room that
contained his saddle and pieces of armor for his horse, hefting up the big
saddle and turning to bring it out into the tack area.  As he spun around, a
body was suddenly standing behind him and he nearly plowed into it. 

Cassandra was standing there, her
face pale and her eyes red-rimmed.  When their eyes met, her lower lip
trembled.

“I am sorry, Kurtis,” she
whispered. “Please forgive me. I did not mean to become so angry with you. But
Chloë… she is….”

She trailed off as she started to
cry again.  Kurtis dropped the saddle and pulled her into his arms.

“I am sorry, too,” he murmured
into her hair, feeling her body shake with sobs. “I should not have become so furious
with her. I know she felt she was trying to do what was right for Keir, but… my
brother told me to watch over her and she is not allowing me to do that, not in
the least. I let me temper get the better of me and I am truly sorry. I did not
mean to be so cruel.”

Cassandra wept into his shoulder.
“Please do not leave me,” she begged. “I did not mean to chase you away.”

He shook his head, kissing the
side of her head as he stood back and cupped her face between his two big
hands. “I am not leaving you, sweet,” he assured her. “I am riding for Keir. He
must know what has happened, in case Chloë….”

He couldn’t even finish the
sentence, realizing that the mere thought of Chloë passing away brought him
such terror as he could not comprehend. His brother would never recover; none
of them would recover. Life would never be the same. He kissed his wife’s
forehead comfortingly and pulled her into another crushing embrace.

“Everything will be well,” he
said, more for his benefit than for hers. “Chloë will be fine. I will bring
Keir back with me and everything will be well.”

Cassandra struggled against her
tears, nodding with reassurance as she touched his face and kissed his lips. “I
will stay with her,” she sniffled. “Tell Keir that I am with her. I will not
let anything happen to her until he returns.”

Kurtis kissed her gently a couple
of times, glad that all was well between them again, before releasing her and
reclaiming his saddle.  As Cassandra stood by and sniffled, watching him saddle
his charger, Kurtis tried to focus on his trip ahead, of what he would tell
Keir when he found him.   He knew that his brother would be panicked by his
mere presence, knowing that he would not have come personally unless there was
a very good reason.  Or a very bad one.

“Michael has probably already
found him by now,” he told his wife as he tightened up the cinch on the saddle.
“In fact, I should run in to Michael returning to Aysgarth as I travel south. I
will send Michael back to you in case you need anything.”

Cassandra wiped at her nose,
watching her husband as he slung his saddle bags over the back of the horse.
“What will happen if the king will not release Keir?”

Kurtis sighed faintly. “He will
come anyway and deal with the consequences later.”

Cassandra didn’t say anymore. She
could tell that Kurtis was edgy, fearful of what was to come for all of them.  
He was busying himself with the horse, his armor and weapons, but she could
tell he was distracted.  Truth was, they were both distracted.  When he seemed
finished with everything, she went to him and wound her arms around his neck. 
He held her tightly, his face buried in her shoulder.

“Be safe,” she murmured. “I will
look for your return every day.”

He gave her a squeeze before
kissing her sweetly. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

He kissed her again, her mouth
and her cheek, before releasing her and mounting the charger.  Cassandra stood
back as the beast danced about, switching its tail and kicking up straw, and
Kurtis expertly guided it from the stable.  He turned around to wave at her and
she waved back, watching him trot across the yard and into the bailey. 

As she walked back to the keep,
she watched him leave through the gatehouse.  Even after he was gone, her gaze
lingered on the last place she had seen him, the open portcullis, imagining she
could still see her strong and wise husband. 

Cassandra prayed for his safety,
for Keir’s return, and for her sister in general as she mounted the steps to
the massive and imposing keep of Aysgarth.

***

“A missive has arrived from
Aysgarth, my lord.”

Ingilby had been seated at the
richly carved table in his solar, examining a map he had commissioned from a
Floren cartographer.  It was the map of his lands and surrounding areas,
beautifully drawn with a master hand.  He looked up from the yellowed vellum,
his expression registering some surprise.

“So soon?” his brow furrowed. “I
only sent the missive last week. Where is Alphonse?”

The servant started to get
nervous. “He did not return, my lord. The missive was carried by the soldiers
you sent with him.”

Ingilby was up from his seat.
“Not
returned?
” he snatched the missive that the servant was extending,
tearing open the careful wax seal without even looking at it. “Where is he?”

The servant shook his head. “The
soldiers said that Coverdale put him in the vault.”

Ingilby froze, his features
stretched with outage.  “Fools!” he snapped, tearing at the missive as he tried
to roll it open. “Coverdale is a fool if he believes I will not seek vengeance
for his actions. He had no right to gaol Alphonse!”

The servant remained silent,
nearly prostrating himself as he backed out of the solar. He did not want to be
near his lord when the man read the missive.

Ingilby paid no attention to the
man as he backed out of the room, instead, focusing his furious gaze on the
contents of the missive.  With Alphonse held captive, he felt it was indicative
of the reaction to his proposal. Surely St. Hèver and Coverdale were furious,
and St. Hèver in particular.  In truth, Ingilby had expected no less of a
violent response.  He was positive the contents of the missive were cursing his
actions and refusing to negotiate.

