Chapter Seventeen #3
Toby was beyond horrified; she couldn’t even imagine what type of man would make such a bargain. Her breathing began to come in heavy pants as she stared at him, finally turning to look at Kenneth. The knight was gazing steadily at her, his ice-blue eyes intense.
“The price is far too high, my lady,” Kenneth told her emotionlessly. “I am not afraid to meet my death.”
De Roche threw out a fist and struck him in the mouth to silence him. Kenneth’s head snapped sideways but he did not lose his balance or his tense expression. Toby watched blood trickle from the corner of his mouth before turning back to Mortimer.
He was looking at her rather confidently, as if he knew he had her cornered.
Toby met his stare, realizing that she could only make one choice.
She could not let Kenneth die no matter what the terms of the bargain.
She would therefore agree to the terms but there was no way she planned to go through with them.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to get around it, but she would think of something. She had to; too much was at stake.
“Very well,” she almost choked on her words. “Your terms are accepted. But you will turn Sir Kenneth loose this very instant and I will watch him ride from this place. I would make sure he is well away before complying.”
“Nay,” Kenneth said through clenched teeth. “You will not do this.”
Toby shushed him with a harsh hand gesture and he stilled immediately. Her eyes remained on Mortimer. “Do you accept my terms?”
Roger smiled victoriously. “Of course, my lady,” he said, turning back to de Roche in a much more congenial fashion. “Retrieve St. Héver’s mount and armor. And be quick about it; I am sure the man is eager to return to de Lara.”
De Roche simply nodded his head and quit the hall, leaving Kenneth standing alone in stunned silence. Toby couldn’t even look at him. As quickly as the storm had risen, it had died leaving devastation in its wake.
“Toby…,” Kenneth whispered painfully.
She shut him off with a hand gesture. “Not a word, Kenneth.”
“You cannot do this.”
She spun to him, her eyes brimming. “And you cannot die.”
For the first time since she had known the stone-faced knight, his face reflected something of his agony. The ice-blue eyes were glimmering with sorrow.
“I would rather die than see you do this.”
“Your death would not prevent it in the long run. You know this. Eventually he will take what he wants.”
Kenneth knew she was correct, knowing further argument would be futile.
But the thought of her sacrifice was killing him; he could only imagine how Tate would react, how it would destroy the man.
Tate had gone through too much destruction in his life and had lived to tell the tale, but something like this would likely topple him.
Trouble was, Kenneth could not think of a way to stop it.
For all of his knightly experience and cunning, he could not think of a way out of this unless he planned to throttle Mortimer at this very moment.
He was close enough to do it but he wasn’t sure he could complete the task before a dozen broadswords ended his life.
So he watched, helplessly, as Mortimer moved to take Toby’s arm to presumably lead her back to the dais. Toby moved stiffly, as if all of the life had been sucked out of her. As she and Mortimer moved to take a seat, a sentry entered the hall and ran straight for Roger.
“My lord,” he said, bowing swiftly. “The Queen is upon us. We have sighted her party about a mile out.”
Mortimer’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “The Queen?” he repeated. “But… how is that possible?”
“I do not know, my lord,” the man said. “She will be here within the hour.”
Roger’s mouth popped open in shock, hardly believing what he was told. “Are you sure that is her?”
“Positive, my lord. A herald has arrived before her.”
With that, the man bowed swiftly again and dashed away.
Mortimer stood rooted to the spot, stunned, wondering why Isabella had come to Wigmore.
It was not like her to stray from the warm confines of Windsor during the winter and he had been planning on the woman keeping a distance for a few months.
It would give him time to pursue his own interests away from her nervous energy; worse than his wife, she could be cloying and unsettled.
Her approach did not set well with him; not well at all.
More than that, Isabella didn’t even like Wigmore Castle; she said it smelled too much of Joan. Roger began to imagine all of the reasons she might have for coming and couldn’t think of a truly solid one. Perhaps she was coming just to spy on him. He would have wagered money on it.
But he was no fool; it gradually occurred to him that the true reason for her visit was standing next to him.
He knew that Isabella and Tate were very old, and very good, friends.
And he knew how Isabella felt about Tate.
She had asked the man to marry her once, something that had happened long ago in distant memory.
But Tate was still around, still as strong as he ever was.
Roger was suddenly angry at himself that it had never occurred to him that Tate would go straight to Isabella to tell her of her lover’s folly.
It was the surest way to force him to behave. Damn the man!
Slowly, he turned to Toby; she gazed back at him with a curious expression. He could only shake his head and hiss. He knew the answers to all of his questions were summed up in one name.
“Dragonblade,” he snarled.