A Man Betrayed (53 page)

His pack was gone.
A sinking feeling overcame Nabber. Tawl had taken off. Whirling around, Nabber
took a more detailed scan of the room. Most of the knight's clothes still lay
in a heap by his pallet, and various pots and pans were strewn across the
floor. Even his bedroll had been hung above the fireplace so that the smoke
would ward off the moths. Nabber rejoiced to see it. Tawl might be gone, but he
was obviously planning on coming back.

"Wake up, my
dear. Wake up," came a voice, a little less distant than the last. Melli
even thought she recognized it. Not a great friend, or a family member, but
someone who cared nonetheless.

A part of her
wanted to wake up, but it was such an effort. Her eyelids were as heavy as lead
and she knew that the niggly, uncomfortable feeling in her side would show its
teeth and turn to pain if she came around. At the moment she could experience
the sensation without being aware of the hurt. It was better this way. If only
the voice would leave her alone. But it kept on and on, by turns encouraging
and cajoling, worried and then, if she moved a little, ecstatic. There was
touching, too. Her hands were patted, her forehead was rubbed, her mouth was
opened like a trap. Truth be known, she didn't move to give them encouragement,
but to pull away from their prodding, prying hands. She wanted to be left
alone.

It wasn't to be,
though. The next assault was cool water;

Melli felt it trickle
along her hairline and then down her neck to her chest.

"Wake up, me
dear. Everything's all right now."

This really was
becoming too much. What would they do next? Hot oil? Magic potions? One thing
was certain: they weren't going to give up. There was only one thing to do.

With a great
effort Melli rallied the muscles about her eyes. Funny, she'd never even known
they existed before. She supposed her eyes just flapped open and shut of their
own accord. The muscles now seemed to be making up for nineteen years of
anonymity. They were doing a good job of it, too. A delicate, needle-pulling
pain accompanied the opening of her eyes.

"She's awake!
She's awake!"

A blurry form
slowly focused and a name, like a gift, came to match the likeness.
"Bailor."

"She's lucid.
She recognizes me."

The figure seemed
rather excited about something. Other people crowded around, and Melli would
not have been at all surprised if they'd burst out in applause. Her reflexes
were tested, her pupils were stared into, fingers were held out for the count.
Melli dutifully said, "two" or "three," but already she was
getting a little bored. Life had been simpler when she was asleep. The final
insult was when they began to force some foul-tasting liquid down her throat.
She raised her arms in the air, slapping wildly, and shouted,
"Leave me
alone!"

That certainly
seemed to have the desired effect. They all backed away, nodding and tutting
and clucking like hens. Bailor ushered them out of the room and came to stand
by her bedside. He squeezed her hand and said, "You are a very lucky lady,
my dear. You nearly died the other day."

Melli decided
Bailor could stay; his voice was kind and he wasn't looking at her as if she
were a newly dissected specimen. Besides, if she was lucky she wanted to know
about it. "What do you mean?"

"My dear, you
fell off your horse. Don't you remember?"

It all came back
to her: the horse, the mountains, the jump. She shuddered at the memory. How
could she have been so stupid? There was no excuse for reckless riding.
"What happened after I fell?"

"Well, that's
what I want to ask you about," said Bailor very softly, kneeling down by
her side. "You hit your head on a rock and knocked yourself clean out, but
that wasn't what caused the most damage." He paused a second and squeezed
her hand gently. "There was a knife inside your bodice and you fell right
onto it. It went straight through your side. You almost bled to death."

Melli couldn't
look into Bailor's eyes. The unspoken question-what was she doing with a concealed
weapon?- -lay heavily between them. It was ironic, really; for months she'd
carried that knife with the sole intent of defending herself with it, and now
it had nearly killed her. To make matters worse, Bailor and the duke probably
thought she was an assassin. The strange thing was that she wasn't being
treated like one. Surely it wasn't normal for a gaggle of physicians to tend to
an assassin in a bedchamber fit for a king? "Where is the duke?" she
asked.

