Betrothed (17 page)

He
has so much to teach her. He would enjoy the teaching and die a happy man.

Donovan
had sent her back to her own room in the deepest hours of the night. She had
wanted to stay with him. Her bed felt cold adding to her restlessness. His
declaration kept tumbling in her mind. They would marry on the morrow.

Her
tossing and turning wrapped the bed coverings into a knot. In a fit of
frustration. She dragged off her nightdress and threw it over the foot of the
bed. When Caitlin entered her room the next morning, Isabeau completely ignored
the pointed looks from the girl as she retrieved the mistreated clothing.

Though
the idea of facing her betrothed after their night together burned her cheeks
with embarrassment, Isabeau was determined. He had to understand the wedding
bells would not ring until…

Suddenly
there were loud shouts and running in the halls. Isabeau turned towards the
door. “Caitlin, is there something amiss?”

“I
know not.”

“Quickly,
Caitlin, help me dress.” She needed to speak with Donovan. Please God, he had
not announced their wedding.

Tying
the last of the dress tapes, Isabeau rushed towards the great hall. Sounds were
getting louder. People milled about.

Dorcus,
loaded down with a mound of cloth, bustled passed.

“What
has happened, Dorcus? Are we under attack?”

 “The
earl is going ahuntin’.”

“Hunting?
Now?”

“Aye,
milady.” Dorcus nodded so vigorously. “Bandits have attacked one of the
farmsteads. My lord is going to hunt the rabid curs and put them down.”

Isabeau’s
sucked in her breath. Donovan was leaving?  Without saying good-bye? 
“Where is his lordship?”

“Outer
bailey, milady,” The maid answered excitedly. “Been organizing the men and
horses since he got word. ‘Spect he be ready to leave anytime.”

“Thank
you.” The words barely slipped from her lips before Isabeau was on her way.

Everyone
in the bailey moved. They ran from place to place, some empty-handed, others
weighted down with their burdens. Her gaze immediately fell on the one person
standing in place though he swung his arms as he pointed from one portion of
the castle to another.

Donovan
directed the activity with an assurance that calmed those around him, Isabeau
thought proudly. Chaos was not welcome in his domain.

Careful
to keep from under foot, she crossed the bailey to be at his side. She waited
until he paused between issuing instructions to one of his men before speaking.
 

“What
can I do?”

He
turned and she felt cocooned in his gaze while at the same time safe and
exposed. His blue gaze sparkled with the mischief she remembered in Christian’s
eyes. He reached out to touch her face then dropped his hand.

“Not
here. Not now,” he muttered.

“I
can help,” she asserted, though disappointed at his withdrawal of his caress.

“Keep
the women busy while we are gone. Especially Glenys. It was her grandson’s
cottage that burned.”

“Oh,
dear heavens. What of her grandson?”

“The
news was brought by the daughter of the neighboring farmer. He sent her out to
get help while he and his sons offered up their aid. I will know more when I
get there. I do not know how long I will be gone but I have not forgotten,” he
said in an undertone not meant for any one’s ears but hers.

“About
what?”

This
time when he reached out, he stroked her cheek with the back of his forefinger.
“We will wed upon my return.”

“You
will take care?” She ignored his comment though her cheeks burned. “You will
avoid taking another blade?”

“Aye,
I have reason enough to return to you, less any more holes.”

“Thank
you, Donovan. I had best see to Glenys.” She leaned in to give the part of his wrist
exposed from his sleeve a quick kiss. “And Donovan, we will wed when I carry
your babe here.”

She
touched her fingers to her belly before bouncing out of his reach and called
out as she ran to the kitchens. “All the more reason to deal swiftly with the
bandits and return home.”

Simon
stumbled from the cave to relieve himself in the bushes. The horses nickered a
welcome.

He
surveyed the clearing as his eyes adjusted to the change in light and shadows.
His lip curled in disgust. He kicked at a tuft of grass.
How he hated
being here. But his whole future depended on the coming days.

Adjusting
his braes after relieving himself, Simon circumvented the cold muddy fire pit;
fastidiously he avoided any muck or offal. He lifted his arm to sniff his
clothes. By the saints, he reeked of damp and mildew.

The
opening in the wooded hillside was wide enough for the shoulders of three men
and high enough so Simon did not have to stoop. The rock and green scrub
camouflaged the entrance. Unless he knew of its existence, a casual traveler on
the main path would not see nature’s shelter. Simon was not a casual traveler.
He moved carefully back into the cave where he and Arneau had spent the night.

Nothing
about the place had changed except for more mud at the entrance. This late in
the spring, it was dry inside, but decorated with probably the same dirt and
cobwebs as the last time he had been here. Against the back wall lay a bed of
pine braches covered with a Bennington fur throw.

As
a love nest the cave lacked certain amenities, but he had enjoyed bedding
Allyonshire’s countess in these filthy surroundings. Marta had shriveled, being
here during their trysts but that simply added to his enjoyment. It was just
like the slut to spoil his fun by dying.

Luck
had not been going his way lately. Everything had proceeded well until five
days ago and now he was saddled with Kirney’s threats. Damn, Izzy, and damn
Allyonshire to the fires of hell.

Somebody
was going to die and he would enjoy making it happen. This was his time, now.

Take
this cave Marta had led him to. He turned slowly in the dark, cramped hole. It
was near enough to Bennington that if the wind was right he could hear voices
and smell the castle fires. It was the most closely guarded of Bennington’s secrets,
but Marta had been quick to betray. He found a certain satisfaction as he
remembered Marta picking her way through the dark, spider-infested tunnel;
lifting her skirts from grasping tendrils of tree roots. But she came to his
arms because he could expose her worst fear.

Marta
had hated this hole even more than he -- though he supposed she had more
reason.

