Evermore (Knight Everlasting Book 3)

by Cassidy Cayman

  After he ran out of breath, he collapsed to the ground, heart about to beat from his chest. A quick image of the guard lying in the ever-growing pool of his own blood flashed before Jordan’s eyes and he squeezed them shut. He concentrated on catching his breath so he could get his bearings out there in the dark. He had no clue if it was just after sundown or the middle of the night. All sense of time had left him while he was locked up. After a minute, the moon appeared from behind a cloud and he sighed with relief. It was a half-moon, but blessedly bright. Getting up on all fours, he saw the woods weren’t too far away. He could hide in the trees until full light and then he could get his bearings.

  Standing up, he turned in a circle, hoping for a landmark so he could help the people at Grancourt find the place again. He was in the middle of a vast, fallow field. Opposite the trees, he saw the outline of a big house and his stomach dropped.

  Crap. He knew exactly where he was.

  Chapter 15

  Marjorie had dirt on her hands. Under her fingernails. On her gown. A small lantern and a wooden chest sat beside her on the leaf-strewn ground, a freshly dug hole in front of her. She was in the forest again and, once again, she had no idea how or why. Closing her eyes tight, she opened them to see everything was the same. Wishing it wasn’t true didn’t help. A horse blew out a breath and stamped at the ground behind her, nearly stopping her heart with fear. As if she hadn’t been frightened enough already.

  I brought a horse this time, she marveled. How had no one seen her in the stables? She was fully capable of saddling her own horse, but there was always someone awake in the barn. Unless it wasn’t as late as she thought. Or she’d been out longer than she thought. Could she have been out here since before the sun went down? She stared at the hole in front of her, struggling to remember. She repeated to herself over and over that she wasn’t mad. It didn’t help and she couldn’t remember anything.

  “No. I’m Marjorie. I live and serve at Grancourt Castle. I’ve lived there my whole life.”

  She stopped talking to herself. That last part couldn’t be true. She shook her head, pushing past the pain that had started and finally remembered she’d been brushing out Anne’s hair. Anne had been doing a lot better since she’d started taking the Italian medicine and they’d been talking about taking a trip to the village when the weather got warmer. Then Marjorie went to bed and lay there for a long time, worried about the nightmares which had sadly returned. And now she was here, fully dressed. She didn’t want to cry, her hands were too dirty to wipe away the tears. She simply had to accept the fact that she had sleepwalked. No, actually, she had sleep-stolen a horse and then sleep-rode it out here.

  “To dig up this chest?” she asked. “No answer?”

  Turning around to study the horse, she didn’t recognize it and her heart sank. It probably belonged to one of Sir Tristan’s or Lord Drayton’s men. She really had stolen it. Thinking of Lord Drayton made her gasp. What had the fiend done with Lord Jordan? She didn’t think she had room to worry about him when she was in such a frightening predicament herself, but she couldn’t help it. She’d only just found someone who might be a kindred spirit. Someone who seemed to understand her and looked at her with such kindness. She didn’t want to lose him.

  “Foolish,” she muttered, crawling closer to the chest. “As if he were yours to lose.”

  She gingerly poked the chest. Nothing happened. She shivered, wondering why she had expected anything to happen. Now that she was closer to it, she could see that she hadn’t dug it up at all. It was too clean. Which meant she’d brought it out here and tried to bury it. In her sleep. The tears she’d been keeping at bay through self-discipline welled up. She shook her head and blinked them back. Thinking of herself going to pieces the last time this had happened to her filled her with shame. The fact that it had happened at all and had happened again filled her with a deeper shame. No matter what Lord Jordan said, he’d only said it out of kindness. He couldn’t know. There really was something wrong with her. Something dark and frightening.

  “I guess there’s nothing for me to do about it but try and sneak back into the castle.” She stood up and took the horse’s reins. “Sorry to put you out like this, but I really didn’t know I was doing it. I’ll make sure you get something tasty for your troubles.”

