Thrill Of The Knight

by Julia Latham

  Elizabeth held herself still by sheer will, as their situation suddenly became more perilous. Her steward, her father’s dearest friend and servant—dead? He had been a robust hearty man, only just entering his middle years. Bannaster had killed her servant, one of her own people. Who else would die trying to guard Elizabeth?

  “He was a good man,” Anne whispered.

  Lord Bannaster nodded gravely. “Indeed. And I feel responsible. So I am going to offer you the services of my own steward, Master Arthur Milburn.”

  He nodded toward the other man, who was tall and lean, dressed in somber colors and wearing an impassive expression. Master Milburn gave a clipped bow.

  Elizabeth knew a rising fear. Nothing was going as expected, and her old nightmares about being hunted down dark corridors came back to life. The castle was out of her control—for the time being. It was even more imperative that she discover what was going on down below, see how truly vulnerable they were.

  “My lady,” Lord Bannaster continued, “I fear even my own soldiers would be tempted to take for themselves the riches that come with marrying you. So I have directed that two of them guard your tower at all times—one of my men, and one of yours.”

  “Am I forbidden visitors?” Anne asked, for the first time allowing anger in her voice. “Even my priest? How can I not attend mass every day?”

  “When I return from London, we shall see how secure your situation is,” he said, shrugging apologetically. “Read your bible, Lady Elizabeth. A woman’s place is well explained.”

  Elizabeth flinched.

  “Until then, trust Milburn to see to your affairs—and to your safety. A good day to you, my lady.” He bowed low. “Until I see you again.”

  He swept from the room. With another cool look, Milburn followed him and shut the door.

  Elizabeth ran to the door and put her ear to it. She could hear nothing but footsteps fading away, and then several male voices speaking from down below, presumably the guards Bannaster had mentioned.

  She turned to face Anne grimly. “He had this well planned out. He wants me locked away—and he killed poor Royden, my loyal steward, to ensure that no one would be brave enough to stop him.” Though she was livid with anger, tears finally coursed down her face at such a senseless death.

  Anne threw her arms around Elizabeth, and they cried together.

  Finally Elizabeth backed away and wiped her face. “We have no time for mourning. There are too many people to protect. I’ll go see the situation in the great hall.”

  “But the servants will recognize you! If Lord Bannaster discovers you’ve deceived him—”

  “I vow he won’t. I shall go to the kitchens first, and have the cook and her servants spread the news before I enter the great hall. Our people are smart and proud—they won’t want such a man deciding our fate.”

  “And then what?” Anne whispered.

  “And then I’ll have to think of a plan. I refuse to believe that my betrothed is dead. He’s out there somewhere.”

  Chapter 2

  John, Baron Russell, sat angrily on a bench in a decrepit tavern within a day’s journey of Castle Alderley, the home of Lady Elizabeth Hutton, the woman he’d only recently discovered was his betrothed. The sounds of drunken men laughing and shouting assailed his ears; the hearth fire sputtered, but he paid attention to none of it, so caught up was he in figuring out a way to solve his problems.

  He’d spent these many years pursuing adventure, the youngest son of three, forced to make his own way in the world. He’d gone to Europe at sixteen to be squire to his cousin, growing from a needy boy lost in his eldest brother’s shadow, to a man who knew he could rely on himself. He’d been happy in Europe, where his skills on the battlefield had won him the only acclaim he’d thought he would ever need. Tournaments and mercenary work had filled his days, and he’d been proud to support himself, asking for nothing from his family, who’d certainly not expected him to do so well. But the deaths of his older two brothers had made him the baron and given him a noble bride.

  He took a sip of weak ale, gripping the handle hard. They were all dead now: his parents, his middle brother, Robert, who’d hoped to be a scholar, and his eldest brother, William, who’d been the epitome of knighthood. Handsome, poetic, and charming, William had won the admiration of dozens of maidens with his flirting ways, even though he’d been promised to Lady Elizabeth. He’d been the measurement that John, overweight and awkward as a child, had always been held to and found lacking by his father.

  But now marriage was John’s family duty. He’d returned from Normandy several days before, expecting to find Rame Castle ready to accept his leadership. But Rame Castle, the pride of his father, John’s new legacy, had been neglected, its fields fallow, most of its soldiers and many tenants long gone. His elder brother had been content to enjoy his life in London, anticipating the marriage that would make him rich, and misusing his own resources.

  “I still can’t believe what William did to our family name,” John muttered into his tankard.

  On his right, Sir Philip Clifford, his fellow knight and man-at-arms, turned from contemplating his own ale. “Your brother neglected his birthright. ’Tis not a reflection on you.”

  “But he is my family, and now I am responsible,” John said, slamming down his tankard. Ale sloshed onto his hand. He lowered his voice. “My own brother sucked the life from his estate, leaving me to reclaim it as I can. The steward told everyone that I needed money to live in Europe, that William had to support me.” The words choked in his throat.

  “Don’t let yourself believe that William initiated such a lie, John. The steward was a desperate man who did not want to blame perhaps his own mismanagement, as well as his own lord for the castle’s failing.”

