Margo Maguire

by The Virtuous Knight

  Alex knew that a woman would need a strong pair of arms to hold her, to comfort her after such a disaster.

  “Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris,” he muttered, and turned away suddenly, leaving the woman shuddering and holding on to her limbs, as if they would fall from her body.

  He stalked back toward the road and forced his attention to the ground, searching for whoever had been thrown from the horse. He would not allow himself to fall prey to the ways of the world, merely because he was miles away from Cluny. On his own, he must strive for purity of body and spirit, as well as piety and humility. He would defend the innocent wherever he found them, but strictly limit his interactions with the secular world, for he had every intention of taking his holy vows and dedicate his life to the memory of Isabella when he returned to Cluny. His decision to remain celibate had not been made lightly, nor capriciously…even if Roger Kendal had had reservations about it.

  Though he was an Englishman, Alexander Breton was the second son of an earl. Alex did not begrudge his elder brother the title or the land. In truth, ’twas never something to which Alexander aspired.

  Three years ago, Philip had entreated Alex to return home to Clyfton Castle. Alex had refused. The ability to face Philip’s healthy wife and children daily was beyond him.

  And now he found himself in York, not far from the home he’d shared with his poor Isabella and little Geoffrey. He intended never again to experience the soul-wrenching grief he’d felt on their deaths.

  Alex found the last victim’s body on the road, some distance from the place where the wagon lay broken. ’Twas another young woman, and Alex was uncertain whether she was also a nun. Like the others, she wore a wimple that covered her head entirely, as well as part of her face. But her attire was made of cloth that was much too costly for one who had taken the holy vow of poverty, much too fine to have been riddled by the arrows of those villainous knights. Mayhap she was a lay sister, or had been relegated to the nunnery by her family because of past indiscretions.

  Whoever she was, Alex picked her up and carried her back to the wagon, laying her next to the other dead nuns. Gazing at the grisly scene before him, he considered what was to be done. The wagon was now useless, with two broken wheels. Since the horses had run off, he had no means to carry the women to a village for a proper burial. It quickly became clear that he had to bury them here, in the place where they died.

  He had no idea what to do with the waterlogged woman back at the fen, but with God’s mercy, she would understand that she was on her own now. After the burial, Alex’s obligation would be concluded. He intended to move on, and would never have to see her or deal with her again.

  From the saddle pack high upon his mare’s back, he took out a small shovel, and began to dig. After a short while, he removed his hauberk, leaving his sweat-dampened undertunic rolled up to the elbows. Keeping one eye upon the road in case Skelton’s men caught up, Alex worked at turning up the soil, and making the grave deep enough, and wide enough for all three women.

  He was nearly finished when a feminine voice cut through the peaceful silence, startling him, shocking him with her brazen words. “Sweet heaven. Are all men as hard as you?”

  Lucy had never seen anything as beautiful as the knight whose muscles flexed so tightly as he shoveled the rich, black earth. He was big and broad, though his body narrowed quite elegantly at the hips. His legs were long, with muscles so different from her own, that Lucy had to look down at herself to see if they were even vaguely similar. They were not.

  An odd sensation shot through her as she looked at him. ’Twas not exactly pleasant, but somehow…compelling.

  Lucy ached. Her shoulder was scraped raw, and bruised. One of her knees—the weak one—was purple and swollen. She felt weak and shaken by the attack, yet there was no time for weakness, for weeping or uselessness. She had forced herself to stand, to wring out her sodden kirtle and compose herself. She could not bear to think of the arrow that pierced Sister Gunnora’s neck, or the blood that welled from the wound on Sister Avice’s back just before she’d been thrown from the wagon.

  For the first time in twelve years, Lucy was all alone, only to find herself beholden to this fierce knight-rescuer. And if everything Elsbeth had said about The World was true, Lucy needed to keep a firm hold upon her wits.

  Which was not what she’d done when she’d blurted out the first thought that had come to mind when she’d cast her eyes upon the magnificent knight wearing naught but a damp undertunic and hose. She would be more circumspect in future.

