Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (7 page)

Toby didn’t argue. She
followed Tate, the squire and the men at arms back to the road where the horses
were tethered. Shortly, the knights returned and reported to Tate. The two
other shepherds had been found, murdered. Deeply disturbed, Toby mounted her
horse with Tate’s assistance. Tate, however, remained on the ground.

“John, I will leave it
to you and Oscar to escort the lady back to Forestburn,” Tate indicated one of
the men at arms, heavily armed with his crossbow. “Remain there. I shall come
for you when I can.”

Toby was surprised,
concerned. “You are not returning with us?”

“Nay, mistress.”

“Where do you go,
then?”

Tate swung his big
body aboard his charger. “To find whoever launched the attack.” He looked over
his shoulder to his knights. “Stephen, ride to Harbottle Castle and collect
thirty men to form a search party. Kenneth, Morley, you ride with me. We shall
see if we can find a trail while it is still fresh.”

“My lord, if I may,”
Toby interrupted. “The raiders are most likely border Scots. They shall
disappear into the land as quickly as they sprang from it. You will not find
them.”

His expression was
dark. “Mistress,” he said quietly. “Stephen and Kenneth examined the arrows
that killed your men. They are not the arrows of border Scots.”

A bolt of fear ran
through her. “Then to whom do they belong?”

Tate’s response was to
turn her horse around and bark orders to John and the man-at-arms to move with
all due haste. Toby’s last sight of Tate was as he and his gray charger
disappeared into the fog like phantoms.

***

It had been a long night.
Morning dawned and still they had not returned.  Toby sat by the hearth in the
great hall well after the meal was finished, wondering if something terrible
had befallen Tate and his men. She wasn’t feeling particularly well this
morning perhaps as a result of the chill she had received yesterday; she was
warm to the touch and generally exhausted. She could not even summon the
strength to answer the cries from her mother. Not guilt or God could have
motivated her to respond this day. She had sent Ailsa to see to the woman’s
needs instead, instructing her to stay out of arm’s length.

The squire and the
man-at-arms had remained in the
garçonnaire
since their return
yesterday. She had seen them only twice, for the evening and morning meal. At
this late stage of the morning, it was quiet with Ailsa taking her usual nap
and her mother at least silent for the moment. Her father had gone into the
village to drink and discuss town affairs with the aldermen and Toby was weary
of sitting about, wondering what had become of the lord of Harbottle. There
were accounting matters waiting for her in her father’s solar that she had put
off long enough.

 Rising from the
chair, she accidentally brushed her hand against the arm of the chair and
winced painfully; the scratches her mother had given her were becoming angry
red wounds. Examining it more closely, she saw that the entire area was swollen
and painful. She knew she should have tended them yesterday when they were
fresh but she had other things on her mind.

Arrowroot flowers grew
wild in an open area near the village. Toby sent a servant out to gather some
so that she could tend her wounds with them. By the time the servant returned
with the flowers, Toby’s entire body was hot, tired and throbbing. Sitting at
her father’s desk doing an accounting of their winter fruit supply was
difficult; her eyes were hot and it was difficult to keep them open. In fact,
she wanted very much to sleep. She gratefully set the quill down to turn her
attention to the healing powers of the tender arrowroot. She promised herself a
rest after tending the cuts.

The flowers were
mashed into a paste against softened linen, allowing the juices from the petals
to seep into the material. Toby packed some of the mashed petals against the
red gashes and then wrapped the remaining petals and linen tightly around them.
She was securing the edges of the linen so that the bandage would stay firm
when she heard horses at a distance. Her weariness fled for the moment as she
bolted to the window.

Tate had returned and
he had a horde of men with him. Toby tried to play ignorant to the fact that
her heart had leapt at the sounds of him returning.  She almost ran for the
door but stopped herself. In fact, it was best if she went back to her
accounting and pretended she hadn’t heard the horses at all. Moving for the
desk, she sat calmly and resumed her bookkeeping with the exception of not
truly looking at the count before her. She looked at the parchment but saw
nothing.  Her mind, vision and hearing were attuned to the entry door in the
hall.

Her wait was a long,
excruciating one. It took forever for the door to finally creak open.  She had
almost broken her quill with nervous fingers. She struggled to concentrate on
her count as bootfalls crossed the hall, paused, and then moved for the solar.
Only then did she very casually look up.

Tate was dressed to
the hilt in armor and weapons. He looked every inch the feared warrior of the
Dragonblade epithet. But he also looked weary, as if he had been up all night.
His storm cloud eyes fixed on her.

“Mistress,” he sounded
weary, too.

She rose from her
chair, feeling strangely light-headed. “My lord,” she returned his salutation.
“I hope all went well.”

“It did not, but that
should not concern you. Suffice it to say that your father is released from his
pledge of the herd for young Edward’s cause.”

“I do not understand.
Is something wrong?”

“I am returning to
London and do not have time to wait for the collection.”

His manner was
clipped. Toby took a step in his direction, concerned that something was
gravely amiss. “My lord, if we have done something to offend you, then I….”

He shook his head,
forcing himself to soften. Having spent the past day and night in warfare mode,
it was difficult to separate the man from the professional warrior.

“You have done
nothing, mistress, I assure you,” he said, his tone more settled. “I did not
mean to suggest that you had. It is simply that business has arisen that
requires my presence elsewhere. I have not time to wait for the money from the
herd your father has pledged to me.”

“Did you not find the
sheep?”

“I did not look for
them.”

