Vengeance 02 - Trust In Me Page 2

  “We thought we saw movement from up on the wall,” a guard answered, “but we found only the cart.”

  “Do you know him, my lord?” asked another.

  “He’s my brother.” He reached out a tentative hand and touched William’s cheek. Nicholas’s breath expelled at the heat of his skin.

  “Is he alive?” a man-at-arms asked.

  “Aye. For now.” Nicholas hesitated, torn between searching for whoever had left William and seeing to his welfare. The latter won. “Take four men with you and search the woods nearby. Alert the others if you find anything. Anything at all.”

  Nicholas turned and looked for a familiar face in the group of men surrounding him. So many were still strangers. His gaze caught on Walter. “Doesn’t Mistress Mildred know something of healing?”

  “Aye, my lord.” Walter grabbed the arm of a young man standing nearby. “Thomas, fetch Mildred. Be quick!”

  The squire sent a questioning glance to Nicholas, then bobbed his head and ran down the path toward her cottage.

  “Get him inside,” Nicholas ordered. Dread filled him. Along with guilt. Immense guilt.

  If only he’d let the vision come, perhaps he could’ve prevented this. Yet he knew from past experience it often did no good. Sometimes the things he saw never happened at all. Other times, any action he took only made matters worse. The damned second sight served no purpose.

  What had happened to William? How had he gone from the hale and hearty brother Nicholas had left on the lists in Normandy not two months past to this pale, wasted figure tucked in the cart?

  “I’m sorry we didn’t see anything, my lord,” the guard said, shifting his feet. “It’s been some time since we’ve had trouble.”

  “You had no reason to expect problems.” But I did, he added to himself.

  Within moments, several men managed to pull the cart into the bailey. Nicholas eased his arm under William’s shoulders, taking extra care with his right one, which he thought from his vision was injured. He directed two men to lift his legs. With great care, they moved him into the keep and up the stairs to a chamber and laid him on the large bed.

  Walter lit several candles to add to the weak light of dawn coming in through the narrow windows and sent everyone else out of the room.

  William stirred, his eyes fluttered open, and he looked around the chamber with an unfocused gaze.

  Nicholas leaned forward, his heart in his throat, thrilled to see him awake. “William?”

  That unfocused, brown-eyed gaze settled on Nicholas. “Where?” His brow wrinkled in confusion.

  “At Staverton. We found you in a cart at the front gate. Who did this?”

  “Glad I’m...here. Crazy bastard took me.” His eyes closed.

  “Will? William!”

  William’s breathing deepened, and his expression relaxed into sleep once again.

  Frustrated, Nicholas touched his cheek, hoping to revive him so he could get some answers. “William.”

  Nothing.

  “God’s teeth, he looks near to death,” Walter said. “Can you see? Do you know more?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “The vision showed him in a dungeon with an injury to his shoulder.” He unlaced William’s loose fitting tunic to reveal a neatly wrapped, blood-soaked cloth underneath.

  A maid arrived, carrying a pitcher of steaming water and some cloths. “I thought you might need these, my lord,” she said as she set down the supplies on a table near the bed.

  “My thanks. Watch for Mistress Mildred and send her up as soon as she arrives.”

  “Aye, my lord.” She curtsied and, with one last glance at his brother, hurried from the chamber.

  “Walter, help me remove his tunic,” Nicholas said. He eased William’s arm out of the garment while the old servant did the same on the other side. A flowery fragrance released into the air as they pulled it off. Nicholas frowned at the unfamiliar scent.

  With William still unconscious, he removed the bandage to find a long, deep gash oozing pus and blood.

  “Oh, damn me,” Walter whispered.

  “This must be at least a week old, perhaps more.”

  “Smells nearly rotten.” Walter wrinkled his nose.

  Nicholas touched the angry red flesh surrounding the wound. “’Tis so hot.”

