Read Online Dark Champion by Jo Beverley - Free Book Online

comfort at all.

Chapter 4
    They drew close to Carrisford Castle in the late afternoon. FitzRoger held most of his force back in the cover of the woodland, then he, de Lisle, and a few others went forward to survey the situation. Imogen had no intention of being excluded, and persuaded Bert to ride forward to join them. The men were still within the shelter of the trees, but on a rise which gave an excellent view of Carrisford Castle.
    Imogen’s throat tightened at the sight of her home, whole and unblemished on its rise of land near the river. Wisps of destructive smoke rose from the nearby village, though, which looked deserted though not entirely wrecked.
    She turned her gaze back to the castle, seeking signs of damage. The tall, square keep and two mighty walls forming an inner and an outer bailey were unbroken, and still fused smoothly with the scrubby rock of the hill upon which they sat. The main entrance, approached by a long, sloping path up to the lowered drawbridge, was watched over by two gate towers. The portcullis was invitingly raised.
    She had prepared herself for a gutted ruin, but it was as beautiful as ever.
    “He’s gone,” she murmured.
    FitzRoger turned to look at her. “Or he’s set a trap for you or anyone else who seeks to claim the place.”
    Imogen bit her lip. If she had returned here alone, she would have ridden up to the castle, rejoicing in recovering it. How naive she was.
    “What do we do, then?” she asked.
    “Observe and scout.”
    They all moved slightly back, and the whole force dismounted and looked to their horses. When Sir Renald lifted her down, she persuaded him to make her a place to sit up on the rise where she could see her home. He ensconced her behind some undergrowth, but she was still able to see quite well. She would still swear the place was empty.
    A short while later a few men rode off, doubtless to seek news throughout the neighborhood. A few more slipped away on foot, venturing closer to the castle. FitzRoger came forward, and without a word to Imogen sat quietly against a tree and watched the castle like a hawk.
    Imogen found herself spending more time watching her paladin than the silent castle. There was little to choose between them, she thought sourly. He was as still and as cold as a stone fortress. What an ability he had to be immobile. Even in the shade it was still hot and she was sure armor was not the most comfortable dress, and yet he sat as still as a statue.
    His profile had a carved quality, she thought. Very clean, severe lines—
    A disturbance behind them, down near the encampment, interrupted her study. In a second he was gone, heading toward the voices.
    Imogen wriggled around and saw that one of the soldiers had returned with a peasant who instantly fell to his knees before the Lord of Castle Cleeve. Imogen instinctively moved to join them, then hissed with pain and sat again, cursing her feet. She hated being tied to a spot like this.
    As if he’d heard, FitzRoger returned to her, picked her up, and carried her back down the slope. He came to stand before the peasant, who was now on his feet but shaking with fear. Imogen thought he might be the local hurdle maker but wasn’t sure.
    “Who is this?” FitzRoger demanded of the man.
    “That be Lady Imogen,” the man gabbled. “Lord Bernard’s daughter. The Treasure of Carrisford. O, my lady, right glad I am to see you safe. Such a time—”
    “Enough,” FitzRoger said, and the man fell silent. “The lady will be returned to her rights in Carrisford, and order will be restored. You have nothing to fear, but you must stay here until all is settled.”
    The man was led off, bowing and scraping—rather more to FitzRoger than to her, Imogen thought.
    FitzRoger carried her back and set her down again on her blanket. He looked her over all afresh. “So, Lady Imogen. You undoubtedly have a tale to tell. When is the babe due?”
    Imogen swallowed. “Late September,” she said, thinking