Authors: Lord of Light
As he went into the ward and
removed her rabbit from the fire, the smell of the meat suddenly hit her and Alisanne
realized how terribly hungry she was. Her legs, inexplicably, became very
unsteady. Mayhap she was more exhausted than she thought, as it had easily been
a couple of days since she last ate. She simply hadn’t had the time to stop and
rest or eat, knowing the sooner she reached her destination, the better. She
tried to ignore the dizziness, but after a few steps her knees gave way.
Roane heard the thud and looked
up in time to see Alisanne picking herself up from the doorway.
He turned back to the meat in his hand when
he heard another dull crash and saw that the woman was lying on the wet ground.
This time, she did not get up.
Roane watched her from the corner
of his eye, waiting for her to move. He thought it was some sort of plot to
play on his sympathies. But Alisanne remained motionless and he finally sighed
irritably, retracing his steps to where she now lay. As he came close, he
realized that she was indeed moving; she appeared to be gasping and he reached
down, rather roughly, and grabbed her by the arm.
Alisanne’s reaction was to pull
harshly from his grasp. She was conscious, though barely. “I am perfectly
capable of getting up,” she panted. “Just… allow me to catch my breath.”
He instantly complied and went
back to his meat.
Stubborn wench
, he
thought. Alisanne pushed herself up, first to her hands and finally to her
knees.
Roane pretended not to notice or
care, but in truth, he was very aware of her slow progress. He suspected the
night in the rain had sufficiently weakened her and now she was ill, and he
didn’t want a dying woman on his conscience. With another grunt, he went back
to her.
“Come,” he grasped her arm and
pulled her to her feet; she was terribly light. “Since you caught and killed
this beast, you should eat some of it.”
Alisanne was pale, her porcelain
skin unnaturally white against her glimmering brown hair.
She tried to pull away from him but hadn’t
the strength. “I don’t need to eat,” she insisted petulantly, though they both
knew it was a lie. “I must speak with Sir Roane. That is the only matter of
importance right now.”
She wasn’t walking very well. Roane
swept her into his arms, immediately aware of how sweet and soft she was. Her
hair brushed him, her small hands gripping his neck in surprise, and he found
himself fighting urges he hadn’t felt in years. The remembrance of a woman in
his arms, the sweetness of her voice softening his hardness, all mingled into a
heat that began in his chest and spread to his limbs. By the time they reached
the small pit fire, he wasn’t sure he wanted to put her down at all. He rather
liked her against him. But for sanity, and safety’s sake, he did.
“Eat,” he thrust a succulent
piece of rabbit into her hand.
Alisanne eyed him stubbornly
before chewing on the meat. Her hands were shaking as she shoved it into her
mouth and Roane watched her, feeling himself weaken. She wasn’t any more of a
threat to him than his dog was, assassins in the shadows be damned. He didn’t
eat any more of the rabbit; he sat back and watched her delicate little mouth
devour the entire thing. She needed it.
The sun was bright as the morning
deepened. The color returned to Alisanne’s cheeks, a beautiful blush of pink
against her skin, and Roane found himself more enchanted by the moment. And he
was also intensely curious as to how so delicate and frail a lady apparently
faced such great danger to find him.
Why?
As she licked the grease from her fingers, his need to know grew overwhelming.
“Now, mayhap you will tell me why
you seek Sir Roane,” he said.
Alisanne looked up from her dirty
hands. “I will only tell Sir Roane. You have not made it clear if you are him
or not.”
“Is your business so personal?”
“It is.”
“Yet you do not know him.”
“If I did, then I would know if
you were him, would I not?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her
insolence. But he secretly liked that she was not afraid of him. Most people
were terrified.
But it was clear that
they were at a stalemate; she would not tell him her business unless he
revealed himself, and he was not inclined to do so at the moment.
At least not yet.
So he sat back, feeling the
warmth of the dying fire through his worn soles as he gazed up at the crystal
blue sky. “Let me see if I understand, then,” he said. Samson wandered out of
the open abbey doors, a fat hairy thing, and he eyed the dog fondly before
continuing. “You come seeking a man named Sir Roane de Garr on personal
business, traveling alone in a land of bandits and murderers to reach him, yet
you do not know him.”
“Aye, my
lord.”
“Is it news you come bearing that
would affect him somehow?”
“No, my
lord.”
“Are you an assassin?”
She looked indignant. “No!”
He had slipped that question in simply to
gauge her reaction and he was not disappointed. Her denial, in his opinion, was
sincere. As a man who had stayed alive the past three years depending on his
suspicions, he trusted his senses.
He lazed back on one arm,
studying her without a hint of warmth. “Where are you from, Lady Alisanne?”
“Near Kidderminster.”
“That is a considerable
distance,” he said. “All by yourself, you say?”
“Aye, my
lord.”
“Then your business must be very
important to risk your life in such a manner.”
Her brilliant green eyes grew
intense.
“It ‘tis a matter of my life.”
He lifted an eyebrow and sat
forward, stirring the last of the fire. “It is a matter of your life, yet you
risk it just the same traveling many miles to have it saved?” he shook his
head. “That does not make sense.”
Alisanne had had enough. She was
exhausted and sick, and quite frankly she was irritated by the man’s
evasiveness. If he wasn’t Sir Roane, then he should have told her a long time
ago and not have wasted both their time. True enough, it would not have been
difficult to sit and stare at his handsome face day and night until she grew
old and died, but time was of the essence at the moment and she could not waste
it playing games.