  Mistress Mildred bustled in, much to Nicholas’s relief. With a quick nod to both men, she moved to William to examine the deep cut with capable hands. “That’s a bad one, for certain. Whoever caused this injury had deadly intent,” she mumbled.

  Nicholas’s stomach clenched. Who would want to kill William? And why? “Walter, let’s try to cool him. He’s burning up.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The old man dipped a rag in the water then wrung it out and placed it on William’s forehead, staying out of Mildred’s way.

  “His fever is high,” she agreed as she pulled back William’s eyelid and looked closely at his eye, then prodded open his mouth and examined his tongue.

  “What is it you look for?” Nicholas asked.

  “Life, my lord,” she answered. “Signs of life.”

  Panicked, Nicholas moved closer. “He woke for a few moments when we laid him down. He even spoke.”

  “Humph.” Her attention returned to William’s shoulder.

  A heavy weight crushed Nicholas’s chest as she shook her head, muttering to herself.

  She ran her hands over his body, pausing on the side of his head. “There’s a bad bump here.” At last she turned to Nicholas. “My lord, I understand this man is your brother, but I won’t lie.” She hesitated and glanced again at William.

  “What is it?” Nicholas prodded her.

  “You’d best send for the priest.”

  His heart plummeted.

  Nay. This could not be.

  He stared at his brother, and it took all his will to resist shaking him to try to rouse him again. “Surely there’s something that can be done. Some remedy you can mix to aid him.”

  “Have no doubt I’ll do all I can. I’m just not certain it will be enough.”

  Nicholas wiped his face with his hands, rubbing his temples at the headache that brewed there. He tried to clear his mind and focus his thoughts. For one of the few times in his life, he hoped for a vision that might tell him what to do or at least give him a hint of what was to come.

  But he saw nothing.

  Only an empty well of grief and the painful pressure in his chest that echoed the pounding in his head.

  Once again, he’d failed to make sense of a vision. This time, the price might be his brother’s life. “Mildred, do all you can. I refuse to send for the priest. Not yet.”

  “As you wish, my lord. I need to fetch some things,” the widow said, then left the chamber.

  “I’ll see if I can help her, my lord,” Walter murmured and departed as well.

  Nicholas looked at the shadow of the brother he knew and loved. “William? If you can hear me, know this. I will find who did this to you. And I will make him pay threefold. I swear it.”

  Chapter Two

  Nicholas reined in his horse at the top of the rise and studied the holding before him. Brom and Stephen, the two men-at-arms who accompanied him, halted, their horses snorting and tugging at their reins.

  “Do you think this is the place, my lord?” Brom asked.

  The glimpse Nicholas had seen in the vision seemed to match this holding. Or perhaps it was simply a trick of the late afternoon sun. “Aye,” Nicholas answered, hoping his voice conveyed more confidence than he felt.

  Both men had treated him with caution since they’d left Staverton two days before. Rumors regarding his second sight had started. Though he’d been through the situation many times, it still bothered him. Some thought him evil; others thought him guided by an angel. Everyone had a theory. And all regarded him with a fearful watchfulness that both irritated and amused him.

  Mainly irritated.

  The journey to this place had done little to give him
faith in his ability to foresee anything. They’d traveled in a haphazard fashion day and often into the night in an effort to find a match to the image he’d seen so briefly. He was betting that whoever had brought William in the cart hadn’t travelled too far. The two previous holdings they’d ridden to had not fit at all.

  Exhausted, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. He knew nothing of the lord who lived here. Though this property in West Sussex was little more than a day’s hard ride from Staverton, he hadn’t yet met any of his neighboring lords.

  Nicholas had nearly gone mad while he’d sat with William. For three long days, his anger had built, layer upon layer, as he’d watched over William, hoping for a sign of his recovery.

  None had come.

  His brother had awakened long enough for Mildred to feed him some broth but that was all. Any questions Nicholas asked remained unanswered.