She
had detested their meetings but she dared not refuse any demand he made—no
matter how base, no matter how common. So much hovered in the balance, should
Simon decide to air the countess’s
proclivities.
Yet,
the greater threat seemed to be Simon’s ability to deprive her of
Syllba ‘s
companionship

He
missed his bed. He was not accustomed to sleeping on the ground. Even the inn
would have had a better mattress than the pallet. He would have spent the night
at the inn but after planting his little seed of destruction, he thought it too
dangerous to stay. He and Arneau had pushed on to the cave to await
developments.

Sounds
of activity from the castle were growing louder. He turned towards the
entrance.

His
big toe connected with a sharp rock. He cursed Donovan with every limping step
he took. Allyonshire would pay for Simon’s deprivations.

Growing
sunlight filtered in. It made a taper unnecessary to navigate the small room. A
snore and a snort broke the silence. Arneau had no problem sleeping on the
rough ground. Simon searched the bundles piled inside the cave. He pulled out a
skin of wine, then crossed to the curled servant. Arneau grunted when Simon
kicked him in the ribs.

“Get
up, varlet!” Simon kicked him again. “Something is happening.”

Arneau
rolled over and raised his head. He gave his lord an evil smile. Simon ignored
it. The man was only a servant and not of the brightest. Of course. He feared
his master. He did wonder why Syllba suggested Arneau for this undertaking, but
one cur was as good as another.

“Fool,
get up,” he said again. “They are stirring. Find out what is happening.”

Still
half asleep, Arneau staggered out of the cave.

While
his servant reconnoitered, Simon hunkered down and took a long swig of the
wine. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve as he swallowed. He devoured most of a
loaf of bread as he waited.

“My
lord!” Arneau gave a quick bow from the doorway. “They are gathering horses at
the castle. My guess is they are readying to ride out.”

“What?
Already?” When he and Arneau had recruited the three thieves at the inn he had
not expected results so quickly. The fools had believed his tale and acted on
it immediately. Gold was always the best spur to action. Simon understood
greed.

Taking
another pull on the wine bladder Simon nearly emptied it before rising to his
feet. “Get ready to ride out.” He felt for the knife at his belt. All those
hours of practice with Little Izzy could finally pay off. “Be sure to bring
your weapons.”

Arneau
eyed to remnants of Simon’s breakfast. The servant had not eaten but he
followed orders; leaving to saddle their horses.

If
all fell into place, this was Simon’s chance to dispose of the two large thorns
in his side.

He
wanted this business over. He needed to provide Kirney with his merchandise. If
– no, when -- he delivered, his reward would be very large. Beyond that, when
he brought about   d’Allyonshire’s demise, Simon had been promised
Bennington; a stronger, richer fortress than Olivet would ever be. Kirney stood
with the barons who secretly did not support the king. That made any friend of
the king Kirney’s enemy. D’Allyonshire was a staunch king’s man.

Hidden
in the tree line, Simon and Arneau watched the earl and his armed entourage
gallop out the gate. “Follow them. Do not allow yourself to be seen,” Simon
ordered, still watching the retreating riders. “Should the opportunity arise,
you are welcome to do away with the earl.”

He
turned to the servant beside him and spoke simply. “Anyone who brings down
d’Allyonshire will be well rewarded. Gold… Land...” Simon waved a hand as if he
had much to give. “Do you understand?”

“Aye,
my lord. I am simply to dispatch this great knight while he is surrounded by
his best fighting men?  If it is possible, of course,” Arneau added
quickly and gave Simon his subservient smile. “In any case I am to return to
the cave and report?”

Simon
stared at his man. Surely the fool was not being sarcastic? He would not dare!
“Get ye gone before you lose your quarry.”

Arneau
touched his forelock and went off.

Returning
to the cave, Simon finished the wine and moving farther from the entrance,
found the secret opening Marta had shown him. She had told him the tunnel
entered the castle via the wine cellar and also led to Donovan’s chamber.
If
luck were with him, he might find Little Izzy alone and kidnap her. That would
solve all his problems.

Even
now, he was amazed the secret passage into Bennington Castle remained undiscovered.
He stepped into the narrow opening. He had gone only a few steps into the
tunnel before he realized he had brought neither torch nor taper. Vacillating
only a moment about returning to the cave for light, he decided to venture
forward. The cowardly Marta had made the trip countless times with no mishaps.
What dangers could there be?  Besides, once in the castle, he would help
himself to tapers from the earl’s own supply.

His
progress was slow as he shuffled the dirty incline. He kept a hand to the wall
as he made his way into the bowels of the earth. When the path leveled, he
tried to visualize his position under the fortress.

Had
he breached the stone walls?  Was he, even now, within the bailey? 
Within the castle walls? 

How
much farther before he reached the stone stairs hidden inside the massive
castle? 

Minutes
later, he loosed a cascade of blasphemes as his foot collided with a stone
step. Recalling that he must be quiet, he sat on the steps as he assessed his
injuries and laid the blame squarely at Allyonshire’s door. He must have made
contact with the edge of every tread. Simon enjoyed dispensing pain but he
disliked enduring it.

Shaking
off the dirt and spider webs, he resumed his invasion of the castle, carefully
climbing through the midnight darkness. Every time he snagged his fingers on a
protruding stone he cursed Allyonshire; every time he stubbed his toe, he
silently heaped foul insults on Isabeau.

Vowing
again to secure a supply of tapers to secrete at the outer end of the passage,
his foot slipped on crumbling stone. Scurrying sounds echoed his curses and his
lips curled with disgust. Rats?

Stumbling
in the darkness, his reaching hand felt nothing. The wall ended. Finally, he
had reached the fork in the tunnel Marta had described. Simon continued in the
same direction he had been traveling.