Knight Triumphant

by Heather Graham

  Igrainia smiled at him in return, though it felt as if her heart had grown cold. “Are you so certain that you can catch him?” she inquired.

  Robert Neville had apparently entered the hall when she had been paying heed to Niles. He walked across the room to the table, giving her the answer as he came. “We are so very certain, that we’ve started the builders working on the scaffold for his execution,” he said. He took his place at the table. He grabbed a leg of fowl from a massive tray being brought in by one of the kitchen servants. “We’ll see that you have a front row seat, Igrainia, and therefore, cannot be left to doubt in any way that you are entirely free . . . to marry again.” As he spoke, the tray held by the servant, a big woman in loose clothing, tottered. Juice spilled on his sleeve. “Inept old witch!” he cried. For a moment, it looked as if he would beat the servant for the stain upon his clothing. Then, he apparently remembered that he was Lord Danby’s guest here, and Danby never lifted a hand against his servants. “Get back to the kitchen, you are fit for lifting and hauling and nothing more.”

  With a head bob, the ungainly woman started for the kitchen.

  “Perhaps your scaffold will remain empty,” Igrainia said evenly.

  “Perhaps, but I don’t think so,” he said, scowling at his soiled sleeve.

  “I would prefer a more jovial subject for conversation during the meal,” Lord Danby said firmly.

  A moment later, Aidan joined them. Igrainia felt her brother watching her, and she was afraid. Eric was out there in the woods somewhere, and these men knew it.

  She fled the great hall as soon as she could. In her room, she sat before the fire, studying the flames, debating her best course of action. She had to find the Scots, and warn them.

  A soft rapping came at the inner door. She threw it open, certain that Aidan had come to talk to her. She was dismayed to see Robert Neville.

  “What?” she asked sharply.

  “I have come only to talk—with the blessing of Lord Danby and Aidan, of course,” he told her.

  “Talk about what?” she asked.

  He sighed. “Igrainia! I am dismayed that you have suddenly become so hostile toward me! What evil did I ever do to you? I was Afton’s right hand at Langley, always. We were close. Our grandfathers were cousins, did you know? Had my grandfather been born before his, I would have been the man you’d been promised to since your childhood.”

  “But your grandfather was not born before Afton’s, and I was his wife, and now he is gone.”

  She had remained at the door, keeping him to the other side of it. He pushed hard against the wood, forcing her back.

  “What can I do to reconcile you to what is to come? I have been cruel with my words, perhaps, with . . . my sense of urgency to be with you. Will you think of me any more kindly if I promise not to make you witness the spectacle of your outlaw’s death?”

  “Those are fine words, since you do not hold him as yet.”

  “Igrainia, it is a matter of time. And whether he is dead or not, the king will soon order that our marriage take place. And it will be binding in the eyes of Rome, since the wretched Scottish king stands under Papal excommunication.”

  “Robert, you are a fool to want me. What if I am carrying this man’s child now? Will you want your first son to be another man’s?”

  His face grew mottled with a swift and impotent rage. The look he gave her assured her instantly that he had never considered such a possibility. “Such matters can be dealt with, Igrainia. The date of a child’s birth can tell the father. And it is sad but true that far too often, babes perish soon after birth.”

  “You would murder a child?” she demanded.

  “Infants die,” he repeated.

  She stared at him, afraid to exhale. “Get away from me,” she said quietly at last. “Get out of this room.”

  “Igrainia—”

  “My brother is surely next door by now. And we are in Lord Danby’s castle, and word has not come from the king. Get out.”

  His face grew darker. “One day, my lady, you will rue your discourtesy to me. The time will come when you beg me on bended knee for mercy . . . and I will remember every single time you looked at me with disdain.”

  “Get out,” she told him.

  He slammed his way out of the room. She sank to the bed shaking. Almost immediately, there was a tapping at the outer door. She gazed across the room at it. What now? Niles Mason to tell her just how he intended to torture his captive—once he reached the scaffold?

  “Yes?” she called.

  “The tub, my lady,” a soft voice called in return.

  “Enter, please,” she said distractedly. The door opened, and she saw the servants who had come, bearing the tub and the kettles and the water. She thanked them as they began to stream in, then stood, and went to the connecting door. She tapped, and waited for her brother to answer, then slipped in to see him. Aidan was seated at a writing desk near the fire, quill in hand.

  She sank to her knees at his side, shaking, then covering her hands with her face. “Aidan, I cannot bear him!” she whispered.

  He instantly set down the quill, took both her hands, and drew her up and over to the side of the bed to sit with him. “Igrainia, please don’t be so distraught. I have watched Robert Neville these many days . . . him and Niles. They are the kind of men who have made the hatreds here so very bitter. But, of course . . . King Edward’s anger caused the first butchery, at Berwick, and it seems that in this war, there is no brutality beyond the abilities of men. They are within the law—the most cruel executions are ordered for such men. In Scotland, men wept. But in England, crowds cheered as William Wallace went to the scaffold, was hanged until half dead, then . . . well, never mind, you understand what I am saying. I can’t protest Niles and Robert when they are doing the king’s will. But I’ve been looking into legal and ecclesiastical books, and I’ve been busy, writing my own letter to King Edward. I’ve questioned the validity of a marriage when Robert’s relationship to Afton was so close . . . and I’ve written that your affairs are incredibly important since, were I to die without issue, my inheritance would fall to your male heirs, should you produce them.”

