Knight Furies

by C. C. Wiley

  Meg stepped closer, motioning for him to be quiet. “Settle your ire. I didn’t intend to hurt your pride.” Worry dug into her brow. “But I know my people.”

  He gave his sporran a jerk, clearly still affronted. “Then you best look to those who aren’t your people.”

  Her evening meal threatened to free itself and cover the cavern floor. Mercenaries. Smugglers. The king’s knight. Not to mention her paid protectors. And now she had to consider someone from the village would put them all in jeopardy by reiving across the border? Who could be trusted?

  “I will do what I can.” His large hand swung out. Meg fought the urge to flinch and was relieved when he rubbed the back of his neck instead. “At least consider binding your brother and sisters to our clan.”

  “So that you may lay claim to Fletchers Landing? I think not, Duncan Graham.”

  “And why not? We have strong lads and comely maidens.”

  “They are but children.”

  “Lady Anna. Is she already spoken for? And your sister, the one who breeds the fine horses. She is nearly of age. Are they already betrothed?”

  “You’ll keep your distance, you thieving cur.”

  Deep furrows dug into his brow. “And you’ll watch your bitter tongue. Is that why you bring the young knight into your keep? To take them from the valley?”

  “I don’t know who you’re speaking of.”

  His brow arched. His gaze scraped over her from head to toe. “Have you already bartered with the king for their lives?”

  “Of course not. They do not marry unless ’tis for love.”

  His cheeks flushed. “You know that is not the way of things,” he sputtered.

  “I’ve had word that Lord Balforth is dead. We are safe for now.” She couldn’t bring herself to promise that his men did not mean to take what they could. Without proof, Duncan and his men would take them on and as God is her witness, she did not want their Scottish blood on her hands.

  “All the more reason to handfast the maidens and the boy,” Duncan continued to press.

  Why was he relentless in this rabbit he was chasing? “No.” That should be simple enough for even Duncan Graham to comprehend.

  “One day, lass, King Henry will demand his land. There will be a price.”

  “There is always a price,” she snapped.

  “Good. Then we are agreed.”

  “I said no to additional payment for protection. I’ll speak with my people and make it understood no one is to reive your land.” She held up her hand. “And no one is to be promised, betrothed, or handfast to you or your clan.”

  If she truly threw caution to the wind, she would have pushed his chin up to close his gaping mouth. Instead he did it for her. The crack of teeth almost made her jump.

  “You’re making a sorry mistake,” Duncan Graham said. Shards of anger glittered from his stare, cutting through her courage like a finely honed sword. “You’ll be begging for my protection soon enough.”

  “I’ve made my decision.” Despite the building heat, she drew the cloak close to her throat. “The rest will take care of itself.”

  He picked up a bucket of seawater and doused the fire. Water hissed as it struck the flames. The empty bucket sailed through the air, striking the wall. “And what if there are others who will say different?”

  Meg gritted her teeth. She’d had enough threats for the evening. “Tell them to take it up with the dragon of Fletchers Landing.”

  * * * *

  Nathan stared at the door outside his chamber. The thought of entering was like sand abrading his skin. Inside, it held little hope that he would sleep for longer than an hour or two at the most. He turned on his heel. What manner of man feared an empty room? One who had known firsthand of the evil that lurks inside mankind.

  He knew battles, been the one wielding the ax and sword. Seen the damage committed by a well-placed heavy mace. He had applauded a well thought-out plan of attack. Taken charge of a month-long siege at Harfleur. Marched and rode through freezing rain and brutal weather. Known the beast within all when hunger became your master.

  But the oubliette. Never had he experienced the torture of hanging in a simple cell, without food and water, the constant bedeviling of fists and various tools of the trade. Not until that day DePierce’s men attacked him and took him to Balforth Castle. Even that was not the worst. He had known that his body would withstand the physical abuse.

