Knight Secrets

by C. C. Wiley

  “Come, Erwina, show yourself,” she muttered.

  Clarice paced over the dry rushes of lavender and sage covering the solar floor. With her every step, the pungent scent broke into the air. Someone had finished covering the hole made when she and Hamish had crashed through the wall. The scent of new plaster tickled her nose. Although showing signs of wear, tapestries of knights on horseback hung against the wall. Rows of empty shelves covered one side of the room. The bare wood reminded her of an empty, gaping mouth, hungry for books and ledgers.

  A large window gracing one wall remained closed against the cool night breeze. She turned the peg that held the shutters, spread the wooden panels apart, and let the window open out to a southern exposure. The edges of the evening sun shot rays of rose-colored shadows across the flower garden. The sight was a soothing balm to the ache that remained in her heart.

  Weary, she sat on the thick, padded bench beneath the window. Pulling her knees close to tuck under her chin, she listened to the sounds of life moving through the castle.

  Two dogs tussled over a bone. Somewhere nearby, children sang a ditty about a lady named Mary. They squealed with delight when the words became a little naughty.

  Lost in dreams of sugar-crusted almonds, Clarice nearly fell over when Nathan’s booming baritone and Darrick’s clipped tones joined Ranulf’s deep voice. They were just outside the solar.

  Jumping up, she found the darkest corner of the room and perched on a small stool hidden in the shadows of a heavy tapestry. Spying a sewing chest beside the stool, she rummaged through the contents and located an abandoned embroidery hoop.

  She squinted in the shadows. What design was she about to stab with a needle? She held the hoop close to her face. Small letters, stitched with delicate bits of thread, were sewn into the edge of the linen. M. D. Lady of Sedgewic.

  * * *

  Ranulf walked into the solar and paused before moving to the open window. Something was amiss. He was certain he had closed those shutters earlier in the evening. If they were ever to rid themselves of vermin, he would need to speak with Mistress Erwina to see that it was done every night.

  Darrick bent and tossed another log on the fire. He stood with his back against the heat.

  “Your injuries still bothering you?” Ranulf asked.

  “’Tis nothing.” Darrick shrugged. “With the rain comes the pain.”

  Nathan lifted the jug of wine he had brought with him and motioned to fill their cups. “Well, my friends, ’tis time we discuss our concerns.”

  Ranulf swore he could feel Clarice standing next to him. How odd to notice the lingering scent of a lover even though they were not in the same room. He shifted, turning ever slightly, to examine the chamber. That wench! What wild tale will she spin this time?

  Satisfied, he withdrew from the window and pulled up a chair. “Speak freely.”

  Darrick remained where he stood, his arms folded across his chest. The fire highlighted the streaks of gray in his coal black hair.

  Nathan grinned and lifted his glass to toast his friends. “To honesty. Painful as it may be.”

  “So ’tis agreed?” Darrick asked.

  Ranulf rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “As I have been informed more times than I care to remember, ’tis my duty to king and brotherhood. I will stay behind while the two of you report our findings.”

  “As soon as the plot is stopped,” Darrick said. “Then you are to join us.”

  “Have you learned anything, other than that which we spoke of earlier?”

  Nathan lifted the jug and sloshed the liquid inside. “I think we have an interesting bit of information right here.”

  “The French wine?”

  “We received a report that a cache of the swill was found on Margrave land,” Darrick said.

  “So, here is our proof. Nicholas of Margrave was a French supporter.” Nathan tipped the jug.

  Ranulf leaned in. “The same markings as on the cask in the monastery ruins?”

  “Appears so.” Darrick walked over to take the jug from Nathan’s fingers. “You have a bigger problem, my friend.”

  “How so?” Ranulf asked.

  “This wine was also found in Sedgewic’s cellar. One would have to ask you, Lord Ranulf, how French wine came to be in your possession.”

  Ranulf jerked to his feet, his fingers curled into fists. “What are you implying?”

  “Remember,” Nathan reminded him. “’Tis time for truth.”

