The Knights Elemental

by Sahara Kelly

  “Unfortunately, yes, my Lord,” nodded Linnet politely.

  “A fire? At poor Maltby Abbey?” Lymington turned from the window. “What a pity. I shall, of course, send my men over immediately. Perhaps something can be saved?”

  Gilles turned to him, blue eyes icy. “That will be unnecessary, my Lord. There was little damage. The fire was extinguished quickly and thoroughly.”

  “Thanks to your two knights, Lord Benstede,” added Mechele shyly.

  “I am glad they were of service, my dear,” he answered.

  The gazes of the three men met, and understanding flashed between them.

  Lymington sagged.

  “And fortunately our presence enabled us to make a thorough investigation of the matter.” Guy’s words were colder than icicles in December. “We found much evidence to point to the culprits.”

  Lymington blustered and snorted. “Evidence? Some local lads up to mischief, I’ve no doubt. Happens all the time in these godforsaken farmlands.”

  “Lads who rode horses, Lymington,” snapped Gilles. “One of which suffers the misfortune of having a cracked shoe.”

  Benstede looked at him, expression enigmatic. “Might you know of such a horse, Sir Gilles?”

  “I do indeed, my Lord. You’ll find one just like it in the stables here at Lymington.”

  “Utter rubbish.” Lymington spat the words out. “Why any one of a hundred horses might have a cracked shoe. ‘Tis the most common thing in the world.”

  “It is indeed,” agreed Guy. “But the use of Greek fire is not.”

  Benstede’s eyebrows snapped together. “Greek fire? Are you sure?”

  Guy nodded. “Without any doubt. The local cleric, Father Michael, will attest to it. In fact, it was his sharp eyes and nose that first alerted us.”

  Benstede turned his gaze on Lymington, frowning now.

  “A country cleric?” Lymington snorted. “What can he possibly know of such things? He’s good for naught but boring sermons. Really, my Lord, I must insist…”

  “You must insist nothing, Lymington. I suggest instead you hold your tongue until we are finished here.” Lord Benstede’s rebuke was clear.

  Lymington’s smile was a sickly thing against the pallor of his cheeks and the chin that wobbled nervously beneath.

  Benstede turned his back on Lymington. “Can this Father Michael be trusted?”

  Gilles met his gaze. “Father Michael has not always been a priest, my Lord. Both Guy and I fancy he has a long history of warfare to his credit. The man still walks like one accustomed to armor.”

  “For what it’s worth, Sir,” interjected Linnet. “I believe his last name is Warwick?”

  Benstede’s eyes widened. “By the Saints. Michael Warwick. I always wondered what happened to him.”

  Gilles tilted his head curiously. “You know the name, my Lord?”

  “Indeed I do, lad. Michael Warwick was a legend to many, myself included. His arm never failed, he had the sharpest mind ever to plan a battle, and his exploits were told for years around our campfires. I’d not be averse to sitting down with him and sharing some memories.”

  He looked questioningly at the four assembled before him.

  “I believe he’d enjoy that too, Sir,” said Mechele, shyly meeting his eyes.

  Benstede nodded, and turned back to Lymington. “If Michael Warwick, cleric or not, says it was Greek fire, as do my own knights, then I have no reason to assume otherwise, Lymington.”

  “But, my Lord…” blustered the man.

  “And another thing, Lord Benstede. The matter of the tribute.” Guy interrupted the hurried excuses and calmly overrode the protests.

  “Ah yes, the tribute,” said Benstede, calmly waiting.

  “Would you please tell his Lordship the sum you were assessed by Lord Lymington this past year?” Guy turned to Mechele and Linnet.

  The girls glanced at each other and named the sum.

  Benstede’s eyebrows snapped together in a frown of shock. “You jest, ladies.”

  “Indeed not, Sir,” said Linnet raising her chin. “That is the exact sum demanded of us by…by him…” she jerked her head in Lymington’s direction.

