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

by Deborah Simmons

  ‘Not something, but someone. The longer Sabina lingered, the more I began to think I might have use of her,’ Julian said, and he suddenly lunged forwards.

  But Lord de Burgh easily deflected his sword, and Julian backed away, smiling. ‘I see that little Sabina has found her knight, at last, after long years of pining after a hero from the romances, someone full of nobility and honour. In short, a creature that has nothing to do with real men and real battles.’

  ‘Perhaps ’tis you who has little to do with what makes a man,’ Lord de Burgh suggested.

  Julian’s mouth twisted. ‘Yes, I see that she has her knight,’ he said. ‘Too bad he’s a cripple.’

  Sabina gasped as Julian swung his sword, but Lord de Burgh did not waver, deflecting the blow while seeking an opening, intent solely upon his enemy.

  Again the swords clashed, a horrible sound in the stillness of early evening, and Sabina realised that Julian, though slighter, was more agile, quick and clever, spitting out taunts to distract his opponent. But Lord de Burgh was larger, steadier and implacable. He had the greater strength…as long as his leg held.

  The thought made Sabina’s breath catch, and she blinked in horror. Not now, she thought. Not when Lord de Burgh might be killed. She tried to concentrate on his tall form, but when Julian’s blade sliced too close, it was too much for her.

  She began to tremble and shiver, both hot and cold, and as the fear overwhelmed her, she couldn’t breath. Faint now, she hunched upon the grass, seeking great gulps of air, while Peregrine and Ursula clutched at her, trying to help. But there was nothing anyone could do, except Lord de Burgh, and the thought of him only worsened her state until the painful sounds of her gasping must have reached the fighting men.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sabina?’ Julian called. ‘Afraid I’m going to hurt your noble knight?’

  While Lord de Burgh had paid no heed to Julian’s earlier taunts, he flicked a glance towards her now. It lasted only an instant, but that was long enough for Julian to lift his sword with both hands, swinging hard at Lord de Burgh’s neck, trying to decapitate him.

  As Sabina froze in horror, Lord de Burgh danced out of the way, but Julian’s blade sliced through his tunic, revealing a crimson stain. His shoulder was cut.

  Sabina blinked, her vision so blurred that she was not sure what was happening. She only heard Julian gloating, already proclaiming his victory as the swords clanged again. And then Julian, with the cunning Sabina had expected, thrust out a foot, as though to kick Lord de Burgh’s bad leg out from underneath him. But somehow Lord de Burgh managed to use the action against his opponent. The blow meant to knock him from his feet caught Julian off balance, and he fell on to his back in the grass.

  Before Sabina realised what had happened, Lord de Burgh had his foot upon Julian’s wrist and his sword at Julian’s throat, demanding surrender. At the thought that the battle was over, Sabina began to breathe again. But then she saw the glint of metal as Julian’s left hand produced a blade. And ’twas not any blade, but a devious device, one he had crafted himself or obtained in foreign lands. Although Sabina could not see it closely, even she could tell that the narrow weapon was intended to slip through chain mail.

  A cry lodged in Sabina’s throat as Julian thrust it upwards, but at the last minute Lord de Burgh twisted his body. And instead of plunging into his gut, the knife sliced through a pouch that hung from Lord de Burgh’s belt, spilling its contents into the air. From where Sabina knelt, the setting sun’s rays caught tiny bits of what looked like powder, yet when they drifted on to Julian, who lay below, he began screaming.

  ‘What is it, lye?’ Alec asked, his voice cracking with horror.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Peregrine said in hushed tones. ‘’Twas something given to him by the l’Estranges, so it could be magic.’

  Whether simple lye or some enchanted dust, it must have burned Julian, for his arms flailed, as if to brush it off. Then he clutched at his eyes and writhed upwards, effectively cutting his own throat. Still, he was able to heave himself forwards, knocking Lord de Burgh to the ground, and they struggled, blood flowing over them.

  Too stricken to watch, Sabina turned her head away only to see Urban charging at the residents of Grim’s End, pitchfork in hand. He was coming directly towards her, and Sabina, dazed and weary, could only stare as certain death approached. But then she was rolled aside, and it was Peregrine that was struck by the weapon.

