Rose of Hope (62 page)

They dodged their way through battling warriors, parrying a blow to the side or stopping briefly to stand back-to-back to defend themselves with thrust or cut, but soon they were clear and following the figure already swallowed by the night.

***

Ysane was terrified. ’Twas frightening to be alone in the forest at night, but that fear was an ordinary unease she could bear. The real dread came from within, for she had awakened earlier from a restless after-the-nooning nap in which she dreamed of her husband’s death. When she woke, she recalled the nightmare in all its stark clarity and feared it a portent.

In the dream, she stood unseen in the secret corridor. Fallard moved into her sight, only to be brutally cut down by a tall figure rushing upon him from behind.

She had awakened, sweating and gasping Fallard’s name, unshakably certain ’twas a true vision. But the horror that nigh paralyzed her during the following hours was also for Cynric, for she recognized the shadowy murderer of her husband, and ’twas her brother.

She struggled to think rationally, to convince herself ’twas but a fiction devised by her own anxious imaginings, but as the day waned her apprehension grew until she could ignore it no longer.

The need to leap up and run to her husband was profound. At first, she fought it, for such a path put at risk the life of her unborn babe. But as the hours passed, the increasing urgency left her with no choice.

Other children might be conceived if this one is lost, but not without my husband. There is only one Fallard, only one man I love more than life.
What hope has this child without him? I fear King William to my marrow, but should Fallard die, I dread his next choice of a husband for me even more. I would put it not beyond his cruelty to take my babe from me to give to another. I know not how, but no longer is there doubt that only I may prevent the horror awaiting Fallard and Cynric in the corridor. I will take great care, aye, and do all in my power to protect my babe, but I must act now.

Her inner arguments finished, she waited till her companions slept. Drawing on the woodman’s skills Cynric had taught her long ago, she used the darkness to avoid the guards and make her way home through the black forest, praying she would lose not her way.

She crouched at the edge of the river, waiting for the sporadic lightning to illumine the opposite verge. A distinctively twisted hawthorn would be visible on the other bank if she was at the right spot. The flash she waited for outlined what she sought. She lifted the hems of her cyrtel and cloak and tucked them into her girdle, freeing her lower limbs of their encumbrance. With the end of the long stick she carried, she tapped around in the water until she found the first of the stepping-stones.

’Twas Cynric’s belief the stones had been placed there very long ago, in a time when the riverbed was deeper than it was now and the water level lower. The flat stones were firmly embedded in the river bottom and too precisely laid for their placement to be of natural occurrence. He believed when first the stones were laid, their surfaces would have been well above the level of the water so one could easily pass over without getting wet. Why else would anyone bury them there? He could think of no good reason why one would put stepping-stones
under
the water.

These days, one could normally use the stones without wetting more than one’s ankles. Not that wet feet mattered this night, for in order to follow Fallard, she would have to ford the river twice to reach the southwest side of the island where the postern gate was located. Then she must climb the bow-shaped abutment of solid rock to reach the gate. On a night in her youth, Cynric had shown her a way up the abutment, pointing out small ledges in the rock where her feet could find purchase. She had climbed it at night for no other reason than to prove she could, but it had not been wet then and Cynric had been behind her to catch her should she fall. This night, the rock face would be slippery.

She made it over the stepping-stones to the south bank without mishap, quickly moved into the shelter of the woods, and huddled, shivering, beneath the dubious protection of a heavily canopied tree. The most difficult part of her journey lay ahead. Buttressing her courage with her love for her husband and brother, she rose to follow the riverbank, feeling her way along the edge of the tree line.

Approaching the river’s fork at the west end of the island, she stopped, clutching her mantle. She closed her mind to the fear that battered like the wings of a frantic bird, and reached out with her senses to hear what could not be seen through the darkness. Only when she was certain no one else was nigh did she move, bending low to race across the flat, grassy space until she reached the river’s verge. She came to a halt when lightning slashed the scene, then slithered down the muddy bank and plunged into the water. She pushed her way through the current, surprised to find the surge stronger and the water level higher than when she crossed earlier. It flowed around her thighs, pulling hard, instead of at her knees, as expected.

