Knight Furies

by C. C. Wiley

  A small gasp was enough to make it clear that she realized he had received a plentiful view of her shapely legs. A wave of disappointment washed over him as she yanked the skirt down.

  “You forgot these,” he croaked. When had his throat become parched? The hose and shoes hung from his fingertips.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. Her silken voice slid over his skin like a lover’s caress.

  Now that he was closer, he could see that he had been incorrect. Her eyes might be as dark as obsidian, but for a moment they were warm and almost friendly.

  She hugged the shoes to her chest. Nathan stifled a groan when she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Her eyes settled somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth.

  A breeze ruffled the tendrils clinging to her slender neck. Should he claim a reward for his gallantry? Nathan’s thoughts raced to keep his nether region from making an appearance. Nay, ’twould be best if she offered it to him. He waited, wanting to discover the sweetness of her lush lips.

  The tree limbs arching overhead rustled as they created a canopy of privacy and seclusion. The shushing of their leaves called to him, whispering to lift the curl nestled on the curve of her breast.

  The cow chewed on her cud, waiting for them to break the silence. Nathan began to despair the woman’s offer would never come. The warmth in her eyes dissipated. Her gaze glittered back at him, brittle as a stone chipped from the caves of Clearmorrow.

  Nathan blinked, caught by surprise when she tugged on the cow’s rope and moved away instead of sitting down to repair her clothing. She cast a cool glance over him as if he were in dire need of a bath.

  “Why are you following me?” The silk of her voice still had the ability to make his stomach coil in anticipation.

  Nathan supposed he probably could use a bath. The ride from Clearmorrow Castle had taken him several days. Bathing had been his intention when he paused beside that stream. The need to rest both man and steed had taken him by surprise. He had almost fallen asleep. But all that changed when she arrived and disturbed his peace.

  He refrained from the instinct to sniff his person. He supposed now he would have to wait until he took up residence in the keep. Wasn’t it the custom for the lady of the castle to offer to bathe their guests? Not that he’d request it. Well, maybe in the past, but not now. He’d seen the demands of those in power put upon women like Elizabeth and Sabine. He could have, had he chosen the plan to blend in, become a part of the little village. Feeling her curious gaze, he figured he best respond to her questions before she used that little knife still clutched in her fist.

  “I’m called Nathan Staves.”

  “We’re not used to strangers. You should know that there’s nothing in Fletchers Landing for you.” She took her attention off the cow and the path ahead to direct it over his horse. “’Tis a fine steed. A destrier, isn’t it?”

  “Aye. He’s called Madrigal.”

  “My sister would be enthralled with him,” she whispered. Nathan watched her draw up, right before she stumbled and caught her breath. He winced, feeling her pain ripple through his body. Empathy? He supposed that was another new experience he never expected. He reached out to steady her elbow.

  The delicate skin around her eyes tightened. She quickened her pace. “I must make haste. I bid you farewell.”

  He supposed he could have used the king’s power and stated his reason for being there. It would impress some. He had a feeling that this one would trust him even less. Truth be told, it rather hurt his pride that she did not fall so willingly under his charms. “Why did you send me in the wrong direction?” he called out.

  Her footsteps slowed as she turned. “I thought perhaps you were mistaken in your destination.” Her full lips pouted. They were made for making love. He wanted to bury himself in their lush unspoken promises. One reason among many held him back from pursuing his desires.

  Having spent time at the royal court and in back alleys, Nathan knew when someone was lying to him. And this was one of those times that did not catch him by surprise.

  He stepped cautiously, as though he was creeping up on a dove, and closed the gap between them. “I can’t imagine not finding something endearing in your little village. ’Tis by the sea, is it not?”

  “But you’ll not find anything of worth near the Solway Firth.” She kept her head turned from him. The little stick tapped at the lumbering cow’s backside as they set off again. “’Tis possible that you wished to travel to Carlisle,” she continued. “I suggest you take the path back at the crossroad. I vow it would be more to your liking. I bid you Godspeed.”

