A Knight's Quest (Falling For A Knight Book 1)

by Lana Williams

  “That will do for now,” the old woman declared as she set the cup on the narrow table beside the bed. “He’ll need more soon, but not until he wakes enough to drink it proper.”

  “Can we get anything for you?” Chanse asked. “Supplies of any sort?”

  Hilda smiled, her wrinkled face creasing all the more. “I have all I need. Healing will take some time.” Her smile fell away as her gaze rested on Garrick once again. “His ribs will pain him, but I worry about what’s hurt inside.”

  Again Chanse and Braden exchanged a look that had Sophia wondering what they might be thinking.

  “He could be bleeding in there.” Braden didn’t ask. He stated it as a fact as he again stared at his cousin.

  “Aye,” Hilda agreed. “We won’t know until the morrow or mayhap the day after. But life goes on. I’ve got a babe to deliver a fair distance away. He’ll need more of the remedy soon. Can one of ye stay with him?”

  Even as Braden opened his mouth, Chanse cut him off. “Not you. Lady Sophia, I know ’tis much to ask but would you see to Garrick if we keep watch over your family?”

  “Of course.” Sophia was pleased to help—anything to aid Garrick’s recovery. And she was glad they trusted her to do so. “Will you tell Ilisa and Alec that I’m aiding Hilda with Garrick’s care for a day or two? I’d prefer Eleanor didn’t know any of the details of recent events. It will only unsettle her.” At Chanse’s nod, she turned to Hilda. “Tell me what to do.”

  After listening carefully to her instructions on how to prepare additional poultices as well as a drink to help Garrick sleep should he awaken in pain, Sophia was soon alone in the cozy cottage with him. Hilda had warned her how to watch for signs of a fever, but still Sophia worried whether she was capable of caring for him when his injuries were so severe.

  Chanse said he’d return well before dusk while Braden stayed with her family. Until Garrick woke, they couldn’t be certain what happened or who to keep watch for. The idea of Thomas slitting that man’s throat or injuring Garrick so severely was difficult for Sophia to believe.

  Why would Thomas do such a thing? Did it have anything to do with what had happened to him and his family during the siege? Had the acts of those English knights caused such a hatred in him that he sought vengeance to any who were English?

  With a sigh, she drew a stool near the bed to keep watch over Garrick. She checked the bump on his head, but it didn’t seem to have changed in size. According to Hilda, that was a good thing. She smoothed the hair from his forehead, hoping her touch would bring him some comfort.

  He moaned, his lashes fluttering.

  “Shhh, Garrick. Rest,” she said, hating the thought of how much pain he must be in. Hilda had said he’d need sleep to heal.

  He seemed to settle at her words, and she continued to caress his forehead, running her finger along his uninjured brow, hoping to ease him into sleep again. It worked for a short time but when he groaned again, she decided it was time for more of the medicine Hilda had left.

  “Garrick, I’m going to give you something to help ease your pain.” She sat on the bed beside him and gently lifted his head into the crook of her arm to prop him up. His head nestled against her breast, sending a wave of heat through her at the intimate position.

  Chastising herself for the reaction, she held the cup to his lips. But he didn’t respond. “Garrick? Take some of the medicine, please.”

  Still nothing. She tipped the cup, trying to imitate what Hilda had done. The liquid ran across his lips, down the corner of his mouth and landed on the front of her kirtle, leaving a dark red stain. “Garrick?”

  His eye slowly opened and his gaze caught on her before closing.

  “I need you to drink this.” She held the cup to his mouth again and, this time, he managed a few swallows. She eased him down as gently as possible, trying to take care with the bump on his head.

  Her heart hurt for him. The more she looked at him, the more injuries he seemed to have. The good side of his face was turned toward her. Long lashes laid against his cheek. His strong brow framed his face, balancing his cheekbone. Already a dark shadow graced his cheeks from his whiskers, emphasizing his strong jaw line. His bare shoulders looked impossibly broad even without his clothes.

