Perils of Wrath

by Park, Elsie

  Roland and Doyle stood as well, the latter moving around the table to stand next to his lord. The duo started toward the double doors, but they turned to face Roland who had followed about ten paces behind. “Perhaps stepping up her punishments for insubordination will speed the process,” Festus suggested.

  Roland didn’t like being told what to do with his squire, especially when it included violence, but he nodded, giving them the idea that he would follow through.

  “We’ll be checking on your progress,” Doyle added with a warning stare.

  They turned and left through the doors, leaving Roland to follow them out into the corridor. After he did, he turned in the opposite direction, stalking down the hall.

  His thoughts were completely on his squire. As he grew to enjoy her company and who she was, Roland wanted to keep training Audri just to be near her, to protect her. He needed to keep up the façade that he was making her docile for Festus and Doyle . . . and whomever else they had in mind. He knew he needed to guard her from them. He laughed to himself that his training her in defense and weapons was, in reality, counterproductive to what they wanted Audri to be.

  Perhaps he could make it appear like she was becoming more docile, but he couldn’t do that without her help. How would she react to his proposal to treat her sworn enemies with tolerance?

  The next day, Roland sat Audri and Gail down in the empty knights’ tent, everyone else having left to take their noontime meal in the great hall. They would eat theirs later.

  “We need to talk about showing civility toward an enemy in order to avoid undue confrontation.”

  “But haven’t I been civil to you of late?” Audri said with sarcasm.

  “Oh, aren’t you witty?” he returned. “And might I add that your idea of civility is debatable.”

  She shrugged and looked at him through lazy eyes that said she didn’t care.

  He shook his head at her before continuing. “Sometimes it’s worth it to just bite one’s tongue instead of giving in to the urge to lash back at someone who has been offensive.”

  “And you’re the one to teach me this?” Audri said, her raised brows supporting her doubt.

  Roland allowed the irony to pass unacknowledged. “Remaining civil on a knight’s part is not a sign of cowardice but an intelligent strategy. It can often avoid undue confrontation, enemy retaliation, arguments, duels, all things that might end a knight in a worse position than if he, or she, had simply remained calm and quiet.”

  “Are you sure you’re not talking about us?” Audri queried, her expression serious.

  Roland closed his eyes, rubbing his hands from front to back over his head and stilling them at his nape. “No. Well, yes, if need be.” He opened his eyes. “But no, I was not specifically referring to us. This is a true virtue for a knight, the tactic being of utmost importance in keeping him, or her, levelheaded and safe.”

  Audri’s eyes narrowed. “You’re speaking of my attitude toward Festus and Doyle, aren’t you?” she said in a lower tone.

  Roland sighed. “Yes.”

  Audri stood up from her seat across the table, her hands flat on the surface as she looked down at Roland. “I will never act civil to the tyrant who beats my mother nor to his crony who terrorizes the villagers to the point of death!”

  Roland felt his temper rising, his face warming considerably. It wasn’t so much his frustration over her outburst as his fear for her future if she didn’t trust him and do this. What would Festus do to her if Roland were dismissed?

  “You will reign in your temper,” he yelled back at her.

  “Reign in my tem—you hypocrite of the worst order!”

  “How dare you!” he reeled on her, standing fast and leaning across the table to get close to her in an intimidating manner. They stood nose to nose. Heavens, she smells good. Gail had put down her embroidery but said nothing, having learned to curb her tongue and sometimes allow things to unfold between Sir Roland and his squire.

  “It’s true!” Audri returned, standing her ground. “You speak of treating others with respect and civility, even my worst foes, and then you turn and raise your voice at me!”

  “I haven’t yelled for a long time, Audri, and you don’t fully understand my reasons for asking this of you!”

  “But you are not asking, are you? You’re yelling!”

  “Well, I am now, but I didn’t until you yelled at me first!”

