Warrior's Moon A Love Story (30 page)

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and then finally, he said almost heatedly, “I’m never doing this agai
n, Chani.  Never!  I don’t care if Rosskeene is coming after the crown with gigantic flying ships and sea monsters.  This is the last time.  I’m going to go back to Valais and finish this whole mess, then come and get you once and for all.  And we’ll be married.  We’re not even going to say goodbye at the end of the day.  We’re going to say goodnight.  I can’t leave you here like this.  It makes me feel less than a man.  I feel I’ve failed you every single time even though you’ve helped the king.”

Stepping back, she looked into his eyes for a long moment, wondering what to say and finally said simply, “As
you wish, Sir Peyton.”  She reached inside her borrowed boy’s shirt and fingered the medallion he’d given her and searched his eyes, seeing forever there.  Once more, she whispered, “As you wish.”  She stood on her toes to kiss him and he pulled her to him almost roughly, whispering her name as he kissed her back hungrily. 

Finally, he let go and gently helped her back aboard her horse, then stood beside her, his big hand upon her knee and still holding her captive with his liquid brown eyes.  Knowing she was going to cry if she didn’t leave, she leaned down and quickly kissed him, smiled and said, “I love you, Sir Peyton.  God bless.”  Then she
spurred her horse away so he wouldn’t see her tears as she whispered the same words all the way back into the stable.

Chapter
19

  After the ball, more rainy weather brought the first colored leaves of fall to Rosskeene Manor.  With them came the heightened urgency to finish preparations for the coming winter, including the cutting of the huge stacks o
f firewood and peat bricks the manor would require.  This was a gargantuan task for the men and it had Conrad, as well as the other young grooms out assisting, as they cut and hauled peat and whole trees into the yards to split and stack against the winter’s cold.

At the same time, Chantaya and Isabella were also working near round the clock to gather in the herbs and mushrooms the manor would need when the snow was too deep to find them in the coming months. 

For the first time since their arrival, the Kincraigs were left relatively unguarded by the servants.  This brought a horrible feeling of vulnerability that was only slightly lessened by the marked focus Lord Rosskeene gave to the unsavory visitors to his study who Chantaya listened in to as she worked to keep the silver sparkling.  There was something terribly important to Lord Rosskeene in the wind.  She knew this was the biggest thing that had been planned thus far, but Chantaya hadn’t as yet been able to pin down what it was that was so vital to him and his unsavory henchmen.  

Even the visitors themselves made the women feel unsafe as the Kincraigs worked in and around the manor while the male servants were gone.  Chantaya
took to keeping the dagger Mordecai had given her in her boot all of the time. 

All of it made that time in the evening when the day’s work was done and Chantaya and Isabella could return to the safety of the stable and the reassurance of Conrad’s presence that much more precious.  Still, there was no word from the magistrate.

Conrad had become a surprisingly good reader in the weeks Isabella had been teaching him and it brought a sweet emotion when Chantaya saw the two of them with their heads together over one of Isabella’s carefully hoarded books of an evening.  That their friendship was deepening was clearly apparent and it brought a measure of peace to Chantaya that was almost puzzling.  It lessened a sense of worry for her mother that, until now, she hadn’t even realized she was feeling.  ‘Twould indeed be a wonderful thing if Isabella and Conrad could ease each other’s loneliness in the old age that would come to them.  Conrad had been a true and wonderful guardian to them these weeks they’d been here.

The extra time foraging had been an undue physical strain on Isabella and it was near every afternoon that Chantaya bade her lie down to rest as Chantaya went in to help Cook with making the manor’s supper.  On these days, without Conrad’s care, Chantaya fairly ran between the stable and kitch
en, and tried to make sure Cook was already in the kitchen when Chantaya arrived there.  But it didn’t always work out that way as they all had extra duties what with trying to store the fall’s harvest as well. 

One afternoon, when the low gray clouds threatened to bring more cold rain, Chantaya arrived at the kitchen door in a veritable burst of leaf laden wind to commence with the household’s evening meal.  She came in the door and then had to literally lean against it to get it to close against the buffeting gusts.  Breathing a sigh of relief, she leaned against the door for a moment, enjoying the relative coziness of the kitchen before going to take her cloak off, but then looked up to see Damian standing in the doorway to the manor house with his disgusting meat-eating gaze.

