Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance Read online

  Her voice was shaky. “Of course,” she murmured.

  Erik clasped his fingers together, bowed his head, and Mary could hear the raw passion in his voice as he spoke. She wondered how many times he had recited these words when huddled around a tiny campfire in the deserts of Jerusalem, or crouched over a small hunk of bread in the creaking hull of a merchant ship.

  “Dear Lord, bless You in Your wisdom. I cannot fathom the plan You have for me, or the twists my life must take to reach Your goal. I can only pray for the strength to meet the challenges You have set for me, and the courage to do what must be done. Thank You for this nourishment, that I might live another day and move one step closer toward –”

  There was a rough break in his voice, and Mary glanced sideways through shuttered lids. Erik had brought his forehead to his hands, and there was a glistening at his lashes. Mary looked down at her food again. She could only imagine how hard this must be on him.

  At last he spoke again, his voice rough. “Thank You,” he said simply. “Thank You.”

  Mary found her own throat was tight. “Amen.”

  They opened their eyes, and the feasting commenced. She had always loved Ygraine’s cooking, and the woman had clearly outdone herself, knowing that the master might be returning home any day. The chicken was spiced to perfection, the rosemary and sage gravy brimming with love.

  Zelda moved to Michael’s side, whispering in his ear, casting a sidelong glance at Mary as she did so. Michael nodded, then leant forward, speaking to Mary and Erik.

  “The Lady of the house wishes you welcome, and bids you stay as long as you will. Erik, you can have your own room. Mary, she prefers that you stay with her, as there is not a room suitable for a woman currently made up.”

  Mary kept her face steady. “As she wishes.”

  Erik’s gaze was still, and Mary wondered what emotions lurked behind that mask. “So she will not come out to greet us?”

  Michael gave a short shake of the head. “She is currently indisposed,” he informed Erik. “I am sure in time she will feel better and come out to welcome you properly.”

  It seemed only minutes before Mary was leaning back in her chair, comfortably full, the flickering heat of the hall seeping into her bones. For so long there had been an edge of cold in every motion; it was almost an unremembered luxury to feel this warm. Then Michael was rising to his feet, offering them both a short bow. “I must return to the walls,” he murmured. His eyes went to Erik. “Perhaps later you can find me there, and we can discuss what we face with these bandits,” he added.

  Erik rose to his feet. “Of course,” he agreed. “I will share everything I know.”

  Michael held his gaze for a long moment, a look almost of contentment coming to his eyes. Then he turned and strode down the length of the great hall before vanishing from sight.

  Erik watched him go, then at last turned to Mary. “I would like to take a walk around and determine how my home has changed since I left,” he murmured. “If you would like, I could see you to your chambers first.”

  Mary gave a shake of her head. “I would prefer to go with you,” she countered. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

  He smiled at that, offering his arm. “I would be delighted to show you my home.”

  They walked together toward the courtyard. Mary was touched by how well he knew every person there, their relationships, their interests, their dreams. It was as if he had never been gone. The staff glowed under his attention, came to life, and Mary realized just how cold and sterile the keep had become under his mother’s harsh rule.

  Erik’s feet turned toward the stable, and a tremor of nervousness ran through Mary’s heart. She hoped against hope that Michael had remembered to stable her own steed at the farmstead down the hill, not in her own stall. If Erik saw the horse …

  A sigh of relief escaped her as they moved into the low building. The stall was empty, the halter missing from its peg.

  They moved up to the wall, talking with the soldiers, Erik examining the chain of the gate and the readiness of the armory. His face grew still as he looked down the line of weapons, and a fresh nervousness built within Mary. What if he did not approve of how she had maintained the keep over the past few years? What if he was disappointed in this home he had returned to?

  They were climbing the steps back toward the great hall before she ventured to put her thoughts into words. “You have been away for ten long years,” she murmured. “You have seen great palaces and elaborate temples. Does your home now seem small in comparison?”

