Knight Furies

by C. C. Wiley

  It would never do to stable your horse with a new enemy. And he had a feeling the blacksmith Wayland would get his pound of retribution.

  “My thanks.” He clasped the man’s hand. Mayhap he could still gain an ally outside the keep. The two extra coins slid on the table were covered and palmed. “If someone should come for me, they’ll be looking for Sir Nathan Staves.”

  Harrigan’s one good eye roved over Nathan’s face. “Staves of nowhere, is it?”

  “For now,” he said.

  “Looks like his lordship has taken a liking to you. Yonder he comes.”

  Nathan’s brows rose. Lordship?

  Baldric ran back. His one good leg leading the shorter one with a skip and a hop. “Come with us.” He tugged on Nathan’s sleeve and pointed to the keep on the hill.

  Phillipa turned. Impatience spilled from her steps. She juggled the squirming spotted puppy in her arms. “Baldric. Bring your stranger.”

  “You must join us for the evening meal,” Baldric said. “’Tis certain my sister will want to reward you for your good deed.”

  “Best heed my Lady Phillipa and Lord Baldric,” Harrigan said. He swiped the moisture beading over his upper lip. “But mind, if you don’t make it past Lady Margaret’s gate, I’ll find a place for both you and your charger.”

  Chapter 4

  Nathan looped the reins over Madrigal’s neck and swung into the saddle. The little lord and lady had determined that they would wait for him to gather his destrier from the blacksmith’s stable. Did they, too, feel more than animosity boiling from the fire pit? Thankfully, Wayland had hid himself away from the shop and they had only to deal with his assistant. Though Nathan relished a meeting, it would prove more fruitful if he left it for another day.

  He smoothed his palm over the great horse’s thick neck. “What has our king gotten us into?”

  Brother and sister led the way up the road to the keep. Another set of gates were closed and fortified well enough that it would withstand a siege. Pale stone glistened in the setting sun, turning crimson as the day began to end.

  But where were the soldiers? They would need more men at arms to defend the keep against disgruntled people like the blacksmith. He squinted into the sun’s glare. A gleaming path of white stone led to the water below. A young servant ran up to Phillipa and Baldric. The serving girl bobbed her head as the commander of their little troupe issued out orders.

  “Don’t let her know,” he overheard her say as he rode up beside them.

  Ah, so there was someone else who held the village in order and under stern rule?

  “Halt,” the voice came from behind the gate. Phillipa, Baldric and the servant froze. Judging by the apprehension etched on their faces, Nathan itched to feel the comforting cool metal of his sword gripped in his fist. Madrigal stomped his great hooves and snorted.

  The gate swung out on oiled hinges.

  Two more women stood in the entrance. The taller of the two kept to the shadows, her arched hand protecting her eyes from the sun. She stepped out, her attention on the children. A pristine white cloak swung from her shoulders and covered her from head to toe. A gauzy veil of lace hung over her face, hiding her features. Slim hands, fisted a pair of leather gloves the color of mourning doves.

  “What have you to say for yourselves?” asked the tall woman. Her throaty voice wove its way through the veil.

  Nathan lifted his head to peer under the silk wall. There was a familiarity about it that made the beat of his heart pick up speed. Those same fingers that itched to hold a sword now ached to reveal her face. What did she hide? Was her countenance disfigured from plague or fire?

  If not for the boy, he would have bent down from the saddle and stripped the mask away. Who was this woman? Mother? Mistress of the keep? The dreaded Lady Margaret?

  Baldric’s shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry I left the gate open, Meg.”

  Meg?

  “I saw the blacksmith,” Baldric continued, pleading his case. “I knew he meant the mother dog harm.” He lifted his head. “And I was right.”

  “Your responsibility was to our livestock. What you did was allow one of our cows to wander off. Someone else could have found and claimed her. Then who would answer to her calf waiting for his mother’s milk?”

  The boy paled under her scrutiny. “Me,” he whispered.

  “But it didn’t,” his sister said.