  “Nonsense, girl. Nonsense,” spat Lymington. He stared at Lord Benstede. “My Lord, I doubt this wench can read and write, let alone handle the mathematics involved in assessing a tribute. Now were Sir Dunstan present, he’d give you the correct accounting.”

  Mechele moved slightly. “You are incorrect in that assumption, Sir. Both my cousin and I read and write, and keep the accounts at Maltby Abbey. Uncle Dunstan has graciously allowed us to do so for the past several years now. The amount is quite right.”

  Her gracious response drew a grunt from Lymington. “A mistake. That’s what it is, a simple error in figuring.”

  “A mistake indeed,” said Lord Benstede thoughtfully.

  At that moment two men at arms entered the room, and stopped short as they noticed the people within.

  “Beg pardon, my Lord,” they stuttered, looking helplessly at Lymington.

  He motioned with his hands to shoo them away and they began to back out the door.

  “Hold, there.” Lord Benstede’s voice halted them in their tracks. “What is your business with Lymington?”

  The two men glanced from one man to the other, and recognized exactly where the power in the room lay.

  “With respect, my Lord,” said the shorter one, bowing to Benstede, “We have come to tell Lord Lymington that his men are ready to ride to Maltby.”

  Silence fell as his words echoed through the room.

  Benstede’s cheek twitched, and only his knights knew this was a signal that their liege Lord was battling a deep fury.

  Linnet and Mechele watched the scene with a nervous kind of interest.

  Linnet was fascinated by Lord Benstede—his power was obvious, yet there had been a kindly look in his eyes and a rare affection as he’d met the glances of his two knights. It seemed that the three shared a sort of unspoken communication, which, knowing Gilles as well as she now did, went a long way to allaying her fears about the outcome of this visit.

  She watched as Lymington deflated beneath the stare that was now growing ever colder.

  “I…um…er…” stuttered the man as five pairs of eyes watched him with an assortment of emotions that ran the gamut from disgust to raw fury.

  “Your men are ready? How fortuitous. Especially since we’ve only just learned of this misfortune.”

  “My Lord, I can explain…” began Lymington.

  “I doubt it.” The abrupt words stopped Lymington’s tongue in his mouth, so coldly were they spoken.

  “Some of my men are in the paddock. Fetch them to me.” Benstede ordered the two nervous men who were sidling towards the door as attention was lifted from their presence.

  “At once, my Lord,” they said, rushing from the room, nearly stumbling in their haste to be gone.

  “Lymington, I would see your accounts.” Benstede’s voice was a bark of command now, and Linnet could clearly see the warrior beneath the facade of a nobleman.

  “Of course, my Lord. I was just about to suggest the very thing.” He moved to his desk and withdrew a hefty tome.

  “Both sets.”

  Lymington betrayed his fear with a twitch of his mouth. “My Lord, I don’t…I didn’t…I haven’t an idea what you mean…”

  Benstede never moved, and Linnet watched with interest as Gilles and Guy slipped quietly to either side of their Lord.

  The three of them together were formidable. She was sure none could withstand the amazing power radiating from them.

  And sure enough, Lymington couldn’t.

  With a sigh, he reached back into his desk and retrieved another, equally hefty, tome that he laid beside the first in a gesture of defeat.

  Sounds behind them attracted Linnet’s attention and several strong young men appeared at the door, looking inquiringly at Lord Benstede.

  “You
have need of us, my Lord?”

  “Indeed I have, lads. Please escort Lord Lymington to his chamber and secure him there.”

  “But my Lord,” whined Lymington. “Let me explain. I’m a peer of the realm, you can’t…”

  “Yes, I suppose you are, aren’t you?” Benstede hissed the words and Linnet’s hair stood up on the back of her neck.

  Truly, Lord Benstede was in a terrible fury.

  For a few moments she almost felt sorry for Lymington, until she saw his eyes. There was no sorrow or penitence for what he’d done lurking within their depths, only an overwhelming fear for his own skin, and a greedy desire to save it.

  But it was too late for that.

  And Lymington knew it.