  The sight of Lord de Burgh’s young squire prone, maybe even dead, gave Sabina new strength. She leapt at the pitchfork, but it danced around wildly. A glance told her that Alec had thrown himself upon Urban’s back.

  ‘Get off me!’ Urban muttered. ‘We must take what we can before the rest of them come. That’s why I used the bellows to alert you all.’

  ‘To alert Julian,’ Ursula said, and she and Adele hurled chunks of stone at the steward until he lost his footing and Alec jumped free. Urban fell, striking his head on one of the heavy stones with a final gasp.

  Sabina drew in a long, shuddering breath, unable to do aught else for one long moment. But then she was roused by a new sound and turned to see a group of men on horseback veer off the road towards where the last residents of Grim’s End waited.

  ‘’Tis the rest of them that Urban mentioned,’ Alec said, his eyes wide.

  Sabina could only stare, as well. There were so many of them, all dark and mailed and heavily armed, that she knew that there would be no fending off Julian’s companions with pieces of the crumbling church.

  But the first man’s massive horse did not even pause in its gait as it went by them, as if both they and the treasure itself were insignificant. Instead, the beast stopped where Lord de Burgh lay, covered in blood, a lifeless Julian by his side.

  ‘Ho, brother, we have come to aid you,’ the man on the horse said. Lifting his helm, he revealed a handsome face that bore no little resemblance to Lord de Burgh. ‘What say you?’ he asked.

  Sabina had no breath left to gasp as Lord de Burgh rose on one elbow, clutching his shoulder, to grunt in answer, ‘Your timing could have been better.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  R eynold smiled as he looked out over Sexton manor’s hall, which was no longer empty, but full of the residents of Grim’s End, members of the de Burgh train and his brothers. Surely, he had never seen such a welcome sight as Dunstan looming over him, offering aid as he lay wounded. At first, Reynold had thought himself dreaming, and, indeed, after answering his brother, he had promptly lost consciousness.

  But now he was awake and whole and seated on a bench at the trestle table, while Mistress Sexton stood beside him, tending to his shoulder. And after weeks spent isolated in an abandoned village, he was eager for the things he once had decried: people, talk, family.

  They were all here. They said that Campion had been against everyone travelling together, but no one wanted to be left behind. As eldest, Dunstan had led the train, which meant that either Simon had mellowed since his marriage or the two were at loggerheads throughout the journey.

  ‘But how did you know where to find me?’ Reynold asked. He threw the question into the buzz of chatter, and at the sound of his voice, those around him quieted.

  ‘You should know better than to start something with the locals,’ Simon said, with a snort.

  ‘What? But there is no one here except Mistress Sexton and a handful of residents,’ Reynold said. ‘They are all who are left of Grim’s End.’

  Stephen shuddered as though the very idea made his skin crawl. ‘Well, yes, but you had to complain to Cyppe about it.’

  Cyppe? For a moment Reynold was at a loss. Then he remembered his visit to Baderton, where he had commissioned the dragon’s chain and tried to speak to those who held the manor there. ‘But I didn’t even talk to anyone. I was turned away at the door.’

  ‘A de Burgh turned away,’ Robin muttered.

  ‘Fools!’ Dunstan said.

  ‘He didn’t know who he was dealing with,
’ Simon said, his lips curling.

  ‘What? Slow down,’ Reynold said.

  ‘Whoever turned you away at the door must have sent a report to Lord Cyppe, who then sent a message to Campion telling Father to keep his nose out of his business,’ Geoff explained.

  ‘What?’ Reynold barked out a laugh.

  ‘Yes, he was just asking for trouble,’ Nicholas said, with a grin.

  ‘Naturally, Father was curious,’ Geoffrey said.

  ‘Naturally,’ Reynold repeated, his lips curving.

  ‘And he contacted his friend Welsham.’

  ‘Welsham, as in the Earl of Welsham?’ Reynold asked.

  Geoffrey nodded. ‘He just happened to be Cyppe’s liege lord, so Welsham did a little investigating of his own and found out that his estates were being woefully mismanaged.’

  ‘Imagine his disgust,’ Stephen said. ‘Welsham’s away at war in Wales, fighting for his country, while Cyppe is neglecting his duties, playing at court and spending his liege lord’s fortune.’

