The Thirteenth Knight

by Tricia Andersen

  Thatcher ran through the horses, his voice shouting in warning as he charged. He swung his sword, engaging one black-garbed man after another. His final blow against the king’s assailant sent the rest retreating into the wood. Panting, he surveyed the scene.

  Thaddeus lay crumpled on the ground, his hand gripped tight around his forearm. A thin stream of blood trickled through his fingers. Thatcher dropped to his knees next to the king then turned to the six knights for help. He froze in shock as he found them still mounted on their steeds, their eyes equally opened wide in surprise. “Do not sit there like frightened children,” he chided. “Get down here and help him!”

  Each knight slid tentatively from their horse and rushed to Thaddeus’s side. Suddenly, Thatcher felt a hand wrap tight around his bicep and rip him from the ground. He was slammed against the nearest tree, the rough bark scratching his flesh through his tunic.

  Burning, furious eyes glared at him. “You made fools of us,” the knight growled.

  “You are the king’s brave knight. Where were you when he needed you?”

  The knight shook him violently. “You will regret it when we reach camp. There will not be anything left of you to send home to your father.”

  “Sir William, unhand the soldier,” Thaddeus commanded. William let go of Thatcher. Thaddeus slowly, painfully stood then motioned Thatcher to him. “Boy, what is your name?” the king asked gently.

  “Thatcher, your majesty.”

  “Your quick wit and courage are great assets to my army.”

  “Thank you, your majesty.”

  “They would be an even greater asset to my inner circle of knights.”

  Thatcher’s eyes grew wide. They both turned as they heard William clear his throat.

  “My liege, you already have the maximum number of knights you need for your protection. I cannot see how you can do this,” he objected.

  Thaddeus’s eyes drew to slits. “I could get rid of one of you.”

  It was William’s eyes’ turn to grow wide, this time in panic.

  Thaddeus laughed and continued, “There are two of us in the palace now that need protection. Another knight in our ranks would be beneficial.” He turned to Thatcher. “Kneel.”

  Thatcher dropped to his knee as Thaddeus drew his sword. The king gently lay the blade on Thatcher’s left shoulder than the right. “Rise, Sir Thatcher, Knight of the King’s Army.”

  Chapter Two

  The Great Hall was buzzing. The lords and ladies of the land laughed, ate, and drank. Miranda sat on the wooden seat beside her uncle's throne, watching the merriment. Her stomach anxiously fluttered. Thaddeus would soon return with his knights. It wouldn't be long before he would choose her husband. She looked around at the loud, boisterous men then cringed. Not even the court jester and his funny antics could bring her any joy.

  She glanced up as Court Brunon strode to her side. "Good day, Lady Miranda," he crooned.

  "Good day, Count Brunon."

  "Can I interest you in a cup of wine? A walk in the garden?"

  "No, thank you."

  "Are you sure, my lady? A beautiful day like this. A walk would do you good."

  "Again, no thank—" Miranda startled as the slamming doors of the Great Hall cut off her words. She watched anxiously as Thaddeus stormed through the court with his knights at his heels. Despite her apprehension, she rose and hugged him. "Uncle, you have returned. How was training?" she greeted.

  "A little more adventurous than I had planned, little one."

  "Your Majesty," Brunon interjected. "There are thirteen knights in your company. I believe tradition dictates there should only be twelve."

  Thaddeus's eyes narrowed. "There are thirteen because I am king, and I supersede tradition. Besides, I need more protection for both Miranda and I." Thaddeus took Miranda's hand in his. "Let me introduce you to the latest addition to my company."

  Miranda followed her uncle as they traveled through the assembly of knights until the end. She gasped as her eyes met those of the thirteenth knight, dressed in his royal uniform and armor. "Thatcher!" she breathed.

  “My Lady Miranda,” Thatcher replied.

  Miranda’s heart thundered in her chest. His sapphire blue eyes captured her for several moments before he dropped to his knee in a low bow. He took her hand in his and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it.