  Chapter 15

  Mechele glanced over at Linnet, and the two women exchanged nervous smiles. It seemed as if they’d been vindicated, but they weren’t quite sure what was to come.

  Benstede glanced at one of his men. “Pass me Lymington’s sword, if you will,” he said, nodding at the broadsword that took pride of place on one wall.

  He turned it over in his hands, studying the hilt thoughtfully.

  Then he grasped the blade near the tip and with one forceful move snapped it clean in two across his knee.

  Mechele gasped.

  “By my right as Liege Lord of this Shire, I remove all titles and properties associated and assigned to the name of Lymington. Such decree to commence henceforth.”

  Lymington’s jaw dropped and he whitened.

  Good God, thought Mechele to herself. The man’s going to faint.

  But he held himself together, and looked away from Benstede’s accusing eyes, meeting Mechele’s and Linnet’s.

  The two women stood together, slightly behind their champions.

  “‘Tis all your faults, you bitches,” he hissed, his previously pale face flushing with intemperate anger. “You spoiled it all. And then you probably went and spread your legs for these two cocks and fucked them into taking your side against me…”

  His filthy accusations were the final straw for Gilles and Guy.

  As Mechele and Linnet involuntarily backed away from the man’s fury, Gilles’ arm moved like lightning.

  A solid punch landed in Lymington’s solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs, and doubling him over.

  As his chin fell, it met Guy’s fist, traveling upwards with all the force of his broad shoulders behind it.

  His head snapped up, his teeth clashed together with an audible clack, and he subsided onto the floor where he lay, moaning and writhing in pain.

  “Well, I think that should take care of things,” said Lord Benstede, calmly, turning his back on the moaning man.

  “Now, we have other matters to attend to.”

  “What will happen to him, my Lord?” asked Linnet.

  “I too would be interested to know. There’s no likelihood he might return some day…?” Mechele’s voice trailed off.

  Guy and Gilles smiled, their anger diffused now, by the quick and satisfying punishment they’d meted out.

  “Not a chance, my dear,” grinned Benstede. “My next stop will be Chester Hall, where I am meeting the Earl of Danesfield. He’ll be holding several judicial courts there. Lymington will be brought up on charges before him.”

  Linnet nodded. “Of course. Those books. He falsified the tributes, didn’t he?”

  Benstede raised an eyebrow. “That is of minor matter next to the charges I shall level against him. Those of attempted murder.”

  Mechele’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Murder?”

  “You value yourselves too lightly, ladies. Lymington’s plan to burn Maltby Abbey would have surely murdered you.”

  Mechele and Linnet looked at each other, suddenly realizing the truth of these words. It was comforting to feel the touch of their lovers’ arms as this revelation seared its way into their benumbed brains.

  Benstede also noted the protective move of his knights and hid a grin behind his hand.

  He stroked his chin. “It would appear that my deeds have now left us with rather a problem, though,” he said thoughtfully, ignoring the groaning body of Lymington that his men were now dragging awkwardly from the room. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable and see if we can find a solution.”

  Guy led Mechele to a small bench and snuggled her next to him, refusing to allow her to put any distance at all between them.

  Gilles seated Linnet in a chair and perched himself on the arm, letting his hand rest on her shoulder in a comforting and warming fashion.

  Benstede’s eyes twinkled, and he turned his chuckle into a cough.

  “We are now faced with the following situation. Since Lymington has resigned his post as liege Lord of this shire, there is no one to tend its estates or gather its tribute. Its fair tribute,” he added.

  Both girls nodded, wondering where this conversation would take them.

  “And Maltby Abbey, fair and fine estate though it is, has a master who is elderly, and has been forced to rely on the strength and courage of two rather extraordinary ladies.”

  Guy and Gilles nodded their agreement, while the women could do nothing but lower their heads.

  Benstede stared at his knights.

  They were two of the finest men he’d had the pleasure of knowing, and their presence at his side had provided strength, wisdom, and the occasional solid right hook.

  He hated to lose them, but he was, himself, a wise man.

