Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (37 page)

Isabella stared at
him. Then, her eyes bugged again and she staggered as if hit.  Her hand flew to
her chest.

“Roger,” she breathed.
“What do you mean? What happened?”

Tate told her the
entire story, from the time he visited Cartingdon until that very moment. He
omitted the information about the armies of Henry of Lancaster and the Lords of
de Lara for the moment, but for the most part, he told her the truth. He
watched Isabella ride a wild sea of emotion; she was up, she was down, she was
weeping, she was furious. She was also extremely insecure and extremely
jealous. Tate knew this, which he was planning on using to his advantage. A
jealous woman would be of tremendous help. He hoped it would be enough.

“My God,” she gasped
with the story was concluded. “Do you know where he has taken her?”

“In the missive he
sent me, he told me to go to Wigmore Castle,” Tate replied. “I would assume he
has taken her there.”

Isabella was pale with
shock, her mind focused on her lover and the fact that he had Tate’s wife in
his company. It did not sit well with her. She rubbed her chin in thought, her
gloved hand drifting over her cheeks as she pondered the situation. Then her
hazel eyes fixed on him.

“So why have you come
to me?” she asked, somewhat suspiciously. “What do you want me to do?”

Tate cocked an eyebrow
at her. “You will do everything in your power to have my wife returned to me
immediately,” he told her in a tone she had rarely heard from him. “I will not
tell you how you must achieve this. I believe you can figure it out.”

Isabella looked
uncomfortable, fiddling with her gloves. “He may not listen to me,” she said
softly. “He has a very strong will.”

Tate would not be put
off by a weak woman. He gazed steadily at her. “I have eight thousand men
converging on Wigmore Castle as we speak,” he told her in no uncertain terms.
“If you do not convince Roger to release my wife, then I will lay siege to the
castle and destroy it.  And when it is breached, I will destroy Roger.  Have no
doubt that I can do this.  And if my wife is harmed in any way, I will make
sure that Roger’s family suffers the consequences because my vengeance will
know no limits. Is this in any way unclear? I am giving you the chance to save
the man who saved you from your husband.  If you fail, I will destroy him.”

She looked at Tate
with naked fear. “Please do not harm him. He may be foolish at times but he is
not evil.”

God, the woman is
blind
,
Tate thought. “He is inherently evil, Iz,” he said, more gently. “This man has
been trying to kill your son for two years and you have done nothing to stop
him. Why do you think I took the king with me? To protect him. We have been
running from Roger for two long years but I will not run any longer. Roger has
crossed the line and I will kill him if he does not release my wife unharmed.”

Isabella’s eyes were
filling with tears. “Where is my son?”

Tate would not be
shifted of the subject. “He is still with me, strong and healthy and alive,” he
put his hands on her upper arms, gripping her tightly. “Listen to me and listen
well; when I leave here, I ride for Wigmore. You may ride with me to talk some
sense into Mortimer when we arrive. If you do not ride with me, then know that
I ride to kill him. The choice is yours.”

She sniffled
delicately into a lace handkerchief. “Is that why you have come? To threaten
me?”

“I have come to seek
your help in the release of my wife. That is all I care about.”

She wept quietly into
her hand for a few moments. Tate stood there and watched her, not at all sorry
he had made her cry. The situation with her son was a perfect example of the
fact that she lived in her own world of denial and he was not going to allow
her to do it this time. He wanted her help and he was going to get it. More
than the might of an army, Isabella would be the one to sway Mortimer. He would
listen to her.

“Will you help me,
Iz?” he asked softly, adding leadingly: “My wife is very beautiful. There is no
telling how she has caught Mortimer’s eye.”

Isabella looked at him
with her watery eyes, shocked. “Why do you say such things?”

“Because you know him
as well as I do. He cannot control himself around a beautiful woman and neither
you nor I would want to deal with the consequences of that.”

She sobbed louder,
muffled in her hand. “He would not do that to me.”