  To Nathan’s utter amazement and speechlessness, she jacked her shoulders back to show him who was master and led her beast away. He wondered, did she realize that in doing so, her breast stood proud and almost as erect as his cock?

  That woman had awakened something in his soul that he thought had died in that treacherous hole. To his surprise, another piece of him returned so hard, its impact made his rib cage hurt. He watched her hips sway as she strode away.

  Nathan picked up Madrigal’s reins and continued down the path that infuriating and extremely intriguing wench took. The one thing he did know right then, he was definitely not traveling to Carlisle.

  But first he needed to relocate the stream. It would take a great deal of time to regain his balance. And then he would make his way to Fletchers Landing.

  The challenge was on.

  * * * *

  Meg could not believe she had treated the stranger so poorly. Her parents would have been horrified. Of course, that was not the only thing she had been forced to do that would have made her mother go into one of her rants. Hospitality had been one of Lady Beatrice of Fletchers Landing’s mantras.

  But Meg had had more than enough overbearing men to suit her. First, her betrothed, who not only took advantage of her dreams of love, but also proceeded to destroy her family. Then the Lord of Balforth had arrived to claim his lordship, demanding heavy taxes, only to leave after pieces of gold were placed in his hands. He was no better than Duncan Graham, who only offered protection for a price. Fletchers Landing was crowded with men who brought nothing but torment to her life.

  Now, God forbid, here was a new stranger in their midst. A certain male who called himself Nathan Staves. One who she feared would threaten the tower of stones that she had carefully erected under the name of those who counted on her for protection and provision; her family and the people of Fletchers Landing.

  His very presence made her tremble. Why was he truly here? He was not simply a wanderer looking for work. The steel of his sword was finely wrought, the hilt gilded with gold. The horse’s saddle and bridle were not that of a poor man. However, both of his hands were callused, proving that he did indeed know the meaning of labor.

  But what labor did he do? She had witnessed DePierce’s soft hands. The very thought made her shiver with revulsion. Nor were they rough hands of the fishermen and the farmers. The protectors and marauders had similar calluses on one hand. His were on both.

  She had seen them when he nearly touched her arm. In that moment, one breath between parted lips, she had nearly disgraced herself, her family, and broken her vow. The cage where desire resided rattled with need, begging for release. She looked over her shoulder. Did he persist in following her?

  The path was empty. And inexplicably, Meg had to fight the need to release a tear. Letting go of Maisie’s rope, she sat down on a boulder and tugged on her hose and shoes. No need for anyone to take notice of her state of undress. Not that anyone probably would.

  Her clothing in place, she rose, resolute in returning to the keep and forgetting the stranger that made her heart quicken. That task might be harder than she first thought. Whatever his reason for riding nearby, she had the feeling that life in her little village was about to change.

  Her feet dragging, she led
Maisie into the outbuilding and settled her in. Phillipa rushed over before she secured the gate.

  “Where have you been? Oh my lord. The poor thing is nearly ready to burst.”

  Meg sighed. “Then milk her and be done with it. And see that she doesn’t cause anymore mischief.” She glanced up at the sun. If she hurried, she would be able to attend the meeting in the cavern by the sea.

  Mayhap, she would find out what the smugglers knew about the man called Nathan Staves.

  Chapter 3

  Nathan stepped out of the stream. His thoughts cleared with each shivering tremble of his muscles. A shrug of his stiff shoulders brought pain, reminding him once again that he was still healing. His feet bore the wounds where DePierce’s men had honed their techniques of torture. Not all wounds were visible, but all wounds would carry scars in some shape or form. He limped over to Madrigal and rummaged through the satchel tied behind the saddle.

  After drying off with his used jerkin, he pulled out a clean linen shirt and donned his leather jerkin. The chausses would serve until he could find someone to clean them.