  Before she mounted, she looked at the chest with distaste. She had no desire to touch it again, no curiosity about what was inside. But what if she’d stolen that along with the horse? She groaned and stamped the ground. The horse looked at her suspiciously.

  “I know,” she sighed. “I’ll have to take it back. It can’t be that heavy, so stop your rude looks.” She would leave it in the barn and hope it got back to its rightful owner.

  The horse jerked its head, eyes rolling. She heard what had spooked it a moment later. Crunching footsteps. She would have cursed herself for her idiocy in coming to the woods in the dark of night, especially when Lord Jordan had just been kidnapped. But it wasn’t her idea to be out there. She wished with all her heart and soul that she wasn’t.

  The lantern! She’d left it on the ground next to the chest and now it seemed like a beacon to her location. With a silent apology to whoever she’d stolen the chest from, she decided to leave it, jump on the horse and ride for the safety of the castle. She put her foot in the stirrup, but it was too late. A hand clamped down on her shoulder. She whirled around, ready to both scream and strike out, but stopped, her mouth hanging open in joyful disbelief.

  “Marjorie, God, am I glad to see you.”

  Lord Jordan had a similar slack-jawed look on his face as she felt on her own and she struggled to close her mouth. He threw his arms around her and pulled her close in a tight hug, which only made her gape again. It was over in an instant, faster than she could object. When he let her go, she found she was more disappointed than offended. She wasn’t offended at all. She was so happy to see him alive that she threw her own arms around him for a brief moment.

  “I feared you were dead,” she said. The warmth of his firm chest seeped through her gown. She wanted to stay like that forever. Embarrassment stole over her and she flung herself away from him. She’d never done such a thing before. It must have had to do with her slow descent into madness. She waved at the box on the ground. “I also fear that I’m out here again without any understanding of how or why.”

  His face dropped. “How? That shouldn’t have happened since I never … well, at any rate, I’m glad you are. And with a horse, too.” He dropped to the ground and put his head on his knees. “I’m exhausted from running and I got hit a few times.”

  His voice was muffled and she sat beside him. “Where? Show me your injuries,” she demanded.

  He flopped backwards and pulled his tunic up. In the lantern light she could see deep bruises already starting to form. She traced his ribs gently and shivered at the feel of his skin under her fingertips. It was smooth and hot, and goosebumps jumped out at her touch. She tore her hand away as if she’d been burned.

  “I don’t think any of my ribs are broken, but it still hurts like hell.” He lifted his head and smiled at her, but his eyes were wide and haunted. His face was stained with blood and he clearly had a broken nose. She’d seen enough of them on the squires and knights at the castle. She helped him to sitting again and took his chin in her hand.

  “This is going to hurt, but then feel better.” She gripped his nose, cringing at her filthy hands. She felt the top of the bone with her curled forefinger and the dislocated part with her fingertips. With a firm, smooth motion, she snapped the pieces together, then held her sleeve close to his nose to catch the fresh gush of blood. He swore and quickly apologized, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t guarantee you’ll be as pretty as you were, but it’ll heal much straighter now.”

  He cracked open his tear-filled eyes and pulled away from her with a crooked smile. “Did you think I was pretty?”

  She reached for him again, ignoring the question that had b
rought a red stain to her cheeks. “You’re still bleeding.”

  “It’s okay, don’t ruin your dress.” He held his own sleeve under his nose. “I can breathe better now, thank you. How’d you learn to do that?”

  She shrugged, feeling an odd, warm glow at his admiring tone. “Years of practice. Someone always has a broken nose at the castle.”

  He shuddered, looking around, the wild look back in his eyes. “It’s awful here, isn’t it? I’m not here a week and already I—” he choked and put his head down on his knees again.

  His shoulders shook and she tentatively reached for him. Her hand faltered, but why was she afraid? They were equal, both having seen the other in a vulnerable state. Here was her kindred spirit, back again in her time of need. And now it seemed he needed her. She laid her hand gently on his shoulder, feeling the warmth and strength of it.

  “Lord Jordan?”

