Knight Treasures Read online

  She glanced down, afraid of what she would not find. The baby was still there, cuddled in her lap. She sighed, slowly releasing her breath. “What am I to do with you?”

  Gathering her scattered wits, she brushed her cheek against his cap of silky down. A foreboding shiver ran through her body. There was nothing she could have done to stop the attack, but still, she felt the weight of failing. With a determined shove, she pushed away the memories from the night before.

  Sunrise created an odd glow through the small window. Dust motes danced in the amber rays of sunshine. Peering through swollen lids, Sabine concentrated on the particles floating in the filtered light. She listened for the birds, announcing the new day with their morning chorus. Her hand hesitated in midair. An uncomfortable silence settled on the cottage.

  The birds were silent. Not a sound could be heard over the rumbling in the distance.

  “God’s blessed bones,” she muttered, “another storm’s about to break.”

  Hoping to clear her muddled head with the cool morning air, she inhaled as she wriggled her back up the door. Her nose stung at the first breath of the bitter cloud.

  She lifted a corner of the leather hanging over the window. Mammoth flames engorged the sky. She had seen their like one other time. The vicious fire had claimed her home, Clearmorrow. “Holy Mother, DePierce’s men intend to burn me out.”

  Her fears mounted. She dared not tarry. Soon the flames burning in the glen would rage over the island.

  She swept Elizabeth’s few belongings into the wadded blanket, adding them to her own meager pile, and tucked her dagger securely at her waist. The baby in one arm and the bundle draped over her shoulder, she stumbled across the room.

  Sabine opened the door. Smoke rolled upward, coiling over the tops of the trees. The glowing inferno scorched the living with its dragon’s breath.

  Frantic bleating caught her attention, slowing her frenzied steps. With little time to spare, she ran to Matilda’s goat shed behind the cottage. Grabbing the rope, she fumbled with the knot. Finally, it gave way, but not without costing her the precious time she had left.

  Rapidly plotting her escape, she cut a path through the trees. She prayed those who set the fire had yet to discover her only means of flight. The little boat simply had to be where she left it, bobbing in the water.

  Her lungs tightened from the smoke, forcing her to slow her pace. Aware of the valuable time she was losing, she counted out the seconds and then pushed on. Her steps unsure, she slid on the moss and dead leaves littering the ground.

  Sabine glanced over her shoulder. Although the billowing black clouds seared her lungs, squeezing the fresh air out of her chest, the smoke temporarily hid her from the enemy. No one followed her trail. Yet, she could not trust that she was safe from harm. Her enemies would not be far behind. They expected her to surrender without a fight, as any meek and mild maiden ought. Sabine knew otherwise. These men would never request a ransom. Moreover, she was not the same maiden who ran in terror once before.

  The smoke thinned as she neared the edge of the cliffs. Gulping in fresh air, she strained to fill her lungs. A cool breeze floated over her flushed face. She paused at a pile of boulders and felt along the wall of stone. With the bushes pushed out of the way, she found the fissure cut into the rock.

  Sabine tied the goat’s rope to a branch, then cradling the baby, she crawled through the opening. Once inside the cave, she placed the child on a pile of soft moss and pulled the blanket away from his face. Her spirits soared. Despite their jarring run through the grove of trees, the orphaned angel swung his tiny fists in the air and kicked out his feet.

  “Who might your kinsmen be, my sweet love? I wonder if they are worthy of your bravery. No doubt, they are incapable of providing you protection.” The baby wrinkled his face and began to cry. Grimacing, Sabine added, “How am I to feed you?”

  Matilda’s plaintive bleating roused Sabine from her thoughts. “Lord, love us. Of course.” She caught the rope with one hand and gave a gentle tug, drawing the beast into the cave. “Darling,” Sabine cooed through gritted teeth. “Come along now, or there’ll be roast goat for dinner.”

