Chapter 21

A RI WATCHED AS THE Montjoy's men prepared for battle, mounting their horses to ride from Clifford Castle. From his distance, the sounds of preparation were muted and muffled, the clang of steel, the hurried shuffle of booted footsteps, the neighs and whinnies of scores of excited horses. They had survived the endless jaunt to the Holy Lands, the endless months of warfare, and the long road home. They could make ready at a moment's notice to go to war.

Now they needed only their lord's hand to lead them.

Ari paused upon the parapets of Clifford Castle. He felt the breeze, and an uneasy sensation swept through him. This was such a different war from those in the Holy Lands. A Christian prince struggling to seize a crown from his Christian brother. Greed was the driving factor here, and such an emotion promised catastrophe from the start.

He had seen the battle coming. He had known that it would take place. He couldn't see a clear ending to it, because it was all …

Gray. There was so much darkness about it. The darkness he had envisioned when he had first seen the vision of Katherine, Countess of Ure.

Darkness. No matter how hard he tried to see, it swirled around him. He had barely met his master's new lady, but he was convinced that she loved Montjoy. And he was convinced that she was a woman of passions that ran as deep as her beauty. Not evil passions, but those that would demand the rights of men, those that would cry out for justice. Would such a woman never betray Montjoy?

He had seen it …

He had been wrong.

The darkness had distorted all that he had seen.

He clenched his arms across his body and looked to the sky. Clouds moved in gray now up above them. There was a fierce rumbling of thunder, though he'd seen no lightning yet.

Perhaps the thunder was a warning.

He closed his eyes tightly. Aye, he had seen her betraying Montjoy. He had seen it because he had envisioned her in the cottage in the darkness. And the man with her had been faceless.

Because he had been the Silver Sword. But she had not really betrayed him because the Silver Sword was Montjoy, and Montjoy was the Silver Sword.

That had to be it.

But the sense of unease remained with him.

Then, as he stood there, feeling the air turn cooler with the portent of rain, he looked down on the men-at-arms again, those men with their bustling preparations for war, one shouting an order, another gathering up a shield and calling to a squire for a certain saddle.

Someone moved among the men. Someone who was not one of them.

It was Affa.

No one paid her the least heed.

Ari had never been quite sure how the girl had managed to gain a place in the party of Montjoy's men and possessions that had left the Holy Lands in his wake.

He had not been asked about her, and there had been no word left regarding her, Ari had been certain from the start that Montjoy would not have ordered the girl brought along. She had not belonged to him. Yet she had entertained Montjoy, and so none of the English would have thought to refuse her wish to join them when they had made ready to leave.

Had Ari known what she was about, he would have refused her. There was simply something evil about Affa. There was a selfishness in her that did not suit with the followings of Allah. The girl would try anything to have her own way.

Well, it seemed now that she was leaving. Good riddance! Perhaps she had dreamed that Montjoy's wife would be a haggard old crone.

Had that been her thought, she must have seen the truth by now. Lady Montjoy was golden. Her hair was golden, her face had the radiance of sunrays, and even her spirit seemed to shine golden. Ari had seen her ride away, and he had kept his silence. She had gone with warnings to the others, and that he knew well. He wouldn't have stopped her.

But she would have rid Clifford Castle of Affa; that was quite obvious—had not the Lord Montjoy done it more quickly himself. The Lady Montjoy, however, was not one to hide in corners while others faced her adversaries for her. Nay, she was a lady prone to action.

Just as Affa was …

Slipping among the men who hurried about below, Affa had disappeared for a moment. Then Ari saw her again. She had taken one of the small, beautiful Arabian ponies from the stables and, unnoticed or unheeded, she had ridden straight from the courtyard to the gate and the wall.

Ari couldn't see the man, but he imagined that the sentry watched her with a puzzled frown, then shrugged, and let her go on by unmolested.

Was she leaving them for good? It would be for the best. Perhaps Allah would be kind, perhaps she would find what she sought with some other baron.

Ari continued to watch the preparations for some time.

Then the wind picked up, and a chill seemed to seize him.

He was a stupid, stupid old man.

No seer had ever been so blind.

The betrayal he had seen wasn't over. It hadn't even begun.

And it wasn't the Lady Montjoy who would betray her lord.

