Part IX

© Copyright 2004 by Elizabeth Delayne

They walked the long corridor, surrounded by earth, stone, and wooden planks. Clutching Sarah's hand, Ashton watched the flame flicker from the torch that Brock carried. The flame shifted, highlighting the edges and corners of the dark tunnel.

It was cold, enough so that they had paused briefly to draw two woolen blankets from their packs to drape over Sara and Ashton's shoulders. The thick blankets helped to curb the chill that came from the moving breeze that seemed to continuously move through the passage. Ashton drew in a deep breath. If not for the scent of flames, she wouldn't have known they were not on the outside.

Sarah stumbled and Ashton tightened her grip to keep her steady. They had walked for miles, Ashton thought, and she wondered how long even she would hold out. It was already late into the night. Sarah had not seemed to eat or sleep much over the last few days. Her strength would drain quickly.

At last Brock stopped and set the torch in a grove in the wall so that it flamed over them. He looked toward Percy and the two slid off their packs without speaking. Ashton and Sarah did the same, drawing their blankets closer around them.

They sat on the ground, leaning against the wall as the two men settled their supplies. Percy pulled out a folded parchment from his pack and spread it out on the ground as he and Brock settled across from them.

They did not speak, but Ashton could see that as they pointed their way along, they were deciphering a map. Ashton looked up and caught Brock's gaze. It seemed something had occurred to him. He dropped his eyes back to the map and studied it more closely, running his finger along several paths that led to a singular place like spokes on a wheel.

Finally, he tapped the center, where the paths came together. "Any guess where this is?" he asked quietly.

Percy looked at him, and Ashton had a feeling he had come to the same conclusion. She glanced back at the map and felt the tide of understanding roll over.

"Tis Billingdor. And the king's forest," she murmured.

"No wonder Fowler wants inside so bad," Percy agreed. "Ingenious and tremendously planned. There is access to the entire kingdom by secret, underground road."

"He must not know where the exiting points are."

"But it would be to his advantage to find out."

"And he has Lila," Sarah murmured. All stopped and looked at her. "He could use her to bargain his way into this place."

Brock looked toward Ashton and she understood the question in his gaze. "She doesn't know the secret of the forest. She has often wondered of the duty that calls to her uncle."

"Then she is safe from interrogation."

Percy leaned over the map then back so that the map was not covered in his shadow. "We have to head to the center. There's no other way."



Alex drew Bartholomew's reigns and slowed as he saw the sun dip into sleep beyond the edge of the clearing. His tightened around the reins, straining with impatience. He had been delayed long enough, turning Fowler's man over to the men of Billingdor, making plans with the Black Knight on what to do with the new information, gaining permission to move on his own.

The house that lay in the open field was not where Fowler waited, nor was it the home of royalty. The ramshackle sides, the scattering of hay, and the lean of the roof all spoke of peasantry.

But it was not a home of a peasant. No one moved from house to the stone barn. There were no animals, no children, no movement in the field beyond. A fire rose from the chimney, the single sign of life.

It was where Lila had been taken.

Staying still, he waited and watched as night fell. Bartholomew shifted impatiently underneath him. Alex put a hand to his mane, gently pulled on his reins and reminded himself to relax. As the tension seeped from his own body, his horse calmed and stood as a statue.

Finally a guard exited from the house, ducking through the doorway. He was followed by two others, they split up and moved through the clearing and into the woods. Alex stayed still, waited, as the sun continued to set.

Soon, other men returned from the woods, relieved of their duty. They moved to the stable, stumbled inside.

Alex turned his mount and headed back into the forest, to plan, to pray ... and to wait.



Beneath the kingdom, they walked, their world a mass of darkness and stone. They could hear the sound of rats scurrying ahead of them, the movement of the wind, the sounds of their own labored breathing.

In the rear, Percy watched the group ahead of him. Brock carried the torch, it's flame crackling as it lit the way. On his back he carried his armor, weaponry, his own bedding, their supply of torches and a portion of the food. Despite his injuries he carried more then his share and remained steady.

Ashton walked with Sarah. Used to labor, she carried clothing, bedding, shovels and a few spare items. She kept her hand in Sara's.

For her part, Sara outdid them all. She was still weak from the treatment she'd suffered at Galliden. She slept, as well as she was able, on the rocky path without complaint. Dreams chased her, stealing her rest.

She stumbled again. Her pack pulled her into the wall even as he moved to help. Ashton drew her back, steadied her, and whispered soft words of encouragement—though Ashton looked exhausted as well.

They were all tired, weary of the darkness and enclosed path.

"We'll rest," Percy called out and watched as Ashton immediately reached out to help Sara with her pack before she released her own. He could still remember the life he'd seen in Sara—the girl he'd known in his childhood. His heart ached for the brightness that had dimmed from her.

