Martyr's Fire (15 page)

“Before that,” Hawkwood said with a trace of impatience.

“A boy watched his horse at the side of the courtyard.”

“Katherine …” Now his voice held ominous warning.

Suddenly she understood. And understanding brought a pain, as if her heart had twisted in her chest.

“On his arrival,” Katherine said slowly, “he met with the Earl of York. A spy in the neighboring cell overheard their entire conversation. That spy then hurried away as I entered the prison.”

“Continue,” Hawkwood said. Satisfaction in her perception had replaced his rumblings of vexation.

“Much time passed as the Earl of York told me what Thomas intended,” Katherine said. “Enough time for the spy Waleran to reach the castle and provide warning.”

Katherine’s heart twisted more at the implication.

With that much warning, how had Thomas succeeded? Unless those at the castle had not feared his actions. Unless he were one of them.

Another memory flashed. Of a knight blocking escape, with his huge broadsword raised high to cleave Thomas dead as the horse and its two riders galloped toward him. Until a stray arrow slammed through the knight’s shoulder.

“It was no accident, then,” she said slowly, “that those arrows missed Thomas and instead struck the one knight able to stop him.”

“Or,” Hawkwood added, “that the drawbridge was not raised enough to hold him inside the town. Then raised high enough to keep the knights from immediate pursuit.”

“Yet why?” Katherine moaned. Her words, however, were only meant as release for the sorrow that gripped her. She already knew the answer.

“Our much-used argument,” Hawkwood said. “The unseen Druid masters play a terrible and mysterious game of chess. Would they not prepare for any of us who had followed Thomas? The only thing they could not know is that you would recognize Waleran. And neither, of course, could he know you, for bandages no longer cover your face. And had you not seen Waleran and known they had been warned, this escape would not have been suspicious.”

“I’ve always said it could not be,” Katherine murmured. “I could not argue with my heart. But a contrived escape can only prove he is one of them …”

Hawkwood stopped and touched her arm in sympathy. It was a touch as light as the breeze that followed them down the road.

“Against the Druids, nothing is what it appears to be,” Hawkwood said. “They know we watch, even if they know not who we are. The more it would seem Thomas is not one of them, the more likely we might finally tell him the truth.”

They walked farther in silence.

“What shall we do?” Katherine despaired.

“We shall play this mysterious chess game to the end,” Hawkwood said grimly. “We shall tell Thomas enough for him to believe we have been deceived. And arrange a surprise of our own. He shall soon be a pawn that belongs to us.”

That night, Katherine paused in the edge of darkness just outside the glow of light given by the flickers of a small fire in front of Thomas and his captive.

Thomas had chosen his camp wisely. He was flanked on two sides by walls of jagged rock that afforded protection yet did not trap him. The light of his fire was low enough that intruders passing even within twenty yards would not notice, and his horse, tethered to a nearby tree, had been muzzled so it could not betray them with noise.

Katherine had prepared herself to remain cold of heart for this moment. She had told herself again and again since leaving York that she would not care how Thomas had chosen to react to his hostage. What would it matter if she would step into the firelight and find the two gathered together side by side to seek warmth against the night chill, Isabelle’s long hair soft against Thomas’s face as she leaned on his shoulder?

It would matter, Katherine discovered as her heart seemed to soar upward while she surveyed their makeshift camp. For they were not together, and much as she was forced to suspect Thomas was one of the false sorcerer Druids, it filled her with relief to discover them far apart.

Thomas was seated on a log, leaning with two hands on the hilt of a sword propped point-first into the ground, and staring into the flames. He seemed oblivious to Isabelle on her blanket at the side of the fire. Isabelle’s hands were tied together and her feet hobbled no differently than it might have been done to a common donkey.

Hardly the signs of romance!

Katherine smiled, then felt immediately guilty for rejoicing in someone else’s misfortune.
Besides
, she reminded herself severely,
we are forced to believe Thomas is one of them
. Another thought stabbed her.
Even if he were one of us, is there surety his heart belongs to me as mine already does to him? Did he not once banish me from Magnus?

So she set her face into expressionless stone and stepped forward. He would not get the satisfaction of seeing any delight in her manner.

At her movement into the light, Isabelle shouted at Katherine. “Flee! He has set a trap!”

In the same moment, Thomas stood abruptly and slashed sideways with his sword.

Both actions froze Katherine, and a thought flashed through her mind. A warning from Isabelle. They had expected an intruder!

Katherine was given no opportunity to ponder. A slap of sound exploded in her ears, and a giant hand plucked her skirt at her ankles and yanked her upward. Within a heartbeat, Katherine was helpless, upside down and flailing her hands at air, skirt and ankles bound so tightly that she couldn’t move her legs.

She bobbed once, then twice, then came to a rest, her head at least five feet from the ground.

She swung upside down gently, and Thomas came forward to examine her.

Wonder and shock crossed his face.

“You!” he said.

“This intruder is an acquaintance?” Isabelle asked, her voice laced with scorn.

Thomas turned and replied patiently, as if instructing a small child. “Your voice is like a screeching of saw blades. Please grace me with silence, unless you choose to answer my questions.”

He turned back to Katherine. His face now showed composure.

“Greetings, m’lady.” He bowed once, then gestured above her. “As you can plainly see, an arrival was not entirely unexpected. My traitorous captive, however, hoped to give you warning.”

Katherine crossed her arms to retain her dignity. It was not a simple task, given the awkwardness of holding a conversation while blood drained to fill her head. “You may release me,” she said. “I have no harmful intentions.”

“Ho, ho,” Thomas said. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You just happened by? It was mere coincidence that my saddlebag contains a nearly empty bag of flour?”

