Knight Secrets

by C. C. Wiley

  The lord of Sedgewic marched toward them. His wolf eyes glittered over a deadly grin. “Do you care to make a wager?” he snarled.

  Chapter 22

  After a wordless scowl from Ranulf, Nathan surrendered Clarice into his waiting arms. Shrugging sheepishly, the redheaded giant grinned and stepped out of Ranulf’s reach.

  “Coward.” Clarice shouted at Nathan’s retreat. “Go. Quiver and shake. Run away.” She shook her fist. “Ignore the maiden who needs your help.”

  “Cease before you awaken his wrath,” Ranulf said, depositing her on Buttercup.

  His back straight as a pikestaff, he motioned her to follow. Without a backward glance, he mounted his horse and rode away.

  As Clarice nudged Buttercup forward, she caught the sight of Nathan and Darrick, holding their sides as if their ribs would break. Heat surged to her already flushed cheeks. Angry oaths bubbled to her lips. She bit down hard to keep them from spewing outside her head. Snapping on the reins, she sent her mount trotting.

  She matched the pace he set and stifled her questions regarding the castle. They rode past the walls in silence. In time, her boiling temper slowly reduced to a low simmer and she examined the possibility of escape.

  Gently nudging Buttercup, Clarice coaxed the horse away from the rider in front of her. She pressed to the left and Aldwyn’s rump cut them off. When she pressed to angle to the right, Aldwyn blew softly through his velvet nose and planted his hooves in her path. Hope plummeted as she realized that even though Ranulf appeared busy with the affairs of the castle, he was aware of her every move. Resigned to wait for another time to make her break from Sedgewic, she settled into the soothing rhythm of Buttercup’s gait.

  With the voice of caution ringing in her ears, she strived to keep her thoughts away from the fascinating play of muscles that made up Ranulf’s distracting backside and stared at the back of his head. However, to her frustration, the ripple of movement across his broad shoulders brought fresh memories of a potent strength hidden under his leather jerkin.

  The palfrey did a sudden step to the side and had Clarice clinging to her seat. With one leg draped over Buttercup’s neck and the other wrapped under its belly, she strained with limbs and arms, pulling her bottom back onto the hard saddle. The reins slipped from her hand.

  Ranulf brought his mount to stand beside hers. He held the bridle while she righted herself. “Haven’t spent much time in the saddle, have you?”

  “No.” Heat rose from her neck as she fiddled with the reins and mumbled a halfhearted thanks.

  He returned the reins, concern reflected in his tone. “Best ride close and keep those sapphires open.”

  “So my father had often warned me,” Clarice muttered. “’Tis a dangerous world outside the walls and one must ignore the desire to leave their safety.”

  Ranulf leaned in and brushed her cheek. “Do not spend all your energies fearing the unknown. Although our enemies dare not breach Sedgewic lands, we won’t venture far today.”

  A shiver trailed down her spine. “’Tis not always the unknown that casts the shadows on the day. Danger can be found in the faces of friends as well as enemies.” She searched his face. Which one was he?

  Ranulf raised a brow and motioning her to ride beside him. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to speak. “Allies or foes. Caution is yet a wise warning for all of us to follow.”

  Signaling to raise the portcullis, Ranulf directed their horses under the iron gate and past the thick castle walls. He inspected the repairs of the old stone structure while Clarice observed the work already accomplished, and the daunting amount awaiting his attention. Before she could voice her appreciation, he swung his mount around and led them away from the castle’s protection.

  They rode down to the valley, weaving through the fields of lush meadow grass to the ribbon of dirt road below. Dust swirled through the air as they stopped at the next rise.

  Noting Ranulf’s knitted brow, she followed his gaze to the decaying outer wall. “You should be commended for your efforts. How do you manage when you and your men are away?”

  “’Tis not my efforts as much as my coin. The people of Sedgewic desire to see their homes thriving with health and prosperity. The castle walls and all that dwell within their protection fight for the same reasons. They wish to remain strong and safe.”