  Lucy wrapped her arms around herself and sighed. The knight had given her a fleeting glance when she spoke, but turned back to his task, tightening his muscles even more, if that were possible. She was certain he had heard her question, for she saw his face flush red before he turned back to his work, and Lucy knew then that she’d misspoken.

  Feeling heat rise to her own cheeks, she turned away too, and decided ’twould be best to ignore it. The day had been fair strange up until now, and one foolish blush did naught to change matters.

  The poor old nuns with whom she traveled were dead. Lucy had not known them well, but she would never have wished such an end upon them. They were good and saintly women, though. Surely the Lord would welcome them into His kingdom.

  But Lady Elsbeth… The abbess had called her wicked and wanton. Lucy wondered if Elsbeth would be doomed to spend eternity in Satan’s domain. She had not been particularly close to Elsbeth, but the stories of her escapades had been intriguing. She had made Lucy yearn even more for the freedom that might be found outside Craghaven Abbey.

  Uttering a silent prayer for Elsbeth’s eternal soul, Lucy began to pick up the few items of clothes that had spilled from the boxes on the wagon. All the crockery was ruined, as were the wooden trunks that had been in the wagon. Naught was left intact, not even her spare kirtle, which had caught on something sharp and was torn beyond use.

  Life had been disrupted beyond recognition, and for the first time in Lucy’s memory, she had to consider what to do.

  ’Twas a daunting thought. Her course had been so clear a mere hour ago, but now she did not know what to do.

  She picked up a dry kirtle from the ground, located a few rags and a chemise from the rubble, and took them to a secluded place near the fen. There, she peeled away her own sodden clothes, wiped herself dry with the rags at hand, and dressed in Elsbeth’s clean linen chemise and simple blue kirtle.

  Lucy pulled her long braid apart, wincing with the movement of her shoulder. Switching hands, she used her fingers to comb through her mane of curly, light-colored hair, and realized that it was no longer necessary to cover it in the fashion of the Craghaven nuns. Certainly, a head covering would be most appropriate, but if she left the nunnery and went to seek her fortune… Lucy suddenly felt light-headed. She sat down hard on an overturned log and put her head down, taking a few deep breaths.

  For years, she had wished to be freed from the confines of the cloister, and this was the opportunity to do so. She was not about to let it pass her by.

  Chapter Two

  Horses’ hoofs pounded the ground in the distance. Alex threw his shovel into his saddle pack, grabbed Rusa’s reins and led the sturdy mare into the forest, away from the road. Quickly, he made his way to the mucky fen where he assumed he’d find the young woman. As much as he wanted to, he could not leave her here unprotected, if any more thieves—or Skelton’s men—were about.

  Alex did not mean to frighten her, but she gave a startled cry when he came upon her, whirling ’round to face him. She was now dressed in something dry, a modest kirtle that contrasted with the golden shimmer of her long, wavy hair.

  Alex swallowed. It had been years—mayhap a lifetime—since he’d seen anything quite so lovely and soft as this—

  “You—”

  He cut her off, grabbing her and covering her mouth with his hand before sh
e could make any other sound. Half carrying her, he started moving, pulling her deep into the forest. She did not struggle against him, and when Alex removed his hand from her mouth, she surprised him by keeping silent, holding still.

  “Riders are coming,” he said in a low voice, stepping away from her. Keeping his eyes safely averted from her comely form, he tied Rusa in place. “Stay here.”

  Alex made his way silently back toward the broken wagon and the new grave. He remained hidden and watched as three riders approached the wreckage.

  His instincts had been correct. They were the same three who had caught on to him near Doncaster. They had the look of Skelton’s knights, wearing black tunics marked with a white lion over their hauberks. ’Twas all the proof Alex needed to confirm that Skelton knew something of the valuable relic that rested within Sir Roger’s scabbard.