  “Sir Thatcher fought valiantly when we were attacked and protected me from those that wished me harm.” Thaddeus beamed proudly. “I am honored to make him part of my thirteen.”

  Miranda felt her head swim. She had thought she would never see Thatcher again. She had cried every day since she was taken from her home. Now, he was here, kneeling at her feet, his lips against her skin. Her voice trembled as she spoke, “I think I am going to step out into the garden to get some air.”

  “I will accompany you,” Brunon volunteered.

  Miranda lifted her hand in protest. “No, I would rather be alone.” Without another word, she retreated from the three men and the frivolity of the Great Hall. She ran through the corridors of the castle until she reached the outdoors.

  She wandered along the paths, ignoring the leaves on the trees blazing in brilliant, autumn color and the rows and rows of late-blooming blossoms. She wrapped her arms around herself to block out the chill in the air.

  She was in disbelief. Thatcher was here, in the palace, serving her uncle in the closest capacity one could serve the king. He would be in the palace protecting Thaddeus, protecting her. He will be so close, yet still…

  “Is everything all right, my lady?”

  Miranda spun around, finding Thatcher behind her. She took a moment to soak him in. He wore the gold-embroidered, maroon tunic and chocolate brown trousers of a knight. But his short, black hair, chiseled, muscular body and sapphire blue eyes were of her familiar Thatcher.

  He quickly untied his cloak then crossed the browning grass to her, draping the fabric over her shoulders. “Miranda, you are freezing.”

  “Why are you here?” she breathed.

  “I thought your uncle explained it perfectly.”

  “You joined the army.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was that easy to forget.”

  “No, Miranda. I joined to find my way to you. Even I know Thaddeus isn’t going to marry you to a farmer’s son. The only way for me to reclaim your hand is to work for it, shed my blood for it.” He opened his arms wide in presentation. “To become one of his knights.”

  Tears filled Miranda’s eyes. “Oh, Thatcher.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “What is it, Miranda? Tell me.”

  She took a deep breath to steady her trembling voice. “Thaddeus has spoken to me of my impending marriage. As next in line to the throne, I can be married to no less than a lord. I love you with all my heart, Thatcher. I will until my final breath. But by my uncle’s own words, I will never be able to be your wife.”

  As she heard footsteps approaching, she pulled free from Thatcher’s grasp. Through swollen eyes, she gazed up at Thaddeus guiltily.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “I sent Thatcher out to see if you were all right. I thought since you both came from the same village, it would be nice to have some time alone with an old friend from home. But to find you in his arms…” Miranda looked away from her uncle. From the corner of her eye, she could see his glare flicker between them. Then, his gaze softened. “Thatcher, what does your father do?”

  “He is a farmer, your majesty.”

  Thaddeus shook his head. “I did not realize, Miranda. I did not know that Thatcher was your young man. I did not intend to make the decision concerning your marriage worse for you…”

  That was all Miranda could stand to hear. With a sob, she fled the two men in the garden and sprinted to her bedchamber.

  * * * *

  Thatcher stood at attention along the wall of the Great Hall. The wide, expansive room, lined with stained glass windows, was filled to capacit
y with the lords and ladies that had traveled to the palace for the Great Harvest Festival. His gaze darted over his brothers-in-arms, Thaddeus’ other twelve knights, that also stood guard.

  Then, he slowly, deliberately studied every man in the hall. Thaddeus would choose one of them as Miranda’s husband. Thatcher snorted in disgust. Not a single one of them is worthy to lace up her boots, much less warm her bed. He shook his head.

  His eyes softened as they met Miranda’s. He forced a smile, but he knew it was weak. There was no sparkle in her emerald green stare as she returned it with one of her own.

  Life in the palace over the past couple of weeks had been anything but pleasant. Thatcher had been unaware that Thaddeus’s knights resided in the castle with the king. That was, until he was shown to his rather elaborate bedchamber. It made complete sense. Having the king’s knights in the palace at all times insured the continuous protection of the royal family.