  “Don’t you worry for the lives you leave behind when you go off on your adventures with the king?”

  “’Tis something we must do.”

  She sniffed at his comment. “I believe ’tis nothing more than to feed one’s self-importance.”

  Scowling, Ranulf shifted in the saddle. “There are also times when we are not given a choice. What would our king think if I told him to fight without me? These walls may well have cracks on their surface, but they do not run deep. The walls will stand against an attack. But the protection I can offer in my absence is much greater when I have the king’s pleasure. Would you have me deny my king and put that protection in jeopardy?”

  Thoughts of her father’s desperate last days raced to the forefront. “Having Henry’s favor is vital and serves your people as yourself. This I understand more than you might think. But don’t you miss your home?”

  “Often. Some nights I wonder. If I were never to return, would life go on, my absence unnoticed?”

  “Your absence is apparent before you cross the gate. I am sure a celebration of your return is already in the midst of preparation.” She cast a glance, veiled under her lashes. “Your lordship is not easy to forget.”

  “You would never be forgotten,” he said.

  Clarice’s heart warmed at his assurance. She turned to cover the heat creeping into her cheeks and looked back at the fresh stone blending into the ancient wall. How would it continue without the lord’s guiding hand? After her father and Annora had quit coming to Margrave the work became harder to see through to the finish. Would it happen here, too? “Does Mistress Erwina manage the men as well as the children?”

  “Ol’ Scoggins directs most of the work that needs to be done outside. However, Erwina would tell you she requires no help. Her obstinate strength became apparent after my wife’s death.”

  “I’m sure a great loss was endured when she passed.”

  Clarice winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Silence stretched between them. She scrambled for sturdier ground.

  “Will the masons continue with their work? ’Tis a great deal to be done. Not that I don’t already see where you have left your mark, but how will you afford the materials to keep your castle in repair?”

  “The lord of a land is also its steward. I have an advantage over those born with privilege. I understand ’tis important to protect what is mine, but ’tis also important to make a profit.”

  The hills and valleys stretched out before her. “Does the land reach so far? Have you enough men to keep it patrolled? My father chose to keep the guards stationed in the manor.” Sighing, Clarice spoke her thoughts aloud. “Although why Margrave would need guards at every corner inside the walls instead of working the fields to provide most of our supplies, I will never understand. But soon even those were removed.”

  She shifted in her seat and prayed he had not noticed the mention of her father. “I haven’t seen the soldiers carrying your banner. Don’t you have one?” Peering closely, she raised an eyebrow. “In fact, now that I look at you, I fear I am unable to discern a design of your own.”

  Ranulf jerked as if struck. “Mary meant to design one for me, but there were so many things for her to take to task that she didn’t have the time to see it done.”

  “Oh,” Clarice said. “But I understood your wife was bored by the country life and found time here stood still. I would have thought she would grasp at anything to keep herself occupied.”

  When he did not respond, Clarice feared she had struck a nerve. In fact, with his brows drawn together and his mouth pursed, he looked as if he had an aching tooth. He nudged his mount
forward, stretching the distance between them so that ’twas impossible for him to hear her questions.

  Forced to accept his silence as an answer, she studied the man sitting astride his horse. The weight of so much labor and the cost incurred would be enough to make any brave man race to the battlefield for peace. The king’s plans to claim France would drain more funds than Ranulf could afford.

  She tilted her face to the sun and let the breeze ruffle her hair. A gust of wind caught the edge of her billowing skirt. Warmth radiated through her body. She closed her eyes and breathed in the heavy pine scent.

  Fear seemed so small when faced in the sunlight. A joy she had never known before lifted her spirits as easily as the breeze. Gone were the imprisoning walls. Margrave Manor and Castle Sedgewic did not hold her anymore. She was free to race the clouds. Free to follow the birds as they flew by. Freedom.

  Ranulf reached out and tickled her nose with a long blade of grass. “Remember my warning, little one. Always keep your eyes open.”

  She swatted at the offending weed. “I cannot imagine anyone foolish enough to come across your lands without your permission.”

