A Knight and His Rose

by Catherine Kean

  “Your threat does not scare me.”

  “It should,” Osric said.

  The steward’s expression turned smug. “The Crawfords are a very old family with deep roots in Wiltshire. If called upon, folk will help me and Lane to escape.”

  Molineaux scowled. “You are not above the law.”

  The steward laughed. “We Crawfords have worked in many noble households. We have been entrusted with scandalous secrets that can be used as an excellent means of persuasion. We have seen things. Heard things—”

  “Things related to the treasure?” Osric asked.

  Crawford hesitated near Molineaux. His eyes bright with glee, the steward said, “One of my great uncles worked as a steward in the same household as the thief. My relative discovered the riches were missing.”

  “God’s blood,” Molineaux said.

  “My great uncle’s employer, a cruel bastard, blamed and punished him for the theft. My relative vowed to track down the thief and take the riches for himself. Judging by the notes he made years ago, that were passed down through our family until they reached me, he knew the treasure was at the stone circle. Though he searched, he never found it.”

  “I see now,” Osric muttered. “Your family did not serve mine for so many years out of loyalty.”

  Crawford sneered. “I hated working for your sire. The man was a selfish, manipulative whoreson.”

  “He was. But, running his household, you enjoyed great privilege.”

  “I endured.”

  “If you were miserable, why did you not seek work elsewhere?”

  Crawford patted the satchel, causing items inside to shift and clonk together. “I knew one day, all of my suffering would be worthwhile.”

  The steward began moving past Molineaux. Violetta’s sire stole a quick glance at Osric. Osric shook his head slightly; better not to engage the steward in a swordfight yet. They had more to learn before subduing the lout.

  “If you knew the treasure was hidden at the ancient site, I am surprised you did not recover it long before now,” Osric said.

  “I tried. So did Lane, and my father before me.” Crawford scowled. “Lane suspected the riches were under one of the fallen stones, but despite his digging, and mine, we never found it.”

  “Because the treasure had been drawn deeper underground by the shifting soil,” Osric acknowledged. “Did you know about the tunnel?”

  “I did not,” the steward said, “although I should have guessed, what with the old tales of spirits coming up out of the ground. If I had found the tunnel, Lane and I would have explored it long before yesterday.”

  “Ah. Those were your footprints I found,” Osric said.

  Crawford glanced down the tunnel, clearly gauging the distance to the rope. “If either of you try to stop me from leaving, I will kill you.”

  “Not likely,” Osric muttered.

  “Agreed,” Molineaux said.

  “What irony: a Seabrook and a Molineaux, united as allies.”

  “The way ’twas meant to be,” said Osric. “’Twas better for the Crawfords, though, if we remained enemies, aye? If we trusted one another, we might work together to find the riches, and ’twould make it far more difficult for you get hold of them.”

  Unease flickered in the steward’s eyes.

  “I vow you are responsible for damaging the archer’s bow at last year’s tournament. You and your relatives contrived other incidents through the years, to maintain the animosity between the Seabrook and Molineaux heirs,” Osric said. “Am I right?”

  Crawford bolted for the rope.

  ***

  A short distance from the hole in the ground, Violetta hobbled four steps to the right using her crutches, then turned and hobbled the same four steps back. How desperately she wanted to know what was taking place belowground. The crashing of swords had ceased a while ago, which could be either good news or bad.

  Oh, but she hoped Osric was unharmed. Her father, too.

  She turned to pace again.

  “Milady,” one of her sire’s men said. “Would you prefer to wait at the stone circle, where you can sit down?”

  “I will wait here.” She didn’t want to be the last one to learn what had happened in the tunnel.

  Men’s voices carried from belowground, the words unclear.

  Shouts.

  The clang of steel.

  The rope, being held by several men-at-arms, shifted.

  “Someone is leaving the tunnel,” a guard warned.

  The men-at-arms pointed their swords at the hole.