  ‘So Welsham stripped Cyppe of his lands,’ Dunstan said, with a slow smile. ‘And all thanks to you, brother.’

  ‘Well, if it brings his attention to the situation here, then I am glad of it,’ Reynold said, but as he spoke, he felt Mistress Sexton’s fingers falter in their bandaging. And he realised that with the dragon dead, there was no reason for him to remain here. His brothers would expect him to return with them…home to Campion.

  Reynold knew he should say something, but what? And already Dunstan was barrelling ahead. ‘If we are to have a feast, we will need more supplies than those we brought with us,’ the eldest de Burgh said. He ate like a horse and probably could have consumed all of the village’s provisions single-handedly. ‘Perhaps I should make a trip to this Baderton tomorrow.’

  Several of his brothers volunteered to go along on the journey, leaving Reynold free to stay here, at least for one more day…‘Good idea,’ Reynold said. ‘I have a commission at the blacksmith’s that you can pick up for me, as well.’

  Again, Mistress Sexton’s fingers faltered, but she said nothing, while Dunstan nodded, oblivious to the undercurrents between them.

  ‘Thank you, brother,’ Reynold said. ‘Oh, and you’d better take a cart with you.’

  ‘What ails Dunstan?’ Nicholas asked. Although he had not gone on the journey to Baderton, the youngest de Burgh had been restless all day and now stood watching at the windows of the hall for the others to return.

  Professing ignorance, Reynold rose to join him at the window, where he saw that Dunstan had halted the train in front of the manor and was now leaping to the ground as though pricked by his saddle.

  Biting back a smile, Reynold moved to the doors and went outside, followed by Nicholas and the others who had remained behind. There they met a scowling Dunstan, who stopped before Reynold, elbows akimbo.

  ‘Well, I’ve got it, but I don’t know what the hell you’re going to do with it,’ he said.

  Reynold burst out laughing, while everyone crowded around the cart that held a chain so large it could have no possible use. Reynold only wished Peregrine was here to see the end result of all their discussions of worm lore.

  ‘Perhaps you should hang it over your doors as a warning to all who would enter,’ Nicholas suggested, glancing at the manor.

  ‘Likely ’twould fall and kill someone,’ Stephen said, drily.

  But Reynold frowned, puzzled over the reference to his doors. Did they expect him to cart the chain back to Campion? His mood having soured, he said nothing, but returned to the hall, where the supplies Dunstan had brought were soon put to good use.

  When the food was prepared and the table piled high, Reynold called everyone into the hall, even those who would serve the feast, while Peregrine was carried down from his bed to be given the seat of honour. He looked curious, but pleased as he was settled into the chair that had belonged to Mistress Sexton’s father, a seat that had long stood vacant.

  Then Reynold stood back to address those who filled the room. ‘Residents of Grim’s End, my brothers, and all who would travel with them, I would have you witness this momentous occasion,’ Reynold called out. ‘As a de Burgh, son of Fawke, Earl of Campion, and a knight, I am here to commend my squire, Peregine l’Estrange, for bravery in battle, for intelligence and strength and skill in weaponry, but most of all for his great heart.’

  Peregrine glanced at him in surprise, and Reynold smiled, his throat suddenly thick as he drew his sword. ‘Thus, I would raise him to knighthood.’

  Peregrine’s expression of shock made Reynold bite back a smile as he faced the youth soberly. ‘Will you follow these commandments, to obey God’s laws and to commit no treason or agree to false judgement? And to honour all women and be prepared to help any in need?’

  Peregrine flashed a grin, and Reynold knew he was thinking of their efforts to aid the resident damsel in distress, Mistress Sexton. ‘I will,’ the boy said.

  ‘Then I dub you Sir Peregrine, a member of the knighthood of chivalry, which is without villainy.’

  Peregrine rose unsteadily to his feet, aided by Alec, his ever-present companion now, and the hall erupted in cheers. When at last they had died down, Mistress Sexton stepped forwards and raised her cup.

  ‘Let the feast begin,’ she said.