  He looked over in surprise, shaking his head. “Far from it,” he stated. “If anything, I am reluctantly impressed with this new Lady Cartwright. My mother had always been more interested in outer appearance than inner substance. For her it was about the embroidery on the guest linens and the presentation of the great hall.” He turned and looked back up toward the line of guards on the wall. “The men are better equipped than I have ever seen, and seem more comfortable with their arms as well. I have to say I am impressed.”

  A glow eased through Mary, and she looked away. That he approved of her efforts meant more than she would have thought.

  He was walking forward, his stride slowing, and she had no doubt where he was headed. He moved to the spiral staircase at the side of the hall, taking the flight with steady steps, then walked down the hallway. At last he stood before the wooden door of his room. He placed his hand on it for a long moment before pushing it open.

  Mary knew exactly what he would see as the door swung open. The room had been frozen in time since he left. The maids had cleaned it daily, the linens were always kept fresh, the surfaces dusted.

  The forest-green curtains on the double windows were pulled to the side, letting in the streaming afternoon sunshine. To the left lay a low bed, with matching blankets, a trunk at its side. A dresser on the opposite wall displayed several knives and a pair of buckles. Shelves stored tunics, leggings, and a training sword.

  Erik stood still for a long moment, as if disbelieving that it really was just as he had left it. Then he stepped in, moving from place to place, running a hand over a hilt, breathing in the fragrance of the place.

  Mary closed her eyes. So many days she had sat here, in the center of the room, drawn in by the melding of leather and anise. She had wondered just who this young man had been, and what had driven him to leave.

  Her eyes flickered open, and he was there. He was standing there, before her, his eyes tinged with wonder.

  He stepped forward to take her hands in his. “It is still so hard for me to grasp,” he murmured in a rough voice. “That it is all here, just the way I left it. I saw so much destruction, so much desolation, in my years in Jerusalem. I half expected to return and find the keep in ruins.”

  “But it is whole,” murmured Mary.

  His eyes eased at that, and he drew her in against him. His voice was a sigh. “It is whole.”

  His presence sung to her; she found herself relinquishing all her weight to him. He gave a low chuckle, pressing a soft kiss at her forehead. “And you are exhausted,” he added. “Let us get you to bed.”

  They left the room, and he closed the door gently behind him. Then they walked the short distance down the hall to the master bedroom. He gave a glance toward the door, then nodded. “I am sure the Lady will take good care of you,” he murmured. “I shall leave you to the care of her maids.” He ran a hand tenderly down the side of her face. “I will see you in the morning.” His gaze stilled. “Now I need to speak with Michael, and tell him everything I know of the bandit threat.” He gave her a short bow, then turned and headed down the hallway.

  Mary waited until he was gone before pushing open the door to her room.

  The Lady’s large, ornately carved canopy bed sat to the left, its dark wood dominating the room, with gold-chased tapestries and embroidered pillows. A fire blazed in the marble fireplace to the right. The heavy curtains were pulled shut, layering the room in shadows even at this hour.

  Exhaustion seeped into every corner of her being, and she stumbled without thought to the foot of the bed, to the small trundle set up there, facing the fire. His eyes were there, above the fire, gazing down at her as they always did. She pushed aside her covers, rolled into bed, and instantly fell asleep.

  *

  There was an odd noise, and she bolted instantly awake. The room was flickering in darkness, only the low embers of the fire sending stuttering shadows across the room. She strained to hear in the dark what had shaken her out of her chaotic dreams.

  There, a soft thud, from just down the hall.

  Her mind sorted and searched for its meaning, and suddenly awareness flooded through her, filling her with a glowing, golden warmth.

  Erik was home.

  The sound was one she had never heard, not in all her long years of living in this keep. It had been one Lady Cartwright had dreamt about, had prayed for, hoped for, cried for.

  It was the sound of Erik closing his bedroom door.

