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THE CABOCHAN RING
By
Heide Katros
© Copyright by Heide Katros, June 2009
Cover art by Melody Lane, June 2009
ISBN 978-1-60394-320-8
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
To my own knight in shining armor, my husband Mitch. Love you with all my heart.
PROLOGUE
Lady Adelaide de Bastogne was beyond tears, beyond hope. She was entombed alive in a chamber so small she was forced to kneel. It was pitch dark and very frightening. And she felt cold, so very cold. Nothing and no one would save her. The acrid odor of damp mortar burned her delicate nostrils. Breathing became more labored with each passing moment. She did not want to die the slow death of asphyxiation.
Resting her forehead against the opposite wall, her elegant fingers searched for the hidden clasp of the ruby cabochon she always wore on her left hand. With a soft click the domed stone snapped open. Adelaide did not hesitate, though her hand trembled when she brought the ring to her lips. She licked the sticky sweet poison from the ring’s hollow, cursing the man who had doomed her to death, a bishop no less, a man who should know better than to believe in the superstition that his home would be protected from evil if he entombed a living creature within its walls. As the poison coursed its way through her veins her life flashed before her eyes.
“Oh God, forgive me, Frederic, I meant no harm,” she whispered on a sob, remembering her husband’s warning not to leave the keep before he went on a hunt. “‘Twas just the folly of a woman in her last days before her confinement that made me stubborn. The flowers in the meadow seemed so pretty.”
Her ladies-in-waiting had tried to persuade her to stay within the walls of the keep. Oh God, what had happened to the two young women who’d accompanied her? And why had she been singled out? She would never know. But if she lived, she would never forget the horrible sight of the half dozen riders bearing down on them. There had been no shout of warning, just the steady clop of horses’ hooves. And by the time the women became aware of the approaching menace it was too late.
The long treacherous ride to the bishop’s castle, the shock of realizing that she was doomed to die had hastened the birth of the babe she and Frederic had waited for with longing. Oh, how she had prayed that her child would be born before the stonemason put the last stones of her tomb into place.
She’d bit the tender inside of her lip to keep from crying out as the babe slid from her womb. She’d cut its cord with her eating dagger. Time had been of the essence. And as yet another stone had been put into place Adelaide made the sign of the cross over her daughter. Tears coursed down her pale cheeks as she placed a tender kiss on the downy head of the tiny girl she would not see grow into a woman. Her heart heavy, she’d removed the silk shawl from her head and wrapped the infant into it.
Then, as her life’s blood flowed unchecked from her body, she handed the newborn up to the stonemason. “Please, sir, please take my babe to her father. Tell him that Lady Adelaide sent you. I beg you by all that is holy. My husband will reward you richly.” She went on to give the man explicit directions to Castle Landend.
While she spoke, the mason had looked furtively behind him. “My lady, upon my oath, I shall endeavor to take your babe to her sire, but I must hurry before the guards return.”
She saw the pity in his eyes, and though her heart broke with the knowledge that there was no hope for her, she took comfort in knowing that he would keep his promise.
The mason tucked the tiny babe into his jerkin along with Lady Adelaide’s wedding band; a token she said would lend credence to his claim, when he brought the babe to Frederic.
Keeping his voice low, the mason leaned forward. “Lady Adelaide, it pains me, but I will have to finish what I was ordered to start. I have to close the chamber or we will both be found out.”
Adelaide nodded numbly. Her own folly had brought her to this gruesome end. Pain seared through her body. A contraction to expel the afterbirth. It would never come to pass. She would be dead shortly, but her sweet babe would live. A tiny, grateful smile lifted the corners of her soft mouth.
Adelaide hugged her long blue mantel closer to her body and rested her forehead against the rough stonewall. She shivered uncontrollably. As a last lone tear squeezed from her tightly closed lids, her body convulsed with a final shudder and she collapsed in a pitiful heap.
Chapter One
Oxnard set his tankard of ale on the trestle table. His troubled gaze flitted between his brother Oxley and Kitt’s lithe figure as she turned yet another cartwheel amid the raucous applause of the drunken customers. There wouldn’t be a great deal of coin to be earned this evening, but at least they would have the guarantee of a warm meal and the use of the stables.
“Don’t you think it’s about time we told her, Oxnard? She is almost ten and eight years old. We cannot let her go on forever believing that she is our true sister,” Oxley asked quietly, his own gaze riveted on the colorful silk jerkin Kitt was wont to wear.
Oxnard’s head snapped up. “And what are you suggesting, brother dear? That we tell her that our father lost his life carrying her from that cursed castle of Bishop Hutto’s? Should we also tell her that we lost our Ma that same day? That something strange passed? Something possibly connected to her birth, but that we have no solid evidence?”