  “You’ll do best if you stay out of his mess,” Meg warned.

  “I saw to them,” Phillipa insisted. “Maisie and her calf are fine. Besides, ’tis time to ween him from her teat.” She shifted her hold on the sleeping puppy, her fingers stroking its ears with relentless compassion.

  “You spend too much time in the barns as it is.”

  Phillipa’s head reared back in defiance. Her jaw clenched. “What do you intend to do to the blacksmith?”

  The woman swathed in white, stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  The woman beside her gasped. Her hair the color of golden chestnuts, was pulled back, braided and pinned to perfection. “What happened?” Her eyes were doe soft. An air of gentleness seemed to surround the children. “Is someone hurt? Should I get my things?”

  “No,” the children said; a united front. They shared a look between them.

  The woman they called Meg unwrapped the many layers. The veil fluttered to the ground like the reveal of an exotic dancer. Layers of material piled at their feet. “Thank you, God.” She embraced them, her head bowed under a mighty weight.

  “If not for this stranger, Master Wayland would have injured Baldric just so that he could murder this puppy,” Phillipa pointed out.

  A collective turn of heads pulled their full attention to Nathan. His breath stuttered.

  He tipped his head. His lady at the stream. Disguising his discomfort with a bow, he shifted in the saddle, allowing room for his cock to fill at the most inopportune time. If not for the tremble of fingers against her unbound hair, he would never have guessed that she recognized him.

  “Anna, take the children inside. We’ve given a performance for all to gossip about already. And that,” she said, pointing at the puppy, “will stay outside.”

  “But Meg,” Baldric wailed. “We need to take care of Pod. He needs me.”

  Gone was Nathan’s smiling young wench from the stream. In her place was a stern, tight-lipped, bitter woman. “You’ve named that little beast already?”

  The boy rubbed his nose as he hobbled toward her and tugged her sleeve. “His full name is Tripod.”

  “What an odd name.”

  His eyes brightened. “’Tis because he’s a bit like me.”

  Her head tipped to one side, noticing the way Phillipa stroked the pup’s deformed appendage. Meg took in a sharp breath. “I don’t see anything that compares to you.”

  Nathan wished he could ride away at that moment. He did not need or want to witness another private moment among family members. Apparently they had forgotten he still sat astride Madrigal. An escape should be easy enough.

  “Meg, ’tis certes, that you see his foot isn’t quite right.”

  Her complexion paled. “Yes. I see that now, little brother.” She gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. “He has a white spot on his paw. Why not call him Whitefoot, instead?”

  Baldric’s smile warmed and Nathan had the feeling they had all been taken into his plan. He lifted the smaller spotted paw. “Of course. I should have noticed that. Aren’t you brilliant? It’ll be good to have him nearby. For protection. Once he’s grown, that is.”

  “And who shall clean up after it?” Her voice quavered.

  “I shall do it all. I promise. You won’t even notice that he is here.”

  Her dark eyebrow, the color of a raven’s wing, arched in doubt.

  “You won’t send him away because he’s different, will
you?” Baldric rubbed Whitefoot’s ears. “’Twould be as mean and cruel as that blacksmith.”

  A collective gasp passed through them. Meg stiffened, yanking her hands behind her back.

  “Baldric,” Anna ordered. “Take the puppy to the barn.”

  “For now,” Phillipa added before he could object. She tucked the puppy into his arms but not before yanking his ear. Contrite, he turned smartly on his heel and made a hasty retreat.

  Nathan would have liked to have been the one to console Meg, but her sisters beat him to it. They huddled around Meg, rubbing her arms as they whispered in her ear. He felt a bit like an insect when they stopped chattering to stare over their shoulders in his direction.

  He rested his elbow on the saddle’s horn. The royal court held nothing to compare to the interaction between the ladies and their little lord. It was the like of which he had never experienced.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Meg assured them. Waving them on, she stood rooted until they slipped through the small postern gate in the wall. She spun around and marched toward him, her back as stiff and straight as any well-trained soldier.

