Splendor, page 7
“Catherine, give over! You’ll not make it.”
The voice of Rolfe de Mont St. Michel lashed out at her. She ignored him and pressed her feet harder against the path. Rounding the next turn, she ran the narrow course, mindful that one slip could easily send her sailing over the edge. Don’t look down! the voice within commanded. And Catherine kept her gaze fixed on the next turn.
Footsteps thundered in her ears, and she whimpered, believing she’d lost the race. Fingers raked at her shoulder. Crying out, she jerked free of the clawing hand. Behind her she heard a thud, followed by a biting oath. Glancing back, she saw he’d fallen to one knee. Hope sprang inside her, and she pushed herself into an even faster pace.
In a few strides she was around the next bend. Elation streamed through her, for she felt certain she was nearly free. Once at the top, she planned to circle the abbey, then angle down to the village, where she’d hide herself away. Surely by dawn her father and Miles would have found her. If not, she’d cross the marshes on her own.
Ten more steps, and Catherine slid to a halt. No! her mind screamed, for there in front of her and on the rocks above stood a pack of snarling dogs. Hounds from hell, she deemed them, for their eyes glistened like green fire in the dark.
“Don’t move, Catherine,” Rolfe said, his footfalls slow but sure. “If you do, they’ll attack.”
With those words, Catherine’s hopes plummeted. She was trapped. Dare she attempt to pass the evil creatures? Tempting fate, she took a step.
Fangs bared, several hounds had sunk into a crouch. Snapping and growling, they were set to lunge at her throat. She glimpsed the pack above her, noting how the dogs now hovered closer to the edge, ready to spring. One small move and she’d be torn limb from limb.
“I told you not to move. This time obey me.”
The voice behind her was steady, low. Then the scrape of steel against steel cut through the eerie stillness. The dogs had fallen strangely silent, but the danger, Catherine realized, was far from over.
She felt Rolfe’s hard chest press against her back. His sword eased in front of her as he looped his left arm around her waist. His warm breath fanned the top of her head as he whispered, “Remain fixed and keep your eyes downcast. If you look at an animal, the action is perceived as a threat. Be patient, and they’ll leave.”
Willingly, Catherine did as he said. She waited.
High on the mount, the winter wind whipped around them. Catherine shivered. In response, he offered his body as a shield while pulling her closer. Without thought she huddled against him, seeking his warmth. As she did so, she looked at one of the hounds. It growled.
“If you’d like to remain thus all night, then continue to challenge them,” he whispered harshly. “Otherwise keep your eyes down.”
Catherine didn’t miss the impatience in his voice. As the moments slowly passed, his body grew more taut, and she wondered why. Through her eyelashes she glimpsed the dogs, waiting, hoping they’d leave.
Abruptly their ears pricked. Nostrils quivered as they sniffed the air. Growling, the hounds on the rock above turned sharply. One broke from the pack and bounded across the rocks. The others circled and followed.
Sheathing his sword, Rolfe commanded, “Come on.”
Catherine felt the bite of his hand as he grabbed her arm just above where her wrists were tied. He began pulling her down the path. By his haste, she expected they would tumble to their deaths.
Then as they turned the bend, she spied what she thought were torches at the western foot of the mount. Male voices lifted on the wind, and Catherine was sure that orders were being given. There was a shout, abrupt and forceful. Catherine felt her spirits soar. The call had come from William de Mortain.
Drawing a deep breath, she fairly screamed, “Father!”
“Catherine?”
Her name, bellowed with an edge of uncertainty, rose toward her, but before she could reply she was jerked in front of her abductor. Her back met his chest, this time with force; his hand clamped over her mouth. He hefted her at the waist; then, his arm holding her fast against him, he carried her down the path.
Her head turned in the direction of the torches, she watched as the dots of light waved over the rocks. Their bearers followed the rugged coastline, ranging toward the north. She heard a piteous yelp and imagined that one of the dogs had just been wounded or slain. She wanted desperately to cry out, hoping to guide her father and his men ever closer. Miles: Was he with them?
