Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  "'Tis true, my lady. He still mourns your mother."

  "He's never written me. I've sent him more letters than could fit in a wagon."

  Michael sighed. He'd often wondered why she still remained with Kent. From what he'd witnessed, if her father had known…

  "He loves you still, Elena. Did you write your brother…of your situation?" The latter was said under his breath.

  Elena answered in kind. "Aye. Richard told me I was exaggerating, and that all new brides had the same worries as I. He told me to wait it out, and soon I'd grow fond of my husband. No doubt he was very busy with his own situation. He lost his first wife only weeks after mother passed."

  "'Twas a horrid plague." Several people in his own household had succumbed to sickness, one of his younger sisters among the victims.

  "Aye. There has been many a night I wished I'd perished instead of coming here."

  She wasn't the only one. He'd been so angry for so long after losing her. Then there'd come a sign, a hope for better things to come. "Don't talk like that, my love," he whispered. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you, too. 'Twas hard enough when they wrenched you from my arms."

  Elena looked down at her hands, her voice soft. "I confess, thoughts of you have been my salvation."

  Emotion ripped through Michael like he'd never known. He felt burned, branded. He had to change the subject again. This was too much for him, she belonged to another, and he couldn't think these thoughts.

  Then, she looked at him.

  Sharp green eyes filled with longing connected with his. Her lips parted, and a hunger stirred inside him, took control. He grasped the reins of her horse and veered off the road.

  "My lady, must attend to her needs. You all are to stay here." He didn't even look back to see how their traveling party reacted. He didn't care. All he wanted was to be alone with Elena, to pull her into his arms.

  By the time they were deep enough into the woods that he felt no one could see them, his heart pounded out a song.

  "Michael—"

  He picked her up from her horse and transferred her onto his lap. Warm arms came around his waist as she steadied herself.

  "Elena, I have waited so long to have you for myself, and even now you are not mine. Please allow me a kiss like we shared the other night. Just a taste of your sweet mouth will satisfy the immeasurable ache within me."

  "Aye, kiss me." Her words were said on a sigh as she melted into his embrace. Her head fell back, eyes closed, mouth parted.

  She offered herself up for the taking, and take her he did. His mouth crashed down upon hers in a kiss that was at once possessive and ravenous. Lips pressed against lips, his tongue swept into the crevice, between her teeth and oh, joy—melted against the velvet of her own tongue. She kissed him back just as eagerly, her hands curling into his hair, massaging his scalp, tugging.

  Good God, he couldn't get enough of her. As they kissed he couldn't help feeling remorse at not shoving her father's man aside and rushing after her. At once he berated himself. He wouldn't ruin this moment of bliss with thoughts of regret, things of the past. What's done was done, and now he could only move forward.

  She moaned and wiggled closer. He welcomed her soft body against his own. His hands roamed under her cloak, massaging the turn of her hips, and then rose higher. "What is this?"

  He pulled away from her, staring at her in question, his hands resting on the thick hardness of her stays that lay between his hands and the softness of her waist and breasts. He'd felt it the last time he held her in his arms, but hadn't the chance to ask.

  Color flooded her face and she looked away.

  With the tip of his finger on her chin he pulled her back to face him. "Don't be shy with me, Elena. Why are you wearing this?"

  "It hides my body from those who wish to ravish me."

  From Kent and his men, in other words.

  "I'm still ravishing you," he teased.

  He was pleased when a light blush covered her cheeks. She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

  "And I want you to." Her face turned serious.

  He wanted more than anything to take actions on his words. His flesh hardened, flooding with intense yearning. "Oh, Elena, don't tempt me with the forbidden."

  She bit her lip and nodded. "I know 'tis a sin. But I can't help it Michael. I decided when I was a child I wanted to be with you. We handfasted, made promises that nothing on this earth would part us, and then the devil came and made it so. I want you for my husband, and if I can't have that, then at least let me have you as my lover. My one and only."

