Her Darkest Knight

by Amy Mullen

  Her Darkest Knight

  by Amy Mullen

  Published by Clean Reads

  www.cleanreads.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  HER DARKEST KNIGHT

  Copyright © 2015 AMY MULLEN

  ISBN 978-1-62135-401-7

  Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIOS

  To my mother-in-law, Betsy

  Prologue

  Icy fingers inched along her neck as a heavy weight pressed the breath from her lungs. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. As the darkness of the night mingled with the terror of her nightmare, Isabel thrashed about her bed, linens and furs tightening around her legs like iron bands, holding her in the inky abyss of her imagination.

  Her arms flailed as she tried to shake off the dream, her mind blurring the line between dream and reality. The fingers pressed the slender column of her neck yet again, and she flailed harder as she tried to escape.

  The paralyzing bonds of sleep finally broke, and her legs moved again. Bolting from her bed and dragging her bedding with her, she struggled to reach the window, her breaths now coming in jagged gasps. Her chest heaved as she shook off the darkness and tried to focus her eyes and mind.

  It is not real, her mind screamed as she stumbled toward the open window. Pressing her hands upon the cold stone, she thrust her head out into the cool night air as she prayed for peace. Cool air flooded her lungs again and again until her breathing calmed and she no longer felt the walls pressing against her. The icy fingers from her dreams melted away as her eyes focused on the stars shining brightly in the night sky above her.

  Isabel stood motionless as the episode finally passed and took deep, measured breaths. The episodes of breathlessness were not new, but the dream was. As the time to go home neared, the panic became more common. Her childhood was nearly over, and she would be required to marry soon. She wished to look forward to it, but instead, dreaded the thought of putting her life and her trust in someone she did not know.

  The panic took her back in time to when she was but a girl—a time when the happy life she cherished turned into a twisted nightmare she could never quite get over. As her sister Gemma enjoyed a happy ending, Isabel’s problems had only just begun.

  Chapter One

  England, 1167

  "I have enjoyed staying here," Isabel de Vere said as she stood among the mid-summer blooms, staring at the wonders around her. The stones in the wall were like cream, contrasting with the brilliant azure above them. All of the lean-tos and outbuildings were new, and the air was buzzing with activity. "I love Blackstone, but Tenwick is so different. I cannot believe ‘tis time to leave."

  The statuesque, ebony-haired girl next to her sighed. "Aye, I suppose Tenwick is nice. ‘Tis so much of the world out there to see. You are but a short ride from home. Can you not guess how amazing London must be? Here, why, ‘tis the same old walls, same old people, same old things each day."

  "I have been to London. It was before I came here for fostering," Isabel stated, rolling a bud between her fingers before plucking a yellow blossom. She tucked the flower into her honey-colored hair. "’Tis not as exciting as you might think. Honestly, London smells and ‘tis too busy for me."

  "Isabel, why would you say such a thing? Imagine, living so near the king. There must be much to do, interesting men to meet, and ladies dressed in their best. Why, you can get anything you can dream of there," Constance said as she twirled to face her friend. "I know it seems an ordinary thing to you—with King Henry visiting your family once a year—but I have yet to meet him. I have never been to the king’s court. The prospects for marriage are so lacking around here. I must wed and be gone from Tenwick."

  "But your father has turned down three prospects you did not fancy. There is an upside to being out of view of the king. The man he chooses may not be to your liking. Mayhap he has forgotten you, and your father can search for your match at his leisure."

  With a huff, Constance flicked her skirt after a butterfly landed on it. "He’ll marry me to the next. I know it. I am sixteen now, and I should not have been so hasty in rejecting the others. Father called me spoiled, as most women do not have such a choice. He said he will bring the matter before the king if I am not wed by next spring. ‘Tis maddening, because there are no prospects here. I fear he may marry me off to the highest bidder, no matter how I feel."

  "But you will come to Blackstone for a visit, first. Though, I cannot say you will find any suitable men to take to husband there, either."

  "I hope to have a lovely visit. How long can I stay?"

  "I am to wed as soon as a match can be made. I suppose it will depend on how soon that happens and how your father feels. A fortnight or mayhap a year, aye?" Isabel said with a giggle.

  "What if Nicholas has already found your husband?"

  Uncertainty washed over Isabel’s features. "We must wait for the banns to be cried before we could wed. There will be time to get to know him first. My greatest hope is that he is tall, handsome, and strong," she said. "I fear a poor match. Can you imagine a husband of weak body and mind? This worries me so much that I have terrible dreams. Nicholas is to find a match to be approved by the king before the king chooses my husband on his own."

  "Do you trust him to find a husband for you?"

  "Aye, he is my lord, now that my father has passed, and he has been good to us. You have seen the beautiful children he and Gemma have together. I will be in the way. Marriage is the next logical step in my life, and I am sure it will come soon." Isabel’s stomach flipped as she spoke, recalling the nightmare from the night before.

