Her Darkest Knight

by Amy Mullen

"I am always curious," Isabel said, allowing a small smile toward her intended. His interest in the trunks was a bit amusing, even if it was strange.

  "Could you see if you can find a useable bench for us, Matthew?" Turstin said.

  Matthew went out into the sunshine, leaving them alone in the hall. The darkness was eerie, though many torches were lit along the walls. Isabel’s unease grew as she stared at the chests before her, holding secrets of the Bigods, the family she feared would one day return to seek revenge on her sister.

  Turstin had spoken of dungeons in Renoir, one of which once held her sister. Her brother had died here, and Matthew had been injured just outside the walls. She was not a brave knight—she was a lady and did not think much of fighting and war. She did not wish to live with the spirit of those who wished her family harm.

  Turstin opened a heavy lid and peered inside. A dank smell rose from the chest, and Isabel wished to step back. He squinted to see more clearly, then tipped the chest so the contents spilled out upon the floor. A few clothing items fell out, along with what appeared to be a chess set, whittled of fine wood.

  He grimaced as he picked through the pile. Nothing more of any interest came from the chest, and no clues to the owner appeared, though it was obvious the clothes had belonged to a woman.

  Matthew appeared with a small bench. "I found this near the fire, ready to be burned. ‘Tis the best I could do," he said as he set the bench down and stepped back awkwardly.

  "Thanks to you," Turstin said. He pulled the next chest near the bench and sat. "Would you care to join me, Isabel?"

  It was the last thing she wanted to do, but instead of backing away as she would have in the past, she stepped forward and joined him. The next chest was small, and the lid was broken. He removed the lid and tipped the chest on its side, just as he had the first.

  From within came a pile of stones, a small bundle of sticks, and a small horse whittled from wood. Upon the horse sat a knight, also of wood. Turstin picked the horse up from the floor and held it to the light.

  His hands trembled as he locked eyes with Isabel. "Your heart is open to those who trespassed here, but what of the innocents who dwelled here? Of the boy who once played with this toy?" His voice was harsh, his words sharp and quick.

  The accusation in his voice shook Isabel to her core. A single tear welled in the corner of her eye as she desperately tried to understand what she had done wrong and why he was suddenly so angry.

  ****

  Turstin had given his heart away before he could control his reaction. He did not mean to scare Isabel or show the emotions exploding within him, but he had failed. Now, he had to calm down lest he give himself away and lose everything.

  With a tight grip on the horse, Turstin sat heavily on the bench. "Forgive me, Isabel. This toy belonged to a young boy. This may have been all he had. This was at one time his home. I know you have issues with the Bigod family, but remember, they are not all the heathens those wild rumors make them to be."

  "I never, I mean, I am sure you are correct," Isabel said. Turstin winced at the stiffness in her voice.

  Turstin placed the horse on the bench next to him. "I did not have a home to come home to. Imagine this young boy losing his."

  Setting the chest aside, he reached for a larger trunk and pried the lid off. This trunk was full to the brim. Isabel leaned in to see as he pulled a linen from the top, revealing many parchments rolled and tucked neatly side by side, as if precious. He lifted the first and unrolled the crackling material to reveal what was hidden. It appeared to be the layout of a castle, complete with details about each chamber and outbuilding.

  "Is that Renoir?" Isabel said in a breathy voice.

  "Nay, I do not think so," Turstin said. The drawing was done with a steady hand, and each detail was still legible. He ran his finger along the bottom and tilted the vellum toward the fire for more light. In long, swooping letters he read the name written there: Blackstone.

  Turstin glanced up at Isabel in surprise. "It says Blackstone. Does this look right to you? You know your own home best."

  Isabel took the vellum, her fingers shaking as she held the sides apart so they would not roll back upon themselves. She studied the drawing, her brow marked with a deep furrow.

  "Aye, ‘tis Blackstone. It even marks the secret passageways."

  "Indeed?" Turstin said, sitting closer to her. He took one side of the vellum as she continued to hold the other.