  He looked up and said raggedly, “Don’t call me that, it isn’t who I am. Please, just call me Jordan.”

  It felt ill-mannered, but he’d asked in such a desperate way. “Very well. Jordan, what is it? Are you hurt somewhere else?”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “I—I killed someone. To get away. I—he’s really dead.”

  “And you feel badly because of your beliefs,” she said, patting him. She imagined it was the same for all the knights as well, the first time they took a life.

  “I feel bad because I killed someone.” He dropped his head again and she couldn’t help running her fingers through his golden strands.

  “I’m certain you had to. I don’t believe Lord Drayton would have kept you alive much longer.” She didn’t say she was surprised he wasn’t already dead. Pleased. But also surprised.

  His head snapped back up. “We have to warn Tristan. Lord Drayton—or his men, are on the way to attack his keep.”

  She shook her head, trying to look and sound calming. “Lord Drayton and his men are still at the castle. You must be mistaken.”

  “No, he has others. The ones who attacked Grancourt just the other day. Drayton’s only pretending to be loyal to Sir Walter. He’s actually paying those other guys. And some of the farmers, too.” He swallowed hard and grimaced, probably tasting his own blood.

  She was shocked into silence. She didn’t particularly like Lord Drayton but she never would have suspected him of such perfidy. Jordan pushed himself to standing, accidentally kicking the chest. He knelt beside it, running his fingers across the wood and clicking open the latch.

  “That was with me when I woke from my sleepwalking,” she said gloomily, dreading what he’d think, but deciding to be honest. “I didn’t mean to, but I fear I must have stolen it.”

  He popped open the lid, then shook his head. “You didn’t steal it, I gave it to you.”

  He pulled out a swathe of fabric. Even in the low light of the lantern, she could see what a beautiful greenish-blue hue it was and how fine the material. She reached over and touched the soft velvet.

  “That can’t be right. I’ve never seen it,” she said. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “No, it isn’t.” He snatched it from her fingers and stuffed it haphazardly back in the chest. “We’re lucky this isn’t the chest it came in or I’m pretty sure I’d be dead.” He pointed to the hole she’d dug with her bare hands. “Do you know if you got it from there or were about to put it in there?”

  She lowered her head so he couldn’t see her shame. “I think put it in. It’s not dirty, you see?”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He tapped it anxiously, finally shoving it in the hole and pushing dirt over it. “It’s as good a place as any for it. We can deal with it later. Right now, we have to get back and warn Tristan. They’ve already got a good head start.” He stood and looked around him. “Can you remember this place?”

  “Yes, but we can’t bury it, it’s not mine. I told you I—”

  He grabbed the lantern and took her by the arm, leading her to the horse. “Trust me, you didn’t steal it. It’s better off here, for now at least.”

  He looked at her hard. Beseeching. But more than that, somehow, she could tell he was being honest. She didn’t know how he could be so sure about things but, once again, she wanted to believe him. Looking deep into his eyes, a stunning blue even in the shadowy lantern light, she did believe him.

  “All right, Jordan,” she said, trapped in his gaze but not minding at all. She no longer felt afraid or like she was slipping down a slope with no handholds to grab. She felt on solid ground with him. “Let’s go so you can warn Sir Tristan.”

  He smiled radiantly at her. Despite being covered with blood and with bruises already starting to bloom under his eyes, she thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She almost laughed at herself for having such a Batty-like moment. But for the first time, she somewhat understood Batty, and how captivating it felt to be falling in love. Yes, in love. The realization didn’t shock her. Nothing much could shock her after waking up in the forest twice now. She smiled back at him and pulled herself onto the horse. She kept smiling when he swung up behind her, and all the way back to the castle.

  Chapter 16

  To say the mood was glum would have been an understatement. Jordan’s stomach churned as he sat in Leo’s room, with Sophie fluttering around him. Tristan and his men, along with as many of Sir Walter’s men as he could spare, had already galloped off into what was left of the night. For the moment, Jordan’s safe return to the castle was being kept a secret. Hopefully, Drayton would wake up in the morning to find his plan to take Dernier was a big, fat flop.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Sophie asked. Again.