  "What about an adventure before you marry?" Constance asked. "London must have more interesting people." She paused and then started speaking rapidly, her eyes glowing. "Oh! I have a splendid idea. Let us see if we can go to London. Mayhap we can talk Nicholas into sending us? My father would not have to know. He will think we are at Blackstone as planned, and we could stay a fortnight or more. Surely there are some relatives there who would have us."

  With a sigh caught in her throat, Isabel grimaced. The girl was beautiful but acted odd at times. Her hair, as dark as a moonless night, flowed over her shoulders in bouncing curls that Isabel envied. She possessed a beauty most girls dreamed of yet this did not please her. Constance was sullen and unhappy at times. Either she was secretive about her many thoughts, or she was a bit daft. Isabel still did not know which to believe. She had strange habits Isabel did not understand, but she had grown used to them during her time at Tenwick.

  "Nicholas would never allow it," Isabel said. Although she had no idea what Nicholas or her sister would think of such a trip, she did not want to go. What would happen should the wrong man demand her hand and the king oblige? It was best to stay out of view and let Nicholas plan her future. She did not want Constance to know of her fears, so she answered as she thought her friend expected her to: "He says I have to bide my time at Blackstone, upon returning, until he can find a proper match. Besides, who would chaperone us? We could not go alone."

  "Aye, that could be a problem," Constance said.

  Isabel again took in the beauty of Tenwick, her eyes gazing upon the never-ending wall of stone before her. Gaping arches opened over the river, as if swallowing the surging waters, w
aiting for a victim. The ground was green with lush grass, an advantage of having land so close to the mighty Thames.

  "Father probably will not allow it either and Mum died when I was young, as you know. She would have sent me to London, I just know it. My father’s second wife has no interest in me. I have had no such guidance nor a mother’s concern for my future," Constance said in a flat voice as she shrugged. "We never see her. She still sits in her room all day. I could not bear such an existence."

  "I do not remember much about my mum," Isabel said. "My sister has always been my mother, in a way. She and Hesse, my nursemaid. Hesse still helps with Gemma’s children, though she is too old to do it alone now."

  A horn sounded for the noon meal. The blare bounced off the stone walls, and everyone in sight stopped then stepped toward the keep.

  "’Tis time to eat. Shall we go? Father will be anxious to see you are doing well before we leave for Blackstone. It may not be London, but I am most pleased to come stay with you for a while. He must have grown tired of me to allow it," Constance said.

  "I am so glad we met," Isabel said. "I did not know where I would end up when Gemma announced I would be fostered. You will enjoy Blackstone, and I will be honored to have you as my guest."

  Constance put her hand out. With a nod, Isabel grabbed her friend’s hand and followed her to the great hall, taking in all the sights and sounds around her as her eyes fell upon each and every feature of Tenwick Castle. Home was lovely, but she would miss Tenwick. The people, the smells, and the sounds were all so familiar now.

  Change, it seemed, was the only constant in her life. Isabel had been safe there, but she could not account for what would happen next. Would she find a husband to keep her close and bless her with children? She could overlook appearance or lack of wealth, so long as he was strong and would keep her near and protected.

  ****

  The next morning, Isabel rose later than usual. It was her last full day at Tenwick before returning home. After Mass and breaking her fast, she packed her things carefully and accepted a few gifts from Constance. Her friend offered her hair combs and some ribbon in brilliant colors. Isabel would never wear them but was touched by the gesture. She would take them home and share them with Sidney and Emme, her beloved nieces.

  She spent her time wandering around Tenwick, saying goodbye to those she knew. Now that she was going home, all of the responsibilities entrusted to her during her time of service had reverted back to someone else, and she had nothing to do. Even Constance had disappeared after she had packed her trunk for her stay with Isabel at Blackstone.

  Before noon, a party arrived. Isabel watched for a few minutes and then lost interest. So many came and went from Tenwick, and she knew none of them. The men bore the colors of King Henry, so it must have been official business and nothing of her concern.

  Her assumption was proven wrong when she was summoned to the great hall. Constance came for her, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You must come, Isabel. ‘Tis so exciting. A man has come with the king’s men and is anxious to meet you."

  "Who?" Isabel asked, stunned. Who from the king’s court would want to see her? Rather than wonder, she followed Constance back to the great hall. Her curiosity was piqued, but her stomach turned. She hated surprises.

  The dim hall was empty, except for a small group near the dais. Isabel stepped closer and then stopped in her tracks. Other than Lord Beret and Constance, she knew no one.

  "Is this her, then?" a smooth voice said. Isabel followed the sound until her gaze rested on a man standing next to the hearth with an ale mug in his hand. He was tall, fit, and imposing. She stopped breathing for a moment as she gaped at him.

  With barely a sound, he set his mug down and took a few steps toward her. Isabel glanced around at those in the room, searching for clues as to how she should react. Instead of help, she encountered blank stares. Constance, too, stared with a sullen expression, so different from just a minute ago. Setting her sights on the man now standing before her, Isabel met his gaze with trepidation and a hammering heart.

  Brown eyes bored through her, and he said nothing as he studied her face. The man had a hint of a smile upon his lips, but his smile did not reach his eyes. His hair was blond, tinted with hints of brown. He was well-dressed and had an air of confidence.