Thomas tapped his chin in mock thought. “Of course. You found a trail of flour and hoped to gather enough to bake bread.”

“Your jests fall short,” Katherine snapped. “Are they instead meant as weapons in your bag of tricks?”

“You approve, then, of the hidden noose attached to a young sapling?” He obviously savored her helplessness. “All one needs do is release the holding rope with a well-placed swing of the sword, and the sapling springs upward.”

The expression on his face became less jovial, his voice slightly bitter. “Another weapon from the faraway land of Cathay. Surely you remember our discussion of that matter in better times. Times of friendship.”

Katherine regarded Thomas silently and bit her tongue to keep from replying. This oaf knew so little about the risks she had taken and the sacrifices she had made on his behalf.
How could I ever have dreamed of confiding in him! Even if he offered me half a kingdom, I would not tell him the truth
.

“Without speech now?” Thomas suddenly became serious with anger. “Magnus has fallen, and like magic, you appear, dogging my footsteps when I have avoided all the soldiers of York. From you, too, I demand answers.”

“Thomas, Thomas,” another voice chided from behind him. “Emotion clouds judgment.”

He whirled to face a figure in black, head hidden by the hood of the dark gown.

“And you! The old man at the gallows!” Thomas said hoarsely. He raised his sword. “I shall end this madness now.”

The figure said nothing.

“Before, I had questions,” Thomas continued, the strain of holding back his rage obvious in his voice. “And you spoke only of a destiny. Then disappeared.”

Thomas advanced on the figure and threatened with his sword. “Now speak. Give me answers or lose your head.”

Still no reply.

Thomas prodded the figure with his sword. It collapsed into a heap of cloth.

“You have much to learn,” Hawkwood said from the nearby darkness. “Had I chosen, you could have died a dozen different ways already.”

Thomas sagged.

Katherine felt the stirrings of pity for what must be going through him. Anger. Confusion. Desperation. An entire gauntlet of emotions. He must feel intensely weary.

“Accept by the knowledge you are still alive that we come in peace.” Hawkwood’s voice drifted across the shadows. “Cast your sword aside, and we will discuss matters that concern us both. Or the crossbow I have trained upon your heart will end any hope of conversation.”

Thomas straightened and regained his noble bearing. Then he dropped his sword.

Hawkwood stepped into view from the side of the camp. Unarmed.

He shrugged at the expression that crossed Thomas’s face. “No
crossbow. A bluff, of course. You are free to grasp your sword. But I think your curiosity is my best protection.”

Thomas sighed. “Yes.” He pointed to the clothes on the ground. “How was it done?”

Katherine coughed for attention. Men! Her eyeballs might pop from her head at any moment and they were more concerned with boasting of techniques of trickery.

“Simple,” Hawkwood replied. “It is merely a large puppet, a crude frame of small branches within the clothes, held extended from string at the end of a pole. With the darkness around it to hold the illusion. Easy enough, to throw one’s voice.”

Katherine coughed louder.

Thomas ignored her and nodded admiration at Hawkwood. “A shrewd distraction.”

Hawkwood shrugged modestly. “You are not the only one with access to those books.”

Thomas froze at the implications. “Impossible!”

“No?” Hawkwood moved to a log near the fire and sat down. “Please, release poor Katherine. And I shall tell you more. And then, perhaps, you can convince me that kidnapping Isabelle is an action that means we can finally trust you.”

Thomas retrieved his sword, stepped out of the low firelight, and approached Katherine where she hung.

He brought his sword back quickly, as if to strike her. A half smile escaped him at her refusal to flinch.

Barbaric scum. To think I once dreamed of holding you
. Katherine did not give Thomas the satisfaction of letting him see her thoughts cross her face.

He slashed quickly at the rope holding her feet, and she dropped, headfirst.

It forced from her a yelp of fright.

Yet somehow he managed to drop his sword and catch her in one swift movement that cost him merely a grunt of effort.

For a heartbeat, she was there, in his arms, her face only inches from his. And for that heartbeat, she understood why dreams of him had haunted her since banishment from Magnus.

She could not, of course, see the calm gray of his eyes in the darkness of night, but the depth of those eyes remained clear in her memory. She could feel the warmth of his breath as he strained with the effort of holding her.

The face that looked upon her was, even in the shadows, as she had remembered each morning upon waking. Her right arm had draped around his shoulder as she fell, and the back of her hand brushed his dark hair.

And in the heartbeat of stillness between them, she could sense a strength of quiet confidence, as if he were as muscled as the strongest of knights.

The total impression in that brief moment was much too enjoyable, so the rush of warmth she could not prevent as he held her became an anger. This man had coldly banished her from Magnus. He conspired with the Druids. She should not feel what she did to be in his arms.

Her response at the anger she felt toward herself—almost before she realized her left arm was in motion—was to slap him hard across the face.

He blinked, then set her down gently, but he did not take his eyes from her face.

Katherine glared at him, shook the cut rope loose from her ankles, then strode over to rejoin Hawkwood.

Side by side, they faced Thomas across the tiny fire.

“You promised to tell me more,” Thomas said. “And for that, I would be in your debt.”

He rubbed his face before continuing. “Although it will take much to
convince me of good intentions. And your arrival here was not coincidence. Little encourages me to believe you will speak truth.”

How can he pretend so well to be innocent? What monstrous deceit!

Just once, Katherine wished she had not been taught to hold her emotions in control. Just once, she wished she could stamp the ground in frustration and scream between gritted teeth.

Katherine was conscious, however, that Isabelle, still hostage and motionless nearby, was watching her closely. Too closely. So Katherine composed herself to stand in relaxed grace.