Chapter 22

D AMIAN DIDN'T KNOW HOW he managed to split the ropes that bound his wrists so cruelly tight together. Perhaps it had been the feel of her lips against his.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that de la Ville was now taking her upstairs. To her room.

Nay, to their room! Their chambers, where they slept together, where he held her.

Rage, love, desire—one, or all three, had given him a miraculous strength. Rubbing his fists with a vengeance against the stone slab beneath him, he had at last managed to break through the rope. With his wrists free, he had been able to go on and tear off the ropes about his body, and those that bound his feet.

There was little to see here, for de la Ville had left his prisoner no light. He could still hear the storm. It had come in earnest now. Rain slashing down. Thunder abounding. And still, upon occasion, the lightning would come. And even here, in the bowels of the castle, the stone would brighten for a moment.

He could see the stairway.

And the stone. The third stone beneath it …

Freed, he was about to leap up when he heard the groan of a door opening. He lay back, pretending to remain unconscious. With his eyes barely open, every muscle taut and tense, he waited.

"Lord Montjoy! Oh, Jesu, have they killed him?"

The soft whisper came from Kat's serving woman, he was certain. Marie. But she was not alone. There was someone else with her.

"Nay, he lives. But we must rouse him fast. The guard will know quickly that I am not administering to his head wound. We must rouse him and take him from the castle!"

It was Ari, the old scoundrel. What was he doing here?

Easy enough. He had come somehow with poor Affa to England, and now …

"Jesu, we cannot carry him! He is solid muscle and weighs like steel—"

"Shhh! The guard passes by!" Ari warned.

Damian allowed his eyes to spring open. Marie almost cried out with surprise, and he jackknifed up, clamping his hand over her lips. "You need carry me nowhere, Marie."

"Thank the Lord!" she said.

"Shhh!" Ari warned again.

"You must leave the castle. Kat bade me come here and see that you find the tunnel. She tried to tell you, but you could not hear—"

"I heard!" he said with soft vehemence.

"Anyway, our only chance now is for you to escape. Find your men, and Robin, and return here to wage the battle so ready to begin. Kat's men remain loyal to her, and to you, my lord, but they are afraid that de la Ville will kill you if they disobey him. Once you are gone, that threat is over."

"We haven't time to talk! You must escape!" Ari said urgently.

Damian gripped his hand suddenly. "What do you see, old man? What do you see this night?"

Ari shook his head dolefully, his dark eyes anxious.

"I see the rain, my lord, I see the rain and the darkness. I didn't see clearly before, either, to my greatest sorrow. I knew that she was with another man, but that man was you. And I knew that you would be betrayed, but I could not see that it was another in her stead."

"I can see that you must get out of here!" Marie said urgently.

Damian leaped to his feet. "Nay!" he said softly. "You must get out of here."

"What?" Marie said.

"If it is discovered that I am gone, de la Ville will not hesitate to murder you both. You will go and find Robin. Marie, I know that you will know how. You have helped Katherine come and go from this castle as the Lady Greensleeves for years now. You will know what you are doing."

Marie flushed. "My lord—"

"Go!" Damian insisted. "Come, let's reach the tunnel."

"But what are you doing?" Marie asked with dismay.

"This is the same tunnel by which she has escaped all these years, am I right?"

"Aye, my lord, but—"

"Then it leads to my bedchamber above, where de la Ville thinks to take my wife, right?"

Marie nodded. She moistened her lips. "But she said that whatever befell her, you must live!"

"I will live," Damian promised her. "I will live, I swear it! De la Ville is the one who will die!"

She had promised not to fight. Promised—for that one near-impossible prayer that she might whisper some words to Damian.

Words of freedom.

Yet she had touched his lips, and his lips had been cold. If he were to awaken, if he were to live, he would despise her! Could he ever believe in her again?

Did it matter? she wondered with desolation. De la Ville held the castle. De la Ville held her. And it seemed that there was nothing that she could do, for she would not let him kill Damian. Nay, she could not let that happen ever.