Still, it hindered her only briefly, and soon she was scaling the opposite bank and seeking the first of the ledges that would provide purchase for her hands and feet. She climbed, all her thoughts focused on finding the next ledge or toehold, until her searching fingertips found the rough, horizontal stone that comprised the low threshold of the gate.

She threw back her head and laughed in defiance of her fear, a peel of thunder drowning the sound, and leaned, panting and trembling with effort against the solid panel of the gate. Her questing fingers found the latch without difficulty.

A sudden freak gust of wind from beyond the wall brought a faint sound to her ears and she tensed. She knew that sound and it froze her heart.

Mercy! The battle has already begun. My time runs short. I must hurry!

Refusing to consider the possibility she might be too late, she slid inside and pulled the door to. Silence met her. Faint light from beyond the access tunnel proved the others had gone this way before her.

Where is Fallard? He should be here.

With palms grazing the chill stone on either side, she made her way through to the empty corridor where torches still burned in sconces along the walls. But she knew her path, and needed no light to guide her way. She turned to the right and sped toward the crypts. She reached to unlock the secret door, only to realize ’twas already open. She pushed through and it swung closed. She hurried as fast as she dared into the darkness of the wide hall between the vaults.

Too late, she realized she was not alone. She collided with a hard male body and cried out in shock as powerful hands locked around her arms.

“Fallard?”

“Well, now, who have we here?” Ruald’s hateful voice sounded above her, and he held her fast. His hand moved over her in a lewd caress.

“Let me go!” Cringing, she tried to break free of his grip.

“Ah, ’tis my sweet little sister-by-law.” He laughed. “What a fortunate coincidence, say you not, Leda? Take the flint from my sash, will you, my love, and light the torch we found.”

The whispery movement of fabric as Leda knelt to the floor was followed by light, blinding in the darkness of the crypts, as the tallow of the torch ignited. Leda glared at Ysane through squinted lids, clearly unhappy her rival had appeared. She sputtered obscenities beneath her breath.

“How delightful to see you, Ysane.” Ruald said, as he dragged her with him into the corridor she had just left. “Hmm. ’Twould seem we had no need of the torch,” he said as he entered. “How kind of D’Auvrecher to leave our exit lit.”

“Where is my husband?” Ysane struggled against his hold as Ruald jerked her toward the access tunnel.

“If my fortunes hold, he is dead, skewered by one of my men. But finding you here is a better circumstance than aught I could have planned. Your presence will provide all the leverage I need should I run into any of his men.”

“I will go not with you!” But she was no match for his greater strength. Still, her frantic efforts hindered him.

“Cease fighting me!” He snapped the words.

“Nay! Let me go! I must find Fallard.” She threw all her weight against his grip in an effort to twist free.

In a burst of temper, he swung her around and slammed her against the wall. So hard did she hit, her breath was forced from her in a heavy, gasping exhalation, but ere she could draw another, he dropped the langseax he carried to wrap his fingers around her throat. He squeezed, his grip growing tighter, and tighter still.

As pain exploded from her neck into her skull, she clawed at his hands, but to no avail. Images of Renouf’s hard hands around her neck and of Angelet’s death, shocking in their graphic detail, crowded into her mind. Darkness rimmed the edges of her vision. It wiped away the memories, but the blackness held flashing, capering lights upon which her thoughts fastened in astonishment. As if from a distance, she felt her body go limp, her hands falling to her sides as coherent thought spiraled away. So entranced was she by the lights no fight was left to her.

“Ruald! Release the woman!”

The familiar voice jolted her failing senses and dimmed the dancing lights. The grip at her throat dropped away, but Ruald whirled, dragged her around in front of him, using her as a shield. Painfully gulping air, she sagged against him, unable to stand.

“Leda, the langseax!” The slave scurried to pick up the sword and hand it to him as Ruald backed away from the two knights who stalked him.

He brought the blade to her throat as he half-pulled, half-carried her toward the tunnel entrance.

