[The deBurghs 07] - Reynold De Burgh: The Dark Knight

by Deborah Simmons

  Sabina said little, for the plan was not what she had expected. Although she had blind faith in Lord de Burgh’s ability to dispatch the worm, she had never considered exactly how he would do so. Vaguely, she imagined him pulling a mighty sword from a jewelled scabbard to slay the beast single-handedly, like the heroes of lore. But now she realised just how difficult that would be.

  And this talk of bait and tricks added to her discomfort. Sabina had been content in her ignorance, but the conversation made her aware of the harsh realities of any battle with the beast. And for the first time since she begged Lord de Burgh to rescue her, Sabina wondered at what kind of danger she would put him in.

  She knew how deadly the creature could be, and yet, she had felt no qualm asking for this knight’s help. Now she looked across the table at the man who would risk his life for her and felt a pang, of guilt and something else. Fear for him.

  At that moment, the rest of the small band arrived, Adele with their food, Ursula to take a seat near her, and Urban to stand, as if on guard. Sabina tried to concentrate on them, their safety and the future of Grim’s End. But doubt pricked at her, where none had been before, and she picked at her food as Urban made some rude comment about Lord de Burgh’s absence during the dragon’s attack.

  ‘Yet my trip to Sandborn was not wholly wasted, for we did speak with a man from Grim’s End who saw the beast,’ Lord de Burgh said. He proceeded to describe something even more horrible than Sabina’s imaginings, and her heart began to pound. Ursula gasped, and even Alec’s eyes grew round as saucers.

  ‘So at last you believe,’ Urban said, smugly.

  ‘Who was it? Who told you this?’ Sabina demanded.

  ‘His name was Gamel,’ Peregrine answered.

  ‘Gamel? Gamel Cyneric?’ Alec said. ‘Why, he’s just a mad old man.’

  ‘Alec!’ Adele admonished the boy. And Sabina felt her tension ease, for Gamel was hardly a trustworthy source of information.

  ‘He’s not a bad man,’ Alec said. ‘The children all liked him because he told stories. But they were wild tales of pirates and tall marauders who came over the sea and old kings buried with their riches.’

  Ursula appeared startled, and Sabina turned toward her attendant. ‘Do you not share kinship with Gamel?’ she asked.

  ‘’Tis a feeble tie at best,’ Ursula answered, with a sniff.

  ‘I can show you where the blacksmith used to work,’ Alec offered, obviously dismissing Gamel’s claims. And soon all the males trooped from the hall, except for Urban, who snatched up a hunk of the cheese from the new supplies and walked towards the window, as though to keep an eye upon the others from the protection of the manor.

  As soon as the steward stepped away from the table, Ursula leaned close. ‘I heard Lord de Burgh’s footsteps outside our door this morn,’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’ Sabina asked, flustered.

  ‘He was standing outside our room. He must have been waiting for you and then followed you down to the hall.’ Ursula leaned back as though she had made an astounding pronouncement, but Sabina did not grasp the significance.

  As if exasperated with her, Ursula leaned close again. ‘That is why I waited to follow you. I wanted to give you a few moments alone together.’ She gave Sabina a sly smile. ‘Well? What happened?’

  Nothing happened. And nothing would happen, Sabina thought, flushing. It was time she put an end to her attendant’s matchmaking.

  ‘Ursula, you must stop this nonsense. Whether Lord de Burgh rises early or late means naught. And there is no need for your machinations. I have no wish to speak privately with him.’ Had Ursula seen her run to him last night? Had they all? Sabina tried to remember who was next to her in the darkness, but there had been too much confusion.

  To Sabina’s relief, Ursula made no mention of the fire or what had transpired there. But she refused to drop the subject of Lord de Burgh. ‘He is a handsome man, a knight and a lord, and you are a beautiful young woman. I can be forgiven for trying to help things along, that is all.’

  Sabina shook her head. ‘Your actions are making me uncomfortable and disturbing our guest, too, a man who is under no obligation to help us.’

  Ursula sniffed, offended. ‘Bah! You have not seen how he eyes you, like a starving man might.’

