Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (8 page)

He gave her a crooked smile,
being sucked in by the beautiful brown eyes. “I know enough that she tells
scandalous tales about her sister and she is unafraid of a man with a sword.”

Chloë giggled and returned to her
food, a faint blush to her cheeks that Keir found enchanting.

He let the subject die and the
conversation along with it.  He continued to cut meat and hand it to her,
watching her slender white fingers accept the morsels, his gaze moving over her
face and hair as if he could not take his eyes off of her. The truth was that
he couldn’t.  Chloë seemed to captivate him like no one ever had and much to
his chagrin, he realized he wasn’t resisting as he had been. His sense of self-preservation
was fading fast and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

He tried not to hate himself for
it.

***

It wasn’t much by way of comfort
but it was all she was offered.  Keir had taken Chloë to a rather large chamber
that was a dusty, disheveled mess, with two small beds in it, one of them
half-burned and crumpled against the wall.  Keir had ordered a couple of men to
remove the burnt bed but had said little else about the room or its state as he
had his men bring in a big, dented copper tub.   

A bucket brigade filled the tub
with steaming water and Keir provided Chloë with a lumpy, misshapen bar of
white soap that smelled heavily of pine.   When the tub was full, he left her
without a word, shutting the door softly behind him while she stood in the
center of the room, wondering why he seemed to cold and withdrawn again. He had
been charming and warm in the hall, feeding her until she was full, before
escorting her to this room that seemed dark and shadowy, even with a fire
blazing brightly in the hearth.

Thoughts lingering on Keir, Chloë
had taken her bath and scrubbed herself from the top of her red head to the
bottom of her little feet.  She didn’t have anything to dry off with and she
noticed the big wardrobe against the wall, shielded by the shadows of the room,
but she didn’t feel comfortable opening it, so she used her surcoat to dry her
hair and body before the fire. Then she laid the surcoat carefully in front of
the dusty hearth to dry it out.

Slipping back into her soft
shift, Chloë wrapped up in her cloak and called for the soldiers to remove the
tub for her sister, which they silently and efficiently accomplished.  When
they were gone, she bolted the door and lay down on the small, lumpy bed.

Exhausted, she fell into a heavy
sleep, only to awaken when the hearth was burning low and great streams of
white moonlight were pouring in through the lancet window.   As she rolled
over, she caught a glimpse of something at the foot of the bed and in the
darkness, her eyes adjusted to the sight of a small girl.

Startled, Chloë sat up and stared
at the child. She was no more than four or five years of age, with long pale
hair and a very pale face. It took Chloë a moment to realize that she was the
same color of the moonlight, standing in the darkness at the end of the bed and
staring at Chloë with big, bottomless black eyes.  Chloë was positive she was
dreaming and she closed her eyes tightly, opening them again to find that the
little girl had moved to stand directly next to the bed.  Her eyes were big
black voids in her pasty face and Chloë pulled the cloak more tightly around
her body, feeling an icy chill envelope her.

“G-greetings,” she whispered
timidly. “Who are you?”

The little girl just stared at
her.  Then she lifted a wispy arm and pointed towards the door.  Apprehensive
and confused, Chloë looked to where the little girl was pointing and shook her
head. She had no idea what the child meant.

“Do you live here?” she asked
softly. “Does your father work here?”

The little girl lowered her bony
arm and looked at her again.  The chill around Chloë grew colder and she could
see her breath fogging in the air.  Her skin began to bump up as icy fingers
grasped at her.  She could feel horror and had no idea why. The little girl
looked up at her with her big black eyes, dark circled and grim.

“Me-Me,” the child hissed.

Chloë wasn’t sure what she meant,
nor even who the child was. All she knew was that this pasty, ill-looking child
had somehow found her way into the chamber.  She reached out to gently take the
child’s arm but her fingers passed through nothingness. In the next instant,
the child vanished. 

Chloë fled the chamber in terror.

CHAPTER SIX

It was late in the night and the
keep of Pendragon was finally settled in to sleep for the evening.  A bright
full moon hung over the landscape, bathing the dark stoned castle in silver
light.  Upon the wooden parapets at the top of the walls, Keir stood with
Michael and Lucan, watching the landscape that was so brightly lit.   They had
been walking the walls for a couple of hours, watching, making sure Ingilby
hadn’t somehow followed them. 

Keir had put Chloë in the chamber
that had once belonged to his children. It hadn’t been used since.  He’d shut
the door after that fateful day and didn’t open it again until just a few weeks
ago when a nest of bees had built a hive in the ceiling. It had been a strange
experience for him to enter the chamber where Frances and Merritt had played;
toys had still been scattered on the floor and one of the little beds had been
partially burned by the siege. He had steeled himself to toss the scattered
clothes and toys into the big wardrobe shared by the children, weeping silent
tears when he had held the dress of his daughter that still had food stains on
it. When he smelled it, he could still smell her. It broke his heart.

But he tossed everything into the
wardrobe and slammed the door as his men smoked the bees out of the chamber. 
He had only returned to the chamber this night to admit Chloë, who looked
around the chamber with one half-burned bed with big, apprehensive eyes. But
she did nothing more than thank him, even though the linens were dusty and the
room hadn’t been cleaned out since the day of that fateful siege three years
ago.  Keir suddenly felt very bad for subjecting her to such filth and
discomfort, and had two of his soldiers carry out the burned bed as Chloë and
Keir stood there and watched. He promised her that the chamber would be
thoroughly cleaned in the morning but she had smiled bravely and insisted it
was fine as it was. 

