After the Storm (29 page)

Mark probably deserved some sort of trouble, but he hadn't deserved to be run casually through with a sword and left to rot where he fell. She was responsible.

If Rolf hadn't been looking for her, a man wouldn't have been tortured and killed with no chance to defend himself.

What had Mark Warin been doing in the company of outlaws anyway? What had he been doing with Old Sikes's band? What had he wanted with Sebastian?

Those were questions she felt she had the answers to. She concentrated on them rather than the horrific images Rolf had conjured up for her of how he'd treated Warin on the ride to Blackchurch Keep.

Mark Warin was one of the two missing Time Search people the accident had Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

supposedly killed. When she'd first gotten her memory back, she'd realized that it wasn't any accident, but a deliberate act of sabotage and Mark Warin had been involved. In fact, she was certain he was a traitor who'd arranged for the outlaws to attack Lilydrake. She remembered a woman pounding on the gate, begging to be let in because outlaws were chasing her. It had been a ploy to get the gates open for the attackers.

She didn't know why Mark hadn't just let them in himself, but she'd figure it out.

Maybe the outlaws had been a cover for some other activity. She remembered how awful she'd felt when she'd woken up. He must have drugged the wine the night before the attack. They'd all passed out after the party, she and Sebastian and Joe and Ed. None of them had been in very good shape the next morning.

All but Mark Warin, she bet.

He must have used the time they were unconscious to do something with Sebastian's prototype. He'd been trying to steal it, she supposed, even though Bas hadn't yet gotten the damned thing to work. It had possibilities, infinite possibilities. Mark had talked about the profit and power that could be had from Sebastian's work. Sebastian hadn't agreed with a word he'd said. Mark Warin had probably figured he could work out the bugs in the design himself. Somebody had probably paid him a fortune for the prototype and his own expertise. Maybe the outlaws had been let in to kill the rest of them, make it look like they'd destroyed the prototype and provide Mark with an alibi.

It hadn't worked out like that. She still didn't know what had happened to cause the prototype to malfunction and nearly kill them, or how Mark and Bas had gotten trapped in the past instead of transferred back to Time Search headquarters. She and Ed and Joe had all been wearing subcutaneous medical sensors that had triggered the automatic recall through the timegate. The timegate had been destroyed when the outlaws burned down the hall, but not Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

before the three of them were yanked to safety. She didn't know why the sensor hadn't worked for Sebastian and Mark. Well, the sensor only worked within a certain distance from the timegate. She did remember Bas running away from Lilydrake. Away from her. She still didn't know why. She only knew that his leaving her hurt and angered her, but she didn't want to think about it. If he hadn't left her then—No. No recriminations allowed until all the circumstances were explained.

She didn't want to think about Warin either, or how he'd been killed, but she couldn't get Rolf's lurid images out of her mind.

"Your bath is ready, my lady," someone said.

Libby looked at the servant who waited anxiously beside her, and realized she'd paced a path through the floor covering. How long had she been pacing? How long had she been here? Where was Bas and how was he? How was she going to get out to help him?

"Bath?"

Lady Cicely got up from her loom and took her by the hand. "Come, my dear, and refresh yourself. Lord Rolf would have you beautiful for him tonight."

Cicely sounded almost wistful when she said Rolf's name.

Libby remembered that Cicely had given Rolf an enthusiastic welcome to her hall, and hadn't looked too happy when he'd introduced her as his betrothed.

She'd been coolly polite to Libby, but happy to attend to Rolf's needs for food and ale and a place to stay. While Libby had tried to shrink into the shadows of the hall, Cicely had talked to Rolf. She'd gone on about her lonely widowhood and the need for a strong right arm to protect her and how she ached for strong loins as well. Rolf had paid attention while he downed a few cups of ale. He'd remembered his fair Lady Isabeau at the mention of loins and ordered her Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

upstairs to prepare for a proper bedding. Lady Cicely had come along to see to her comfort rather reluctantly.