  Sabina felt a jolt of surprise, but ignored the temptation to hear more. She had seen no such hungry looks from Lord de Burgh, and Ursula was known to twist a tale to suit her listener’s desires, though not as much as her kinsman Gamel.

  Rather than argue, Sabina sought a conciliatory tone. ‘For all we know, he has a betrothed waiting for him, or a wife, or even a child,’ she said, though the words stuck in her throat.

  ‘Bah! I don’t believe it, but I shall ask his squire.’

  ‘Ursula! Don’t you dare,’ Sabina warned. All she needed was for word to get back to Lord de Burgh of Ursula’s continued meddling.

  ‘As you say, mistress,’ Ursula said, ducking in her head. ‘But you are no longer young, and Julian Fabre has been gone for a long time.’

  Sabina drew in a sharp breath at the mention of the name she had forbidden her attendant to speak. ‘He is dead,’ she said, unwilling to continue the discussion.

  ‘Either way, it is time you took an interest in someone else,’ Ursula said.

  With a fierce glance, Sabina effectively silenced her attendant, but her thoughts were not so easily stilled. In truth, though Sabina was not about to admit it to Ursula, she had never taken an interest in anyone…until Lord de Burgh arrived.

  Reynold did not like the errand that was upon him this morn. Yesterday, they had gone to the blacksmith’s to find the forge still in place, but no iron to work. And Reynold knew the size of the task required someone with skill, else it would take too long to make and might not hold when the time came.

  He had no choice but to commission a chain from a blacksmith, which meant leaving Grim’s End, a mission he was loathe to undertake. How could he guard Mistress Sexton when she was not with him? Yet it made no sense for her to accompany him, especially since he did not have the men to protect her on the road.

  For an instant, Reynold had considered taking them all with him, but he had dismissed the notion as unfeasible and risky. It would be just his luck to return to find the village burned to the ground while they were away.

  He could send Peregrine, but even if able to bargain with the smith, the brave lad could easily be waylaid, his purse stolen, or worse. Unpalatable as it might be, Reynold could see only one solution: he must go alone, leaving Peregrine to act in his stead. And he would go now, at dawn, in order to avoid any arguments and goodbyes.

  Shaking Peregrine awake, he spoke softly of his intentions to the wide-eyed boy, who rose up from his pallet, protesting valiantly. ‘But my vow! I swore to the l’Estranges that I would accompany you always.’

  ‘And you shall, my squire, but not today,’ Reynold said. ‘I need someone trustworthy to watch over Mistress Sexton, should the dragon appear in my absence.’

  That silenced the boy, who nodded gravely.

  ‘There is no need to reveal my whereabouts immediately, lest you worry the women,’ Reynold added. ‘However, do not let them search the village for me either. Your concern is with them.’

  Peregrine nodded again, and Reynold slipped out the door and through the silent manor far easier than he had Campion. For here there were no servants stirring in the hall, nor stablemen to notice him taking his horse.

  He had thought to return to Sandborn since he had become familiar with the small village, but the attack along the road made him hesitate. No doubt the brigand had moved on, but Reynold had no time to waste with a petty villain. Not when he had something far more dangerous to fight.

  Heading south instead, he reached Baderton more quickly than Sandborn and easily found the blacksmith’s. There he was able to purchase a helmet and a shield, though smaller than he liked, from the man’s meagre stock, along with some items for his squire.
He commissioned another, larger shield, in addition to the chain, which required some haggling.

  The blacksmith, a quiet sort who was well pleased with Reynold’s coin, did not question the intended use of so large a shackle, though he did advise Reynold to have a strong cart ready when he came to pick it up. And who would lift it? That question lay between them both, unspoken. Although Reynold knew one possible answer, he was not sure whether he wanted to pursue it.

  Loading Sirius up with his goods, Reynold stood in the roadway, uncertain. No one here knew that he was from Grim’s End, so he received no suspicious or fearful looks. And as a de Burgh, he could inquire at the manor house, talk with the master of the hall, and find out about the politics of the area, including why the liege lord was not doing his duty by the people of Grim’s End. He might even be able to garner support from the local leader. And perhaps someone in that household would take a message home…to Campion.