Rather, it was someone who would seem to be the Lady Montjoy, and therefore, the darkness.

Even with the battle poised before them, so inescapably that the air seemed tinged with the tension of it, Kat knew she didn't dare return to her home as she had come to the cottage, in the peasant garb. She rode quickly ahead of Little John and Damian to reach Robin's camp, and there retrieved her own clothing, then found time for one last goodbye before realizing that Damian meant it—he needed her at the castle.

Sir James Courtney had come to the copse, and he was given the task of seeing her safely home. She felt a moment's guilt, seeing his distress at being given so simple a task, and she was sorry that she had caused the poor man so much trouble. "I am coming with you, sir, with no difficulty, I assure you," she told him. Montjoy was looking up at her. There was no time for any further farewells.

"See to her!" he commanded James softly. Then he turned away to join Robin, and Kat paused only briefly, praying with a sudden and desperate passion that they would meet again, and soon. Then she dug her knees into her horse's flanks, and her mare leaped forward, and she was racing like the wind, Sir James following as quickly as he could behind her.

She raced for what seemed like a good twenty minutes before a streak of lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a bold crack of thunder. Her horse reared up wildly, and Kat fought to control her. She reined in after patting the mare's neck, waiting for Sir James to catch up with her.

"It's going to be a rough night!" she called.

"Aye! Rough weather coming! We should hurry. Come along ahead. Maybe we can reach the castle before the storm breaks!"

Kat wasn't concerned about herself. She could only think about Robin and Damian, and the men in the forest. Were Damian's men really on the move already? And what of de la Ville's troops? He had to be ordering them onward with promises of great reward—once Prince John became King John. Would they fight in this kind of weather?

Already the wind was whipping around. Leaves and grasses were lifted from the earth and tossed about in reckless motion. The air smelled damp.

"Ride, my lady!" Sir James reminded her.

She nudged the mare again, and the small horse leaped forward. After the lightning, it seemed that darkness, night, had descended, just as if a giant black hand had blocked out all that might remain of the sun's rays. Kat slowed the mare, moving more carefully over the trail, heading for the copse before the castle.

"My lady! Let me lead!" Sir James called to her.

"I know the way better, as does my mare!" she turned to call back to him. She was nearing the copse. Just as she turned from Sir James to look forward again, another jagged shard of lightning lit up the sky.

And illuminated the copse before her.

A scream rose in her throat, but it was ripped away by the wind.

There were men before her. At least twenty mounted and armed men.

And leading them, sitting there in silence in helmet and visor and armor, was Raymond de la Ville. His helmet was formed like the wings of a raven. His visor was beaklike.

"She comes!" he cried out, the tone muffled by his helm. "Seize her!"

Kat shrieked and tried to turn and spur her mare onward to escape.

But Sir James was there, unaware of what had happened, blocking her way. The mare reared in confusion. She rose so high that Kat lost her seating and plummeted to the ground. Just in time. The mare, too, lost her balance and careened over backward. Then the animal screamed and rolled wildly. Kat, stunned from the fall but otherwise unharmed, jumped up, crying out, worrying for her loyal little horse.

But the animal had not broken a leg. The mare leaped up, shook herself, and cantered off to the side.

Kat felt a presence near her and looked up.

De la Ville.

"Come, my lady, ride with me."

"When ice forms in hell, my lord."

"Perhaps not, Katherine. Look yonder!"

And she did so. Sir James had been quickly seized, taken by surprise. And now there was a noose about his neck, the end of which was held by a mounted man clothed in a tunic bearing the yellow and blue colors of the house of de la Ville with the three ravens etched across it.

"If she isn't mounted before me in three seconds, Gwillen, slit his throat," de la Ville commanded coldly. "My lady?" He bent down, offering her his hand.

She didn't dare hesitate, for Gwillen had already pulled his sword and set it to the vein pulsing at Sir James's throat.

"Well, my lady, I've got you where I want you at last. Or almost where I want you!" he said triumphantly. "But that will come later. Tonight. When the castle is mine!"

"You will not get into the castle," she told him. "The guard has been tripled at the drawbridge. Your treachery was our only weakness."

His arms tightened around her. "My lady, you will bring us directly into the castle."

"Never."

"Would you have this poor fellow slain?"

