Knight Furies

by C. C. Wiley

  “Aye,” the boy piped up. “I’m sorely sorry for the loss of your brother.”

  Cook flashed him a glare and motioned for him to leave. “Forgive him, my lady, if you can.”

  Meg rose to address the man who had cooked their meals since they were babes. He too would be worried for the little lord. Even if he was no longer the Lord of Fletchers Landing. She covered his burn-scarred hands with hers. “We will find him and bring him home. And when we do, I ask that you prepare his favorite dishes.”

  “I shall be honored, my lady.” Cook swallowed and dabbed the corner of his eye with his apron and took his leave.

  “Brother John, continue to pray for Baldric’s return.”

  “Aye, child, I will as I search for answers.” He picked up a trencher of bread and stew. Steam swirled from the creamy concoction of vegetables and meat as his spoon broke through the flaky crust. He returned to his position by the window.

  The door swung open and Anna stormed in. Her head held high, she announced, “A message has been sent.”

  Meg nodded. What more could she say on this eve? The distance between she and her sister had widened, making them even further apart. She had failed at keeping her family together. They were fracturing in front of her eyes.

  Nathan poured a healthy portion of ale into a mug and held it out to her. Then he cut a chunk of cheese from the wheel and slapped it into her other hand. “Eat. The day is nearly over and you’ve had nary a bite. You need your strength. Come morning, we will tear this land apart looking for your brother.”

  He drank deeply from his mug. The bands of sinew and muscles working as he peered across the room. His head cocked to one side as he slowly lowered the cup made of horn.

  “Meg, did you happen to move the leather journal from the worktable?”

  She swallowed, watching him. “The one the king gave you? No. Not since we spoke of it earlier.”

  “And that was when Baldric could have overheard our argument.”

  Her heart began to beat faster. It thumped a cadence against her rib cage. “You think he may have gone in search of the treasure?”

  He gripped her hands, pulling her to her feet. “I do.”

  Her smile fell. “But we don’t know where to start looking.”

  “Not true.” He told her. “Baldric and I had spoken of the possibilities where it could be hidden. He’s a smart lad and pointed out the map that dances across the pages when they are flipped.”

  He dragged her to the table where the navigator’s tube stood pointed toward the shore. “There’s a cavern nearby. Isn’t there? Brother John, have you touched this? Bumped it in any way?”

  “Not I,” the old monk said. He bobbed on his toes. “I think you are on the right trail, my son.”

  “Lady Anna? Phillipa?”

  They shook their heads and linked arms with Meg.

  “Then it’s still pointed in that direction?” Phillipa asked. She craned her neck to see out the window.

  “I believe so,” Nathan said.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Phillipa raced to the door, only to have her escape stalled by his wide hand pressed over the panel.

  “If we go unarmed or without a plan we could lose so much before we even have a start.”

  Meg drew her sister back to the chair. “Nathan is right. He has experience with this. Trust that he’ll know what to do.”

  “Before dawn, we will meet back in this chamber. Brother John, keep watch from the window. Ladies Phillipa, Anna, and Meg. I ask that you sleep in the same bedchamber. Call out if you hear anything amiss.”

  Meg ran her hand up his sleeve. “And you, my lord?” Tired lines were already forming by his eyes.

  “I will make the preparations for the morrow.” He slid his palms along her neck. Long fingers kneaded the building tension in her muscles. She sighed. Her mouth opened, seeking his kisses and he did not disappoint. He found her lips, offering promise and hope in the days to follow.

  * * * *

  Dawn came on the heels of their rising. Meg, Anna, and Phillipa were dressed and ready to find their brother before the sun could shine through their windows.

  Unwilling to wait until someone came for them, Meg pulled open the door and found Nathan lying on the floor. He blocked the threshold, his broadsword drawn by his side. His long legs stretched out.

  Her sisters ran into her back and squeaked their surprise.

