Dragon Tree (35 page)

"Richard had,
indeed, come to Father. He appealed for help and against his better
judgement, Father sent him to Hawk's Nest Castle, a small holding
that overlooks the sea. That particular lover fell out of Richard’s
favor in due time, but there were others, and once the Lionheart
became king, it became even more important for him to have a
private place to arrange his trysts."

“Do others
know of this castle?”

Amie shook her
head. "That, I do not know. I expect Prince John would have made it
his business to know all of his brother’s habits—especially those
habits that might be used against him at some future date. If so,
it would be reasonable for him to assume now that Richard might
land in Sandwich, a place where he has felt safe in the past."

She paused to
moisten her lips and Tamberlane’s gaze remained steadfastly locked
to hers. He knew, where the others might not, of the king’s
penchant for taking lovers that were most definitely unsuited for a
prince, a king... even a man. Despite many rumors and much
speculation, there were few who were ready to believe their golden
lionheart had dissolute tastes and Ciaran wondered if Amie knew it
to be the reason for old King Henry's killing rage.

He suspected,
by the color of her blush, that she knew more than what she was
willing to discuss over an open fire.

“Come,” he
said. “Walk with me a moment.”

Amie rose and
unabashedly took the hand he extended toward her, slipping her cool
fingers into his.

They moved
away from the glowing ring of firelight, his long legs scything
through the deergrass. He led her to the far side of the glade
where their voices would not carry back to the tiny camp.

“Now then,” he
said, turning. “My lady of many secrets... what it is that is stuck
in your throat and you have not yet been able to spit out?"

She drew a
breath to steady herself before she spoke. “I told you that Odo de
Langois had not petitioned Prince John for my hand out of any whim
or lovelust. What I did not tell you was that the first time he saw
me, he had been on his way to Sandwich to look for his
brother."

It took
several slow seconds for Ciaran to realize what she was saying.

“Rolf de
Langois?” He thought back to the ruggedly dark, saturnine features,
the sensuality of the long lashed, pale blue eyes. “He was
Richard's lover?”

“Since he was
a teen. There were few who knew, and fewer still who Odo would want
to have such knowledge.”

“So he married
you to keep you close and your uncle quiet?”

"I have no
doubt that played just as large a part in his choice of brides as
did my bloodlines." Her smile was bitter. “I am also convinced that
he encouraged, nay, even arranged for Rolf to 'be caught' in the
act of trying to rape me in order to offer proof in front of his
men that his brother was a man with a man’s lusts and that any
accusations I might make to the contrary would be taken as a
woman's petty revenge.”

“A tangled
web,” Tamberlane mused.

“Shall I add
another knot, sirrah?”

“There are
more?”

“Only one. If
you are going to make an attempt to avert an ambush at Hawk's Nest
Castle, you must take me with you.”

“The thought,
addled as it is, would not tarry a moment in my mind.”

“I know the
castle, I know the grounds, I know the coastal waters, I know the
inlet where a boat from France might put down if its occupant
wanted to slip ashore unnoticed. Rolf de Langois will know this
too, of course, and that is likely where he will be to greet his
lover with rose petals and arrow shafts. After two years of
imprisonment, Richard might not be willing to believe his lover
could be capable of such infamy. He would believe me, however. He
would look into my eyes and see the truth there. Just as you should
be able to look and see it as well. You need me, my lord. I can be
of use, and if we could find a spare bow, I can help in more ways
than the one."

Ciaran
resisted the urge to smile. Standing there with the watery daylight
painting her hair, she had the pluck to place her hands on her
waist and brace her legs wide apart in a stance that challenged as
much as it defied.

He crossed his
arms over his chest and glared down at her. “You expect me to
believe you can pull a bowstring with a barely healed wing?"

She stood
motionless for a moment, then in a move quicker than his eye could
follow, she reached down, snatched the dagger from her belt,
flipped it so that she held the blade between thumb and forefinger,
and with a quick, lethal snap of her wrist, sent it zinging into
the tree trunk behind him, missing his cheek by such a small margin
that he felt the lick of air as it passed.