“It makes sense when you consider
what is at stake,” she countered. “I will ask you again and I will politely ask
for a simple answer. Are you Sir Roane de Garr, yea or nay?”
Her tone was sharp, but he didn’t
flinch. He found he rather enjoyed her fire. “Who told you he was here?”
She gazed at him, her delicate
jaw ticking with the force of her frustration. “I was told I could find Sir Roane
de Garr in the town of Church Stretton, at the abandoned abbey on the hill. I
traveled a great while and risked my life asking many people where I might find
this town.
This is the only abbey for
miles as far as I have been told. Am I incorrect, then, to presume that you
must logically be Sir Roane?”
Her voice was quaking with
emotion and there wasn’t any reason not to tell her what she already knew.
“No,” he said slowly.
Alisanne almost collapsed with
the surprise of his answer. She had expected more bartering, more evasive
answers, not a simple word of acknowledgement. She suddenly didn’t know what to
say and much to her chagrin, her eyes welled with fat tears that treacherously
splashed onto her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly, but Roane could not help
but see them.
“What’s the matter now? Don’t you
believe me?”
She shook her head and looked
away, trying to recover her composure. Roane watched her struggle. “Lady Alisanne,”
he said. “Tell me why you weep.”
She swiped her eyes with the back
of her hand. “I… I am not sure,” she whispered. “I suppose it is simply relief.
Now that I’ve found you, I am not even sure where to begin.”
As much as he found himself
softening to her, still, he did not trust her and tears somehow made his
skepticism return, as if she was trying to lull him somehow and play on his
sympathies.
He wasn’t sure what to
think.
“You can start by telling me who
sent you here.”
Alisanne opened her mouth to
reply when the heavy pounding of hooves echoed up the narrow path that led to
the abbey.
She and Roane turned in time
to see a great silver charger roar up the muddy trail, resplendent in full
armor and draped with banners in yellow and green. The man was armed to the
teeth with weapons, a shocking sight in the peace of the ruined abbey.
“Ah
ha
!” the knight aboard the charger bellowed. “There you are!”
Alisanne was so startled that she
toppled back onto her arse before she even gained her footing. Roane, however,
was much more agile. Even as he moved past her, his eyes glared daggers into
her.
“Liar!” he roared.
Alisanne had no idea what he was
talking about. “Sir Roane, I don’t…!”
He paused long enough to shove
his flushed face into hers, his angry breath hot on her face. “He was lurking
here all the time, wasn’t he?
Christ,
and I almost
believed you!”
He dashed past her so quickly
that she could not argue with him. But the other knight, in his clanking,
arrogant armor, was nearly on top of her and she struggled to get away from
him.
“You’ll not escape me so easily,
wench!” he cried. But his shields and weaponry were so bulky that he was having
trouble getting an arm out to her. “I’ve followed you from Hereford to
Shropshire and I intend to have you!”
Alisanne shrieked, dodging an
outstretched gauntlet. “Stay away from me!”
He reined his changer around the
fire, chasing her. “You belong to me, you little chicken. How dare you run from
me!
”
Alisanne dashed through a
crumbling outbuilding, hoping to lose him in the clutter of stone and wood. “I
don’t belong to you! Go away from here!”
The knight boldly plowed his
charger through the stone. “I’ve come a very long way, Alisanne, and I am in no
mood for games. You are
mine
as surely as the sun
rises and I demand you cease this foolishness at once.”
“Never!”
“Stop
running, you silly wench!”
Alisanne slid down the slope near
the trail that led up the mountain to the abbey. She knew it was too steep for
the destrier to follow. She came to a stop several feet down, turning to see
where the knight was. “My father never consented to you, Dodge,” she said,
struggling to catch her breath. “He has never given you any indication that he
would pledge me to you.”
Dodge stood at the top of the
trail, gazing angrily down at her. “He has no choice,” he snarled. “My lands
surround yours. He is a weak old man, feeble and dying, and it is only logical
that you and I should wed.” He pounded his thigh dramatically. “Why must you be
so difficult about this?”
Alisanne’s pretty face was dark.
“Because I don’t want to marry you, Dodge de Vere.
You are
an arrogant buffoon and I despise you.”
He raised his visor, revealing a
less than attractive face, rather bland in appearance. “That is of no concern
to me,” he said crisply. “It is only reasonable that you and I marry, Alisanne.
I want your land and you, in turn, need to be taken care of. A rather fair
arrangement, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t need your care. I don’t
want it. How many times must I tell you this? Go away and leave me alone.”
Dodge leaned forward to rest on
his saddle. “You were always stubborn, Alisanne. If you make me chase you down
this hill, then I can guarantee I’ll beat every stubborn bone out of your body.
Do you comprehend me?”
She stood firm.
“I’ll not marry you, Dodge, and you cannot
force me.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“A promise.”
“And I say that I can indeed
marry you. All I have to do is take you to the church in the village and pay
the priest. ‘Twill
be
over and done with before you
can utter a word of protest and your foolish behavior, lady, will have been for
naught.”
“I
am
protesting. And I say leave before…”
He sneered.
“Before
what?”
“Before I
run you through.”
Roane reappeared in the center of
the ward, near the fire where the rabbit had cooked. He wore no armor, only a
heavy linen tunic with a leather vest and thick, worn hose, but he was the most
intimidating man Alisanne had ever seen, for in his hand lodged a sword of such
massive proportions that she swore it was nearly as long as her entire
body.
Roane handled the sword as if it
was a
featherweight,
left handed he was, as his eyes
fixed on Dodge as a cat beholds a mouse.