"Alas, my
dear, His Grace had to leave early this moming. There are many things to see to
at the palace. He should be back before nightfall, though. Yesterday he got
here so late we didn't think he was coming at all." Bailor's face lit up
as he spoke. "He is going to a great deal of trouble for you, my dear.
Bringing physicians and medicines and maids. He insisted that I ride out here
immediately, and only last night he turned up with a bodyguard for you. His
Grace values you very highly, indeed."

"Why?"
None of this made any sense. What was she to the duke? A possession, nothing
more; a girl to dally with until he grew bored and moved on to the next. He
might be attracted to her, but that could hardly explain all the trouble he had
gone to.

Bailor stood up,
joints creaking, and found himself a chair to sit on. Settling himself down, he
turned his face away from the fire. His features were hidden in the shadow as
he replied: "Melli, my dear, I think he's in love."

"With
me?" This was preposterous, she hardly knew the man. Why, on the few
occasions they'd met she'd done nothing but insult him!

"Yes, you.
I've never seen His Grace so devoted to a woman. He's worn out a team of horses
riding back and forth. He's even given up his bedchamber for you to stay
in."

Bailor leaned
forward a little and his face caught the light. "Personally, my dear, I
don't think he's ever met a woman who treats him as badly as you do. I think it
sparked his interest. Most women just fall at his feet."

There was a small
part of Melli that was quite pleased at what Bailor said. She did think of
herself as less docile than most ladies of the court and it gratified her
vanity to think that the duke had noticed this. The fact that he obviously
appreciated a little backbone in a woman was further cause for pleasure. Melli
chided herself; the bump on her head had obviously made her quite silly. The
duke couldn't be interested in her, not a girl bought from a flesh-trader who
had said she was a bastard. No. There must be more to this.

A worrying thought
occurred to her. "Was I delirious at all?" Perhaps she had said
something that she couldn't remember, something that might have given away who
she was.

"No, my
dear," said Bailor, making himself busy in the corner of the room.
"This is the first time you've spoken in three days." He seemed uncomfortable
with the subject, for he changed it abruptly. "By all accounts, His Grace
was quite frantic. There was a moment on the first night when you'd lost so
much blood that everyone thought you were going to die. Apparently the duke
blasted the physicians, threatening to have them all killed if they didn't save
you. You're very lucky, indeed."

Melli tried to sit
up, but pain shot through her side.

"Easy, my
dear. You've been stitched, so you'll be tender for a few days."

Feeling suddenly
tired, Melli settled herself amongst the pillows. "So the duke will be
here tonight?" she asked, more concerned with falling asleep than getting
an answer.

"Most
probably. He'd be here now if there hadn't been a spot of trouble in the
west."

"Trouble?"

Bailor nodded.
"Kylock invaded Halcus about a week back now and apparently he's smashed
right through the border forces. The duke received a report today that said
Kylock's now heading for Helch, slaughtering women and children along the
way."

"I always
thought the forces of Halcus and the kingdoms were evenly matched." Melli
suddenly didn't feel sleepy anymore.

"Well, my
dear, from what I've heard Kylock has brought in bands of mercenaries. He sends
them ahead to torch villages and then moves his forces in to finish the job."

"Those are
dirty tactics," said Melli. "King Lesketh would never have done
anything like that."

Bailor smiled at
her as if she were a child. "King Lesketh never won any wars."

That seemed rather
a harsh statement coming from Bailor. Melli didn't believe it told the whole
truth. "Why is Kylock killing women and children?"

"It creates
terror. Word spreads that Kylock is ruthless and men become afraid for their
families, so they surrender." Bailor sighed heavily. "The fact is it
won't make any difference. Kylock will have them killed anyway."

"How can you
be so sure?" Even though she asked the question, Melli already believed
what Bailor said was true. "He did it three days ago in the village of
Shorthill, just east of the border. Two hundred women were given in payment to
the mercenaries. They raped and then murdered them. Afterward they rounded up
all the children in a enclosure and slaughtered them like cattle."