  Grubby hands emerged, and then Crawford’s head. Clinging to the rope, he looked frantically about. Seeing he was surrounded, he cursed then struggled, as though to dislodge someone trying to keep him from leaving the tunnel.

  That someone would be Osric or Violetta’s father; good men who almost went to war because of the steward.

  Pure, instinctive anger welled up inside her.

  The hilt of her unsheathed knife secured between her palm and the crutch, Violetta pushed her way in between two men-at-arms. “You have lost, Crawford. Surrender.”

  The steward continued to struggle. His narrowed gaze fixed on her. “Lost, have I?” Heedless of the men-at-arms’ blades, he heaved forward, grabbed a fistful of her skirt, and yanked.

  Pulled off balance, she pitched toward him. The crutches toppled.

  “Milady!” Guards yelled. Men-at-arms grabbed for her.

  Amidst the chaos, Violetta landed on her right side. Thank God she’d kept hold of the dagger. Twisting in the grass, she tried to roll away, but the steward held tightly to her gown. She kicked, wincing as her hurt ankle collided with his chin.

  “You will ensure I escape,” he hissed.

  She’d rather die than let him use her against Osric and her father. Her knife glinting, she stabbed Crawford’s shoulder. He snarled and hauled her to the tunnel opening.

  Men-at-arms fought to break his grip on her. As she stabbed the steward in the arm, he roared and struggled harder, under assault from belowground as well.

  He abruptly vanished, yanked back into the underworld.

  Several thuds carried up from the tunnel. Then, silence.

  “Lady Molineaux.” Men-at-arms helped her up and handed back her crutches.

  She peered down at the opening in the ground. “Osric? Father?” she called, her tone sharp with worry.

  The rope moved again, and Osric’s head appeared.

  “Crawford?” she asked.

  “Vanquished—thanks, in part, to you.”

  Violetta sighed in relief and put away her dagger, while Osric’s men helped pull him up out of the ground.

  As he brushed off his clothes and crossed to her, joy, concern, and love swelled within her, the emotions so intense, she fought not to weep. “Are you all right?” She didn’t see any blood oozing, but he might still be hurt, his wounds hidden by his garments.

  “No need to worry. I am well. You?”

  “Fine. What of Father?”

  “Fine as well. We worked together to defeat Crawford. Your sire is standing guard, until I send men-at-arms below.”

  Tears brimmed. “Oh, Osric. I am so glad you are unharmed.”

  “You will not be rid of me so easily, love.”

  She laughed, and he ordered men to go down into the passageway to secure the prisoners.

  Osric attention returned to her, and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe, or look away, or even move. The rustling of wind through the grass, the morning birdsong, and the noise of guards descending into the tunnel all faded away, until there was only Osric. Poignant, undeniable yearning bloomed within her.

  She loved him. More than she’d imagined was possible.

  Show him just how much.

  Leaning in, she kissed him on the mouth.

  Whistles and cheers erupted from the remaining guards, and she kissed him deeper while his strong arms slid around her waist. ’Twas glorious to be with him, and she didn’t care who s
aw. Did not care who might object, for she loved this charming, gallant, magnificent knight, wanted him—

  “Seabrook.” Startled to hear her father’s voice, Violetta drew back to arm’s length, to see her sire being helped from the tunnel. Frowning, her father said, “We clearly need to talk about your relationship with my daughter.”

  Her sire had spoken brusquely. That didn’t bode well.

  Before Violetta could say a word, Osric said, “We do indeed need to talk, milord.”

  ***

  “’Tis astounding, all that has been revealed this day.” Standing near the fire in Osric’s solar, Violetta’s sire brushed his thumb over the inside of the box lid, as though he still couldn’t quite believe what the carved initials signified.

  “Do you have any more questions for Shelley, milord?” Osric asked.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Very well. Thank you for all you have told us,” Osric said to the healer. “You may go.”