  Matilda bleated once and ran through the opening of the cave. Sabine eyed the animal. A plan began to form. Her skill at milking the goat had improved since the first night on the island. When the clergyman Rhys had assured her she would find the required supplies, she hadn’t stopped to think he intended her to fend for herself. It took many failed attempts, but Matilda had finally grown accustomed to her touch.

  Her task completed, Sabine reached for the red-faced baby. To her dismay, the blanket was a sodden mess.

  She dug through her bag until she found her favorite skirt. She purposefully ignored the stains. It would never be fit to wear once the baby had use of it anyway. In short time, the soft, buttery material was torn into several pieces. One rectangle successfully tucked around the infant.

  Sabine rummaged through the bundle and found a small wooden bowl. She poured a meager amount of the goat’s milk into the bowl and set it aside. After a moment of hesitation, she wrapped her blanket around the baby and held him in her lap. Armed with the corner of the thinning blanket, she dipped it into the milk. Careful not to lose a blessed drop, she touched the tip to the infant’s lips.

  Warm and dry, he looked up with his big dark eyes. He waved his arms in the air and gurgled with delight.

  Sabine ignored the tug at her heart. Like it or not, until she found his family, the baby was hers to care for. She shook her head. “Sorry, little one, but I don’t want the responsibility for another life. Not now. Not ever.”

  A lone tear fell from her cheek and landed on her hand. She watched as it dissolved the paste that disguised her age. The plan was to wait until ’twas safe for her brother Taron to come for her. However, many nights had passed well beyond the designated date. The fire was proof that she had waited too long. Her enemy was relentless, and she must leave the island before they found her. Or the baby.

  Doubt gnawed at her newly discovered courage. What would she do if Taron were unable to come for her? Was he lying sick, or hurt? Or worse?

  She flicked at the dried paste on her arm. “I won’t think of such things. ’Tis not possible that DePierce could destroy all that I hold dear. I won’t allow it. I’ll find Taron and put things to right.”

  Smudging the trail of tears from her cheek, she looked down at the babe. Fed and dry, he was content once again. “I have to find your family. I have no desire to keep you by my side any longer than I must. The sooner I deposit you in their care, the better.”

  Sabine reached for the bundle at her side and pulled out the usual lady’s personal belongings: a brush, a comb, and a small dagger with jewels on the hilt.

  “Well, my lad, your mother made an odd choice of traveling supplies.” Frowning, she weighed the sparkling dagger in her hand. “The balance is wrong. How can such a small knife be so heavy?”

  Her brother and men-at-arms carried swords that oft times held secret compartments in the hilt. She stared at the metal but could not see anything amiss. Laying the dagger down, she dug further into the bundle and found a silver mirror and a small bag of coins.

  “Saints,” she said. “Why would someone carry such senseless baggage? ’Tis a wonder she found the cottage at all.”

  Drawn to the dagger, she picked it up again. Its weak reflection bounced off the cave. She scratched Matilda’s ears and held the knife out to the hairy beast. “What do you make of this? The hilt is in the shape of a swan.”

  The goat dutifully examined it with its lips.

  “See?” Sabine pointed with a soot-smudged finger. “’Tis an emerald, where the eye should be.” She rolled it repeatedly in her hands. Unable to discern a family crest, she sighed and packed the items away. “Once the fire is out, those fools will search for bodies. We’ll try our luck and
climb down the rocks leading to the cove.”

  The thought of the cliff made her head spin. Her stomach clutched and churned. The rocks had been slippery the night she arrived on the island. As long as she never looked down, she had managed to climb up the treacherous stairway. Afterward, when she had reached the top and could barely see the shore, she sank to her knees and could not move for hours. It took forever to force her legs to carry her away from the ledge.

  “Matilda,” she whispered. “How am I ever going to get down these rocks with you and a baby in tow?”

  As if wary of Sabine’s words, Matilda snorted in response.

  After ensuring that the goat did not have a means of escape, Sabine offered a prayer under her breath. “Dear God, I need an angel sent from heaven.” She glanced at the goat. “One with a very strong back.”

