The Dark Lady (39 page)

He smiled charmingly. “Milady, can I assist you?”

She raised her brow questioningly. “You are, who?”

“
My apologies, milady. I am Mortamor St. Johns. I came to take over from the last stable master.” He smiled nervously and swept a low bow.

“
Are you a cruel man, a man who enjoys using the whip?” She sneered at him. She had heard the stories of his kindness, but felt it was always best that you make judgments for yourself in matters such as this.

“
Nay, milady.” His hands trembled slightly but he stood proudly before her.

She saw no hint of a lie and relaxed slightly. “Good, I am in no need of your service. I have come for my horse and saddle.” She nodded dismissively and moved to walk around him.

When he stepped into her path she raised a threatening brow at him. She could see the fear in his eyes, but felt a jolt of respect for the man who stood his ground.

His voice trembled almost as much as his frame. “I have orders. You are not to take out any of the horses or tack. I am sorry, milady.”

“
Orders? That is fine.” She grinned at him and stepped closer. She softened her voice. “I have an order of my own for you.” Her quiet demeanor changed and she straightened to her full height. “
Move
!”

He nearly tripped over his feet as he quickly stepped away from her, allowing her to pass.

She walked toward the stalls and almost cried when she heard the familiar whinny of Damien. The tension seemed to flow from her muscles and she increased her step. The large stallion had his head over the gate of the stall when she arrived.

He whinnied once more and she wrapped her arms around the heavily muscled neck. She buried her face into his warm mane and breathed in deeply. She gave her old friend comfort and took some from him as well.

“
I cannot leave. I have nothing.” She spoke into the tickling fibers of his mane. He stood patiently through her hug and leaned his large jaw against the top of her head. “I need my things, and I have something I need to take care of first, my friend. It will be just a while longer yet, and we will be free.” She kissed him gently and reluctantly pulled away. She left the stable, her heart and her mind heavy with her uncertain future.

Where was she to go now? She had no intention of returning, just yet, to her chambers. Though she would have to return to them at some point, she thought despairingly.

She stood outside the stables for only a moment looking around the massive courtyard. Her gaze fell on the barracks where her men stayed, what would soon be the housing of pages from all over. She made her way to it.

In the darkness of the barracks Van breathed deeply the smells of the men. She missed the nights huddled around the fires with her men. Was she wrong to still want it? It was the only life she had ever known.

She could feel the tears clogging her throat, yet she refused to give way to them.

Van plopped heavily on one of the rumpled bunks and leaned back closing her eyes. She thought back to all the troubles she had encountered since the arrival of that dreaded messenger.

All of them, her mind had decided, revolved around the hated gowns. There was her first encounter with her father, where she had felt naked and exposed. Then there was the disastrous first meeting with Peter where she could not even walk in them. She did not believe she could ride in the infernal thing and it had almost killed her coming down the wall.

What would she do if someone found out who she was? What would she do to protect herself and others if she could not even manage a dress. She had already eliminated the thin slippers and the chemise, but it was not enough.

When she had first became a squire it had seemed impossible to maneuver in the bulky hauberk and chest plate. Practice was all it had taken. Was it possible that with practice her gowns would become as secondary skin as had her armor?

Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Only one way to find out,” she said with determination.

Her voice echoed in the long, dirt-floored building. Always one to begin training as soon as possible she set about to accomplish the task she had laid out for herself.

Starting at one end of the barrack she first began to run the distance of the men’s sleeping quarters. Falling several times only angered her to run faster. Lap after lap she raced down the center of the isle. Lap after lap the dress began to be forgotten.

Sweat began to slide down her face. The quick breeze as she ran was cool and inviting. She ran her arm across her forehead as the salt stung her eyes.

Her confidence began to build as she fell less and less. Soon she changed course. She slid under the bunks or went over the tops of them.

Her breath began to wheeze tightly through her raw throat and heaving chest. Still she ran on; adding jumps, kicks, and rolls to her practice.

Hours later, covered in dirt, sweat, and bruises Van stood assessing the area. On one of the bunks lay a short sword, heavy and well worn. It had been left behind, due to a broken tip.

Practice began immediately. As she feared, the sword caught in the material of the skirt as she swung the massive weapon. It snagged and tore at the silky dress. She did not give up. She practiced throughout the day until she felt one with her weapon.

Van fell to the ground in exhaustion. She was tired and sore, but exhilarated. The high pitched whinny of approaching horses brought her to her feet. She glanced out one of the small windows and noticed that darkness was falling.

She knew the warriors would stop at the barracks to drop off armor and weapons before entering the castle for the evening meal. She opened the door a slight crack and peered out. The men were coming up into the court yard.

Closing the door she ran for the back of the barracks, slipped out one of the rear windows, and laughed as her dress went with her instead of holding her up.

She ran toward the castle, sliding to a stop in the deep shadows of the garden. She realized that practice with the sword was fine, but the main weapon she would probably use was her dagger.

The thigh strap was inaccessible without lifting her skirts completely. The dagger would be useless to her. She looked at the folds in her dress and shook her head. She must be able to get at her weapon.

Looking around the darkening shadows of the garden to ensure she was alone, she gathered the silky material and pulled it up exposing her thighs and the scabbard. She removed the jewel encrusted dagger and dropped the material, allowing it to fall naturally.

Using the sharpened dagger she made a slit in the fabric. The knife slid into the newly made hole perfectly. She pulled it in and out several times to insure it would work properly, and then she began the long climb back to her husband’s chambers.