  “In truth? Then please explain how we found you here. Did a fairy drop you?”

  Clarice thought of her father’s palfrey and smoothed her hand over the horse’s shoulder. “Buttercup is definitely not a fairy. And if you recall, I was injured.” The leather saddle creaked in response to her fidgeting. “Otherwise I would not have stopped on your land, but would have finished my journey.”

  “How could I forget?”

  She shivered, heat gathering as he perused her body.

  “I’ve meant to ask you. Where were you headed?” Ranulf squinted into the sun “A copse of trees stands over yon hill. We’ll rest there.”

  Flooded with relief that he let his questions drop, she nearly wept as they rode up the hill.

  Ranulf brought his mount to an abrupt halt. Clarice jerked the reins, almost losing her seat again when the horse stepped to keep from running into the back of the stallion. He twisted in the saddle. A single brow arched as if waiting for a response.

  After settling Aldwyn, he cast Clarice a scathing look from under his too-long lashes. He moved his mount closer and leaned in to run a finger over her arm. “I said, ’tis time to confess.”

  “Confess?” She searched his face for answers. “What might you need to confess?”

  “No, ’tis not I who needs to lighten the weight on my heart. I would have it that you found me friend enough to tell how you arrived wounded and on my lands.” He paused. “The truth this time.”

  The truth. How much could she tell? Clarice tilted her head and watched the clouds drift overhead before answering. “My father foolishly sent me on a hunt for a mythical red wolf. Sedgewic happened to be on the way. With lands as vast as Sedgewic, I was bound to run into them at some point.”

  “Mayhap that was your father’s intention all along.”

  Feeling the first hint of chill in the air, Clarice shivered and moved restlessly. “Possibly.”

  Chapter 23

  “’Tis time we turned back,” Clarice gritted through her teeth.

  T“The weather—”

  He could not help noticing that his probing had deepened the pinched corners around her mouth. “What makes you as skittish as a cat in a stable full of horses?”

  Her shoulders hunched, she looped the reins around the pommel and turned her gaze toward him. “In truth. . . .” The wind lifted her hair, tugging it free from her braid to dance around her flushed cheeks

  Ranulf leaned in. “Yes?”

  Thunder rolled from the storm forming in the distance. A crack of lightning shook the earth.

  “The truth is—” She bit her lip as if to lock in a confession.

  The palfrey stamped its hooves. Its ears pressed against its skull. A gust of wind caught her skirt, flapping it against Buttercup’s rump. The reins slithered out of Clarice’s hands as the horse squealed and raced off with her rider to the valley below.

  “Clarice!” Kicking Aldwyn with his heels, they galloped after her. Muscles in his jaw clicked as he watched her bound over the grassy knoll.

  Never in his life had he seen a horse ridden in such a manner. He hoped she would manage to stop the palfrey on her own. If she kept flailing her arms as she was, her ride would come to a quick and painful halt.

  Leaning forward in the saddle, he and Aldwyn flew to the valley and then up the hill. Clarice was too far ahead of him. His gut twisted as she rode out of sight.

  Where is she? Ranulf cut his eyes to the sky. The storm overhead continued to roll in and would soon be upon them.

  Sweat trickled down his neck. Finally, near the trees, he spotted the pale mare wandering among the flowers, her head buried in clover. Clarice was nowhere in sight. He rode closer, angling Aldwyn so as not to force the mare to bolt.

  A flash of green waved against the meadow grass. Clarice lay on her side, her skirt bunched high around her thighs.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No . . .” Clarice pushed herself upright. Her hand trembled as she worked to right her hair. “. . . my lord.

  Ranulf worked to control the fear that threatened to cut off his ability to think as he slid from his horse. He held out his hand and had it waved away.

  “See to Buttercup instead.”

  His hand wavered in the space between them before he let it drop to his side. Giving her a nod, he turned away as he was bid. With a soft, murmured word in Aldwyn’s ear, he set the destrier loose to nuzzle the meadow grass.

