Chapter 16

16

BLOODMOOR KEEP, 1291

E llyn stared at her reflection in the polished surface of the looking glass. The image was mildly distorted due to the imperfections in the metal, yet she tilted her head and halted the brush mid-stroke through her hair to stare. Above a blur of yellow was her face, but not quite her face. The hair was the same color, the eyes the same shade of crystalline blue… yet there were some features not exactly similar. Her nose had a slight bump midway down where she had fallen as a child and struck it on the lip of a stone cistern; the nose on the girl in the reflection was straight and unblemished.

Truth be told, it was not the first time she had seen such a vision. She had seen it reflected in a bucket of water once, and on the surface of a pond several times. She had even dreamt of a girl running in the sunlight, her hair streaming out behind, her laughter sounding like an echo travelling a long way down a dark tunnel. In her dream the girl had been wearing an immodestly short chemise and flared leggings that did not reach below the top of her thighs. In her dream, the girl had been happy and carefree, feelings Ellyn had not experienced in a very long time. It seemed, since that horrid day in the village, she was always scowling, always watching over her shoulder.

There was a soft tapping on the door of the chamber and Ellyn glanced away. When she looked back, she saw herself, the horsehair brush paused mid-air, the candlelight flickering across the mural painted on the wall behind her. Her gaze lingered a moment on the painting, for it was a hunting scene wrought in bold colors, of a nobleman on horseback with hounds running alongside.

The image in the mirror had reflected what looked like… shelves?

The tapping sound came again, slightly louder, and she set the brush aside. The night candle, marked to show the hours as they burned away, told her it was nearing midnight. She had stripped out of her tunic and was dressed in a thin linen chemise that barely reached her ankles.

It was almost midnight.

Wary to the bone, she ran quickly to the fireside and picked up the heavy iron poker then tip-toed to the door of her bedchamber and pressed her cheek to the wood.

"Who goes there?"

"Rennwick de Beauvoir."

She pulled abruptly away and stared at the banded oak planks for a long moment. She had not seen the smallest glimpse of the surly knight since they had arrived at Bloodmoor Keep the previous day.

The guards who had met them at the drawbridge had escorted them to the main courtyard of the castle. While Ellyn had been distracted by the looming presence of the towering stone keep, Renn had first exchanged words with the seneschal then come to her side to help her dismount.

"I am told our host is unwell and unable to greet us personally, but that we might make good use of the time to bathe the dust of our journey away and catch up on some sleep."

"Hurrah for soft beds," Terrowin had said, grinning at a buxom wench who approached with a wooden salver to offer them a stoup of ale.

"Hurrah for real food, and plenty of it!" Baldor drained the contents of a pewter cup and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then stalked after a baker who was carrying a basket full of steaming meat pies. He snorted at the offer of a single pie and took the whole basket.

Roger, who had stepped aside to speak to the grooms and arrange for the stabling of the horses, waved at Renn to go on ahead, he would catch up.

Renn escorted Ellyn across the courtyard and up the covered staircase that led to the only entry into the main keep. The stairs were narrow and the ceiling low and slanted, designed thus to make it impossible for a swordsman to fight his way into the keep. At the top of the stairs, a wide landing overlooked a long, cavernous great hall, lit by a score of burning torches and thick tallow candles on tall iron stakes. At the north end, behind a raised dais, a curved bay of tall windows made of colored glass depicted scenes of battles and chivalrous deeds. Hanging on the walls on either side were pennons and flags, shields and weaponry captured on past battlefields.

The hall smelled of old rushes, cooking fires, and decades of smoke that had coated the heavy beams above. There were no windows along the sides of the hall, only thin slits positioned between the thick blocks high up in the gloom.

There had been perhaps two dozen knights and guardsmen seated at the long trestle tables that flanked both sides of the hall. Most of them sat close to the firepit where a long spit holding several chickens and two suckling pigs was being slowly turned by sweaty-faced villeins. No one was seated on the dais, although the table was covered with fresh linens. Several dogs scrapped with each other on the rushes, happily waiting for bones to be tossed. A young girl carrying a heavy ewer walked beside the tables refilling goblets with ale as they were thrust toward her.