Rolfe’s hand kept her calls to a strangled whimper. Catherine knew she had the power to remedy that. But when she tried to pry her lips apart, he grated, “Bite me again and I’ll slit your lily-white throat.”
By his tone, Catherine knew he meant what he’d said. This time she decided not to test him. As they rounded the last bend, they came face-to-face with Garrick and Eloise. The tip of the older knight’s blade was pressed against the thick flesh at her nurse’s neck. Seeing such, Catherine struggled furiously in Rolfe’s arms.
“About time you got here,” Garrick stated.
Her captor’s grip tightened around her waist. Catherine could barely breathe. When she ceased fighting him, he eased his hold.
“We were detained,” Rolfe countered.
At his nod, the foursome continued down the path. Shortly they caught up to Aubrey and the monk.
“Hurry,” the Benedictine ordered. “They grow closer.”
The last half of their descent was less worrisome, the mount sloping to the shore. When they reached the boat, Catherine watched as it bobbed precariously in the surf, straining against its lone mooring.
Without ceremony, she was tossed into the craft. Her knees struck the wooden bottom, near the bow. She flinched, then gasped. As she tried to straighten, a wave lifted the boat. She was tossed sideways. Somehow she ended up on her back. Before she could move, her nemesis leaped the short expanse that separated the rocks from the boat. His feet now planted firmly against the boards, he swayed above her, but the motion was one with the sea.
“You bastard,” she berated him.
“Aye, ’tis very likely that I am.”
His reply shot down at her, but his gaze remained fixed on the shore. Then as Catherine struggled to pull herself up, his foot came down on her stomach, holding her fast in place. An angry growl trembled in her throat. He would pay for mistreating her so. This she swore.
Aubrey pitched the shields and axes into the boat, then jumped in after them. The monk, having discarded his torch midway along the mount, handed over the chests that he’d dragged down the hill. The things were quickly settled, then Eloise was thrust from the rocks.
When she landed, a wave of icy water rolled over the boat’s side. Catherine sputtered as she was splashed in the face. Then she heard voices rise in the not-too-far distance.
“Hurry,” the monk said. “They’re drawing nigh.”
“We’ll not make it to the ship,” Garrick announced once he’d joined the group. “Aubrey cannot possibly guard them both while we row.”
“We have little choice but to try,” Rolfe returned.
There was a shout, far closer than before, followed by her father’s cry, “Where are you, Daughter?”
Abruptly another voice called, “Catherine. Answer us!”
Miles. He had come for her!
“Here!” she yelled, but she feared the word had been lost in the sound of the surf.
“Get to the oars,” Rolfe ordered.
As Garrick withdrew to the boat’s center, Aubrey scrambled toward the bow. Rolfe’s foot lifted from her stomach. At once, Catherine shot up to a sitting position. Simultaneously, Eloise rose from her crouch and lunged at Garrick. The air whooshed from his lungs as her shoulder struck his back.
The action set the boat to rocking, and water poured into the small vessel. Garrick spun on Catherine’s nurse. “’Tis time we end this nonsense. Say your prayers, woman.”
The knight caught Eloise’s shoulders, and Catherine instantly realized he intended to toss her into the sea. Since her hands were bound Eloise couldn’t possibly stay afloat. She’d drown. “No!” Catherine cried. “Leave her be. Please!”
It was then that the monk sprang from the rock into the boat. “You’re needed at the oars, Sir Garrick,” he said, his jeweled dagger aimed at Eloise’s heart. “In the meantime, the woman and I shall take a seat. I foresee no more problems.” He looked at Eloise. “Is that not so, my child?”
“Are you sure of your decision, Brother Bernard?” Rolfe asked as Garrick positioned himself at the unattended oar.
“I have never seen England,” he replied, his hand pressing Eloise down into the boat; the dagger remained close to her breast. “I believe it is time that I did.”
