Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (11 page)

“With all that I possess,
I swear it.”

By the time they
returned to the manor, the majority of the structure was completely engulfed.
The troops from Harbottle had given up trying to douse the flames and were
simply standing around, watching it burn. 

Tate was about to enter
the front door when the roof collapsed, crushing everything beneath it in a
horror of ash and flame. The force of the collapse blew out the doors and
windows, nearly scalding Tate and Kenneth as they attempted to gain access.

Sparks and smoke flew
into the late morning sky until all that was left of Forestburn Manor was
cinders and sorrow.

CHAPTER FIVE

Riding at night wasn’t
the smartest thing to do, but Tate felt that they had been given little choice.
The sooner they reach Harbottle, the better for them all. Mortimer’s men were
after them and Tate was anxious to put young Edward behind the massive walls of
his castle.

Tate was in full
armor, something he’d sorely missed earlier in the day with Mortimer’s men
running about. The tempered steel breastplate had been forged in Rouen, as had
the sword at his side. His gloved hand stroked the dragonhead of the hilt, a
carved masterpiece of metalwork. Though the road was quiet, still, he was
preparing to draw it at any moment. He and his knights were silent, their
senses attuned to their surroundings.

“Mortimer’s days are
numbered,” Edward said quietly, attempting to fortify his courage. “He killed
my father and he is trying to kill me.”

“He has been trying to
kill you since you were a small child,” Tate replied evenly. “He is simply
being more obvious about it now.”

The youth hung his
head. Edward was still very sensitive. Tate knew what he was thinking without
the lad speaking his mind.

“As I have always told
you, I am sure your mother knows nothing,” he spoke with quiet assurance.
“Mortimer is clever. There is much he can hide from her.”

“But you told her what
he was doing,” Edward said. “She did not believe you.”

“She refused to
believe ill of him. He freed her from the tyranny of your father and she is
blinded by that.”

Edward sighed heavily,
tightening the reins on his blond steed. “She will believe when I take my
rightful place and throw Mortimer to the executioner.”

Tate didn’t reply.
Like so many conversations with the lad, they had traversed this one before,
too. He glanced at Stephen, astride his big black stallion, and at Kenneth, who
was watching the surrounding trees like a hawk. It had been a long night for
all of them and they were all exhausted, yet their exhaustion would have to
wait. They were in the open and vulnerable and had to reach safety.

“It is my suggestion
that we stay vigilant until we reach Harbottle,” Tate said. “We will all be
thinking more clearly once we are within the safety of her walls.”

“What about Mistress
Toby?” Edward wanted to know. “We must still go to London; our stay at
Harbottle is not permanent. Do we leave the women at Harbottle to fend for
themselves?”

Tate thought about the
sisters, asleep in the wagon that they had taken from the stables of Forestburn.
Toby had been too ill to react to her father and mother’s gruesome death, but
Ailsa had been inconsolable. He felt a good deal of guilt at the thought of
heading off to London and leaving them behind in a strange castle. Like a
vicious storm he had moved in, destroying everything in his path, and then left
those caught in the maelstrom to deal with the aftermath. 

“Only the manor
burned,” Kenneth cut into Tate’s thoughts. “The farm is still functional. ‘Tis
not as if they have lost everything. They can rebuild.”

Kenneth made it sounds
as if the women were not destitute but they all knew it was more than that.
Edward sighed heavily; after Toby had defended him, he, too, was feeling guilty
about everything. She had risked her life to protect him and, because of him,
men had burned down her home and killed her parents. All of that aside,
however, he was anxious to return to Harbottle and, subsequently, London.

“Can we leave for
London as soon as the women are settled, then?” he asked. 

“We can.”

“But what are you
going to do with them?”

“They will enjoy the
hospitality of Harbottle until such time as it is no longer necessary.”

Edward didn’t push. He
could tell by the tone of Tate’s voice that now was not the time. There were
other things on his mind.

The night seemed to
drag on forever. A fog had settled, collecting from the moist grass and rising
as a thick mist.  It was very damp and the chill was evident. Not even the moon
could break through the fog, although there was a small amount of light from
the shrouded full moon. Tate rode at the head of the group, his attention
moving back to Stephen now and again. The Hospitaller was riding beside the
wagon.

They had been on the
road for a few hours when Tate put Kenneth at point and reined his charger back
beside Stephen. He could see two figures resting in the wagon, covered by
blankets they had managed to collect from the
garçonnaire.
In fact,
everything the Cartingdon sisters owned that had not been burned now lay piled
in the wagon. Tate peered at the still forms in the wagon bed.

“How is Mistress Toby
faring?” he asked Stephen.

Stephen’s cornflower
blue eyes drifted to his patient. “She is sleeping heavily. She has had quite a
night of it.”

Tate lifted an ironic
eyebrow. “No doubt.  We should see Harbottle by dawn; a warm bed should do her
wonders.”

Stephen nodded his
head though his focus remained on the lady. “So tell me how she stood against
de Roche. We heard Edward’s version in which she rose out of her deathbed and
wielded the poker like the sword of Archangel Michael. What was the truth of
it?”

Tate gave him a
half-grin. “He was not far wrong,” his smile faded as his gaze fell on her
again. “She may be aggressive and outspoken but she has courage that men would
envy. She is a brave and noble woman.”

There was something in
his tone that caused Stephen to look closely at him. He had suspected that Tate
felt something more than polite interest since yesterday but couldn’t honestly
believe it until this moment. The Tate de Lara he knew was focused on young
Edward’s cause singularly.   Stephen was frankly astonished to hear a tone
comprised of awe and appreciation. He was also strangely jealous.

“Noble indeed,” he
agreed quietly.