  "'Tis a sin that would be worth an eternity in purgatory." He caressed her plush lips again with his own. Good Lord, he wanted to take her right there on top of his horse, but Elena needed to be wooed. She'd been through so much as it was, he wouldn't take her in a fit of lust.

  They both shook with need and desire surged through his blood, but it had to stop here. If they took much longer, someone would come search to see that they were all right—and he wasn't sure he could last much longer without pulling up her skirts and tasting the sweet honey between her thighs.

  "We must go back," he whispered between fervent kisses on her cheeks, nose, eyelids and forehead.

  "Oh, would that we could stay here forever." She was just as urgent in her own kisses upon his skin.

  He sighed, the pain searing in his chest. "One day. One day, even if it is in Heaven, we will be together as man and wife. No spies in the shadows, no magistrate waiting to pass judgment on the sin of being together."

  "I wish time would speed up and we could be there now."

  "Me, too, my love. Me, too."

  He held her in his arms for a few moments longer, her head pressed against his chest. Then he placed her back on her horse, and led her silently through the woods and back to the road. No one stared overlong, and he was pleased to see that it did not appear anyone was the wiser to what had gone on.

  When they were once again on the move toward Kent, safely shielded between the maids, knights, various servants—and the weasel-eyed Arthur—Michael turned to Elena. "Tell me about your home."

  "I fear you will be sorely displeased when you see it, Michael. Trust that I have tried my best to keep it cheerful, but when you live with my husband and his men… Well, 'tis a difficult task."

  "I'm sure your presence brightens any room."

  She shifted on the saddle, tightened the reins, and offered him a wan smile. "I try to keep it clean, but we go through servants like linens. Most of the women seek marriages outside of Kent or they make sure their husbands keep them with child so they may stay away for a time. Sometimes the castle reeks of waste. The servants who stick around see how Kent disrespects me and so they in turn do not heed my words. They believe me partly responsible for all the horrors he puts on them. They are lazy and disobedient. When I try to clean up the rushes, Kent becomes angry, hostile. He doesn't believe a lady should be cleaning, thinks it is beneath my birth station—even though I feel he treats me less than the very people he abhors so much."

  Michael pictured the shadowed eyes of women as they hurried through the great hall, heads down in submission, bruises covering their skin. He'd change the place all right. He couldn't imagine living in filth and not being allowed to clean it up.

  She continued on, her voice barely above a whisper. "When dusk descends on the castle, no one is safe. The men who are meant to protect us are one and the same with the demons we fight to get away from. Even the male servants and children aren't safe."

  She shook her head. "So much abuse have the people endured, they are not loyal. They sell secrets, even lies to get away, to get paid. Sometimes the money they accept in bribes they use to pay off their lord. I go into the villages often, I feed the people, help them with the sewing, bring them herbs when they are sick. But there are times when—" She bit her lower lip. "There are times when even I cannot go out of my room."

  Michael's gut twisted at
the horrors she revealed to him. Was it too late for him to help? Too late to change the ways of these brutal men, their lord? Would the people be willing to accept him into their lives to help?

  "Kent has many spies. Do watch your back, Michael."

  "Kent is not the only one. There are those who seek to make their own fortune."

  "You have had others follow you?"

  He told her about the lad Arthur. She didn't seem surprised.

  "'Tis like I told you. His people hold no loyalty to him. The boy may have professed to be from Yorkshire, but 'tis most likely he was born, raised and worked in Kent. What do you know of Thomas Devlin?"

  Her question took him by surprise. His gaze raked over her face, trying to see what she hid from him. "He is a friend."

  "Can he be trusted?"

  "Aye, he is a good man." His conversation with Thomas had told him as much. He owed a great debt to the man.

  She nodded. "He is in love with my maid, Raelyn."

  Michael smiled, this he knew. "Aye. The man is besotted."

  "So she tells me. I'd like to see them married. She deserves happiness."

