Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance (4 page)

After a moment, she sighed in relief. “It didn’t make it through your muscle, thank God,” she murmured. “A deluge of blood, but once we staunch that the wound should heal, given time.” She pulled her dagger from her belt, reaching over to cut a long strip of cloth from Espan’s cloak. In short order she had fashioned a thick bandage around Erik’s waist.

He wearily pushed himself to his feet, then drew her up beside him. His eyes moved to the run-down stables, but she shook her head. “I have a steed in the forest,” she informed him. “I trust him far more than any of the beasts you would find in there.”

He gave a wry smile. “You seem to have thought of everything.” He glanced around at the fallen bodies. “We will have to move fast, though, to stay ahead of the rest of the pack. Lead on.”

He looped his arm around her waist and they made their way through the lengthening shadows, pulling open the front gate and crossing the short distance into the woods. The oak-brown horse was right where she had left him, tied to a speckled birch, and she gave him a fond pat before untying his reins.

Erik climbed up into the saddle, putting down a hand, and in a moment he had drawn her up before him. She settled into place, his warmth and security drawing around her like a cocoon.

She turned her head to the side so he could better hear her. “Head toward the old mill in Sibsey; I have a relay horse there. Our only chance lies in outrunning our pursuers before darkness hits.”

He glanced down at her leg; a fresh sheen of blood glimmered through the bandage. “How many relays?”

“Three,” she responded. “We ride hard until nightfall, and then we lay low for a week. We’ll be far enough that they are unlikely to find us. By staying quiet for the week they will think we got clear away to Wales or Scotland.”

He nodded, pressed in on the horse’s sides with his thighs, and they were in flight.

Mary faded in and out of consciousness as the world thundered around her. Erik’s arm was steady around her waist, holding her in the saddle, and although she knew the ride must be sending just as much pain through his body as it did hers, she could not tell from his even breathing or focused attention on the road ahead. He stayed off the main roads, sticking with forest paths and farmer’s ways. She knew it had only been an hour or so, but by the time the mill drew into sight she was exhausted, her body drenched in sweat despite the frosty air biting her nose.

A roan horse waited for them at the side of the abandoned mill, his ears twitching forward at their approach. Erik slid down first, putting his arms up for her, catching her as she nearly collapsed against him.

Mary’s voice sounded weak even to her own ears. “Two more legs,” she murmured, and she didn’t know if she was reassuring him or herself.

Erik’s eyes went to the oak-brown horse, which stood with his neck down, his sides heaving. Mary took a step forward and gave a gentle pat on the horse’s withers. The steed gave a sharp snort of air, nickering as if in protest, but then headed off at a trot into the forest.

Erik climbed up into the saddle of the fresh steed, and Mary could see by his movements that he was wearying, that his stomach wound was giving him more trouble than he let on. But his smile was encouraging as he put a hand down to her. “Round two,” he offered.

“The cobblestone bridge at Stickney,” she responded.

He drew her up more than she climbed. After a moment she was settled in place in his warmth, nestling herself against him, and they were in motion again.

* * *

She blinked her eyes and realized she was standing, supported by Erik, his arms around her. She shook her head, the whooshing of frigid water echoing in her ears. The roan was nowhere to be seen. A dappled grey horse stood before them, shifting his weight, his hooves making soft clinking noises as they came down on the stone of the bridge.

Erik’s voice was soft in her ear. “I know you are exhausted,” he apologized, “but I need to know the final leg.”

Her thoughts were still sluggish, but a trace of nervousness whispered into her mind. He had followed her lead without question up until now, with the pressure of the Caradoc clan overwhelming all else. Now they were two hours’ hard ride from the threat. They were alone in the gathering dusk. He might balk at where she planned to take them.

She drew in a breath, steeling herself. There was only one way to find out.

Her voice was a mere whisper. “Avoca’s Folly.”

There was a long pause. Mary could feel the tension slide into Erik, the chill in his pose. Then he was carefully turning her around, bringing his eyes to meet hers. His gaze edged with a sharpness she had not seen before.

His voice was rough. “You know who I am.”

She nodded, struggling through the weariness. “You are Erik of Cartwright.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “And you know that my Aunt Avoca threw herself to her death from that tower some fifteen years ago. It is a cursed location; my mother closed it off ever since.”

Mary kept her voice even. “And now your mother is dead.”

Erik flinched, his gaze chilling further. “She died when I was at the Crusades,” he agreed. “She willed the entire property, including the eastern corner with Avoca’s Folly, to a distant relative I had neither met nor heard of. There is a new Lady Cartwright; one who would not welcome us.”

Mary flushed. She hoped he would attribute her discomfort to the searing pain coursing through her leg and not to his words. There was indeed a new Lady Cartwright, had been for three years now, ever since that week of torment during which Erik’s mother had succumbed, in growing agony, to an infection of the stomach. Mary had done everything she could, had tried every remedy and called for every healer within reach, but in the end it had been no use. The Lady had for so long been a domineering, powerful, almost invincible force in her life. In the end she had been reduced first to a writhing, wailing woman, and at last to a moaning, pleading child. Her thin fingers had laced into Mary’s own long after life had left her fragile shell.

“There is a new Lady,” agreed Mary in a low voice. She looked to the ground. While she understood Erik’s mother’s instructions, it still pained her to follow them. It was Mary’s nature to be forthright and simple, to state how things were and take what came. But the past Lady Cartwright had not trusted in Erik, or at least not trusted in his ability to hold off the influences of Lynessa.

From what Mary had seen these past few years, she could not say she blamed the Lady one whit.