Tate didn’t notice the
knight’s soft tone or the distant look to his eye. He was focused on the
bundles sleeping in the wagon bed. Then his gaze moved to their surroundings;
it was a soft, damp and eerie blanket that covered the land. Even with thirty
men from Harbottle, he was vastly uncomfortable traveling on the open road in
the dead of night. It was as quiet as a tomb as they plodded along, hoping to
make it to safety in relative peace.

Until Ailsa’s cry
suddenly pierced the air. The little girl sat bolt upright, wailing and rubbing
her eyes. Startled, both Tate and Stephen reined their chargers near the wagon.

“Ailsa?” Tate was
closer to her. “What is wrong?”

Ailsa sobbed and wiped
the tears from her eyes. “My belly aches,” she sobbed. “I want to go home!”

Tate pulled one of the
blankets from the wagon onto his lap. He held out his hand to the girl. “Come
here, sweetheart,” he said. “Ride with me. You will feel better.”

She sobbed and
sputtered, waking Toby in the process. The older sister was very groggy as she
struggled to sit up against the bumping of the wagon.

“Ailsa,” she murmured
hoarsely. “What is wrong?”

Ailsa sobbed and
coughed. Suddenly, she vomited all over the front of her garment as Toby tried
to catch the liquid with a section of the blanket. It turned into a mess. When
she was finished gagging, Ailsa cried harder.

“I want to go home!”
she wailed.

With a curt command
from Tate, the wagon lurched to a halt and Stephen bailed from his charger,
going in search of his medicament bag. Toby tried to clean up her sister.

“There, there,” she
whispered softly. “You will be all right now.”

Tate had come to a
halt next to the wagon, his storm cloud eyes watching Toby as she gently tended
her sister. He hadn’t sufficient experience in matters of the heart to realize
that he was seeing the woman through entirely different eyes; now, everything
about her was completely different. He almost couldn’t remember that curt,
aggressive woman he had first met at the church in Cartingdon. All he could see
was the brave, compassionate soul.

Stephen approached
with water and some manner of powder from his mysterious bag and together he
and Toby managed to both calm and clean Ailsa.   Stephen’s potion did wonders
to soothe her stomach and her sister’s tender embrace soothed her tears. 

With her sister
calming, Toby looked up at Tate, still seated astride his charger and watching
them closely. She smiled weakly.

“I fear we have caused
you some delay,” she said quietly. “She has never been a good traveler.”

Tate waved her off.
“We are nearly to Harbottle. ‘Tis just over the hill and we shall have both you
and your sister into a warm bed in little time.”

Toby’s smile faded,
her eyes turning as if she could see the distant castle. “That would be welcome,”
she murmured.

Tate watched her
intently as she returned to comforting her sister. “How are
you
feeling?” he asked softly.

It took Toby a moment
to realize he was asking the question of her. She lifted her shoulders.
“Exhausted,” she admitted. “But well enough to.…”

She trailed off. Tate
peered more closely at her.

“Well enough to what?”
he encouraged.

She looked at her sister,
her hands, anywhere but Tate’s probing eyes. “Nothing, my lord.”

“My lord, is it?” Tate
grunted. “You have not called me ‘my lord’ for two days.”

“I have not been
conscious for two days.”

He grunted again, a
smile playing on his lips. “You will call me by my name. Now tell me what you
were going to say.”

She looked up at him
and he could see embers of the old fire within her brilliant hazel eyes, the
Toby he had first met in Cartingdon. He knew that illness and devastation could
not erase this woman’s spirit. She was too strong.

“I was going to say
that I am well enough to return to Forestburn,” she said with more conviction.
“I must see to the state of affairs if we are going to have any hope of
regrouping.”

He had known all along
that it would have been her desire; he just didn’t think she would voice it so
soon. “Forestburn is ashes,” he said quietly. “Give yourself time to recover
before entertaining a return home.”

Toby’s lovely features
tightened; he could see it even in the dark of the fog. “Forestburn may be
ashes but my father’s farm still exists. There are still sheep to be shorn and
harvests to be brought in. Simply because the manor burned does not mean the
empire no longer exists. Too many people depend on us. They must know that all
is not lost, that they have not been deserted.”

He expected nothing
less from her but was not prepared to enter into what would undoubtedly be
something of an argument.  “Well,” he said after a moment, scratching beneath
his hauberk where it chaffed. “Nothing will be settled this night. We are
nearly to Harbottle and from there you can plot your next move. But for now, I
would strongly suggest we make all due haste to reach my fortress and see what
the morrow brings.”

“I
am
returning
home.”

“I know.”

She eyed him as if
daring him to challenge her. When she realized he had no intention of
contradicting her, she backed down somewhat and refocused on her sister.  Above
her head, Tate and Stephen exchanged knowing glances; trying to keep her still
long enough to recover her strength was going to be something of a chore. 

Truth be told, Tate
knew he did not have the heart to deny her. After what he had witnessed at the
top of the stairs at Forestburn, he realized he would never be able to deny her
anything ever again. Any woman that brave, that strong, deserved his undying
support and loyalty. But it was more than that; beyond admiration and respect,
he felt something more. He wasn’t sure what it was yet, but it was lingering in
the recesses of his mind just waiting for the moment to be unleashed.  Every
time he looked at her, he could feel himself drawing closer and closer to
unhinging it.

Ailsa fell back into a
fitful sleep. As exhausted as she was, Toby was holding her limp sister
protectively to ensure the child’s comfort. Tate ordered the wagon to move
forward and it did, as carefully as it could manage. Stephen, still beside the
wagon, rolled up a blanket and propped it behind Toby’s back. She was able to
lean back on it and she smiled her thanks at Stephen. He dipped his head
gallantly and remounted his charger.