A few men had paused in their conversations to glance at Renn and Ellyn as they descended the steps from the landing and crossed the width of the hall, but for the most part, their interest was brief and they returned to their own company. A young girl with a flurry of dark brown curls hastened forward to greet them at the bottom of the stairs. She said her name was Bethy and she was happy to show milady to her chambers in the south tower. After a perfunctory bow, Renn had excused himself to ‘tend to other matters' and that was the last Ellyn had seen or heard from him.

Now it was midnight, a long night and day later, and he was tapping on the other side of her bedchamber door.

"Are you aware, Sir Knight, of the late hour?"

"You have my best apologies, but our host has only just now summoned me to fetch you. He had a thought you might be growing anxious."

She lifted the serpentine iron latch and flung the door open. " Might be growing anxious? Being abandoned and forgotten, left to my own imaginings without a word as to who or why I was brought here, or where you were, or where I was, or… or…"

She ran out of words and simply stared. Rennwick de Beauvoir was clean-shaven and smelled of some exotic scent from the East. His tunic was a deep forest green that complimented the emerald color of his eyes. The fabric was quilted in diamond shaped squares that were embroidered with thread of gold. Black hose clung tight to every muscle and sinew in his thighs. He looked shamelessly well-rested and at ease. The lines of tension were gone from around his mouth and across his brow, and his hair was shiny and clean. It fell in soft black waves to his shoulders, framing a face that was so startlingly handsome she felt a warm, sliding sensation in the pit of her belly.

She covered her sudden discomfort by moistening her lips. "I am not dressed for an audience."

"Our host provided this for your comfort." He held up a brocaded tabard lined with thick, soft vair.

"And if I was abed, fast asleep?"

Renn tilted his head. His eyes followed one of the silvery tendrils of her hair where it flowed down onto her breast, giving her the distinct impression he could see clear through the linen of her smock. "I would have found a way to waken you."

The iron poker slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor with a loud clang. He arched an eyebrow and she took a step back, feeling a blush grow hot in her cheeks.

"I thought perhaps you and the others had gone," she explained. "And some strange lout might be at the door."

Renn took a step forward, crossing the threshold into the chamber. "You thought so poorly of me as to suppose I would leave without a word?"

"I never know what to think of you, sirrah," she whispered.

He smiled and Ellyn felt another soul-stirring shiver course down her spine.

"You may be assured, demoiselle, you have not been abandoned or forgotten. Our host was taken ill and thought to spare you the sight of a dripping nose."

He shook the folds out of the tabard and held it up so she might slip her arms into the sleeves. "We had best not dally too long."

"Am I finally to know his identity? Or is his name still so dangerous and frightening you dare not utter it for fear I might fall away in a dead faint?"

His smile returned. "I doubt there is much in this world that could make you faint. As for knowing a name, it would make you no wiser than knowing the name of the wind."

"Then wherever is the harm in telling me?"

The tabard was heavy, the fur lining was thick and warm, the sleeves so long they hung down over her hands and she had no choice but to turn and face him while he fastened three jewelled loops down the front.

"The harm, dear lady, is in breaking a vow I made to keep the name to myself, to share it with no one on pain of death."

"Not even Roger or Terrowin or Baldor?"

Her sarcasm missed the mark as he said, "Not even them."

She was inches from the heady scent of his skin, from the sensuous shape of his mouth and had to struggle very hard not to let herself be lured forward. It seemed indecent that she could be distracted at that moment by a fantasy of his mouth being pressed to hers.

"You can be quite exasperating, sirrah," she muttered through a scowl. "Not to mention stubborn and pig-headed."

"So you told me every day on our journey from Nottingham."

"Obviously to no effect. "

He fed the last cluster of jewels through the loop and his dark gaze rose to hers again. "In truth, I have come to take it as a compliment that you think me so steadfast. If nothing else, it should prove you that once I am sworn to a confidence… I keep it."

He brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheek and for a knee-melting moment, she thought he had read her thoughts and was, indeed, going to kiss her. But he only ran both hands around to her nape to lift her hair free from the tabard.

Which was almost worse than a kiss because the warmth of his long fingers and the sliding silkiness of her hair sent a fresh welter of sensations through her body that she was certain he could sense as well as feel. As proof, so she thought, he let his hands linger briefly on her shoulders. His gaze held hers and his mouth tightened as if he wanted to say or do something, but then a distant sound echoed hollowly up the staircase, breaking the spell, and he took a step back. His voice, when he spoke, was as cool and impartial as the stone walls that surrounded them.

"Come. Our host is waiting."

Rennwick led Ellyn down the corkscrew staircase to the bottom of the tower then along the length of the great hall, past the landing to the south tower and along a second corridor that led into one of the outer buildings. He did not slow his long stride to allow for her much shorter one, although he did pause once to reach up and take a shielded candle from one of the many lit niches along the stone hallway. The air was thick with the smell of animal excrement—a scent that seemed to permeate the entire castle. As in the main keep, there were no windows or openings on this lower level and to judge by the subtle vibrations underfoot, Ellyn guessed they were on the side of the castle that sat closest to the edge of the cliffs.

The previous night she had discovered stairs concealed behind a tapestry in her chamber. They led up onto the roof and from there, she'd had a heart-stopping view over the battlements to the crashing sea below. The tower was so high and the turbulent waves so far below, the roof boards seemed to shift beneath her feet and she feared for the contents of her stomach if she peered through the stone teeth for too long.

Rennwick stopped abruptly, causing Ellyn to walk up his heels. He was forced to catch her to keep them both from stumbling, but instead of releasing her right away, he slid an arm around her waist and drew her hard against him. Trapped against his body, her hand slid up the front of his chest and she thought she could feel his heart beating against her palm.

"Know that I am here if you need me. A shout will bring me into the room at the run."

Ellyn gasped softly. "You are not coming inside with me?"

"You have nothing to fear, you are perfectly safe. He is a clever, wily old crone, well worth admiring for a long and influential past, but I warrant he has not gone to all of this trouble in order to harm you."

She stared up at him, her eyes as huge and softly frightened as those of a fawn facing a hunter's arrow.

Some of the rigidity left Renn's jaw.

"I will stand right here," he promised. "A shout will bring me into the room at a run."

She nodded, reluctantly, and he handed her the shielded candle before rapping his knuckles on the door .

When the muffled response came, he stood aside to let her pass, and although she held his dark gaze until the very last instant, her curiosity won out over her fear of the unknown and she entered the chamber.

The apartment was much smaller and darker than her tower room. Where her walls were white with painted bouquets of tiny yellow flowers, these walls were covered in wood. Her floors were warmed by woolen rugs; this room had scarred plank flooring covered with scattered rushes to combat the smell of musk and dampness.

The only similarity in the two chambers was found in the ten-foot-wide stone fireplace that dominated one wall. Two fat longs were burning inside the cavity and the flames cast a flickering orange glow outward to light the silhouette of the elderly, stooped man standing close, one hand braced on the stone mantel, the other holding a kerchief to his lips to muffle the sound of a rattled cough. He was bundled in thick robes that concealed the shape of his body, but his hands and wrists were skeletally thin.

At the sound of the door creaking shut, he turned.

Ellyn's first thought was that he looked to be as old as the castle itself. His hair was long and flowed over his shoulders in wispy strings of gray fuzz. His face was as wrinkled as freshly wrung-out laundry and so pale it was difficult to see where the whiteness of his beard began against the waxy pallor of his skin. He wore a box-shaped cap with a red tassel that hung over one ear… an ear that, like its twin, was inordinately large with a lobe that hung halfway down his neck.

For a measurable moment, the two stared at one another. Ellyn was reasonably certain she had never seen the old man before—she would have remembered his flopped-over ears for sure—yet his eyes seemed to light up at the sight of her, as if he had known her all of his life.