  “And your honor is not at stake here,” Darrick said.

  “If ’tis not, then I would like to know where this information is leading,” Ranulf said.

  Nathan set the jug down and placed a hand on Ranulf’s shoulder. “While you were riding about the countryside with your prisoner, we had a moment to speak with Mistress Erwina.”

  “You would speak to my castellan without my leave?”

  “Your castellan bade us speak with her,” Nathan pointed out.

  Darrick joined Nathan to stand by Ranulf. He placed his hand on Ranulf’s other shoulder. “Mistress Erwina feared she could not prove her suspicions.”

  “Suspicions?”

  Nathan gave Darrick a curt nod. With a hapless shrug, Darrick answered Ranulf’s question. “While you were away on the king’s business, Robert of Margrave did make nightly visits with your wife.”

  “Why would she do this?” Ranulf ground out. “Our marriage may not have started with love, but what arranged marriage does?”

  Nathan ignored his questions and pressed on. “He was recently seen crossing through Sedgewic lands. Whether he is meeting someone here or moving on, we have to follow his whereabouts.”

  Ranulf cupped his head with his hands. Keeping his gaze to the floor, he took time to form the words before he spoke. “The Margraves may have been friends to King Henry, but the bastards have shown their true colors. ’Tis possible we protect his consort within our camp.”

  “Ranulf,” Darrick said, “I heard talk of a daughter who died at childbirth. Nothing of value came of that rumor.”

  Ranulf nodded. “Like as not Erwina can substantiate that. She was here during that time.”

  “Whether Clarice is of his blood or his consort, she must be kept close,” Darrick said.

  “I would find that task a fitting sport.” Nathan’s chuckle was grim. “The little beauty is quite tempting.”

  Darrick returned to his spot in front of the hearth. “Either way,” he said, “you miss the point. Consort or daughter, mayhap she joins Robert in seeing this plot through to the end.”

  “True. The fig doesn’t fall far from the fig tree,” Nathan said. “’Tis likely she’ll see that her father’s plan is fulfilled.”

  “Get close to her, Ranulf,” Darrick added.

  “I admire the cozy embrace we found you in,” Nathan said. “Good work, man. Keep the wench in your arms and we’ll block their plot of treason with your bed.”

  “All in the price of our brotherhood,” Ranulf said.

  “Vile miscreants! All of you!” The far from ladylike curse emanated from the corner. Ranulf jumped from his chair. In an instant, Darrick and Nathan flanked him, their daggers in their fists.

  White-faced, her blue eyes glittering with anger, Clarice stood before them. The forgotten embroidery hoop clattered to the floor, spinning in drunken circles until it came to rest at her feet. “I would rather choke on pig dung than be with you in any fashion of your imagination,” she said. “All of you should be ashamed of yourselves, speaking ill of the dead. My father was an honorable man. Loyal to the crown!”

  Taking a step forward, Ranulf motioned for Clarice to come closer.

  “How could you?” she whispered. Her skirt whirled about her ankles as she ran past the stunned men.

  “No.” Ranulf caught Nathan’s arm before he gave chase.

  Nathan shook off his grasp. “Why did you let the wench run off without an explanation of whom she follows?”

  Waves of guilt washed
over Ranulf. A hole opened up where a conscience should have been. But his duty to the king demanded first priority.

  “Did you know she was here all the time?” Nathan asked.

  Ranulf offered a quiet, slow smile as his answer to his brothers’ questions.

  Darrick’s brown eyes widened before they narrowed. “What are you about?”

  Ranulf checked the edged of the blade with his finger before tucking it into the scabbard inside his boot. He was responsible for causing Clarice heartache. A lump of regret lodged in his throat. “Just a rustling of the reeds. To see what little beasties come out.”

  “I believe,” Nathan called out as he strode toward the door, “we are now all in agreement.”

  Ranulf grimaced. “I’ll keep her so close, she’ll not turn for fear of stumbling over me.”

