Hearts Aflame (37 page)

Thinking that, she was able to calm herself, to plan. She had to get out of this room as soon as the door opened. She had to make her way to the storeroom where she had seen them taking Royce. She had to get him loose, then get their horses…God help her,
how
, with so many people about?

She made a search of the room with her hands, cursing the dark which made it take so long. But she had the time. No one came to interrupt her. But the room yielded nothing that she could use as a weapon. She had not really thought it would, but she had to be sure.

That left only herself and her wits. She doubted Eldred would be easy to dupe, but he might be overcome, if he had imbibed too much, and if he were alone. When he did finally come, he was alone and had been drinking, but he did not seem drunk, not at all.

He carried a candle, which he set on an empty wall shelf after he closed the door. Kristen saw now that the room was completely empty, except for the bed, but she saw it in the briefest glance, not daring to take her eyes from Eldred for too long.

He had a look of anticipation about him. He even
smiled at her as he faced her. His sword still hung from his belt. But now there was a short whip there also, made of numerous thin leather strips.

“What have you done to Royce?” It came out in a whisper, full of hope.

“I have not seen him yet,” Eldred told her casually. “I decided I would deal with you first, so I could then tell him all about it. Lord Alden seemed to think Royce has a care for you. We will see.”

“You mistake,” she hastened to assure him. “He has a betrothed.”

“What has that to do with the wench he beds?”

Kristen flinched at the insult. What, indeed? “Why do you hate him so?”

“He is blessed. He can do no wrong—or so Alfred thinks, has always thought.”

“Envy?” Her eyes moved over him with contempt. “For petty envy you do this?”

“What do you know of it?” he snapped. “You do not know what ’tis like to compete, to always be found lacking.”

“Nay, I do not. But I do know you cannot get away with this. Too many people saw that you brought us here.”

He laughed. “My people would not dare say aught against me. Unlike you, wench, they know their place.”

“They are your father’s people,” she taunted him. “He will find out.”

He leaped at her, slapping her hard. Her face turned; her body did not budge. This gave Eldred a momentary surprise. He was used to women falling down from his powerful blows, and then cowering in fear. But this woman was of a size with him. And she did not cower. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, but her eyes flashed with fury as she looked back at him.

Eldred stepped back, somewhat unnerved. And this
made him angry, that he should be leery of a woman. He pulled loose the whip from his belt. She would cower before he was done with her, by God—cower and beg.

He drew back the whip and put all his strength into the first blow. She tried to step aside, but it caught her on her bare arm and half her back. Satisfaction surged through him, hearing her gasp. He drew the whip back again. That was when she threw herself at him, knocking him to the floor.

He lost his breath, taking her full weight upon him. But he kept a firm grip on the whip, thinking she would try to wrest it from him. That was his mistake. She went for and came away with his sword, and he was thrown half into shock, feeling the tip of it press into his throat.

“Move even a little, milord, and I will skewer you to the floor.” Her warning was all the more frightening for the quiet way she said it. “I might anyway, for what you have done.”

It was the last Eldred heard, for she slammed the hilt of his sword against his temple.

Kristen quickly cut her bonds, careful to do so near the knot so she could use the rope on Eldred. This she did just as quickly, turning him over and tying his hands behind him. That had been his mistake: tying her hands in front of her, which still gave her some use of them. But his main mistake had been in thinking she would stand there and let him whip her.

He wasn’t dead.
More’s the pity
, she thought.
I should have killed him
. She still gave it some thought as she sliced strips from the bedding to bind his feet too and gag his mouth. But in the end she couldn’t bring herself to kill a helpless man.

Now she waited for no more sounds to be heard out in the hall. Eldred regained consciousness, and she clobbered him again. She could have taken pleasure in
doing that all night, but did not have all night. She left the tiny chamber as soon as all was quiet without.