  It was his mind that began to crumble. The darkness. The fetid air that stank of those who had died before him. Thoughts that soon became voices in his head, urging him to let go. Other times, to murder anyone who dared speak to him, to fight until death. And they became louder, stronger, when his body commanded him to sleep.

  Nathan prowled the keep as had become his habit at both Clearmorrow and Lockwood Castles. If he kept moving, he would escape the need for sleep. At least hold it off for a while longer. Still too alert, listening for an intruder’s steps, wary of an attack at night, he knew that sleep would not be his for a while longer.

  He followed the hallways that wound through the keep. Several rooms were occupied by Baldric and the women. He could hear the snuffling and soft sighs through the door. Abandoning his search for intruders he explored the other floors.

  One stairway led to another floor. Large carved panels claimed one side of the hall. He tried the latch on the double-wide door. But despite his many attempts, it remained locked. What did they hide that needed such a heavy lock? A private chamber of some sort? Perhaps the lord and lady’s chamber? A room where they kept their record of accounts?

  He leaned out another large window. This one, too, arched overhead until it nearly reached the crenulation shooting from the parapet. It would give them an advantage to see the comings and goings of those who sailed into their harbor. Mayhap the light he saw earlier would be easily explained.

  Where was the stairway that led outside? He looked behind tapestries for hidden openings, felt along the wall for an unusual line or ridge in the stone. Time after time, his search ended in front of the locked chamber door. He dared not destroy his host’s keep, but come morning, he would know what lay behind that damn door.

  Sweating despite his lack of tunic, he returned to the narrow stairs leading to the floor below. Weary enough to try to sleep, he braced himself and entered his bedchamber. The empty bed called to him. Woolen bed panels, soft as lamb’s wool, rustled with the breeze.

  He stripped off his boots and chausses, and flopped onto the bed. The mattress accepted his weight, wrapping its feather down around him. His body, naked as the day his mother bore him, pebbled as the air caressed his skin.

  Eyes squeezed closed, he seized the mattress, and let himself drift into the abyss.

  * * * *

  Meg clutched the cloak to keep it from flapping in the wind. A heavy weariness sat on her shoulders, pressing her feet deeper into the path. Although her bed called to her she would never be able to sleep. What price would she have to pay if she were to curse Duncan Graham and wish for his death?

  She had stood her ground with that arrogant Scotsman. She would pay only what had been agreed upon in the beginning. No more. But his subtle threats against the children terrified her beyond anything she had ever known. He would come again. That she was certain. And demand more protection payment. The only way they could afford to continue this agreement was for her to sell more smuggled goods to tradesmen.

  How she would do that while Sir Nathan was underfoot was beyond her. There had to be a way around him. Thoughts of that man, his arms, his kisses, brought a battle of chills and fire whipping through her body.

  Her sister may think she was too cold to want love, but deep down, Meg knew that was a lie she even told to herself. No one must know her true feelings. She dared not examine them for if she did, her word, her vow would be lost. But her bed would no longe
r be empty. Her heart would no longer ache with longing for something that she could not have.

  Meg rounded the last bolder and gazed up at the keep. All looked quiet and peaceful. Completely opposite of the worries that bent her shoulders. She tucked her braid under the cloak. There would be time enough for thinking while she lay awake in her bed, watching the moon slide past her window.

  Slipping inside the kitchen door, she found the cup of mead Cook had set on the table for her. The sweetened liquid wet her lips, tingled on her tongue. It slid down her throat and left a trail of fire and joy. She poured another splash of the liquid gold into her cup.

  The day had started off difficult and had continued on that path on into the night. It was bound to take more than one drink of mead to help her rest. She sipped slowly and resisted the urge to carry the flagon up to her room.

  After stripping off her gown, she stood in the middle of her bedchamber wearing only her chemise. The breeze caught the curtains surrounding her bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress. Somewhere outside a dull thump drew her attention. Was the Scotsman making good on his threats?