At that moment, Catherine’s name thundered across the mount. Her rescuers were nearly upon her. “Fath—” The rest was cut off as Aubrey clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Take care. She bites,” Rolfe said to his squire. He looked Catherine directly in the eye. “If you value your nurse’s life, you will behave.” His attention swung to Eloise. “And if you wish for your lady to remain unharmed, you will do the same.”
Then on Rolfe’s nod, Brother Bernard cut through the mooring rope. The severed end fell away, and the iron ring to which it was tethered clanged against the granite. Catherine shivered at the noise.
With a grunt Rolfe pulled against the oar. Beside him, Garrick did the same. The boat moved, over one wave and then another. The strain of their effort vibrated in both men’s throats. Backs hunched, then straightened, hands and arms pulling mightily. At each dip of the oars, the mount grew farther and farther away.
Tears formed in Catherine’s eyes as torchlight streamed over the area where she’d stood just moments ago. Though her vision was blurred, she recognized the three men at the group’s fore. Her father, Miles, and Geoffrey—they had come for her, albeit too late.
England! He takes me to England!
Hoping that somehow her thoughts could be transferred through space and time, she screamed the words over and over again in her mind.
She gazed longingly at the mount and the men who lingered on its shore. Riding the waters that glistened like quicksilver in the moonlight, she wondered if they’d spied the vessel carrying her away from them. Thinking it was possible, she offered up a multitude of prayers, asking that they had.
Shortly she noticed her abductors’ breaths were not as pronounced. Similarly their motions appeared less strained. The oars dug deeper into the water, and the boat glided across the waves as though it were on ice. Then it occurred to Catherine that they had crossed the shoals, and the current was now taking them out to sea. Soon the lights along the shore were naught but four tiny dots.
A sob rose to her throat just as a faint call ferried across the water. The hand over her mouth fell away, and Catherine twisted around, whereupon she spied a longship sitting at anchor.
“The ship, sire,” Aubrey announced, “’tis but a furlong away.”
Rolfe and Garrick leaned into the oars, then stroked back as hard as they could. In no time, their small craft was within feet of its destination. Then the two men locked the oars, creating a drag, and they eased against the ship’s side.
Rolfe and his squire quickly changed places, the former pulling Catherine to her feet. Hoisted by Garrick and aided by a seaman from above, Aubrey was the first to scramble from the boat.
Next the two chests, along with shields and axes, were handed up. Then Garrick turned to Eloise. “Your turn, woman.”
Glaring at the knight, Eloise stood up, but offered no resistance. Her bindings were cut, then Garrick and Brother Bernard pushed from below while two men pulled from above. It was a struggle, but Eloise soon disappeared over the ship’s side.
The monk went next, then Garrick. After Catherine’s hands were freed, she was lifted at the waist and swung around. “Up with you,” Rolfe said.
Reaching for Garrick’s hand, she felt Rolfe’s on her derriere. He pushed her over the side. In a moment, he was also aboard.
“I thought so: You’re wet,” he said, feeling the back of her heavy cloak. “Sodden, in fact.”
“I wonder why,” she snapped in return. She was turned toward him. His fingers worked at the ties just below her chin. She swatted at his hands. “Leave it.”
“But you’ll catch your death.”
“’Tis better than having to suffer the likes of you.”
Catherine immediately questioned the wisdom of her words, for his eyes had turned from a soft silver to a stormy gray. She was stunned when he ripped the cloak free and tossed it at his squire.
After ordering his coffer opened and a dry mantle brought to him, he turned back to her and fairly growled, “Whether you relish it or not, you’ll be suffering the likes of me for some time to come.”
The promise of such didn’t sit well, and Catherine grew bolder. “Then I shall make your life miserable.”
Aubrey returned with a dry cloak and handed it to his master. Rolfe swung the warm wool covering around her shoulders. Briefly he regarded her, then said, “I have no doubt, Catherine, that you will.”
The gentleness in his voice surprised her, and she stared after him as he strode to the center of the deck. There he ordered the ship set underway.
At first Catherine questioned if she might be mistaken, then decided she wasn’t: Somewhere in his soft utterance had been the sound of regret.