As Brock settled the torch into it's resting place, Percy unloaded his own packs and moved to help set up camp.

"It won't be long now. When should be to the center before our next trek is done." He took Sara's bag, and felt it's weight.

"We can redistribute this in the morning—or whatever the time of day is outside these walls."

Sara turned her head and frowned. "I can carry it."

"So can the rest of us."

He undid the straps even as she moved toward him. Their hands met when he reached inside.

"You don't have to do this. I can help with the meal. I'm not a weakling."

He glanced up, noticed that she was not looking at him as she riffled through the pack, pulling out the wrapped meal portions his father's servants had prepared. "I never said you were."

She shrugged and nudged his hands aside. He struggled to give her the space and the time she needed. He knew what it was like to have a need to prove himself. Hadn't he tired of knowing Alex trained? Hadn't he longed to prove his worth with a sword?

So much deeper was Sara's need. Her parents had cast her away, her betrothed had used her to betray her childhood friend. He could see the injuries, driven deep within her heart, as she focused on the task beneath her hands.

But whatever words he had in his heart, he couldn't give. She wasn't ready. She wouldn't accept them.

Struggling, he reached again into the bag and felt velvet. He stopped and looked up, catching her gaze. A small pouch for small objects, jewels, coins and gold. She knew what he had found.

Now you look at me, he thought, fighting the bitterness that rolled over his heart. He let his fingers feel the contours of the bag and the coins inside that moved easilly. Without looking, without asking, he knew what was inside. What Sara carried from his own home, of his father's, what she had taken from him, his family—after all they had done.

His father's coins of travel. His father's keepsake, joy.

Percy withdrew his hand as her eyes dropped, and standing, walked back into the darkness to find a place alone to pray for peace.



Lila paced the confines of her room. She'd ate and rested, endured another trivial visit from the one she was to call Catherine, then she'd been given another meal and time to rest twice more. She felt somewhat like a cow, being fed and fattened and prepared for feast. The trays that had been brought for her were removed, and with them all potential weapons.

She heard the familiar brush of silk, the commands to the guards and the rattle of iron. She turned toward the door as it opened.

Catherine stepped in, carrying her skirts in one hand and a lit candle stick in the other. It was night again, though Lila had lost count of the days. The guard shut the door behind her, leaving the room in silence.

Catherine stepped forward, holding the candle up toward her face so that her features were highlighted. When Lila only stared at her, she sighed. "And I so hoped you would recognize me."

"You keep saying that." Lila replied, keeping her tone low. "Why don't you just tell and maybe I can?"

Shaking her head, Catherine took two steps to the side and looked at Lila for several long moments. "You have been raised in ... somewhat inclosed surroundings."

"I could have been raised by my parents, but for the man who holds me here now. After all, it was under his hand that they were killed."

"You could have been raised by your parents," Catherine agreed, "but not because of my lord, but for another, with more selfish reasons."

"Who raised the hand that struck the Duke of Arlington and his wife down?" Lila felt the fire rise inside and curled her hands into her skirts. "My father was a good man. He served the king."

"So he did," Catherine bit out. "And then he was betrayed. Tell me—do you not recognize the line of my cheek or the darkness in my eyes? You were not always the Princess of Arlington, Lady Lila. Long before, you were the daughter of Fowler. My sister."



A day had passed and morning might have dawned again, but the party had settled down for another rest. The travel had been toiling, more so because of the strange tension that had fallen between Sara and Percy.

Saying he could not sleep, Percy took the first watch, but when Ashton awoke it was to see Brock alert and awake, leaning against the stone wall. On the outskirts of their camp, Percy lay in the darkness, his sword at his side. Sarah had fallen to sleep, exhausted, so that she lay flat, her face turned into the pack she used as a makeshift pillow.

Though even now, Sara seemed to worry in sleep.

Ashton glanced back toward Brock and watched as his hand rubbed over the wound at his side. He grimaced, and reached for a decanter he had set to his side. He lifted it to his lips and swallowed wincing at the taste of the medicine the Wentworth servants had mixed for his travel.

Ashton shifted and Brock's eyes met hers. He held out a hand to her. Gathering the blanket around her, she rose and went to him where he sat in the edge of the flickering light. She took his hand, settling down at his side.

"You're cold," he whispered, taking her hand and rubbing it between her own.

"A little. Tis quiet," she returned softly, more from respect for their sleeping partners then out of fear of being discovered. "You should sleep more. These wounds are not being good to you."

"Mmm," he looked around, studying the stone wall. "But these chambers have not been out of use in the last decade. They are clear from debris, from spiders and bats that would thrive in the darkness. The torch holds are clear and sturdy."

"It is my Lord's duty to guard the tunnels, one would think he would care for them as well. And the king would know, use them, wouldn't he?"

"They aren't the only ones who knew about them. The Lord of Bilingdor wasn't the only trusted advisor of the late king."