  He took the cloth away from his swollen nose so she could get the full force of his glare. So far, all they knew was Drayton had grabbed him after he overheard them planning to attack Dernier Keep. They didn’t know about the underground lair or the fact that he’d come across Marjorie trying to bury the cursed dress. He didn’t know yet if he’d tell them that. He felt protective of Marjorie, almost as if he were responsible for her. And while it was clear as crystal that she didn’t know what was going on, he wasn’t sure the others would accept that. They’d been tortured enough by the curse and he was afraid it clouded their judgments.

  “Where did they take you? And which of Drayton’s men was it?” Leo asked. He’d wanted to go and help Tristan defend the keep, but Sophie had been loudly against it. And Jordan had also piped in that he better not go. He was about to have his own problems to deal with.

  “It wasn’t Drayton’s men,” Jordan said wearily. His voice sounded stuffy and speaking hurt his face. “At least not any of those he’d declare publicly. It was a completely different group. I don’t think they were knights. They were scruffy and spoke differently than you and Tristan do.”

  “Different how?” Sophie asked. “A different accent? Were they Scottish?”

  He shrugged, which hurt his shoulders. Now that he was safe and the adrenaline had worn off, more aches and pains kept popping up. “It wasn’t the accent so much. They talked rougher, I guess. Like common folk, while Leo and Tristan kind of talk fancy.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Leo asked, confused. Jordan and Sophie shared a smile.

  “Like that,” Jordan said. “Those guys wouldn’t have begged anyone’s pardon.”

  Sophie gasped and clapped her hands together. “Maybe Tristan was right all along. It’s marauders that are being funded by Drayton.”

  “There, that’s it exactly. Didn’t I explain all that?” He rubbed his eyes and sucked in a breath at how tender his face was. The goon had only hit him once, but his fist had been the size of an anvil. “Sorry, I’m pretty beat.” He snorted at his accidental joke.

  Sophie tsked. “Don’t be sorry. It’s a miracle you got away. How did you get away?”

  He shuddered, forcefully pushing it out of his mind. He would never tell Sophie what he’d done. He wouldn’t be able to stand the look in her eyes. Leo eyed him, se
eming to sense his unease.

  “More importantly than that, can you tell us where you got away from? It could be the key to where the marauders have been hiding all this time.”

  Jordan’s stomach turned over again. “Yeah, it’s the key all right. And you’re not going to like it.”

  “Jordan, just tell us,” Sophie urged.

  He put his head down, feeling something crackle in his neck. “They dug out a big bunker under a field,” he said, taking a deep breath to be able to get the rest out. “It’s right behind your house.”

  “Leo’s house?” Sophie shrieked.

  He nodded and closed his eyes, but it was too late. He saw the horror and heartbreak cross Leo’s face at the news his mother was a traitor.

  *

  Marjorie finished her prayer and looked up at the stained glass window of the chapel. She’d been spending every spare moment there, fighting the forces that were trying to overtake her. After she prayed for her own soul, she prayed for the safety of Catherine’s unborn baby (or babies, since Anne was convinced it was twins), then she prayed for Sir Tristan and his men and the men of the castle who’d gone with him to fight.

  She was on pins and needles waiting to see what happened. Jordan had taken to visiting the chapel every day as well. She was certain he was seeking forgiveness for killing the man. He always came in with such a troubled look on his face and even after prayers, he didn’t look comforted. She’d waited for him to be finished a few days ago and begged him to tell her what was going on. Lord Drayton still sat at the high table every evening as an honored guest, still wooed Anne. It sickened her and she could tell it wasn’t easy on Sophie or Sir Leo, though she hadn’t had the courage to ask Sophie about it. Marjorie wasn’t certain she was supposed to know Jordan had returned to the castle, so kept quiet about that, too. There was no way she could have admitted to knowing about it without admitting her mysterious midnight ride, and she would never admit that.