  Mary rolled to a sitting position, staring at the fire, straining to hear even the slightest noise. Would he go to stare out the window, taking in the view he had enjoyed throughout his childhood? Would he be resting on the bed? The sense of his presence loomed larger in her mind with each passing second, and every cell in her body craved his touch, craved his voice in her ear, his scent in her lungs.

  She wanted him.

  She knew she should resist, but then she was on her feet, moving swiftly through her door. Perhaps she would just ask him how his talk with Michael had gone. She would gain his thoughts about his first day home. She would …

  She was at his door, giving the softest of knocks, and the door pulled open before her fist could land a third time.

  He was pulling her in, his arms were around her, and her lips found his in the shadowy darkness. She could think of nothing else but that he was here, he was finally here, and she belonged to him.

  Chapter 7

  The crispness of the dawn air in the courtyard tickled her nose, and Mary stretched her arms over her head, relishing the sensation. Before her, the men of the keep were practicing thrusts and blocks, following footwork that she knew by heart.

  Michael was at her side, watching over his men with an attentive eye. “So after all of this, he is still not quite free of her?”

  She nodded, a weight pulling her heart. It had been hard enough to draw herself free of Erik’s embrace last night, the sweat of their lovemaking still fresh on her body. She had known she had to return to her own bed, to retain some small semblance of objectivity.

  But to think of that woman …

  Michael made a small motion of his head, and she glanced toward the keep. The front door was opening, and Erik was standing there, gazing out over the courtyard. To all appearances he was looking out over his home, assessing its readiness, and turmoil settled into her soul. What would he do when he realized she was the one who stood between him and all he held dear?

  He came down the steps toward them, nodding his greeting as he approached. He wore his leather armor, and his sword was at his hip. His lips drew up into a smile as he joined them, looking out over the men.

  “So many years, and yet the footwork is as familiar as my own breathing,” he murmured.

  Michael glanced over with a smile. “Perhaps you would be up for a round?”

  Erik’s grin was instant. “Absolutely.”

  Michael stepped with him toward the center of the courtyard. “I’ll go easy on you, what with your injury and all.”

  Erik’s eyes lit up. “Perhaps I should go easy on you,” he countered. “What with you nearing old age and all.”

  Michael laughed out loud, drawing his sword and saluting. The men around him fell back at once, giving them room, and excited murmurs moved through the crowd. Stable boys and laborers emerged from the nearby outbuildings, drawn by the chatter.

  Erik answered the salute, and the two men were circling. Mary leant forward, her heart pounding. She had trained with Michael for ten years, and knew every twist and turn of his attack. She had seen his imprint clearly on Erik’s maneuvers against Caradoc’s men. She was curious just how well the two men would be matched against each other. Michael had been the trainer – but Erik had faced the heat of battle for ten long years.

  Her eyes went to his stomach, to where she knew the wound was healing. She wondered if it would hamper his efforts.

  If it did, he didn’t show it. He launched a high, twisting attack, bringing his sword down toward Michael’s left shoulder. Michael dodged to his right, trailing his sword, deflecting the attack down and away. He spun his sword in a half-arc, aiming for Erik’s side. Erik leapt back, leaving just enough space for the sword tip to whistle across his front, then thrusting straight into the gap. Michael leant to the side, the blade barely missing his ribs.

  Mary could barely keep up with move and counter-move. Cheers rang out all around as the footwork resounded on the cobblestones, the clang of blade on steel echoed against the walls, and the flash of a smile accompanied a particularly challenging block.

  Then suddenly both men were still. Erik’s blade lay against Michael’s neck. Michael’s was pressed up into Erik’s groin.

  The men in the ring erupted into cheers and delighted conversation. Erik and Michael clasped arms, Michael adding a solid pat on Erik’s back as the two approached Mary.

  She smiled, shaking her head. “You weren’t kidding, Michael,” she commented as they drew to a stop before her. “You have done yourself proud, training this one.”