He knew it was a gracious lie,
which made him feel worse.  He’d had his men bring up the big copper tub and
fill it with hot water, providing Chloë with the only soap he had, a lumpy bar
that smelled of pine.  All the while, he remembered the big wardrobe in his
chamber that still contained his wife’s possessions but he couldn’t bring
himself to open the doors and go through it, not even to provide Chloë with
something of comfort.  That big, oak wardrobe with the carved doors remained
closed, a silent testimony to Keir’s agony that he was unwilling to explore. 
Madeleine’s possessions were to remain untouched, like a frozen tribute to her
memory. It was all better left untouched.

So Keir had left Chloë with a
steaming tub, a lump of smelly soap, and naught much else.  The invasion into
his children’s chamber had him reeling again, grief clawing at him as he lost
himself in his duties upon the battlements. He thought he was doing quite well
at fighting off the memories until he heard a scream emitting from the keep.
Startled, he looked at Michael as if to confirm the man had heard it also when
the scream came again, louder.  The two of them bolted for the parapet stairs.

Lucan, on the opposite wall, had
heard the screaming also. He and several soldiers were flying off of the walls,
heading for the keep just as Keir and Michael were. Just as they reached the
stairs, Chloë came shooting out of the keep as if the Devil himself was chasing
her. 

She flew down the old wooden
stairs, screaming at the top of her lungs.  Michael was the closest one to her;
he reached out to grab her but she swung her little fists at him, dodging his
hands as she continued on her way.  Keir was too far away to grab her as she
bolted past him, running as fast as she could for the castle entry with her
amazing red hair trailing after her like a banner. The portcullis was lowered
so she couldn’t get away, but that didn’t prevent her from trying.  She ran at
the iron grate and threw herself against it, trying to claw her way out.

Keir, Michael and Lucan raced up
behind her but Keir held out a big arm to the men, indicating for them to
remain where they were.  The lady was panicked out of her mind and he didn’t
want her spooked by too many men trying to render aid.  Carefully, Keir
approached her as she struggled to claw her way out of the portcullis.

“My lady?” he asked softly, with
concern. “What is the matter?”

Through her haze of terror, Chloë
heard him.  She stopped clawing, turning to look at the men standing behind her
in the moonlit bailey. Her luscious hair was hanging in her face, all over her
body, like a giant cloak that hung all the way to her knees. She was clad only
in her shift and the heavy cloak, barefoot to the muddy bailey.  Her lower legs
were covered in muck.  When she saw Keir and the blind panic faded, she burst
into painful tears.

“I want to leave,” she sobbed.
“Open this gate. I must get out.”

Keir was deeply concerned.  He
waved the men away as he approached her timidly. “Why?” he asked softly. “What
is the matter?”

With a growl, Chloë turned to the
portcullis and started clawing again. Even in the moonlight, Keir could see
that she was scraping her fingers and drawing blood. Whatever had happened in
the keep, the woman was clearly terrified out of her mind.

“Chloë?” he begged quietly. “What
happened?”

Her fingers gradually came to a
halt and she wept painfully against the iron.  “Please,” she begged. “Please
open the gate. I want to leave.”

Keir turned to Michael and Lucan,
still standing several feet behind him. “Into the keep,” he hissed. “Check it
from top to bottom. See what has her so frightened and for God’s sake, make
sure her sister is well.”

The knights fled as Keir turned
back to Chloë.  She was shivering, wet and muddy.  He went to her, hoping she
wouldn’t try to gouge his eyes out again in her panic.

“Chloë,” he said gently. “What
happened, love? Why are you so frightened?”

She turned to him, tears pouring
down her sweet face, and slumped against the grate.  Keir swept her up into his
arms because she was close to collapsing onto the wet ground and she threw her
arms around his neck, holding him so tightly that she was cutting off his air. 
He moved his head around, trying to dislodge the arm that was against his
throat so he could breathe.

“A… a girl,” she sobbed.

He held her close as he began his
trek back towards the keep. “A girl?” he repeated. “What girl?”

Her face was pressed into the
crook of his neck. “A… a little girl,” she wept. “She was in my chamber.”

Keir’s brow furrowed. “There was
a little girl in your chamber?” he repeated. “That is not possible. There are
no little girls at Pendragon.”

Chloë’s sobbing grew louder.
“When I tried to touch her, she vanished.”

Keir could only think of one
possibility for that. “You must have been dreaming, sweetheart.”

Chloë lifted her face from his
neck, her eye swimming with tears.  She shook her head emphatically, her long
red hair in her face. “I was
not
dreaming,” she insisted. “I woke up and
a little girl was standing by my bed. When I tried to touch her, she vanished.”

Keir gazed into her lovely face
and all he could think to do was kiss her soft, white cheek to comfort her.  It
was an impulsive gesture but one he did not regret. The feel of her warm skin
against his lips stirred something within him, something he thought was long
dead.

“It was a dream,” he reiterated
softly, hugging her against him as he neared the keep.  “Sometimes dreams can
seem very real. I have had a few of those myself.”

Chloë gazed at him, her mind
becoming more lucid and wondering if he wasn’t correct, when she noticed how
close they were to the keep.  The terror quickly returned and she began to
struggle.

“Nay,” she tried to push herself
from his arms. “I am not going back to that chamber.  I am not going in there
ever again.”

He came to a halt. “Easy, lady,”
he admonished softly. “Do you want to sleep with your sister, then? Perhaps she
can chase your fears away.”

She shook her head emphatically. 
Then she burst into tears and lay her head on his shoulder, weeping pitifully.
With a heavy sigh, Keir continued on in to the keep, feeling her arms tighten
around him as they entered the dark, musty entry hall.  As he mounted the steep
spiral stairs, they came upon Michael and Lucan descending.  The knights backed
up so that Keir could come up to the third level.

“How is Lady Cassandra?” Keir
asked.