"Perhaps not a
bowstring," she admitted. "But even one good wing is better than
none."

“Admirable,”
he remarked after glancing over his shoulder. “But not of much use
in combat against armored knights.”

She was not
run out of arguments. "Were you planning, then, to send me on to
Exeter alone?"

His eyes
narrowed.

“Which of the
foresters will you trust to escort me the rest of the way? And
which one would last out the first hour before I was able to
convince him to turn around and aid you in your valiant quest—a
quest which would surely succeed if you had but one more archer to
guard your back?"

“I will send
you with Roland. He would not succumb to your wiles.”

Amie's eyebrow
lifted delicately, which sent Tamberlane's gaze over to the firepit
where the handsome young squire was pretending to listen to the
discussion between the knights but kept glancing in Amaranth's
direction.

“Nor can you
spare one of the knights—lest those be the next words off your
lips—for you will need the only two you have.”

“You have
found your tongue today,” he said, frowning, “and it is sharp.”

“I owe you my
life, my lord. I do not—nor should you—place a higher value on it
than the life of my cousin, the king."

For a moment
he stared off at some distant swaying in the treetops and Amaranth
held her breath. Of all the new emotions and feelings she had
discovered these past few days, the realization that she could love
and be loved was the strongest. A week, a day, an hour... her love
for this man, this enigma, this knight and monk and slayer of
dragons was as real and true as if they had known each other all
their lives.

“Please
Ciaran, I beg you: Do not leave me behind. Let me come with you,
let me help you, let me help the man who is not only my king but my
kinsman too. Give me this one last chance to salvage my own honor
that I might look back one day and say, ‘yes, I did that and it
served a purpose’.”

Ciaran lifted
a hand to stroke her hair. He drew her forward and buried his lips
in the soft curls.

"My father
disowned me after the shame I brought upon the family," he said
quietly. "He would not even see me when I returned to England, nor
will he allow my name to be spoken in his presence. My mother
turned her back and walked away when I attempted to see her but not
before she spat on the ground and branded me a coward.

"I would give
everything I have, everything I am, everything I will be for them
to look upon me with a smile again.”

Amie let all
other thoughts flee her mind as she tipped her face up to his. “You
have made
me
smile again, my lord, and that was no small
feat. The others will smile upon you too, in time, for you are the
least cowardly man I know."

His smile was
fleeting. "You must not know many people."

"As long as I
can say that I know you, I am content."

He studied her
a moment through fresh eyes, seeing the stubborn tilt of her chin,
the faint hints of Plantagenet bloodlines that shaped her face. He
did not want to take her to Hawk's Nest, he did not want to put her
in harms way, yet there were few convincing arguments against it.
The practical side of him had to admit that her knowledge of the
coast would be an invaluable advantage, and while he could
undoubtedly worm the information out of her, it would cost precious
time that could be better spent making haste to the coast.

His gaze
scanned the horizon and flicked up to study the clouds as if he was
contemplating the weather. “In truth, I think you would not have
been very happy at the convent in Exeter. I have been there. ‘Tis a
very old nunnery and the walls reek of dampness. This mother abbess
you spoke of—I know her as well. A face like a piece of bark, the
breath of a dragon, the manners of a fishmonger.”

As he spoke,
his fingers twined themselves around the tousled curls of her
hair.

“I doubt not
that she would turn the king himself away from the doors in order
to protect that which falls under her dominion. By the same token,
I doubt she would take kindly to an excommunicated warrior monk
scaling the walls each night to seek out one of her flock.”

Amaranth
slowly lifted her head off his shoulder.

“Nay—I would
not do anything untoward or seek to desecrate the holy grounds of
the convent,” he continued. “Certes, God has showed infinite
kindness by overlooking our indiscretion at the abbey. But two,
three, ten, a thousand such indiscretions... I doubt even He would
have the tolerance.”

