Journey in Time (Knights in Time) (23 page)

A deep, sharp pain pierced her side as she tried to sit up. She sucked in breath and slapped her hand against the floor until the agony subsided. She released the air in a slow stream over her swollen and bruised lips and collapsed back down. One place didn’t hurt. One place hadn’t been violated. The smile that knowledge brought hurt her mouth, but she relished the torment. The beast hadn’t been able to rape her.

Outside, rain fell in steady taps on the windowsill. She let the rhythm lull her. They reminded her of a morning she and Alex made love to the sound of a soft shower.
Alex.
 

She cried. She cried until exhaustion and sleep took over again.

***

Alex entered the chamber unsure of his greeting after his poor behavior.

"Rocky?" She wasn’t by the window watching for him or attending to her appearance as he expected. He checked behind the screen that shielded the chamber pot. "Rocky?"

She had to be on the grounds. She wouldn’t venture far. He walked the corridors stopping anyone who might’ve seen her. He questioned the kitchen servants. None that day served her meals. No one had seen her since the previous night’s banquet.
 

Philippa and her ladies crossed his path as he searched the chapel. They told the same story, "last night."

Alex returned to their chamber afraid something terrible happened. Worse, he had no idea who else to ask. A chill breeze blew through the window and whipped at his cloak. Shakira wouldn’t leave the window open in this weather. Wherever she disappeared to, she left in a hurry. As he crossed the room to close the window, he noticed her clothing trunk was missing. She didn’t disappear on her own. Someone knew what happened. He rushed from the room determined to get the answer.

He stalked the halls searching for Enid, the maid. She almost collided with him as she exited another chamber.

He hooked her by the elbow as she attempted to re-enter the chamber. “I want answers, now.”

The maid’s eyes darted back and forth, from one wall to the other, under his intense interrogation. She admitted the king ordered her to deliver Shakira’s trunk to the council chamber. She mentioned the gentleman present. The skittish servant swore she didn’t know his name and tried to go. Alex blocked her escape and demanded more information. She pointed out the manservant who escorted Shakira to the king.

The servant, who was busy lighting torches glanced over in time to see Alex’s brisk approach and dashed down the corridor.

"Where is she?" Alex caught up and spun him around by the shoulder.

"Who, sir? I know nothing of the comings and goings of guests,” he said, looking everywhere but at Alex.

"You’re lying. Where’s Lady Shakira?"

"I do not know."

He C-clamped the man’s throat and drove him into the wall. "Where is she? Say I don’t know again and I’ll snap your neck."

"The home of the queen’s wool merchant."

"Where does he live?"

"I swear, I do not know," he said, raspy voiced. "Sir John, ask Sir John."

Alex found Stephen and Simon on their way to the great hall. "Find Basil and tell him to meet us in the stables. Saddle our horses. I’ll explain on the way."

John Holland relaxed at his desk. Imperturbable as his sister Blanche was lovely, he never blinked when Alex’s stormy presence filled the doorframe.

"You have been in the Welsh Marches too long, Guy. Here, in England, we still knock before entering someone’s chamber."

"Apologies, but this is urgent. The wool merchant...where does he live?"

"Dankworth--" Holland’s lip curled in disgust, "--dreadful man. Is this about your lady?"

Alex nodded.

"I saw them leave together hours ago."

"Not by her choice."

"No. The king ordered it, but you did not hear that from me. You will find Dankworth on Bouverie Street, near the river. You cannot miss his house, ‘tis the finest on the block."

"Thanks." Alex raced out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Alex’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the upper floor. Unlike the main floor, where Simon and Stephen watched over Dankworth and his mother, few torches lit this level. He took one from its holder and searched from room to room. He threw the door of the last one open. If she wasn’t here, he’d flay Dankworth alive until the bastard revealed her whereabouts.

A fat wharf rat scurried along the baseboard under the window as Alex waved the torch back and forth. He hated the filthy things. A low, scratchy noise came from the shadowed corner the rat left. The nest. He readied to stomp on the vermin home when the torch flame flickered on what appeared to be a bit of pale shoulder poking through a bundle of rags.

He moved with care and held the light high to illuminate the area better. "Shakira!” He shoved the torch into Basil’s hand and dropped to his knees.

Curled in a fetal position, lash marks marred her arms and legs, her matted and mussed hair shielded her face. He gently rolled her over and her hair fell away, exposing her injured face. He ran his fingers down her icy cheeks and along her cold lips then felt her neck for a pulse. "She is alive. Shakira..." he said, touching his palm to a swollen cheek.

One eyelid fluttered open. Her hand patted the air. "Alex?" A violent tremor passed through her body, as she tried to rise, and failed.

"I’m here, darling," he whispered.

 
She patted the air again as though verifying his existence. "Alex?" Her hand found his chest and she grasped onto his tunic with chipped and broken fingernails.

"I’m here.” He took her hand in his to reassure her. The fingers of his free hand flexed with unspent anger as he examined the welts on her skin from the knuckles to the wrist. Defensive wounds.

