by Linda Madl
The ambush was still etched vividly in his mind. They had been a small hunting party—just the earl, a few of the Tremelyn knights, some men-at-arms, and their commander, Garrett. The season's last snow flurried from a gray sky. Through the thickening snowfall they sighted a huge red buck. In the high spirit of the chase they let the quarry draw them into a narrow pass.
They realized the danger only when outlaws rushed out of the whiteness from every side. The attack was so unexpected and so brutal that they lost several good men before making a stand.
The brigands fought ruthlessly toward Lord Reginald, greed and desperation in their eyes. It was as though more was at stake than mere robbery. What were they after? Ransom? Assassination? A frown darkened Garrett's brow. That question still plagued him.
Lord Reginald himself was wounded by the time Garrett managed to fight to his lord's side and drive off the assailants. Shaken and bleeding, Reginald struggled to his feet and, with his bloody sword in hand, bestowed knighthood on Garrett before the battle-weary knights.
Now, at the altar, Father John droned on. “In the name of the most Holy Lord, Almighty Father ... who has permitted on earth the use of the sword to suppress the malice of the wicked and the treacherous, and to defend justice and the innocent..."
Garrett knew there were those present who doubted him still. Some said that, like his uncle, he lacked the loyalty to be a knight. Others pointed to his need for humility. But he knew they all were wrong. He'd lived humbly for the sake of his mother, who died heartbroken, and for his father, who'd died hopeless and desolate without even trying to regain the honor lost.
He'd refused to surrender to despair. Over the years he'd grown strong and dauntless through training and service in France to one lord and another. Then Lord Reginald had taken him on as commander of the guard.
"...and who for the protection of thy people hast deemed fit to institute the order of chivalry...” Father John was in good voice today.
Suddenly Garrett felt old and young at once—his head light, his tawny hair shorn away like a green boy freshly tonsured. But the scarlet cloak he wore weighed heavily on his shoulders—even more heavily than his armor. The flowing red satin symbolized the blood he must be prepared to shed in defense of the Church and of his liege lord. He'd already spilled blood, and had little doubt that he would be called on to shed more—for the king, for the earl, and for the good of the Bernay name.
"...do you, Garrett Bernay, swear to dispose your heart to goodness and never use this sword or any other to injure anyone unjustly?” Father John asked.
With confidence and a clear conscience, Garrett vowed, “I swear."
Reginald stepped forward to speak, still holding the sword high for all to see. “Do you swear to use this sword honorably and to always defend your liege lord, Reginald of Tremelyn?"
Gratitude rushed through Garrett as he lifted his gaze to meet Reginald's. No one man had been more help in his quest for knighthood. He knew he would forever be indebted—willingly and faithfully—to his lord.
"I so swear,” Garrett pledged.
The final moment had arrived. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and braced himself. A hush settled over the congregation: fellow men-at-arms, knights, squires, barons, vassals, and ladies. He heard the flat of the sword blade cut the air, whisking past his ear to jolt against his shoulder with full force. He hardly felt the impact.
A sigh of relief escaped him. It was nearly finished. The mark against his family's name was almost wiped away. From this day forward he would be Sir Garrett Bernay, knight and loyal defender of the Church and of his liege lord—no mark of treachery would mar the Bernays’ Norman lineage again.
Reginald raised the finely tempered sword slowly and brought down the second blow just as forcefully on Garrett's other shoulder. Again, outwardly, he remained unmoved. Not even a smile touched his lips, but inside, elation soared. Lightness filled him. The burden of dishonor vanished.
"Be thee dubbed knight, Sir Garrett Bernay.” Reginald announced for all in the cathedral to hear. The earl raised the sword from Garrett's shoulder and with both hands offered it to him.
Without hesitation Garrett rose, towering over his lord to accept the gleaming symbol of his rightful place in the world.
Then Reginald stepped aside, and Wystan came forward, blushing to the roots of his sandy hair. A youthful smile of pride spread across his face. He and Reginald together—a special honor—knelt to buckle on Garrett shining silver spurs, the symbol of a knight's honor and chivalry.
