The Knight's Runaway Maiden

by Nicole Locke

  Imbert took the bucket and grabbed her elbow to help her up. When she got to the top, Balthus stepped back when every instinct begged him to grasp her hand and keep her by his side.

  While Imbert set the supplies along the long table, Séverine patted down her skirts.

  ‘The cut worked,’ she said. ‘He’s...he’s healing.’

  ‘Now we have a friendship?’ Imbert turned to Balthus. ‘There will be no trust between us.’

  No, he’d have to earn that, just like he’d have to earn his place in the future...whatever that would be. When he’d begun this, he’d known it would not be easy facing Warstones’ atrocities and injustices. He’d made himself a target.

  He wasn’t innocent and deserved derision. What he didn’t deserve, not yet, was kindness. He remembered some of his fevered talk. He certainly recalled each word he’d spat once the fever had broken. He’d have to apologise to this woman for several lifetimes. Everyone under this roof knew it, but now was not the time.

  ‘Who came for me?’ he said. ‘Who are you handing me over to?’

  Imbert crossed his arms and arched one brow. ‘Interesting choice of words, and you don’t look surprised, either.’

  ‘All Warstones are relentless. It was only a matter of time before someone arrived.’

  ‘Who is here?’ Séverine’s voice held a frightened edge he hated.

  Imbert eased his expression. ‘Not who you think, or you’d be gone already.’

  At her nod, Imbert continued. ‘A big man, rotund. Claims he’s a servant of a man he wouldn’t name. Goodness knows, he has no mercenary skills...or any skills that I could determine or test, which is why I wasn’t here this morning.’

  Balthus looked them both in the eyes to gauge their reactions.

  ‘That would be Henry. My butcher.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Balthus followed Imbert down the same streets he’d followed the two boys those many weeks ago. There had been changes since then. The air was less cold and the roads more mud than ice. There was building going on, too: muddy trenches, and something that would resemble a tower when it was done. Balthus wanted to roar at them to stop. It wasn’t enough and would only amuse either his parents or the people they hired. Worse, it would cause his parents and their guards to notice the tiny unnoticeable village, but it was almost too late for that. How fast could they tear it all down, and would they listen to him to do so?

  ‘This is all going to have to go. They’ll see this as a threat or some sort of challenge.’

  Imbert grunted. ‘With nothing, they’ll have no protection at all.’

  There wasn’t an easy solution and it would take much thought.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked, though it hardly mattered. His thoughts should have completely centred on the villagers who flanked him, on the man in front who had once been in the possession of his brother’s house and had now broken free. They should also have been on the man they had captured and held, a person Balthus believed to be Henry, but in fact, could be anyone from his family’s home.

  His thoughts should have been on fighting, escaping or controlling any of the possible dangers facing him. Instead, they were on Séverine, and the way her skin had felt beneath his palm. The wild beating of her heart, the shortened breaths, the green eyes turning dark, and the fact he’d held her against him and kissed her. He desired so much more, but all of that came at a price he didn’t know whether he could or should pay.

  ‘He’s in here.’ Imbert jutted his chin towards the closed door. The home looked similar to the one Balthus had been held in. Something of newer construction and, therefore, suspicious.

  ‘I remember you well,’ Balthus pointed out. ‘You were a decent horseman. Are you still?’

  ‘I don’t want you here,’ Imbert said. ‘Did she tell you that you tried to attack me?’

  ‘I don’t... Your voice,’ Balthus said. ‘I remember your voice.’

  ‘And you thought I was a threat to her when we both know the danger is you. But I am curious about why you reacted like that.’

  He was curious too about Imbert’s boldness with a Warstone. He rather liked it. ‘You must have reminded me of a time I want to forget.’

  Imbert tilted his head. ‘It’s a time we, too, want forgotten and yet here you are with friends.’

  ‘It was inevitable that one of us showed up, though you’ve guarded her well.’

  Imbert grunted. ‘Warstone praise is empty.’