  These men would be well-trained knights, and fiercely loyal to their lord. Alex doubted he’d be the one to emerge victorious from a meeting of these three in battle. Nay, he would have to avoid a confrontation so that he could fulfill his promise to Roger Kendal.

  Alex glanced back toward the place where he’d left the woman. If she continued to cooperate, he stood a chance of eluding the men again and keeping her safe. They would keep to the forest paths and avoid the road.

  And he would leave her in the first village they came to.

  Content with this plan, he turned his gaze on the road and observed as Skelton’s men turned over the bodies of the dead thieves, picked through the debris that had fallen from the wagon and spoke quietly together over the fresh grave. One of them pointed ahead, in the direction Alex was taking, and Alex knew for certain that he would have to follow another path to Eryngton. Somehow, they knew his destination.

  As Skelton’s men remounted, Alex felt something solid touch his shoulder. He whipped his body around, poised to fight, and groaned in dismay when he saw that he’d only managed to knock the small nun to the ground. Her brow creased for an instant, and she looked as if she would call out. Alex dropped to his knees beside her and covered her mouth again with his hand, just as she began to speak.

  He shook his head and gestured for her to keep silent. She became still, and he removed his hand. Mindful of Skelton’s men standing nearby, Alex put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “’Twould be best to avoid these men. They…” She turned slightly, putting her face a mere inch from his. Her lashes were dark gold, growing thick around sky-blue eyes. Her breath was warm on his face, her skin flawless.

  Alex jerked away from her, and rose quickly to his feet. “Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae….” he muttered, turning away to stare absently at the road, toward anything that would force his mind from the unsuitable thoughts that tried to form against his will.

  Skelton’s men were gone.

  In frustration, Alex dug his fingers through his hair, unable to believe he’d missed hearing them mount up and ride away. Something was not right. Why had they left the site so quickly? They’d taken barely a moment to look over the broken wagon, the grave and the debris.

  With certainty, he knew they’d be back. The dead thieves in mail hauberks and the fresh grave would make them curious. They would follow the road in hopes of catching up to him, but when it became clear that he had not ridden ahead, they would return.

  Alex stole a quick glance at the woman, and saw her rising awkwardly to her feet.

  “Come on!” They had to hurry. He pulled her the rest of the way up, then took her hand and dragged her deeper into the woods. When they reached his horse, he wasted no time, but picked her up and tossed her unceremoniously upon Rusa’s back. With his heart pounding in his chest, Alex jumped up behind her, reached around her body to grab the reins, then trotted deeper into the woods.

  Alex glanced back to assure himself that they were not being followed, and so far, all was well. Then he remembered her wet clothes. She had changed out of her sodden kirtle, and must have left it by the fen. Would Skelton’s men discover it? What would they think…that the gown had been thrown when the wagon was smashed?

  “We need to put some distance between us and the men on horseback.”

  “You mean the black knights?” she asked. Alex kicked his heels into the mare’s sides, causing the woman to throw one arm around Alex’s neck to hold on.

  “Aye,” he said, clipping the word short. Inuring himself against the sensations that shot through him when her soft body pressed against his, he muttered a quiet prayer. Certainly his reaction to her touch was not the response a monk should have. He drew back from her embrace and tore his gaze from hers.

  “Your eyes are the color of the moss by the fen,” she said. The clear, rich timbre of her voice vibrated through her chest to his own. Her expression was entirely ingenuous, fascinated. Her stare, unwavering.

  Alex’s throat went dry, making it impossible to reply. She leaned into him, reaching up to touch his beard.

  He grabbed her wrist in his fist and prevented any further stroking, causing a return of the now familiar crease between her brows again. She studied him for a moment, then leaned slightly to the side, her eyes alighting on something over his shoulder.

  “They’re coming,” she said.

  The forest was thick enough to provide good cover, but if the nun had seen Skelton’s men, the reverse was possible, too. Alex did not stop to think, but urged Rusa into a gallop. Though he was unfamiliar with this part of the Yorkshire terrain, his mare was sure-footed and could be trusted to stay a fair distance ahead of their pursuers. With God’s grace, he would find a way to elude the men who would like nothing better than to steal Sir Roger’s artifact.

