Samantha James (2 page)

Very gently she wrapped him in swaddling cloth and gave him over to Gerda. The child slept on, snug against the young girl's breast. Elaine slipped open the hidden panel behind the bed and turned to Gerda.

She clasped her sturdy young shoulders and looked the girl straight in the eye. "I trust you in this, as I have never trusted anyone in my life, Gerda."

Gerda looked ready to cry. "I—I will not fail you, mistress."

Elaine squeezed her shoulders and smiled. "I know," she said simply.

Gerda clutched the babe in one arm, a tallow candle in the other. She stood in the threshold of the secret stairway, frightened for herself, frightened for her lady. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with the force of her emotions. "I will pray for you, my lady," she sobbed. "I will pray that what you fear will not come to pass and you will once again grace the hall at Sedgewick."

And she would pray for naught. But Elaine withheld these words; instead she tipped the girl's chin up. "I know you do not understand, Gerda," she said softly. "But I do what I must."

"But you choose to die."

Elaine was already shaking her head, a sad, faintly wistful expression on her face. Her hand came out to rest for an instant on the cloth covering her child's head. "No," she said quietly, "I do not choose to die. I choose for him to live." She gave the girl a gentle shove toward the darkened stairway. "Now go, Gerda. Fly as if the devil himself were at your heels and do not stop until you are safely inside the monastery."

They shared one last hasty embrace. Elaine watched until Gerda disappeared from sight and the echo of her shuffling footsteps became faint and distant. At last she closed the heavy door and slid the secret panel back into place.

When she turned she found Claire's eyes upon her, clearer than they had been for days. She crossed to her quickly and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Claire feebly gripped her hand. "Had I known this would happen," she murmured, "I would never have bid you come to me." She tried to smile. "But I wanted to see you and Peter one last time," she whispered. "And I am afraid I am much like Gerda, for I fear I do not understand why this is happening. I do not understand why Thomas was killed. Why Richard of Ashbury covets this humble keep."

" 'Tis not your fault." Elaine soothed her with a tender touch upon her brow. "King Stephen's rule has been naught but a time of lawlessness and greed. 'Tis said that vassals battle one another throughout the land, while Stephen tries vainly to restore order, to tame the pattern of violence. As for why, I cannot say. To war," she said sadly, "is the nature of men. And Richard is an evil man. He seeks that which is not his, for that reason alone." She could not change the course of events and so she must accept them.

Elaine stayed by Claire's side throughout the long day, listening as the battle drew nearer. . . ever nearer. Dusk crept through the clouds hovering on the dismal horizon. The shadow of darkness—the veil of death—crept within the chamber. Elaine felt the strength wane from Claire's hand and knew that she slipped into sleep... sleep eternal.

Hers was a hurt too deep for tears. Elaine lovingly folded Claire's hands upon her breast, silently praying she would be granted a Christian burial. She was dimly aware that the crush of battle had extended into the great hall below.

She fleetingly thought of following Gerda and saving herself. But the notion had no sooner chased through her mind than fate decreed otherwise.

There was a heavy footfall of steps in the passage outside. The door was flung open.

A great hulk of a man filled the threshold of the chamber, dark and evil-looking. A vile lust gleamed in his eyes. Blood dripped from his sword onto the rushes.

But Elaine drew herself up proudly, quaking inside but determined to show no fear. She was the wife of Lord Guy de Marche, Earl of Sedgewick.

The man stepped forward.

Elaine began to pray. She prayed that Gerda's journey back to Sedgewick would be a safe one. She prayed that the Lord would watch over Guy and keep him safe from the heathens in the Holy Land. She prayed that Guy would soon return home to Sedgewick to love and protect the son he had never seen. . .

May her soul rest in peace.

Chapter 1

Spring 1155

"... may her soul rest in peace."

Guy de Marche, Earl of Sedgewick, knelt before the grave of his beloved wife. The words were the closest thing to a prayer he was able to summon, though his countenance was far from prayerlike. For even as he spoke the words, all the curses of hell sprang forth within him, fighting to be free. His mind was consumed by thoughts of but one man.

Richard of Ashbury.

High above, Ramsay Keep squatted on the hilltop. A melancholy veil of fog surrounded its crenellated towers and jagged outline, a reflection of Guy's dark and somber mood. For two long years Richard had laid claim to the keep, but no more. . . no more. Guy's battle to regain Ramsay Keep had been satisfying short, yet the taste of victory was like dust in his mouth.

He rose to his feet, a powerful figure garbed in the fiercesome trappings of war, his helm tucked under his arm. Behind him, atop the rise that guarded the gravesite, a body of mounted men watched somberly, awaiting his command. The silence was broken only by the occasional snort of a stallion and the gurgling rush of the stream, swollen by early-spring rainwater.

Another man walked slowly to his side. Guy stirred only when a rough callused hand clapped his shoulder. Neither man spoke, yet their very silence was rife with words unspoken.

Sir Hugh Bainbridge gazed solemnly at the other man's profile. His sister Claire was buried but a few paces distant from Elaine, and so he had more than an inkling of the pain Guy felt. He called Guy lord as well as friend. As a boy, Hugh had been page to Guy's squire and served at his side whenever the call to duty arose. Hugh had shared in all his lord's triumphs—both on the battlefield and off—just as he shared this loss as well.

It was Guy who broke the silence. "Why," he murmured in a voice thick with emotions held deep in his heart, "must the Lord see fit to give with one hand and take with the other?"

Hugh gleaned his meaning only too well. Guy's marriage to Elaine was truly nothing short of a miracle. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, and yet the two had fallen madly in love with one another. Hugh and his friends had chided Guy greatly about his adoration of his wife, for no one liked the ladies more than Guy. But lo and behold, Guy found marriage to the lovely Elaine no burden at all and it proved the end of his wenching.