  Meg careened out the door. Her bare feet smacked the floor as she ran. One after the other she checked on her sisters and then Baldric. They all slept, nestled in their beds. Tiptoeing out of their bedchambers, her heart still racing in her throat, she started to return to her bed.

  A crash and then hoarse shouting came from the hallway leading to Nathan’s bedchamber. Did the reivers get past Brother John’s guard?

  Meg picked up the lead candlestick holder someone had left on the side table. Her body quaking, she raised her weapon high overhead and entered Nathan’s room.

  Chapter 7

  Meg moved cautiously, ready in case someone lunged for her. No one came. Harsh breaths could be heard. Somewhere in the room a trapped animal panted.

  “Sir Nathan,” she called.

  The empty bed held only sheets and blankets, torn from the mattress, pooling on the floor. To her relief she could not see signs of blood.

  The panting grew as she neared the dressing screen. She gasped as she took in the destroyed chair and shattered flagon. It had taken two men to carry the thing down from her parents’ private chamber. How did one man destroy it as if it were kindling?

  Mindful of her bare feet, she stepped around the wreckage. Where was he?

  “Nathan,” she called again, speaking as she would to a frightened child. “Please. Let me know where you are. I can help.”

  A guttural groan, raw and loud as a wounded bear, erupted from behind the screen.

  She peeked around the corner. The knight lay curled on the floor. The pale muscular planes of his hip glistened in the firelight. Fresh scars, pink and wide, gleamed across his shoulders. His limbs shook as he drew in ragged breath after ragged breath.

  “Don’t come near me,” he warned through gritted teeth.

  “Nathan,” she whispered as she inched near. “’Tis I, Meg.”

  “I don’t want to…harm…you.”

  “You won’t.” Meg crawled back to gather one of the blankets. She returned before he could launch an argument. “Here. Let me help you.”

  Once his nakedness was covered his hands began to unclench. “My…thanks,” he croaked.

  Encouraged, she slid closer. “Are you in pain?” His dampened curls clung to his powerful neck. She pressed her wrist to his forehead. “Fever?” To her relief, his skin was cool to the touch.

  “Head,” he muttered. “Need my mind strong again.”

  Meg nodded. She’d heard Brother John speak of the atrocities to which the men of war fell victim. Judging by Nathan’s visible scars, there were more stories to tell.

  “Meg!” One after the other, Phillipa and Baldric skidded into the chamber.

  “Where are the intruders?” Phillipa demanded. Her eyes widened. “Sir Nathan! Where are your clothes?”

  Nathan jerked as if he were struck.

  “Quiet is what we need,” Meg hissed. She checked the blanket to ensure his modesty was covered. “Questions are for later. Go find Anna and Brother John.”

  “Please.” His fingers wrapped around her wrist, drawing her to his side. “Stay.”

  Meg smoothed his dark auburn hair from his face. The dampened curls wrapped around her fingers. “Calm yourself. I’m not moving from this spot until you say you are ready.”

  She looked up as Anna swept in with her basket of unguents. “The children say our guest is ill?”

  Brother John followed on her heels. His gray hair and brows seemed fuller than usual. If it weren’t for the fact that their guest was incapacitated she would have had the nerve to laugh at his flustered countenance. He flashed his drawn sword. “What goes on, Lady Meg? If ’tis fever, you must leave him where he lies.”

  “Brother John, I will do no such thing,” Meg announced. “Phillipa and Baldric, back to your beds.” As an afterthought, she added. “And mind that you lock your windows and doors.”

  The old monk glowered over everyone as the room was righted and Nathan was returned to his bed. She ignored their questioning glances. And set about readying a place for her to sit.

  Anna poured some liquid from her supplies. “Sip it slow,” she warned. “It has some heat, but will soothe you in no time.”

  Nathan waited until Meg nodded. “You’ll find rest tonight.”