  “Hang on,” he said.

  The nun wrapped both arms around Alex. ’Twas no wonder the Rule dictated that women were to be avoided. If every monk came into such close contact…

  “You’ve lost them,” she said against his chest.

  He spared a quick glance behind them, and did not see anyone pursuing. Still, he kept Rusa at a full run. He knew the black knights could not be far behind.

  “Are they after you or me?” she asked.

  “Me, for certain,” he said. “Though ’tis possible they seek you as well.”

  “Why me?”

  Alex cleared his throat. The woman was innocent, pure. She’d been sheltered behind her nunnery walls and likely knew little or naught of men’s ways. And Alex did not relish the thought of being the one to enlighten her. “These men are ruthless,” he said gruffly.

  She blinked once, then pulled back to look up into his eyes. She was not as young as he’d first thought, but her naiveté was unmistakable. She had no idea of the perils she would face once he left her.

  “If they thought you were a woman alone…er, women don’t usually travel without escort. And men—soldiers—have been known to…to…”

  “To rape women in my position?” she asked.

  There was that blush again, starting at the knight’s neck, rising to his face, and coloring the tips of his ears. Lucy realized that she had misspoken once again. Mayhap rape was one of those subjects that men and women did not discuss together.

  But she needed to know. She would not always have this man to protect her, and the abbey had done naught to prepare her for life outside its walls. There would be much to learn, and Lucy believed ’twould serve her well to discover all she could from this noble knight. He was her champion, her guardian, but he would not stay with her forever.

  “Have you a name, Sir Knight?” she asked.

  “Alexander Breton,” he replied as the horse took flight over a fallen log. The jump caused his speech to be cut short and Lucy grabbed his leg to hold on, oblivious to the man’s sharp intake of breath. The horse’s jarring gait made her shoulder ache, but the joyful freedom and tremendous speed of the ride made her little pains seem insignificant.

  “I am Lucy,” she said. “Lucy of Craghaven.”

  She studied his face, watching as his ja
w clamped down once more. His cheekbones were sharp, his nose a blade that was neither too long, nor femininely short. Solemn purpose was in his eyes, and in the set of his jaw—what she could see of it past his heavy, dark beard. She wondered if he’d known the black knights were nearby when he’d stopped to help her and the nuns.

  “I am sorry you were waylaid by my troubles, Sir Alexander,” she said. “Those men…what do they want of you?”

  He hesitated for a moment. “I…gave them some trouble last night. They intend to retaliate.”

  Lucy sensed that he wasn’t being entirely honest with her. Sir Alex may have given the black knights trouble, but that was not why he thought they were following him.

  “Will they keep after us all the way through the forest?”

  He did not reply directly, but Lucy heard him whispering Latin words to himself in a low voice. He kept his eyes focused upon the terrain ahead, and very deliberately plucked her hand from his thigh, placing it upon the edge of the saddle.

  Lucy grabbed hold and hung on as they galloped, frequently looking over his shoulder to watch for any sign of riders behind them. The ride was exhilarating, if a bit frightening, and Lucy felt as if she were flying. She would have laughed aloud if only the black knights had not been in pursuit. For the first time in her life, she was not poor, lame Lucy. She was just a woman, riding a horse…with her own handsome knight.

  Not that Sir Alexander was hers, but she would allow herself to dream as long the ride lasted.

  His hair was long and sleek, the dark mass held at the nape of his neck by a leather thong. Lucy wondered how it would feel if she touched it, but she knew he would not allow it. He held himself distinctly apart from her—other than allowing the minimum contact necessary to keep her from falling.

  Sir Alex finally slowed his horse and turned east. Keeping a steady pace, he took them through a much denser wood, where there was no path and the ground was littered with low brush and new saplings. The mare picked its way across the forest floor until they reached a rocky wall. ’Twas only about twice the height of a man, but impassable.