  John wanted to believe that. Would he always wonder? “Regardless, the rest of the country—even King Henry’s court—must believe that I am as incapable as my brother.” He drained his tankard. “Every coin I have must go to resurrecting Rame Castle.”

  “You have to eat. After all,” Philip added, beginning to smile, “you must keep yourself presentable for your betrothed. Is she lovely?”

  “I only received her letter; I did not see a portrait of her face. It has been over ten years since last we met, and she was a child then. She could refuse to marry me. After all, she was to marry my brother, a man who everyone thought fit the ideals of a knight.”

  “Your parents arranged this marriage long ago, and she won’t dishonor them,” Philip said firmly. “The king wanted your two families joined when he agreed to give Lady Elizabeth in marriage to the Russell heir. You bring to her a castle that defends the coast of Cornwall. And you bring yourself, a great knight of England, the next Earl of Alderley, as the king wished. What woman wouldn’t swoon at your feet? But I ask again, is she lovely?”

  “Aye, she was lovely.”

  The memories flooded back, of watching the pretty young girl with the red and gold of sunset in her hair. But she’d been watching William, whose handsome looks had always drawn every eye. John hadn’t expected anything different, not back then. He’d well known how far above him she would always be. Yet still he’d trailed after her, watching her as if she were a rare painting hung in a church. He’d been a foolish, whimsical boy, and the year she’d spent fostering with his family had not improved him.

  “I wish you would listen to me,” Philip said with a sigh. “This is the perfect time to ask for help from the League of the Blade.”

  John groaned. “Not that fairy tale again, Philip. Though you may spend every free hour trying to track down each deed attributed to them, what has it gotten you?”

  “More clues to work with,” Philip said stubbornly.

  But his face reddened, and he looked away.

  “More myths, more legend. More nothing.” John spoke more harshly than he had intended.

  Philip glanced at him impassively. “Just because they hide their deeds well, does not mean they don’t e
xist. My own grandmother swore until her dying day that she would have been killed for her money, had not a Bladesman rescued her. I would not even have been born!”

  John softened his voice. “I do not doubt your grandmother, Philip. But I will not wish for rescue by a legend when I can solve my own problems. I will prove to Lady Elizabeth that I can be a successful husband.”

  Philip smiled. “And you’ve already begun. You left all of your coins to begin the resurrection of your castle’s fortunes. The priest will do a good job acting as steward until you appoint someone else. Your parents died six years ago. Even if they watch from heaven above, they would not blame you.”

  John said nothing. His brother had allowed a mockery to be made of the sum of their parents’ lives. John refused to let anyone think that he would make a mockery of his life—of his marriage. He had grown to love his exciting life in Europe, never imagining that he would have the opportunity to make a good match. If he occasionally felt the slightest worry that marriage and nobility might be boring, he always put it out of his head.

  There was another burst of laughter from several roughly dressed men gathered at a table near the hearth. They did not soften their voices.

  “I don’t believe ye.” With food caught in his beard, the man speaking leaned back against the wall, almost toppling his bench.

  “Whot’s not to believe?” another man demanded, getting to his feet, trying to look affronted, but spoiling the effect by swaying. “I just come from there. Her soldiers been sent away, and Castle Alderley is bein’ held by Lord Bannaster.”

  John stiffened. Castle Alderley was the home of his betrothed. It was under attack? He rose to his feet, and Philip followed his lead. With a hand on his sword hilt, he walked to the hearth. The group of laughing men all looked up at him, their smiles fading as they took in the fact that their numbers clearly overpowered John’s.

  “Mind yer own concerns,” Dirty Beard said, spitting into the rushes at John’s feet.

  John only raised an eyebrow, then ignored him to focus on Swaying Man. “What else do you know about Castle Alderley?”

  Swaying Man took another sip of his ale, touching his tankard to John’s chest. “And whot be yer interest?”

  “You don’t need to know my interest. I’m only asking for information you’re already freely giving.”

  Dirty Beard rose suddenly to his feet, pawing at his scabbard. John drew his sword and slashed the man’s belt off his waist, dropping his weapon hard to the floor.

  Now all six men were on their feet, facing the two swords of John and Philip.

  “We want no trouble,” John said pleasantly. “Only answers. If you wish to keep your swords—and your lives—you’ll respond. Now tell me the news of Castle Alderley.”

  Dirty Beard and Swaying Man exchanged a guarded glance, while their four companions shuffled uneasily. They were all drunk, but they seemed to realize that the size disparity between them and John and Philip was not in their favor.

  Swaying Man kept a hand on his sword hilt, gave a loud belch, but then grudgingly said, “The viscount is holdin’ it for the king.”

  “And why would it suddenly need to be held?”

  “Lady Elizabeth is a maiden yet, and that estate needs a man’s guidance.”

  “Not the way she acts,” Dirty Beard grumbled, looking longingly at his sword. “Thinks she’s good enough to do it all herself. ’Bout time a man showed her otherwise.”

  Swaying Man leaned forward as if he and John were suddenly friends. “He’s got her locked in a tower, he has. Even now he’s gone to London, askin’ the king for permission to–”

  They all broke into laughter as if each of them understood what the viscount wanted. John’s sweat turned cold at the thought of a young woman treated thusly—and because he had not returned in time.

