A Knight With Grace: Book 1 of the Assassin Knights Series

by Laurel O'Donnell

  He nodded in agreement. “Aye. That it will. I would appreciate staying inside. I thank ye. I will sleep by the door.”

  Grace clasped her hands before her and turned away. She stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Sir William.”

  “Sorry?”

  Grace bowed her head and turned back to him. “I was angry and lashed out at you. I know you did not kill Curtis. I’m sorry for accusing you.” When the silence stretched, she looked at him and caught the surprise in his eyes which made the guilt lurch forward in her heart.

  Shock gave way to gratitude. “Thank you.”

  His modesty was daunting. And attractive. She nodded, her gaze sweeping over his fire-kissed face. The red light accented his perfect nose, his sensual lips, the warmth in his eyes. She found it strange that she liked the way he looked at her, that his company was so comforting. It was all strange. Because this was not the way she had ever felt with Curtis.

  A mumbling from outside caused Grace to stir. She turned over, pulling the blanket over her shoulder. It was a moment before she realized the mumbling was muted talking. She sat up and stretched. Again, she heard the sound of communication. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear the different tones and knew it was two men speaking. She threw the blanket from her legs and stood, moving quickly into the shadows. Had her father found her so soon? The cottage had only one opening for a door, but some of the planks near the front of the building were separating. She moved to them and bent down slightly to peer between the slots. She twisted her head, trying to see all around. In the front of the building, she spotted a man she did not know. He had dark hair, and a thick beard. He wore commoners clothing of breeches and tunic. He was saying something to someone else, someone she assumed was William. The man nodded and moved away. She watched him go, tingles dancing along the nape of her neck as she craned her head for another glimpse of the man. Who was he? A man sent by her father? Or just some innocent farmer? She couldn’t be too careful.

  William entered the cottage. He looked around the room and took the reins of his horse. “Stay inside,” he said softly to her. He led the horse outside.

  His order worried her. There was something in his tone, a warning perhaps. Before she could ask about the man, William had departed.

  She bent back to the parted wood and watched as William returned to the spot where he had been speaking to the man, Hellfire in tow. William began to tend to Hellfire. He lifted one of the horse’s hooves and inspected it. He let the leg go and patted Hellfire’s neck. William returned inside. “He’s still out there. Stay inside.” He picked up a bag and walked outside to his horse.

  Again, Grace looked through the planks at the forest and the area all around. She couldn’t see the man. Maybe William was mistaken, but she doubted it. He was a trained knight and he would know if someone was still lurking around. Who was the man? What did he want? She could only guess he was a scout sent by her father. William did say they would come today. But it couldn’t be her father’s man because William would have handed her over. There would be no reason to hide from him. She watched William tend Hellfire. He cleaned the horse’s shoes, removing small rocks and debris. He checked the animal’s legs and body. Then he tied Hellfire to a tree, letting him eat the grass.

  William removed his sword from its scabbard. He looked down the long length and then sat down. He took a whetstone from his saddle bag and began to sharpen his weapon.

  Grace scanned the surrounding forest, but still did not see the man. Why would he be hiding? To see what William was doing? Because he didn’t believe whatever William had told him? She straightened, struggling to fight back her apprehension. Who was that man? What did he want? She bent and looked out through the planks again. William was still sharpening his sword. Hellfire was still eating grass. The man was nowhere in sight.

  She needed to do something to distract herself from her nervousness. She rose up away from the loose planks and moved deeper into the cottage. She pulled the blanket from the bed and folded it, preparing it for the inevitable journey back to the castle. She took one of William’s bags from the floor and opened it to put the blanket inside. She paused. On the top of his clothing and supplies was a crucifix. She picked it up and looked at it. It was made of gold with the image of Jesus on it. The expression on the statue’s face was of Jesus crying out and looking skyward. She ran her finger over the figure’s face. It was beautiful. Whoever had made it had taken a lot of time and effort, and even love, to mold it.