  Chapter 28

  The noise in the bailey yard rose as the men continued to gather their belongings. At day’s end, more of the king’s soldiers joined forces with Sir Darrick and Sir Nathan’s men. The troop had increased in size as the day wore on. Men from surrounding villages sought an opportunity to find their fortune. Their price for fame would be to fight alongside the brave soldier king.

  Clarice smacked her hands against the windowsill. She would not accept failure. Her efforts to convince Ranulf to take her to the king had been demolished in a single moment. The knights’ small minds had twisted truths and half truths until she could not straighten out the tangled web. Her spirits sagged from the weighty knowledge that her stepbrother had indeed played a treasonous role. But had her father known?

  Their last visit together, he had hinted that he had written to the king, implicating those who had plotted against him. Father’s ink-stained fingers, the bit of sealing wax on his cuff, came to mind. Had Robert intercepted her father’s missive? How far would Robert be willing to go to keep her father’s silent?

  Clarice thought again of the note Erwina had sent to her. She had yet to speak with the woman to discover anything new about her questionable background.

  Despite all her efforts, she had not received a single drop of trust from Ranulf. She did not know whether she wanted him to believe she was a Margrave or not. Either way, in his eyes she was as guilty of treason as her father.

  She knew better. Now, after hearing about Robert’s malicious mischief, an inkling of suspicion had taken root. She did not know why he had agreed to play a role in overthrowing King Henry, but she knew he was more than capable. The task of proving Robert was the only Margrave involved in France’s attempt to gain a hold on England’s throne would be difficult.

  The door to the bedchamber opened, tearing her thoughts from her jumbled life. Ranulf stood in the doorway. His gaze locked on her face. Heat built inside her veins. Memories of the overheard conversation reverberated in her mind. She would have no choice where to lay her head. No matter where he went, whether in a tent or the castle, she would be tied to his side.

  Clarice looked past Ranulf’s broad shoulders and wide chest. If she could free herself from this velvet-lined prison, she would prove to the great knotty-headed man that she and her father had had nothing in common with Robert.

  Ranulf braced his back against the door, blocking her way out. He folded his arms and presented his body as a solid wall. “How long had you been spying?”

  Clarice spun on him with irritation boiling in her veins. She feared her heart would jump out of her body. “Long enough to know that you, sir, have no honor. Nor do your friends.”

  “’Tis my home. My place to question your truthfulness.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” Clarice protested. “Mayhap ’tis you who should examine your actions.”

  “You would have me believe you just happened to slip away without escort?”

  “You granted me your leave.”

  He remained where he stood, a human barricade to her freedom. Did that man remember nothing of their time together?

  Ranulf shook his head. “You’d been told to stay within my sight.”

  “You cannot possibly think I have anything to do with Robert.”

  Ranulf pushed his back from the door. Closing the space between them, he caught her wrist as she turned. Her pulse quickened as he brought the flat of her wrist to his lips

  “How long will you protect him before you accept my help?” he asked.

  Clarice’s breath caught as he brushed the back of his knuckles over her neck.

  Stepping closer, she wondered what he would think if she wrapped her arms around him and refused to let go. Would she see the soft smile again? Or would he turn away with the suspicion he held against her emblazoned on his heart. Oh, to feel his lips dance over her skin. The longing rolled through her, leaving her awash in a sea of desire. Would he ever forget, if just for a moment, that he connected her family to treason?

  Finding the courage to face his rejection yet again, she carried his hand to her lips. She uncurled his fingers and kissed his palm. With tiny bites, she nipped the creases. Emboldened, she ran the tip of her tongue across his flesh.

  A groan rumbled as he pulled her tight against his body. “What shall I do with you?”

  Licking her lips, she wrapped her arm around the curve of his shoulder. The corded bands of muscle along his neck felt strong and comforting under her hand. She tilted her face, so that she might taste the corners of his mouth. “Kiss me,” she said.

  The sound of urgent shouts tore through the window, cutting a path across their embrace. A shadow crossed Ranulf’s face. He stepped away. The distance between their hearts grew.