  He had tarried long enough. The day was slipping away. It was time for him to make his mission official and find a place to lay his head for the night. He would prefer sleeping as the raven-haired maiden’s guest, but he still needed to discover whether she already had a man to protect her.

  He toweled the remaining droplets from his face and swept back his damp hair. Madrigal nickered. Nathan swung around, his sword already in hand before he realized it.

  He’d seen enough people in trouble to recognize it. A boy with thick black hair stumbled from the brush. His blue eyes widened and seemed to take up most of the room on his pale face. “My pardon. I…I don’t mean you harm,” the boy squeaked. He opened his hands, proving they were empty of weapons.

  “What’s your name?” Nathan asked. He glanced over the trees, searching for others. “Why are you alone?”

  His eyes shined with intelligence. “Are you a knight?” he whispered in awe.

  “Mayhap. Why do you ask?”

  “I’ve only seen swords and horse leather nearly as fine as yours once before. But they were soldiers and weren’t to be trusted.”

  Surprised that the boy noticed so many details in such a short time, brought respect and wariness racing through his veins. “They’re gone now?”

  “Yes, they came and went. But they’ll return. I’m certain of it.” He leaned to peer closer. “My father once had a mighty sword. But I do not know where it went.”

  Nathan smoothed his hand over the hilt and slid the sword into its sheath. “To lose one’s weapon is a sad thing indeed.”

  “I wish that I might learn the art of swordplay. To protect our village.”

  “’Tis an honorable reason to learn.”

  He chewed on the edge of his thumb and studied Nathan as if he would poisonous vermin. Apparently, he came to a decision and abandoned the safety of the bushes. He held out his hand. “I’m called B-baldric, my lord,” he said.

  “My pleasure,” Nathan said. The gravity of the boy’s countenance made him look even closer and see the streaks marring his cheeks. “And what are you doing out here by yourself?”

  “I’m searching for something that I lost,” he admitted. “I fear I shall have to bear her wrath again.” He made a face that reminded Nathan of Darrick’s dog, Thunder. “Older sisters are not to be crossed and they can become impossible to please.”

  “Aye,” Nathan nodded. “I hate to expose one of their secrets, but most women are impossible to please.”

  Baldric considered this news and nodded with a sigh. “’Tis as I feared. Though I don’t remember my mother being so difficult.” He shook his head. “’Twas so very long ago. It’s hard to fully recall.”

  The thought of dealing with that bag of emotions sent Nathan scrambling for other topics. “I’m headed for Fletchers Landing. Do you know it? Have I far to travel?”

  “Know it? ’Tis my home.” A grin stretched, lighting Baldric’s whole face. “You have but to climb up yonder hill and then down to the valley below.”

  “Are there establishments to tend for my horse? Mayhap an alehouse?”

  “Course. Wayland our blacksmith will be able to direct you. And if it’s food and ale that you seek, you must ask for Harrigan. But honey mead is what Fletchers Landing is known for.”

  Nathan bowed low. “Many thanks, young Baldric. Would you care to join me on my final trek to your home?”

  “I still must search for a while longer. If I don’t return home before nightfall, my sisters will be sorely angry.”

  “As you wish.” He gathered Madrigal’s reins and decided to walk for a while. His mission was about to begin. He pondered Baldric’s comment about the soldiers. Had they been there to serve DePierce and his foul plan?

  Feeling as though he had developed a new ally in the village, he turned to wave at the lad. Mayhap he would teach him to wield a sword. The weight of his tongue held back his offer. Baldric leaned heavily against a wooden staff as he limped down the road. Nathan’s mind busied with details of how he might alter the training to fit the boy’s needs. Of course, judging from his own experience, in doing so, the villagers would be more willing to accept him as one of their own. ’Twas the way of things.

  Nathan rounded the hill that led to Fletchers Landing. The scent of salt and sea that coated the air met him as he took a breath. Midday sun cut through the clouds, illuminating the pale stone that stood over the village like a guardian angel.

