Return of the Rose (2 page)

CHAPTER 2

England, 1444

A gust of rain-spattered wind spanked the high windows of the king’s chambers. Flames upon stout candles danced as drafts seeped through unseen crevices.

Derek Vanguard, Lord of Braddock Hall, looked upon King Henry VI with concern. The English king of the House of Lancaster looked frail as he lay in his bed, clothed only in a thin linen shirt, rambling on with his newest request.

Nobody held the king in higher esteem than Lord Vanguard, and yet at this moment, Derek stood before His Majesty with hands clenched at his sides. He knew he could not deny the king any service…it mattered not how large or small the task. But never had a request of Henry’s had the same disturbing effect as this particular assignment.

Derek tried to keep the muscle in his jaw from twitching when he spoke, but it proved difficult considering he wanted to shake some sense into the man. “Your Majesty. I mean no disrespect, but surely you recall how I feel about marriage.”

Henry waved his hand as if Derek had not spoken at all. “‘Tis nonsense. Not all women are like your mother.”

“I understand, but—”

Henry snorted. “It is with great anticipation I await your forthcoming marriage. Peace for our people is all that concerns me. This union between you and the daughter of the Earl of Silverwood gives me great hope. It is an honor I have chosen you to be her husband.” The king finished his sentence with a hacking cough.

Derek lifted an aggravated brow. He knew the king used his failing health to manipulate others but this was too much. “As you well know, sire, I vowed long ago never to marry.”

“Hogwash,” the king spouted with another wave of his pale hand. “You are not getting any younger. It is time you had sons. Who better to serve me when you are too old to watch over my lands?”

As the king babbled on, Derek’s thoughts wandered back to his childhood when his prayers went unanswered for too long. He knew not which was worse—a mother abandoning her child or a father who treated his only son with hatred and indifference. Derek trusted no one, had no room in his heart for any child. And he certainly had neither the patience nor the time for a wife.

“I am told that Lady Amanda is praised for her beauty and has not an equal in the entire kingdom. What have you to say to that?” King Henry questioned.

There was no arguing with the king, and that caused the veins at Derek’s temple to throb. His voice remained calm, but every muscle he possessed grew stiff with dread. “If the quest, my lord, is a thing that is in my power to undertake, I will undertake it. Unto that, I pledge to you my knighthood.”

“Then you will do as I bid?”

“You thought otherwise?”

They exchanged knowing gazes before Derek added with less strain, “I am confident any alliance you feel necessary must be so.”

The king sat up a bit, his chest puffing.

“I also find it an honor, my lord, that you have chosen me. Now, if you are done, I should get back to defending Your Majesty and His people.”

The coughing spasms resumed and King Henry excused him with a thrust of his hand. “I knew you would see it my way,” he croaked. “Now away with you. Give a dying man some peace.”