  “You,” she said, keeping her voice low enough that Nathan had to lean forward. “What are you doing here?”

  Her breath blew across his skin, prickling it like a goose missing its feathers. He suppressed a shiver. Must be the breeze blowing in from the tide. He had hoped for a better reception. But that was before it appeared Meg was someone of importance at the keep. He still had yet to ascertain if there was a man in her life other than Baldric.

  “Apparently, I missed the turn for Carlisle.” A twitch of her lips drew him to her mouth. He slowly dismounted and was relieved when she did not retreat. The top of her head came to the middle of his chest so that she had to tip her head back, exposing her slender neck. Her lush lips pouted up at him. A droplet of liquid glistened at the corner of her mouth. It attracted him as a flower attracts a bee to its pollen. “I’m told I have a penchant for saving those in need of help.”

  She made a face, rolling her eyes at his attempt at humor. The shawl came up to her chin. “Come inside the keep, before we add more fodder for the people to gossip about.”

  “A moment, my lady.” Unable to resist, he ran his thumb over the sticky substance near her succulent mouth. His brow arched as he licked the honey from his skin. Ah, that was the source of her sweetened breath. Aroused, a groan slipped from his lips as his groin clenched. He closed his eyes and leaned in to taste if the rest of her was as sweet and nearly tumbled through the empty chasm where she once stood.

  A scratchy throat cleared beside him. Nathan craned his neck and suppressed his surprise at the height of its owner. The man of the cloth, complete with wooden cross hanging from his neck, a halo of bushy gray hair, and woolen gown that reached his ankles, was not a small man by any means.

  “I’m called Brother John,” the man said. His face, wrinkled by time and the sun, beamed down at him. Piercing blue eyes stared back, divining between deception and truth.

  Nathan narrowed his gaze. Enough meddling clergymen had filled his past to last a lifetime. He drew back his shoulders, defying the sudden urge to ask for forgiveness for so many sins, too numerous to count and that would probably send the old man to an early grave.

  He tipped his head. “Sir Nathan Staves.”

  “Ah, a knight of the realm.” The friar ran his palm over Madrigal’s shiny black coat. His bony fingers traced the medallions marking the saddle. “A favored one, at that.”

  From somewhere hidden under the many folds of his mud brown long tunic, he produced a red apple. The destrier, trained to obey only one master, that being Nathan, took the treat from the old man’s hand. Juice ran from his lips. The horse nickered, blowing against the monk’s cowl.

  Traitor. Since when had his charger been accepting of strangers?

  “Our friend here appears to have an appetite.” The monk waved to the shadows and a servant trotted up. The young man paused, hesitant to take command of the powerful beast.

  “Show me the way, lad,” Nathan said. “My boy, Madrigal, is inclined to be a bit testy. ’Tis best that I tend to him myself.”

  “No matter,” Brother John said. “Follow me.” He set off, his hands hidden inside the voluminous sleeves, and chatted on. “Lady Phillipa is probably pacing the stables so that she might get her hands on him. She works miracles with all the animals.”

  Nathan scowled. What manner of man from the church came without judgment? He almost liked him. At least the man didn’t don himself with velvets and silks. He would have had to run him through just on principle alone.

  “The young girl. Lady Phillipa. She’s the one who came to the boy’s rescue?”

  “I heard the tale that you had a hand in helping Lord Baldric.” His smile stretched. “’Tis good to aid someone in need. Is it not?”

  Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. The only true person he ever vowed to help and protect was his king. Albeit, those few he knew who were connected to the Knights of the Swan would gain his help if needed. But in truth, even then, it still was done in the name of the king.

  “Young Baldric may have a challenge here and there, but it has given him a charitable heart. He’ll make a wonderful lord of Fletchers Landing when he comes of age,” Brother John said.

  The path took a circuitous route inside the keep wall. Outbuildings crammed against each other until there seemed hardly any room to breathe. Why place everything inside the wall when you had villagers who obviously worked the fields? Did they worry their people would steal the stores?

