The Dark Knight (21 page)

Tonia gaped at him. “You are sending me away when I sorely need you and Mamma? Have I disgraced you so much that you would turn your back on me?”

Guy’s face softened, and he returned to her side. “You mistake my meaning, sweetling,” he said, holding her cold hand. “Forgive me, for I can be abrupt upon occasion. My concern is that your whereabouts and identity must remain a secret for your safety’s sake—and that of the child.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I imagine that I must sound like the father of the Virgin Mary when he was faced with somewhat the same situation.”

Tonia relaxed against him and kissed his cheek. “’Tis good to know that there is precedence.”

Guy nodded. “Ideally, we should find you a complacent husband.”

Tonia frowned. “Nay, Pappa. I want no husband.”
Except the one that I have lost.

“Methought you would say something like that. Therefore, I propose that we take you to your sister’s home in Scotland. There you may live openly and freely, without constraint, while you await the babe’s birth. You know that Gillian and her husband will surround you with love and cater to your every whim. Indeed, you will become quite spoiled, methinks. What month is the child due?”

“December
or early January.”

Guy smiled again. “Better and better. We have just received word that Gillian is also expecting about that same time. You two will have much to talk about while you wait. When your joint times draw near, no one at Snape will be surprised when Celeste and I leave to attend Gillie’s laying-in. That way, we will be at your side when your time comes.”

“Oh, Pappa!” Tonia slid out of her chair and wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. “’Tis a most excellent plan! When will we leave?”

Guy hugged her close to his chest. “As soon as possible. You will travel disguised as Mamma’s serving maid, at least until we are well clear of Northumberland, where you are known. If the good weather holds, the trip will take us no more than three or four days to reach Bannock.”

“I have known you to make the journey in two.” Guy tapped her on the chin. “Aye, but not in the company of an expectant mother.”

Four-and-a-half days after he had left London, Sandor rode up the rocky trail to Hawksnest. The land had changed greatly since the snowy day when he had left his beloved wife alone in this stone fortress. Bare trees were now clothed in thick green foliage. Birds that had been silent during the colder months sang and called to each other across the mountainsides. As he drew nearer to Hawksnest’s crumbling walls, Sandor admired the lush greenery of the once-brown meadow before the castle. Lavender springs vied for space with meadow grass that had grown so tall and thick, Sandor almost missed the spot where he had dug Tonia’s grave. When he spied it, he reined his horse to a sudden halt. Startled, Baxtalo reared on his hind legs.

Sandor
slid off his back and raced through the grass to the site. Instead of the rain-filled hole that he had expected, he saw that the grave had been filled in and was gently mounded. Ice ran through his veins instead of warm blood. He sank to his knees and threw himself across the grave. His tears flowed without shame.

“Is this your idea of a jest,
Duvvel?
” he cried up to God. “Why have you plucked away my happiness the instant I had found it?” He dug his fingers into the mound of earth as if he sought to touch Tonia’s cold hand.

Those King’s men he had misdirected must have found a better guide. Seven of them against a single woman! Though Tonia had the heart of a lioness, she could not have withstood such odds.

“I am truly fortune’s fool,” he sobbed. “I should have taken you with me. You would have been safer in London with my grandmother than here. Forgive me,
sukar luludi.
I am the world’s worst husband.”

Sandor hoped that the men had killed her quickly. He could not bear the thought of the soldiers torturing her or, worse, using her sweet body for their amusement. “Is this the death your
tarocchi
foretold, Grandmother?” he called to the sky. “You should have warned me. You should have…” His grief choked off further words.

As the
summer’s lingering sun began to slant westward, Sandor collected himself and pondered what course he should take now. Since Uncle Gheorghe had banished him, he would not be welcome in any Rom camp. News of this nature spread like wildfire throughout the Gypsy community, no matter where the Rom were. Nor did Sandor really want to return to a wandering way of life. In truth, he did not want to live at all, but instead remain on this hillside, lying forever beside his love. Yet, his zest for living overrode this macabre idea. Sandor did not possess the temperament to stab himself in the heart.

While he thought, he occupied his hands with cleaning the gravesite—pulling up irreverent weeds that had dared to sprout from Tonia’s body. He would fashion the cross she had once told him that she wanted to stand at her head. He cleared the ground around that spot. Sandor was so intent upon his sad duty that he nearly overlooked an arrangement of brown leaves held down by two stones, one on top of the other.

A
patrin?
Blood thudded against Sandor’s temples so that he felt momentarily giddy. Half in awe, half in disbelief, he touched the rocks. He had taught Tonia this exact signal. Kneeling, he whispered a pleading prayer to the deity he had just shouted at. “Forgive me,
Duvvel.
You know what a fool I am. Tell me that she lives. Let me find a second sign, I beg you. Is one life too much to ask? May she live awhile longer upon this earth before you call her to heaven? Saint Sara, help me and I will light a hundred candles in your honor!”