“Aye, he would,” Tate
shook her gently. “Please help me, Iz.  I want my wife back. I love her. Please
help me.”

She sniffled and sobs
a few moments longer before looking at him again with her red-rimmed eyes.

“All right, Tate,” she
whispered. “You win. But I want something as well.”

“What is it?

“You must allow me to
see my son.”

Tate sighed heavily;
she was shrewd when she wanted to be. Tate had kept Edward from her for two
years because he was afraid any contact with his mother would lead to Mortimer
getting a hold of the boy. This time, however, Tate would have to relent.  At
least for now.

“Agreed,” he granted
softly. “Get your women together and your escort.  We leave for the Marches by
noon.”

He took Isabella back
to the castle, handed her off to her women, and collected his charger. As he
rode back to his base camp through the softly falling snow, all he could feel
was a tremendous sense of anxiety. He wanted Toby back more desperately with
each passing moment and was having a difficult time controlling his
impatience.  He knew that Roger would not harm her but he also knew the man was
an opportunist and had an eye for beautiful women. And Toby was certainly
beautiful. As he thought of Mortimer trying to seduce Toby, he began to grind
his jaw. He trusted his wife but he also protected what was his. The more he
thought of it, the more tightly he clenched his teeth. Eventually, he bit his
tongue.

When he reached base
camp, Stephen thought he had been in a fight for all of the blood that was
coming out of his mouth.

***

Wigmore Castle,
Herefordshire

It was a shockingly
clear day in February. The snow was heavy on the ground, several feet deep in
some places, but the sky was blue and the sun shone weakly. The fair weather
was all Roger needed to force everyone outside for some sport. He had selected
archery as the game of choice and had the field north of Wigmore transformed
into an archery range. Half the castle had turned outside to watch.

Toby had been forced
outside as well; having been given access to Roger’s wife’s wardrobe upon her
arrival to Wigmore, she was glorious this day in a heavy blue brocade with gray
fox lining that was a little too snug for her.  Roger’s wife, Joan, was a tiny
woman and Toby was a bit taller and a bit heavier, which made the gowns and
shifts strain against her. Adding to this situation was the fact that all Toby
had done for weeks was continuously eat, giving her a deliciously curvy figure.
The woman was mouthwatering to look at with curvy hips and full breasts. Roger
went into a pant every time he was around her. 

It had been almost
four weeks since her abduction and Toby had been at Wigmore a little over a
week, during which time she had tried to behave herself to keep Kenneth out of
harm’s way and, so far, the only time he had been punished for her bad behavior
was that day on the road. He’d recovered quickly and she had maintained her
cooperative attitude. But she was suffering from increasingly unstable mood
swings that, although not enough to warrant punishment, had Roger unsteady. It
was safer to keep Kenneth at her side to absorb her mercurial moods and stoic,
emotionless Kenneth had been on the receiving end of some serious disposition
highs and lows.                The only other man that could tolerate Toby’s
unpredictable behavior was Timothy. The small physic had developed quite an
attachment to the lady and she to him. He was animated at times and he amused
her. Kenneth, the stone-faced knight, seemed to tolerate the physic moderately
well although he did not trust him completely. The man served Mortimer, after
all. Kenneth was fairly sure that the man was a plant but said nothing to his
mistress. She would not have taken it well.

On this freezing,
bright day, Kenneth had escorted Toby out into the snowy field north of Wigmore
to watch Roger and some of his retainers compete against each other in the
sport of arrow slinging. Kenneth carried a chair out to the field for Toby and
she planted herself in it, accepting the candied pumpkin that Kenneth had
brought along. She chewed with boredom as Roger let fly arrow after arrow,
watching with distaste as he applauded himself and made sure no one bested him.
Kenneth stood silently beside Toby, declining the candied pumpkin she offered
him until she grew insulted and he was forced to eat it. Then, deciding he
liked it, he took the bag from her and ate all of it.