  "Aye, here." Isabel ran a delicate finger along the tunnel drawn to run under the moat. "This is where the tunnel ran out into the woods north of the castle, near the main gate. ‘Tis how Gemma met Nicholas late in the night when they were young. It is now sealed off."

  Turstin watched her finger slowly sliding along the vellum, almost as if she were caressing it. "And here, this tunnel went from the nursery down to the outer bailey. I did not know either was there, until Gemma went missing," she finished speaking, choking on the last words.

  "I wonder why this drawing is here," Turstin said.

  "Mayhap the rest will tell you why," Isabel said. "You speak of rumors and stories, but what happened was real. This tells but a small part of the tale. There is no reason for this to be within the walls of Renoir unless someone was plotting revenge. You speak of vague stories of which I am not sure you believe, but ‘twas real and more frightening than you can rightly imagine, at least for me. I was but a girl. I was young and innocent, just like the boy who once owned that wooden horse."

  Turstin had to admit she was right. He pulled the other two rolled vellums from the chest. One was a map of Renoir and the lands surrounding, done with little detail, and the last was a drawing of a ship.

  Setting them aside, Turstin rooted through the rest of the trunk. He pulled out tunic and hose, chain mail, and a helmet. An old belt and a comb made from bone came out next. Isabel silently watched with great interest. At the bottom were a pair of boots and a small wooden box. Turstin handed the box to her and gestured for her to open it.

  With shaking fingers, Isabel dislodged the lid. Within the small box was a ring and nothing else. The band was hammered gold. Upon the band was a polished emerald. With a small gasp, Isabel thrust the box toward Turstin. "’Tis beautiful."

  "Do you want to keep it? Looks like it is large enough for a man, but I have no use for rings."

  Isabel took the box back from him and gingerly touched the ring with the tip of her finger. "It reminds me of the necklace Gemma has. ‘Twas our mother’s jewelry, given to her by our father on their wedding day. I wonder who owned this."

  "No idea," Turstin said with a weak shrug. He put the lid back on the box as best as he could, then stood again and went through the last two chests. He pulled out nothing but old clothing and a few personal items.

  "Oswin?" he called loudly as he dropped the top of the last chest so it closed with a resounding thud.

  "Here, milord," Oswin replied from the far end of the room.

  "Have these burned. There is nothing of interest here."

  Isabel stood. "Were you searching for something in particular?"

  "Nay," Turstin said. He carefully picked up the wooden knight upon its horse and handed it to Oswin, along with the rolled vellum. "Put these somewhere safe. ‘Tis an interesting toy, and I wish to gift it to my firstborn son." He then took the ring box from Isabel and told Oswin to put it into his travel bag so he could secure it at Blackstone for now.

  Isabel gulped but remained quiet. She did not look around her, though her gaze darted in the direction of the exit more than once.

  "I wish to see the solar. Oswin, will you take me around? Isabel, will you come?"

  Isabel jerked and glanced at Matthew. "If it pleases you, milord, I am feeling unwell. I wish to go outside and take some air. Matthew could stay with me."

  "Fine," he said without looking at her. "I shall return with all due haste. Do not go far and stay with Matthew."

  ****

  Without waiting for any fu
rther instructions, Isabel bolted out of the hall and into the bailey. Matthew was close on her heels.

  "Are you well?" he asked.

  "Aye, ‘twas just so dark and dank in there. I do so hope he can lighten the place up before we move in. ‘Tis terribly depressing in there, do you not agree?"

  "I do," the soldier said. "Do you wish to walk?"

  "I wish to sit."

  "Wait here," Matthew said. He walked stiffly, the limp in his leg hindering him a little, back into the hall. He emerged with the bench he had fetched for them and placed it on the ground, wiggling it to be sure it was on solid footing, and then offered her a seat.

  Isabel sat. She stared out at the walls of Renoir. The gate was in front of them, and the inner wall was all but gone. Her view of the outer wall was clear. The tower to the right of the gate was where her sister had been held. She tried to look away but could not. Fear welled within her as she studied each and every stone on the far wall, knowing her sister had almost lost her life there. The unease she had lived with for so long had taken a physical form, and she could not remove her eyes from the sight.