  Baldric’s pup was pressed against Nathan’s side. Whitefoot lifted his muzzle from Nathan’s thigh. A low growl warred with the confused dog’s tail thumping. Phillipa lowered to untie the dog’s lead and scratched behind his ears.

  Nathan’s lashes fluttered against his cheek. He raised his head to meet her gaze with bloodshot eyes. “I don’t recall giving you permission to leave.”

  She winced. The pallet he had slept on, constructed of his wadded cloak, made her want to groan. Guilt threatened to make Meg become a bigger fool and inquire the state of his health. He would not appreciate her concern for his night’s sleep, whether or not the nightmares had once again inflicted their pain. Or was it duty that brought him to her chamber door?

  “My sisters and I have need of the garderobe.” Heat rushed up her neck. “If you must know, we intend to seek out the latrine.”

  “No, Meg, don’t you recall the plan we discussed?” Phillipa asked. “Anna is to check the spot where she and Duncan have been meeting.”

  “I don’t know that which you speak of, Phillipa.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Anna added with a shove to their little sister’s back.

  Meg swept her skirt out of reach and nudged her feet past man and dog.

  He caught the hem and began reeling her in.

  “Unhand me, Sir Nathan.” Meg freed the material from his grasp.

  Shoving his bangs out of his eyes, Nathan struggled to rise on stiffened legs. “You look dressed, my Lady, Meg. Ready to meet the day’s challenges, Phillipa and Anna.”

  He stretched his lower back, hips jutting forward, drawing her hungry eyes toward his groin. She could not turn away when he bent to retrieve his sword. Instead she admired the view of his backside and recalled the strength in his thighs. The way her hands molded around each cheek.

  He cocked his head. A shadow formed along the ridge of his jaw, outlining the growth of whisker stubble. “Allow me to escort you.”

  “It’s down the hall. Our parents installed it years ago. They chose to build it near our bedchamber.” She rattled on. “For privacy.”

  “I know where it is, Meg. I bathed in the washtub.” He chuckled. “I don’t mean to join you.”

  “Anna and Phillipa…”

  “Would like to find the privy, if you please,” Anna called out.

  “Let them pass,” Nathan said. He waved her on. “Make haste. The sun is nearly up and we’ve yet to speak with Brother John.”

  Meg grabbed his hand. “Have you word?”

  “Not precisely.”

  “Then what have you done, besides bringing that hound into the keep?”

  “Do you recall your sister’s concern for Whitefoot?”

  “She worries about all the animals.” Meg made a face. “I’m surprised that we didn’t have to share a bed with it.”

  “He’s a strong pup. Much like your brother. ’Twas all I could do to get him up the stairs.” Do you want to know the direction in which he wishes to run?”

  Nathan nodded at Meg’s gasp. His fingers flexed around hers as they shared a look.

  “The cove where the smugglers attacked Duncan Graham.” “And the same direction as where that navigator’s lens was pointed. What else can you tell me about the place, Meg love?”

  “There’s a cave. But Nathan, there’s nothing there but a tunnel.” She bit her lip. Had the smugglers stripped it bare? If not, she would
have to explain away the wares that were tucked in every nook and cranny.

  Anna and Phillipa joined them and chimed in. “Do you suppose they’ll agree to exchange Baldric for the barrels of mead stored there?” Phillipa asked.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Anna said. “Without Duncan’s protection they will have already taken it.”

  Meg stepped out of the way before her sisters could do more harm with the information they revealed. “Unless he planned it all along.”

  Anna’s back stiffened. “I told you he would never do harm to Fletchers Landing.”

  “And why would he not?”

  “He wishes to wed.”

  “I have not given permission for a union between you and Duncan.”

  Nathan eyed her with a wintery gaze. She shivered as the cold seeped into her bones. “I had suspected that you stored the shipments somewhere. Had even hoped that there was a vast supply that we could use to leverage ransom for Baldric’s return. Is there anything else for them to take?”

  Meg shook her head. Welling tears blurred her vision, threatening to overflow. “I fear we are lost.”