  Studying him, she smiled slowly, then threw her arms around him. “Aidan, you are a wonderful brother. A truly wonderful brother.”

  He smiled back. “Aye, well, I’m doing my best. Especially since you were fond, at times, of referring to me as your little brother when we were younger. In fact, you did so far too often!”

  “That was before . . . when we were at home. And I was very mature, and about to be a bride, and you were being sent away to learn the ways of a knight.”

  “There were good years, when we were young. In those days, the knights I saw were the great men who rode in the tournaments. I didn’t know the truth about war. I remember when King Edward was such a gallant and stately figure on horseback, a golden, glowing giant, truly royal, and a gentle man to his wife, at the court . . . ah, well, that ended when his first queen died. Now . . . now he is a king who will have his way, so it seems that the best I can do is persuade him that he must make this marriage wait.”

  “Bless you, Aidan.” She kissed his forehead. “Thank you.” She rose. “Aidan, I truly love you, and thank you for everything you have done, and . . .”

  “And?”

  “And I pray that you forgive me.”

  “You were taken captive, Igrainia. There is nothing to forgive.”

  She lowered her head and bid him goodnight. Perhaps he had nothing to forgive her for now. Soon, he would. She was grateful to him for using his wits, letters, the law, and the church, to try to help her.

  It gave her a new hope.

  And yet, she dared not think that it would be enough.

  When she entered her room, she disrobed thoughtfully for her bath, still contemplating the various ways and means she might attempt to escape. She heard something, and thought that it seemed a furtive sound. Glancing to the door, she saw that
the hall door remained tightly closed. Still . . .

  She glanced up at the arms and plaques covering Lord Danby’s walls. Before slipping into the tub, she intended to arm herself.

  The water remained hot. Soothing. It seemed to seep into her muscles, and ease some of the strain of the day. Then. . . she heard a noise.

  And she stiffened, her fingers tightening around the hilt of the knife in her hand.

  CHAPTER 20

  He waited until he was certain that she had closed the connecting door to her brother’s room tightly and securely. Then he waited again, dead still behind the tapestry, listening intently until he could determine that she was alone. He heard the slight splashing as she got into the tub, and at last, he dared to slip from behind the wall covering, and tread lightly across the room. He had to reach her quickly.

  Silence her.

  Make sure that she didn’t scream.

  But just as he reached the rear edge of the tub, she rose and spun around. Water came sluicing down the length of her sleek, bare, perfectly curved and angled form. Her right arm was raised, and there was a lethal looking knife in it. With instinctive speed he reached out in time, and caught her wrist.

  She stared at him, her mouth opening for the scream he had feared. He stepped closer, bringing her soaked body against his as he clamped his free hand over her mouth.

  The knife fell into the water with a plop. She struggled furiously in his arms.

  “Igrainia! Stop! It’s me, Eric.”

  She went dead still in his arms. Violet eyes widened to glimmering moons. He eased his hand from her mouth, but continued to hold her wet and trembling form next to his own.

  “Eric?” she repeated, and stared at him with incredulity. With what she saw, she was doubting what she had heard. He pulled the hood from his head, and the wig, hastily constructed from dark horsehair. His face, he knew, was still lined and distorted with the fleshy paste Sarah had made, and he hadn’t muscles, but breasts, created from a folded chest padding.

  “Eric!” She blinked, and stared again. Then she realized that it was, indeed, he, and she gasped in horror, trying to struggle from his hold again. “You’re mad! What are you doing here? They mean to hack you to pieces, they are all but drooling with relish just from the idea of seeing you finished in the most torturous way. You must get out of here as quickly as possible—”

  “Igrainia, hush!” he said sternly, searching her features thoroughly for any sign of harm. “I know exactly what they are planning. In fact, I watched them start to build the scaffold today.”

  She gasped again. Then she spoke in a heated whisper. “You are a fool! Eric, please! They are lethal, like a pit of vipers. You are in an English stronghold. Eric, this door is not bolted from the inside, but from the outside. My brother is in the next room.”

  “I’ll go, I’ll go!” he assured her. “Not just yet. I hadn’t expected this opportunity, to come so close, to speak with you. It was easy to find work in the lord’s kitchen—they need strapping maids like me,” he said wryly. “But then I proved to be too clumsy for the lord’s dining hall . . .”

  “Oh, my God, Eric! You should be locked away—you were in the great hall tonight? For your own good, someone should lock you in a dungeon!”

  “But being so severely reprimanded in the kitchen brought me here. Again, such a well-fed countrywoman as I can really haul heavy kettles of water.”

  “Eric, you are mad!”

  “I had to know . . . about you.”

  “About me?” she breathed, studying his eyes. Her own narrowed. “You thought that I had chosen to come here? You—”

  “I have seen you about the grounds with Lord Danby.”

