Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  "Eat this, my lady." Raelyn leaned in close. "I know you are with child."

  What? Elena opened her mouth to argue then shut it again. Her eyes widened. She was with child? No. Impossible. She'd just had her monthly—

  Oh, dear God. It had been at least two months maybe three or four, she could not recall. A babe explained a lot of things. Her mood swings, nausea, dizziness, and her increased hunger.

  "All right," she whispered, not only accepting Raelyn's words, but truly letting the realization sink in. She could not return to England now. Not ever. The child was not Kent's. Oh, dear God, she was having Michael's babe! He didn't even know, and there was no way she could tell him. She glanced at her brother. Would he protect her now, if he knew she was having a man's child who was not her husband?

  She swallowed hard. She couldn't tell him.

  "I shan't say a word, my lady. Now eat." Raelyn's words consoled her.

  Her stomach growled loudly, and Elena needn't bother waiting any longer to eat. She wolfed down the bread, only to be given a hunk of cheese. When she finished her meal, she felt much better. She wasn't dizzy, and even felt a bit more awake.

  She glanced out over the landscape, taking in the beauty of the land. Rolling green hills, white specks of sheep scattered across the expanse, and people here and there working the land. A mist wetted the air, and a very slight breeze blew. She looked up at the sky and breathed deep. Home. She'd never felt such a connection to the land in England. She was being given another chance at life. A chance to raise her child in these peaceful surroundings.

  She could not dwell on her father's rejection, for truly she had known that would happen all along. He had told her in his letters he would never accept her back into his home, that she would have to do her duty as a wife and suffer in silence. Why did she have hope he would change? At least her brother had turned a corner. She could be useful to him as well. Without his wife, he would need someone to take charge of his household, and Elena was plenty willing to be that person until he wed again. It would keep her mind off things.

  Her shoulders started to relax, and a feeling she hadn't had in a long time settled over her. Relief, it was joyous, and cleansing. She wouldn't have to look over her shoulder while in her brother's home—not unless he got a message, or he had guests. But how often did he have guests? Not often, she surmised. Besides, he would be busy reacquainting himself with his land and people. She could allow herself a short bit of reprieve, just enjoy being alive, and away from Kent, back in her native homeland.

  After several weeks, Elena started to feel more like herself again. Her morning sickness ebbed, and she was no longer so exhausted. She also felt safe. Not one word had come from England. Perhaps Kent had not yet returned from France to find her gone. It was too much to hope that he would simply let her go.

  Elena stood from the table in the great hall and excused herself from the evening meal. She wanted to be alone in her room. The quietness of the evenings was when she thought about Michael and all they'd shared. She liked to sit alone and stare at the stars thinking that he might also be looking into the sky, thinking about her. If she never saw him again, at least she had those precious moments to reminisce in.

  She discreetly pressed her hand to her small rounded belly. Raelyn and she together guessed she must be around three or four months along. Luckily the fashion decreed gowns that flowed, or else her brother and anyone else looking, would have been able to make out the discernible apple bump in her abdomen. She was most certainly with child.

  What would their child be like? Would Michael ever get to meet him or her?

  Where was he now? She wished she'd had time to leave him some sort of message at St. Augustine's. For when he returned from France, he would no doubt go there first as he'd promised, and she would not be there. What would he think? Would he think she'd deserted him? She shook her head at such a silly notion. He couldn't possibly; the Abbot would tell him what transpired.

  What he did next was the most painful question on her mind. He had a duty and loyalty to England, would he risk all of that and return to Ireland to find her? She couldn't ask that of him, no matter how much she wanted it.

  Elena's ladies trailed behind her as she exited the warmth and comfort of the great hall and entered the dark, shadowed corridor which led to the stairs. An ever present draft chilled her to the bone. With luck, her servants would have built up the fire in her room. She'd forgotten how chilly Irish nights could be this late in the fall. She could almost see her breath upon the stairs.

  When they reached the solar attached to her room, Elena walked toward her chamber door. Hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she shivered. She stopped short of her chamber and turned around. Beth was stoking the fire, her other ladies had started to gather their sewing things, and Raelyn was right beside her.

  "Is everything all right?" Raelyn's brow knitted together in concern.

  "I know not. I had a sudden sense that things were not right, but—"

  Raelyn clasped her arm around Elena's shoulders. "There is no need to fret. We are safe enough here. Mayhap you are still trying to get used to all this. So many changes. And with a babe inside you, your body will be on alert for anything."

  Elena chuckled, trying as hard as she could to feel some relief, with little affect.

  "Do not go alone into your chamber just yet, my lady. Come and sew with us. We have missed you so."

  The others nodded and voiced their agreement, beckoning her forward.

  Elena agreed. ‘Twould be nice to sit with her ladies a spell. "What are you working on?"

  "We are each working on something different," Raelyn said. "Beth and Sarah are making blankets—very small blankets. Mary, Olivia and Nicole are making little gowns. I am making you a churching veil."

  "You have been working on things for me and for…?" Tears of happiness and humbleness instantly brimmed in Elena's eyes. "You truly are the best of friends."

  "And you have been the best to us, my lady," Olivia said.