Even if she did not love him the way that she did, he had been the man with the arrows in the forest that day. And he had been the man to defend so many for so long …

Nay. She would not let him die.

And though she had sworn not to fight de la Ville any longer, she found ways to do so. When he wrenched her from the cellar, she warned him in a hiss that he must loosen his hold upon her, or all within the castle would know that she was no willing hostage.

So he let go of her, and she walked into the great hall on her own, and she ordered Howard to bring up more wine for their … guests. And de la Ville sat before the fire, his evil, handsome face brooding while he watched her, his fingers drumming impatiently upon his chair.

And while she tasted wine, she managed to speak to a very frightened Marie, who trembled while she poured out goblets of wine, but she nodded, understanding.

Then, from far across the room, Kat saw that Ari was there. Ari! He watched her gravely, then nodded imperceptibly. Hope sprang into her heart. What could one little wizened old Arabic seer do? She wasn't sure, but she was glad that he was there, and glad that he could see.

But then both he and Marie managed to disappear. And when Kat walked across the hall again, de la Ville caught her hand.

"Where is your maid?"

"Gone only to see to my lord's wound. Your guard will wait beyond the door, I am quite certain."

"I don't like it!"

"He is bound and trussed like a deer." She couldn't help it. She leaned close, taunting him. "Do you fear him still?"

De la Ville was up then, wrenching her around. He lifted an arm to those of his men he had brought with him into the hall. "Good night. Guard this keep well!" he commanded. He nodded to one man. "Rothwell! You will keep guard at my door. And you likewise, Gunther."

His eyes fixed on Kat's. "Now. Now, lady, you will pay for your lord's life!"

He shoved her ahead of him. Kat dared not look back to the hall. Her people within it would be instantly slain if they saw her distress and fought.

And so she walked slowly ahead of him up the stairs. She tripped, trying for any ploy whatsoever to buy time.

Time …

For what?

Robin hadn't the strength to attack the castle. His men hadn't the arms and the armor to do that kind of battle.

Damian's forces were out there. Awaiting Damian. Awaiting his orders to fight …

But were they there? Did they even know that he had been taken?

De la Ville jerked her up and around. She balanced precariously on the stair, meeting his furious gaze. "Lady, I have known you for years! And I have never known you to be less than nimble on your feet. Now move!"

And she did so. She walked ahead of him. He followed. She paused before her door, her head downcast, her eyes on her hands. He strode behind her, thundering the door open with his fists. "Keep guard well!" he warned his men, then shoved her forward, and slammed the door behind them.

He pushed her closer to the bed. He had shed his armor below in the hall. Now he stripped off his riding gloves, watching her with that same brooding intensity with which he had watched her in the hall.

His gloves landed on a chair. She felt his eyes. Felt them stripping her inch by inch.

"Jesu!" he screamed at her suddenly. "What is wrong with me? Is my person so repugnant? Is my face so horrid?"

"There is nothing wrong with your face or person," she said coolly. She realized then that de la Ville had not won. He thought that he had won when he dragged her here. But now they both knew that he had not won at all. He couldn't beat or drag what he wanted out of her.

"You might have been a handsome man," she told him. "Your ugliness, my lord, lies within."

He walked around her, his lips pursing. "Thank God that it is not my face! Because you will watch it tonight when I make love to you."

"When you rape me, you mean," she said flatly.

His hand lashed out, and he struck her. Tears stung her eyes, and she fell forward, just catching herself on the edge of the bed. She shook the tears from her eyes and started suddenly, looking at the linen bedding that stretched before her.

A rose lay on the bed. Between the down pillows, just touching the linen sheets. A single rose.

Perhaps it had been there. Perhaps Marie had set it there.

Perhaps …

A rose.

The scent of roses was on the air.

Damian! He had to be there. He had to be with her somewhere! Somehow, she found new courage.