Melli felt a
single, shudder pass down her spine. For the first time she understood what she
had known all her life: Kylock was evil. In the past she had called him cruel,
brooding, and scornful, yet until now the full picture hadn't been clear. The
warning signs were there, though. That was why she ran away from Castle Harvell
in the first place; not because her father was making her do something against
her will, but because the idea of marrying Kylock was loathsome to her. She'd
had a lucky escape. Unlike the women and children of Shorthill.

Unwilling to think
about the subject any longer, Melli said the first thing that came into her
head. "What does the duke think of it all?"

Bailor brought his
chair close and spoke in a low voice. "Well, that's the strange thing. His
Grace looked very worried a few days ago; he wasn't at all happy about marrying
his daughter to a king who looks set to conquer Halcus, but now he seems to
have come to terms with it." Bailor shrugged, clearly puzzled. "When
I spoke with him this morning he was almost cheerful. He was even making
wedding plans."

"I don't
understand," said Melli. "If the marriage goes ahead, then surely
Kylock will end up ruling Bren when the duke dies."

"Well,
judging from when I last saw the duke, that's no longer a concern." Seeing
Melli yawn, Bailor stood. "Well, my dear, I must be on my way. You need to
get some rest. I'll look in on you later." He made his way to the door.
"If I send the physicians to examine you," he said, dark eyes
twinkling merrily, "will you promise not to slap them this time?"

Melli smiled.
"I promise."

"Master, the
Lady Catherine is here to see you."

Baralis
immediately stood up. He brushed down his robe and looked around his room.
Everything was acceptable. "Show her in, Crope."

Two flickers of a
candle later in walked Catherine of Bren. Baralis, who had long thought himself
immune to beauty, took a sharp intake of breath. She was ravishing; her golden
hair more glorious than any crown, her blue eyes more magnificent than any
jewel. If he wasn't mistaken, she had made a special effort to look her best;
the dress she wore was too fine by far for the light of day. Good. It was a
sign of supplication.

"Well met, my
lady," he said, bowing low. "May I offer you some refreshment? A
little wine, perhaps?"

Catherine raised a
beautifully arched eyebrow. "And will you be having one yourself, Lord
Baralis? Or perhaps you're like my father-you will take a glass but not a
drink."

Baralis inclined
his head slightly and then walked over to the chestnut cabinet. He poured two
cups of wine. Before offering the second cup to Catherine, he raised the first
to his lips and drained it dry. "I am not your father, my lady."

Catherine took the
second cup from him, her hand brushing against his wrist as she did so.
"No, I can see that." Baralis felt a little out of control.
Catherine's nearness, together with the thick and heady wine of Bren, combined
to make him a little lightheaded. He cautioned himself. Now was not the time to
make mistakes. He turned his back on her. "Tell me, my lady. How safe is
it to talk near walls?"

"You
disappoint me, Lord Baralis. You are more like my father than I thought, for
you match him in suspicion." She drew close to him again.

Her odor was
distracting. She smelled like a child. "And you never answered my
question," he said, refilling her cup. This time there was no mistaking
the delicate pressure upon his wrist.

"If you mean
secret passageways, Lord Baralis, then I'm aware of one or two."

Baralis concealed
his excitement. "I expected as much. Are there any particularly
interesting ones?"

"You mean is
there one leading to my father's chamber?"

He was caught off
guard by her frankness. Cursing the glass of wine that he had been forced to
drink, Baralis said, "Would you tell me if such a passage existed?"

"Yes."
Her blue eyes looked straight into his, and it was defiance that gave them
their luster.

He began to
realize that Catherine was dangerous. Her lover had been brutally murdered and
her father had exalted the man who had done it. Revenge was what she wanted. He
needed to know whether she sought it against her father or the knight. It was
best to leave the subject of the passageway behind-it existed, there was little
doubt about that, but now wasn't the time to press the matter. Better to let
her think he had different priorities.

"Did Blayze
know you could perform drawings?" Catherine flinched at the mention of her
lover. "Yes. But he won all his fights on his own. Never once did he ask
for my help."