  Buttercup’s coat shivered under Ranulf’s gentling hand. He ran his other hand across her shoulders, down her foreleg. He lifted her leg, examining each hoof before letting it drop to the ground. Although relieved that she did not seem to be injured, he shook his head. Micah would be distraught when he saw the mare’s condition. Lather coated her pale hide. Weeds and brambles stuck out from her tail. Bits of meadow grass clung to her mane. He led her beside Aldwyn to munch on the greens. “Go on with you,” he said with a pat on the rump.

  Her ears flicked back and forward. Sensing distress, she moved out of harm’s way.

  Ranulf took notice of Clarice, her arms wrapped around her ribs. As if the simple act would hold her together.

  Ranulf grabbed her sleeve. “Clarice—”

  “Is . . . is Buttercup all right?”

  Envisioning the scene before, he clasped her to his chest as if to ward off the wave of fear that threatened to come crashing down.

  “’Twas the thunder and lightning.” Clarice jerked free and bent to gather her horse’s reins.

  “You’ll ride with me,” he said, holding out his hand. “Buttercup needs her rest and I’ve no desire to fetch you over the next green knoll.”

  She straightened, eyes flashing. With reluctance, she placed her hand in his. “I did not intend for any of this . . .”

  “I know.” Softly, he brushed her lips with his. She leaned into him. Her heartbeat reverberated through their clothing. A gasp of awareness told him she felt the same heat. God, what am I thinking?

  Despite the yearning, he swept her up as if she weighed no more than a goose feather and placed her on Aldwyn’s back. Hooking the stirrup, he swung his leg over the saddle. When her bottom pressed into his groin, he nearly groaned. Stifling the desire to pull her closer, he urged the horses toward the castle. If he pushed their pace, they would soon be free of each other.

  She rode in front of him, silent and stiff. Each breath caught the scent of rosemary in her hair and teased his senses. His grip on the reins tightened. The distance to the castle seemed to stretch farther than he could recall.

  He hated to admit it. His concern for her bothered him.

  He had hoped after Mary’s death that he was beyond caring. It was less painful that way. That dark and empty night remained in the foggy parts of his brain, making it impossible for him to know peace. The secret life she had led while he was away on the king
’s business would forever tear at his heart. Happiness was a myth, buried in the shadows of her betrayal.

  He rubbed the puckered scar along his brow. It mattered little to him if ’twas Mary or her lover who had inflicted the injury to his head. That was the least of his worries. What he feared most was that he might have been the one who had delivered the deathblow to Mary. He would never forgive himself. Deep down, he could not fathom doing such a deed. He had hoped that despite their arranged marriage, they eventually would have found happiness with each other.

  But that had not been the case. Unable to hide her revulsion at their union, Mary had fortified her nerves with wine until he had to carry her to their marriage bed. On their wedding night their joining had been brief.

  In the days and weeks that followed, he had hardened his heart to her weeping and deafened his ears to her outbursts of rage against him and the crown. He could ill afford to pay off all listening ears pressed to the door of their chambers and took his young bride to the country. Every day thereafter, the people of Sedgewic had heard their mistress’s rage at him for damaging her for another. In his cowardice, he had returned to traveling far-reaching lands for his king. When he had received word that Mary was with child, he had hastened home with visions of a loving family greeting him with open arms. Instead, that first night back, he had regained consciousness only to discover Mary was dead. By whose hand? Mine?

  There was a time when he had thought he could sacrifice no more than he already had. One never realized the value of peace of mind until ’twas no longer there. He would forever be haunted with the knowledge that he had failed to protect what was his.

  Although his thoughts held him, at one point Ranulf stopped to rearrange Clarice’s seat and strove to ignore their close proximity. She, with her thighs and rounded bottom nestled by his lap, and he with his legs spread astride the great horse, his need became more apparent with each step of the stallion’s undulating gait.

  Soon his discomfort became more pleasant as he felt her ramrod back relax against his chest. Wary of her submissive silence, he rode toward the castle walls.