  With so little information, Nicholas could only pursue the lead that had come to him from the source he trusted least – his second sight. Following that had proven easier than sitting by his brother’s bed waiting for him to die. He’d sent word to his mother and father of the dire news. He could only hope they’d receive it in time.

  Watching the priest give William last rites was more than Nicholas could bear, and he’d left the keep soon after with one plan in mind.

  Vengeance.

  But against whom?

  Now he stared at the holding before him, feeling an idiot.

  He turned to his men. “Remember, I’ll use the name Lord Bradley Trisbane. I have a holding in Wiltshire.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Brom replied.

  “And we’re only stopping here to rest our horses before traveling on. We’ll keep your secret, my lord. Don’t worry,” Stephen added a bit too enthusiastically.

  Doubt coursed through Nicholas. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, wishing the contact would somehow bring forth a vision with a definite answer. A deep breath – an attempt to clear his mind – brought him nothing.

  The only thing that came to him was the picture of William lying still and pale in that damned bed. Did he yet live? That question alone returned his resolve to find whoever had caused his brother harm and repay the suffering.

  With determination, he concentrated on the bits he did know. He’d had a glimpse of a keep and an old lord in one of his visions. Surely he’d recognize the man when he saw him. He’d also seen a woman from the side. The pair of them seemed to be at the center of William’s injury. He need only find them.

  “Once we arrive, learn all you can, but do not mention William’s name,” Nicholas cautioned his men.

  “Aye, my lord,” Brom and Stephen said in unison.

  Nicholas kneed his horse. He’d soon know if he was at the right place or if this was yet another trick his mind played on him.

  He used the image of the priest giving William last rites to push away his exhaustion. Whoever had harmed William would pay. Mercy was no longer a word in which he believed.

  *

  “My lady?” A breathless page trotted into the solar where Elizabeth sat at her loom with her aunt.

  “Aye, Trevon, what is it?” Elizabeth looked up at the young man as she added gold thread to the weft of the tapestry.

  “Visitors, my lady.”

  “Tell me Gerard has not come again. That man always outstays his welcome,” Margaret declared.

  Elizabeth’s second cousin had visited prior to the death of her brother, Gregory, and had stayed over a fortnight before escorting her father to the jousting tournament where Gregory had been killed. Gerard’s attentiveness made Elizabeth very uncomfortable. “Who are they?”

  “Strangers passing through from what I could hear,” Trevon replied.

  Fear flooded her as her gaze flew to her Aunt Margaret. Had they come regarding William? Had all her efforts to save both her father and William failed?

  “How many?” Margaret’s hands gripped the thread and bobbin she’d been working.

  “Three.”

  “Well, that’s better than twenty.” Margaret’s worried gaze returned to Elizabeth’s.

  Elizabeth tried to hide her apprehension. Though she prayed often for William’s recovery, she prayed equally hard for secrecy of her and her father’s deeds. “Are they staying?”

  “Aye, my lady. They’ve asked for lodging for the night. I think one might be a lord,” Trevon added excitedly.

  Elizabeth’s heart stumbled. Please, she prayed, let them be no relation to William.

  Her face must’ve revealed her inner anguish for Margaret reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “We will leave this in God’s hands.”

  Margaret, her father’s sister, had come to live with them after Elizabeth’s mother had died fifteen years earlier and served as Elizabeth’s confidant and advisor since then. Margaret had shared her worry when Lord Crefton had brought William to Amberley and had helped tend him.

  “You’re right, of course.” Elizabeth turned to the page. “Have you seen my father?”

  Trevon shook his head. “Nay, my lady. Not since we broke our fast. Shall I ask Robert?”

  She drew a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. The clutch in her stomach would have to go away. “Aye, that would be most helpful.”

  Trevon executed a quick bow, flashed a smile, and was gone.

  “Do you think it could be someone asking about William?” Margaret asked, her blue eyes narrow with worry.

  “Surely they would’ve done so already.”

  But Elizabeth couldn’t shake her unease.