"I'll hang myself before I'll let you betray yourself and the castle, my lady!" Sir James called, his voice ringing out like steel.

"Um, well, my fair young fellow, you just might want to wait on that extraordinary deed of valor," de la Ville told him. "I've a far greater threat to use against my lady than your puny death!"

"My own?" Kat queried, hating the feel of his arms around her as she sat before him atop his dark horse. "I've contemplated death and you before, my lord, and found the first a far preferable attainment!"

De la Ville started to laugh. There was something just a little maniacal about the sound, and it frightened Kat greatly. "Where is your sense, my lord!" she cried out. "I am wed to Montjoy! No prize can be achieved through me. Damian will meet you in battle. Damian with all of his forces. Damian, and the outlaws, they will band as one—"

"I don't think so, my lady!" de la Ville said smugly. His arms were like bars. She could see nothing but his eyes because of his helmet. They seemed to burn.

"De la Ville—" she began, then stopped.

She heard a rustling in the brush. Riders were coming.

The wind whipped up with a sudden fury. Once more, lightning burst and flared across the sky. The thunder that followed was immediate. Another flash followed in just a matter of seconds.

And then the brush parted. The lightning allowed her to see those who were coming.

She paused, blinking furiously. For the party was led by a woman who might have been she. She was cloaked in one of Katherine's finest green capes. Her head was hooded by the cowl, but it appeared that a wealth of blond hair lay beneath that cowl.

Katherine's heart shuddered violently. The sky lightened. The woman riding the lead horse glanced up, a look of pure satisfaction and smug victory on her face.

Affa.

Affa …The woman was in league with de la Ville!

Pulling away the blond wig that she wore even as she entered into the clearing.

"What in God's name—" Kat began.

"In God's name, lady, aye! You will order the drawbridge lowered. We will all ride across it—you will order the guards to lay down their arms." His voice came very close to her ear. "Or else, my lady, I will order your husband murdered!"

"But you cannot—"

"Oh, but I can."

"He will kill you first—"

"Lady, we will wait. And you will see for yourself!"

He should never, never have fallen for de la Ville's trickery! Damian chastised himself as he paced the forest.

Or Kat's proclamations of love.

The latter was by far the more bitter, for he thought himself the greater idiot for having ever believed, He had been warned. Again and again. Ari had seen it, Ari had told him.

But he had never imagined that she would deceive him. Not with de la Ville. With his whole heart he had believed that she hated de la Ville.

Even if she had never cared for him. Even if the way she made love was a lie, if the sob in her voice was a lie, the whisper of passion, the brilliance in her eyes!

The worse fool he!

Damian knew that even as he walked along the darkened forest path. But, ah, love! The brutal things that it" did to a man!

Kat had scarce been gone before one of Robin's men had burst upon him and Robin Hood there in the deep clearing.

"Robin, Lord Montjoy! Something amiss has happened. I saw the lady, streaking through the trees, running like the wind, and screaming for help. I tried to follow—"

"Where the hell was James Courtney?" Damian exploded.

"I know not, my lord, all I know is that he called her name—"

"Damian, wait!" Robin urged him. "I will gather the men—"

"Nay, for we cannot reach my knights in time, and if this is treachery, then we all are lost. If Kat calls, then I must come!"

"Damian!" Robin called, but Damian had no time now for logic or thought of safety.

The storm was coming. Closer and closer. Lightning streaked raggedly across the sky. "Follow as best you can!" he told Robin, once mounted. Lucien could feel the tempest of the weather, of the sky. He pawed the ground in a frenzy, and Damian at last gave him free rein.

Robin's man came racing behind him, directing him along the trail. He could see her then, ahead. Color in the trees. Then he heard his name. Cried out softly. Carrying on the wind, whispering through the trees.

"Kat!"

The lightning crowded the sky again. He could see her clearly. She had donned her cloak against the wind and coming rain. He knew the cloak well. It was one of her favorites, and she had packed it when he had ordered her onward to his castle.

"Katherine, wait! Hold still, let me reach you!"

He couldn't see any danger about, but he knew that it was there. Instinct warned him. Withdraw! It is a trap!

"Damian!"

The wind ripped and tore at her voice. Distorted it.

"Katherine! Come to me!"

Then he heard the scream.