  * * * *

  Sir Darrick of Lockwood pulled the oars through the body of water. Sweat streamed down his face despite the chill in the wind. His breath came in small bursts, leaving a trail of clouds in the cold morning air.

  The sides of the wooden vessel squeezed against his body. He shifted his weight. The lip of the hull dropped dangerously close to the water. He had forgotten how much he despised boats. With a grimace, he drew closer to the shadows dancing on the pile of rocks. The bucking increased as the small craft neared the isolated island that lay straight ahead.

  The wall of rock towered overhead. How did Elizabeth manage the cliffs? Prior to her disappearance, his cosseted little sister had faced nothing more dangerous than the decision to change the style of her hair. How great was her desperation? Was her marriage to Hugh so difficult?

  Thunder, his large black hound, stood guard at the bow. His nose lifted to the scents floating by. As the rolling waves increased, he dropped from his perch and began a plaintive whine.

  “Quiet. I know you would have preferred to stay warm and snug beside the hearth. However, your place is here.”

  The dog sniffed the air before hunkering down to the deck of the boat.

  “Coward,” Darrick muttered.

  Thunder cocked his ears and let his muzzle drop to his paws.

  Darrick strained to locate the jagged point through the thick mist. The little boat rocked and pitched in the churning water. He braced his legs, prepared for a rough landing.

  “What place is this to send two women? Alone. Without one guard to protect them.” He cursed the clergyman and added his name to the growing list of people he would take to task.

  His thoughts darkened as they wandered to his family. He knew deep down, despite his father’s doubts of lineage, the Lockwood blood ran through his veins. Whether any of them liked it or not, it remained Darrick’s duty to protect.

  He wagered his sister would certainly be in one of her moods. He hoped the hermit, said to live on the jutting island of rocks, would survive her viperous tongue. He could not fathom Elizabeth showing kindness to anyone, especially one under her station.

  “I imagine our Elizabeth will have much to say when I find her.”

  Thunder raised his head, his muzzle quivering.

  Darrick nodded. “I smell it too.”

  Overhead, smoke swirled from the point of the island. The air began to fill with its acrid odor. Flames licked at the sky.

  Nearing the shore, Darrick jumped into the surging wave. Icy water lapped at his waist as he dragged the boat to the spit of land. He fixed the rope around a boulder jutting out from the sand.

  Following Rhys’s directions, he located the slit that served as a natural doorway. The stairway loomed before him. He crammed his head and shoulders into the narrow passageway. He could feel his throat begin to close off.

  “Come, boy,” he ordered through stiffening lips. “Nothing to stop us. Right?”

  Darrick tested the first step and began the climb up the stairway. Behind him, Thunder’s toenails clicked as they dug into the decaying moss that grew on the weathered stone.

  The sound of someone singing a melody drifted through the passage. He shook his head and pushed on, certain it was only the wind blowing through the tunnel. That was all.

  A stray beam of light glistened up ahead. He followed the beacon until he reached the top of the moss-covered steps. After motioning to the hound to stay put, Darrick pulled himself free of the opening.

  Wary of what dwelled in the shadows, he moved silently across the hard-packed floor. A wiggling bundle caught his eye. He bent to have a better look and heard the rush of something coming from behind. Too late, he turned as his head struck the cave wall.

  Darrick blinked at the bursting stars. His knees gave out, crumpling him to the floor. As his vision faded, he marveled at the sight. “Saint’s bones! ’Tis…a baby?”

  Behind him, Thunder growled, tearing after the assailant. Knowing the hound’s protective nature, Darrick braced his body for impact. He groaned and swore he heard a goat’s frantic bleat. Then all was silent. Save for the angel’s voice...cursing.

  Chapter 3

  Without taking her eyes off the intruder, Sabine secured the cloak, making certain the woolen folds covered her face and hair. Her disguise as an old woman complete, she tightened her grip on the blade and readied for battle.

  The dark hound stood guard. Its teeth bared, a growl erupted from deep within.

  “Down,” she ordered.

