Sean Dalton - Time trap

The words rolled from him, making a heavy threat indeed in the ponderous phrases. The men stood frozen, and for a moment Noel thought he might actually pull it off.

Then the knight pushed back his coif, revealing a sweaty tangle of short-cropped hair, and laughed. “Well said, my lord! You almost made me fall on bended knee to you. But I serve a master who spits defiance at Byzantium, as do I.”

He extended his hand. “The seal, please.”

Noel did not have to turn his head to feel the tension emanating from the men at his back. He tucked the seal away swiftly and met the flare of anger in the knight’s eyes with more courage than he actually felt.

“I am sworn to die before I surrender that seal to unlawful hands,” he said. His gaze could not help but go to the knight’s sword. He wished he hadn’t mentioned death.

“Oh, you’ll surrender it, my lord,” said the knight. He awarded Noel a mocking bow. “I am convinced. But your trickery is over now. Yani, Demetrius, I have orders to bring Lord Theodore to Mistra. Sir Magnin wants to deal with him face-to-face.”

Both bandits set up an immediate protest. “Sir Magnin promised us part of the ransom-”

“And you’ll get it,” said the knight impatiently. “But he must be secured within the castle dungeons. Here, despite your certain diligence, it is too easy for him to escape. We cannot have him causing mischief in the countryside and undoing the alliances we wish to forge. Bring him forth.”

“No!” said Noel.

The knight’s mocking gaze slid to him. “No, Lord Theodore? Did I hear you say no?”

“My, er, men-”

The knight laughed and turned away with a gesture. “Bring him. Make sure he is bound securely and get him mounted.”

The bandits complied with a roughness that brought back Noel’s headache. He managed to glance back once where Theodore and the courtiers stood helplessly. Theodore’s face was filled with raw despair and frustration. Noel felt exactly the same way. So much for the plan, he thought with exasperation. If Theodore wanted to get inside the castle to rescue his lady love, he should have stayed away from trickery and scheming.

The dungeons… Noel knew about them. Trojan had recorded an entire torture session on the rack from the Spanish Inquisition. A cold shudder passed through Noel as he was lifted bodily and set upon a mule. All he had to do for this farce to end was to come face-to-face with Lady Sophia, who wouldn’t know him from Adam.

She was bound to give him away.

Sick, Noel didn’t want to think about what would happen next. It could get a lot worse.

“Sir Geoffrey!”

The voice came from nowhere. It echoed off hill and rock swiftly, rebounding until it was impossible to tell from which direction it came.

The knight leading Noel’s mule drew rein and glanced about with his hand upon his sword. They stood upon a narrow trail inches away from a sharp drop that plunged hundreds of feet into a ravine choked with fallen rocks and logs. On the other side, a limestone escarpment rose above them like a wall. In places it leaned over the trail, making the going almost impassable. The air smelled of heat, horse sweat, and orange blossoms, a wild fragrance unlike anything Noel had inhaled before.

“Sir Geoffreeeeeeeee!”

This time the call was plainly a taunt, teasing and shrill.

The knight swore to himself. “This is not a good place. Too close. Kick your mule, and let us ride on!”

Noel was in no mood to cooperate. The jouncing trot the knight had insisted on for the last half hour made his head throb like a bass drum. Looking down at the ground moving beneath his stirrup brought on dizzy nausea. The sun blazed at him without mercy. Noel just wanted to crawl into a dark hole somewhere and close his eyes.

“Come on, I said! Are you deaf?”

Sir Geoffrey tugged on the lead rope and the mule came forward with reluctance.

“Sir Geoffrey! Sir Geoffrey!” shouted two voices in unison. There came the sound of men barking like dogs. The echoes created an unholy din that shuddered along the mountainside.

Noel winced. “The dwarfs,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s the dwarfs.”

Sir Geoffrey stared at him as though he had lost his mind. “I know of no dwarfs.”

“Elena’s dwarfs,” said Noel with the exaggerated patience one used with a half-wit.

“Who-”

“Sir Geoffrey!” said Elena, appearing above them on the lip of the escarpment. She crouched low on one knee, every movement quick and supple, and tossed back her wild auburn hair.

Her hose and tunic had been exchanged for an ankle-length gown of sky-blue. It was straight in cut, with long sleeves, and plain of any adornment except for simple embroidery at the collar and upon the narrow kirtle that drew in her waist. A necklace of dowry coins tinkled softly each time they swung against her breasts. She had washed her face, but her hair had bits of leaf and twig in it as though she had snagged her tresses more than once while running down the mountainside to waylay them.

She was still panting, and a touch of perspiration made her face glow.

Noel forgot his headache. She was the most gloriously alive creature he had ever seen. Her vibrancy and sheer animal magnetism struck an immediate physical response within him. He forgave her for capturing him earlier. He wanted to jump off the mule and grovel at her feet. He wanted to chase her up and down the mountainside, making her shriek with laughter. He wanted to kiss her full lips and taste their strength and eagerness.

“Sir Geoffrey,” she said, her gaze for the knight alone. “Let me ride pillion with you to Mistra.”

The knight looked her over with moderate interest. “Faith, but you are a bold piece.”

Her eager smile faded. “I am Elena,” she said proudly. “Sister to Demetrius and Yani. I carry a message to Sir Magnin.”

Sir Geoffrey’s mouth twisted into mockery. “Ah, now I remember you. I was just in your brothers’ camp, and they mentioned no such message.”

“That is why I have run all this way. Sir knight, please take me to the castle. It is an important thing I carry.”

“The only message you have for Sir Magnin is an offering of your virginity,” said Sir Geoffrey. “Go home, little maid, before your brothers find out what sins you plan and come avenging you.”

She straightened with a jerk as though struck by a scourge. Her face flamed to the roots of her hair. Noel realized that Sir Geoffrey’s remark-although cruel-was exactly on the mark. But it took a real jerk to say it to her face.

“You-you are a jokester, I see,” she struggled to say. Tears made her eyes glisten, but she faced Sir Geoffrey’s jeering grin. “You should trade jests with my dwarf Thaddeus. His fool tales have worn thin from too much use. We need fresh merriment around our fires at night.”

It wasn’t much of a comeback, but it served to wipe the grin from Sir Geoffrey’s face. He said sharply, “You would do well to seek a confessor, little maid, and set your soul to rights. Not only are you playing with fire for your wanton ways and behavior, but a shrew’s tongue will not get you a husband.”

She spat at him. “Damn you!”

Sir Geoffrey spurred his horse and tugged the lead rope to move them on.

“Wait!” she cried, but Sir Geoffrey did not look back.

Noel did, however, and saw her scrambling down the escarpment like a monkey, fingers and bare toes finding holds he could not see. Her dress hiked up around bare, shapely thighs before she jumped the last bit and came running along the trail after them.

“Wait!” she cried again.

“Pull up,” said Noel. “Or she’ll run yelling after us the whole way.”