Which was why he was genuinely
surprised within the first few sentences to see that St. Hèver had not
responded at all.  Although the words were carefully scribed by someone who
produced the written word quite often, the words themselves were of a decidedly
female voice. 

Ingilby lowered himself into his
chair, reading the carefully sanded ink with great interest.

My Lord Ingilby –

As Keir St. Hèver’s betrothed, it
is within my right to respond to the terms offered on the missive you sent
regarding his son Merritt. You offered to return Merritt to his father if I
would become your bride.  Be it known that I will agree to your terms on the
condition that I be held in protection at St. Wilfrid until the identity of
Keir’s son is determined.  If the boy is confirmed as Keir’s son, I will
consent as your bride.  If the boy is not Keir’s son, then I shall marry Keir St.
Hèver and never hear from you again.  These are the terms and they are
non-negotiable.

I await your response.

Lady Chloë-Louise Isabella de
Geld

Princess Blanche of Rochedale

Ingilby was truly stunned by the
contents. He had not expected such a reply, not in his wildest dreams.  He had
fully expected a war of words and, quite possibly, of weaponry, but no
explosion was forthcoming. It was neat, simple and firm. 

But even as he read the missive,
he wondered where St. Hèver was and why the man had allowed his betrothed and
her mother to respond.  He wondered what kind of weak or indecisive man would
allow women to speak for him.

It was a puzzling situation
indeed, one he intended to clarify when he delivered his response to the
missive personally.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

He couldn’t remember when the
last time he slept or ate. The days, rainy and muddy and bloody, were running
in to one another in a macabre collection of scenes and experiences. Keir was
so exhausted that he could hardly think anymore, but he had to in order to stay
alive. He had to stay clear of the Welsh who were bombarding the English on all
sides, preventing them from moving in to aid embattled Harlech. 

The army of the north was caught
ten miles outside of Harlech Castle in the little mining town of Bladnau that
was surrounded by the Welsh rebels who had known in advance of the English
approach.  The English were surrounded and the past four days had been purely a
matter of survival.  De Lacy demanded that Keir push the army to Harlech but
Keir reminded him, several times, but their push forward would be in inches and
it would take months to reach Harlech at that pace.  Their only option was to
retreat and regroup but de Lacy would not allow it.  For days, Keir had fought
a battle of survival and as dawn on the fifth day approached, the Earl of
Lincoln finally gave his blessing to retreat.  Keir did so without question.

The three thousand man army from
Chester backed off, chased off by the Welsh rebels who were much stronger than
Keir had ever remembered them to be.  Through the rain, lightning storms and
knee-deep mud, he pulled his army out and they made their retreat back the way
they had come, though a narrow valley surrounded by step mountains known as the
Vale of Conwy. It was exhausting and demoralizing work, slogging through a
massive rainstorm to reach the small town of Dolwyddelan, which contained a
small but strategic castle that was held by the English. 

Unfortunately, the garrison
wasn’t large enough to accommodate the entire army, but the rebels had ceased
their onslaught a few miles back, so Keir took that as a positive sign as he
directed what men and wagons he could into Dolwyddelan’s bailey.  Once the provision
wagons were secured, men poured into the bailey to try to gain some protection
while an entire army of hundreds of men from Harbottle Castle remained outside
the walls, exposed to the rebels should they decide to attack again.  Keir
remained outside with the Harbottle army while Lucan buttoned up Dolwyddelan.

The commander from Harbottle was
a seasoned knight who had seen many battles in the name of the king. He wore
battered armor and was missing an eye. Seasoned and intelligent, he set up a
perimeter around his army including massive bonfires that essentially created a
circle of fire.

The Welsh would have to be insane
or foolish to breach the soaring flames, but none of his men slept much
following the establishment of the firewall.  Most of them, including Keir and
the commander, were standing just this side of the perimeter, watching the
surrounding countryside through the flames. Their senses were peaked for an
onslaught at any moment but as the night passed, everything remained peaceful.
Eventually, they took turns sleeping.

Keir had been up for nearly four
days. Four long, exhaustive days. He stayed awake as long as he could before
sitting down near the exterior wall of Dolwyddelan, eventually laying down in
the cool, wet grass and falling asleep almost immediately. It was a dreamless
sleep, deep and exhausted, and he had no idea how long he had been sleeping
when shouts from the wall roused him.  He was on his feet with his weapon in
his hand before he realized he had even moved. 

“What is it?”  he asked the
commander, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

The man with the missing eye was
focused on the darkened landscape beyond the ring of fire.  With the brilliant
flame as a backdrop, it was difficult to see much beyond the blackness.

“A lone rider, my lord,” he told
him.

Keir stopped rubbing his eyes and
struggled to focus. “A lone rider?” he repeated. “Welsh or English?”

“We cannot tell.”

Keir wriggled his eyebrows.
“Whoever he is, he is a fool to be riding alone in this land.”

The commander grunted in
agreement, ordering his archers to raise their weapons as the rider drew
closer.  They could see him approaching from the valley below now, heading up
the road in the dead of night.  The half-moon glistened off the man’s armor as
he drew nearer and the commander left his hand to his archers, preparing to
give the order to fire. A word from Keir stopped them.