A single torch burned on the other side of the hall. The servants were all sleeping, their pallets lining the walls. Kristen walked straight to the entrance door without pause, her breath held, her heart pounding. No alarm was sounded. But there was a guard outside the door, one of those men who had captured them.

The man was as surprised to see her as she was to see him. She was too accustomed to a lack of sentries at Wyndhurst. Eldred must have more to fear, or he expected trouble after what he had done.

The man was even more surprised when he saw the sword she carried. He made to draw his own, but she had the advantage of having hers in hand already. She pierced him before he could defend himself.

There was no time to waste now. She ran toward the storeroom and threw the door open. There was another guard inside, who woke and started to rise. She gave him a taste of the sword hilt, too, and he slumped back down.

Royce was indeed chained to the wall, both hands stretched out a little above his head, supporting his full weight. His wound had bled more. The red stain ran in a path clear down one leg. His head was bent over on his shoulder. She could not even be sure he still lived.

She found out, running to him, taking his head in her hands. She patted his cheek, harder, harder still until his eyes opened. Relief paralyzed her.

“How?”

It was his only question. It brought her back to her senses. She ran back to the guard, searching for the key to his shackles.

Over her shoulder she said, “I wounded a man, mayhap even killed him. Will your Saxon law punish me for it?”

Her fingers finally closed over the key and she hurried back to Royce. He was shaking his head at her.

“Is that all you are worried about?”

“I do not know how your law works,” she replied tersely. “I only know that by your law I was wrong the last time I defended myself. Am I wrong this time, to try to leave this place any way I can?”

He started to laugh, but choked it off when it hurt. “Nay, you have done more than I could have hoped for.”

“Good.” She smiled at him, unlocking his wrist manacles. “Now let us be gone from here, milord.”

But Royce sagged to his knees when he was completely freed. Seeing how weak he was, Kristen quickly ripped off the hem of her gown. Dividing it in two, she stuffed it inside his tunic, front and back. They would have to ride hard, and he could not afford to lose any more blood. But she could not bandage him properly now, either. She could only pray that he could ride.

It was slow going to the stable, with her having to support Royce. As heavy as he was, it was not easy even for her. And then she had to let go of him to take care of the guard in the stable.

Royce was stretched out on the ground when she came back to him. She felt like crying then, but forced him back to consciousness, forced him back to his feet, and forced him to garner the last of his strength to mount his horse.

“How do you propose—to get through the gate?”

“Let me worry about it,” she answered.

Worried she was. She led his horse and her own, walking the distance across the quiet yard. The gate was high and wooden, with a long, heavy bar across it. There was a narrow platform above, off to the side, with a guard there, sitting with his back to the wall. He was asleep. Kristen carefully mounted the ladder to him and
saw that he remained asleep, then hurried down and threw her weight into lifting off the heavy bar.

It was indeed heavy. She could not manage to lower it gently to the ground, but had to drop it. The noise slammed through her.

She looked about, expecting to see a legion of armed men running toward them. Her heart nearly stopped when she did see one man, a serf, step out from the stable. He yawned and went back inside. There was another, in the doorway of another building. He just stood there watching them.

Relief soared as she realized they were not going to sound any alarm. They were apathetic, uncaring, and not willing to stir themselves for their lord. It was fortuitous for her and Royce that Lord Eldred had such loyalty in his household.

Kristen nearly laughed at the thought as she pushed the gate open and then grabbed up the reins of Royce’s horse before she leaped onto her own. They rode swiftly through what remained of the night.

Chapter Forty-one

K
risten was exhausted and beside herself with worry. Royce was using the last of his strength just to stay on his horse. She had stopped once to pad his shoulder again, but he had lost so much blood, too much. He slumped over his horse now, barely conscious.

Not even sight of the walls of Wyndhurst could abate her worry. Dawn streaked the sky and they had been seen approaching. The gate was being opened; men were rushing out. Another group on horseback had spotted them and came from the woods. Soon Royce could rest and be tended properly. Yet the nagging fear would not let go that it might not do any good, that she had helped him so inadequately that he was going to die anyway.