“’Twas as I thought,” William de Mortain said. He released the iron ring anchored to the granite. The biting clink as it hit the rock sent a chill down his spine. He rose to his feet and turned to Miles and Geoffrey. “There was a boat moored here. The cut on the rope is recent. My eyes did not deceive me. My guess is that a ship sits out there, and Catherine is by now on it.”
“For what purpose would he take her away on a ship?” Miles asked. “And to where?”
“That is something we’d best ask the monks,” William returned. “Maybe they know the reason for all this.”
“Since the good brothers here are allied with Duke Henry, and I, along with most of Avranches, favor Stephen, I doubt we’ll get much help from any of them,” Geoffrey declared, “especially if her abductor sought and was given shelter at the abbey.”
William’s eyes narrowed. “That remains to be seen. But I tell you this, Geoffrey: If your political convictions have had anything to do with Catherine’s abduction, I shall not be in the least bit forgiving. Not to you, not to your son, and certainly not to this bastard who has taken her.” He looked to the others. “Now, all of you, to the top of the mount and to the abbey. Perhaps with a bit of coercion on our part, the Benedictines will reveal the identity of this brigand, along with his purpose.”
While the hounds circled ever so cautiously, William and the others set out on the path leading to the monastery at Mont St. Michel’s crest.
Under the uniform strokes of the oarsmen, who heaved and pulled tirelessly, the longship skimmed across the deep waters that edged the Norman coast. Other than an occasional ripple and snap, the square sail billowed in the night wind, aiding their flight. Guided by the stars, the duke’s supporters, along with their captives, sailed toward England.
From his position near the stern, Rolfe kept watch over Catherine de Mortain, who sat close to the bow. Her head resting at her nurse’s breast, the pair huddled against the frigid winter winds. Twice on their journey, the ship’s pitch had sent Catherine scrambling to its side. Each time, after her stomach had settled, she’d wiped her mouth and sent him a murderous look.
Her malice, Rolfe realized, was compounding. He couldn’t really blame her for despising him as she did. Yet he could do little to change her conviction. Their course was set. In truth, to hope she might one day look upon him in a more favorable light was the least of his concerns. That he even worried about the prospect annoyed him greatly.
The ship rolled over another swell. This time the motion caused Rolfe’s head to swim. His own stomach feeling as though it had climbed into his throat, he marked how Catherine’s wan face paled even more. She broke from her nurse’s arms to again seek the ship’s side, whereupon she retched into the sea.
Beside Rolfe, Garrick shook his head. “The girl is suffering mightily. If she keeps this up, she’ll be far too weak to travel overland once we meet England.”
“She’ll have no choice in the matter,” Rolfe returned. As Catherine pushed herself from the ship’s rail, he expected to be speared by her gaze. He wasn’t disappointed. “As soon as we reach Wareham, we will acquire some horses and head north.”
“I take it you think her father will follow.”
“Aye. He’ll follow,” Rolfe replied as Catherine again settled next to her nurse. “Miles too.”
Garrick frowned. “Her father I can understand. She is of his own blood. But Miles? Coward that he is, ’tis more conceivable he’ll remain in Normandy, where it is safe.”
Turning his attention away from Catherine, Rolfe heeded his companion. “I have a feeling Miles has become his father’s son. Unlike five years ago, his greed now outweighs his cowardice. He’ll follow, all right. As will Geoffrey. Therefore, whether the Lady Catherine is physically sound or not, we won’t linger when we reach shore.”
“What if by some odd chance our pursuers find us?” the older knight questioned. “Do you intend to stand and fight? Or will we simply give the girl over?”
Rolfe looked back at the subject of their conversation. “We will stand and fight. Henry’s cause is the reason we have entered into this. We’ll not fail him, especially where Geoffrey and Miles are concerned. Unfortunately, there is also William de Mortain.”
Rolfe sighed, knowing Henry’s quarrel was not with William. Even so, they would be forced to face him just the same.
“I fear, Garrick, by what follows, the Lady Catherine will hate me all the more.”
CHAPTER
5
Wareham, England