Having said all that he could think of, Sandor closed with a whispered
“Ajaw.”
Then he pulled himself to his feet and studied the terrain, searching for the logical spot that Tonia would have laid a second marker. What a clever woman she was to have thought to leave a mark by her grave! She knew he would see it first.

While
Baxtalo cropped the lush mountainside grass, Sandor wove back and forth through the meadow up to the turning of the trail that led across the ramshackle drawbridge. On the right side of the path he found what he had hoped to see—a second
patrin
that clearly pointed down the hillside, away from Hawksnest.

Sandor touched his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss heavenward. “
Parika tut,
Black Sara!” he shouted with a joy-filled voice that echoed around the steep ravine below. “Thank you! A hundred candles, I swear it!”

As he turned, he looked again upon the mute grave. Mayhap one of the guards was buried under the lavender. Sandor shrugged. The unknown dead was no matter to him now that he knew Tonia still lived.

“Jel ‘sa Duvvel,”
he muttered under his breath as he picked up his cap from the ground beside the mound. “Go with God, whomever you are.”

Sandor scanned the bowl of the sky. Purple-shadowed dusk had already filled the mountain clefts and distant valleys. The last of the sun’s golden rays kissed only the tall peak across the ravine from Hawksnest. Sandor decided to bed down in the ruin. Tonia’s signs had lasted this long. What was one more night?

I am coming, my beloved. I will hold you in my arms and kiss away this loathsome separation. Never will we be parted again, I swear it!

T
he next
morning dawned cloudy with rain on the horizon. Sandor took little notice of the weather. After a hasty breakfast for himself and Baxtalo, he rode down the mountain, marveling how well Tonia had laid the
patrin
considering that her trail was now several months old. By late afternoon, it was obvious that she and the large party who traveled with her had headed north, bypassing York.

She must have gone back to her home.
Though he was glad that Tonia appeared to be in safe hands, Sandor’s heart grew uneasier as he rode farther into the wild Northumberland countryside. If his beloved had indeed returned to her family, Sandor knew he would have to do a great deal of explaining to her
gadje
relatives, who no doubt would frown upon their union. In particular, he would have to win Tonia’s formidable father to his suit. While he rode across the moorlands, Sandor half considered the option of kidnapping Tonia, then afterward explaining himself.

Sandor followed the signs until the last bit of the gray daylight dissolved into dusk. He and Baxtalo spent the night on the side of the road, as they had done so often in the past. Though he had been in the saddle all day, Sandor could not sleep. He knew without the aid of map or guide that he was near Snape Castle. The emotional pull to Tonia had grown very strong over the last five miles.

As soon
as the predawn light streaked the eastern sky, Sandor saddled his faithful horse. The aroma of smoke from many cooking fires wafted on the morning’s fresh breeze. “’Tis Snape,” Sandor told Baxtalo. “I know it.”

A mile or two later, he saw the old castle crowning a low rise with a swath of forest on one side and a good-sized village nestled around the base. Tonia had told him that her home had originally been built as a fortress against the plunder-seeking Vikings, as well as the reivers from Scotland. Since Lord Cavendish had acquired the castle some twenty-five years earlier, he had made a number of modern improvements, including glass in all the windows of the domestic wings, chimneys constructed of fanciful brickwork and an improved drainage system.

Deciding that prudence and caution were the best courses of action, Sandor skirted around the village and entered the wood. He left Baxtalo cropping amid the underbrush while he reconnoitered the castle on foot. Though the hour was still very early, the entire place was alive with many flaming torches and a bustle of activity. Sandor crept nearer, though he dared not attempt to blend in with the castle’s population. His southern features, darker skin and gold earring would mark him instantly as a stranger.

Sandor climbed a stout oak tree at the near edge of the forest. Nearing the top, he found a thick branch from where he could see into the castle’s courtyard. Boxes and canvas bags were being loaded onto the rear of a closed carriage and into a baggage cart. From the look of the preparations, a lengthy journey was about to commence.

Just
as Sandor had deduced this fact, he saw several women come out of the castle’s front doors. Attended by two very tall men, they descended the stairs and walked toward the carriage. Even though the distance was too great to discern facial features, Sandor’s heart leaped for joy. The second woman, dressed as a maid, moved with a most familiar manner. He knew beyond a shade of doubt that he looked upon his beloved wife. “Tonia!” he whispered under his breath. “I am here.”