  Shelley curtsied and went to the door. When she opened it, laughter, jaunty music, and the hum of conversation floated in from the great hall. In honor of the remarkable new alliance between the Seabrook and Molineaux households, Osric had ordered food and drink for all within his castle walls, and the celebrations had become quite lively.

  The door clicked closed, returning the chamber to near silence. Seated in an oak chair by the hearth, Violetta glanced at Osric. He winked in that roguish way of his, and sinful heat skittered through her.

  How she hoped that he would always be part of her life. She couldn’t bear for them to end up like poor Jacqueline and William, who had cared for each other so very much, but had been forced to end their relationship. Surely she and Osric wouldn’t have to forsake their love too. However, if her father didn’t approve of their courtship, he knew enough high-ranking officials that he could arrange to have her betrothed to another lord.

  That mustn’t happen. She’d speak with her sire later regarding her romantic feelings for Osric. If her father insisted the Seabrook heir wasn’t the right match for her, she’d make him understand just how much Osric meant to her. Somehow.

  Her sire shut the box.

  “Did Osric show you the stone behind which that box and other items were hidden?” Violetta asked.

  “He did, once the sheriff and his colleagues had finished their investigation.”

  Remembering the sight of the bones poking out of the earth, Violetta asked, “What will the sheriff do with the skeleton?”

  “’Twill depend whether Lane and Crawford are forthcoming with the man’s identity.” Osric folded his arms and stretched his legs toward the fire. “They were refusing to cooperate earlier, although their belligerence may have worn off since the sheriff locked them in the gaol. The lawman, I believe, would like to contact the thief’s family about his remains.”

  Violetta’s sire shook his head. “After a few days in uncomfortable cells, Crawford and his son will be more inclined to share what they know.”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  “As do I.” The fire snapped, and Osric glanced over at the blaze. “To make sure all of the riches were recovered, the sheriff had men dig out more of the soil atop and around the stone, which made it less secure.”

  “Did the stone fall?” Violetta asked, hoping that it had not.

  “Nay, but it might soon.”

  “What of the riches? Did the sheriff and his men find any more?”

  “A few pieces.” A log shifted in the hearth, and Osric rose, picked up a fire poker, and pushed the log farther into the flames. “The sheriff took the treasure away with him for cataloguing and safekeeping. I was most relieved. I did not want the responsibility of protecting it.”

  “Nor would I,” Violetta’s father said, setting the box on a side table.

  “Do the riches belong to you, though,” Violetta asked, “since they were found on your land?”

  Osric set the poker back in the iron holder. “I honestly do not know. Since the items were stolen, the relatives of the lord who lost the riches may have right of ownership. Or, since so many years have passed since the robbery, the treasure may belong to the crown. ’Twill be up to the sheriff to advise us.”

  Violetta nodded, but couldn’t keep her thoughts from returning to the unstable stone in the cavern ceiling. If it fell in, the cavern would be inaccessible; part of her and Osric’s family history would be gone forever.

  Osric sat again, and his features shadowed with both resolve and disappointment. “Your father, the sheriff, and I talked about the tunnel.”

  “And?”

  “We decided ’tis too dangerous to keep it open.”

  “Oh. You mean…?”

  “It must be sealed,” her sire answered. “If that does not keep folk out, the sheriff told us to fill it in with earth.”

  “What a shame. I have to admit, though, I would not want anyone else to be injured by falling into the passageway.”

  “Especially children,” Osric said. “’Tis remarkable no one fell into the tunnel long before you, Violetta.”

  “Remarkable, also, that we happened to find it at all,” she murmured.

  “Mayhap we were destined to do so.”

  The husky note in Osric’s voice made her think of the kisses they’d shared. “You may be right.” She couldn’t deny she believed destiny had brought her to the stone circle on the same night as Osric. “Before the passageway is sealed, though, should we not explore all of it?”

  “Osric and I returned belowground after the sheriff left,” her father said. “We inspected all of the tunnel, including the part on my lands.”

  “And?”