  She studied him carefully for a long moment. His eyes remained closed and so she indulged her desire to touch him. She ran gentle fingers down his cheek, moving down to his massive arm. The bulge of muscle there amazed her. She’d never before seen a man in this state of undress.

  With one finger, she trailed along the contours of his shoulder, arm, then over to his chest. His skin was so warm and smooth, yet powerfully built. The strength of his body fascinated her. He was beautiful. There was no other way to describe him.

  She glanced up to find him watching her with his good eye. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.” She blinked, uncertain what else to say. “You’re just so...big.”

  A ghost of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Feels good.”

  Her stomach did a long, slow roll at the idea of bringing him pleasure, especially when he was in so much pain. With a slightly firmer hand, she repeated her movements and he sighed, his eye closing again. Soon the steady rise and fall of his chest told her he slept. She continued for a bit longer, enjoying the feel of him.

  The rest of the day passed slowly. She kept a watchful eye on Garrick, praying he wasn’t bleeding inside. Surely some sign would have appeared by now though she didn’t know what to watch for. She had some experience in tending injuries as she’d done much of that after the siege. But she knew little compared to Hilda.

  As evening approached, a quiet knock on the door sent her heart pounding. She rose to answer it and found Chanse outside with a sack in his hand.

  “How is he?” he asked before she had a chance to greet him.

  “Resting well, I think.” She stepped out of the way so he could see for himself.

  The tenseness of his expression eased as he stared at his cousin. “His color is good. That’s a positive sign. Has he wakened?”

  “Once briefly.”

  “Has he told you what happened?”

  She shook her head. “He only said a couple of words.” She hoped Chanse didn’t ask what they were.

  “I brought some food for you,” he told her as he handed her the sack. “I wasn’t certain if Hilda would return this eve and thought you might be hungry.”

  “How kind of you. Many thanks.” She took the bag to the table and unpacked bread, cheese, and another small bag. “What’s in here?”

  “I put together some things for soup, if you’re of a mind to make it. I thought you might like something hot and mayhap Garrick would eat some as well. If he wakes.”

  She stared at the contents of the bag, holding it near the candlelight. “There are all kinds of dried vegetables in here. Are those herbs?” she asked as she saw a few small leaves amidst the peas and carrots and onion bits.

  “Aye. There’s a little dried meat as well. If you add it to a pot of water and let it simmer for a time—”

  He cut off the rest of the sentence as he caught the look on her face. “What?”

  “You put together the makings of hotch-potch for us? How do you know how to make it?” She couldn’t believe it. Few men she’d met—certainly not any who looked like Chanse—had knowledge of cooking.

  He shrugged, obviously embarrassed now. “’Tis more of a soup than hotch-potch. We travel a fair amount. One grows weary of hard cheese and old bread while on the road.”

  “A knight who knows how to cook?”

  “Indeed. Though I admit ’tis more to benefit myself than others.” He grinned.

  A sound—part grunt, part scoff—came from the corner where the bed was, drawing Chanse’s attention.

  He drew closer, his smile growing broader as he saw Garrick’s eye open. “Glad to see you’re still amongst the living.”

  “Barely.”

  Chanse immed
iately sobered. “Christ. What the hell happened?” He held up a hand. “Don’t speak if it’s too much for you. Conserve your strength.”

  Garrick’s gaze shifted to Sophia, and she moved closer as well. “Thomas.”

  She couldn’t help but open her mouth in surprise. “’Tis difficult to believe he’s capable of such violence.”

  Chanse looked at Sophia. “The butcher?”

  “Aye.” She glanced from Garrick to Chanse. “I’ve known him for many years. I had no idea he could do this. Why would he?”

  “He said an English knight...” Garrick drew a shallow breath, his brow furrowing as he did so. “Had no business poking his nose...where it didn’t belong.” His voice was low and rough, his words barely audible as he spoke. “Two others aided him.”