  Clarice closed her eyes and gathered up her shredded pride. She turned away to hide the emptiness that had already begun to pool. What a fool she nearly had become because of that man. Determined to defend her heart, she ignored the throbbing pain and pasted a smile on her face.

  She strode past Ranulf and looked out the window to see what had caused the commotion. Men and women rushed about the bailey lawn. Saddled horses, already prepared for travel, stood waiting for their riders.

  The door swung open with a resounding slam against the wall. Hamish rushed in. His face flushed with excitement as he announced with great enthusiasm, “A rider was seen coming across the lands. Sir Nathan and Sir Darrick are readying to ride.”

  Hamish turned to Clarice, his eyes round and innocent. “Suppose ’tis your peddler you’ve been wanting?”

  The question cut through what was left of the fragile peace she and Ranulf had formed. She hoped that one day she would rebuild whatever they might have started. As it was, if ’twas her peddler traveling nearby, she must find a way to gain his attention. She could not wait for Ranulf’s help to repair her family name. She would have to find the truth herself.

  Ranulf grumbled something unintelligible and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Step away from the window.”

  Clarice pretended his words had not cut into her heart. “Hamish, run, see if ’tis he.”

  Attempting to push past Ranulf, she collided with his chest. “Excuse me, my lord. I must make myself presentable. We should ride out to meet him.”

  Ranulf stood in front of her, once again blocking her way. “Likely ’tis not your peddler but Robert of Margrave.”

  Over her head, he nodded to Hamish. “Go. Tell the men I’ll join them on their ride.” Ranulf pointed to Clarice. “You’ll stay here.”

  “I thought you determined I must always be at your side.”

  “This time you will wait for my return.”

  “And if ’tis not Robert?” she asked. “What then will you blame on me?”

  Ranulf muttered a curse under his breath and pulled the boy out of the room. The door slammed behind him.

  Clarice followed on his heels. She waited, resting her hand on the door latch as she prepared to make her escape. With all the comings and goings, had they forgotten to lock it?

  The familiar grind of the iron bolts sliding across the door was her answer.

  She strode back
to the window and searched the courtyard. Sitting high upon Aldwyn’s back, Ranulf joined the two knights and a few of their soldiers as they rode through the gate.

  * * *

  Hamish entered quietly on tiny mouse feet. Clarice barely heard him until he was standing at her elbow.

  “Shouldn’t you be abed?” she snapped.

  “S’pose that’s what happens when a body gets two mothers at one time,” Hamish grumbled. “Makes a person double overbearing.” He looked her up and down as if she had grown an extra head before he spoke again. “Don’t see the angel, but don’t see the devil neither. Me—” He shoved a thumb toward the middle of his chest. “I don’t have a mother or a father, but I’m doing just fine the way I am.”

  She watched the boy move ever so quietly. In fact, she had never thought him capable of such stealth. Thoughts that he was up to another escape danced in and about her head.

  “Hamish, have you seen Erwina? I had hoped I might speak with her.”

  “She is busy talking to Sir Darrick’s man, Sergeant Krell. I heard ’em right before I came up here.” He paused before he spoke again. In a hushed voice, he said, “’Tis unfair that you have two mothers. Let alone an angel.”

  “Hamish, have you been listening to things you shouldn’t?”

  He squinted, staring into her face for the longest time. She was certain his eyes would soon cross. ’Twas when he heaved a heavy sigh that she knew he had come to an important decision.

  He pressed a finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow. He opened the door and waited. “You want to leave, don’t you?”

  Clarice eyed him warily. Could it be as easy as that?

  “Well?” His face flushed to a heightened shade of pink. His nostrils flared, reminding her of Ranulf. “A few days ago you did. I heard you say so many times.”

  Still unable to find her voice, she nodded. She watched the boy set about the room, grabbing her things, shoving them in a sack. When he was done, he flipped the bundle over his shoulder and flicked her cloak off the wall peg.