  Footsteps made her look toward the door. William entered. When he spotted her, his gaze shifted to the crucifix. His face darkened; his brows furrowed. He marched to her side.

  Grace tried to explain, “I was putting the blanket away. I didn’t mean --”

  He snatched the crucifix from her hands and shoved it back into the bag. He stood over her for a long moment, his face tight and angry, his jaw clenched.

  Grace waited for the yelling, waited for the barrage of harsh words he would use to berate her. She had experienced such rage many times from her father and expected no different from him.

  Instead, he whirled without a word and stalked from the cottage.

  CHAPTER 10

  William tossed the bag down in the area where he had been sharpening his blade. What was she doing going through his personal items? She had no right! He sat down and picked up the stone to run it along his blade. His movements were quick and intense. The fact she was going through his bag wasn’t really the reason he was so angry, he knew. It was the sight of her small hands holding that cross. That golden cross. He had cleaned it, of course. Many times. But he knew he could never get all the blood from it. And Grace had been holding it. Her innocent, delicate hands had held it reverently. Reverently. He glanced down at the golden cross, into the unseeing eyes he had stared at a hundred times. He had found the cross covered in blood in a temple in Jerusalem after a huge battle. It had been a massacre and many on both sides had lost their lives. But the cross had survived. It was a reminder of all he had endured, all he had done. It had been Hugh de Morville who came up beside him when he was holding the bloody cross in his hands. Hugh had looked at the cross for a long moment and then glanced at William. Something had passed between the two of them in that look. They were brothers. Brothers in all ways except blood.

  Hugh was a good man, perhaps a bit overly ambitious at the time, eagerly wanting to gain the king’s favor. But weren’t they all? William thought of the night again, that night that had forever changed his destiny, wishing he had a chance to do it over again.

  They were donning their armor, as if to go to war. Reginald was insistent the armor was needed. “The monks will protect him. We don’t have a choice.”

  “They are defenseless!” Hugh exclaimed. “What kind of knights are we if we cannot overpower a man of the cloth?”

  “There are many of them and only four of us,” Richard le Brey said. “We will use whatever force we must to take the archbishop to King Henry.”

  “Aye!” Reginald agreed.

  William glanced at Hugh. He read the concern in Hugh’s eyes. William often wondered if he could have stopped it with Hugh’s help. Hugh began to put on his armor. Richard followed his movement. Only William hesitated. They didn’t need armor to overcome the archbishop. He didn’t like it. He put a hand on Reginald’s arm. “No harm will come to Becket.”

  Reginald jerked his arm free of William’s hold. “We will take him by force, if need be. But he will return to Henry.” He held out his hand. “Are you with us?”

  William glanced from Richard to Hugh and then back to Reginald. These men were his friends. They had all hatched this plan together. He would not abandon them now. He nodded and clasped Reginald’s arm. “With you.”

  A grin spread across Reginald’s lips.

  “Quickly, sirs!” A monk raced out of the doors of the hall toward them. His cold breath formed a puff with each breath he took. He pushed his hood from his head. “He ha
s escaped into the cathedral! This way!”

  The four knights finished putting on their armor and followed the monk toward the cathedral. The wooden doors were closing as they approached and the monk came up short, stopping on the stairs to the cathedral. The four knights raced by him and shoved at the large wooden doors.

  At first, there was resistance and William pushed as hard as he could. Then, the doors swung open. As they entered, a group of monks fled to the side wall. They had been trying to keep the doors shut to prevent them from entering the cathedral.

  “King’s men!” Reginald shouted as he entered. His voice echoed through the large vaulted room.

  At the front of the church, monks crowded together around the altar. As the four knights made their way toward the altar, William noticed even more monks had gathered in groups along the side walls, all of them cowering in fear.

  The four knights approached the altar.

  “Where is Thomas Becket, traitor to the king?” Reginald demanded.