“I cannot see anything
in this snow,” Mortimer announced as he finished a volley of shooting. “And
someone has moved the targets. They are further away than they used to be.”

 “They are exactly
where they have always been, my lord,” de Roche said as he loaded his bow.
“Perhaps the snow is blinding you.”

Hamlin sailed the
arrow at the hay target and hit it dead on. Others congratulated him, including
the generals who had served with him during the siege of Harbottle, as Roger
scowled. While the men laughed and offered praise to de Roche, Roger suddenly
launched an arrow that ended up very closely embedded to Hamlin’s arrow. Roger
threw his hands up in victory.

“You see?” he crowed.
“Not even de Roche can best me.”

Hamlin scratched his
cheek, eyeing the distant target. “I believe mine is still closer, my lord.”

Roger was back to scowling.
“We will solve this issue once and for all,” he turned to Toby, sitting several
feet away with Kenneth and Timothy in attendance. He marched over to her,
speaking as he moved. “Lady de Lara, it will be up to you to decide who is
closer to the target. Will you be so gracious to judge?”

Toby had been trying
to coerce Kenneth into finding her more candied pumpkin and was startled by the
attention suddenly focused on her. Not wanting to play Mortimer’s game, she
also did not want to see Kenneth beat because of her refusal, so she rose to
her feet obediently.

“Of course, my lord,”
she said.

It was clear that she
was unhappy as she stomped off towards the targets with Kenneth and Timothy in
tow. Mortimer and his retainers followed. Timothy caught up to walk beside her.

“He cannot see, you
know,” he muttered. “The man is as blind as a bat.”

Toby looked at him in
surprise. “Mortimer?”

Timothy nodded, making
sure Mortimer was not close by. “Once, he thought his wife’s gray cat was a
cowl and tried to put it around his neck. Was he surprised!”

Toby burst out in
giggles, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle them.  Mortimer, several feet
away, heard her laughing.

“You seem to be in
good humor today, Lady de Lara,” he said loudly. “Would you care to share the
source of your laughter?”

Toby tried to look
innocent, her mind whirling as she tried to think of a plausible lie. She did
not want to get Timothy in trouble with his liege.

“I am sure you would
not find it so humorous, my lord,” she said, refocusing on the targets that
were looming a few feet ahead. “It looks to me as if….”

Mortimer cut her off.
“What was so funny? Is it a secret?”

It was apparent he
would not let the subject go. The group of them came to the targets and she
turned to face Mortimer with some irritation.

“Nay, my lord, it is
not a secret,” she said with veiled impatience. “We were discussing cats. I had
a cat that used to jump on unsuspecting people. Once it grabbed me around the
neck and almost bit my ear off. That is all we were discussing – cats.”

Mortimer lifted an
eyebrow at her as if he did not believe her but he let it go. He returned to
the targets.

“Look and see, Lady de
Lara,” he pointed to the giant bale of hay with arrows sticking out of it. “Is
my arrow not closer than de Roche’s?”

Toby was tired of the
game, exhausted in general. Most of all, she hated being around Mortimer and
his men. They were pompous, overbearing, conceited and powerful. She found it a
stifling combination. All she wanted was to go home, wherever that may, be so
long as Tate was there. She missed him more with every breath and the fact that
he’d not yet made it to Wigmore to rescue her was beginning to weigh quite
heavily on her. It was part of the reason for her severe moods.

“Aye, it is,” she said
shortly, turning to Kenneth.  “My feet are wet. Carry me back to the castle,
please. I am cold.”

Kenneth didn’t say a
word as he bent over and scooped her into his enormous arms. Bundled against
the cold as she was, she made an armful. As he walked away with Timothy beside
him, Mortimer called after them.

“You will attend the
nooning meal, Lady de Lara,” he said in a tone that suggested she had no
choice. “I have visitors I should like for you to entertain.”