“Did you at least find
the men you were searching for?”

“I found them.”

He didn’t say more
than that and Toby didn’t press him. He obviously did not wish to speak of it
and it truthfully wasn’t any of her concern. She didn’t know why she suddenly
felt so awful. Disappointment filled her and she struggled to graciously bid
him farewell.  It was horrible to realize that she did not want him to go.

“I would wish you a
good journey, then, and good fortune wherever you may go,” she said as
sincerely as she could. “Should you ever go to Rome, perhaps you will honor me
with the tale of your adventure some day.”

He just looked at her,
his expression softening, the dark eyes full of something she did not
understand.  Much to her surprise, he reached out and took her hand and led her
over to the chair near the window. He indicated for her to sit and she did so,
her heart thumping loudly against her ribs. There was no way with his bulk that
he could sit, so he took a knee beside her to bring himself to her level. Toby
could not help but notice that he never let go of her hand the entire time. The
thrill of it caused her cheeks to flush warm and warmer still until she could hardly
breathe.

“There is much I wish
I could tell you, mistress, but alas I cannot,” he said after a moment’s
deliberation. “Suffice it to say that I do not want to go but I must. It is
safer for you and your family if I do.”

“Safer?” she repeated.
“What do you mean?”

“Just that. You need
not be involved in matters that do not concern you.”

She gazed at him, long
and hard. The more she looked upon him, the more handsome he seemed to become.
His face was so perfectly formed that it was difficult to find any flaw with
it. She became so upswept in his male beauty that she nearly forgot her train
of thought.

“May I ask you
something?” she asked.

“You may.”

“Are you running from
someone?”

He almost looked
amused. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because when you
first came to the church in Cartingdon, you were wearing heavy cloaks to
conceal your identity. You did not want anyone to notice you.”

His gaze gave her a
hint of what he might be thinking. “You are correct in that assumption, but
that is merely prudence. Knights that go about announcing themselves are
inviting trouble. I would rather not invite it. I have enough.”

“Then you are not
running?”

“Nay, mistress. I do
not run from anything.”

“I did not mean to
suggest that you do.”

He smiled at her,
releasing her hand so that he could remove his gauntlets. “I know you did not.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture of fatigue, before reclaiming
her fingers, this time flesh against flesh. Instantly, his brow furrowed. “Good
Christ, your hand is searing.”

Before Toby could
reply, he put a hand to her forehead. “You are burning with fever. Did you not
realize this?”

She hadn’t, really.
All she knew was that she hadn’t felt very well. “I have not felt my best this
morning,” she admitted.

Tate put a hand on her
cheek for good measure. It was soft, like baby’s skin, and was quite warm.
Inadvertently, he touched the bandage on her wrist and his focus was drawn to
it.

“What is this?” he
demanded.

He was unwrapping it
before she could answer. “It… it was an accident,” she stammered.

He ripped away the
linen and was faced with the four festering crescent-shaped incisions.  He
stared at them a moment, and his manner cooled dramatically.

“Who did this to you?”

His voice was a growl.
Toby looked at him, her eyes full of fear. “It was an accident,” she repeated.

His jaw ticked. He
reached to her neckline, pulling back the garment to expose a portion of the
bruise he had seen the day before. “And this? Was this an accident, too?”

She tried to move away
from him. “It was.”

He grabbed both of her
hands, refusing to let her leave the chair. “You will tell me who did this to
you. Was it your father?”

She shook her head.
“Nay, of course not. He would never lay a hand on me.”

“Then who?”

“It was an accident, I
tell you. You need not concern yourself. Moreover, I do not see how it is any
of your affair.”

He stared at her. Then
he dropped her hands and stood up. “You are right, of course,” he said coldly.
“Forgive my impudence for asking.”

He stood up and turned
on his heel. He was nearly to the door when she called out to him.

“My lord?”

He paused, not saying
a word, but turned to face her. Ill, uncomfortable, Toby stood up and fought to
swallow her pride. She didn’t want to tell him and wasn’t even sure where to
start, but he was the first person in her entire life that had ever shown any
concern for her. She felt that she should explain so he didn’t think her
unkind.

“This has gone on so
long that I do not think of it anymore,” her voice was a whisper. “It is simply
something that happens now and again. Please understand that my father, no
matter how much he drinks, has never laid a hand upon me. Nor has my baby
sister. What happens… what you have seen… cannot be helped.”

He came back into the
room. “What do you mean it cannot be helped?”

“Simply that.”

“You do not do this to
yourself, do you?”

She looked as if he
had just asked her something deeply painful. “Of course not,” she breathed. “It
is just that my mother….”

“Your mother does this
to you?”

He raised his voice
and she put her hands up to quiet him. “She cannot help it, my lord. She is ill
and confined and does not know what she is doing. After suffering an attack
during the birth of Ailsa, she has never been the same. The lovely woman I once
knew as my mother has become something wicked and frightful. She is out of her
mind with disease and does not realize the pain she inflicts.”

“On you.”

She hesitated. “Aye.”

He didn’t know what to
say but his expression eventually softened to one of sorrow. Reaching out, he
gently took her swollen hand and re-examined the wounds. “What she does is
wrong, mistress. You endure too much.”

“I endure what I
must.”

Still holding her
hand, he took his other hand and felt her forehead once again. It was a gentle
gesture, something she was unused to. Much to her horror, tears sprang to her
eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. No one had ever shown her such compassion. 
Before she could turn away to wipe her face, he swept away her tears with his
thumbs.