  He could ask for help.

  Reynold had thought long and hard about whether he should contact his family. And if so, what he should say—that his pilgrimage had been interrupted by a dragon? His lips curved at the thought of the reaction that might bring. While some might think he had lost his mind, Simon would be here in an instant, hoping to fight it himself. Indeed, Reynold would do better to contact Robin or Stephen, those brothers least likely to come haring after him.

  Reynold followed the track to the manor house, squinting at the old-fashioned stone building until Sirius grew restless beneath him, and still he had not made a decision. Here in this strange village, he felt a sharp yearning for his brothers, for their company, their wisdom and their aid. And there was no doubt in his mind that with the might of the de Burghs behind him, he could slay any beast, accomplish anything. None had yet bested them.

  Still, he hesitated. He had left Campion for a reason. If he called upon them now, he would not so easily escape a second time. And he did not want them to leave their families in order to take on a dangerous task that was solely his responsibility. The l’Estranges had deemed this his quest, and though Reynold would not term it such, he was loathe to involve others.

  In the end it did not matter, for he was turned away from the manor, one of several owned by a Lord Cyppe, a baron who could not be bothered with the petty concerns of the villagers. And, as Reynold headed toward Grim’s End, he felt a sense of relief that he would continue this undertaking himself.

  Still, he missed Peregrine’s cheering presence, for this track, too, was deserted, especially when he neared the empty village. Perhaps Peregrine was not as versed in battle as Will, his former squire, but Reynold appreciated the boy far more. Had Reynold once thought him mute? More often than not, Peregrine chattered like a magpie, full of questions and opinions that Reynold’s former squire would never have voiced.

  As Reynold reached the outskirts of the village, a deathly quiet seemed to descend, as though the dragon drove away all other birds and beasts. But Reynold knew that wasn’t true, especially when a hare skittered from beneath some bushes to cross his path. Still, there was no denying the eeriness, and Reynold knew the familiar feeling of being watched. This time, instead of shaking it off, he looked carefully about.

  Behind him the road was empty, and ahead lay Grim’s End. To the right he could glimpse the sea in the distance, and meadows rose to his left. Searching out the source of the sensation, Reynold abandoned the pathway, moving around the village and the tall grasses that marked the pond, keeping alert for any movement. But he saw no sign of man or beast. He even squinted into the sky lest the worm be watching him from above. But all he saw was the clear blue of Mistress Sexton’s eyes, and he urged his mount towards the stables, back to her.

  Leaving Sirius to wait for Peregrine’s grooming, Reynold strode towards the manor. At first glance, nothing appeared to be amiss, for he heard no roars, saw no fires and smelled no smoke. Yet he realised he would not be at ease until he saw her, whole and well. He slipped through the kitchens silently, pausing before the hall, relaxing only when he saw the glimmer of her golden hair.

  They were all gathered together in the eerie quiet of the hall. Urban was standing at the window, looking out, the boys were huddled in a corner, in conversation, and the women were seated near the table.

  ‘He’s back!’ Alec’s voice rang out. But as Reynold stepped into the room, his attention was focused solely on the mistress of the household. Upon seeing him, she half-rose from her chair, a cry upon her lips. Then, as though collecting herself, she sank back into her seat.

  Reynold’s pleasure at finding her safe was tempered by her greeting, far different from the one he had received upon his last return to Grim’s End. But what did he expect? That she would throw herself into his arms again? That night she had been besieged. Now all was quiet, and she could see clearly in the light of day who—and what—he was.

  Although Reynold wanted nothing more than to hold out his arms for a more welcome greeting, he did not. While Urban and Alec pelted him with questions, Mistress Sexton said nothing, only watched him with huge eyes, her hands clasped in her lap. And Reynold could not complain, for this was what he expected, what he knew, and far preferable to some unusual favour that meant nothing. Yet his heart felt heavy. Answering little, he signalled for Peregrine to join him as he headed back towards the kitchens.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Mistress Sexton finally spoke, though it was a whisper.