  However, it made Thatcher’s life a living nightmare. Always being so close to the one he wanted more than his own breath, his own soul, yet knowing he would never possess her. And the agony constantly etched in Miranda’s perfect face told him that she felt the same way.

  He watched as she pulled herself away to greet several guests. But it was only for a moment. Soon, her eyes locked with his again. He felt his heart thunder in his chest as he watched her nibble at her lower lip nervously. If he had any sense, he would turn his resignation into Thaddeus and run for home.

  Thin, cracked laughter distracted him. He turned his head slightly its direction. Then, with a silent growl, he returned his focus to the crowd.

  “You are the farmer’s son, the one who asked for Miranda’s hand when I took her from the village,” Count Brunon mocked as his long, thin fingers caressed the goblet of wine he held.

  “I am,” Thatcher answered.

  “And now you are one of Thaddeus’ knights.”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you think, as a knight, you will be worthy of her hand now? I told you, Thaddeus will never marry her to a peasant such as yourself.” Brunon took a long, triumphant sip for emphasis.

  Thatcher glared at him. “From what Miranda told me, she can be married to no less than a lord. You seemed quite eager to retrieve her from our village. Were you hoping to be the one Thaddeus chose? Sadly, you are not a lord. That, Count Brunon, makes you equal to me in this little tragedy, doesn’t it? Neither of us can have her.”

  Brunon snarled at him then stormed off into the crowd without a word. Thatcher smiled smugly as he watched the count go.

  The following weeks were filled with one banquet after another as Thaddeus searched for the perfect mate for his niece. Each loud, crowded dinner brought more tension to Thatcher’s heart. He could not lose his beloved Miranda. It did not matter who attempted to stand in his way. Be he pauper or monarch, I will not allow it.

  As the autumn leaves shook free from their branches and a winter’s bite filled the air, a chill of a different nature filled the castle. It blanketed every regal feast. It clouded the daily activities of those who lived there. Thatcher dreaded the day it reared its ugly head and made its appearance.

  That day finally came when winter snow blanketed the kingdom in a pure, cold frost. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, twinkling against the light of the full moon. The scene from forest to field was peaceful. However, the tension in the palace was anything but.

  Thatcher watched as Thaddeus gazed down at the beaten, bloody soldier kneeling before him. The blaze in the fireplace warmed the throne room with a yellow glow. Yet, it couldn’t melt the chill in his veins. The report this man brought had happened before. He had hoped it would never happen again. Miranda had lost her birth father to it.

  “There is nothing left of the outpost?” Thaddeus questioned.

  “No, sire. There were three outposts attacked. None are left. I was the only one who managed to escape mine,” the soldier breathed.

  “These outposts were along the shore? Possibly the work of invaders from the sea?”

  “Nay, sire. Mine is in the northern country. Far from the water.”

  “And their armor? Which kingdom were they from?”

  “That is the problem, sire. They wore no armor. They were dressed in black.”

  Thaddeus glanced at the men surrounding the perimeter of the room. Each of his thirteen knights watched the soldier in trepidation. Then, William stepped forward from the group. “How could they survive the blows given to them without armor?”

  “I do not know, my lord,” the soldier confessed. “We fought back. We gave it everything we had. Something protected them from our attack.”

  “Black magic,” Thatcher breathed.

  Thaddeus sunk onto his throne. “We will summon the army. A quarter of them will stay here and protect the palace. We will lead the rest and find whoever is terrorizing my kingdom. We will not rest until they are found and put to an end.” He waved his hand at the soldier. The wounded man slumped to the floor, exhausted from his injuries. “William, please help him to the physician for treatment.”

  William scowled as he crossed the throne room and helped the soldier to his feet. He led the man from the chamber.