  ‘Then take a thank you from a knight who knows when a debt is owed.’

  ‘For keeping Séverine away from you all?’

  ‘For knowing it was your hands that held me down when she did this.’ His arm was bound, but he swung his elbow out.

  Imbert frowned. ‘That was also against my wishes.’

  ‘It helped me, and you still didn’t want it? Is this more protection for her or something else?’

  Imbert crossed his arms. ‘Where are you leading with these questions?’

  Too much now. Somehow he had to convince these people to abandon the work they’d begun here. But something else pricked at his mind and was far more concerning.

  ‘You built the pit. She paid you coin for that?’

  Imbert’s stare narrowed. Balthus almost grinned. Fear and respect were customary; he hadn’t known he’d missed out on challenging conversations. Still, he was determined that Imbert shouldn’t be too challenging. There were questions he needed answers to.

  ‘This village isn’t the only one that’s protecting her, is it?’ Balthus said. ‘There are other places with similar traps?’

  ‘You ask too many questions for a man who looks like a fly could push him over. You’re grey, and there’s sweat above your lip. Simply doing this much is pushing your boundaries. It won’t take much to push you into another pit and pretend it was an accident.’

  A non-answer was almost an affirmation. Balthus had hoped Séverine hadn’t done anything as foolish as to create other villages like this. If she had, she’d need more than old servants protecting her.

  ‘You want to know what my agenda is now?’ he said. ‘I have a feeling it’s the same as yours.’

  ‘Your death?’

  ‘Her and the boys’ protection.’

  ‘You stay away from them all.’

  ‘Is that why I’ve hardly seen or heard from Clovis and Pepin? Have they been ordered not to spend time with that strange man their mother shoved into a pit and then sliced with her dagger?’

  ‘It was my dagger, and her decision to keep the children away, so I’d honour it if I were you.’

  That...stung. He’d done nothing to harm her children, but his parents and perhaps Ian had done much to lose her trust. How was he to win it when he didn’t deserve it, either?

  He gave a curt nod to acknowledge Imbert’s warning. ‘As for everything else, I’ll die, but it’ll be for her first.’

  ‘She’s not your cause! What happened in the pit won’t happen again. You’re not worthy to touch her.’

  ‘A Warstone never should.’ Balthus knew that. But then, was he a Warstone any longer? He’d already broken away from his family, was already following Reynold’s schemes to find the gem and treasure.

  Balthus laid his hand on the latch. ‘Are you going in?’

  Imbert shook his head.

  ‘If you think me a true Warstone, why not kill me, fear me, or bargain with me? Is it only me who finds this conversation odd?’

  ‘You’re provoking and testing me, but it doesn’t fool me. And it is odd because I have power here, and I’m not about to give it away. Why do you want to know about my horsemanship?’

  ‘Would you believe I have a wager to stay on a horse in an upcoming race and need your help?’

  ‘Did you place this bet after you lost your hand?’ Imbert said, eyeing him.
>
  He had with his friend Louve, who’d helped him recover the first time. ‘Perhaps.’

  Imbert huffed. ‘Why do I believe that is not all? What more will you tell me?’

  There was another reason to become a stronger rider. The building works here were only part of the problem. The other was finding out what Séverine had done in the six years she’d been gone, and how he could remedy them. He couldn’t protect her if he couldn’t ride. ‘I’m still thinking about matters needing to be solved and the obstacles. All of that will need thought, so I’ll stay quiet about the rest for now.’

  Glowering, Imbert waved his arm for Balthus to proceed inside.

  ‘Am I to open this door and get shot with arrows?’ he said. ‘Or perhaps step right into another pit?’

  ‘I think I’ll stay quiet about it for now.’ Imbert’s lips twitched before he turned and walked away.

  Balthus glanced towards the crowd of villagers in the street before he opened the door and stepped in.

  * * *

  ‘What happened to you?’ Henry exclaimed.