Next Reginald took a blue shield from Wystan, hung it about Garrett's neck, and held him by the shoulders for a moment, his grip strong and warm. “Garrett, I could take no more pleasure in knighting my own son. I'm pleased and proud to have a Bernay among my knights. I have great plans for you."
They embraced, Garrett's heart too full for words.
Outside, a groom waited at the church steps with his chestnut charger.
In disbelief Garrett stared at the fully armored mount. He turned to Lord Reginald and spoke, trying not to show his irritation. “You don't expect me to tilt with the quintain like some boy, do you? I agreed to the required lock shearing. Why should I display arms against a straw-filled dummy as if I'm a stripling who needs to show off his fighting skills?"
"But, ‘tis traditional,” Reginald said with a laugh and a hearty backslap. “'Tis our right to witness your valor."
So he donned his helm and rode forth into the cathedral square, carrying his new blue shield and feeling just a little foolish.
At the sight of him, friends and well-wishers roared approval.
He grinned, then dropped his helmet visor into place. If they wanted a show, he'd give them one. He made three farcical charges at the straw dummy that everyone knew he could annihilate in one sweep. On the final pass he shattered the poor spineless effigy. Straw fluttered on the breeze. Then iron horseshoes struck sparks on the cobbles as Garrett reined his charger around to salute his liege lord—with the Bernay sword.
Laughter, cheers, and applause filled the air.
Wine and ale flowed freely at the celebration feast that followed in the great hall. An endless line of food-laden pages paraded forth from the castle kitchen. Garrett was touched that Reginald had spared no expense.
As the shadows grew long and the laughter raucous, the miller's daughter—a little dark-haired maid—lured Garrett beneath the winding stairs. On tiptoe she offered her congratulations with a lusty kiss. He accepted with pleasure, plying his lips to hers and savoring her eager response. He was tempted to take more, and it was offered. But in deference to his host, he tactfully declined, and was glad he did. When he returned to the great hall, he found Reginald lingering at the doors. Inside, the torches were being lit, and Garrett could hear the musicians tuning their instruments.
"There you are,” the earl greeted. “Returned safe from the embrace of the shadows, I see."
Garrett merely smiled.
"When you are ready to wed, I think we can do better than the miller's daughter,” Reginald said. “I was about to see to the feeding of the falcons. Join me."
Reginald led Garrett in the direction of the mews. “I have something I want to tell you before I proclaim the names of the knights who will join King Edward in France."
Garrett followed, the spring of confidence in his step. This was what he had been waiting for—the announcement that along with the other Tremelyn knights and squires, he and Wystan would defend Britain's holdings on the continent. The Bernays would once more have the chance to prove their loyalty to the king. This honor made all the rough camps, cold vigils, sore limbs, and bloody fighting worthwhile.
When they reached the mews, Reginald spoke casually over his shoulder. “I thought you should know that you are not going to France with the others."
Garrett halted. A long slow breath escaped him. “I'm sorry, my lord. What did you say?"
"I have a more important mission planned for you.” R
eginald stopped to peer into the hawk's cage, then moved on to the next coop, ordering the falcon master to bring out the gyrfalcon.
Garrett clasped his fists behind him. Another mission? What could possibly be as important as the king's war? When he finally trusted his voice not to betray his anger, he said, “But I have experience fighting in France. What service can I perform for you that is more valuable than joining the king?"
"Restrain yourself, my new knight,” Reginald cautioned, his tone low and patient. Without looking at Garrett, he pulled on a heavy leather glove and took his hooded gyrfalcon from the falconer. “I am to be wed, as you know. I dare not leave my holdings with all the unrest and the brigands at large. I have survived well enough so far, thanks to you. But another trip abroad seems unwise just now.
"Fortunately, my betrothed, the Lady Leandra, understands and has asked only that I send my bravest and most honorable knight to Lyonesse. I also feel that she should have the best escort I can offer her."