  “We seem to encounter one problem after another of late,” Elizabeth said. “I hope this isn’t an additional one.”

  “If it is, we’ll deal with it together.” Margaret gave her a reassuring smile.

  Elizabeth nodded, grateful as always for her aunt’s presence. “I suppose we’ll know soon enough if our visitors are associated with William in any way. I must say the idea of conversing with guests holds little appeal.”

  “But you don’t intend to leave my brother to entertain them?” Margaret asked, a frown creasing her brow.

  “Nay. Father can’t be trusted, especially with strangers. I’d better find him before he realizes anyone is here.”

  *

  Nicholas, escorted by the steward, Robert, made his way toward the keep, a large, square three-story building, which sat at the back of the bailey. He mounted the stone steps, taking his time, absorbing all he could, trying desperately to see if he recognized anything.

  While the holding loosely matched his vision, he still wasn’t certain if his brother had been held here. Brom and Stephen had remained in the garrison to learn what they could there.

  “Where is it you’re traveling to?” Robert, a lean, wiry man perhaps a decade older than Nicholas, had asked question after question since their arrival. “Amberley isn’t on any of the main routes, so we receive few visitors.”

  “South.” Nicholas could feel the man’s frustration at his vague answer.

  “Oh? Where in the south?”

  Nicholas had to admire the man’s persistence, but took his time in answering as he continued his perusal of the small but prosperous holding. The buildings were well maintained. The cottages bore a fresh coat of white-wash, the curtain wall appeared strong, and not one place in the walls of the keep had crumbled. The poor state of his holding became even more apparent.

  Shaking off his dismal thoughts, he answered, “Another two days ride. Is Lord Crefton in residence? I should like to meet him.”

  The steward frowned at the change in subject. “The family is in mourning. Gregory, Lord Crefton’s son, was killed just over a fortnight ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Nicholas offered, realizing how inconvenient their arrival must be. Could his death somehow be related to William’s injury? “How did it happen?”

  “In a tournament – a joust gone awry.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Such things happen more often tha
n they should. I hope I can offer my condolences to Lord Crefton and his wife.”

  “Lady Crefton died many years past. The lord’s daughter, Lady Elizabeth, remains with him,” Robert advised.

  They entered the great hall, and Nicholas was reminded again of the difference between this holding and his own. It was tidy and clean; fresh rushes scented the air. Three tapestries, the likes of which he’d never seen in all of his travels, graced the walls, adding color and life to the hall. The vivid scenes and patterns drew him, beckoning him to study them closer.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Robert moved to stand beside Nicholas. “Lady Elizabeth weaves them. She has a true talent for the patterns.”

  “Indeed she does.” Nicholas walked around the room, admiring each one. Could this Elizabeth be the woman he’d seen in his vision? The weaving before him held vivid hues depicting a battle. The chain mail the knights wore was woven in a way that replicated actual links of mail. Amazing.

  “Lady Elizabeth,” Robert said, his voice warm and welcoming.

  Nicholas turned to see a lady crossing toward them and promptly forgot his promise to himself to remain objective during his visit. She walked with a long-limbed, slender grace. Her deep blue kirtle set off a jeweled girdle that sat low on her hips. Her hair was drawn into a loose braid and draped over her shoulder. Strands of her golden brown locks curled around her face emphasizing her clear, smooth skin and delicate features. Her beauty held a freshness, a vitality that drew him much as her tapestries had. Large, dark brown eyes looked up at him, searching his face with an intensity that made him wonder at her thoughts.

  “I was told we had guests.” She addressed Robert as she gave Nicholas a polite but cool smile.

  “Aye, my lady. Might I introduce Lord Bradley Trisbane?”

  “Greetings, my lord. You and your men are welcome at Amberley.”

  Her honeyed tones resonated low in Nicholas’s chest. She dipped into a graceful curtsy, and he nearly forgot to bow in return, his attention so caught by her and her elegant movements. She had a reserved air about her that made him curious.