De la Ville jerked her back to her feet. He spun her around. "I meant to be gentle, my lady. Why? Because you were different. I coveted you. I coveted this castle. Richard would hear none of my case, but John was willing to sell. Well, Richard is gone, and John will be King! And the castle will be mine. I had meant this to be different. You would have been my wife; you would have borne my children."

"And you have taken maidens in the woods to use so violently, as you enjoy?" she interrupted on a bitter breath.

"Have it as you will!" he retorted. He reached out, his powerful fingers coming to rest on the bodice of her tunic. Kat lashed out with a fury, gouging his face with her nails.

The tunic gave anyway, shearing from her body, leaving her clad in her soft pale blue underdress. "It will be as you will have it, bitch!" de la Ville raged, his hand flying to his face, and the marks she had left upon it.

He reached out for her again. Caught her arm, and slung her around with such fury that she went flying backward upon the bed.

Beside the rose. She smelled the sweet scent of it. Saw the bloodred petals.

And then she saw Raymond's face as he started to lower himself upon her.

But even as he began to smile, and even as a scream formed deep within her throat, he was suddenly and violently wrenched back.

His smile was swept cleanly from his face.

Damian was there. Aye, he had been in the room since they had come to it, and now his hands were upon de la Ville. He scarce saw Kat as she leaped to her feet, for his fury was all upon the man who had invaded his home. He had wrenched de la Ville with such force, by the shoulders, that the massive knight had actually flown across the room, crashed against the wall, and slunk down to the floor.

But de la Ville did not remain stunned. "You!" he roared, rising. "You should be dead already!"

"You will die, de la Ville."

"But not by your hand!" de la Ville responded. "Guard!" he called out.

Damian was unarmed. His sword and knife had been stripped from him when he had been taken.

His fury had been such that he might well have taken de la Ville with his bare hands. But if the guards rushed in with swords …

Kat rolled to the edge and leaped from the bed, staring across the room. Aye, it was there! Her father's sword! Put back upon the wall after that night when she had defended herself with it from de la Ville's henchmen once before. She hurried to it, even as a pounding sounded on the door, even as the door burst open and de la Ville's two men rushed in.

"Seize him! Seize Montjoy!" de la Ville ordered. He pushed himself up and flung himself toward Kat.

She screamed. His hand just caught her foot, bearing her down to the floor. She looked up and saw Damian, ably ducking and leaping, avoiding the deadly blows aimed his way. She kicked furiously, evading de la Ville's hand, and managing to set her foot squarely against his nose.

He bellowed with pain and fury. She gave him no heed, leaping up, climbing the hard wood chair for the sword and spinning to see Damian still dodging and ducking.

"Damian!" she cried. He saw her there and smiled briefly. She tossed him the sword. It flew across the room in a beautiful silver arc and clattered to the floor in front of Damian. He seized it, and the men fell back.

It had become a different game for them. A deadly game. One thrust forward. Too easily Damian stepped aside, then parried with his own thrust, catching his opponent through the heart. With a gurgle, the man fell. The second man, Rothwell, paled, then stepped forward.

"Drop your sword!" Damian ordered.

"Do so and you die a traitor's death!" de la Ville countered. "Guards!" he yelled, shouting at the top of his voice.

But who would come?

De la Ville's men?

Or Kat's own castle guard?

"Give me your sword, coward!" de la Ville shouted to his man.

The blade was tossed his way. Kat dived for it, but de la Ville, his face bloodied, was quicker. With the blade in his hand, he lunged for her.

"Nay!" Damian roared, rushing forward. De la Ville fell back, forced to do so. They could all hear the clatter on the stairway now: men coming up from below. De la Ville made a wild swing at Damian. Damian ducked it, then caught hold of Kat's hand, throwing her behind him. "Get out into the hallway. Up the stairs, and to the parapets! Quickly!"

She had played this scene before, she thought, in a different life. Nay, the same life, and not so long ago.

Then she had tried to battle Damian for her life.