You want him
, Libby thought as she looked at the woman.
You can have him.

Loins and all
.

She glanced at the large tub filled with scented, steaming water. She could use a bath. She was plastered with dirt and sweat, her muscles ached and she itched from scratches and bug bites. She suspected she smelled rather badly. She wanted just to immerse herself in the hot water and forget about her troubles for a while.

Unfortunately, she didn't have time for that sort of indulgence. Sebastian was alone and in pain in the woods, and Rolf was downstairs waiting to pounce on her. Her bundle full of modern equipment and exploding jewelry had been left behind at Maiden Well. All she had to work with were her wits. She sighed, because she did not feel particularly witty at the moment. Cicely was all she had to work with, so she'd better get on with it.

"Bathe with me, Lady Cicely," she suggested. "And let us discuss Lord Rolf's many fine accomplishments
." I can lie about anything
, Libby thought as Lady Cicely nodded her agreement to share hot water and a little girl talk.

"What ails your heart, my son?"

Bastien looked up, and into the face of a rather wicked looking nun. It was the humorous, wise twinkle in her eye, he decided, that made her look less than saintly. It was only after she smiled at him for a few moments longer that he noticed the other holy sisters standing in the road behind her.

"Who are you?" he asked. At the same time he was wondering how long he'd been sitting on the side of the road staring at nothing. "You should be careful,"

he told the nuns. "It would be better if you were safe behind doors after nightfall, Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

sisters. There's robbers in this forest."

"There are robbers in every forest," one of the holy women said. She stepped up beside the first nun. She was an attractive woman, with a brisk and efficient air to her. "I'm Sister Susan," she told him. "This is Sister Anne. We are on pilgrimage to Canterbury, but were delayed from reaching the city before nightfall by our sick donkey and the rain. You looked as though you'd been robbed, beaten, had your heart broken, and been excommunicated all at once."

Bastien ran his hand through the long tangles of his hair. His left arm ached when he raised it, but not so badly that he couldn't use it. It was stiff, but healing.

Even the discomfort reminded him of Isabeau and how she'd tended his wound.

He laughed silently at himself, aware that he must be badly in love with the woman if pain could make him sloppily sentimental over her.

He smiled, and spoke to the nuns. "I don't know about excommunicated, sister, but I've had most everything but lightning strike me the last few days."

"Including Cupid's arrow from the look on your face," one of the robed women said.

He rubbed his stubbled jaw. "There was an arrow involved," he admitted as he stood.

"How can we help you?" Sister Anne asked while the other nuns congregated around him.

There was something about the women, perhaps the speculative way they looked him over as he stood among them, that told him they hadn't always been locked in the innocent cloisters of an abbey. He wondered just what they'd done before they'd become nuns.

In answer to the question he hadn't asked, Sister Anne told him, "Once we followed the wicked calling of Jezebel, but now we seek salvation by Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

pilgrimage, and in helping others."

"What good work can we do for you?" Sister Susan asked. "You certainly look like you can use some— comforting."

"Or a shave and a bath," one of the other sisters added, almost under her breath.

"And a proper night of frolic," one of the others said, equally quietly. They still received stern looks from Sisters Susan and Anne.

Bastien knew he looked awful and felt worse. Rescuing Isabeau was more important than his needs. All he required, really, was to have her safe. "I need help," he told the women.

"Tell us and we'll do what we can," Sister Anne replied. "We have only our donkey, and the good sense God grants us, but that should be enough."

He shrugged. These women weren't sensibly offering to pray for his soul and then go on their way, but to actively do what they could for him. What could holy women do against Rolf of Gesthowe and his men? He didn't want to put them in danger, but their caring curiosity led him to confide in them. "I don't know how you can help me, but I need to find a woman." He'd never heard nuns giggle salaciously before. It was a rather disconcerting sound. "Lady Isabeau of Lilydrake," he hurried to tell them. "She was kidnapped and carried off to Blackchurch Keep."