It came from the deep thicket. He could ride Lucien no further, and he dismounted and started to walk. "My lord!" cried Robin's man from behind him.

He turned, but the man was no longer there.

And then he knew. It was a trap. Kat had led him directly into a trap. And he had been warned.

"Damian!"

He walked, ever wary, listening to the whisper and echo of her sob, desperate to reach her, to understand.

He drew his sword, ready for the onslaught that would bring him down.

"Now! We'll take him as the outlaws have taken us!" came a triumphant cry.

And twenty men sprang from around the trees, all with swords drawn or bows strung or ropes looped and knotted and at the ready.

He sprang forward, lashing out with the brutal intensity of his steel. One man fell, another, and another. "We can't kill him yet!" someone warned.

"Aye, but he's killing us!"

His steel rang, hard, fast. He fought forward.

But the ropes were falling around him, too. He dodged and twisted and slashed his way through the men. Five were fallen, six. Seven. But he couldn't fight the swordsmen and the rope. There were countless bound around him now, distorting his aim, wearing down his strength.

He could no longer twist or turn.

Then, even as he roared out his anger and vengeance, struggling fiercely to free himself, to raise his sword one last time, something hard came crashing down upon his head. Once, twice, three times …

Then the darkness of the night had been nothing compared to the deep black void that had risen to claim him. Bitterly, bitterly, he had fallen to it. He had not been taken by the best of Saladin's archers or assassins. He had survived endless battles of hand-to-hand combat. He had triumphed as a knight in battle; he had fared equally as well as the Silver Sword.

But now, at last, the treacherous, golden beauty who had become his wife had brought him down, and hard. She had warned him that he would be sorry.

Aye, she had warned him!

But he couldn't fight the darkness, no matter how bitter it might be. As so he went catapulting into the black void. Falling, falling, falling …

"Ah!" de la Ville cried out with pleasure. "See, there, my lady, he comes! The great Lord Montjoy, brought low at last."

A party of men on foot came through to the copse where they waited. There were perhaps ten of them. And within their group was Damian. He was being carried on a litter that was dragged by the two of the somewhat bloodied fellows.

"You've got him!" de la Ville said triumphantly.

"He brought down Ivan and Leif, and eight others," one told de la Ville wearily.

"I don't care how many he brought down, as long as we have him!" de la Ville said.

Montjoy …

Did he breathe? They had folded his hands upon his chest. His handsome face was in complete repose, pale against the ebony of his hair. A small trickle of blood trailed along his forehead. He was bound by numerous ropes.

Kat tried desperately to elude de la Ville's hold, but his armored arms kept her prisoner before him on his horse.

"Let me go to him!" she shrieked. "Jesu, is he—"

"Dead? Not yet, my lady. His life lies there, within your gentle hands."

He could not be lying there. Injured. At de la Ville's mercy. Kat could not accept it. "You have not taken him down, you have not!"

"Indeed not, my lady. You have taken him down."

"I never—"

Kat broke off, hearing Affa's very soft laughter. Then Kat realized that the lithe Arabian beauty had ridden into the copse behind the men. She was wearing Kat's cloak, the green one with the low hood. "You claimed to love him!" Kat cried out.

"He will be mine," Affa said, her chin high, her eyes deep and dark, but touched by fire. "I have made a pact with Lord de la Ville. He will use Montjoy to obtain the castle. Then Montjoy is mine."

"Affa! How can you be so foolish! He cannot plan to give you Montjoy in any way, if he is threatening me with Montjoy's death, should I refuse him what he wants!"

Affa looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"Fool, heathen woman!" de la Ville shouted. "My Lady Montjoy is not going to let him die? Hush, and you will have what you're after! We've got to take the castle first, and Lady Montjoy must give the order that the drawbridge be lowered for us to seize it! Let's move now—"

"Wait!" Affa commanded. "Lord de la Ville. You said—"

"Affa, you can't listen to what this man says! He cannot give you Montjoy! What would you do with him? Where would you have him—"

"She will take him to Clifford Castle!" de la Ville announced furiously.

"Affa, think about it! He cannot afford to let Montjoy live!" Katherine said quickly. "You know Montjoy, so you've told me! So does de la Ville. If de la Ville holds me and the castle, Montjoy will tear down heaven and earth to get to him. De la Ville cannot afford for Damian to live, can't you see that?"