In truth, Hugh had faintly envied Guy's happy contentment and his desire to settle into his estates and concentrate his efforts at building a family. Hugh was a knight bachelor and possessed no holdings of his own; he was certainly not yet sought after as a husband. Indeed, it was only of late that he'd even begun to think of gaining a wife.

"I should have been here." Guy's mouth twisted as he sucked in a harsh breath. "God damn it, I should have been here!"

His violence stunned his men-at-arms. They glanced uneasily at each other and wisely moved away, leaving the two knights alone.

Hugh was the only one who was not startled. "Do you think I have not said the same a thousand times since?" he replied unevenly. "We cannot alter the course of our live. We cannot change the past."

"And I," Guy ground out tightly, "cannot forget!"

"You had no choice but to honor the call to arms."

"The call to arms?" Guy's laugh was bitter. "My friend, you and I have been gone from this land for three harvests! Half of that time was spent in that bloody dungeon in Toulouse!"

And it was there that Guy discovered the existence of his son Peter. It was there he was also told of his wife's murder. Guy had been so shocked— he'd had no idea Elaine was even with child—and then wondrously elated at the news of his heir. From the heights of happiness. . . to the dregs of hell. . . in the blink of an eye.

"Had we not been there," Hugh reminded him, "we might never have run into Henry's forces when we were finally able to escape. And methinks it less than wise to be on the opposite side of our new king."

"True indeed," Guy agreed with a grim smile. "I had no choice but to pledge my sword to Henry."

Hugh's shaggy brownish-gold eyebrows shot up. "You regret it?" he asked in some surprise.

Guy shook his head. "Nay," he replied. "Henry strikes me as a man of many faces. But I think 'tis well that with Stephen's death Henry has reclaimed the throne of England. I suspect 'twill not be long before this land is on the road to recovery." He fell silent for a moment. "And I gained Henry's sanction to recoup that which was taken from me."

"Which you have done."

"Which I have done."

Guy's gaze flitted to the gates of the keep. His tone was harsh, even bitter. Hugh watched as a mask of hardness settled over his handsome features. Seeing it, Hugh suffered a prickly sense of unease. He knew Guy as well as anyone—better than anyone—yet in that moment he felt he knew him not at all.

Guy caught his friend's uncertain expression and gave a twist of his lips. His next words were not what Hugh expected.

"Your brother-in-law Thomas served me long and well in holding this keep, my friend. Now he is gone, and your sister as well. 'Tis time you were rewarded for your loyalty, Hugh. Therefore I offer Ramsay Keep to you—though not to hold this manor and lands for me and mine—but as your own, to do with as you will."

For just an instant Hugh was stunned. Ramsay Keep was a fine and wealthy manor—not nearly so grand as Sedgewick, but it was all he had ever dreamed of. And yet...

"May I speak plain, my lord? Not as your servant, but as your friend?"

"I would have it no other way, Hugh. You know that."

Hugh smiled slightly, but it was a smile that held no small amount of sadness. "Your generosity overwhelms me, Guy. Would that I could accept it. But mayhap 'tis just as you said. Claire died here, and 'twas here that Thomas and your lady Elaine were slain most cruelly." He hesitated. "I fear I could never forget the evil that was done here."

Guy was silent for a moment. "Then you are with me?" he said finally. "I need you now more than ever, Hugh. But only if you are willing."

There was no further need for talk. Guy turned and strode into the circle of stampeding horses and fully armed men. He paused only for one last glance at Ramsay Keep.

His eyes squeezed shut. Elaine, he thought desperately. So sweet. So gentle and tender... Elaine! He screamed her name in silent anguish. Pain ripped through him like a sword from throat to groin. He saw her as she had once been, golden and gloriously beautiful, her spun-gold hair spinning about her, laughing in that lilting musical voice of hers. He had always teased her that she had been crafted by the angels in heaven... and it was there she now dwelled.

It was terrible, my lord
. ..
horrible!

The words Gerda sobbed out upon his arrival back at Sedgewick took the form of vivid, horrible images in his mind's eye.

Richard and his men came in the name of peace. Then they raped and killed and butchered
...
They spared no one, not women, not children. They showed no mercy, my lord. No mercy at all!

The vision in his mind shifted and twisted, like a windswept fog... He saw Elaine as she must have died, lying bruised and violated in a crimson pool of blood.

He felt he'd been catapulted once again into the wild foray of battle, seized by a red mist of rage deeper than anything he could ever remember. His head, his blood pounded with the heat of his wrath.

His eyes opened. His wide unblinking gaze took in the final resting place of his wife and the many others who littered the grassy hillside.

"Your death will be avenged, my love," he murmured aloud. "This I promise. This I vow, by all the saints."

Hugh nudged his destrier beside him. "It does not end here, does it?" he said quietly.

Guy's silver eyes glittered like steel. His face had taken on an expression which would have frightened many a brave man. Guy de Marche was not a man given lightly to revenge; he fought when the need arose, to protect and defend, but he was not a cruel man. Yet Hugh did not pretend to misunderstand the bent of Guy's mind at this moment, the raging storm roiling within him, swirling and growing stronger by the second.

"Nay." Guy stared straight ahead. Never had a single word sounded so ominous and deadly. "It only begins."

He wheeled his mount to face his men-at-arms. "We ride for Ashbury!" he shouted. Sunlight glinted against the steel of his sword as he ripped it from his scabbard and held it high above his head. A raucous cheer went up from the men. With the thunder of hooves shaking the earth, they raced madly after the Earl of Sedgewick.

Thus began his quest for vengeance.