  ‘To the stables to tend to my horse,’ Reynold said. He did not wait for further comment, but turned on his heel to stride back the way he had come. All this long day he had been eager to return, yet now he wanted only to escape the eerie atmosphere of the hall and its few inhabitants.

  ‘What is it?’ Peregrine asked, hurrying to keep up with Reynold’s long strides. ‘Were you attacked again?’

  ‘No, I went to Baderton, and the journey was uneventful. I commissioned the chain and picked up a few other items that you may help me unload.’

  Peregrine nodded, though he still gave Reynold a questioning glance. Indeed, the squire might have said more, but his thoughts were soon diverted by what Reynold withdrew from his pack.

  ‘For you,’ Reynold said. ‘It is high time you learned how to handle yourself.’

  ‘But, my lord,’ Peregrine protested, his voice full of wonder, ‘this is a fine sword, fit for a knight.’ He looked up at Reynold, his dark eyes filling, and Reynold felt his own throat tighten.

  ‘And how am I to fend off all manner of attack upon Grim’s End by myself?’ Reynold asked. ‘I trust not to Master Urban and his pitchfork.’

  Peregrine laughed, but the sound was shaky, and Reynold slapped him on the back. ‘Now put on your new helm, and you shall learn a thing or two.’

  Blinking, Peregrine nodded, apparently struck speechless for the first time in weeks. And as he taught the boy how to hold the weapon, Reynold remembered his own tutoring from his brothers, often couched in goading and taunts, but treasured none the less. How old had Nick, the last of them, been when he’d handled his first sword? They had all been young, getting an early start and benefiting from the skills of the older de Burghs.

  Now Reynold welcomed the familiar heft in his hand of a weapon that was nearly an extension of himself. And as he wielded it with expertise, slicing through the gathering twilight with precision, all thoughts of Mistress Sexton and even food were forgotten.

  For this was what he knew. This was his life.

  Chapter Eight

  R eynold knelt beside Mistress Sexton, trying not to breathe in her sweet perfume above the scents of the garden, and wondered how he had ended up alone with her here in a leafy bower hidden by tall plants. But he knew there was no help for it.

  Ursula and Adele were tending the garden behind the hall, the boys were setting a fish trap in the pond, and he had not seen Urban for some time. Had the man grown annoyed with Reynold’s constant presence? Although Reynold was weary of Urban’s biting remarks, they served a purpose, often prev
enting private conversation with Mistress Sexton.

  Now Reynold had that in abundance. But when she wanted to work another small patch of garden among the abandoned homes of the village, Reynold could hardly let her go alone. And so he listened as she spoke of the villagers she had held dear, her childhood and the father she had loved. And he found himself wishing to be a part of that group, someone who caused her voice to dip lower and softer with affection. Then, realising his foolishness, he wanted to block out the very sound of her, to prevent himself from learning any more about Mistress Sexton.

  For this kind of closeness was dangerous. It fostered hopes and wishes that he had no business dwelling upon, dreams he had long abandoned, desires he had long denied. When she was so near, speaking to him easily, Reynold found himself relaxing, weakening, succumbing to her charms. Having no wish to join his squire and her man in languishing after Mistress Sexton, Reynold tried to harden himself against her. But the cool façade he had cultivated in order to keep his distance from others seemed to crumble in her presence.

  Although Reynold turned his attention to the task she had set him to, that was no easier. First, she had showed him how to tell the difference between the shoots of plants and the weeds that must be removed, then how to tell what was ripe and ready to be picked. She had demonstrated gently, with her own pale hands, which drew Reynold’s gaze like honey a bee.

  Leaning back on his heels, Reynold squinted up at the sky, but it only reminded him of the blue of her eyes, and he grunted in annoyance. If only she would do something to prove his theory, by shouting at her servants, wasting food, telling lies…But she did not. Still, Reynold refused to reconsider his life lesson that all beautiful women were spoiled, selfish and deceitful. Mistress Sexton might appear to be none of those things, yet why was she here alone, with none to defend her except a passing knight?