  Audri opened her mouth to deliver a rebuttal before a surprisingly calm voice from Gail interrupted them. “You’re both acting like children.”

  They turned to the lady-in-waiting, who had taken up her embroidery again and refused to look at them. Roland admitted the truth of her words, though. Turning back to Audri, he forced his voice to calm down, taking a deep breath and sending his anger into the fists clenched at his sides.

  He cleared his throat, forcing the words through a clamped jaw, “I apologize for my outburst and . . . hypocrisy.”

  Audri was clearly taken aback, not expecting him to admit to it. She also lowered her voice. “I’m . . . I’m sorry too, Sir Roland.” She looked down at the table. “You are correct. I know that civility is a trait I must work hard to achieve, especially in the face of those I hate.”

  He was relieved by her response. “That isn’t to say you must always act courteous, for there are times when fighting back is appropriate, especially to protect yourself and others. But what I am saying is that you should at least try to act civil initially, allowing a level head to treat the situation.”

  Audri nodded. “I will . . . work on keeping my temper around my most hated foes.”

  Roland nodded his approval. “That’s all I ask, milady, and I will, once again, work on controlling my short temper.”

  Audri smiled at him. “You really have done better, Roland. I’ve noticed the difference, and I’m proud of you.”

  It wasn’t just the compliment that made him feel good but that it came from Audri. He smiled back at her, being drawn into the beautiful depth of her eyes. He cleared his throat and sat down again. Audri took a seat again, too.

  “Now, if you can manage to treat them civilly for three full weeks, I’ll see fit to grant your next trip into the village unaccompanied.” He grinned at Audri, feeling a warmth he was fast coming to associate in his relationship with her.

  “Really?” Audri asked in obvious excitement. She looked over at Lady Pritchard who returned the smile. He felt rather slighted at her joy to go into town without him. If truth be told, he felt as if Audri had just punched him in the stomach. It was clear she didn’t feel the same way for him as he did for her. His lips retained a smile, but there was no more delight behind it. Perhaps it’s for the best, he assured himself, straightening in his seat and shoving his disappointment aside with effort. He’d still protect her—that’s what knights do—but he must remain distanced from his feelings for her. After all, she wasn’t simply a reward for his labors.

  He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Yes, if you can pull it off, then it will be granted.”

  What they didn’t know was that he intended to follow them in secret the next time and discover once and for all what they were up to.

  4: About 42 pounds.

  Chapter 10

  Not only had Audri lost more weight during the next three weeks, but her muscles had become toned and smooth. Roland noticed her breathing, which had been labored at the onset of her training, now came easily to her as she trained with weapons and competed in full chainmail. Her skill with the sword was superb, but even more to Roland’s delight, she’d taken to the crossbow with such enthusiasm that she became quite exceptional at using it—a true markswoman.

  These skills only added to her intelligence, fortitude, wit, and her compassion and empathy toward others. She was powerful in the way she treated others with kindness, which was a
more influential element than Festus with his brutal rule. Kindness earned true followers.

  He felt an overprotectiveness where his squire was concerned and admitted that much of it stemmed from his own attraction to her. He ofttimes found himself visualizing his hands reaching around her waist and bringing her close to him, but he’d quickly shake off the thought, reminding himself that she was his squire, his pupil, and that she would reject any advances he made. No, this was no situation for romance. She didn’t share an attraction to him. It should be all business where she was concerned. He shook his head. He knew his conviction was easier in word than in deed. How would he manage to keep his thoughts trained while hearing her charismatic voice, while laughing at her spirited jests, or standing in close proximity while correcting her stance or hold on a weapon? And all the while inhaling her sweet lemony scent. Yes, he might as well sign up for the torture chamber, for pining after an unrequited attraction was just as agonizing.

  And at least in the dungeon I wouldn’t be tormented with citrusy perfume.

  True to her word, Audri also acted civilly toward Festus and Doyle during the three weeks. Roland knew it wasn’t easy for her to smile and curtsy to her stepfather and his comrade, but she had done remarkably well with the farce, and he was proud of her. She more than earned another weekend break.