  “Anna, Phillipa, go to Brother John,” Nathan ordered her sisters. “Tell him where we believe we’ll find your brother. Have him call the steward and gather all the men. Have him wait for my signal. ”

  Wide-eyed, Meg watched them leave to do his bidding without question.

  “You intend to go after Baldric alone?”

  Nathan adjusted his weapons. “I’ll have Whitefoot to aid me.”

  “And me.”

  “I will not put another member of your family in danger. You will stay in the master chamber with Brother John.”

  Chapter 20

  Nathan stopped Meg in the stairway. He cupped the back of her head and tipped her chin up. Her lush bottom lip quivered until he could no longer resist the urge. He took her mouth. Demanding that she respond and kiss him in return.

  She rewarded him by bunching his tunic in her hands. She gripped his hair, tugging him closer. Their bodies pressed together until he could feel her heart thumping through their clothes.

  When he did finally release her and come up for air, he gazed into her sparkling eyes. They swirled with emotions, glittering back daggers of anger. Her nostrils flared. “I am going with you.”

  “I forbid it.”

  “You are not my husband yet, my lord.” She lifted her skirts and ran down the stairs. “You’ll need a dog handler. To keep your sword hands free. I know the tunnels.”

  Nathan grunted. She had a point. Damn her sweet hide. She would have the temerity to ignore his orders anyway. He might as well give in to her demands. Otherwise, he’d be looking behind his back the whole time.

  Pebbles rolled under their boots as they climbed down the sloping hill to the shore below them. “The path is steep,” she warned. “We’ll need to see where ’tis safe to place our feet.”

  He shook his head when she reached for a torch. “We must go under the cover of early dawn.”

  “Then we will go slowly. Protect our steps.”

  “Follow Whitefoot’s lead.” He had pulled up his tunic, to muffle his voice. “I’ll catch you if you start to fall.”

  “I fear I already have,” she whispered under her breath.

  “What’s that?” He caught her sleeve, tugging on it to slow her pace. “Meg?” he pressed.

  “Hush. The rock formations carry the sound.” She coughed into her leather work gloves. “Listen for the shifting of the tide. That’s the direction we’ll want to take. That will help cover any sound we might make.”

  They crossed the meadow that led them to the cavern he had seen in the navigator’s scope. He swallowed. A bead of sweat tickled his neck. “How far do the tunnels run?”

  “Deep under the land.” She looked over her shoulder. “I have never been to the bottom of the cave. It was too steep and unstable. Only a fool would venture that far.”

  “Then let us pray that we are not dealing with fools.”

  Her quiet chuckle lifted her shoulders and she stumbled. Rocks slid off the path, clattering off the walls of the cove. He caught her, his heels digging into the dirt, and dragged her away from the edge. Pebbles bit into his arse. Fire burned in his lungs as he fought the dizzying sensation that they were still falling. He tightened his arms around Meg and refused to let her go.

  Whitefoot ran off into the trees that lined the ledge. A flash of tail signaled that he was near the opening.

  “Nathan,” Meg gasped and muttered a strangled curse. “Loosen your hold. I can’t breathe.”

  Her voice brought him back and he sank into the feel of her body next to his. Her back pressed into his chest. Her curved bottom nestled in his lap. Hips, pressed into his thighs.

  If it weren’t for the realization that he’d nearly lost her, he would have enjoyed the moment of having her body cradled next to his. He tucked his head into the base of her neck. She smelled so sweet, alive.

  Panting, they pulled in ragged draws of air. The noise they made had bounced off the rocks. It echoed in the cove and was loud enough to draw a hermit from his lair. They sat next to a scrubby bush and waited. No one came to the entrance.

  Nathan wiped his mouth. He should have waited for help.

  Meg wiggled her fingers into his hand, burrowing until he could no longer feel the quake trying to take over. Her breasts brushed his forearms, distracting him from the danger they were in.

  “Are you certain Baldric would have taken this path?” Nathan asked.