Chantaya glanced around the kitchen in a moment of panic, hoping desperately that Cook or Conrad or even a housemaid would miraculously appear, but there was no one and nothing except Damian’s wolfish smile as he almost lazily began to walk across the kitchen.

Strangely, he didn’t say anything as he moved toward her, but even the near silence was incredibly frightening as he came closer.  Without even realizing it, Chantaya backed up until she was halted by a set of shelves that held dishes and food stuffs against the wall.  Still, Damian came on, raking his eyes over her in a manner that brought back
the fear that had nearly choked her the very first day he had ever seen her.  Without even thinking about it, she began to pray, and then glanced around almost feverishly for something she could defend herself with.

She could almost hear Mordecai speaking of anything being a weapon and then Peyton’s voice seemed to come to her to use her head and think.  She thought of the dagger in her boot and then discarded the idea the moment it came to her.  Damian would just overpower her and use it on her.  She
grasped for anything on the shelves behind her and found nothing she could conceive of using to stop him. 

Just as he reached for her, she tried to dart sideways away from him, but he only thrust out a hand and caught her by the sleeve to pull on it viciously.  It tore away from the body of her dress, taking a portion of the collar and bodice and the last of the scab from the sword fight injury on her shoulder with it. 

She almost lost her footing with the force of the jerk and she fell against him as he took in the bareness of her shoulder and chest, and the blood that began to drip from the scab.  The look in his eyes brought terror as he seemed to catch his breath and become near entranced.

Reaching up, he pulled a pin from her hair, and then another as she watched him.  She fought the panic that welled inside her and tried to listen for Peyton and Mordecai’s voices as she looked around again for something to fight him with.  Damian pulled yet another pin and her hair cascaded down from the twist it had been held in.  His chest began to rise and fall in a rhythm that mimicked her own racing breath.  Reaching again, he grasped the loose mass of dark curls that fell down her back and pulled her against him as she finally screamed for all she was worth. 

Instinctively, she raised a knee, but he simply sidestepped it.  She stomped down on his foot with her boot heel and heard him groan as he hauled brutally on her hair and brought her face to his, swearing against her mouth as he roughly went to kiss her.

Fighting him with one arm and still trying to scream, Chantaya reached behind her for anything to hit him with.  All she succeeded in doing was knocking a crock of dried beans to the stone floor.  It shattered on impact and beans
flew in every direction, but it didn’t cause Damian to stop his brutal attack on her mouth.  In desperation, she bit him. 

Raising his head, he snarled as he put a hand to his mouth where she’d drawn blood.  Upon seeing it on his fingers, he backhanded her across the mouth viciously, the fury in his face, terrifying. 

Suddenly, there was a scream, and then, almost simultaneously, the sound of metal clanging.  Damian loosened his grip and took a step back, still snarling and Chantaya realized her mother was standing next to them with an iron skillet in her hand.  The fury in Damian’s face seemed to compound and he pulled even harder on Chantaya’s hair.  He raised a hand to hit her mother as well, but Chantaya caught at his arm in time to stop him just as her mother took another swing with the pan.  The clang sounded again.  This time, Damian went down in a heap into the glass and beans from the shattered crock, nearly taking Chantaya with him.

Chantaya caught herself and disentangled Damian’s hand from her hair, then turned to her mother who was sobbing and hitting Damian over and over with the heavy pan.  Chantaya reached to stop her, but she had to nearly tackle her mother with both arms to control her. 

Just then the kitchen door flew open and Cook came in, followed by two of the housemaids.  The three of them stood there staring and finally, Cook whispered, “Lord help us.”  She came inside, stepping gingerly over the spilled beans, glass and blood from a cut on Damian’s head and came to Chantaya.  She ineffectively pulled the remnants of the bodice of Chantaya’s dress back up to try to cover her shoulder and bosom.  Then wrapped an arm around Isabella, who was still fighting Chantaya and continuing to cry from fury and heart break with Chantaya fighting tears right along with her.  Cook patted Isabella’s back and said resolutely, “I don’t blame you, sweet Isabella, but 'tisn’t you to want to maim.  Calm yourself now.  Calm.  Calm yourself.”

Over Isabella’s shoulder, Cook said to one of the maids, “Go quickly to the men and fetch Conrad!  Quickly!  'Twill be that we’ll need his savin’ strength for Isabella, and from the master, I expect.  Run now!  All the way!”