  Nathan turned back his thoughts. “Sir Vincent DePierce was given lordship by King Henry, was he not?”

  A change washed over Brother John. A tightness of the lips and jaw. “Here are the stables.”

  The building, three times the size of the others, housed several horses, some of which Sir Ranulf, Lord of Sedgewic would be envious. The spacious tack room resided at the end of the building. The thatched roof concerned him. He’d need to see that changed while he uncovered Fletchers Landing’s secrets. The barn and stalls were immaculate, giving testament to the care the old friar professed.

  After they settled Madrigal in a stall that would make Darrick weep with envy, Brother John motioned for one of his minions. They seemed to appear out of the mist and shadows. But he saw no sign of Baldric and his sister tending to the puppy as they were ordered.

  Madrigal pushed at his shoulder, lipping his sleeve. Nathan cut his eyes to the shadows. Who listened and watched? The space between his shoulders crawled with suspicion and if he should ever admit it, anticipation.

  “He’ll be well cared for. Much more than if still under the blacksmith’s roof. Someone will see to his brushing.”

  “Aye. No reason not to put tack away.” Nathan carried bridle and saddle to the tack room, leaving it on the bench for cleaning. He swung his satchel over his shoulder. “What’s going on here, Brother John? Tension leaks through the stones and washes through the village.”

  “It’s nothing for a stranger to concern himself with.” He puffed a breath. “As for Blacksmith Wayland, he has yet to learn our ways. ’Tis certain we will pray for his soul.”

  Nathan would rather take a stronger means other than prayer. It was his observation that it did little good to pray.

  Bells rang out.

  “’Tis time for us to make ready for our evening meal,” the old monk explained. “We eat after vespers and when all the tasks are completed. I believe Lady Margaret intends for you to join us. I imagine you would prefer a wash up before attending the ladies in the solar.”

  The man’s voice scratched over Nathan’s nerves. He imagined the parishioners fell under the neutral tones until they were cast under religion’s spell. “Aye, a good wash would do. Have you a trough or well?”

  Nodding in understanding, the old man motioned fo
r him to follow on. The path kept winding and Nathan began to wonder if he was expected to take a plunge in the firth.

  “Fletchers Landing is more civilized than asking our guests to splash around in the beasts’ drinking water. Besides, my lady Phillipa considers it unhealthy for the animals.”

  “She has a passion for them, does she?”

  Brother John grunted. “Aye.”

  Silence stretched. Had the man of the cloth reached the stage of forgetfulness? Even a cup of water would be a welcome sight so that he could remove the road grit clinging to his neck.

  The sound of water crashing against the shore kept them company as they climbed the stairs to the overlarge doors. Impressed with their size, Nathan measured their arch would reach twice as high as any other that he’d seen in all of his travels. Only the doorways at King Henry’s court would rival their workmanship.

  Expecting it to take two servants to open the great wooden panels, he was surprised when they swung easily on oiled hinges.

  They entered the great hall. The room opened out, bringing its inhabitants and attention to the center. Fresh rushes softened the sound of their footsteps. The scent of crushed herbs followed behind them.

  “The bell will ring once more. I suggest you make haste. My lady does not appreciate tardiness.” Brother John pointed to an alcove. “You’ll find accommodations to your liking.” And with that assumption, he left Nathan standing at the door.

  Nathan eased into the room. It held a washbowl and a pitcher. He sniffed at the perfumed water. Then tested it. It had been heated in anticipation of his use. Perhaps he did indeed feel someone’s eyes upon him.

  Taking the old monk’s advice he made quick use of the water scented with rosemary and lavender. Then went in search of the solar.

  * * * *

  Meg paced the solar. She could not believe that her own flesh and blood had turned against her. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that the stranger should stay in the stable with his horse.”

  “But he’s already been invited to sup with us. We can’t go back on our word. What would Mother and Father have said?” Phillipa argued.