"Enndolynn Ware," he said. "You can have no idea how many years I have longed to see you again, child."

Ellyn's eyes narrowed. "Again? We have met before? And my name is Ellyn. Ellyn the Fletcher."

He smiled. "It was many years ago. You were naught but a wee sprout of two, perhaps three years of age. And now, may the good saints preserve us, you have grown into the very image of your mother."

"In that you have the advantage, good sir," Ellyn said coldly, "for I know not who you are or why you have dispatched your mercenaries to bring me here."

"Rennwick de Beauvoir… a mercenary?" Bushy white eyebrows arched upward to touch the brim of his cap. "God's hope that he should never sink quite so low."

"He has not denied it."

"Nor is he a braggart to defend against such a scurrilous charge. Such defenses he leaves to the rest of us humblies who would gladly tell you that Rennwick de Beauvoir is a lauded champion of the lists, a knight of impeccable character with a lineage that may be traced directly to Frederick Barbarossa who was emperor of the Holy Roman Empire at the same time as your Richard the Lionheart was king of England."

"Hardly my Richard the Lionheart," she countered dryly.

For some reason that amused him and the old man laughed—a sound that was more a grating in the throat, and one that started a severe fit of coughing. He staggered back a few steps and sat heavily in a chair that had been placed close to the fire. He glanced beseechingly at Ellyn and waved his hand toward a pewter flagon .

She hastened over and filled a goblet with what turned out to be mead. He clutched the bowl of the vessel with both trembling hands and held it to his lips, spluttering through the first mouthful, then slowly calming as the fermented honey wine eased the tightness in his throat.

"God spare me, this place is a warren of drafts and dampness, full of pestilence. The rooms in the tower are warmer but there are too many stairs for these old legs to climb and more dark corners for eyes and ears to watch and listen. I vow I found a wretch in the garde robe attempting to listen to my evening prayers. I stuffed him head first down the dung hole and bade him listen to the shit as he slid down into the moat." He coughed through another brief fit of laughter then waved Ellyn into a nearby X-chair. "Please. Fill a cup for yourself and sit. It is warm enough here by the fire that you might forgive an old man for pulling you out of your bed at such an ungodly hour."

Ellyn filled a second goblet and settled onto the chair opposite the old man. "I would be more forgiving if I knew who it was who ordered this so-called vaunted champion of the lists to snatch me out of Nottingham Castle in the dead of night. And in such a memorable manner, dragged through passageways filled with cobwebs and rats."

"Ah yes. Lord Rennwick was hoping he would recall the secret ways in and out of Nottingham without being seen. It had been many years since he had been fostered there and not all of his memories were fond ones."

"Well he did find me and he did remove me, scrapes, scratches and all. In my night clothes no less. And barefoot. Not unlike he did tonight."

The old man glanced down at the satin slippers peeking out from the hem of the tabard. "That was how your mother looked the last time I saw her; barefoot and in her night clothes. She was not more than four years old at the time. Both she and her brother were—"

"Wait. A brother?"

"Yes, Walter. He was still a babe in arms, born less than two months before your grandfather and grandmother left Burgundy."

"You knew my grandparents?"

"I knew your grandfather, Robert, and his wife, Adele, quite well. They were both born in Gascony. Childhood sweethearts, though Adele would not have been the family's first choice."

"Why not?"

The question was dismissed with a wave of the kerchief. "They were blissfully happy and very much in love as only young people can be so what did it matter if one had noble blood and one did not. By then it made no difference if she was Romany or a Greek goddess."

"She was Romany?"

"She was a beauty with dark hair and coal black eyes. A complete contrast to Robert with his blond hair and pale eyes. But exotically beautiful as only a Roma could be."

Ellyn mulled all of these revelations over while she sipped her wine. She had not known any of this, nor, had she any way of knowing if the old man spoke the truth. The thought made her lift her head and frown. "Mama said she was an orphan."