Now she battled with Damian, because her life would mean nothing without him in it.

"Damian!"

"Go! I am behind you!"

And he was. She pushed out into the hallway. Her eyes widened. "Damian, hurry, they're coming! De la Ville guards are coming!"

"Make it to the parapets!" he ordered.

She started to the stairs. Damian followed, his back to her as he and de la Ville engaged in vicious swordplay. More men were clattering up the stairs. Damian dueled with de la Ville from one side, and with one of his armored men from the other. Kat, so nervous her breath was coming in short pants, managed to burst the door ajar behind her.

They were out in the open. Out on the parapets. The rain had stopped. Curiously, it had ceased altogether.

While the lightning still streaked across the sky. Swiftly, viciously, brilliantly. And thunder would follow. Follow in loud crashes and explosions.

One jag of lightning suddenly seemed to make the sky as brilliant as day. Kat could see Damian there on the parapets, poised to do battle. Three swordsmen now fought to take them, one of them de la Ville.

The lightning passed. Darkness seized the parapets.

Thunder cracked and rumbled.

Lightning burst upon them again.

And it was just in time for Kat to see Damian triumphant at last. The blade of his sword skewered through de la Ville.

De la Ville caught hold of the blade, eternal surprise captured in his eyes.

Damian pulled back his sword. De la Ville fell against the wall, then crumpled to the floor.

It was a strange victory, for even as de la Ville fell, more men pressed through the door.

Damian could not take them all. He turned to Kat, a wry grin upon his lips. He offered her his hand, leaping to the rim of the parapets.

Ready to dive down into the stygian darkness of the moat beneath.

"My lady?" he offered.

And she smiled in return, accepting his hand.

"Don't be afraid!" he urged her softly.

"I am not," she replied. "I am not afraid. Not with you."

And together they plunged down, down, down into the darkness far below.

The cold water swallowed Kat. It covered her head, and it sucked her under. Her limbs seemed to freeze, her lungs to burst.

But her hand was still in his, and he was pulling her back up. When she thought she would die and stay forever in the gray-green blackness of the moat, she suddenly broke the surface of the water and breathed in desperately, choking, inhaling, gasping, choking once again.

"Kat, we must swim. The men on the parapets—"

"Hello, down there!" a voice suddenly rang out. A familiar voice. Kat and Damian both cast back their heads, looking up.

And Robin was there. A jaunty grin on his face, he looked down at them while a certain amount of sword-play still went on atop the parapets.

"Well, I do like this!" Robin called down. "The two of you off for a swim, right in the middle of the battle."

"Robin!" Kat cried. "How—"

"Marie and Ari brought us back through the tunnel!" Robin shouted down. "We've a man now seeing that the drawbridge is lowered again—and your men are waiting to ride in just as Kat's are doing their best to take over once again."

"Jesu, then it is done!" Damian gasped.

Robin sobered. "Not quite. There are more forces aligned against the King in John's behalf. You'll need to take charge of your men, cousin. But do come up first. You've time to change."

Kat's teeth were chattering. She was waterlogged and freezing and treading water. She didn't care. She turned, throwing her arms around Damian, sending them both back to the bottom as she kissed him soundly.

His strong kick brought them to the surface a second time. Still freezing but heedless of it, Kat found that she needed to talk. "Oh, Damian, I love you. I love you and I love the Silver Sword. I never betrayed you, I swear it. They used Affa, and the poor girl is dead now. I'm so sorry, Damian, I really am, she did not deserve that, but still, I tell you, I love you, I'd never have betrayed you, I—"

"Kat, Katherine, I know," he said. She was going to start speaking again. He shushed her the best way he knew how, with another hungry, very wet kiss. When they broke apart, they were both breathless. Even his muscles were wearying from keeping them afloat. "I love you," he said softly.

"You were supposed to have run! I didn't want your life risked, then I saw the rose. Oh, Damian, I knew you were there!"

"It was the only sure way I knew to let you know that I was near," he whispered.