  Balthus hoped the newcomer was Henry, though he’d feared it was a messenger or someone worse. However, it was good to see the man, but how to tell him what had happened? He didn’t understand it himself. Why had Séverine bothered to help him, and was she in as much danger as he suspected?

  ‘That’s a long story.’ Balthus grinned.

  ‘You’ve looked better,’ Henry said.

  He was better, but not well yet. Tiny tremors were weakening his chances of standing much longer, so he sat in the nearest chair. This was a simple unoccupied hut, no traps that he could see, but from Imbert’s reaction he knew there were others elsewhere. Something he needed to discuss with Séverine as soon as possible.

  ‘I am better.’ Balthus watched Henry’s reaction. ‘You can mention it.’

  Henry looked up in surprise. ‘You’re...displaying your arm, and it’s bleeding.’

  ‘I’m probably doing too much and will need new stitches. Do you have thread?’

  Henry showed him his empty hands. ‘It wasn’t bleeding before—what happened?’

  He did need stitches again, and more wrapping. Maybe it was their intention to make him better and then bleed out. His thoughts were still in chaos, but how could he go from the absolute agony of betrayal to relief and bewilderment to wanting a kiss from Séverine all in a matter of moments?

  ‘It’s bleeding because they chopped off more of my arm.’

  Henry stumbled, bumped into the wall, which rattled the hut.

  ‘Don’t knock the place down, it’s cold today.’ Balthus looked towards the door, but no one came in. ‘Isn’t this odd, that they are allowing us this privacy?’

  ‘Is it? I just arrived, and I’m wondering now if it was safe to do so. Did you tell me that they chopped your arm?’

  ‘Séverine recommended it.’

  ‘And you agreed?’ Henry paled.

  ‘No, in fact, up until a few moments ago I was intending to torch this village.’

  ‘A typical Warstone reaction.’

  Balthus flinched. ‘I’m hardly Warstone anymore.’

  Henry grabbed a chair and sat, his girth spilling over, and he widened his legs to brace himself. ‘This is a long story.’

  ‘I can’t believe you found me.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re not surlier about it. I’m late, you know. It was the weather.’

  Balthus shook his head. ‘I missed the weather.’

  ‘Missed the weather! Where did they hide you, some dark cave?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘It stormed for a week and then the snow and rain made travel impossible. Then there was the fact I didn’t truly know in what direction you’d ridden.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘They were building a trench, figured they were preparing for a battle.’

  Balthus rubbed his forehead. This was exactly why he was so concerned. He needed to talk to Séverine!

  Henry tilted his head. ‘You’re truly pleased you have less of an arm?’

  ‘It’s difficult to explain, and I don’t know how it happened. I’m not certain even Séverine knows how it works. Only I have less pain. I don’t feel faint, and thus far this week I haven’t blacked out. Although I have done nothing but be tied down to the ground, so I can’t test that theory.’

  ‘With rope, like an...animal, and now you’re grateful and feeling better.’ When Balthus nodded, Henry added, ‘I don’t understand you Warstones, and before you say you’re hardly a Warstone, please remember I wouldn’t be grateful if my arm had been sliced.’

  Balthus laughed. ‘Fair enough... Now what?’

  ‘That was my question to you.’

  ‘I can’t travel.’

  ‘You have to recover.’ Henry pointed to his arm.

  That wasn’t the entire truth, and for once he needed to start telling more of the truth. ‘This village is now in jeopardy.’

  ‘Your family is coming for you, and that’s why you have to leave,’ Henry said. ‘Did you get the item you were supposed to get from Séverine?’

  Balthus had only told Henry what was necessary. The rest of the time he’d treated him poorly. The fact this man was civil was because he was a better man. ‘No, no I haven’t.’

  ‘She doesn’t have it.’

  ‘I haven’t asked.’

  Henry tilted his head. ‘Because she didn’t take the news of Ian’s death well? He was trying to kill you when he threw that dagger. Did you leave that part out?’