She cried out when he fell from his horse. She leaped from her own mount and ran to him, lifting his head from the ground. His eyes were open, but he seemed dazed.

“Must have—fallen asleep.”

Oh, God, he did not even know what he was saying. Her heart cried, seeing him this weak and helpless. She was not aware that tears streamed from her eyes.

“Be quiet, Royce. Be still. They will be here in a moment to help you.”

His eyes found her face. “Will you at last admit you want me, Kristen?”

God’s teeth! How could he think of that now, when his life’s blood was draining out of him?

“Kristen?”

“Aye, I want you. I swear I do.”

“Have you come to love me—a little?”

She did not hesitate. “Aye, that too.”

One hand rose to slip behind her neck and pull her face down to his. His lips were warm and dry on hers, gentle, but only at first. Out of her misery came the realization that there was too much strength in the hand holding her, too much passion in this kiss.

She pulled back, her eyes narrowing as she saw him grin at her. “You are not dying!”

“Did you think I was?”

“Oh, unfair!”

She nearly hit him, especially when he began to chuckle. Instead she got up and stalked away.

It had taken more than a paltry wound to weaken Royce. He stayed to his bed no more than four days. In a week he was about his full duties again. And after two weeks, his wound gave him only an occasional twinge.

He had dealt with Eldred not as he wanted, but as Alfred’s current policies dictated. He had simply informed the King of Eldred’s perfidy. It was nearing the end of summer when he learned that Eldred had panicked, fearing retribution, and flown north, seeking refuge with the Danes. His body had been sent home to his father.

When Royce told Kristen this, she had simply shrugged, remarking that such a petty lordling was like to come to a bad end. She brought very little emotion to bear on the matter.

She had been angry with Royce, the more so when she realized he had deliberately refrained from helping in their escape. In no uncertain terms she told him what she thought of his deception, yet he could not be sorry he had taken that opportunity to test her. She could have
left him at any point on their journey home. Instead she led him to safety. That meant more to him than he could say.

And Kristen did not stay angry. She was gentle and teasing with him while he regained his strength, keeping him from fretting over his weakened state. She almost made him wish for more wounds that she could fuss over. It was the exact opposite of what he would have felt if Darrelle had nursed him.

It was with the waning of summer that Kristen grew melancholy, and no matter how often Royce asked her, she would not admit anything was wrong. He took her swimming often, he took her riding, and she would smile for him, laugh with him. But he would still see sadness in her eyes when she was not aware he watched her.

He cut her labors in the hall down to half. When that did not make her happy, he doubled them. That did not work, either. He even gave her her own clothes to wear, but she refused to put them on, in fact seemed more depressed after seeing the dark-green velvet gown.

Royce didn’t know what else to do. But the day Kristen asked him again when he would marry, he was afraid he had the answer to what was wrong. She still wanted to leave him. That was why she was miserable. She was counting the days till he wed and she was released from her word. But he was not going to let her go, so there was only one other thing to do.

He would have been amazed had he known what really bothered Kristen. It was the time, summer’s end, when she and Selig and the others would have returned home from the market towns—if that was where they had gone. The whole summer long, her parents would have worried about her, but it would have been with the certainty that she would return. Only now, at summer’s end, the real anxiety would begin, with the daily waiting
for the ship. And with each day the ship did not come, the anxiety would increase. How could she find happiness here, knowing what her parents must be going through now?

She had managed to speak to Selig again. She had begged him to leave, to find his way home somehow, so at least their parents would know she was safe. He refused, not only because he could not leave her, but because he was sure Garrick would tear him apart if he came home without her.

Royce tried hard to cheer her. She loved him more for that. But she could not tell him what was wrong, for the only thing he could do for her would be to let her go, and she had a deep fear that he would even do that. She was damned either way. It would destroy her to leave Royce now, yet she ached with wanting her parents to know she was all right. And she couldn’t stop thinking about them.