"Blackchurch is but a few minutes walk from here," Sister Anne said. "We were on our way there to ask for shelter for the night."

"Isabeau is being held there. I have to get her out. She's my wife," he added, sure it was the truth even though he was still uncertain of how and why he'd come to believe this. After he saved her from Rolf he had quite a few questions he needed to ask her.

Sister Susan crossed her arms. "Some evil knight carried your wife off against Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

her will? To ravish her?" Bastien nodded.

There were murmurings of sympathy and outrage. The women gathered in a group in the middle of the road to discuss his problems in a whispering huddle.

As he watched the dark-robed figures consulting by moonlight, Bastien was reminded of a scene from a play involving witches that hadn't been written yet.

Only he didn't know how he could remember something that hadn't been written.

He didn't even know if he could read. The subject of literacy had never come up while living hand to mouth in the forest.

He had a lot to talk about with Isabeau. Which meant getting on with the rescue quickly, before Rolf forced himself on her and she drove a dagger into Rolf's vitals in retaliation. He couldn't let that happen—he wanted the pleasure of gutting Rolf of Gesthowe himself.

As he started to turn away from the women, to go off on his own rather than involve innocents in his troubles, they turned back to him.

"I believe we have a plan," Sister Anne said.

"One that will at least get you into Blackchurch Keep," Sister Susan added, and began to explain.

All cats are gray in the dark. Libby had heard that saying somewhere, now she just hoped that there was some truth to it. Meanwhile, she had to get through dinner. She'd put this off as long as she could, but after hours of hiding in Cicely's room she'd finally steeled herself to put the night's plan into action.

The carousing had been going on for quite a while by the time she accompanied Lady Cicely and her women to the stairs that led to the hall. Libby paused on the staircase for a moment to observe the activity below her. The place was full of smoke, as well as laughter and shouting; someone was singing, off-key and bawdy. Rolf's men mingled amiably with Cicely's people. Serving women were Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

being molested without too much protest, and a noisy brawl was taking up one corner of the room. Ale and mead were flowing freely. The men were having a great time. Libby could practically taste the testosterone oozing from their pores.

It reminded her a lot of some parties she'd gone to in college.

The only pool of quiet in the hall seemed to be the spot where a group of black-robed nuns sat in the very back of the room. She remembered that a servant had announced their arrival while she and Cicely were having their long talk. The Lady of Blackchurch Keep had sighed at the announcement that she had yet more uninvited guests to feed, but she hadn't turned the holy women away.

Libby saw that their presence in the keep was certainly unobtrusive. Only one of the robed figures even stood out from the others at all. Even though the nun was silently bent over her meal like the other women, head modestly lowered, her face obscured by white wimple and heavy black veil, it was obvious that the good sister was a big woman. She was probably at least six feet tall when she stood, Libby guessed, and broad-shouldered. Libby wondered if the poor woman had ended up in the convent because her ungainly size brought her no suitors or if she had a true vocation. Not that the woman's situation mattered, really. Libby knew that thinking about the nun was keeping her from facing the man who waited below for her. She stopped looking at the nun, and made herself search out her ostensible betrothed.

Rolf was seated at the largest table. A tall branched candlestand was placed behind his chair. The light from many tallow candles showed him off in all his broad-featured, heavy-limbed, barbaric glory. She thought it was enough to turn a girl's stomach, but Cicely seemed to have eyes only for him. He looked up, caught Libby gazing at him and leered. He stood and waved her forward. Libby sighed. She supposed it was time she made an entrance.

Lady Cicely reached the table before she did. Their hostess took a seat on Rolf's Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

left. Libby would have sat down on his right, but his arms went around her before she could take her place. His fleshy lips slanted across hers before she could stop him. She wanted to gag, but she obediently opened her mouth for his intrusive tongue instead. She let him paw her as well. Instead of clenching her fists at her side and enduring his touch, she leaned in to him and clutched eagerly at his back. She had to get back to her husband, and the only way that was possible was to pretend lust for Rolf for a while longer.