Oxnard leaned closer, a scowl on his bearded face. “All the more reason we keep quiet. It would break her heart, Oxley. And you know our Kitt. She would not rest, but try to find out the last detail of her birth and the whys and whereofs surrounding it, and who knows what troubles that would cause. Let her believe she is our sister. We’ve raised her as such and by the looks of it, she is happy. We’ve got a good life. We rarely go without, thanks to her tumbling skills.”
Oxley took a deep swallow of his ale and shook his head. “I still think she is entitled to know. Besides, there is that ring. The one we found on Pa after the bishop’s men killed him. How do you propose to explain that to her?”
“How could we? We can’t decipher the writing inside, and who is to say that Pa didn’t steal it and was killed for it?”
Oxley squinted at his brother. “Don’t be daft, Oxnard. Pa never took a farthing from anyone, so why would he steal a ring? And why had Ma been killed that same day and our hut burned to the ground? We’ll never have all the answers, but something happened up there in that castle, mark my word.”
Oxnard nodded in agreement. “Since we don’t have all the answers, it’s best we keep quiet. What could two penniless wanderers like us accomplish against the likes of a powerful bishop? Remember how Pa shielded Kitt with his body as he died? Seems to me as if he consciously curled himself around her. Don’t forget, she was a newborn, still bloody and without any swaddling.” Then stabbing a finger at Oxley, he added, “And let’s not forget that the bishop’s men didn’t look for her. They just kicked Pa to make sure he was dead, but they never searched him. We found it odd then, and I still find it odd now.”
A warm smile of remembrance flitted across Oxnard’s coarse features. He chuckled. “Remember how surprised we were to find her underneath Pa? She was so tiny, but she was a fighter. Feisty like a kitten.”
Oxley allowed himself a small smile. “How could I forget? Lucky she lived, considering we were both hardly old enough to know anything about raising her.” He thumped his brother’s back with a fist, guffawing in glee, suddenly struck by the satire of the whole event.
“That’s not funny, Oxley. Lucky we were that the bishop’s soldiers left us Ma’s favorite goat so we had something to feed her.”
Their conversation was cut short when Kitt tumbled their way and gracefully slid onto the crude bench next to Oxnard. Her bright blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “What are you two talking about? You both look as if your ale had turned sour.” She jerked a thumb toward the innkeeper and grinned. “Cheer up. Our supper is on its way. I’ve been told there is some mutton and potatoes left.”
Oxnard ruffled her shoulder length mop of dark curls, winking at his brother. “For someone as slender as you, you certainly can pack away the food,” he marveled. “Not like some of us who have to be ever watchful of their waist.”
Kitt punched Oxnard playfully in the arm. “You are not going to seed yet, sir, and you had better not, since Oxley and I rely on your role in our entertainment routine.”
Oxnard’s barrel chest puffed at her compliment. But they both knew that it was Kitt’s fertile mind which put together their tumbling routines, while the brothers were adept on fashioning springboards and platforms from kegs and planks they found lying about to maximize the dazzling display of Kitt’s ever more daring exploits. Not having to carry the trappings simplified their wandering about.
To Kitt, their nomadic roams about the country represented a way of life, but the brothers saw it as insurance toward survival. She would never know that the reason for their constant travels was simply because the brothers were afraid that even after all these years the evil bishop might be looking for them.
Just as Oxnard started to brag about his usefulness, the innkeeper approached their table with a laden tray of steaming food and two more tankards of ale. He beamed at the men and Kitt, obviously pleased with the results of her entertainment.
“You certainly have loosened some purse strings tonight, my dear fellows. I’ve already told the lad that you’ve more than earned a hearty supper.” He plunked the tray down and boomed, “Eat up!” Lingering a moment longer he folded his hands over his ample paunch, which was covered by a gravy stained apron that would never be a pristine white again. “And when ye are done, ye are welcome to use one of the stalls in the stable. The last one has fresh straw in it.”
Oxnard rose from his seat and bowed to their benefactor. “Our deepest thanks, my lord,” he said with a broad grin. “The aroma of this fine food certainly tantalizes our appetites. And we appreciate the offer of a warm place to sleep.”
Kitt jabbed her elbow into his side and grumbled, “Sit down already. I am starving.”
Oxnard, as the oldest of the three, sat down and deftly divided the food into three equal portions. For many long minutes there was not a word said between them as they filled their bellies, but they exchanged grateful glances as they chewed.
When they finished at last, Kitt gathered their plates and spoons and took them back to the kitchen. And then for good measure and amid cheers from the customers she cart-wheeled her way back to her brothers.
“Good job, Kitt, but it is time we headed for the stables,” Oxley offered. “We have a long way ahead of us on the morrow. But once we arrive we should have easy pickings. The shores of the Neckar River are dotted with castles like hair on a dog and owned by robber barons. From what I’ve heard their riches stem from the taxes they demand from the spice merchants passing through on their way to the Orient.” He grimaced as he held his hands palm up. “In which case, we have nothing to worry about. Still I believe that it will mean steady work for us. Traveling from castle to castle should make our lives easier once winter arrives.”
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