Stone of Tears

Du Chaillu sat up. Her eyes wide, she felt her neck. Finding no injury, she broke into a wide grin.

“It is off! You got the collar off and my head is still attached!”

Richard feigned a touch of indignation. “I told you I would. Now we must get away from here. Come on.”

He led her back through the rooms the way he had come in. When he reached the next to last room from where the men waited, he held a finger to his lips and told her to be quiet and wait for him to come back for her.

She folded her arms under her bare breasts. “Why? I will go with you. You said you would not leave me here.”

Richard let out an exasperated breath. “I’m going to get you some clothes. We can’t leave with you…” With a gesture, he indicated her bare condition.

She unfolded her arms and looked down at herself. “Why? What is wrong with me? I am not a bad shape to look upon. Many men have told me…”

“What is it with you people!” he whispered heatedly. “I have seen more naked people since I left my homeland last autumn than in the whole of my life! And not a one of you seems the least little bit…”

She grinned. “Your face is red.”

Richard growled through gritted teeth. “Wait here!”

Smirking, she folded her arms again. “I will wait.”

In the outer room the four men jumped to their feet when Richard came through the carpet-covered opening. He didn’t give them any time to ask questions.

“Where are the woman’s clothes?”

Confused, they glanced at one another. “Her clothes? Why do you want…”

Richard took an aggressive stride toward the man. “Who are you to question the spirits! Do as they say! Get me her clothes!”

All four flinched back. They stared at him briefly and then went to the low chests. They set the lamps aside and opened the lids, rummaging through the chests, tossing clothes aside.

“Here! I found them!” one of them said. He held up a garment that looked to be finely woven flax. Different-colored strips hung in rows from the light brown fabric. “This is hers.” He held up a buckskin belt. “And this, too.”

Richard snatched them from the man’s fist. “You will wait here.” He grabbed up a scrap of cloth the men had thrown on the floor as they had searched for the dress.

He went back through the opening before there was time for any questions. Du Chaillu waited, her arms still folded. When she saw what he held in his hands, she gasped. She clutched the dress to her breast. Tears filled her dark eyes.

“My prayer dress!”

She threw her arms around his neck and, raising up on her tiptoes, started kissing him all over his face. Richard mashed her mass of black hair flat against the sides of her head as he pushed her away.

“All right, all right, put it on. Hurry.”

Grinning at him, she pulled the dress over her head, poking her arms through the long sleeves. Up the outside of each arm and across the shoulders was a row of little strips of different-colored cloth. Each was knotted on through a small hole beneath a corded band. The dress came to just below her knees. As she tied the belt at her waist, Richard noticed the blood still running down to her foot from where the men had stabbed her in the thigh.

He dropped to one knee before her and motioned with his hands. “Lift it up. Lift up your dress.”

Du Chaillu looked down at him. She lifted an eyebrow. “I have just covered myself, and now you wish me to uncover?”

Richard pursed his lips. He waved the strip of cloth at her. “You are bleeding. I need to put this around the wound.”

Giggling, she raised her skirt and held her leg out, rotating it from side to side, displaying it in a teasing manner. Richard quickly wrapped the cloth around her thigh, over the gash, and jerked the knot tight. She yelped with pain. He thought it served her right, but apologized anyway.

Taking her by the hand, he pulled her though the remaining rooms. As he passed through the last, he growled at the four men to stay where they were. Still holding Du Chaillu’s hand tight, he led her back down the alleyway and streets to the open square. He saw the heads of the three horses sticking up above the sea of shiny, bald heads. He plowed his way through the throng, toward the horses.

Chapter 43

Although his sword sat in its scabbard, he was already drawing its magic. Rage surged into him. He summoned it ever onward, letting his barriers fall before its advance.

He was entering a silent world all his own. A world of grim committal to what he was.

Bringer of death.

Sister Verna paled when she saw him pulling Du Chaillu after, becoming even paler when she saw his demeanor.

Without a word to her, Richard snatched his bow off the side of his saddle. He grunted with the effort of swiftly stretching the bowstring to the bow. He yanked two steel-bladed arrows from the quiver hanging from Bonnie’s saddle. His chest heaved with wrath.

The crowd had all turned toward him. Puzzled faces bobbed up as men behind jumped to get a view. The women in black all looked up in his direction. The Queen Mother watched.