She swallowed, running a hand wearily through her hair. “Given the split you had with your mother ten years ago, and that she did not reconcile even on her deathbed, the last place anybody would look for you would be on her property.” She looked up at him. “And as for the Folly, it’s even less likely that any searcher would want to go near that place. Rumor is that it’s haunted.”

His eyes were still, the grey-blue almost ice. “That is the rumor.”

“So we head out?”

Mary held her breath. If he refused, she could hardly force him to this path. As it was, she could barely stand.

He paused for a long moment, his eyes moving from hers to stare toward the northwest. Pain seeped into his gaze, along with a hint of longing. At last he nodded. “I have trusted you so far, and you have been well worthy of that trust. We follow your plan.”

He pulled himself up onto the grey, then drew her up before him. Mary wondered if she imagined it, or if he left a bit of distance between them, if his carriage was slightly stiffer and more careful in where he touched her. But then they were in motion, the world was blurring alongside her, and she once again faded from thought.

* * *

A moon was shining amongst a glittering of stars. Mary realized she was being carried, that Erik’s feet were making a crunch-crunch noise as they moved across the thin layer of snow that surrounded the tower’s walls. He was working his way cautiously toward the main gates, picking his steps carefully amongst the tumble of rocks and weeds. The grey steed was nowhere to be seen.

Mary roused her energy, drawing herself up out of the stupor that called to her so strongly. “Not that way,” she murmured.

Erik glanced down at her in surprise, but his movement stopped, and he swung his head from left to right along the length of the high wall. “I thought this was the only gate?”

“Continue along the wall to the right,” she instructed. “About a quarter of the way around.”

He obliged, making his way by the shimmering moonlight, holding her easily against him. She heard the soft siren song of sleep and fought it with effort. They were nearly there; she only had to hold on for a few more minutes.

Finally the swath of ivy was just ahead. She pointed at it with a shaking finger. “Over there. Pull that aside, but gently.”

He snugged her up in his left arm, dropping to one knee to balance her, then reached forward with his right. The ivy formed a thick curtain over a small hole made by tumbled down stones. If he crouched, there would be just enough space to make it through.

He carefully eased them both through the hole, taking care to rearrange the ivy once they had passed. Then he stood and looked across the small courtyard and the tall tower at its center. His eyes drew to the shuttered window at the top, and a shiver ran through his body.

Mary’s vision blurred, and she focused on the moment. “Walk in the stream.”

His eyes went first to the undisturbed dust that lay across the width of the cobblestone area, then to the thin trickle of water that meandered across one side. Nodding, he made his way carefully along the slick stones, each footfall erased by that rippling cascade.

At last they were at three short steps before the tower, and the wooden door, banded in iron. He looked at it for a long moment, then gave a heft against it with his shoulder.

The door remained firmly in place.

He looked down at her, raising an eyebrow.

Mary wriggled out of his arms, leaning against the cold stone for a moment as she gained her feet. Three more minutes. She only had to last three more minutes, then she could sleep all night and day.

She found the loose stone to the right of the door, pulled it free, and handed it to Erik. Then she reached her hand into the hole, her fingers searching for the thick rope.
Ah, there it was.
She drew in a long breath, gathered her strength, and pulled.

There was a creaking noise from within, and then a soft thud.

She reached forward with her hand, gave a gentle push, and the door swung open.

Erik nodded in appreciation, replacing the stone, then wrapped an arm around her waist as they moved into the circular room. It was coated in dust, housing only a broken table and an upended chair. Moonlight streamed in through one barred window, and a circular staircase headed up in the far corner.

Erik turned, closing the door behind them, resetting the bar in place. He looped the rope back over its pulley and laid the end in front of the hole. Then he turned to look at Mary.

“I assume we go up?”

“Up we go,” agreed Mary with a weary smile. “And then we sleep.”

His arms were around her, and she could sense the exhaustion which traced through every motion he made, but his steps were steady as he moved them up the long spiraling steps. Thin arrow slits let in glimmers of light, but the stairs were dark and dusty. He was careful to feel for each step with his foot, ensuring his stability before moving up another stair. It seemed hours later that they came to the shallow landing, to a sturdy wooden door.

Mary’s mouth quirked into a wry grin. “And here we are. Our home away from home for the next week.”

Erik maneuvered her forward, taking the latch with his left hand while balancing her off to the right, and then swung the door open.

He stopped, his eyes widening in surprise.

Mary’s eyes followed his gaze, a sense of satisfaction warming her. She had done everything she could to prepare the room for an escape, and by Erik’s reaction her efforts had not been in vain. The one full window overlooking the front courtyard was shuttered, but not solidly, so streams of moonlight lit the room in silvery streaks. To the right was a large, low bed, mounded with four thick royal-blue blankets. A pile of pillows stretched across its headboard.

A table with two chairs stood along another wall, and beside it shelves were stocked with apples, turnips, wheels of cheese, loaves of bread, and a wealth of other food stuffs. Large barrels were marked as ale, mead, and wine.

The third wall’s shelves held the other supplies. There was a stretch of bandages, needles, herbs, and ointments. One shelf held clothing and a pair of folded cloaks. Another contained sword-sharpening stones, polishing cloths, as well as a collection of daggers.

Erik’s voice held respect. “You really are prepared,” he murmured.

Mary smiled despite her exhaustion. “I tried to be.”

He moved over toward the bed, dropping to one knee, using his left hand to pull back the blankets. She rolled gratefully onto the thick mattress, sinking into it, and when he lay the blankets back over her it was all she could do to remain conscious. It seemed a heaven on earth.