Her Knight's Quest: A Warriors of the Mist Novel

by Alexis Morgan

  The trader looked ashen, clearly devastated by the events. He had Ava tucked next to him, his arm around her shoulders. At the moment, it was impossible to tell if he was comforting his wife or if she supported him.

  “Musar,” Lavinia repeated more forcefully, “are any of your people hurt?”

  “No, we are unharmed.” He slowly raised his eyes up to meet hers. “My lady, I don’t know what to say. Rubar was my most trusted man.”

  Duncan was back up on his feet to join the conversation. “They were not responsible for the attack even if they held the swords.”

  Lavinia wasn’t sure why, but she believed him. For his sake and Musar’s, as well as for the souls of the two men, she made a decision. “They shall be laid to rest with full honors here at the abbey.”

  She caught Sister Joetta’s attention. “Please see that these two men are prepared for burial. I’m sure Ava will want to assist with that so that we follow the proper customs for their individual beliefs. Musar, please see to your people and assure them that all is well.”

  Then she drew a deep breath and added, “However, for now I think it best that your guards be confined to the guest quarters until we determine what really happened here.”

  Finally, she turned her attention back to the grimly silent man standing beside her who had just saved her life. “Sir Duncan, can you walk to our infirmary, or shall I ask two of Musar’s other guards to carry you?”

  His deathly pale eyes glittered with determination. “I will walk.”

  “Then we should go.”

  She led the way through the throng of traders and the sisters who had returned when the commotion died down. It was imperative that she act as if everything was back under control. At least her robes hid the way her legs trembled, and she curled her hands into fists to control their shaking.

  Out in the hallway, she turned in the direction of the infirmary. Every step of the way, she was acutely aware of the man marching along beside her in stoic silence. He’d grabbed a piece of cloth from somewhere and held it over the jagged gash on his leg to control the bleeding. It had to be painful, but other than the deep lines bracketing his mouth, he gave no sign of it.

  “In here.”

  She entered the room first and motioned for him to have a seat on the bench by the door. “I’ll fetch Sister Berta. She’s our herbalist, but she also has a talent for dealing with wounds.”

  “My leg will be fine.”

  It was time for some answers. “And as a scribe, you have a lot of experience with such wounds?”

  He didn’t bother to respond. They both knew his actions in the dining hall had proven he was far more than a simple scribe. She left him sitting there while she went outside in search of the herbalist. As soon as Sister Berta had Duncan’s wound cleaned, the warrior would have to answer to Lavinia.

  One way or another, she would have the truth from him. Evil had found its way into the abbey, and more than just her own life depended on regaining control and stopping the spread of the darkness before it grew worse.

  Chapter 5

  He hurt, the pain burning through his mind, making clear thought all but impossible. When his attempt to open his eyes failed, he used his other senses to try to make out his current situation.

  A few things were obvious. He was lying down. The surface beneath him was thickly padded and redolent of lavender and roses. The fabric was smooth and soft. Hardly the kind of bed a soldier enjoyed when on a campaign.

  Obviously he considered himself a soldier, another useful bit of information. He served . . . Who was it he served? Why couldn’t he remember where he was? As he struggled to remember, the pain in his chest worsened. He moaned, wishing the agony would subside.

  A soft, feminine voice entered his thoughts. “Rest easy. You are safe.”

  He believed her. Surely no one with such a gentle voice would lie to him.

  “Sip this.”

  Her small hand lifted his head and held a cup to his lips. A slow trickle of a sweet liquid made it into his mouth, washing away the desert-dry roughness in his throat as he swallowed.

  “We’ll see how that settles and then try some broth.”

  He wished he could speak or at least nod to express his gratitude, but already the darkness was lapping at the edges of his thoughts. When a cool cloth settled on his forehead, he sighed with relief as it chased away the throbbing pain.

  “That’s good. Rest easy, and I’ll check on you again soon.”

  She walked away, leaving him trapped in this darkness, this void, all alone and confused. Scared. He hated it. The need to connect, to reach out to her, whoever she was, gave him the strength to open his eyes and speak.

  “Help.”

  The single word said it all and said too much. It spoke of fear and his terror of being lost like this forever. Shame colored his thoughts. His honor and pride demanded he should be braver than that. He used to be. He knew that much even if he didn’t know anything else, including where he was.

  Or even who he was.

  His efforts were rewarded. Someone was coming his way. But even through the blur of his unfocused eyes, he knew it wasn’t the gentle woman. The shape and size were all wrong. No, this was a man, a warrior, judging by his build.

  “You are awake.”

  There was no relief, only resignation in that simple statement, as if the man found that disappointing. Probably not a friend, then.

  He searched for something to say, something safe to ask. “How long?”

  “The battle was four days ago.”

  The words were spoken grudgingly, as if the man hated revealing even that much information. He tried to make sense of the man’s attitude. At the very least, it reaffirmed they weren’t friends. Did they know each other? Were they possibly enemies? And yet, in his experience, prisoners didn’t sleep on fine linens and soft beds.

  He studied the man who prowled around the edge of his vision. His first impression had been right. The man was clearly a warrior. It was written in the way he moved and how he wore his weapons.