  "Look at me, Elena." He wanted to grasp her chin, gently tilt her face toward him, but he dared not touch her. When she looked at him, he was taken aback by what he saw in her eyes. "Do you not think you deserve happiness?"

  "I learned long ago, 'tis not mine to have. My duty is to my people first. Seeing how much they suffer, how could I ever wish for happiness for myself?"

  He couldn't risk pulling her into his arms, and so instead her took her small hand in his and squeezed.

  "You have a kind soul. If you will not see to your happiness, I vow to see to it myself."

  They rounded a corner on the dirt road. Down a short hill lay a valley dotted with small wattle and daub houses. Smoke rose in spirals from several small chimneys.

  "We're nearly there," Elena said, her voice void of emotion.

  A chapel sat in the middle of the small village, a large wooden cross cresting its peak. The fields surrounding the houses were filled with herb and vegetable crops, animals and workers. More dirt roads weaved between the houses and led to one main road through the middle of the small town which ended at a large wooden and iron gate. Twelve foot high stone walls surrounded a bailey and keep that stood on a hill overlooking the small village. Workers on the edge of the village appeared to be building a wooden wall.

  Even from the distance the dejected stances of the people could be seen. Backs bent and hunched permanently. They glanced up at the approaching party and then returned to work. Not in the least concerned with a group of riders descending upon them.

  The townspeople ignored their procession as they rode through the village.

  Thoughts of what Elena had said ran rampant through Michael's mind. The people did not respect their lady, blaming her for Kent's doings.

  He chanced a glance in her direction. She held her head high, but stared straight ahead. Her pain was obvious. His guess was the hurt stemmed not so much from the disrespect of her people, but from what they thought her capable of.

  "Lady Elena has arrived home. Bow to your lady. Bow to the woman who has showed you kindness, when no other would," Michael hailed to the people.

  Several of them did in fact stop what they were doing and turned. They lowered their heads in respect, some bent their knees in submission.

  "Michael don't." Her voice shook with unshed tears.

  An elderly woman marched toward them, then abruptly turned to the gathering crowd. "Have ye no respect? I watch this poor lady come to yer homes and feed ye. Wipe yer brow when yer sick, and this is the welcome ye give her?" The old woman then turned and dipped into an awkward curtsey. The crowd followed, some grumbles were heard loud and clear.

  Michael's eyes widened in surprise. He turned to Elena, and quirked a brow in question.

  Elena inclined her head at the woman. "Thank you, Mercy. 'Tis pleased I am to be home again." She gestured toward Michael. "Mercy is our local herbalist. Meet his lordship's new Captain of the Guard, Sir Devereux."

  "Pleased to meet ye, Sir." Her head bobbed again, and this time Michael caught a flash of even white teeth—odd for a woman of her age.

  Michael nodded. "Your appreciation and respect of your lady is noted." His words were loud enough for the crowd to hear what he said—and what he didn't say.

  Elena stood to the side of her window, the curtain pulled back just far enough to gaze down on the fields where Michael and the men practiced. Just over two weeks had gone by and already he had them in tow. They were his men.

  She hadn't had a chance to see him or speak to him, but she'd watched, and she'd heard the whispers.

  Michael was a harsh trainer and leader. The men were denied the eve meal if they did not complete their training or obey his list of over a dozen chivalric rules to adhere by. The rules had to be memorized by each man and they listed them off after the morning prayer. To gain the men's respect, any man who was denied food kept company with Michael, who also forwent the evening meal. That being the case, he'd neglected all the evening meals since they'd arrived. He didn't appear to be thinning out from all the missed fare, quite the opposite. His arms were thicker, as were his legs. Limbs, corded with sinew, flexed as he trained. She gulped just thinking about the play of his muscles as he moved.

  She'd made it part of her morning ritual to watch him from her window. As it always did when she gazed at him, her stomach clenched and fluttered. Her heartbeat pulsed erratically and her mouth went dry.