As if she had heard his voice, the maid paused and looked around, almost as if she were searching for him. Even with her midnight tresses gathered primly under her servant’s cap, Tonia’s fine-chiseled beauty could not be hidden. Sandor’s excitement was so great that he nearly fell from his precarious perch. As soon as she had stepped inside the coach, Sandor scrambled down to the ground. A plan quickly formed in his mind. He would follow the travelers at a distance. He knew that, with ladies among the party, the progress would be slow, with a number of pauses along the way. He would attract Tonia’s attention at one of these rest stops. What happened after that would be in God’s hands.

The first pause in the journey came just after the carriage had passed through the village. With a flurry of skirts, Tonia alighted and stepped to the side of the road. At first, it appeared that she was ill. Sandor controlled his initial impulse to dash from his hiding place to comfort her. Then he grinned. The sly minx laid yet another
patrin
on the verge of the road while she shielded her actions with her body. As soon as she had completed the trail marker, she hurried back into the carriage. The two noblemen riding beside the vehicle, as well as the coterie of men-at-arms accompanying them, took no notice of Tonia’s actions. In fact, they all modestly looked away.

Sandor’s
attention fastened upon the large charcoal-gray stallion that the taller man rode. With a jolt, he remembered where he had seen that particular horse and its larger-than-life rider—back in April on the road toward Harewold. He scrutinized the second gentleman and his mount. Though the man had been swathed in a long cape and winter hood, Sandor felt sure that he had been the silent third gentleman of that party. His horse was the same.

“Jaj,”
he whispered to himself. “I am twice again the fool! These men are Tonia’s family and I sent them on a merry chase. Methinks they will not thank me for it.”

Now that Sandor had deduced the men’s identities, he observed Tonia’s father more closely before the travelers disappeared down the northern road. The nobleman sat astride his horse as if he had been born in the saddle. Without the muffling cape and low-slung hood, Sandor noted that Lord Cavendish was indeed a handsome man, just as Tonia had described him. In his youth, Sir Guy had been called angelic, she had told Sandor, but now that he was in his middle life, people said he was merely godly. No matter. Lord Cavendish was definitely a man to be respected.

As soon as the party had gone over the rise, Sandor mounted Baxtalo. As long as the road wound through the wood, he had no trouble keeping a parallel course with the carriage. Once out on the open moor, following them secretly would become trickier but not beyond Sandor’s skills. A couple of heavy carriages and a dozen horsemen were child’s play to track, especially on a little-traveled byway.

An hour
later, Sandor almost blundered onto the Cavendishes at the crossroads where once again, Tonia had stopped the coach. Pulling Baxtalo off to the side behind a large growth of brambles, he watched her lay yet another sign, pointing their direction. Once again she covered her actions with a counterfeit of nausea. As soon as Tonia had returned to the carriage, the travelers continued on their way.

Sandor waited until they were out of sight before he checked the
patrin.
“She is a true wife and my beloved!” he said to Baxtalo. The thought warmed his blood. He could not wait to hold her in his embrace. Examining the ground around the marker, Sandor noted with relief that there was no sign of true illness.

Once again, he followed them at a distance. The sun eventually burned through the gray cloak of clouds. By its height in the sky, Sandor concluded that it would soon be midday. He presumed that the Cavendishes would soon stop at some obvious spot ahead for their dinner. Instead of continuing to follow them and risking detection on this open ground, he decided to circle around the travelers and meet them from the front.

He turned Baxtalo off the road. They cantered a half mile out onto the wasteland before Sandor thought they were far enough away not to be seen from the road. Then he steered Baxtalo north again. Touching
his horse lightly on the flanks with his heels, Sandor raced ahead. He prayed to Black Sara to keep their path smooth and free from unseen rabbit holes or hidden bog patches.

When he calculated that he had covered several miles beyond the carriages, Sandor slowed Baxtalo and turned him again toward the road. Once back on the beaten track, Sandor alighted and checked the markings on the ground. The carriages had not yet come this far. After he remounted, he stood in his stirrups and scanned down the byway. A thin cloud of dust on the horizon pinpointed Tonia’s position. He watched their progress for a quarter of an hour until he perceived that they had stopped. He nodded to himself in satisfaction.

“’Tis dinner.” He patted Baxtalo’s neck. “Methinks now is the time to join the family—but softly, very softly.”

Once again, they left the track and retraced their steps until they drew closer to where Sandor estimated the carriages had halted. A roadside copse of trees offered shade and cool respite to the travelers. Sandor dropped Baxtalo’s reins to the ground. The well-trained horse knew he was to stay until summoned. Then Sandor crept closer until he could hear voices. He flattened himself behind a large growth of prickly thistles.

“Now that your stomach is full, you will feel better,” the older woman remarked.

Sandor tensed. The Cavendishes were much closer to him than he had suspected. He glanced in both directions to see if the men-at-arms kept a vigilant watch, but thankfully, they were not in sight.
They look for large bears and do not expect an adder among the thistles.