  “Three against one, aye? Unfair odds,” Chanse said. “Wasn’t it the middle of the day when you ventured that way?”

  Again Garrick nodded. “Hit me from behind. Dragged me away.”

  When he licked his lips, Sophia reached for the cup of water. “Thirsty?”

  At his nod, Chanse helped lift his head so he could drink. Even that small movement caused him to grimace in pain.

  Garrick caught Chanse’s gaze. “Don’t let...Braden.”

  The worry in Chanse’s expression intensified at his cousin’s odd request. “Nay, I won’t. ’Tis bad then?”

  Garrick closed his eyes and apparently that was enough answer for Chanse, for he shook his head. But he quickly caught Sophia’s worried look and forced a smile. “You’re going to be fine, Garrick. Know that to be true. We’ll have you feeling better sooner than you think.”

  When Garrick didn’t respond, Chanse moved to the fire where he found a small pot and ladled some of the steaming water from the large kettle hanging over the fire.

  Sophia brought him the sack of ingredients from the table.

  He stirred them into the water then hung it by the handle on one of the rods over the fire. “Give it a stir once in awhile. When it smells like soup, it should be nearly ready.”

  “My thanks.”

  His movements stilled as he glanced to Garrick, worry creasing his eyes. He leaned close to her. “Is he coughing?”

  “A little.”

  “Has he coughed up blood?”

  She shook her head, and Chanse’s expression eased. “That’s something then.”

  “Why can’t Braden touch him?” Sophia asked.

  Chanse only shook his head. “’Tis a story for another day. He’s staying with your family. Will you be all right here this eve? I could stay if you’d like me to. If the healer hasn’t returned by now, she might not.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’d rather you help keep watch over my family, if you don’t mind. If Thomas knows of my association with Garrick, they might be at risk.” She swallowed hard at the thought of her family once again in danger.

  “I’d better return before darkness falls else the city gate will be closed for the night. Do you need anything more before I leave?”

  “Let us try to get Garrick to drink more of the medicine before you go.”

  They managed to coax him into sipping it. The task was far easier with two.

  “I can’t thank you enough for watching over Garrick, Lady Sophia,” Chanse said with a touch on her arm as he prepared to leave. “Are you certain you will be all right this eve?”

  “Aye. And you have my gratitude for watching over my family. That means the world to me.”

  The knight smiled and shut the door behind him.

  Sophia stirred the simmering soup, her stomach growling in response to the appetizing aroma that filled the cottage. She placed a small amount into a bowl then added water to make it thinner with the hope she might get Garrick to drink some.

  He roused long enough to take several sips of the broth then slept once again.

  Sophia had a bowl of it as well along with some of the bread. She rinsed out the dishes then made a pallet on the floor beside Garrick’s bed. Though it was still early, the day had been a long one, and she knew the night might be as well.

  She pressed a kiss to Garrick’s forehead, saying another prayer that he would heal quickly. Seeing this strong knight lying there so helpless made her realize even more how much she’d grown to care for him. He held far more than just a piece of her heart. She feared he had it all.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  James nodded in approval as he listened to Thomas the butcher tell of how they’d done away with the English knight.

  “Excellent,” he said. “You didn’t use a knife this time? If two bodies were to be found with their throats slit, the deeds would be linked together.”

  “Nay, my lord. As you directed, after we finished with him, we drowned him in the river.”

  “Not the same place as the other body, I hope?” James needed this murder to appear as though it was unrelated to the previous one. He’d prefer to avoid raising alarm among the residents of the city until his plan was further underway. By then, he hoped to plant enough seeds to allow him to collect others who were like-minded and ready to shove Englishmen out of Scotland by whatever means necessary.

  Thus far, Thomas had proven a much more effective weapon than the previous man. Thomas’s hatred of the English ran deep and seemed as permanent and unwavering as the scar upon his face. James could only hope Sir Gilbert hadn’t been able to pry the truth out of the man who now resided in his dungeon.