  ‘How—?’

  ‘I wasn’t in the hall when it happened, but nothing is a secret.’

  It needed to be a secret. If what had happened in that hall had escaped the fortress and got back to his parents... ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Because Louve threw the dagger?’ Henry said. ‘I did wonder why you didn’t throw, but then, I didn’t know how bad your hand was at that point. It wasn’t as if we were talking then.’

  They weren’t talking now, and yet it seemed the entire world knew what had happened that day in the hall those few months ago. Warstone Fortress had been Ian’s domain. He, Balthus and the mercenary Louve, a man who would call him friend, had already been circling the fortress to seek a way to break in. At that time the parchment was believed to be there. Louve had already found a way in as a servant. Balthus, when he’d seen his parents arrive for a visit, had decided to go inside with them.

  It had been a strained visit where no one had trusted their motive for being there. All the more for Balthus because Ian had tried to kill him previously.

  But that last day, after their parents had left, Ian had seemed to break down. He’d thrown a dagger at Balthus, and to protect him, Louve had thrown a dagger towards Ian. Ian’s dagger had missed Balthus...but Louve’s had struck true.

  Later, in the quiet of a chamber, they had discussed whether Ian had thrown himself into the path of the dagger aimed at him, wanting to end his life, but by that time Balthus’s hand had been beyond healing and Louve, being the man he was, had chopped it off to save his friend’s life.

  It had worked out as best it could in the end. Louve now had control of Ian’s fortress, and he had a feisty wife named Biedeluue. His parents had been well outside the gates before they’d been informed of their eldest son’s death. They hadn’t heard from them since.

  When Balthus had healed sufficiently, he and Henry had taken off to find Ian’s wife, Séverine, who, with any hope, might have still had the parchment that could lead them to a legend.

  But Balthus had been in Séverine’s care for weeks now. If she had any coin, artefacts or treasures left from her time with his brother, he would have seen them by now. As far as he could tell, she lived like a peasant.

  Balthus could feel Henry’s gaze
still on him, waiting for an answer he wasn’t certain how to give.

  ‘You have told her about Ian’s death...’ Henry enunciated carefully.

  How to phrase any of this? His only thought was to touch Séverine again, to...be part of her life. Dangerous for her, but perhaps he could make it better until he had to go? Wrong, it was all wrong. She believed her husband was alive, she didn’t know he was only with her to obtain the parchment to take down his family...although would she agree with that? Even so...to tell her of it would jeopardise her safety.

  And yet he knew if he revealed it all, she would simply leave, and the mystery of her, what she’d been smiling at that day when she’d stared at the tapestry, how she’d found the strength to escape Ian would be lost to him.

  If she knew Ian was dead...who was he to her? Nothing. A threat.

  ‘I need to stay,’ Balthus said. ‘Can you do that?’

  Henry straightened to his full height. ‘We left the safety of that fortress to avoid your parents, who are probably assembling a large force against us. You have been here weeks and you haven’t told her of her husband’s death or procured whatever mysterious item she is purported to have.’ Henry kicked the dirt on the floor. ‘Although wherever this item is, it seems doubtful it’s here. Unless it’s some stone, stick or a bucket of mud, because that’s all I’ve seen since I’ve arrived. As for you not telling her of Ian’s death, how do you think that will work out for you?’

  Balthus rolled his aching shoulder. He might be sitting, and his arm might be much better than it had been, but time was still needed. ‘I need to stay,’ he repeated.

  Henry tilted his head. ‘Are you asking me to keep this quiet, to simply roam around this place that doesn’t have a butcher and probably doesn’t need my skills until you’re ready to grow some courage to tell the woman what she needs to know?’

  ‘I didn’t say it didn’t need your skills,’ Balthus said. ‘You still have your knives?’

  Balthus took one look at Henry’s smug expression and said, ‘Don’t say it.’

  ‘You’re not using my knives, but I am at your service.’