"Come after a damsel in distress once again," she told him, her eyes shining magnificently. "Bare-handed! Oh, Damian!"

"Come after the woman I love," he returned. "And the one to carry my name, my children, and my heart."

Once again, she kissed him. A deep, searing kiss that sent them both into heaven—and spiraling deeper into the chilling depths once again.

They surfaced.

"Hello, down there!" Robin cried. "Pardon me, my lord, my lady, we are awaiting your pleasure up here."

"And I'm quite freezing near to death," Kat said regally. "Next time you rescue me, my lord, perhaps we could avoid the exit through the moat?"

"A brash and willful vixen is what you are!" Damian retorted. "And I've a fair mind to leave you here, right in the midst of it!"

"You wouldn't!"

"Quite right, my love. There are many places I would leave you to await me, and this is not one!"

"Perhaps a place with a bed of roses," she said softly.

"Aye, a place with a bed of roses," he said soberly. He touched her forehead with his lips, then swam strongly, bringing them both from the water.

Marie had come to the soft earth embankment, ready to greet them with heavy wool towels. The castle was safe once again.

Kat did not know how safe until she and Damian ventured across the drawbridge arm in arm.

And the cheers went up. Cheers from Damian's men, and cheers from her own.

And cheers from Robin's men. His fine group of fellows who had come in their forest browns and greens, unarmored, and poorly armed with their staffs and salvaged swords and whittled arrows.

All of them greeted Kat and Damian. All of them cheered. And all of them raised a cry and hooted and hollered when Damian kissed Kat again, in the hall before the heat of the fire.

But the laughter and the cheers could only be short lived. De la Ville was dead, but Prince John's quest was not. And on this night, the men had to fight again.

Waiting was hard for Kat.

And the waiting seemed to go on and on.

Damian and Robin and their combined forces did come back that night.

And Kat was ready to greet him, bathed and wrapped in the scent of roses.

And with roses strewn upon the bed.

And still, he told her when he returned, worn and weary, there was no rose in truth more beautiful than she, no bud to have bloomed more elegantly. There was no petal softer than her flesh, sweeter than her hair …

And surely no rose held such vivid colors as those that graced her hair, her eyes, her ivory flesh, the rouge of her nipples or the ivory of her breasts.

With a blush she told him that she had quite decided that he was an excellent gardener.

He could, she dared say, make any rose bloom.

It was a wondrous night for them. One in which they made love again and again.

Made love …

And whispered love. The words spewed freely from them. About the things they had feared, the things they had expected, the things they had both believed in. The night was full of a rare, fine magic, for they had not only discovered each other, but they had done so in time, while love and life lay before them.

Or so they hoped.

By the morning, Damian rode again, as did Robin and the others.

The battles went on. Fighting flared here and there around England. Damian was gone far more often than he was home.

But on one green-shaded afternoon while Kat rode alone in the forest, she was startled to hear a low whistle. She turned and saw him there. He was Lord Montjoy now, but mounted on the favorite of his two black horses, the one he called Lucifer, the one who had been ridden by the Silver Sword.

He wore a tunic with his colors. With his wonderful lions. Beneath it he was clad in a vibrant blue undershirt and dark-hued chausses. He wore no armor, though his sword was in the scabbard at his side. His head was uncovered, and his hair was ebony-dark, lifting just slightly around the bronze-toned, rugged planes and angles of his face. He and the horse both stood so quietly.

Almost as if she dreamed them there.

As if they were memory. Myth. Magic.

Legend.

Then he smiled slowly, and she called out his name and spurred her mare to race toward Lucifer. Even as she neared him, she was leaping out of her saddle, just as he was doing.

"Oh, Damian!" she cried as he took her in his arms. He held her face between his hands. He kissed her lips, her forehead, her cheeks, her lips again. "It's over!" he murmured between kisses.

"Over?"

"John's forces have been defeated. The ransom for Richard has been raised."

