Chapter Thirty-Four

 

The sun was warm on the stairwell as Rosalynn walked down the dungeon stairs with a tray laden full of broth and cool water for Gabriella’s morning fast. She brought fresh bread from the ovens, hoping that if Gabriella ate it first it would help with the sickness before the lady started moving about.

Taking the steps slowly so not to spill the tray, a tingling sensation coursed through her. Unsure of the feeling in the pit of her stomach, she crept faster down the stairs. She was almost running by the time she came to the end.

As she reached the bottom, the tray fell from her hands and crashed to the floor as she saw the morning guard bludgeoned to death at the table in the guard’s alcove. Panicking, she ran to Gabriella’s cell. The door was thrown open and the cell was in disarray. The table lay smashed and broken. The tray of food from the previous night was all over the cell and the dishes smashed into bits. The cot was turned over, and Gabriella was nowhere to be found.

Rosalynn’s heart began to race. All the gods save us! She cursed. His lordship will murder whoever is responsible for this. She looked around the cell for any signs of who could have done this, or if Gabriella could have somehow escaped.

She turned over the cot, moving bits of the broken table until she found something. It was small. A bit of blue cloth, torn and ragged as though ripped in a struggle. It was small, and would have been meaningless except for the color. Sir Richard’s colors. She found another bit of cloth closer to the cell door, this piece bigger. Green with black markings. Quite possibly an eagle. A standard like Pasquel’s. Her heart stopped for one full second. It could not be. Sir Richard would never betray his friend. Never. Pasquel, she could believe. But Richard? Grabbing the cloth from the floor, she turned and ran for the stairs, yelling for the guards as she went. As she reached the great hall, John came running.

“What is it?” he questioned, panic filling his voice.

She told him quickly.

John gathered his men, giving them orders to start searching the castle and surrounding walls. As the men went about their orders, Pasquel came from his room.

“Is there something amiss, witch?” he asked rudely.

“Aye,” Rosalynn replied, turning to John. “John, arrest him until his lordship returns. Search his room, and that of all his captains and soldiers,” she told John sternly, allowing for no rebuke.

“What!” Pasquel roared. “You can’t have me arrested, you stupid hag. I am a knight of the king. I can have you hung. I can kill you where you stand!” He reached for his sword.

John reached him and put a dagger to his throat. “Until his lordship returns, milord Pasquel, I am afraid that Mistress Rosalynn is in charge of this keep and what she orders, it is my duty to obey.”

“John, send two guards to search his lordship’s quarters. And when you’re finished, send them on to Sir Richard’s.”

“Aye, mistress,” John replied, nodding for two of his guards.

Moments passed before the guards returned with what appeared to be a chest full of coin and several smaller bags with Lord Damon’s Dragon emblem marked in front.

“It would appear you are a thief as well,” Rosalynn said, turning to glare at her lord’s pompous cousin.

“We also found this,” a guard stated, handing a tunic with Sir Richard’s family crest across the front of it.

Rosalynn ground her teeth and began to mutter curses. “Take him to the dungeon, John. Now, before I truly do put a curse on the bastard.”

“You will pay for this,” Pasquel fumed as John led him towards the dungeon. “When the king hears of this, you both will be drawn and quartered. Do you hear me, witch? I will have you burned!”

Rosalynn replied, “Silence, Pasquel, or I swear that by all you hold holy, I will indeed turn you into a toad.”

He stiffened and paused, his steps faltering in John’s grasp before catching himself and continuing towards the door leading to the dungeon, muttering the entire way about witches and dragons and the ridiculousness of the entire thing. He swore the king would hear about all of it.

* * * * * *

Damon and Sir Richard’s men had split up at dawn, Richards’ men returning to Woodmir, and Damon riding hard to Blackmoor Castle. He had business to settle that he did not relish and he’d just as soon be done with it. Tanak had stitched his side, and it pained him greatly as they rode all morning and into the night. What should have taken them three days from the deep woods they covered in one, so great was their want to get home.

Covered in mud, blood and the sweat of travel, they rode hard into the bailey like the thunder of dragons crashing through the gates of hell. The stable boys and other soldiers came to get the weary horses and see them to their stalls. Wives came to meet their husbands.

A slight twinge went through Damon, as he recalled Gabriella was tucked away in a cell of his dungeon. He was too weary to think of it now. He wanted a bath, some food and a short rest, hoping to gather his courage before having to deal with her wrath.

Rosalynn met him at the steps of the keep, her eyes sharp, a look of worry and something else that Damon could not describe marring them.

His gut clenched, and immediately he knew things were not as they should be. “Come,” he told her, walking into the great hall to where the tables had been filled with food and drink for the returning warriors. “Tell me,” he said, grabbing a cup of mead and quenching his thirst.

“She is gone, milord. The guard dead at his post, her cell destroyed as if in struggle.”

“Aye, milady would have struggled. A warrior she is,” he agreed softly.

“There’s more,” Rosalynn continued, her voice low.

“Go on,” he said, reaching for some food.

“I found these in her cell,” she said, handing him the pieces of Sir Richard’s torn standard and that of Pasquel’s.

Damon stared at them both, unable to move. Rosalynn even stepped back, so filled with rage he’d become.

“There is one more thing,” Rosalynn whispered.

Damon’s head jerked towards hers, his eyes boring into hers with a glacial storm. “What?” he growled.

“She carries your babe,” she whispered.

“Tanak!” Damon roared, his voice blaring through the keep like a god with enough vengeance to destroy the entire world.

Tanak came running into the hall. “Aye, my friend, I have heard the news and have gathered fresh men and horses. We await you now in the bailey.”

Rosalynn handed him a bag of provisions and said, “Your cousin, Pasquel, is a guest in your dungeon. Your coin and Richard’s tunics were found in his quarters. Until this is sorted out, he should remain there. And, lest I forget, Smedely has gone missing.”