Derek bowed, thankful to be leaving. Although his displeasure had not completely subsided, he found himself amused by King Henry’s exaggerations, for they both knew he had but a cold.

~~~~

Morgan opened her eyes. The smell of damp, dewy leaves drifted up her nostrils. Dirt…leaves.

Where was she?

She sat up and spit leaves from her mouth. A dense growth of trees and underbrush surrounded her. Her heart thumped against her chest. She couldn’t remember leaving her mother’s store. How did she get outside?

It was eerily quiet. No birds chirping. Nothing except a faint rumbling noise. Cocking her head, she listened closer. The blanket her mother had given her lay a few feet away. The dry scattered leaves moved ever so slightly. The rumbling grew louder until it sounded like dozens of horse hooves crashing against the earth. Her breathing quickened. And then a giant pig-like animal shot through the brush, giving her a start.

Before she could get away, three men on horses charged through the same dense thicket and headed straight for her. She scrambled to her feet but didn’t have time to run for cover. Instead, she crossed her arms over her face and stood frozen in place.

The men wrenched their giant horses to a skidding stop, mere inches before colliding into her. Her heart thundered against her chest as she gathered the courage to peek through trembling fingers. The men wore woolen tights and knee-length leather boots. Their shirts were ragged and stained with dirt and blood. They looked vicious in their muddied coats, exhibiting such predatory expressions. A man she assumed to be their leader dug his heels into his mammoth stallion, urging the animal forward until she felt the beast’s breath on her head.

This was completely insane!

She squeezed her eyes shut, praying they would all be gone when she opened them and she would be back in her mother’s store. Damn. No such luck.

The man before her wore a dagger in his belt and held a short primitive bow in his soiled hand. Handcrafted, deadly looking arrows protruded from a deep leather pocket at his side. She winced at the cruel smile he wore, which served only to make him more repulsive. Clumps of mud matted his long, stringy beard. A jagged scar ran across his bottom lip, causing his yellow teeth to show even with his mouth closed. This was no dream. It was a nightmare.

“Look what we caught ourselves,” the ugly man said, painfully reminding her that the nightmare was not going to end any time soon.

“Aye, a treasure for certain,” another man commented.

As if the sight of her made him hungry, the leader licked his lips. “I fear she let our dinner get away. It seems only fair that we keep her in its stead. What say you to that, wench?”

The smoldering, greedy gazes of his men feasted upon her. Her jeans and T-shirt were on the snug side but other than that…what was the problem? Certainly no reason for them to drool in such a disgusting manner.

She narrowed her eyes. Nobody treated Morgan Hayes like a mere object to be drooled upon. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen, pig-hunting warriors or whatever you are, but I have no idea what this man is talking about. I don’t know who sent you here all dressed up but I can tell you one thing—it’s not funny. The gag is up, boys.”

Plunking hands on hips, she looked at them with set jaw and tight lips, hoping to hide her growing terror beneath an angry glare. Then she turned and walked off, quickening her pace with each step. If she could just reach the denser area of the woods…

The gait of a horse sounded behind her, prompting her to break into a full-blown run, yelping as she was jerked off the ground and into the ugly man’s bulky arms. The horrid smell of rotted breath and dried blood saturated her senses, nauseating her. “Let go of me!”

As if that weren’t enough, another man on a horse suddenly vaulted through the dense brush. He yanked on the reins, coming to a halt a few feet away. He was an older man and twice as big as the one who held her. Chain mail covered his large frame but he wore no headgear.

“Put her down, Otgar. Now!” the older man barked.

Whiskers hung over Otgar’s upper lip as his mouth drew back in a snarl. “Stay out of this, Hugo, she’s mine. I found her and I intend to keep her.”

Otgar and Hugo. This was too much. Figuring she’d stumbled into the middle of a movie set, she looked around for a cameraman. But there were no cameras to be seen. No director yelling, “Cut!”

She struggled to get loose, but Otgar tightened his grip. Hugo’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits of steel. Although she’d never had two men fight over her before, and the idea did have a certain appeal, the Ugly against the Old hardly seemed worth bragging about.

“The king’s bidding it is that she’s betrothed to another,” Hugo warned.

“And why should I believe you?” Otgar asked, spittle hitting her cheek. “What would the king have to do with a harlot found alone in the forest? The feast of a pig she’s lost to us and she must pay for her foul deed. Leave us be, Hugo, or you, too, shall pay.”

Having no desire to be left with Otgar and his men, Morgan prayed Hugo wouldn’t abandon her. Although Hugo was covered with metal links and daunting in size, he appeared old and wise…and his eyes hinted at kindness. But then again, she had a doozy of a headache and she couldn’t be sure.

Without warning Otgar tossed her to his closest man as if she were a sack of grain. “Ooomph.”