  "We would not be where we are today, if not for you," Beth added, then laughed. "I do not mean that literally, but figuratively. You have helped protect us, teach us. We each owe you a debt of gratitude."

  Elena shook her head. "There are no debts between us. I cannot thank you enough for keeping my—condition—secret, and for helping to prepare for the sweet cherub once it arrives."

  Her ladies set down their work and each in turn embraced her. But despite their support, the weight of her secret rested heavily on her shoulders. What would her brother think? What would he do?

  The evening passed quietly as the ladies sewed and talked about babies, men, Ireland and other silly things. Elena had forgotten how much she needed these women and the normalcy they brought with them. A maid came up an hour or so after they'd left the great hall with sweet almond milk and roasted sugared nuts.

  "From Lord Richard, my lady. He says they are your favorite."

  Elena laughed aloud, recalling how Richard had snuck her these specific treats when she was a child. "And what is the occasion, did he say?"

  The maid smiled with joy. "In fact he did, my lady. Tomorrow is your birthday—an early gift he said."

  Elena's smile faltered. She'd forgotten tomorrow was her birthday. It was also the anniversary of her marriage to Kent. She'd not celebrated her birthday since.

  She cleared her face of emotions and plastered a cheerful smile upon her lips. "Tell my brother I send my thanks, and that I shall treasure his birthday treats."

  The maid curtsied then left.

  "Tomorrow is your birthday," Raelyn mused. "Why is it we have not celebrated before? You've always avoided telling us, my lady."

  Elena let her pain show on her face now that the maid was gone. "'Tis not a happy day."

  "I recall it well," Nicole said quietly, her lips quivering as she offered a comforting smile.

  "'Twas the day of your marriage," Raelyn said in a whisper. "I had forgotten."
<
br />   "Aye." Elena looked down at the soft ivory colored wool in her hands. She couldn't sew anymore. Her eyes were too blurred with tears. "I think I should like to go to bed, I am quite tired."

  Her ladies all murmured their wishes for sweet dreams. Raelyn and Beth followed her into her chamber where they helped her to undress, and Beth built her fire stronger. The two of them tucked her into bed.

  "We shall make tomorrow a day you'll want to remember, my lady," Beth whispered sweetly on her way out.

  "I will cherish it," Elena answered. She counted the swirls on her canopy for what seemed like hours. How long had it taken someone to embroider all two-thousand four-hundred eighty-seven swirls?

  Elena sat straight up in bed with a gasp. The room was pitch-black, her fire having died out. The shuttered arrow slit window provided only a thin shaft of moonlight. Not enough to illuminate the anything.

  What had awakened her?

  She clutched the sheet to her breasts, feeling the chill of the night and fear seep into her bones.

  A whisper of fabric sounded to her left, and she turned in that direction, blinking, trying with every fiber in her being to see in the dark.

  "Who is there?" she said into the darkness.

  Another swish of fabric and was that shoes scraping on the wooden floorboards?

  "I demand you announce yourself!" Elena tried to keep the fear from her voice. Her eyes began to adjust a little to the gloom—and masses took shape, shadows dancing all around.

  The shape did not make a sound. Was she going crazy?

  Then the sound of metal scraping and a warm wind against her face. No not wind—breath.

  "This is from my master, your master," whispered someone against her ear.

  Her eyes adjusted further, revealing her assailant standing beside her—inches away.

  Elena gaped at the man clouded in shadows, a cape or some covering hid his face and body. There was only one man who'd ever sworn he was her master. Kent.

  He'd sent someone here to—do what? And on the eve of their wedding anniversary. He never wanted her nightmare to end.

  The man's arms slid out of his billowing black sleeves. Something glinted in the thin shaft of moonlight. Metal. In his hand he held a blade. Long as her forearm, thick as her wrist. Instinctively she covered her belly with her arms. No!

  From your master. Kent wished her dead, she should have known he would eventually find her.

  "Who are you?" she demanded.

  The man moved forward. "You need never know." His voice was sinister. Her heart chilled, freezing her insides. Her skin bristled all over. The hair on the back of her neck came to standing. How long had he waited for her? Had she sensed him there when they'd retreated to her rooms earlier that evening?

  Without warning, he lunged toward her. Elena tried to roll away, move somewhere, but it was dark, the sheets and counterpane entangled in her limbs. His black cape was at once on him, and then felt like it was everywhere, surrounding her, choking her.

  Pain like she'd never known seared through her belly, she let out a shrill scream. He'd stabbed her. She sucked in a breath, her eyes wide as she searched for something, anything. He pressed her down on the bed by the shoulders, his blade still buried deep in her middle.

  "I never wanted this," he whispered. Was that regret in his voice?

  He pulled the blade from her and disappeared. Blood, warm and sticky oozed over her fingers. She curled on her side, choking on a sob.

  "My baby…"

  Then everything went black.

  "She's not here, Michael." Elena's father barreled down the steps of the keep and came to stand in front of Michael. His spine was rigid, chest puffed, ready for a battle, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Michael stared up at the imposing figure of Baron McCullough. Even as an older man, he still cut an impressive stance. He was well built, tall, and the scowl on his face would have sent any other man running for their life. But not Michael. He'd known McCullough nearly his entire life.