  He searched his memory. Did he know this warrior by name or even by reputation? Nothing came to mind. Should he ask when he had no information to offer in exchange? Eventually he would need answers if he was to find himself again. Perhaps a different question would garner him some answers.

  “Where am I?”

  The warrior spun back to face the bed, his face stone hard and angry.

  “In Lady Merewen’s keep.”

  Her name niggled at the back of his thoughts, but that was all. He braced himself and asked another question.

  “Am I a guest or a prisoner?”

  The warrior stepped closer, providing a clearer look at his smile, one that had nothing at all to do with good cheer. “That depends.”

  “On what?” he asked, only because the warrior expected it.

  “On why you stopped Lord Fagan, the man you were sworn to aid, from killing his wife and Lady Merewen.”

  The words were spoken in little better than a growl. Only dim images came to mind. The harder he thought, the worse his head hurt. How could he account for his actions when he had no idea who he was or why he’d done anything at all?

  He settled for the truth. “I don’t know.”

  The warrior leaned forward, clearly furious. “I have waited days to hear your explanation. Playing the fool will not work with me.”

  “Captain Gideon!”

  The warrior jerked back. “Lady Alina.”

  The woman had returned. This time he could see her clearly. She was lovely, with silvery blond hair and soft gray eyes. Right now those eyes were glaring at the man she called Captain Gideon as she set down the tray she’d been carrying.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The captain softened his voice, but just barely. “He asked if he was a guest or a prisoner. I said that depended on why he defended you and Lady Merewen.”

  She stood with her hands on her hips. “His actions a
lso saved Sir Murdoch’s life.”

  Gideon stared past her toward the room beyond. “I am well aware of that. It is the purpose behind those actions that I question.”

  “He’s barely awakened, Captain. Your questions should wait until he is stronger.”

  Before Gideon could argue, she added, “Murdoch is asking for you. Maybe you can get him to sip more of the broth. He needs it if he’s going to recover his strength.”

  There was an odd note in her voice. Clearly she and Captain Gideon were both worried about this Murdoch fellow. Far more worried than either of them was about him, so perhaps his status was indeed closer to prisoner than guest.

  “I’ll see what I can do. He always was a lousy patient.” Gideon glanced back at her. “I’ll be next door. Call me if you need me to deal with any problems from him.”

  The captain gripped his sword, making it clear just how he’d prefer to deal with those problems. The tension in the room faded as soon as the warrior disappeared through the doorway.

  His eyes burned, and he could feel sleep creeping up to claim his mind again. He fought against it; he’d been caught in the darkness for too long already. Now it felt as if Lady Alina brought the light with her.

  She moved the tray closer to his bed. “Are you ready to try some broth?”

  For her, he would try anything. “Please.”

  Lady Alina propped him up on several pillows before pulling a chair next to the bed so she could help him with the broth. He hated feeling this helpless, but just like Gideon’s friend Murdoch, he needed sustenance to regain his strength.

  Spoonful by spoonful, he managed to consume almost the entire bowl of savory broth. When she offered him another mouthful, he shook his head.

  “I’ve had enough. It tasted good. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She set the bowl aside and then removed the extra pillows so he could lie down. “Now you should rest. If you need anything at all, either I or Lady Merewen will be close by.”

  Already his eyes were closing. Before sleep claimed him, she asked one question.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to call you. We never heard your name.”

  He gave her his truth as he slid into the darkness. “I am no one.”

  * * *

  Gideon stared down at Murdoch, fighting against the urge to storm back into the other room to gut the prisoner. That was his temper talking, though. For now, the duke’s man might prove to be more valuable alive than dead.

  His real concern was for Lady Alina’s other patient. The gods had gifted the Damned with the ability to heal from almost any injury. Even the most severe wounds were little better than fading scars within a night, two at the most. The battle was four days past; yet Murdoch was still weak as a newborn foal, his color the same gray as the stone walls of Merewen’s keep.

  “You look as if you swallowed something sour.”

  The big warrior’s whispered words had Gideon struggling to school his expression, hoping to hide his very real concern for his friend.

  “You’re worrying Lady Alina. She thinks you’re not trying hard enough to drink the broth Ellie the cook sent up for you.”

  Gideon pulled a stool over next to Murdoch’s bed and reached for the bowl. “If you don’t finish this, Ellie will be up here to pour it down your throat herself.”

  Murdoch laughed, wincing at the pain it cost him. “Fine. If you insist on playing nursemaid, I’ll try to eat some.”

  Gideon would’ve done far more than play nursemaid as long as Murdoch recovered. He’d already seen his friend perish from wounds such as these on the day they were Damned by their gods. Despite all the centuries that had passed, the memory of seeing his dying friends scattered on the shore of the river had yet to fade.

  He didn’t need this reminder. None of them did. Was the gods’ magic fading? Had they somehow broken faith with the Lord and Lady of the River? He didn’t think so, but why else would Murdoch continue to suffer? The gods’ gifts should have hastened his recovery.

  “Your thoughts are dark, Captain.”