The old man nodded and turned to stare into the fire. "The decision to leave Burgundy was not an easy one, and looking back, probably the worst thing they could have done. At the time, there was a good deal of political upheaval all across England and the Continent. The English barons were fomenting rebellion and the French were seething to start a war. Even the Spanish were involved and only agreed to keep their armies inside their borders when King Henry arranged for his infant son's betrothal to Eleanor of Castile. Your grandfather, Robert, had already lost an arm and an eye in battle, so it was thought best he should remove his family to Rome, where he could protect them and where nothing much was happening aside from inept popes dying one after another.

"Unfortunately, the ship that was carrying them from Marseilles was caught in a storm and sank. Robert, Adele, and little Walter were lost, but Cecily, as we found out much later, was picked up by a merchant ship and carried home with them to England. We would not have even known she survived had it not been for another crewmember who was rescued. By the time this was discovered, Cecily had been given to a family to raise, and that family had moved away from the port city of Falmouth. It took nearly twelve more years to find where they had gone and by then she had grown into a lovely young woman and had married your father, Padraic. They seemed happy and she was safe enough. Or so we thought."

"I do not remember my father very well, he died when I was three. He took ill of the sweating sickness in a neighboring village and before Mama could reach him, he was already gone. Half the villagers died of it and mama thought it best to move away."

"To Lambeleia, aye. That was where I saw you for the first time. A happy surprise, I might add, since I had not been told Cecily had given birth. You likely do not remember an old man coming to your cottage to ask after an ointment to cure a painful rash on his hands." He smiled and held out his boney claws. "I had to search high and low to find a patch of spurge to rub on them that I might have cause to seek the skills of a healer. "

Ellyn searched her memories but failed to connect any to the man before her. "We were happy there… until she was accused of being a witch and burned at the stake."

The old man sighed. "Yes. That was horrible and unfortunate."

"Unfortunate? I watched my mama die in flames because she saved a child's life, and because ignorant people thought it had to be witchcraft. I watched them cheer when the flames rose, and I watched them throw stones and dirt when she would not scream. She was not even given a chance to defend herself against the accusation!"

The man's expression did not change as he pursed his thin lips and said, "Your mother may not have been a witch, but your grandmother, Adele, most certainly was."

The pent-up air in Ellyn's lungs left her lips on an audible rush. "What? What do you mean, my grandmother was?"

"Oh, not the kind to cast spells over a bubbling cauldron full of bat wings and blood—or at least not that we saw—but she could see and do things that were difficult to explain."

"What kind of things?"

He smiled and dabbed at his lips with the kerchief. "I recall, as a young squire, accompanying her on a walk through the woods one day. It was early spring, trees were not yet in bud, and she was heavy with child—your mother, as it happened. Adele said she wished the orchards were in bloom, for she was craving the taste of a large, sweet apple. We walked around a bend in the path and there before us was an apple tree laden with fruit. The leaves were in full blush and the fruit was red-ripe and she did not look the least surprised as she plucked the fattest, juiciest ones to fill our baskets. "

"An apple tree in the forest? That was proof of witchery?"

"There were other things. She could speak any language put to her. If a Venetian happened by, she could speak his natural tongue despite never having been to Venice or Italy. She could converse as fluently with a Spaniard as she could a Persian. She knew Latin, French, Romany of course, and could read and write all the languages fluently through she had never been schooled. Rennwick tells me you can read Latin."

"And French, and Saxon English. That hardly makes me a witch."

"No, but it did make you aware of the king's plans to have you escorted to London which you might well have been had you not been rescued in a timely fashion."

"Snatched, you mean."

"No. You may be quite certain the correct term is rescued , unless you believe your accommodations in the White Tower would have been more hospitable."

"The Tower?"

"Indeed. As sturdy a prison as any built. No doubt Longshanks would have kept you there as an inducement."

"An inducement? For what?"

He peered at Ellyn as the firelight flickered over his face and she could see he was weighing what to reveal and what to keep close to his breast. His eyes glittered with the impression of kindness but, she suspected, could turn as cold and hard as the blade of a sword.