The horse beneath her stamped the ground with one of its massive hooves. Her heart lodged in her throat. “I really need to get off this animal. I won’t run away, I promise. Just let me down…nice and slowly.” She’d never been fond of horses; she was scared to death of them, actually. Even on carousels she tended to pick the pig or the boring sled that didn’t move.

Otgar merely snorted at her complaints while the man holding her lowered his nose to her neck and sniffed.

She slapped his head. “Stop that!”

Hugo, she noticed, peered toward the denser area of the forest. She followed his gaze, disappointed to see nothing but woodland.

“The woman you hold captive is Lady Amanda, daughter of the Earl of Silverwood,” Hugo said to Otgar. “Do you not believe me? You have only to look around her neck for proof of what I say. You will see that her pendant bears the Forrester crest.”

Morgan frowned. “My necklace has nothing to do with this earl guy.” She lifted her hands in exasperation. “Lady Amanda,” she said with a snort. “Do I look like a lady?”

Otgar’s men mumbled and shook their heads.

“Hand her over now,” Hugo added irritably, glaring her way, “and I am sure Lord Vanguard will reimburse you the loss of your dinner. If you refuse, take heed, for King Henry and Lord Vanguard will have your heads within a fortnight.”

“And what would Vanguard have to do with any of this?” Otgar questioned.

“‘Tis Lord Vanguard who is to marry the lady,” Hugo answered.

Marriage to a lord. And just when she’d thought her predicament couldn’t get any worse. Why hadn’t she awoken yet?

Otgar laughed. “The very blackguard who caused my own brother’s death plans to marry?”

“Aye,” Hugo answered calmly. “Release her. Let there be no bloodshed today.”

For a moment she considered telling Hugo that she wasn’t Amanda at all. But what if Hugo believed her and left her with Otgar? What then? The crisp pine-scented air and the pungent body odor of the man who held her confirmed her suspicions. This was no dream. Her mind spun with the absurdity of her situation. Losing her mind would not get her home. For now, she decided, she would let them think she was Amanda.

Rage flickered in Otgar’s cold sea-green eyes. He raised his sword, apparently ready to wage war.

A wave of terror swept through her. She gazed toward Hugo, praying the older man might help her, but he was gazing toward the forest again. This time he waved his sword above his head as if signaling to someone.

Looking in the direction he beckoned, she saw a man encased in metal charging straight for her. Her eyes widened in alarm. And then she screamed.

Scooped up like a worm snatched by a bird and tossed to the horse’s rump, she clung to cold interlinking metal rings of armor covering the rider. The horse dodged a maze of pine trees and thorn covered shrubs. Her chin bumped against his back with every turn. Behind them, fading in the distance, she saw Hugo take down both of Otgar’s men before knocking Otgar to the ground. Hugo then chased the horses off.

Otgar threw his weapon to the ground as he watched her disappear through the regiment of trees.

When they finally cut through the forest’s edge into a clearing of grasslands, the horse slowed to an excruciating trot. Morgan struggled for her release. “P-Put me d-down!” She thumped the man in armor, hurting her fist in the process.

“Hold still!” the man ground out as Hugo caught up to them.

The horse’s gait made it hard for her to speak. “L-let me go. I’m not who you th-think I am.”

“Is that so, my lady? And who might you be?” Hugo asked, clearly exasperated.

She glanced over her shoulder, back toward the forest for any sign of Otgar, deciding she still had no desire to be left alone. “Oh, never mind. Where are you taking me? And could you please tell me where I am?”

The horse stumbled, forcing her to clutch at the man to keep her balance. “You’re not that Lord Vanguard guy they were talking about, are you?”

The man slid the helmet from his head and hooked his visor to the front of his saddle. “Nay, I am Emmon McBray, the very knight who escorted you from Silverwood two days ago before you ran off and left me looking the fool. But go ahead,” he said in a clipped tone, “play your ill-advised game. For when you meet your betrothed, you will regret such foolish sport.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered. He wasn’t a man at all, but an adolescent. Much too young to be dressed up in armor and playing with swords.

The man-boy looked over his shoulder and lifted a youthful brow. “I want to know what you put in my drink to make me sleep? And my horse. A finer stallion there is not. What did you do with my horse?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Hugo,” she called over her shoulder, deciding she liked him better. “I bumped my head before you came to my-uh—rescue. Where exactly are we?”

“I warned you we should not have gone after her,” Emmon growled. “She is dimwitted, unfit to marry Lord Vanguard.”

Hugo ignored Emmon and focused on her instead. “We are in England, my lady, a short distance west of Braddock Hall.”

“And the year is 1444,” Emmon added sarcastically.

“That can’t be right,” she said.

Emmon’s fist curled about the leather reins and spasms of irritation crossed his face. “I will tell you what is not right. It is not right that you ran away, making fools of us. Nor is it right that you speak suddenly like a jackanapes and lie about who you are. And lastly, it is not right that Lord Vanguard be bound to a wench such as you.”