  "Milady, if I may offer some advice?" Matthew said.

  "What is it?"

  "I do not wish to overstep my duties, and I do not know what you are feeling right now, but your eyes grow wide with fear. If Renoir frightens you, you must ask your intended to do what he can to ease your worries. While I cannot rightly say for sure yet, he seems to be a solid man. ‘Tis not like you are moving into his home. Renoir is new to both of you. If certain memories haunt you, ‘twould be in your best interest to speak to him."

  "’Tis not my place," Isabel said with a long sigh. "What is my place is to accept what God has bestowed upon me and make the best life I can."

  "Admirable words, milady. May I just add that if something troubled my wife, Adela, as much as Renoir seems to be troubling you, it would be my fondest wish she would share those thoughts with me so I might make her comfortable."

  "I will keep that thought in my mind. Thank you."

  Silently she sat, studying the rest of Renoir, though her eyes continued to be drawn back to the tower where her sister had been held.

  Turstin burst out into the bailey so quickly she jumped.

  "Not expecting me?" he said and then chuckled.

  "Nay, not so soon."

  "There was not much to see. The rooms are adequate. I gave Oswin my wishes. He will return to London on the morrow to see to ordering what we cannot make here." He sat down on the bench next to her and rested his hands on his thighs.

  Isabel could not help but look down at those thighs. Turstin’s large hands were calloused, his fingers long and lean. She studied them, wishing to touch and feel them. His arm rested on hers. A lingering chill went up her spine. Her skin turned to gooseflesh, and for a moment she forgot her fears and marveled at the sensations he so easily evoked within her.

  One of those hands reached out and took hers in his. He turned her hand over and then ran his finger from her palm up to the tip of one of her fingers. The touch was light and made her shiver. "Your skin is so soft, Isabel. Your hands are warm. The sign of a warm heart. I will admit I was unnerved at the thought of taking a wife such as you, but you surpassed my wishes."

  "Indeed?" she asked, the word catching in her throat.

  "Oh, indeed. You are a beautiful woman. You have thus far proven to be wise and well-spoken." He wrapped his fingers around hers for a moment, the warmth of his palm pressing into hers. It was an intimate moment she had not expected. Matthew was near, but she did not worry. He had been watching over her family for years and would not let anything untoward happen, not that anything as such would occur. Turstin had never indicated himself to be anything other than honorable.

  "I am glad of your age," he continued. "Men wish for a young bride of fourteen or fifteen. I did not. I have been introduced to many of them, ready to marry. They have the lovely form of a woman, but are still children in some sense. You are a woman all the way through. You have stirred a place within me I thought untouchable."

  An angry blush flared on her cheeks and wandered down her neck. "I am happy you are pleased."

  "Does such talk embarrass you, Isabel?" he said, his voice a whisper as the world went on around them.

  "I do not dislike what you have said," she replied.

  "Then please explain the weariness in your voice," he said.

  "I am simply trying to adjust to the sudden change in my life. I knew marriage would come, but I was not expecting it this soon. Mayhap ‘tis just the shock of it all."

  "What would you have me do with Renoir?"

  "Pardon?" Isabel asked as she tried to hide the shock in her voice. Had he read her thoughts?

  "I have been telling you what I plan to do, but you have yet to say anything. You were upset at coming here and are not happy about living here. Do you have any wishes, Isabel?"

  "The tower," she blurted out. His hand squeezed hers before he let it go. "I wish you to remove the tower."

  "Which tower? And why?" he asked.

  Isabel drew a deep breath before answering. "The one nearest the gate. ‘Tis where Gemma was held. I do not wish to look upon it each day of my life."

  Turstin was quiet for a moment. He rubbed his hands together and then rested his hands in his lap. "I will be making many changes, but taking out a tower is much work."

  She waited as he paused. Nervously, she entwined her fingers together in her lap, trying to ward off the feeling of dread that descended upon her. He was going to say no.