  Murdoch’s comment dragged Gideon’s attention back to the man in front of him. He realized that he’d been lost in the past and quit feeding his friend. He held out another spoonful of the broth.

  After swallowing a few more bites, Murdoch spoke again. “This is not your fault. You are not the one who stabbed me in the gut. The one responsible is dead and buried. So is the man he served.”

  “I know.”

  Even so, the guilt still rode him hard. “I am thinking about calling on the gods at the river’s edge. Maybe they’ll have answers.”

  Murdoch was already shaking his head. “No, Gideon. At least not yet. I’ll be back to normal soon.”

  Not if Murdoch continued to heal at this rate, and they both knew it. He was improving, but much too slowly. Gideon needed Murdoch at full strength and soon. Reports continued to trickle in about families disappearing with no warning, livestock dead from no apparent cause, and the duke’s men hunting for anyone with a touch of magic in his blood. The Damned had only so many days to serve as Lady Merewen’s champions and secure the safety of the kingdom. If they failed—

  He cut that thought off immediately, although it was never far from his mind. Duncan had ridden out the day before and should be well on his way to the abbey, which meant Gideon’s forces were already reduced in number. Soon both Kane and Averel would leave for the city of Agathia to infiltrate Duke Keirthan’s stronghold.

  Divided forces meant divided strength and twice the worry. He set the empty bowl aside. Murdoch was already dozing off. Gideon waited until his friend was sleeping soundly before standing up. He closed his eyes and offered up a prayer to the Lady to watch over his friends.

  “Is he resting easily?”

  Gideon had already sensed Lady Merewen’s soothing presence in the doorway. She joined him at the side of the bed, her dark eyes worried for his friend.

  He nodded as he took her hand in his, twining their fingers together. “He finished the broth even though it wore him out.”

  “Still, that’s a good sign. When he awakens again, I’ll send for some more.”

  “Let me know if you need help feeding him.”

  Merewen briefly rested her head against his shoulder and then walked away from Murdoch’s bed, dragging Gideon with her. They continued in silence until they reached her room, a short distance down the hallway. She didn’t stop until they stood on the small balcony that overlooked the bailey below.

  He drew in a breath of fresh air, purging his lungs of the stench of sickness and old blood. The sunshine warmed his skin just as the woman standing next to him warmed his soul. She was bracing herself to speak, probably about something she knew he wouldn’t like.

  “I hear our guest finally woke up.”

  “He did.”

  Gideon let some of his disappointment show in his voice. The man was a complication that Gideon couldn’t afford right now, even though he owed the man a debt of honor. The soldier had inexplicably taken the blow that Fagan, Merewen’s uncle, had intended for Murdoch after Alina had thrown herself across Murdoch’s body to protect him from her husband’s murderous wrath.

  “I know what he did, but he was one of Duke Keirthan’s men, and a high-ranking officer by the cut of his uniform. I have to wonder if he was acting on his own or if his actions serve some other purpose.”

  Merewen looked puzzled. “How so? He had no way to know that he’d survive Fagan’s attack. Duke Keirthan has grown powerful, but it is doubtful even he would have known that my uncle would try to murder his wife. Fagan even admitted he had promised both Lady Alina and me to Keirthan to use for his own dark ends.”

  The memory of how close Gideon had come to losing Merewen chilled him as if a storm cloud had passed before the sun. He wrapped his arms around her.

  “It would appear the act was impulsive on his part. Until we know more about the man, all I can do is keep a close watch on him.”


  His lady gave him one of those smiles that rivaled the sun for heat. “Truly, my captain, is that all you can do?”

  Merewen was trying to distract him. It was working, especially when her hands did a bit of wandering. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before answering her.

  “No, that is not all I can do, you minx. I’ve recently been told that I have many amazing talents.”

  She slipped out of his embrace to retreat toward the quarters they now shared. “Really? And who would’ve filled your head with such ideas?”

  He loved it when she teased him and loved her for treating him as if he were an ordinary man. Most people feared the Damned, but Merewen had accepted Gideon and his four warriors with such amazing ease.

  He prowled after her. “You did, my lady. But if you’ve forgotten, I stand ready to remind you.”

  Her eyes immediately dropped lower, checking out the visible proof of that statement. Her smile widened as she backed toward the bed.

  “I think you shall have to work hard to remind me.”

  He unfastened his sword belt and set it aside. “I will endeavor to refresh your memory most thoroughly.”

  Before Gideon could make good on his promise, Merewen abruptly turned pale and screamed. She fell to her knees and covered her ears with her hands, rocking as if in great pain.

  Gideon charged across the room to catch her in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

  The screams faded to a mournful keening as she shuddered against his chest. There was only one thing that could do this to her. Something had happened to one of her horses, crippling her with the pain she felt through her mental link to the herds.

  “What can I do to help?”

  Someone pounded at the door, no doubt wanting to know what had the lady of the keep screaming as if she were under attack.

  “Come in!”

  Kane charged in with Averel right behind him, both with swords drawn and ready to fight. They stood down as soon as they saw Gideon kneeling on the floor and holding Merewen as she sobbed against his chest.

  Kane stalked over to the balcony to look around, no doubt hoping to find a target for his weapons. “What happened?”