  To her surprise, the dog hesitated then collapsed beside its master. It followed her every move as she edged toward the babe. Once satisfied the baby remained safe and out of harm’s way, she turned her attention to the stranger. Scrubbing her mouth with the back of her hand, she gathered her courage and then rolled him over.

  Shadows deepened his cheekbones. His jaw had a stubborn tilt to it. Heavily banded muscles led from his neck to his broad shoulders. She swallowed and peered close, looking for Balforth markings. Although he didn’t carry any insignia to prove otherwise, she could not wait to ask him.

  She grabbed a piece of cloth from her pack and tore it into several strips. The dog whined as she moved the man to his side and tied the cloth around his wrists. Next, she bound his legs together. Her shoulders burned as she strained against his weight. Exhausted from her efforts, she let his booted feet drop to the floor.

  Once she was certain he could not escape from the bindings, she ran her hand down his chest, searching the folds of his woolen cloak for weapons. Her search stalled as cold metal caught her palm. She peered close. A brooch held his cloak together. An emerald eye winked back from a similar design she found in the lady’s belongings. The similarities of the lady’s dagger and the stranger’s brooch were startling.

  Sabine moved out of reach as he began to thrash against some unseen force.

  “Elizabeth,” he cried, “where are you?”

  Huddled in the shadows, Sabine rocked on her heels and waited until a deep sleep overtook him. Did he cause the lady to fall to her death? Or did he offer help? She and the babe had to leave their hiding place and do so with speed. Although she had not heard anyone outside their shelter, it would not be long before the Lord of Balforth’s men found them. She had to discover where this stranger’s allegiance lay.

  Armed with memories from her days as the Lord of Clearmorrow’s only daughter and eager student in the ways of healing, she gently touched his injured head. Her courage regained, she cradled the side of his face with the palm of her hand. A small amount of blood darkened his hair. She prodded the raised area. He would have quite a headache when he awoke. She felt the base of his neck. His heart beat rhythmically against her fingers.

  Satisfied he would live, she rested her back against the damp rock wall. If the man lying on the ground did not travel alone, then his friends were sure to scour the island for him. And if he could find her, so could they.

  She tested the knots binding his wrists and ankles. They would have to hold him. Until she knew her an
swers, she had a hungry mouth to feed.

  * * * *

  Darrick awoke to the sound of shuffling footsteps and the sweetest voice he’d ever heard. His angel had returned. The soothing tune poured over him as he retraced his last steps. His memories caught on the crone’s shadow. If she was the hermit then perhaps Elizabeth was nearby.

  Restless, he moved to rub his throbbing head and found strips of fabric bound his hands. The angel’s song scattered into fragments as he struggled against the bonds.

  “Release me,” he roared and immediately regretted it. Gaining no immediate response, he lowered his voice, letting his words run over his tongue, his voice smooth. “Please. I mean you no harm.” Certain he could coax his captor into submitting to his will, he continued. “I search for a young lady.”

  Silence. Darrick’s frustration rose. Where was that vile woman? “Surely, you wouldn’t allow a young innocent harmed.”

  Sensing his master’s rage, Thunder barked. The baby began to cry. The noise echoed in the cave.

  With great effort, Darrick lifted his aching head. It took only one look, but at least the great beast ceased its torture. Thunder flopped down and inched toward him.

  Darrick worked up the energy to glare in the direction of the other torturous creature. Intent on cursing the noise, he recoiled at the sight of the old woman. Crusted strips of flesh fell from her sleeve as she patted the banshee’s backside.

  “What ails you, woman? Is the babe inflicted too?”

  The hermit turned away, keeping her face hidden from his view. She retreated to the darkened corner, consoling the child with awkward pats on its back.

  Her rasping voice was raw with anger. “We’ve endured this damp hole long enough. ’Tis high time you shake your lazy bones awake and explain your presence.”

  “We’ll talk when you release me.”

  “Rest assured,” she said, “before you gain release from the bindings, I will be satisfied as to your purpose here.”

  Met with his silence, the old woman began her interrogation. “Do you travel with the men that set this island ablaze?”