The maid scurried out and Cook asked the other one, “Is the young master still breathing then?  Can you tell?”  She continued to pat Isabella for a moment, and then turned and leaned herself next to the maid to feel for a heartbeat and breathing from the young lord.  She gave a sigh that seemed an affirmative and then stood again just as the door opened and Lady Rosskeene stepped inside. 

She gasped as she took in the situation and then began to scream even louder than Chantaya had screamed when she saw Damian lying there amidst the crockery shards and beans and blood with Isabella still wielding the pan. 

Cook’s eyes met Chantaya’s for one exasperated second before she left Isabella and turned to Lady Rosskeene and began to reassure her that Damian would be fine and to calm herself, much as she had spoken to Isabella.  Lady Rosskeene got only more shrill if anything, and it wasn’t but a minute before the kitchen door came open again and Lord Rosskeene himself stepped in.  His eyes widened as he took in the scene and then the door from the garden opened.  Conrad and three of the men came inside the now crowded kitchen as well.

Upon seeing the men, Chantaya attempted again to pull her dress back together as Lord Rosskeene began to glower and then Lady Rosskeene, still screaming like the banshees were after her, threw herself against Lord Rosskeene.  He rolled his eyes and shook his head behind her as the glower
deepened.  When yet another maid entered, Lord Rosskeene pushed his wife toward her and said, “Take her ladyship upstairs and bring her some tea.  No, make it brandy.  A good shot of it and then stay there with her.  Go.”

The two women went out the door and the resulting drop in nerve grating sound was a small relief until Lord Rosskeene looked around, taking in the mess, Chantaya’s disheveled hair, swelling face and blackening eye, torn dress and blood, and that on Damian and the floor.  Angrily, he demanded, “What on this earth goes on here?  What has happened to Damian?  Who has harmed him?”  For a moment, the others didn’t answer and he shouted more loudly, “Who did this?  Is he dead?  Who did this?”

Cook shook her head.  “He’s not dead, m’lord.  Simply out cold, he is.”

Isabella stepped forward, still clutching her iron pan and the heartbreak in her face eased as the fury there made her almost regal.  “I did it!  And if he’s not dead yet, I’ll do it again!  And then I’ll come after you, you dastardly beast!  I may have had to take your abuse in a much younger, much more naïve time, but I’ll die before I stand by and watch the spawn of a monster like you abuse my daughter!” 

She raised the pan toward him and he actually took a step back from her before the anger rose in him to match hers.  Chantaya could see the furious clash coming and she stepped out between them just as Conrad made the same move from near the outside door.

Lord Rosskeene raised his hand to strike Isabella but then there was a sound from Damian at their feet.  As one, they all looked down and Lord Rosskeene bent to him.  As Damian groaned and turned his head slightly, Cook leaned to move the broken crockery nearest him as Conrad whispered
something to Isabella.  He tried to ease the pan from her grip, but she refused to let him and instead, turned to Lord Rosskeene and spat, “Cook your own food and be damned,
Lord
Rosskeene!  My daughter and I will go to prison and gladly, before being treated as she was treated here this even!”

Isabella cast him one last shriveling glance and then wrapped an arm
round Chantaya’s shoulders and pushed her toward the door.  Chantaya, still unable to control her tears, was grateful not only to get away to where she could change out of the ruined dress, but also to where she could try to speak to her mother.  Damian’s behavior tonight had indeed been heinous and she had begun to shake as reaction set in, but she couldn’t let this make her cave now.  Too much was at stake.  She knew it instinctively. 

‘Twas
critical that she find out what Lord Rosskeene was planning.  Time after time lately, as she listened, he had spoken of when he held the crown.  Whatever it was, he truly believed it would be the end of King Dougal’s reign and she couldn’t leave today.  Not until she understood what he intended.  She couldn’t!  Not even at the risk of her very person.  ‘Twas too important to the kingdom and everyone in it!  But how to explain that to her mother?

When they reached their little room in the stables as Isabella barred the small door, she broke down into tears again.  The two of them hugged each other and cried and clung together.  At length, Isabella whispered, “Oh, Chantaya, I’m so sorry.  So sorry to have brought you into all of this.”

Chantaya shook her head and said through her own tears, “Mother, you are not the one responsible for any of Lord Rosskeene’s behavior.  Nor that of his son.  Don’t apologize, Mum.  This is none of it your fault.  None.”

Still sobbing, Isabella said, “But I shouldn’t have brought you here.  I shouldn’t have let you come.  I should have left you with Rose and Willem.”