  After the weeks’ nonstop training and her forced politeness to her satisfied foes, he broke the news to her that morning in her chamber.

  She was so ecstatic that she instantly threw her arms around his neck and took him in a tight embrace. Roland received the warmth of her body against his with pleasure.

  “Audri!” Gail’s reprimand made her jump back as she realized the faux pas. Her face turned bright red, and her enlarged eyes glanced uncertainly at Roland.

  Roland smiled at having his lovely squire embrace him. “Well, if I’d known I’d get that response, I would have let you off sooner.”

  Her face remained a lovely shade of red, and she refused to look at him as he exited her chamber to enter his own.

  Roland changed into dull brown chausses and a gray tunic to better blend in with the commoners. Cinching his sword and dagger around his waist before donning some boots without spurs, he threw a cloak around his shoulders, covering the sword. In the noisy great hall, Roland grabbed a chunk of cold ham, some cheese, and dried fruit. After ripping at the meat with his teeth, his chewing slowed when he noticed Sir Doyle and Heath near the large fireplace. The two exchanged words with their heads close together and their backs to the tables. Doyle turned his head, briefly looked around, and then turned back to Heath. The pair then left the hall together. Roland ate the rest of his breakfast in pensive quietude, the rough sounds in the hall becoming muffled in the background. Swallowing the last of his food, he left the hall, lifting the cloak hood over his head to protect it from the cold.

  Roland’s boots squashed stinky muck out from under his soles and made impressions in the inch-thick mud as he trekked to the well. Drawing up some water from the stone-bordered chasm, he dipped his hand into the bucket and drank several handfuls of the frigid water to quench his thirst.

  “What are you up to this morn?” It was Sir Heath, approaching the well for a drink.

  “Oh, nothing too exciting,” Roland replied with a shrug. He didn’t want anyone, not even Heath this time, knowing he intended to spy on Audri, especially with his suspicion that they were up to something more serious than furtive sugar indulgences. He’d keep this to himself until he learned what was really going on—especially if Heath’s alliance leaned toward Sir Doyle. “And you? What does Sir Doyle have you doing?” Roland asked in a casual tone as he watched the doorway for his female prey.

  “Actually, a prisoner escaped the dungeon yesterday, and Doyle is hard-pressed to find him and his sibling, who have all but disappeared. Doyle is vexed, to say the least, at the incompetence of the sentry and has ordered several knights, including me, to join the search.”

  “What did this prisoner do to warrant such attention, aside from escaping, that is?”

  “Not sure exactly, but Doyle said he’s a treacherous assassin and must be caught as soon as possible. This man’s sister is supposedly with him, possibly keeping him hidden, so they’re both to be arrested when found.”

  “Heavens, that makes for a busy morning, doesn’t it?” Roland observed, realizing he might run into Sir Heath and other knights in town while he was spying on his squire.

  “Yes, but an exciting one. Nothing like hunting down dangerous convicts to get the blood pumping.” Heath grinned and thumped his right fist twice against his chest, making a dull thudding sound. He drew some water from the well and drank his fill.

  The women still hadn’t emerged.

  Roland thought of the escaped prisoner and secretly hoped he’d remain free instead of being taken back to the dungeon. No matter what he’d done, it didn’t justify torture. “Heath, what is it that makes Sir Doyle so violent?”

  Heath wiped his wet mouth on his cloak and shook his head. “Though he mentored me, I know little of his past. I once heard my father speaking to another knight about Doyle being the product of an English prostitute and an abusive Scotsman turned traitor to fight for England. As a youth, Doyle nearly died from one of his father’s beatings. When he’d recovered from the injuries, Doyle executed his revenge, luring his father into a deep pit where Doyle starved him for days. When the man was too weak to put up a fight, Doyle slowly tortured him, prolonging his sapped life for weeks before finally killing him. My father surmised that Doyle’s strange fascination for torture came from this. Finding Lord Craven, a man of equal callousness, gave Doyle leave to act out his sustained urges without fear of penalty.” Heath looked at Roland’s appalled expression and shrugged. “It’s only a rumor, but every story begins with some truth.”