"Yes, my lord.” Garrett stood quiet and alert. Reginald was a just man. But like all good rulers, he never forgot what was owed to him—and Garrett owed him much.
"I want you to go to Lyonesse to bring my betrothed safely back to Tremelyn."
Garrett bowed his head. Sweet Jesu, he was being relegated to a lady's escort, a lady of whom he disapproved. “I'm honored that you would consider me qualified,” he stammered.
"I know you disapprove of this marriage.” Reginald held up his free hand to silence the protest. “Don't argue. I've seen it in your face. But this alliance between Lyonesse and Tremelyn is important. They need our protection. We need their forests for shipbuilding to transport our tin. I will not have the lady frightened off by a discourteous knight. Above that, I will not risk her safety."
Restless with impatience, Garrett forced himself to wait in silence as Reginald devoted his attention to feeding the gyrfalcon a tidbit of raw meat.
In his opinion this match was unworthy of Reginald. It mattered little that Lyonesse's Highlord Aidan was said to have been a great warrior once. The man had turned to religion after the death of his wife and left his people leaderless. How he'd managed to hold his throne over the years was a mystery to Garrett. Now Aidan sought protection by marrying off his daughter. True enough, Leandra of Lyonesse was said to be young and fair, but what kind of female would such a man sire? What sort of wife could she be?
"I know you'd rather make your mark with the king in France,” Reginald went on, offering the bird another tidbit. “But do this for me, Garrett, and I will petition the king for the return of Chycliff to the Bernays."
The offer jarred Garrett. For a moment he forgot about the ignominy of being a lady's escort. Securing the return of his ancestral home was what he wanted above all things. He shot the earl a quick glance. Obviously Reginald placed great value on the trip to Lyonesse.
"I am truly flattered by the generous offer, my lord, but I'm no diplomat,” he said, tempted, but at last moved to object. “I don't know the fair speeches that men of peace make. Surely there is someone better suited for this assignment."
"Don't act the rough soldier with me, Garrett,” Reginald said in mild reproof. “From what the ladies say, you do well enough with words when you want to. Besides, the negotiations are done, only the signing of the betrothal contracts remains. Father John will accompany you to oversee the signing and to serve as proper companion for the ladies. You will remain long enough to establish a garrison and train men for it. An armed garrison is part of the agreement. Lyonesse is as troubled with brigands as we are.
"I don't want you to think of this assignment as merely a lady's escort, Garrett,” Reginald continued. “I know that's what's on your mind. Think of it as rescuing a damsel in distress. Present her with my gifts. Make her long to see Tremelyn. I want my bride to come to me safe, happy, and smiling."
Garrett squinted at his liege lord. A damsel in distress, indeed. He was being ordered—if not bribed—to endure a nauseating sea voyage to a poor realm, play lady's escort, and all with no glory at the end. “My lord, as much of an honor as this mission is, I doubt that—"
"There is one more thing you should know,” Reginald interrupted. He cast Garrett a measuring, sidelong look. “There is the matter of Lady Leandra's other suitor. I believe you know the man. Leofric of Casseldorne."
The hair on the back of Garrett's neck stood on end. He'd suffered more than one insult from the son of the earl of Casseldorne. As a soldier, he was forbidden to challenge a knight. And Casseldorne had taken sneering pleasure in that.
His interest awakened at last, Garrett moved restlessly to his lord's other side. “Casseldorne seeks the lady's hand?"
"He's been refused, but you know what a troublemaker he's always been.” Reginald baited the largest and most powerful of all his trained falcons. Bells tinkled on the bird's jesses. The predator snatched the meat away and greedily lifted its wings, mantling possessively over its reward. “'Tis you that must go, Garrett. No one else."
When he made no reply, Reginald continued. “Consider my choices. I don't dare send the lecherous Montgomery pup. He's not to be trusted within an arm's length of a skirt. I can't send Beaufort. Poor old chap is half blind. He's probably forgotten what a pretty girl looks like. Not to mention that he couldn't win a battle with a quintain if his life depended on it.