***

Peter pushed away the guilt for locking up his bride and focused on what pleasures he could inflict on her. He would make her forget his mistreatment in wondrous ways. A grin spread as he mounted the stairs two at a time.

He glanced up at the guards he had assigned. His grin fell away. Dried blood was smeared across both of the men’s faces. Peter’s heart began to race and fear prodded at him. His first thought was that she had escaped.

He quickened his step, but then forced himself to relax and walk calmly toward them. He reminded himself firmly that if she had escaped, the men would not still be standing guard. They would have sent for him.

“
What happened?” Peter impatiently motioned for James to join them in front of the master chambers.

James looked at Brevon almost sympathetically and then focused on Peter’s shoulder as he spoke. “She was coming out of the chambers. We told her to stay, milord. She slammed the door into my face.”

Peter looked at the slightly bulged nose, the thin smearing of dried blood, and the darkening eyes of both men, and knew without a doubt that both had suffered broken noses.

He turned his attention to Brevon, who stood quietly with his shoulders stiff. He would not meet Peter’s gaze. “What did she hit you with, Dumont?”

Brevon quickly looked at the floor and mumbled an answer too low for Peter to hear. Peter glanced at James, but the tall blond looked away nervously. Peter was not positive but it looked as though James was trying not to laugh.

Peter’s brow furrowed and he turned back to Brevon. “I apologize. I did not hear you. Can you look at me and repeat your answer?”

Brevon’s jaw tensed. He shook his head and looked at Peter. His eyes gaze darted to the ceiling and back to Peter’s face. He sighed heavily and reluctantly answered through clenched teeth, “I said her fist. She hit me with her fist, milord.”

“
Fist?” Peter’s mouth dropped open before he could stop it. “How many times?”

He had seen Vanessa’s temper, but she had always kept it under tight control. At least usually. She had lost it with Rebeka, but even then she had only grabbed her. Peter had not believed her to be a violent person. He had pushed her hard and she had never struck him. He was surprised she had actually hit the guard.

Brevon’s facial color deepened until he looked as though his skin were burnt. “Just once, my lord.”

“
Once?” He looked at the damage to the two men.

A tingling doubt wormed through him.
Maybe I better rethink pushing her so far. I knew she was strong. I just had no idea how much so
, he thought grimly.

“
It is all right. She is a fiery woman to say the least. Have you heard anything from her?” Peter looked toward the door. The room behind it was silent.

“
A lot of cursing at first, milord, but she has been quiet for a long time now,” Brevon said quietly.

Peter opened the door to an empty room. A thorough search of both rooms sent his angry bellow to the men outside the thick doors. He heard their rapid footsteps rush toward him. They stopped behind him, their breathing heavy and raspy through their broken noses.

“
I thought you said she was in here. Where is she?” He spun toward them. “Which one of you let her out?” He pointed his finger accusingly at each of them in turn and then clenched his fists. He took a jerky step toward them struggling to get control of his anger and concern. “Did she persuade you in some way? What did she promise you, did she give you something?” Peter shot his questions rapidly at them, gesturing angrily at the rumpled and messed blankets on his wife’s bed.

They stepped back a half step. “N–nay, milord. W–we—” they stuttered together.

Peter jerked his arms up for silence. “I do not want to hear it. The three of us will search the castle and the surrounding lands and when I find her she had better have a good explanation as to how she disappeared into thin air.” He glared from one to the other. “For you sakes, she had better.”

With the men trailing behind, the entire manor was turned upside down.

Peter was halfway through questioning one of the downstairs maids when he sucked in a deep breath. A sudden worry stopped his words in mid question.

If Vanessa had gotten out, she might run and if she had run she would head for the stables.

Peter turned away from the confused looking maid and rushed from the castle, knowing in his heart that her stallion would be gone, but praying that he was wrong. Guilt slammed into him, knowing he had pushed her too far this time, and she had escaped him. A heavy hand clenched his heart and threatened to rip it out.

The sky was darkening as Peter and the two guards stepped into the courtyard. The men were entering the barracks, but Peter barely registered their movements as he raced for the stables.

Mortamor looked up, startled from the work he was bent over, as Peter slid to a stop just within the stable doors. Mortamor bowed low and asked if there was anything he could do for him. His gaze darted from Peter to the men behind him.

“
Aye, you can tell me if you have seen my wife.” Peter forced himself to assume a calm demeanor and held his breath as he awaited the man’s response.

Mortamor looked back to Peter. “Aye, milord.”

Peter could feel the sweat running from his brow and stinging his eyes, but he did not bother to wipe it away.

Mortamor eyed him carefully before cautiously continuing. “I tried to stop her, milord but as the lady here, when she told me to move I had to...”

Peter did not wait to hear more. He rushed for her stallion’s stall with Mortamor and both guards right behind him. He stopped suddenly, surprised to see Beast still in it. He looked back at Mortamor questioningly.

“
She came to him, but told him she could not leave. She said she did not have any of her things and that there was something she had to take care of first. Then she left. I did not see where she went.” He wrung his hands nervously. “I did not think to inform you, milord. She did not take the horse, so I thought—”

“
You did just fine.” Peter’s voice was calm, but his innards rolled in turmoil. He turned back to the two men. “We will go back to her chambers and wait. If she does not return shortly, we will gather the men and start the search.”

Once again in her chambers, Peter and the guards stood silently. Peter tilted his head listening closely. He thought he heard a deep breathing coming from his chambers.