  "I shall consider your request," he said as he stood.

  "Oh, thank you!" Isabel sprung up and threw her arms around him without thinking. It took a moment, but he returned her spontaneous display of affection, putting his arms around her slowly and carefully. They were rugged and strong, yet held her softly. As soon as full contact was made, he pulled away from her and smiled down at her.

  "I can take down all the walls if my reward is a lovely lady pressing her body against me," he said, his brown eyes sparkling.

  "Oh!" she said. "Are you teasing me?"

  "Mayhap."

  "When I was young, about seven or eight years of age," Isabel began, desperate to change the course of the conversation, "I built my own castles."

  "Indeed?"

  "Aye," she said as she sat back down. Her eyes lit up as she spoke. "I would collect rocks and sticks. Gemma called them my collections, but they were more than that. I used mud from the stock pond to hold the stones together, but it rarely worked. That did not stop me from trying. I had piles of rocks everywhere, but I loved to build in the orchard near the north wall. Gemma and Hesse both would urge me to remove them."

  "Mayhap we are more alike than we know. I did the same. But for me, I was older. I built them out of sight of my father. I dreamed of my own home, knowing I had none. ‘Twas something I also did before we left for Normandy, though then it was just fun for me. As I aged, it became something of a wish rather than a game."

  "Did you spend a lot of time in Normandy?" Isabel asked.

  "Most of my life was spent there at my father’s side. We left England when I was seven years and old enough to start learning the skills I would need to become a knight. My mother died when I was away but a few years, and the rest of my family moved about England. I have not seen my brothers since I left. I know one is a priest now. I do not know of the other."

  "So when you said you have no family, you meant you do not know where they are. I am sorry you do not know the close bond of family," Isabel said, her heart swelling at the pain in his voice.

  "That will change once we are wed. I hope we have many children."

  Isabel gulped. She was happy with her husband-to-be thus far and wanted children of her own. Raising them at Renoir was what troubled her.

  Turstin spoke again. "Do you still build castles, Isabel?"

  "Nay," she said, shaking her head, "I stopped after Gemma was taken. I lost the spirit for it,
I suppose. Times changed and my life changed. It seemed a game for children after that."

  "Now you can build a real one. Or rather, your home is being rebuilt around you. Should there be anything else you wish for, I trust you will make your wishes known?"

  "I will," Isabel said, smiling up at him. Despite the worry of living at Renoir, she liked her betrothed more and more as each minute passed.

  Chapter Eight

  Turstin rode out of Blackstone at dawn. He did not wish to hunt, nor was he heading for Renoir again. He simply needed to be out of Blackstone. The day before had been pleasant. Not only was he pleased with the progress at Renoir, he was pleased with Isabel. Of all the stories swirling around about the de Vere family, he found her to be most unlike any woman he had met. She was well-spoken without any trace of brashness, and she had the grace of a lady who would raise his sons to be strong and his daughters to be refined. Aye, he was pleased.

  As he urged his horse into a gallop, the sun began to shine in earnest. He had skipped Mass and eaten in the kitchens so he might be off by himself in the early morning light. On the morrow he would hunt with Nicholas, but for today, the morning was his.

  The night before, he had sat with the family for supper. Turstin had left Renoir to return to Blackstone long before the sun was to set, as he did not want his betrothed to fear the ride home. He had gotten her to open up to him, at least a little, and he did not want anything to spook her back into her depressed state.

  She did not like Renoir. He could tell by every motion she had made and each word she had spoken. Isabel had tried to hide her feelings, which meant it was not him. It was the castle. Turstin had almost left orders for the tower to be taken down from the wall, but he could not bring himself to do it. Moving the walls to expand was one thing, but he wanted to change as little as possible.

  He had misled her by telling her he would consider it, but in the moment, he had wanted to please her. Now, he regretted his words suggesting otherwise. The great hall and the solar would remain the same, and so would the intact wall. Turstin saw no need to change them and had no desire to do so. She would have to find a way to deal with the tower.