  Meg shook her head. Threads of silken hair danced over his skin with the movement. He shivered. “Not unless he was forced. His balance is too unsteady.”

  “Treacherous even for a goat. Or a Scotsman.” Blood ran through his veins like lightning and made him almost giddy. “One and the same, really.”

  “’Tis why we came this way, is it not? Less chance of meeting someone climbing up?”

  “Or a goat.” Something dug into his backside. He shifted his hips and her crease between her bottom cheeks found his erection. Air hissed between his teeth. “Don’t move.”

  She swung around, eyes wide, she searched the vicinity of his belly. “You’re aroused?”

  Chagrined, Nathan looked for something to cover his crotch. “How do you think I became the camp prize amongst the wenches?” He wiggled his brows. “I was always willing and ready.”

  “Braying donkey.” She struck him in the chest. Evidently, his effort to tease had the opposite effect. He did his best to put her at ease. At least the color had returned to her face. That was a blessing, wasn’t it? She was far from fainting on him.

  But when she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, he wanted to take her right there among the grasses.

  He shifted again, digging under his hip. “Shite!” He pulled the king’s journal out from under his hip.

  “That must have been what I stumbled on,” Meg whispered. She knelt to peer over the edge.

  “Careful,” he said as he reeled her back.

  She looked up at him. Brown eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Rocking on her heels slid farther into the brush and covered her mouth with her fingers. “Whitefoot is gone. Do you suppose he’s entered the cave?”

  “’Tis where his instincts have been leading him all this time. I fear we’ve made enough noise, someone is bound to come out and check the area.” He smoothed the raven strands from her dampened cheeks. “We’ll get Baldric.”

  “Alive.” The single word hung between them.

  Could he promise the outcome would bring the boy to them unharmed?

  “I had hoped that we had come for naught. That a messenger would deliver a missive that he was found safe in his bed,” Meg said. She tilted her head. “But you knew, didn’t you? You feared he was in terrible trouble.”

  Nathan’s heart sl
ammed into his chest. “The men that we fought are more ruthless than your smugglers.”

  “But how did you know?”

  “I recognized some of their voices. From the dungeons at Balforth Castle.” Sweat popped out on his forehead. It trickled down his cheek. Damn, was just the mention of those torturous days and nights enough to break him? He should have waited for help to come. But what if he had waited too long already?

  “Look,” Meg grabbed his wrist.

  Nathan squatted behind the boulder and stared at the hole burrowed into the wall of stone. “You mean to tell me that you were allowed to enter that thing? Your father and the monk should be hung from their genit…” Recalling that he was about to speak ill of someone she loved, he corrected himself. “Thumbs.”

  He rubbed his forehead with the back of his sleeve. The sun had already begun its ascent. If they didn’t enter the cavern soon, they would be too late.

  A bearded man strode out and set the lantern down on a fallen log. His leather gambeson covered his chain mail. It clinked as he walked the shore, searching the trees. His stained chausses sagged from his hips. He scratched himself as he yelled, “Who’s out there? Is that you, Sir Nathan? Heard you were here. No doubt hiding under your woman’s skirts.”

  Nathan tensed. That voice had clung to him like a sticky web since the first day they crossed paths at Balforth Castle.

  Meg trembled beside him. Tight-lipped, she gripped her small dagger in both hands. Her jaw clenched.

  He could not let anything happen to her. Gritting his teeth, he shoved her out of the way and stood in front of her. Nathan knew what this one would do with women. There was no way he would let the bastard mercenary take her.

  More soldiers emerged from the black hole. The traitor blacksmith, Wayland, was among them. They swarmed like ants pouring from their nests. It was like the one that he saw the day he left Clearmorrow Castle. The day he nearly killed Darrick. Nathan shook his head to clear it of the vision.

  A dog raced out after the mercenaries. Whitefoot bared his teeth and launched his body toward the men. The hound gnashed at their faces, ripping and tearing at flesh. He yelped when he was knocked to the ground.