“Alex,” she said and tried to rise again.

"Don't move. I have you." He slid his hands under her knees and arms, nestling her against him as he lifted her.

"She calls you by a strange name," Basil said.

"I will explain later. Right now, I need more light."

Basil raised the torch. "God in his heaven."

The flame cast eerie shadows on the ghostly pallor of her face, the blues and purples of the bruises an intense contrast. Dried blood crusted where the upper lip was split and part of her mouth was puffed to almost twice the normal size.

The two friends exchanged a brief knowing look.

"Once we are downstairs, I will take her," Basil said.

Simon kept watch over Dankworth while Alex and Basil had searched the house. Stephen watched over Cybill, who continued her loud protests to their presence in her son’s home. The neutral, if somewhat bored, expressions worn by the two knights transformed to grim accusation at the sight of Shakira’s face.

Cybill screamed and lunged. Clawlike fingers swiped at Alex who dodged the strike as Stephen jerked her back.

Alex settled Shakira in Basil’s arms. He removed his cloak and covered her. The damp cape offered some warmth to her clammy coldness. He thought her only half conscious when she opened her eyes, getting her first glimpse of Basil.

"Bloody hell," she croaked. Speckles of fresh blood appeared on her cut lip. Two tentative fingers dabbed at the split skin. "Ow."

Basil’s brows arched high at the outburst of raw language. His shocked gaze darted from Shakira to Alex.

Time stood still for Alex. In her traumatized state, Shakira might think Basil was Ian. Alex wasn’t sure what she’d do. He mumbled a curse and prayed she didn't blurt out something awkward he'd be forced to explain away. He already needed to explain why she called him by a name other than Guy.

"Shakira--"

She waved him off. A crooked smile played at the uninjured edge of her mouth and she said, "Thank you, Sir Basil."

"Clever girl," Alex said and then turned merciless eyes to Dankworth.

Shakira laid a hand on his bicep. "He's not worth it. The king can judge him. You came. That’s all that matters. You came." She squeezed his arm with weak fingers. "Take me home."

A flicker of hope danced across Dankworth's face then evaporated seeing Alex’s malevolent expression. Alex turned back to Shakira. This was his lady to avenge. In this time, in this world, he was strong, a man to be reckoned with and not an impotent observer.

"Justice is an iffy thing my darling. I’m making certain at least some gets meted out." He brushed her temple with a kiss, then whispered, "I told you, I can get very medieval protecting what is mine."

Alex removed his sword and handed it to Simon, who along with Stephen, stepped to the side to give him room.

"I’m tempted to run you through and feed your carcass to stray dogs." He stood within arm’s length of Dankworth, offering himself as a target. Dankworth shrank back. "Death by sword is both too swift, and too honorable, for such as you. Craven bastard, too afraid to fight another man, you brutalize a defenseless woman instead."

"You would kill me?" Dankworth shamelessly pled his case, "Over a worthless whore? Why? She is nothing..." he whimpered to a silent and still Alex.

A sound like the wet smack of clay landing on the floor bounced off the plastered walls. Dankworth staggered backwards. He wiped a sleeve across his lips and smeared the blood over his jaw. Alex hit him again. Dankworth stumbled trying to escape the blows. Alex seized him by the tunic front and struck again. Dankworth’s head snapped to the side and new blood spewed from his nose and mouth. Alex let go as Dankworth recoiled and one arm whipped the air. More blood dripped from a cut on his eyebrow, while a steady stream of pinkish mucous bubbled and oozed from his nose.

Dankworth took a feeble roundhouse swing as Alex shook his right hand where the knuckles had already begun to swell from connecting with teeth and bone. He sidestepped the pathetic effort. With his full weight behind him, he buried his fist in Dankworth's stomach and brought his elbow down on the doubled over man, crushing Dankworth’s cheekbone with the blow.

Alex grabbed a handful of hair and yanked, then backhanded him with a clenched fist. Dankworth careened into the same chair he knocked Shakira into the first time he hit her.

Alex lifted him by the tunic front again, and one-handed, held him in place. He drove his fist hard into Dankworth’s mouth who coughed more blood, spitting out a piece of tooth as he fell onto his knees.

Simon laid a restraining hand on Alex’s shoulder when he reached down and jerked Dankworth up again. "Enough, Guy. Enough. Leave something for the king."

Alex didn’t move. Seconds passed before he finally released Dankworth, who slid down the wall.

"Simon, you and Stephen tie his hands to the pommel of his horse's saddle," Alex said, taking Shakira from Basil's arms.

"The devil will likely topple over, tied or no," Simon said with a grunt as he and Stephen dragged the crumpled Dankworth to the door.

Alex shrugged. "Then we’ll take the Thames Road. Let the fish have him if he falls."

"Put me down for a minute." Shakira wiggled and tried to free herself of his hold.

"No, you are too weak."

She squirmed and wiggled more. "Please, just for a minute."