  The monks near the altar remained silent, fearful. They clung to each other.

  As the knights approached, moving past statues of saints and angels filling the cathedral, William saw the statue of the Virgin Mary on one side of the altar. She watched with cold eyes, her arms outstretched. Imploring. On the other side of the altar was a statue of Saint Benedict. Two large pillars stood at either side of the altar.

  “Where is the archbishop?” Reginald called, his voice echoing forcefully through the cathedral.

  Thomas Becket emerged from behind a group of monks, easing them gently aside as if they were part of a human barricade trying to protect him. “Here I am, not a traitor to the king but a priest. Here I am, ready to suffer in the name of He who redeemed me with His blood. God forbid that I should flee on account of your swords or that I should depart from righteousness.”

  “Absolve and restore to communion those you have excommunicated and return to office those who have been suspended!” Richard ordered.

  Mumblings grew louder near the door where the monks cowered. A large group had gathered there. Hugh quickly raced to them, brandishing his sword before them to discourage any interference from them.

  The archbishop shook his head, lifting his chin. “No penance has been made, so I will not absolve them.”

  William knew Richard was specifically speaking of the Bishops of London and Salisbury. The archbishop had excommunicated them for their support of the king. A wave of righteousness crested inside of William. The defiance in the archbishop’s tone, even in the face of the king’s wrath angered him. No man was above the king’s authority.

  Richard pulled his sword from its sheath.

  “If you do not do as the king commands, then you will die,” Reginald threatened.

  William should have left at that point. He had never intended to kill the archbishop. Excommunicated for good intentions. It almost made him smile. But there was nothing to smile about. An innocent man was dead. As the Pope had ordered as part of his penance, William had spent fourteen years fighting in Jerusalem, fourteen long bloody years. He still didn’t feel forgiven. Even though his penance was almost over. Nothing could absolve him for his part in the archbishop’s death. Not all the Muslim blood in the world could ever make it right. After so much death and battle, he realized he could never be absolved. Not for Becket’s death. Not for all the death he had delivered. The cross was a reminder of the blood on his hands. He closed the bag.

  He ran the stone across the blade of his weapon. He would not have another innocent death on his hands. He had no intention of letting Grace be harmed. He had to get her out of there. He glanced into the forest. The trees swayed in a breeze, the leaves rustling. He couldn’t see him, but he knew Peter was still out there. The man was not going to give up. They would have to make a run for it.

  William stood and returned to the cottage.

  Grace whirled from the cold hearth. A beam of light from a portion of broken roof shone in and fell upon her, bathing her in a heavenly light.

  He froze. Her eyes were large and blue, twinkling in the sunlight. His gaze dropped to her full lips. Even with the dirt on her face and her riotous waves of tumbling blonde curls hanging about her face, she was beautiful. He couldn’t move for a long moment. He swallowed in a dry throat.

  She stepped forward, clasping her hands before her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone through your belongings. I was just putting the blanket --”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he answered in a gruff voice. He cleared his throat and looked away, searching the ground for some semblance of rationality. “We will have to leave quickly. Prepare yourself. I will bring Hellfire in.” He looked at her again. His thought vanished beneath the stare of her gaze. “Be ready.” He turned away.

  “Are we in danger?”

  He paused. He didn’t want to alarm her, but he didn’t want to lie. “Yes,” he answered. He left the cottage and picked up the bags, slinging them casually over his shoulder. He whistled softly as he led Hellfire in, secretly scanning the forest. William didn’t see him, but he knew Peter was out there. Watching. Waiting. The questions Peter had asked about Grace made it obvious he was tracking her. He knew the man, had worked with him before. And he didn’t like him. Peter was unscrupulous and untrustworthy.