“Aye
, Mamma,” Tonia replied clearly. “I do hope so.”

The sound of her voice gave wings to Sandor’s spirits. He wanted to leap over the brambles and claim her as his own there and then. Instead, he held himself in check. He knew that if he suddenly stood up, he would be readily mistaken for a highwayman. Instead, he would wait until Tonia withdrew to take her ease. Then he could catch her alone. It would be best if Tonia was by his side when he introduced himself to her family.

He heard the two women move closer to his hiding place. Their voluminous skirts made a great deal of noise swishing through the underbrush.

“Watch out for the thistles, Tonia,” her mother warned. “
Ma foi!
They surround us. Pah! I dare not lift my skirts just yet.”

With a shock, Sandor realized that both women were searching for a place to relieve themselves. No wonder there weren’t any guards on this side of the trees! If he didn’t reveal himself quickly, he would meet his unsuspecting mother-in-law under very embarrassing circumstances.

Thinking on the fly, Sandor whistled for Baxtalo. He hoped that Tonia would recognize the horse and thereby know that Sandor was close at hand.

At the sound of his call, the ladies stopped. “What was that?” Lady Cavendish asked in a wary tone.

At the same time, Tonia shouted, “Sandor!” Then, “Oh, Mamma, look there. See the horse? ’Tis Baxtalo! Oh, Sandor! Where are you?”

Needing no further reassurance of his welcome, Sandor rose from behind the thistles. Tonia and her mother were less than six feet away from him. Her mother screamed in fright and stumbled backward. Holding her skirts above her ankles, Tonia half ran, half leapt through the thistle patch to his side.

“’Tis
Sandor!” she cried again. Then she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, my love, you came back!” she said through her tears that fell freely.

“Sukar luludi,”
he murmured. “How could I stay away? Forgive me for taking so long.” He hugged her to his chest, covering her cheek, ear and neck with his kisses.

Before Sandor had the time to explain the reason for his extended absence, Lady Cavendish’s cry alerted the rest of the party. Meanwhile Baxtalo thundered to a stop behind his master. He whinnied when he saw Tonia. Sir Guy, the other nobleman and the men-at-arms burst through the trees. The two gentlemen unsheathed their swords while several of the men-at-arms notched arrows in their bowstrings.

“Unhand my daughter, you varlet!” Sir Guy shouted, shielding his wide-eyed wife with his body.

Spinning around in Sandor’s arms, Tonia faced down her outraged family. “Nay, Pappa! You cannot harm him! ’Tis Sandor—the father of my babe!”

Her announcement brought the Cavendishes to a sudden halt amid the thistles. Sandor exhaled as if someone had gut-punched him. His pounding heart sent a sudden rush of blood to his head. Giddy joy welled up inside him. “You carry our child under your heart?” he asked her in wonder.

Tonia dimpled. “Aye, I hope you are pleased.” She laid her head on his chest. “Oh, Sandor, I am
so glad
you have come back. I have missed you terribly.”

He gathered
her closer to him with a protective gentleness. “And I have longed for you, best beloved. I vow I will never leave you again.”

Momentarily stunned by Tonia’s unexpected announcement, Guy finally found his voice. “What tale is this? Lies from beginning to end! Has your melancholy snapped your wits, Tonia? ’Tis a highwayman who holds you. Unhand her, I say!” He pricked Sandor’s bare forearm with the point of his blade. A small trickle of blood rolled down his flesh.

Sandor flinched but did not release Tonia. “You mistake me, my lord. I mean no harm to this sweet lady. How could I? She is my wife.”

“Mon Dieu!”
Celeste stared at the couple in open astonishment.

At the sight of Sandor’s blood, Tonia pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and bound up the wound. “Fie, Pappa! Put up your sword. You too, Francis! I will not have you skewer my husband and make our child an orphan even before he is born.”

Her words swelled Sandor’s pride. Fate had sent him a most magnificent woman. He silently thanked God for giving him the good sense to marry her. “My lord,” he began again. “I am no brigand, nor outlaw. I ask only for your ear, not your fortune. I pray that you give me your leave to relate our full story.”

Francis drew abreast of Sir Guy, his sword still pointed at Sandor. “I recognize this knave, Father, and his horse yonder. You are the rogue we met near Harewold, the one who sent us far out of our way.”

More anger darkened Lord Cavendish’s eyes. “You! Aye, now I remember! Did you lie to us to give yourself more time to ravish my daughter? Twice-double villain! A quick death is too kind for you.”

Tonia’s
body shook with her frustration. “Pappa! Unstop your ears and listen to me! If Sandor misguided you, ’twas for my safety.”