Damon nodded his head and strode for the door. He could not bother himself with the two pathetic little men at this time. Neither was worth his time. If Pasquel and Richard were in this together, then he would deal with Pasquel when he returned. But his gut told him that if Pasquel were truly involved, he would not still be in his keep. He would know that Damon would kill him on sight. No, Pasquel would have been long gone by now. For now, he would keep within his dungeon walls.

Mounting a fresh horse that was prepared for him, he kicked it into a gallop and raced out across the bridge, heading straight for Woodmir. Sir Richard would pay for this treachery. With his life, if necessary.

It should have taken them five days had they stopped for the night, but Damon’s fury would not be sated, and they rode nonstop. In two days’ time they reached the gates of Woodmir. Damon had a hundred men with him, so great was his wrath. If Richard had betrayed his trust, his loyalty to king and country, then he would die. It would be a slow and painful suffering for betraying The Dragon of Blackmoor. Yards back from the gates, he addressed the guards. “Send out your lord,” Damon ordered.

The tower guard didn’t know what to make of the situation. Rather than send another of the guards to fetch his liege, he went to retrieve Sir Richard himself.

Richard appeared extremely confused as he left the gates, seeing Damon and a hundred of his men, swords drawn. “Milord,” Richard said, bowing in his saddle, letting Damon know he came alone out of respect.

“Sir Richard, you have something that is mine. I want it back. If it is not returned to me whole and in good condition, I will raise your entire keep, burn it to the ground and kill you and all its inhabitants.”

“On my life, milord, and that of our friendship, I swear on all that is holy, I know not of what you speak,” Richard replied, gripping the reins of his horse to keep him steady. His jaw ticked as he watched Damon and the warriors that stretched out around him, waiting for Damon to respond.

Damon’s eyes bore through Richard as though trying to see into his soul. “Then tell me, my friend,” he said sarcastically, “Where is Gabriella, and how did your standard get to be in her cell at my keep?” He threw the piece of cloth at Richard.

Richard caught it and stared at it, open-mouthed. “I know not,” he said simply, looking up at Damon, his face as full of truth as he could make it. The years of friendship were expressed in his eyes, and his hands held open and away from his sides as if in invitation for Damon to kill him if he had to.

Damon understood the signals that Richard was giving him and nodded his acquiescence. “Then you will help me find who is responsible,” he ordered, sidling up to Richard and offering him his hand, despite the gruffness of his voice.

Richard let out the breath he’d been holding and clasped Damon’s hand. “Aye, my friend. Come, I will see that you and your men are fed and we will go through the facts and get you back on the trail,” he said, turning back towards his castle gate.

“You will, of course, be accompanying me,” Damon told him sternly.

Richard shot a quick glance at Damon. “Of course,” he replied, and led Damon and his men through the gates of Woodmir. Food and drink were brought into the hall as the men gathered around the tables.

“So tell me what has occurred, my friend, and let us see what we can sort out of this mess that is being laid at my table,” Richard stated when they had all settled.

Damon watched him silently as he gathered his thoughts. An uncertain nagging had settled low in his belly and he couldn’t seem to shake it. Despite the evidence still clutched in his hand, Damon didn’t want to believe the worst in his friend.

“As we rode into Blackmoor,” he told Richard, “Rosalynn met me at the steps to tell me that Gabriella’s guard had been murdered at his post, her cell destroyed and she, nowhere to be found. My wretched cousin, Pasquel, is now a guest in my dungeon until further notice, and my entire keep has been searched. My pathetic steward is nowhere to be seen and if I do not return with Gabriella, my witch of a housekeeper has sworn to put a hex on me for not listening to her and putting the poor maid in the dungeon in the first place—her words, not mine.”

“It would make sense that your cousin would be the cause of this trouble,” Richard advised.

“Aye. I have thought of that. But to what end? Why would he murder a servant girl and kidnap Gabriella for a twenty-year-old revenge from a tourney fight? Even Pasquel is not that petty,” Damon replied.

“Unless,” Richard stated. “Unless he was Therese’s lover and is trying to punish you for her death, and in doing so has had Gabriella kidnapped so that she can be killed.”

Damon had thought of this as well, and didn’t like where it was leading. The evidence he had had led him towards Richard, but now he knew, after looking into the face of his childhood friend, that there was no way he could be behind Gabriella’s abduction.

“Aye, it is quite possible,” Damon said with a faraway look in his eyes, considering the possibility of Richard’s words. There could be no other alternatives. He had thought of every angle. Considered every option. If it had not been Richard, as he had been led to believe, then it had to be Pasquel. “We must return to Blackmoor at once,” Damon said, rising.

* * * * * *

“Now?” Richard questioned. “Are you out of your mind? You have just arrived. Your men and horses are tired. What is it that you think you will accomplish by riding them to death?”

Damon grabbed Richard by the front of his tunic, twisting it until his fist was tight at his throat and pulled him to meet his eyes. The hall grew silent as warriors stood unsure what to do, which lord to protect.

“Do not ever question my motives again,” Damon said harshly, each word spaced out as his anger boiled at the edges of his skin.

Richard tried to swallow past the knot at his throat. “I am sorry, my friend. It was entirely my mistake,” he croaked.

Damon shoved him away so fast that Richard stumbled against his chair. Had it not been for Tanak’s steady hand at his sleeve, he’d have fallen in front of all of the men who had gathered in the hall.

“Now, Sir Richard,” Damon said, his fury echoing loudly through the silence of the hall, “As your liege, I order you to gather all the men at my service. We head for Blackmoor as soon as horses are made ready. I want a mounted search of my seaside before nightfall two days hence.” Damon’s order brooked no argument.