Affa's eyes widened in the darkness. "We made a bargain!" she told de la Ville.

"And Montjoy is alive!" de la Ville insisted.

"If he were dead now, de la Ville knows that there is no way on God's earth that I would command that the drawbridge be opened!" Kat insisted.

De la Ville's arm squeezed her so tightly then that she cried out.

"Maybe there are other bargains we can make to keep the man alive a bit longer, eh?" de la Ville said.

"You are a traitor!" Affa cried suddenly. "I will help you no longer!"

"I need your help no longer, bitch!" de la Ville announced.

Affa jerked on her horse's reins, trying to spin the animal about. "You will not betray me!" she shouted. "Allah's curse will be upon you!"

A brilliant flash of lightning lit up the sky. For a moment, Kat could see the woman, clad in her own beautiful green cloak. The blond wig was gone, and Affa's own glorious long dark hair was streaming behind her. She was a picture of wild, exotic beauty.

Then, in that same bright streak of lightning, everything changed. Kat heard the whizzing sound of an arrow streaking through the air.

Affa was struck in the back. She arched upon her mount, looking to the sky.

Looking to her Allah.

Then she catapulted forward, dead on the ground, while her mount raced away into the darkness.

A chill, a savage penetrating chill, streaked along Kat's spine. "My God! You murdered her! In cold blood. Her back was to you, a defenseless woman, and you murdered her!"

"And so will I murder Montjoy," he assured her flatly. "She was about as defenseless as poison, my beauty," he added. "As are you! I do not deceive myself about you, Katherine. I know, too, that you can be a formidable foe. So let's have at this, shall we? Let's finish with our business this night. Then we can get on to our … pleasure, eh, my lady?"

"Bastard!"

"You will have that drawbridge down, and quickly, madam. And you will order your troops to lay down their weapons, and obey my commands. Else he dies!"

She twisted to see his eyes beneath his raven's helmet and faceplate. "And I am a formidable foe, too! So you have told me. Like de la Ville, don't you suppose that I will come after you time and time again until the castle is mine again?"

"Lady, if you cause me too much trouble, an arrow can dispose of you, too. I do intend to keep you alive for quite some time, though. If you behave."

Her gaze fell over him thoughtfully. "I decided long ago that my death would be far preferable to my life with you."

"Your death, my lady. But what about his?" De la Ville inclined his head toward Damian, sleeping like one dead on his litter. It seemed that Kat's heart swelled within her chest and rose to her throat to near choke her, bringing blinding tears to her eyes.

Damian had always thought that she had meant to betray him. Would he ever believe the truth now? Would she ever hear him speak with tenderness again?

She tensed, desperate to escape de la Ville, to touch Damian, to kiss his silent lips, and with that kiss, swear her innocence. Yet de la Ville sensed her need, and jerked his arms hard around her.

"You may see him more closely. Soon! Once we are in the castle."

Kat exhaled slowly, blinking away her tears. "Then ride for the castle, de la Ville," she whispered, fighting to keep the tones of desolation and defeat from her voice.

But de la Ville heard them. He heard them, and his laughter rang out loudly, and with pleasure.

The snap and crackle and warmth of fire began to awaken him.

At first he did not open his eyes, because he could not do so.

Eons seemed to pass. Eons in which he drifted into and out of consciousness. He heard her as she whispered his name.

Then there was a time when he thought that his eyes did open, just a shade. And she was there. She was there with her exquisite aquamarine eyes flooding with the liquid brilliance of tears. She was there, whispering his name. He could almost reach out and touch the gold of her hair.

Then she was gone. He was back in the forest. Battling man after man, feeling the chafe of the rope as it came around him and pulled him down. Dragging him, down, down, into darkness …

Dreams.

They faded.

He couldn't open his eyes, because he hadn't the strength to do so.

Then he was careful not to open them because he realized that his hands were bound behind his back, and that he was a prisoner somewhere, and that he must decide just where he was and how guarded before he dared to open his eyes.

It was amazing that he was able to worry about opening his eyes, he thought, fighting the pain that ripped through his temple from the blows there. Amazing that de la Ville had not killed him outright.

Why was he still alive?