Blinking through a misty haze, she saw Leda scamper to one side to set the torch in an empty wall bracket, then back herself into a storage alcove, out of sight.

“Let her go!” This time the demand was a raging roar that erupted through the corridor as Fallard paced toward them, Varin but a step behind.

Ruald’s laugh was ugly. “Think you I am a fool, D’Auvrecher? Nay, I like your little wife right where she is. She will accompany me from this trap as surety of my safety. Come no closer, or I will finish the job I began months ago and slit her throat.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Fallard froze. To be sure, when he and Varin came through the secret door and saw Ruald choking an unknown woman, it meant little to him beyond concern for the life of an innocent. His focus was on his enemy.

But when Ruald swung her around and he saw clearly the woman’s face, for a critical moment his mind blanked like the most callow of squires, unable to accept what his eyes told him was true. He felt like a mace had struck him in the gut. His heartbeat seemed to triple its pace.

’Twas Ysane. Yet, such was not possible, for he had left his wife safe, far from the burh. He blinked hard and shook his head, believing fear made him imagine what was not truly there. Varin’s hand gripping his shoulder sufficed to break the spell. He opened his mouth, but some obstruction blocked his speech. He swallowed, tried again, and startled even himself when the force of his rage reverberated off the corridor walls. Ruald laughed.

He fought for control but feared when he spoke again, his voice would sound the way his heart felt. Instead, the words came forth cool and remote, but clear. “Release her, Ruald, and you may go free. I give you my word, on my honor as a knight of William. You will be neither harmed, nor stopped. But release her. Now.”

A tense silence, broken by Ysane’s ragged breathing, held for a space as Ruald weighed his chances.

Fallard threw his sword to the side and ordered Varin to do the same. “’Tis no game, Ruald. Come, I offer you freedom, in exchange for the life of my wife. ’Tis a fair trade, and well you know it. Let her come to me. My man and I will take her out through the crypts. None will follow you.”

Still Ruald hesitated, and though fear ran rampant in Fallard’s soul, he pressed his advantage, never taking his gaze from the man who held in his hands the life of his rose.

He threw all the persuasive power he owned into his plea. “’Tis your only chance, Ruald. You are already defeated. You saw for yourself the forces you commanded are dead or captured. Your effort here has failed and if you harm my wife, you
will
die, slowly and in pain. That I swear, by all I hold sacred. Let her go.”

“Trust him not, Ruald. He lies.” Leda spoke from her place in the alcove. “He dare not free us, for he is commanded by his king to kill you or bring you to judgment. Even does he let us go now, he will cease not to hunt us like the animals he believes us to be. The only way to be free is to kill him.”

At her words, Ruald’s eyes widened. They glittered, reflecting the light of the torches. Again, his laughter rang out, and again, he retreated, dragging Ysane with him. She looked dazed, and hung limp in his arms.

Silently, Fallard cursed the slave. The fool had chosen to believe her.

Ruald began to taunt him as his arm around his captive’s ribs lifted her off her feet.

Fallard felt himself blanch, fearing the movement would force the edge of the langseax to bite into Ysane’s flesh.

“Ah, ’twas a good try, D’Auvrecher, but I fear ’tis Leda who has the right of it. I will take my leave now with the lovely Ysane, but ere I go, I really must tell you of the use I made of her. So predictable she was, Renouf’s little wife, and did my work for me so well. All that was required of me was to whisper in Renouf’s ears how his wife made him look the fool, of how he was bound to her for life while yet she proved herself incapable of bearing him the heir he craved. I whispered of the uselessness of the female child she bore and how easily he could be rid of the brat. I plied him with all the drink he could hold and more, and almost, he killed her for me, but she reacted as I hoped to the murder of her child and killed him, instead.”

Fallard edged forward at a pace so leisurely it ate like slow poison at his self-control. He wanted naught more than to leap on the man and rip him apart for daring to touch his wife. His fear for Ysane and the babe she carried vaulted to new heights as Ruald’s voice took on the high, brittle edge of one on the cusp of madness.