"Oh, Jesu!" Kat breathed. She touched Damian's face, wondering at the worry that still seemed to remain on it. "Damian, you've said that it is over—"

"Aye." He paused again. "I know Richard. From what he said to me in the Holy Land I know he will pardon Robin and all of his men. And, of course, the Silver Sword and the Lady Greensleeves, but then, they haven't been heard from in quite some time."

"And things are right with Robin?"

"That they are."

"Then …"

He slipped his arm around her, and they walked down a pine-strewn trail. It was so beautiful here. So peaceful. The sun barely made its way through the branches. The green light was just as magical as her husband's appearance. The air was fresh and sweet, and seemed softly to caress them.

"I went to see John, Kat. He was very bitter against me."

"There is nothing to be done about that. And Richard will be home soon—"

"And things should be well." He paused, then pointed ahead mischievously. "The cottage lies ahead, Kat. Let's hurry to it."

"Aye," she agreed solemnly, and started to walk with him. But he suddenly swept her up into his arms. He pretended to stagger. "Alas! You grow so heavy!"

"Not so heavy!" she protested, but his eyes were twinkling, and he held her easily with one arm, running his fingers over the rounding expansion of her belly.

"I like heavy!" he told her, laughing, and held her close as he walked the trail the rest of the way to the cottage. Once inside, he set her down upon the pallet of furs, and poured them a mug of wine to share.

His eyes were grave once again as he spoke. "I needed to see John, just as John needed to see me."

"I don't understand—" Kat murmured, disturbed by his distress.

"In case, after he is released Richard still insists that John will be his heir. No one seems to realize this, but mark my words. Richard will not stay in England. He is already talking about war to keep his hands on his Angevin possessions. His life is ever precarious."

Kat was silent for a minute, her eyes on her husband. "So what did you say to the Prince?" she asked softly.

"I told him that if and when the time came that he was duly crowned king, I would be his servant, as I have been Richard's. But I warned him, too, that he would need to take care with his barons, for many of us know him well, and will still fight him if he will not rule justly."

"And then?"

"Well, we are at a truce, so it seems."

Kat smiled slowly. She brought the mug of wine to her own lips, then offered some to her husband. He still seemed thoughtful. She took the mug from him.

"At this moment, my Lord Montjoy, we are at peace."

"Aye."

"And you will have no immediate need to ride away again."

"No, my love."

Her smile broadened, and she pressed him back upon the furs.

"Then for now, I am grateful. I think that I would like to show you just how grateful."

"Oh?"

The worried look had left his eyes. For now. She wished suddenly that she was in their own chamber. That she had a bath of rose-scented water awaiting her. That the linen sheets had been strewn with the flowers.

That she had more to give.

She pressed her lips to his, then to his throat. Then she was smiling, and murmured against her lips as she spoke.

"We should have been home, before the hearth. I should have bathed with roses. We should be upon very soft down—"

He lifted her above him suddenly. "Should we? After all, my lady, this is where the Silver Sword was first seduced—"

"Nay, it is where the Silver Sword first did his seducing!"

"Does it matter?" he asked, smiling.

She shook her head, clad in the muscled warmth of his body as he brought her down upon him, even if the growing life within her did cause them a curious separation.

None of it mattered. His hands were suddenly on her. Beneath the fabric of her sleeves. His lips were against her throat, tender upon the pulse there.

"Perhaps the forest is best," she agreed huskily. "Even if I am heavy—"

"Delightfully rounded," he protested, his fingers having found the curve of her breast.

"And even … even if we have no roses," she whispered.

He suddenly had her down beneath him. Silver eyes shone with passion and love into her own.

"My dear Lady Greensleeves, you are the only rose I shall require," he told her. And his lips came close to hers. "So bloom for me now, my love. Flower, and bloom."

Her arms outstretched to him like petals opening to the sun.

And curiously, to them both, it suddenly seemed that the scent of roses did fill the air around them.

Then love encompassed all.