He opened his eyes just a slit and tried to focus. He was surrounded by silence. It was cold here, but though he heard the sound of the wind and the rain, that sound was distant. The chill that pervaded him let him realize that he was in a castle, deep in the bowels of a castle, beneath the earth.

The Castle de Montrain?

Aye, it must be. And he had been taken here because Katherine had tricked and trapped him. Because she had given him and the castle to de la Ville.

Nay, it couldn't be!

Did his heart deny it, or his mind? Katherine … when he had come to love her, to need her with all of his heart. When he had let go of the past, and come to know that the beauty granted him had been of the soul and the heart, and that miraculously, he had been given love!

He had come to this …

Nay, it was not possible!

But bitterly he realized that it was. He lay here, a prisoner.

Where? The cellar. The deep cellar of the castle. The hall would be above him, and above that, Kat's chamber, his chamber. Where even now, de la Ville might be celebrating his victory.

His victory—or his alliance?

But then, even as he lay there fighting to regain his strength and assess his situation, he heard the sound of footsteps on the hard earthen flooring, and then he heard the rough sound of de la Ville's voice.

"You will see, my lady, for now I keep my side of this bargain. He lives!"

With his eyes closed, Damian was acutely aware of sound. He heard the soft flutter of fabric. Someone was trying to reach him.

And he breathed in the scent of roses …

"Let go of me!" Kat demanded. "Let me get to him! You said that I might come closer—"

De la Ville's laughter was harsh, and very pleased. "Lady, if I were to let you go to him, he would cast you from him with a vengeance! You betrayed him, lady."

"Never—"

"He followed you to his doom, Katherine."

She cried out, and it was all that Damian could do to remain still. But he had to do so. The bloom of hope had taken root within his soul, and he must hear this to the end.

There was more, of course.

If he hated her or loved her, he would have Kat back. Until the breath of life was completely torn from his body, he would fight for her.

But at the moment, he was laid out on a cold stone slab, and his hands were tied behind his back. To save her, he must wrest free.

"It's time, Katherine. Time to take me up yonder stairs, and convince me that he should continue to live!"

"You're an idiot!" Kat cried out. De la Ville was hurting her. Damian could hear it in her voice. By God, bastard, you will pay! he thought. Yet he could do nothing but listen while she continued. "A fool, and an idiot. I despise you! I have always hated and loathed and despised you!"

"They say you hated your husband, my lady. Perhaps you will get over it with me."

"Never! There is a difference, de la Ville! Damian would never take his amusement from harming the defenseless. Damian would never have had Affa brought down in cold blood."

"Don't fool yourself. She betrayed him to me. He would be glad to have her dead."

"Nay, de la Ville. You are so covered in filth that you would not know what it was to be clean! Damian would have pitied her. He would have seen that she was misled. He is far stronger than you, de la Ville. But his strength is tempered by mercy, something of which you know nothing!"

"Then teach me!" de la Ville ordered. "I will make you love me. You will do so!"

"Nay, I tell you, never! All that I will do, my lord bastard, is slay you the first chance I get!" Kat hissed in return.

Then she screamed again as de la Ville jerked her around. "Bitch! You are right. You will get no mercy from me when the time comes, and the time comes now!"

Kat screamed again.

And the scream echoed and echoed in Damian's heart.

"Wait!" she cried out suddenly, wrenching from him. "A moment! Give me a moment, and I will walk with you."

"And cease to fight me?"

She wanted to die before giving the promise, Damian knew.

"And cease to fight!" she breathed. "Let me just touch him."

"Try to free him and you are both dead."

"I do not seek to free him, just to touch him!"

De la Ville must have let her go. Damian heard the flutter of fabric again, the soft fall of her feet.

And then he felt the warmth of her arms around him. Felt the silken carpet of her hair, blanketing him. Her cheek was against his. Wet with her tears. And she was whispering urgently.

"There is a door, third stone beneath the stairs. It's part of the tunnel. Escape, my love, escape to the forest. Jesu, God, please let him hear me! Somewhere in his mind, please let him hear me! I did not betray you, love!"

Her tears caressed his flesh. Warm and liquid. Then her lips touched his cold ones.

"Katherine! Now!" de la Ville warned.

A touch, a breath.

And she was gone.

And the awful cold settled in all around him.