  Reynold took his place on one of the benches near the head of the table and watched the gathering in the hall as proudly as if it were his own. And if the residents of Grim’s End stuffed themselves far more than was polite, they were to be excused. Reynold was all the more pleased for it, but he ate little, leaving Simon the lion’s share of the trencher they shared.

  ‘Feeling a little poorly, are you?’ Simon asked, with a knowing smirk. ‘Unable to eat or sleep?’

  ‘No, I am fine,’ Reynold said, though his shoulder still burned like fire.

  Simon glanced to where Mistress Sexton sat beside Peregrine at the head of the table, and he kept smirking. ‘Right,’ he muttered.

  Having no desire to get into a lengthy discussion with the least sensitive of the de Burghs, Reynold soon rose to check upon Peregrine, who looked sated, but weary and in pain. Although Mistress Sexton said he was healing nicely, Reynold still worried.

  ‘I’ll have one of my brothers carry you up,’ Reynold said, wincing at the shoulder he did not trust yet with such a precious burden.

  ‘You must take back your bed, my lord,’ Peregrine said. ‘I would have my pallet once more.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Reynold said. ‘I am more comfortable bedding down in the hall with my brothers.’ And it was true. The further he was away from Mistress Sexton, the better.

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ Peregrine said. ‘And thank you for this.’ Peregrine’s short sword lay upon his lap, a symbol of his new station.

  ‘Thank you,’ Reynold said, and he meant it. For if not for his squire’s quick thinking and selfless action, Mistress Sexton might be dead. It was something Reynold could not bear to think about, along with the awful suspicions he’d had when he followed Julian Fabre back to the manor. He was ashamed of them now, for Mistress Sexton had proven herself many times over to be a woman worthy of his love. If only he were worthy of her…

  As if to reassure himself that she was alive and whole, Reynold’s gaze drifted towards where she sat, back straight, her hair glinting in the candlelight more brightly than any treasure. Was it any wonder that he had fallen under her spell, along with everyone else? The thought made him turn towards Peregrine, another of her conquests.

  ‘Now that you are a knight, you can more easily pursue the lady you hold dear,’ Reynold teased.

  But the youth’s reaction was not what Reynold expected. Indeed, his expression of denial was almost comical. Was he shocked that others should divine a devotion he thought well hidden?

  ‘She’s not—’ Peregrine began. ‘I mean, Mistress Sexton is very nice, but she is old and not even as pretty as Celia, the dairy maid at my home manor.’

&nb
sp; ‘What?’ Reynold asked. ‘But I thought…You were most concerned with her for someone who professes no interest.’

  Peregrine’s look told Reynold plainly that he thought his former master a dunce. ‘I was interested in her because I knew she was meant for you,’ the boy said. ‘I’ve always known she was for you because that was part of the quest, winning the hand of the damsel in distress.’

  Reynold frowned at the reminder of that nonsense. He gave no credence to the l’Estranges’ predictions even though their gift of a bag of lye had probably saved his skin. And as for Mistress Sexton…‘She deserves better,’ Reynold muttered.

  ‘That’s what she says of you, that you should not be burdened with someone who is afflicted as she is, though I don’t know what she’s talking about,’ Peregrine said, shaking his head.

  He glanced up at Reynold, seemingly more mystified than by any arcane dragon lore. ‘What a pair you are to think neither one is good enough for the other!’

  Long after the celebration was over and the residents of Grim’s End and members of the visitors’ train had settled upon their pallets in the cellars, the de Burgh brothers still lingered at the table, cups of ale scattered atop the worn surface.

  They had talked for hours, and Reynold had listened quietly as they shared the joys of their lives, their wives, their children, their lands. But the conversation had died down, as though there was a subject none wanted to broach.

  Finally, Dunstan as the eldest, spoke. ‘The feast ’twas well done, Reynold, but I don’t think the provisions here can feed us for long,’ he said. ‘Now that we are assured you are well, we must take that news to Father and on to our own homes.’

  ‘Yes, Marion will be worried, as will Elene,’ Geoff said.

  Reynold nodded as he absently rubbed his bad leg. He had known it was coming, of course. There wasn’t enough here to supply even a small train for long, and it would take some time to sort out the sale of the treasure that Mistress Sexton would split among her faithful few.