  Once William entered the cottage, he began to load Hellfire. Grace helped, handing him another bag. William put the saddle on his horse, murmuring softly to Hellfire. When the task was complete, he straightened and looked at Grace. She stared at him, concern furrowing her forehead. He put the saddle on the other horse. He would use Curtis’s horse to confuse Peter by sending the animal down another road. When he was finished, he turned to Grace and stretched out a hand to her.

  She looked down at it. “Perhaps you should go without me.”

  He lowered his hand.

  “You are a good knight. Much different than I expected. I don’t want you hurt because of me.”

  He lifted his hand to her again. “I will not leave without you.”

  She looked at him and he could have swore there was admiration in her eyes. But that couldn’t be. Admiration was not a look people bestowed on him, especially not beautiful noble women. She placed her hand into his. The touch of her warm skin sent a rush through his body. He pulled her gently forward and caught her by the waist. For a moment, he looked down at her. Lord, how he wanted to kiss her lips. They stood that way for a long moment. His gaze moved over her face, caressing every curve. She was beautiful. He had been unprepared for these feelings. And for Grace. He was unworthy of her. He lifted her onto Hellfire. “We’ll have to ride quickly.” He put his foot into the stirrup and mounted behind her. He tied the reins of Mortain’s horse to his pommel and reached around her to take up Hellfire’s reins. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded, wrapping one hand around the pommel of the saddle and one around one of his arms.

  He urged Hellfire forward, and the other horse matched pace. Then he spurred his horse hard into a full out gallop. He charged down the road. He heard a whoosh and bent low over Grace, trying to protect her. He was certain it had been an arrow. Anger rose up in William. A man looking to bring a kidnapped woman back to the castle would not be firing arrows at her. There was much more going on here than met the eye. He kicked Hellfire, urging his steed faster. Faster. His fingers masterfully clutched the reins, maneuvering the horse from side to side, making it harder for the arrows to find their mark. The only positive thing that could come from the existence of arrows was that arrows meant a bow, and a bow meant Peter was most likely standing somewhere, aiming. Peter would have to mount his horse and give chase. Those few moments would give them time to escape. Precious little time, but better than nothing.

  William pushed Hellfire on. The two horses charged down the road, quickly reaching a junction where the road split in two. He untied Mortain’s horse and urged him down the road leading to Willoughby Castle before steering Hellfire down the other fork.


  Grace watched Curtis’s horse ride away. “Do you think it will work?”

  William hoped so, but he was taking no chances. “I don’t know.”

  As they turned a bend in the road, William had to swerve Hellfire to avoid a farmer with a cart full of cabbages who shouted angrily after him. Hellfire stumbled and almost fell, but righted himself.

  William kept up the pace, listening to hear if the farmer shouted again. That would mean Peter was giving chase. But as he listened, the shout never came. Still, William did not relent. The more distance they put between them and the bowman, the better. And William knew Peter would not give up.

  After traveling for a good time at a quick pace, the clouds parted and the sun beat down on them from almost directly over head. William turned Hellfire off of the main road.

  “Where are we going?” Grace asked.

  “I’m hoping that the man will follow Mortain’s horse toward Willoughby Castle. That’s where he’ll expect us to go. He may even be riding ahead to cut us off.”

  “We’re not going to Willoughby Castle?”

  “Not yet. There’s a stream up here. It flows into the river Bovey.”

  She twisted in the saddle to look at him. “Bovey?”

  William stared into the distance, toward the town of Bovey. “I’m hoping this will throw him off of our trail. We’re going to my home.”

  Grace finally relaxed when William slowed Hellfire and guided him through the water at a walk. She glanced over her shoulder, taking in the surrounding forest. “Is he gone?”

  “Not for good,” William answered. There was a certainty in his tone that made Grace nervous. “We’ve distanced ourselves from him and with any luck lost him. But he will be back. He won’t give up.”

  “What does he want?”

  “You. He was looking for you.”

  “To bring me back,” Grace answered solemnly.

  William glanced behind them for a moment before twisting to face forward. “How well did you know Sir Curtis?”