  “For you, Meg,” Brother John said, holding out a blanket. Meg blinked, and looked down at her state of undress. Heat rushed up her neck and set fire to her cheeks. Grateful for his silence, she snatched the offered blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  The mischievous gleam in Nathan’s eyes was enough to warm her clear through to her bones. “’Tis good to know you are almost back to yourself.”

  “Getting my balance back.”

  She bit her lip. “The pain in your head?”

  His mouth twitched to form a sardonic smile. “I fear it has grown.”

  “More like the pain be in his arse,” Brother John muttered.

  Despite her efforts to do otherwise, her gaze drifted to Nathan’s groin. Now that the danger had dissipated she could enjoy the memory of his smooth backside, his limbs sprinkled with hair the color of amber honey.

  “’Tis certain the tisane will take effect and you will feel relief,” Anna said.

  Brother John grunted. His arms folded over his brown tunic. “I shall stay with him until it does.”

  Meg watched Nathan’s lashes flutter. His shoulders drooped. Anna was correct. The tisane was helping him to relax and send him to sleep. “No, I shall stay with him.”

  “Now, Lady Meg, ’tis not for a lady in your position to nurse him.”

  “Brother John, you’re a man of God. You know we must serve those in need. Especially if he is one of King Henry’s knights.” She took hold of his hand. “I am the lady of Fletchers Landing. And my sister is too young for such a task.”

  Rising from her chair she ushered them to the door. “Go now. Morning comes soon enough. All will be well.”

  “I shall pray for you and our guest.” Brother John marched off, his stiff back showing his displeasure in her decision. Come tomorrow, there would be long services to save her soul.

  Anna wrinkled her delicate features. “You will call out if you are in need.” She cut her glance to the man sleeping in the bed. “Or in danger.”

  “I promise,” Meg said. “Not to worry. Remember, I’m the dragon of the keep. No one dare cross me or harm my family.”

  Worry marred Anna’s smooth forehead. “Your meeting?”

  “Hush.” Meg glanced over her shoulder. “We will speak of it when we are alone.”

  Anna kissed her cheek. “Be safe.”

  Meg nodded and shut the door. She pulled the high-backed chair closer to the bed and settled in for some long-awaited rest. Her pat
ient no longer panted in pain, haunted by the past. She smoothed his brows and watched his face relax under her caress. His mouth should be laughing and kissing instead of twisting in agony. She traced his lip with the tip of her finger. His soft beard tickled her wrist.

  His hand swung up and he held her palm pressed to his cheek and sighed.

  Tears burned the edges of her eyes. How would she ever manage to keep her vow while he remained at Fletchers Landing?

  * * * *

  Nathan stretched his arms overhead. He’d slept. A peaceful sleep. One without dark memories to tear apart his rest. Meg. The tisane had helped, but it was Meg, her presence beside him, which allowed him to sleep.

  He rolled to his side. “My lady…”

  The chair that she had sat in through the early morning hours was empty. He shut his eyes and saw all that the others would have seen. The raw, fearful beast that he became when the past grew too heavy to bear. What caused it this time?

  Was it the lights in the distance? The danger that he felt? It was palpable. Fingernails scraping across the back of his neck. There were secrets waiting to be whispered from dark corners and alleyways.

  Now that the household knew of his affliction would they look at him differently? With fear? Or worse…pity?

  He took a deep breath and swung his legs out of the bed. Time to find out where he stood in their eyes. Knight of the Swan or not, if they did not think they could trust him, he would never be able to find the answers to Henry’s questions. The longer it took meant a delay in his return to serve by his king’s side.

  Feeling more rested than he’d been in months, he dressed and set off to find the dragon lady of the keep. The great hall echoed his footsteps. The sideboard against the wall was empty of the morning repast.

  “You there, good women of the keep.” The handful of servants turned from their tasks. Wide-eyed, they bobbed their respect and sped off before he could inquire where their lady might be.

  “Christ’s blood,” he muttered. “’Tis as if they thought I threatened to cleave their heads.”