  She licked parched lips and let the flap drop. At this rate, if she continued to stare at him she'd be a blithering heap on the floor. She grasped a cup of watered ale and sipped to soothe her cracked throat.

  From what Beth told her, several—fourteen to be exact—of the men had challenged Michael. Refusing to bend to his rigorous training and chivalric code. He'd beat them sorely—even after allowing them to go at him two at a time. A couple were not able to walk for more than a day after challenging their new captain. The men were going to morning Mass every day before they could break their fast, and if they missed it—the punishment was to pray on their knees for the remainder of the day, sometimes into the night. Several walked away with a limp, others stayed so long their breeches had holes worn in them, the skin on their knees rubbed raw.

  Mayhap she and her ladies should take to the main chapel for morning Mass. They'd always done so privately in the past, but now things were starting to change. While the men still appeared to be animals—they were being tamed.

  A smile lifted the corner of her mouth, then faded. What did Lord Kent think of all this? He would never say anything to her, but she was certain he must have an opinion. Surely he was upset to be losing hold of his men. For, if all of his men were to become as good as Michael, it would be shown that Lord Kent was indeed just as evil and heinous as rumor had it.

  She set down her mug and walked to one of the chests in her sparse bedchamber. The place was cold, dreary. Never felt like home. The corners had shadows, the bed—disgusting. She stopped in her tracks and yanked the curtains surrounding the bed closed. Although it had been some time since her husband visited her, she'd still rather not gaze on the bed, for it only brought out memories she'd just as soon forget.

  "O Lord, Father in Heaven," she said a prayer for her sinful thoughts and ill-will she wished on Lord Kent and reached for the rare black pearl rosary beads she kept tied inside a secret slit in her skirts.

  The pearls were once her mother's, who'd given them to her on her death bed.

  She opened the small, ordinary chest and pulled out her sewing basket. At home in Ireland, she'd never been fond of needlework. But here at Kent, she needed the calm and soothing work with thread and needle to create a masterwork. She headed to the attached solar where her ladies awaited her. They were working on a special tapestry project together. The idea had struck her as they rode home from the tournament. She hoped one day to present the tapestry a
s a gift to Michael, but she wasn't sure that would ever happen. As it was, when they completed it, she would hang it on her own wall as a reminder. Mayhap one day she'd be blessed enough to show him what they'd created.

  "There you are, my lady. We were beginning to worry," Mary said, rifling through a basket of fabrics and silk threads. "Behold!" She pulled out a shiny gold spool of thread. "Do you like it, my lady? My aunt sent it from France."

  "'Tis beautiful, Mary."

  "I think it should do well for the lettering. Beth will be running a little late. I think she's found a beau in one of the new captain's men." A teasing smile lit her face.

  They settled down and began working on their prospective parts.

  Sometime later, the door to the solar burst open and in raced Beth, her face flushed. "My lady, you must see this." Her maid rushed to the window and flung back the curtain.

  Below shouts could be heard. Elena leaned over the edge to get a better view. In the bailey, Michael fought against five of Lord Kent's men. They circled him like wolves, licking their chops for an easy meal. She sucked in her breath, forcing herself not to shriek. Her hand clasped over her mouth.

  "They'll kill him!"

  "I'm not so sure, my lady. Look closely." Beth pointed toward the men.

  Elena did as she instructed and sure enough, the men who circled Michael each held some mark from where Michael had bested them—a couple with bloody lips, one with a bruised and swollen eye, one limped, another held his arm. Was it possible the Black Knight could hold his own against five venomous warriors? He barely had a scratch on him.

  "Some of the men had enough of the Captain's rules. One, bold enough to challenge him lays unmoving over there." Beth pointed to a prone body. "The Captain asked if anyone else wished to challenge him."

  One of the five turned for a moment as if searching for someone.

  "Rule fourteen, never turn thy back upon a foe," Michael shouted. His fist jabbed out and connected with the warrior's jaw. The man fell back, at once unconscious.

  "Are you louts still wishing to disobey rule three?"