  “Lord Danby is one of the most decent men I have ever known. He is loyal to King Edward, because he is a noble Englishman born to give him allegiance. You have come in the middle of the night to accost me and accuse me . . . I should scream, call every guard in the castle, and let them teach you a sense of humility. I should—”

  “Igrainia!” He pressed his hand against her mouth once again. “I have seen more,” he said softly. “And I know Niles Mason and Robert Neville. I had to make sure for myself that you were safe.” He stared at her a long moment before removing his hand from her mouth.

  “Far safer than you at the moment!” she assured him, still indignant.

  “And I thank God,” he murmured.

  She was shaking. He lifted her from the tub, and no amount of ridiculous padding he wore could keep him from feeling the rise of his own body at the sweet wet contact of hers. He groaned, cradling her against him, lifting her chin, finding her lips, forgetting that seconds and life ticked by as he tasted and savored the depths of her mouth. He felt the beat of her heart, the fullness of her breast, and before he knew his intent, he had taken her to the edge of the bed before the fire, fingers stroking over her length, assuring himself that every inch of silken flesh remained unmarred.

  She pushed away from him then, looking at him with her eyes still as large as twin violet moons. “Eric, please, I’m begging you, you’ve got to get out of here! Your nose is already twisted. Wait . . . I’ll fix it.” She made an adjustment. “Eric, for the moment, believe me, I am in no danger. Lord Danby is a good and decent man. But you are in the greatest peril.”

  “I can’t go so quickly. Not now . . . now that I am here.”

  “You must.”

  “Igrainia, you can hardly send a woman away like this!” he protested, catching her slender hand to show her the extent of the problem. She snatched her hand away quickly, but couldn’t seem to restrain a soft laugh.

  “Eric, you are the ugliest woman I have ever seen. For that alone, a man such as Niles Mason or Robert might see you hanged and beheaded! Listen to me, please, they know that you are here, and that your men are in the woods—”

  “I know that, Igrainia, I heard them talking in the great hall. I have heard even more,” he told her, his voice growing deep with anger.

  “Eric, they are only trying to get their spies to tell them exactly where to find you and your men in the forest, don’t you understand, and then they will come after you.”

  “I know what they’re doing.”

  “When they have their ‘details’, they will hunt you down. And they have men and arms and tremendous strength here. So you understand, you must leave!”

  “I will,” he said huskily. “Soon. But I did risk much to breach your door.”

  “You risked a great deal,” she accused him, “to see if Robert Neville had breached it first.”

  “If he had, he would lie dead already,” Eric said curtly.

  “Did you come to kill a man because of your pride?”

  “It is not my pride for which I will one day kill Mason and Neville. It will be for all the agony they have brought.”

  She studied his eyes carefully, and lowered her head, and he knew that she was wondering what had really brought him to her that night.

  “Igrainia,” he began.

  But she lifted her eyes to his once more, perhaps not wanting to know if he had dared come here for hatred and vengeance or for care and concern.

  At this moment, he only knew that he had come so far. And that she was alive and real, damp and naked, and in his arms. His wife, and a woman of vitality, and passion, with a tempest in her soul to match his own.

  “Eric,” she whispered urgently. “My brother is just beyond that door! Please, you’ve got to leave.”

  “I can’t. Not yet.”

  “You must.”

  “Is your brother in the habit of breaking in on you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then . . .”

  She fully understood his intent. He felt it in the trembling of her body against his own. The sparks of flame seemed to dance in the air from the heat within her.

  “You must be gone, Eric! I’ll scream,” she protested, though her pulse beat like thunder at her throat.

  “Not tonight,” he whispe
red softly against her ear. “Tonight, you must be the quietest lover.”

  “Eric, you’ve got to get out of here.”

  “I will. But as I have pointed out, I cannot go like this. You have led me to the edge of madness, certainly. If you wish me to leave with any haste . . . then you must hasten to be with me.”

  “You fool, you could die if you stay.”

  “I think I will die if I leave now.”

  She let out a soft cry of impatience and threw her arms around him. The kiss she molded upon his lips definitely reshaped his nose. He rolled with her upon the bed, aware that her urgency was half borne of fear, yet ignited by that frenzy. She was wet and sweet from the bath, hot and trembling, and more sensually afire than he had ever remembered. He could not help but long to touch each inch of her, the swell of her breasts, indent of her belly, the damp ebony thatch between her legs. His padded “breasts” were quickly lopsided, but he was glad of his woman’s dress, making access to bare legs, hips, and groin an easy affair. She bit into his shoulder, strangling back sound as they came together, and locked her long legs around him with a determination for speed that became a thunder of arousal. He had never been so incensed, so afire, driven into frenzy. And the way that she arched and strained . . . rubbed against him. It was fear, it was urgency, it was sheer wonder at stolen moments . . . life or death . . . and there were moments when he’d have gladly died, rather than desert such a volatile, desperate bliss.

  Climax burst upon him with a violence that nearly brought a groan from his lips. He felt her teeth sinking through cloth into his shoulder as she locked against him in a final spasm of ecstasy. Then, almost instantly, she was pushing him away, and there were tears in her eyes. “Please!” she whispered. “Please! You must get out of here.”