He could feel
her heart beating like a wild thing against his chest and he looked
down. “I have nothing to offer you. The linens that grace the
boards at Taniere are not even mine. I am but a poor man, a lost
man who needs finding, but I vow there would be no whips and
nothing to fear. I would expect nothing from you that you were not
willing to give, yet for the grace of your presence by my side, I
would protect you with my life and emerge a far richer man for the
chance to do so.”

When she made
no sound, no move to respond, he brushed a thumb lightly over her
cheek to gather up the tear that had slipped over her lashes.

“Naturally, if
I have presumed too much—?”

"Yes," she
gasped. "I mean no, you have not presumed too much! I would stay by
your side, my lord, until I draw my last breath, please God let it
be years and years and years from now."

He gathered
her close, crushing her into his embrace, and Amie kissed him with
her whole heart and soul, with the passion of lost youth and lost
years, the lust of newfound desire and pleasure.

When he eased
enough to allow it, she half-laughed, half-wept, her brow bent
against his lips.

“I will come
back to Taniere with you in whatever capacity you will allow, as
mistress, maid, laundress, cook... Your table is appalling, sir. Do
you know the cooks cheat you by sending the plumpest fowl behind
the screen? The ale is watered, and I vow the rushes have not been
swept from the hall since it was built.”

He chuckled
softly. “Marak makes for a poor chatelaine. It will be my
pleasure—and his, no doubt—to sit back and let you whitewash the
entire castle if that is your desire, if it will make you happy, if
it will keep you by my side a day longer.”

"Does that
mean you will take me with you to Hawk's Nest Castle?"

He growled
deep in his throat. “Will you do exactly, precisely as I command?
If I put you in the forest and tell you to stay hidden, will you
stay hidden?"

She tightened
her arms around him and nodded. “I will hide so well the faeries
will weep in their efforts to find me."

He bent his
lips to hers again, sealing their pact. She could feel his desire
hard and urgent against her and she could feel her own stirring
with a sharp, needful ache.

"Would that
the grass were deeper and the sky darker," she murmured, her cheeks
blushing scarlet at her own boldness.

He groaned,
and with a reluctant sigh, released her from the comfort of his
arms. When he could safely walk without a tent in his tunic, they
returned to the fire to rejoin the others.

Within the
hour they were back on the road, and when it came to a junction
where one fork turned east and the other west, they all turned in
silent unison toward the easterly horizon.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

Hawk's Nest
Castle took its only glory from its name. More of a manor house
than a castle proper, it sat on a narrow finger of rocky land that
ended abruptly at the sea. There were cliffs on three sides which
provided natural defenses and isolated it from the rest of the
forested countryside. The spindle of land was too narrow to raise
battlements or towering stone walls; the seas that crashed against
the rocks at the base of the cliffs offered no hospitable anchorage
to a passing ship. If a canny eye knew where to look, however,
there was a cove tucked into a cleft between the rocks where the
water was calm enough for a small vessel to land safely.

From above,
the descent to the sea looked no less harrowing than the cliffs
themselves. Odo de Langois ventured as close to the lip as he dared
and peered straight down into the calm, sparkling waters of the
sheltered cove below. His expression, when he looked at his brother
Rolf, was openly sceptical.

“Do you expect
us to lower ourselves by way of ropes and ladders?”

Rolf smiled
lazily. “As tempting as the image might be, no. There is a path.
Steep and not for the faint of heart, to be sure, but smugglers and
rogues have used it for scores of years. The horses, unfortunately
will not suffer the travail well. It would be best to leave them
here.”

Odo was not
happy to hear this. Most knights carried between fifty and
seventy-five pounds of armor which made moving with any haste or
stealth near impossible. With a destrier beneath him, a knight was
nearly invincible, his power supreme. On foot, he was a clumsy,
clanking oaf.