"Unfortunately, child, I am limited in what I may tell you and for the simple that I do not know all the whys and wherefores. I was given specific instructions to make arrangements for you to be taken safely out of harm's way before Edward Longshanks could get you in his grasp. "

"But why? Why does the king want me in London? I am nothing. Nobody. I am a fletcher, I make arrows."

"Very fine arrows too, by all accounts. Deadly in the hands of an equally fine archer. Rennwick was not shy in his praise over how you conducted yourself in the forest when Nottingham's men fell upon you. And make no mistake, my dear. The woods will be filled with hunters now. Falconard will not rest until he finds you again. That is why we must not waste any more time in sending you home."

"Home?"

"To Burgundy."

" Burgundy !" Ellyn stood and backed away a step, then another, her eyes never leaving the old man's face. "Who are you? Why have you brought me here now, after all these years? Where were you when I was a child, alone and frightened and hiding in the woods? When I was forced to eat roots and berries and sleep in the hollowed trunk of a tree?"

"You hid too well," he said gently. "As soon as the fate of your mother was discovered, a hundred men were dispatched to search for you, but you had simply vanished. It was years later, long past the time we had given up any hope of finding you again, that one of my retainers heard a wild story told by a Welshman who boasted of having collected a reward for helping the Sheriff of Nottingham capture the infamous witch, Enndolynn Ware. He described you perfectly. No bluer eyes in all of Christendom. Hair like liquid silver, a face as flawless as a pearl. And when my man questioned him further, over a bottle of wine, he revealed a final, intimate confirmation—"

"The birthmark on my thigh," she whispered.

"Yes. That was a final validation."

"And is that what you also wish to see? Final validation?"

"No, no, I— "

"Here then," she said and reached down, grabbing up the hem of her shift through the parted edges of the tabard. She raised it all the way to the top of her thigh and turned her leg to the firelight so that he could clearly see the mark where it stood out dark against the whiteness of her skin.

He stared at it until Ellyn dropped the hem of the shift and pulled the heavy tabard closed again.

"The mark in the shape of a rose," he said. "It might sound a trivial thing, easy enough to dismiss as fanciful or sheer happenstance, but your mother had it, your grandfather had it, as did his father before him."

"Who are you?" she asked again. "How do you know all of this? Are we related by blood in some way? Am I your long-lost great-granddaughter or some such thing?"

"Alas, no. Sadly that honor is not mine to claim, although having met you and seen so much of your ancestors in you, I sincerely wish I could."

"Since you seem to know so much about me and I so little about you, would it be too great a boon to grant that I might know your name?"

The dark eyes held her gaze. "I doubt it will mean anything to you, but it is Sabinius. An old Roman name gleaned from Sabinius, the Oracle."

Her brow arched. "Are you an oracle as well?"

He made a sound in his throat that passed for a laugh and started another small fit of coughing. "Gracious God, no. Far from it my child, I am just a humble retainer sworn to obey. My instructions were to find you and ensure your safety by whatever means necessary."

"Instructions from who?"

"From a very great lady who dispatched her prize knights here at no small risk."

"Why did she not come herself if it was so important? "

"The lady is ninety-seven years old and spends her days in a chair by the fire to keep her bones warm. I am a mere sprite of sixty and dread making the journey across the Channel despite my every desire to do so. I have not been on board a ship in ten years and suspect the time will be spent hanging my head over a bucket."

When he tried to laugh at his own jest, the effort turned into a bout of coughing so prolonged and terrible Ellyn's anger turned to concern and she hastened to his side. He was doubled over, hacking into a square of linen, sucking desperately at gulps of air between coughs. She put an arm around his shoulder to lend support and felt nothing but bones with very little substance beneath his robes. She poured more mead into his goblet and held it to his lips and while doing so noted the stains on the kerchief.

She turned to the door. "My lord Rennwick! Come quickly! Please!"

The shout was barely past her lips when the door opened and Renn came charging through, a hand gripped around the hilt of his sword. He saw the old man slumped in the chair, and the panicked look on Ellyn's face.

"What happened?"

"He cannot catch a breath. The cough is tearing his chest apart and he is spitting blood."