  John put up his sword and tossed a coin onto their table. “My thanks for the information.”

  Swaying Man ignored him as he summoned the tavern owner.

  “John,” Philip said as they returned to their own table. “I can read your expression. Do not take the blame on yourself. You only just discovered your betrothal.”

  John raised a hand. “Regardless of whether I believe I could have prevented it, I have to find a way to make this situation right. My castle and lands are in a shambles; I have no army but you, Ogden, and Parker. I will not ask the three of you to follow me into certain death.”

  “But you’re her legal betrothed. We’ll go to the king and—”

  “Even if I went to London, the false rumors have probably preceded me. And I cannot openly approach Castle Alderley and demand the return of Lady Elizabeth, especially against a viscount who is related to the king. I am a baron without an army. I could lose the right to her.”

  Though his future might be tenuous, John was no longer that boy who let himself be aimlessly swayed. “I will not permit this to happen.”

  He pushed his tankard away and rose to his feet. A lone man at another table glanced up at him, then hunched over his own tankard.

  John knew that this quest would contain enough excitement and danger to keep him satisfied. “Philip, I will prove that I deserve to marry her. When I convince her of my regrets and my sincerity, she will stand beside me when I go to the king on our behalf.”

  Philip stood up. As they left the tavern together, Philip asked, “How will we accomplish all this?”

  Ogden and Parker, who had remained with the horses, now walked toward them across the tavern yard.

  “Milord,” Ogden said, chewing on the end of his long mustache, “we heard rumors ye need to know.”

  “If it concerns Lady Elizabeth, then I already know. We leave for Castle Alderley immediately. Go inside for your dinner, and be quick.”

  As the two soldiers hurried away, John glanced at Philip. “You asked how we will accomplish Lady Elizabeth’s rescue. We’ll need to find her army. Give me some time to think, and I’ll come up with the rest. I always do.”

  They exchanged grins of anticipation.

  When the two soldiers returned, the four of them set off. Since there were only so many hours of daylight left, John set a punishing pace. By the time it was full dark, the horses were well lathered and hung their heads in exhaustion.

  The party made camp in a copse of trees just off the main road. Around a fire, they ate dried beef and biscuits, and John said little as he contemplated what he could do for Lady Elizabeth. A plan was beginning to take form, but before he could express it, the horses began to neigh with unease. Parker, who’d been on sentinel duty, came through the trees from the direction of the road. He was broad and squat, shorter than most men, but an incredibly skilled warrior. John had taken on him and Ogden when no one else would have them, and he’d never once regretted it.

  Parker threw a look over his shoulder back at the road. “I hear nothin’, milord, but the horses never lie.”

  A cloaked man stepped forward out of the shadows, both hands raised in peace.

  John’s hand dropped to his sword hilt, but he didn’t draw it. “Who are you?”

  The man slowly lowered his hood so that they could see his face. He was clean-shaven and wore a pleasant smile. “Good evening, gentlemen. Might I share your fire?”

  It was hardly a cold evening, John thought, but perhaps a lone man felt safer with others about him. “You may, sir, but I ask your name in return.”

  The stranger looked chagrined. “And though I regret it, I cannot grant your request, Lord Russell.”

  John stiffened. “You know me, but I am not permitted to know you?”

  “I know of you, my lord, and that is a different thing.” He glanced at John’s men. “Might we speak in private?”

  “I will not leave,” Philip said tightly.

  The stranger considered him. “I know not of you, sir. Lord Russell, do you wish him to remain?”

  “I do. He is Sir Philip Clifford.” John nodded toward his other two men, and they disappeared into
the trees. He motioned to the fire.

  The stranger sat down and rubbed his hands together. “The heat feels good to these old bones.”

  John studied him. “You have no look of age about you, sir.”

  “Then I hide it well,” the man said, smiling softly. “There are days when all of us feel older than time, are there not?” His smile faded. “I come to you representing my brethren, Lord Russell. You came to our attention many years ago, and we have followed your exploits ever since.”

  John frowned, but to his surprise, Philip leaned forward with intense interest.

  “Of what brethren do you speak, sir?” John asked.

  With reverence, Philip whispered, “The League of the Blade.”

  The stranger glanced at Philip with faint amusement, but John was not in the mood for such foolishness.

  “Philip wishes for miraculous assistance,” John said shortly. “I know better. Whom do you represent, sir?”

  “You do not believe in the League?” the man asked in a soft voice.

  “As much as any story told to babes,” John said. “Only this was told to squires and young knights. I don’t believe in encouraging unasked-for hope.”

  “Skeptical men make good warriors,” the man answered.

  Philip’s grin faltered.

  John just shook his head. “Sir, explain yourself or keep quiet so that I can rest.”

  “You have come a great distance this last month, only to find all not as you’d last left it.”

  John felt chilled. The story of his neglected castle was already spreading.

  “If you know such things,” Philip said stiffly, “then you know John is innocent of any wrongdoing.”

  “There are those who say otherwise,” the stranger said.

  “Lies spread by his brother’s men!” Philip cried.