  “And Thatcher?” He strode to the throne and kneeled before Thaddeus. The king smiled sadly as he continued, “Prepare my house and family for our departure.”

  Thatcher nodded as he stood. He heard Thaddeus’s exhausted exhale behind him as he disappeared down the hall toward the living quarters.

  Arriving at his destination, Thatcher stared at the wooden door and took a deep breath. Then, he lifted his hand and knocked on it with his knuckle. After a moment, it was wrenched open, and Miranda stared at him in surprise. She was still dressed in the sunshine yellow gown she had worn earlier that day. She had not yet prepared for bed.

  “Thatcher, what are you doing here?” she demanded.

  He nudged her inside her bedchamber and closed the door, turning toward her. “I have been sent by Thaddeus to prepare the household. We leave tomorrow, once the army arrives at the palace.”

  “Why?”

  “Three outposts have been attacked. All the occupants were killed except one soldier who escaped to report to us. We are going to find who is threatening the kingdom.”

  “You are going to war.”

  He sighed. “Most likely, yes. We are going to war.”

  Miranda paced away from him. He could sense the worry filling her. She suddenly spun toward him. “Tell my uncle you are staying here to look after the house.”

  “I cannot do that, Miranda.”

  “You would rather go to war? Here you are safe. Here you are with me. There you could...” Her voice faded.

  “I have to go.”

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I see. I see where your heart lies.”

  Thatcher crossed the bedchamber to her and took her hands in his. “My heart lies with you. I have to protect you.”

  “How can you protect me from miles away?”

  “If Thaddeus is alive, the throne is not vacated, and there is no reason to harm you. You are only in true danger if Thaddeus dies. Therefore, I will defend Thaddeus. Even if it takes my last breath.”

  Tears filled her emerald green eyes at his words. He gently grazed her cheek with his hand as he smiled at her. She grasped his tunic and drew him to her, parting his lips with hers. Thatcher startled at first. Then, he pulled her closer as he deepened the kiss, weaving his strong fingers in her brown curls.

  Miranda gasped as they parted. “When you return, I will do whatever it takes to stop my uncle’s plans for my wedding. I can marry no other man. I will marry only you.”

  Thatcher smile grew wide at her words. “Then, my love, I will have to make sure I come home to you, won’t I?’ He reluctantly pulled free from her embrace as he pressed a final kiss to her mouth. “I need to continue on with my duties. Promise you will write to me?”

  “Of course. If you do the same.”

 
“Aye. Of course, I will. I love you.”

  “I love you, also.”

  Thatcher gave her one last smile as he opened the door and slipped into the hall, closing the door behind him again.

  * * * *

  Thatcher glanced around at the deserted town square. Carts still full of fruit, breads, and colorful scarves lay scattered throughout the street. He tugged the reins of his horse toward the well in the center. This place used to be filled with noisy chatter and boisterous laughter. Children played and ran through these streets. What possibly could have attacked them?

  He looked up as Thaddeus and the other knights approached. The king shook his head sadly. “This town, too.”

  “What could have possibly caused this?” Thatcher demanded.

  “I fear I know. These seem to be the same sort of men who attached my brother’s castle to cut off my linage. Thankfully, he had enough forethought to send my niece away to safety.”

  Thatcher exhaled slowly at the thought of Miranda. She had already escaped from these monsters once with her life. He’d give his own to keep it that way.

  Slowly, silently the men rode back to the army encampment littered all over the snow-covered hills. Thatcher slid from his mount and trudged toward his tent. Miranda filled his thoughts. She haunted his dreams. He had promised to write, and he would keep that promise.

  He stopped short as he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Like a shadow, it flickered then was gone. Then, it returned, but with more of its brothers. Thatcher dashed through the snow and mounted his horse again. “Thaddeus!” he shouted.

  Thaddeus strode through the tents. “Thatcher, what the devil?”

  Thatcher simply pointed as one black-garbed soldier after another popped out of the frozen terrain.