  He paused to see the lay of the land. The outer curtain wall stretched around the village, keeping its inhabitants safe from strangers like him. Straight ahead, the cliff reached out, a sentinel against the enemy. Steep paths led to where fishermen’s boats bobbed on the waves. The tide would roll through the Solway Firth below the cliff and into the sea. A grove of trees filed past the southern wall. The rest of the land held neat rows of cottages and lush green fields. To the north stood the large keep. Behind it were more fields teeming with people working the rows.

  A wave of gratitude swept through him. The great building was made of stone more than of timber. He’d witnessed the damage caused by fire and hoped to never have to rebuild another fortification again. Though as a Knight of the Swan, he supposed that was probably inevitable once he returned to the king’s side.

  Though smaller than Clearmorrow, the keep looked to be made of sturdy craftsmanship. Outbuildings surrounded the keep. A steady billow of smoke and the clang of iron against iron announced the blacksmith’s workhouse.

  A frown tugged his brow. The barns and sheds were jammed together far too close to the main hall. Their thatched roofs were a fire hazard. Now that DePierce was no longer in control, the land had transferred into King Henry’s hands. Nathan would have to speak to whoever now stood as manager of the land and see that changes were made.

  He swung his leg over the saddle and settled into the well. His destrier pranced, drawing the villagers’ attention. A few stopped what they were doing and stared after them.

  Nathan drew up on Madrigal’s reins while he searched for the blacksmith. Nestled in the shadow of the keep stood the building he’d seen from the hill. Heat billowed from the doorway, stroking his face before he dismounted.

  He led the horse to the trough and let him drink deeply before tugging him away. Much like his master, his mighty steed had a penchant for overindulging. They were on a mission for the king and this was the first time Nathan had been away from those who would protect and forgive him if he lost his grip on sanity. The last thing both of them needed was to let go of that thin thread of control.

  The ringing of hammer and anvil stilled. The silence was nearly unbearable. Nathan winced. It might as well have been a horn trumpeting his arrival.

  He approached the man, wary of the weapons still in his beefy hands. “Good day,”
he said.

  “G’day,” the blacksmith said around the iron nails caught between his lips. “What’d you want?”

  Their lack of hospitality toward strangers almost took Nathan back a step. Instead, he recalled that he was the king’s man and expected to be treated thus. Long were the years when he hadn’t earned that respect, nor did his name carry any weight. But today, he arrived on the king’s command and he intended to find out why Fletchers Landing held more than the attention of the king.

  He stepped forward, entering the giant’s lair. “I’ve traveled far and I wish a place to rest my horse.”

  Glacial gray eyes glittered back at him over the fire. He pumped the bellows, raising the flames. Heat threatened to scorch their eyebrows.

  “Be you Wayland?” Nathan refused to give him space. Instead, he moved deeper into the hut, toward the fiery pit. “I have king’s coin and I intend to stay here for a few days. Maybe more.”

  “That so? Without Lady Margaret’s permission, I won’t be tending to anything for you.” His glance cut to Madrigal. “’Tis a magnificent beast. Him, I’ll serve for your coin. But you… You’ll need to speak to the woman at the keep before you think to rest your head in Fletchers Landing.”

  “Aye? And who might be managing the king’s land?”

  The blacksmith laid down his hammer, folding his tree-trunk arms across his chest; the ice in his glare a stark contrast against the stoked fire in the pit. “As I told ye, speak to Lady Margaret. She’ll set you straight.”

  Nathan scrubbed the bristles coating his jaw. Lord Godwin and Lady Beatrice were the only ones reported to have held the land before DePierce. And they were all dead. Who was this Lady Margaret?

  * * * *

  “Meg, I cannot believe you mean to take this chance again,” Anna rolled a ball of beeswax between her palms. “The people of Fletchers Landing do not expect you, Lady Margaret Grace of Fletchers Landing, to make this sacrifice.”