  “Oh, I believe the entire account,” Roland admitted, “but one thing my mother taught me: when life hands you a foul situation, you can either become bitter or better, but the choice is yours to make. Doyle chose bitterness, allowing it to envelop his soul.”

  Heath’s brows turned down, seeming to ponder this statement.

  Roland saw the ladies exit the living quarters and step out into the courtyard.

  Audri had traded her chausses for a lovely dark-green surcoat and white kirtle beneath. She looked quite fetching. The outfit was exposed by the open front of her wine-red cloak, the one that carried essence of lemon. He was coming to appreciate lemon very much.

  With the well situated at the far corner of the yard opposite the front gates, the two women hadn’t noticed him as they started their jaunt into the village.

  Roland needed to set off after them. “Well, my friend, it sounds as though you have plenty to do.”

  “You’re right,” Heath agreed. “I must be off on the hunt.” Heath nodded to Roland and set off across the courtyard.

  Roland, wasting no more time, hurried through the gatehouse and onto the main road to the village, hoping he hadn’t lost his prey already.

  He soon spied the ladies travelling among various others heading into town. Keeping his hooded head down, he joined the group.

  As before, the ladies stopped at shops and homes within the main village and talked with serious expressions to its inhabitants and merchants, though again, they were too far away to be heard. They looked at some wares, but aside from purchasing some fresh bread and cheese to eat at noon, they bought nothing else. He also purchased some food to consume while tailing them. He was pleased to see Audri didn’t go near any sweets.

  A few hours past noon, the ladies wended their way to the outskirts of town, looking over their shoulders enough times that Roland was confident they were up to something covert. Their glances back caused him to stay far enough away that he wouldn’t be discovered. Several times Roland had to duck behind trees or homes, peering out from behind them and taking up th
e pursuit when it was safe.

  The women crested a hilly road, disappearing from sight as they headed down again. By the time he reached that same point, he’d lost his target completely. Taking up a brisk walk and then a jog, he passed a thick grove of large elm trees before topping another hill where he could see a quarter mile ahead, but there was no sign of them. I must have passed them at some point, but where? He turned around and started back in the direction he’d just come. From the opposite vantage point, he spied gray stones peeking out through the elms. He had passed a dwelling without realizing it.

  He cautiously approached and ducked through the trees. A well-built cottage, somewhat larger than the average peasant’s, sat in the middle of the grove at the base of a grassy knoll. The home appeared quite sturdy with wooden beams crisscrossing in horizontal and diagonal directions separated by panels of hardened mud and straw.

  He advanced on it with stealthy foot.

  No one lingered outside the abode. Had the ladies gone inside or around it? There was a window to the left of the front door, but he was sure to be seen if he peered into that one. Crouching low, he scurried to squat under a window on the cottage’s right side. It provided a minuscule amount of cover from the wind blowing from the opposite side. The overhanging roof protected him in part against the drizzle that had started to fall, but he retained the hood on his head for warmth. Roland reached his hand up and gently pulled on the wood-paneled window. It was latched tight. He raised his head until his eyes were level with the sill, but he couldn’t see anything through the translucent animal horn the peasants used in lieu of expensive glass.

  He withdrew his dagger. Since discovering years ago that his father, Sir Calan, was the heroic Shadow—the late king’s private spy against smugglers and a defender of the innocent—Roland had been privileged to learn some stealthy tricks from him. Carefully sliding the blade up between the pane and side frame, he lifted the latch on the inside of the house and then gently pulled the window outward, opening it several inches. He was surprised to hear many voices, possibly up to twenty persons.