  “A different spot, of course,” Thomas agreed quickly, making James wonder if he told the truth. “Shall we do away with his two companions?”

  James scowled as he pondered his options. Choosing between ridding Berwick of the Douglas family or the English knights who seemed unable to mind their own affairs was difficult.

  But if the nosiest of the three knights was dead, the other two might very well leave on their own soon. James decided he’d be better off returning to his original plan. Besides, rumors told that William Douglas could soon be freed. What better way to welcome him home than a dead family?

  James smiled at the thought, noting how Thomas drew back. Good. It would serve him well if the butcher feared him. There was less chance the man would attempt to double cross him.

  “Let us try again to do away with the eldest Douglas sister.”

  “I thought you might say that, so I’ve been watchin’ for her, but she seems to have disappeared. No one’s seen her in the market square for the past two days.”

  James frowned. “Interesting. What of the other one?”

  “She’s always either at home or at St. Mary’s. Should be easy enough to be rid of her.”

  “Don’t use the river this time.”

  Thomas frowned. “Where would ye like me to put her then?”

  “I don’t know.” James waved away the question. Such details were far too tedious. “Bury her in the woods or something. I don’t care. Just make certain she’s not found.”

  “Her disappearin’ will most likely bring back Lady Sophia.”

  “Excellent point. Thomas, you surprise me. Sometimes you actually use your wits.” James tapped his temple. A glimmer of an idea struck him. “Wait. I have an even better plan. I will have a message of some sort sent to the younger Douglas sister at the nunnery. From Sir Gilbert.” James chuckled at the cleverness of his strategy. “If we plan carefully, we can eliminate the Douglas family and perhaps Sir Gilbert as well.”

  Thomas scratched his head. “Lady Ilisa has practically taken her vows. Are you certain she needs to die as well?”

  “Joining the nunnery doesn’t put her any closer to God than the rest of us.” James rubbed a finger back and forth across his lip as he considered how to manage the whole affair. Perhaps details were more interesting than he’d realized. “Can you arrange to deliver some meat to the keep?” As he explained his plan to Thomas, James’s excitement grew. Assuming all went well, he’d eliminate many of his problems in one day.

  The butcher smiled as James spoke, making the hook-
shaped scar near his mouth all the more noticeable. “Very clever, my lord.”

  “Remember, tell no one of my involvement. Anyone you enlist to aid you must think you do this because of your hatred for the English.”

  “I remember, my lord.”

  “Very well.” James lifted a small bag of coins from the table before him. “Here is your payment. Be careful it doesn’t bring you unwanted attention. The rest will follow when the task is done.”

  Thomas nodded tucking the bag into his belt.

  “I look forward to hearing from you soon.” James watched as Thomas bowed and hurried away. It was hard to find reliable help these days, but Thomas seemed to have enough ambition to appreciate the opportunity James offered and enough anger to set aside any misgivings at killing.

  James leaned back in his chair. Now he need only determine which English pig should die after this plan had been completed. Soon the English would flee Berwick and all of Scotland. He smiled with satisfaction at the thought.

  ~*~

  Garrick’s dreams were strange ones. He dreamt of home, of speaking with his father. He dreamt of the day he’d been dubbed a knight, reliving the hollow feeling of being undeserving of such a title. He dreamt of the brutal beating, the blows his attackers rained down on him. And he dreamt of Sophia, lying in his arms, pressing kisses along his face, her nimble fingers exploring his body as their passion carried them away.

  The pain ebbed and flowed yet never left, as relentless as ocean waves upon a beach.

  He longed to draw a deep breath yet even the thought of doing so started a burning in his ribs that halted his breathing. Sleep was a welcome escape but didn’t come often enough.

  Each time he stirred, unable to bear the pain any longer, Sophia was there with a soothing hand along his brow, a gentle word to ease his restlessness, and more of the nasty thick potion she urged him to swallow. Her sweet scent filled his senses when she was near. Her presence brought great comfort and provided something to focus on other than the pain that pulsed through him.