"But if a trusted advisor were to have turned toward Fowler, then Fowler would know, and would have used these tunnels already. He would have no reason to act as he has."

"He hasn't yet made an attack on the King's forest. That might be because he doesn't intend to do so." He glanced at her, then lifted a hand to smooth the line of worry that had appeared between her brows. "Don't worry, fair maiden. We have nothing yet to worry about. I would rather talk of more pleasant things."

His hand turned and traced down the side of her face, gently caressing her cheek. "I remember the first time I saw you, standing on the steps of the castle, waiting with Lady Lila to receive Lady Sara. Do you remember?"

"I remember your height, your energy. It was a bit intimidating."

"My energy?" He repeated and smiled. "I thought you were the most captivating woman I had ever seen, more vibrant then the waterfalls that my father would take me to in my youth. And then in the hall, flushed from preparations and blushing at being found so. I couldn't take my eyes off you. Even during the tournament."

"You still managed to win."

"And nearly got knocked down—a disgrace to any knight."

She dropped her gaze and laughed quietly. "You still make my head spin a little. No one has ever said these words ... I am but a simple maid."

"You are a beautiful woman. A woman who brought me a greater understanding of more than I had ever opened myself up to." He told her simply of his talk with Father Bryan, of the simple words and the strong sense of faith. "I ran after you. I wanted you to know. I wanted to tell you. To heal the wounds I had stabbed into your heart. You rode out of my life—took part of it with you."

She reached up and ran a hand over his cheek, roughened after a day's journey. "We were both tortured."

"Needlessly."

"We needed time."

"Still—I never meant for you to think I wished for your death. If you had ... I would not have lived. It was your face, your love ... your faith that pulled me from the daze of defeat." He reached up, took her hand from his cheek, and held it with his own. "When this is over and we are free of the Dark Dragon, when your Lady is free and in the arms of her warrior, I want to speak to your Lord. I can no longer claim to be a knight under William's castle, and my land is in forfeit. I know not what I have to offer. But I will speak to your Lord and if you're willing, ask you to become my bride."

Tears prickled her eyes. Her hand turned and clutched his. "I am willing."

He smiled and drew her hand to his lips. She curled her fingers into his and absorbed the look of love, burning and urgent, in his eyes. His fingers tightened on hers, and for a moment, in the cool of the tunnel, and the flickering of the torch, she could have sworn they were standing in the sunlight.

"Then we shall rest now and make our journey hard pressed in the morrow."



For a moment, Lila nearly laughed. She stared at the woman in her silk gown, bathed in light of the simple candle.

Fowler's servant.

"I know who I am." Lila felt the words role out of her. "I was not a babe when my father was killed."

"So you have been led to believe. You have been taught things. You have forgotten the truth." Catherine returned, fire lit from her eyes. "My father, our father, Lord Fowler had gone into London, not to overthrow the throne and gain the kingdom—but to reclaim the family that had been seized from him. The king had loved our mother and when she turned her love and married our father, the king took the children she bore from them and turned them over to families in the city. To the Duke of Arlington he gave you. To the Duke of Greenburough he gave me."

"All of this story comes from the lips of a man that betrayed his king."

"He was betrayed by his king."

Lila took a breath, reminding herself that in turning to anger, she was giving the flame of lies warrant. She drew in a deep breath and fought to remember her parents, her mother and father as she knew them. They had been good people, their faith strong.

"You will believe me ... eventually."

"Perhaps," Lila said. "But should I desire a father who slay men in darkness? A knight without honor—"

"How dare you question a man who fought for nothing less than his family! There is nothing of greater honor!"

Lila turned away from her, away from the vileness.

"You're turning away from the truth. I know what it is like to discover that you have lived within a lie. To know that the world of your birthright has been stripped from you. To wake up and realize that someone, somewhere is searching for you, his heart full of love."

Lila thought of Alex and closed her eyes, wanting to keep his image close. In her mind, she reached her hand out to him. She watched him clasp it. And felt nothing.

"Listen to me," Catherine cried out. "You must think. Remember."

"One of us has lived in a lie," Lila murmured.

"Yes. And that one will have to come to accept."

Catherine knocked on the door and it opened for her. She slipped out, taking the light with her. The door shut behind her.

Lila stood in the darkness, thinking of the one she knew loved her ... the one she knew was searching for her. Moving forward until she felt the wall with her hands, she pressed her forehead against the coarse wood and closed her eyes. She pictured Alex, his stature, the way she could lean against him, lay her head to his shoulder. His arms would come up, move around her, draw her close.

She would feel his heart beat and curl in, to him, to his strength.

"We should marry quickly. Today? Is it possible to marry today?" She bit back on a sob. "Oh Alex—God help me. Help me have strength." Turning, she dropped down against the wall.

And felt the planks give behind her.

HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!





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