  "Where is she, my lord?"

  The older man narrowed his eyes and snorted. "Now, why would I be telling you that?"

  "I need to see her."

  "Why? She is not your concern. She is a married woman." The old man gnashed his teeth.

  "And married to the very devil. With all due respect, my lord, you have not seen what Kent has done to her. No woman should be treated as less than a dog, beaten and hungry."

  "I suppose you want to play the knight in shining armor then? Come to the rescue of the fair princess?" Even behind his mocking words, Michael could tell the man was concerned.

  "I only wish to keep her protected."

  "You did a mighty find job of that now, didn't you? She looked very protected when she arrived here a few weeks past, bruises on her tender flesh." The baron's voice was sarcastic.

  Michael swallowed hard, guilt riddling his mind for having been the one to blame for her situation. "She was here?"

  The baron gave a dejected sigh. "Aye." He looked down to the ground and shook his head. His hand slipped away from the hilt of his sword. "She looked badly bruised up. I wanted—" He did not continue, instead, clamped his mouth tight and glared at Michael.

  Michael sank to his knee in front of the baron, bowed his head. "My lord, I beg forgiveness for having left her in the care of a madman. I had no knowledge he was a traitor, and I know that is no excuse, but I would never have seen her harmed. I went to England intent on protecting her."

  Several moments of silence passed before Baron McCullough placed his hand out for Michael to take. He placed his hand in the firm grip of the older man and was pulled to stand.

  "You wouldn't have had to go there if I'd done my own duty, Michael. 'Tis my fault. And pride has gotten in the way of me accepting that I made a mistake. Instead my own child has suffered because of it."

  "'Tis not too late for us to both make amends," Michael said with conviction.

  The older man's gaze was determined. "Aye. I'll travel with you to Richard's holding."

  "She is with her brother?"

  "Aye. Smart and stubborn bastard that he is. He was raised well. A man I am proud to call my own son. He made me see the fault of my own reasoning when he took her in, refusing to send her back to England." The Baron lowered his head once again and shook it.

  "My lord, we cannot dwell too long on the past else we find ourselves not living for the now. Come let us go to Richard's and we shall seek forgiveness from Elena from the both of us. I should also let you know that I have a messenger, most likely at the king's court as we speak, reporting Kent's crimes. We shan't have to deal with the whoreson any further."

  "I should have let you marry her when you asked me all those years ago."

  Michael grinned half-heartedly. "Do not dwell on past regrets. We can make it right now."

  McCullough clapped him on the back. "Let us go then."

  Michael nodded, and they started toward the stables when two knights barreled through the gate doors, swinging from their horses before the animals stopped and running toward the baron.

  Michael jumped in front of the knights, sword drawn.

  "What news?" the baron bellowed. His face was fierce, and it was then Michael noticed that the two knights wore McCullough colors.

  "We went to Lord Richard's as you asked, my lord, and when we arrived, there was…" the man trailed off, swallowing hard, his eyes showing fear and regret.

  The other knight picked up where the first had left off. "We arrived to a grisly scene, my lord."

  "Spit it out!" McCullough said, his face flame red with rage.

  Michael's sixth sense kicked in…Elena. Something had happened!

  "Screams were coming from the keep, and bellows. We raced inside to find Richard slicing a man to ribbons. And—and the lady, Elena, she was, she is dying, my lord."

  White flashed before Michael's eyes. "How?" he croaked.

  "An assailant broke into the keep and ran her through while
she slept."

  Michael swallowed hard, feeling his insides turn cold. Kent. The devil had finally gotten what he wanted all along. Michael subdued the need to retch. He wanted to murder the old jackal himself! Without a word he entered the stable and mounted his horse bareback. No time for a saddle. He had to get to Elena. He could murder Kent later. No one stopped him. In fact, he didn't know who or how many, but several followed suit. The gates opened and the road swallowed him as he barreled down the dirt expanse to Richard's keep. He'd be damned if she'd leave him now—not when fate had finally given them what they both wanted!

  Less than three hours later he arrived, with Michael feeling as though the devil made it twice as long. He agonized the entire ride that he would not arrive in time. That his precious Elena would be gone. That she would have succumbed to her injuries. Hell, it had been at least six hours since she'd been attacked. Men died in less time than that.

  Oh, God in Heaven, did they even have the proper physicians, medicines, wrappings? Elena was an expert in healing, but who would heal her?

  He dismounted quickly and ran inside the keep, the guards seeing Baron McCullough with him did not stop their progress.

  "Where is she?" Michael asked his voice edging with panic.

  The Baron followed closed behind with feral eyes.

  "Up the stairs, sir, third door on the left," a timid maid answered. She carried a bowl filled with bloody rags.

  "Are those—" but he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

  She nodded, then hurried away. Those rags were covered in Elena's blood.

  McCullough grasped Michael's arm and yanked him toward the stairs. "We can do nothing down here."

  Michael followed on heavy legs. What would they see when they entered the room? No amount of thought could have prepared him for the sight of her lying so deathly pale on white sheets, a strip on gauze soaked with blood pressed to her middle.