  Isabel curtsied, not wanting to offend someone of power and position. Nicholas would berate her for such a mistake, insisting that, at the least, she show proper manners when meeting new people. To honor the king’s men was to honor the king, he had told her.

  Somewhere behind the stranger, Irving Beret, Lord of Tenwick, spoke in his flinty, flat voice. "Isabel, my dear, meet Turstin. He has come with a message from the king. Turstin is your betrothed. You shall wed after you return to Blackstone. He was eager to make your acquaintance and has traveled here to meet you before finishing his business with the king."

  Isabel gulped. Panic rose up to cloud her already confused mind. "Betrothed?" she asked, her tongue tripping over the word.

  "Indeed, milady," Turstin said. "Though I will say you look about as happy about the arrangement as I do, I am pleased, at the least, to see you are not a hag."

  "Pardon me?" Isabel said, more surprised than angry. "You wished me to be a hag?"

  "Nay, I did not. I assumed, with the name de Vere and your advanced age of eighteen, you might have many offending qualities, or you would have been married by now."

  Constance gasped, but Isabel paid her no mind. "What does my family have to do with my appearance, milord?"

  "’Tis something you can ponder until we meet again," Turstin said. "I have more business with the king, and then I shall meet you at Blackstone. I would have waited, but I was anxious to see you before another plan was made. Before I go, I ask for a short stroll, if you would allow it."

  Too stunned with the turn of events to speak, Isabel nodded.

  "Constance," Lord Beret said, "See to chaperoning them."

  "Me?" Constance said to her father, her voice sounding like a squeak. "What do I know of chaperoning anyone?"

  "Just follow them at a respectable distance. Should Isabel need help, yell for assistance. My men are never too far away."

  Turstin did not wait for the rest of the ridiculous conversation between father and daughter to conclude. He put his arm out to Isabel, who stared at it, unsure of what to do.

  "The proper response when a man offers his arm to a lady is for her to take it. I am not so repulsive, am I?"

  She did as he asked, not knowing what else she could possibly do. The man was anything but repulsive. There had been a few men in the past she had thought to be attractive, but the one beside her tall, rugged, and handsome beyond a distraction. He could become dangerous, if she let him.

  She laced her arm through his. When they touched, she felt a shock, not unlike when she would run her fingers along the tapestries at Blackstone and then touch Hesse. It was a fun game back then, though not as much fun for her old nursemaid. He was close as they walked. The heat from his body threatened to engulf her, and she became short of breath.

  "I am not sure I understand," she whispered as they went outside and stopped near the inner curtain wall. "Why does Henry wish to wed us? I have no real value. I thought Nicholas would be searching for a suitable match for me. I did not expect this so soon."

  "Henry is most appreciative of my work in protecting his interests in Normandy. He assures me we are a good match."

  "I am not one to question the king, but you seem unhappy," Isabel said. It was a bold statement for Isabel to make to a man she did not know, but her future was at stake. He was powerful and intimidating, yet she felt no fear of him. This man, a total stranger, was the first in a long time—other than her family—who made her feel safe. Even Lord Beret spooked her, and she had lived unscathed under his care for nearly two years.

  "Do not take it to heart, Isabel." His mood had lifted some now that they were outside.

  They strolle
d a bit longer. She warmed to him quickly, fascinated with the way her heart leapt and her stomach rolled. These sensations were warnings, but not of danger. They were warnings of something different.

  "Can you tell me more about yourself? Do I know of your family? Where do you live?" she asked. Isabel glanced up at his profile after speaking, daring to stare a moment longer than proper. She had met few with such fair tresses, and his eyes were tawny with flecks of gold. His face was pleasant. No, that was not the word she wanted to use. Handsome seemed a weak word. Attractive, strong, exciting—the words flew through her mind yet, thankfully, did not leave her lips.

  "I have no family," he replied in a flat tone. "My father died, and I returned to England to see what Henry wished of me. Our king made haste in choosing you for my bride. He is quite determined in the matter."

  "No family? That is quite sad."

  "’Tis no concern of yours," he said, gritting his teeth.

  "I am sorry to have upset you." They came to a stop near the arches where the River Thames could be seen. Only boats could breach this entrance. The waters were strong and high. She stared into them, desperately trying to grasp what was happening. Was this even proper? Should Nicholas not be there to introduce them and approve the marriage contract? These were things she did not know.

  "You have not upset me, Isabel. There are things you have yet to understand, and I will not burden you with them at this point."

  Isabel glanced behind her. Constance stood near the curtain wall, leaning back against it and watching them as she chewed on a fingernail. She shrugged when her eyes met Isabel’s. The girl’s expression was one of great concentration.

  "Milord? Is there anything else you wish to say? May I be of assistance in some way?"

  "Nay," he said. He spun around and tipped his head down. His intense gaze bolted right through her, mystifying her. "You are quite beautiful, and I hope the rest of your spirit matches your outer beauty. I wish a wife of strong constitution. No man would wish for a wife with a weak mind and fickle loyalties."