  “We did not discover much of interest, except a rotting rope ladder. I am guessing ’twas the one Jacqueline used to get down into the tunnel—”

  A knock sounded on the solar door. Osric went to the panel, opened it, and spoke to someone outside, before returning to the fire. “I am afraid I must attend to a matter of estate,” he said. “You are welcome to stay here.”

  “Thank you, but we must be leaving,” her sire said.

  Violetta fought a pang of dismay. “But—”

  “Your mother has been very worried about you, as I was. She will want to see you are well and be told all of what has happened.”

  Violetta hated to think her mother had been so upset, but she didn’t want to leave Osric. She couldn’t, until she knew for certain she’d be permitted to see him again. “I will go with you, as long as I can visit Osric tomorrow.”

  Her sire frowned. “’Twill depend on your ankle.”

  “Father—”

  “Please do not be unreasonable,” he said firmly. “I will consider your request on the morrow, but for now, you will come home.”

  Did her sire consider her relationship with Osric to be finished?

  Part of her insisted she should stubbornly refuse to leave Coltingstow. Yet, ’twould put Osric in a difficult position. ’Twould also threaten the newfound peace, and that would affect many more lives than her own.

  Torment gleamed in Osric’s eyes. But, when his lips formed an encouraging smile and he nodded to her, silently telling her to go, hope blossomed inside her.

  Somehow, she knew exactly what he was thinking: Worry not, my love. I promise, I will never let you go.

  Chapter Eleven

  Twelve days later

  “Do not open your eyes yet, all right?”

  Violetta sighed as she continued to stroll alongside Osric through the field, her arm linked through his. “You did make me promise not to peek.”

  He stole a sidelong glance at her, and in the light of the burning reed he held to guide their way through the darkness, she did indeed appear to still have her eyes shut.

  Osric’s heart squeezed in his chest, for he loved that she’d trust him so completely. He loved, too, the way her eyes sparkled when she teased him; the way she kissed him with such soul-deep passion; and the way she’d brought light into his days fr
om the moment he’d become reacquainted with her at the stone circle. He’d made many mistakes in his lifetime, but rescuing her was not one of them.

  Neither was ending the years of enmity with the Molineaux family. Over the past days, Osric had been invited several times to dine at Darringsleigh Keep, and after sharing good meals and insightful discussions—even one about possibly dismantling part or all of the old wall—Osric now considered the Molineaux to be allies and friends. Soon, hopefully, they’d become as close as family.

  “Careful.” Osric guided her to the right to avoid a rabbit hole.

  “Is it much farther?” Violetta asked.

  Ahead, torchlight shone from within the stone circle. Osric fought a rush of anxiety. What if she wasn’t pleased with the surprise he’d planned? What if—?

  “Osric.”

  “Aye, love?”

  “Will we be there soon?”

  “Fairly soon.”

  “’Tis lucky my ankle is mostly healed; otherwise, you would be carrying me to wherever we are going.”

  Concern made him draw her to a stop beside him. “Are you in discomfort? And nay, do not dare open your eyes.”

  “I am fine. Just yearning to know why you have been so secretive about tonight.”

  He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “As I said before, ’tis a surprise that I hope you will like very much.”

  “I shall strive to be patient.”

  “Good.” He resumed walking, drawing her along with him.

  “You do know that putting me in such suspense means you will have to kiss me more than usual this eve?”

  He laughed. “Is that possible? Lately we have spent more of our visits kissing than talking.”

  “I know.” She giggled. “I am not complaining.”

  “Nor am I.” They neared the outer stones. “Just a few more paces, and we will be there—but do not peek. Not until I say you can.”

  A groan broke from her. But, she let him guide her past the outer circle and to a spot near the fallen monolith. Osric’s gaze traveled over the flaming torches set into iron holders servants had brought from the castle earlier; the linen cloth spread out on the stone; the goblets, jug of wine, willow basket of food, and vase of blue roses in the middle of the cloth. All was exactly as he’d asked.