  Michael looked Erik up and down, chuckling. “He has mastered much since he left my care,” he countered. “If he did not have that injury, I doubt I could last long against him.”

  Erik clapped the older man on the arm. “It is only due to your training that I lasted long enough to learn on the field at all,” he pointed out. “Many good men died there.”

  A shout of alert came from the wall, and all three of their heads instantly turned to look. One of the men-at-arms was staring fixedly to the north. “Riders,” he called out. “Twenty.”

  Michael sprinted toward the stairs, Erik close at his heels, and it was all Mary could do to hobble at a frustratingly slow pace to catch up with them. Every step up the long stone flight sent her wound a fresh volley of pain. Finally she made it up to the main corridor of the wall – and froze.

  Lord Paul was pulling up before the gates, his troops milling about him. He wore an elegant crimson cloak over his leather jerkin, and his greying hair framed a leathered face.

  She pulled back away from the wall, hoping against hope he had not seen her. For all of her planning, she had not taken into account the fact that he might come by. He had been a family friend of Lady Cartwright’s, and become something of a foster uncle to her. His lands lay on the northern front and his occasional visits had been wonderful breaks for Mary from the stark quiet of her daily routine.

  But not now, not with Erik just returned home.

  Lord Paul was calling up to Michael, his rough voice reflecting his love of mead. “Good morn, Michael. I’m here to lure your Lady out for a bandit hunt. I hear several have been spotted nearby, and I think a good day of scouting should get us clear of these vermin.”

  Michael’s voice was tight. “I am afraid that Lady Cartwright is inconvenienced today, Lord Paul.”

  Lord Paul’s booming laugh echoed across the courtyard. “You cannot be serious, man. That woman is as tough as my finest hunting dog. In the ten years I have known her, I have never once seen her laid low by injury or illness.”

  Erik took a step forward. “Where did you see the bandits?”

  Lord Paul’s head swiveled to take in this newcomer, and his eyes focused for a long moment before a steely look came into his gaze. “So the prodigal son returns home.”

  Erik’s voice stayed even. “It is good to see you, Lord Paul.”

  Lord Paul’s eyes sharpened. “So suddenly you are home, and suddenly a woman whose strength rivals any man I know is unable to see me?”

  Erik’s gaze held his. “I have nothing to do with –”

  Lord Paul stood in his stirrups, his gaze returning to Michael. “I insist Lady Cartwright be brought out to speak with me immediately.”

  Michael’s jaw clenched. “Sir, you are in no position to –”

  Lord Paul gave a wave of his hand, and his men lined up on either side of him, their hands dropping to the hilts of their swords. “Either you produce Lady Cartwright this very instant, or I swear –”

  Michael swept down his hand, and as one the troops along the wall readied their bows.

  Mary could not take any more. She ran to the edge of the crenelated wall, leaning over, calling down to Lord Paul. His greying curls, his sturdy strength, filled her with fondness, and she smiled at his loyal defense of her. “It is all right, Paul,” she reassured him. “I am all right.”

  He settled back down into his saddle, his creased face easing. “What is all of this about, Mary?”

  “I will tell you over dinner,” she reassured him. “A minor leg wound, nothing serious. But for now, I’ll send out ten of my patrol with you; they were about to head out for their rounds anyway. Hopefully you can catch up with the bandits before they leave the lands. Where were they spotted?”

  “By the new bridge, down on the southern river,” he explained. “Four of them, snooping around.”

  The main gates were pulled open, and the keep’s troops streamed out, mingling easily with those of Lord Paul. He gave a look between Erik and Michael, then nodded to her. “I will definitely want to hear the full story at dinner,” he prodded.

  “I will have Ygraine make your favorite pheasant stew,” she promised with a smile.

  That eased the severity of his gaze, and he nodded, giving a short bow. Then he wheeled his mount, heading out toward the south. The men followed along behind. In a minute the hoofbeat was lost in the distance.