  He squashed his disappointment and looked at the four faces opposite his chair. How he envied them the pleasures that lay ahead. And yet, he’d had his own fair share of such joy.

  He sighed. “Here’s my suggestion.”

  Gilles and Guy straightened slightly at his words.

  “If I read you all aright, there is some more affection here than just the desire to defend the weak and right an injustice. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, my Lord.” Guy’s answer snapped out first, but Gilles’ was right behind.

  “Completely, my Lord.”

  “Very well. Sir Guy Northbridge. You have performed admirably in my service, and I have been proud to ride beside you and call you friend. Will you accept the domain of Maltby Abbey upon such time as Sir Dunstan departs this earth, guarding it with your life, and protecting it, ensuring that it continues to grow and offer tribute to your King? Oh, and Mistress Mechele comes along with it, of course…”

  He chuckled as he saw the man’s customary harsh features fall into stunned lines. But he did not wait for a reply, simply turned his head.

  “Sir Gilles deSoleil. The time we have spent together has reassured me that you too are a worthy and honorable Knight, one whom I also cherish the right to call friend. Will you accept the domain of Lymington, guarding it with your life, protecting not only its lands, but those of its surrounding estates, and making a fair reporting of its tributes to your King? Oh, and since you’ll need a good woman beside you, I’ll toss in Mistress Linnet for good measure…”

  Benstede could no longer keep his chuckle hidden as Gilles’ face blanked and his jaw dropped.

  Both women looked stunned, shocked and excited all at once.

  “We will, my Lord,” answered the Knights Elemental as one.

  “Ladies? Do you find this plan tenable? Will you wed these poor lads and save them from a life wasted in loneliness and hardship?” he teased.

  Linnet snorted, and Mechele giggled.

  “Gladly, my Lord,” came the simultaneous answer from two sets of lips.

  “Well then, I think ‘tis a good day’s work we’ve done here. Now run along, all of you. I have accounts to review and a bloody great mess to clean up.” He crossed to the door behind the four as they headed from the room.

  His bellow followed them down the long hall. “Someone get me some food, will you?”

  * * * * *

  A S’ennight Later—Maltby Abbey

  A soft sound punctuated the darkness in the chamber of Sir Guy Northbri
dge and the new Lady Northbridge.

  It resembled a moan, and in fact, was caused by Guy, who was sliding his cock gently in and out of his wife’s silken cunny.

  They’d loved hard and fast, and now it was time for him to simply stroke her to her peak once more, letting the touch of his lips and hands bring her again to the brink of oblivion.

  And himself as well, come to think of it.

  “Ah my wife…” he whispered, more to hear the sound of the words than anything else.

  “Yesssss, husband,” she cried, as her legs tightened around his waist and her breath began to leave her lips in short quick puffs. “Oh yesss…”

  His cock slammed into her now, his balls hitting her body with each stroke and his hands pulling her hips to align her even closer.

  She was hot, wet, and fit him like a glove.

  He was truly in heaven.

  It took no more than seconds for them both to once again reach their release, and Guy cried out as his seed spurted from him and filled his wife’s body, and, he hoped, her womb.

  To give Mechele his child, to raise their family together—such a miracle it would be.

  His heart glowed as bright as the sun as he collapsed over the prostrate body of the woman who had stolen his heart.

  At the same moment, at Northbridge House…

  Lady Linnet duSoleil sat astride her new husband and thought that nothing could equal the magnificent feeling of his cock buried deep within her, and his hands playing with her breasts and her mound.

  She moaned and arched her back, giving him access to her body, and probably her soul too.

  She knew he’d take good care of both.

  His hips were moving now, and she met his gaze, blue eyes striking sparks from her brown ones as he neared his release.

  She rode him hard, knowing that he could take all she could give, and more. They’d loved slowly and gently at first, but now was the time to let go, and allow their heat to burn them both.

  She shuddered and pushed down, eagerly meeting his hard cock as it thrust up inside her. She could swear that she felt him at her womb.