"But you I can trust, Garrett. I know I can count on you to bring my bride to me."
Garrett clamped his mouth shut as mixed feelings roiled in his gut. The prospect of meeting Leofric cast the undertaking in a new light. After all, a good soldier, a loyal knight, never bemoaned his orders.
Reginald returned the gyrfalcon to the falconer. Then he turned to appraise Garrett once more, satisfaction glowing in the earl's eyes. He gave Garrett a comradely slap on his back. “I'm glad you're going. So, now I must make the announcement of who goes to France.” He strode toward the great hall, without looking back.
Garrett loitered in the mews, contemplating the cobblestones and softly pounding his fist on the gyrfalcon's cage, reluctant to rejoin the gaiety in the great hall that no longer suited his mood.
Ruefully he chuckled to himself. This mission need be no more than a minor setback. When he'd delivered the lady to the earl, he would sail to France like the others. He could still join the king, join the fighting, provided it wasn't over yet. One day he would look back on this disappointment and laugh.
Still he couldn't bring a genuine smile to his lips now. There was little honor in being a lady's escort. And when the knights of Tremelyn sailed for France, toward war and glory, he and Wystan would sail west to Lyonesse—the last place on earth he wanted to go.
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Chapter Two
ALARM RANG OUT from the peaceful bells of Lyonesse's chapel.
"Mother, have mercy!” Leandra started, then stared disheartened as an ink blotch spread from her quill onto the parchment.
"Pirates, again?” she muttered to herself, and stabbed the quill into the ink pot.
The discordant pealing echoed through the great hall where she worked, striking painfully against her ears. In the castle keep she could hear the men shout “To arms! To arms!” as they raced to their combat posts, grabbing weapons as they went.
Hastily she rose from her worktable and reached for her bow. She'd prayed that they would be spared from another raid so soon after the last one. But she and Sergeant Ralph had not relied on prayers alone. The men were better prepared this time; they'd made certain of that.
The steward appeared to help her tie a quiver of arrows to her girdle. Determination set in her chin; she hitched up her skirts and climbed the steps to the castle tower.
At the top she went straight to the stone battlement and squinted out across the sea. How strong were the pirates this time? Beneath the gray sky she spotted only one pirate vessel bobbing at the mouth of the bay. One boatload of these unholy brigands could leave Lyonesse with crops aflame and fish
ing boats wrecked.
"But not for much longer,” she vowed aloud. “We will defeat you. I promise. If not today, then next time."
The panicked cries of the village women and children drifted up to her from the castle gate. Like geese with goslings, frantic mothers led their broods across the drawbridge into safety. Anger and guilt twisted her heart as she watched the sea breeze tug at their ragged garments. They ran on stick-thin legs, their faces pinched with fear and hunger. When had Lyonesse become a land where fearful children huddled inside the castle instead of playing in the sunshine, she wondered. How could she have let this happen?
"Is it the red-haired pirate as usual?” Brenna joined her at the tower wall.
"They're not close enough to see yet. Did you find my father?"
"Yes, he was at his prayers, where else?” Brenna leaned against the battlements as if she were merely taking in a pleasing view. “He said he would pray for us and join you shortly.” Then she added with a sniff, “Which means when the attack is over."
"Father does what he must.” Leandra peered out over the whitecapped sea. She was alone in this once again. A cool emptiness stole through her, as it always did when her father abdicated his responsibility. But for as long as she could remember, he'd prayed to the heavens for protection and left her to sort out the realities of the world. She expected no more of him.
"Where's Sergeant Ralph?” she demanded.
"Right here, my lady.” The stocky soldier's head appeared at the top of the stairs. His chain mail jingled as he marched to her side. Concern shadowed his dark-bearded face. He made a slight bow. She acknowledged him with a curt nod. “The bowmen are in position, my lady, and we are about to close the castle gate."
"Good. Have the pirates landed a party yet?"
"No, my lady."
"Is there any reason to think that there is more than one birlinn?"
Sergeant Ralph hesitated, and she knew without looking at his face that she wasn't going to like his news.