Dark Destroyer

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “But I do not want to go,” she said quietly. “I appreciate that you have your orders, but I do not want to go. This is where I live. I manage the kitchens and every day, I teach some of the children in the village the good words from the Holy Scripture. My entire life is here and I hope you can understand that I do not wish to answer a summons by my father, who is a stranger to me. He is my father in name only.”

  Gates could see that she was trying to reason with him but the fact remained that he had his orders. “My lady, I can appreciate your position,” he said patiently, “but this is something you must discuss with your father. I cannot make any decision for or against you. You must come with me and after discussing these things with your father, it is up to him whether or not he will permit you to return.”

  Kathalin pondered his response. She was terrified that if she allowed him to take her home, her father might not ever let her return to St. Milburga’s. She had no idea why the man was summoning her after fourteen years of virtual silence; it was the first such summons in all of that time. She had lived at St. Milburga’s quite happily since leaving her parents, people who were ghosts to her. She forgot she even had parents most of the time because they had made it clear they had no use for their only daughter. At least, they had no use up until now. But something had prompted her father to call her home and she didn’t like it one bit. Uncertainty made her very apprehensive.

  I do not want to leave my home!

  “But why?” she finally asked, feeling tears sting her eyes. “Why does he want me to come home?”

  Even though Gates knew why, he wasn’t sure how much to tell her. Still, he felt as if he should tell her something. He could see that she was quite upset by the unexpected summons.

  “It is my understanding that your mother wants you to come home,” he said quietly. Then, he gestured towards the door. “If you please, my lady? I should like to leave as soon as possible.”

  Kathalin sighed heavily, turning away from him, despondent. “My mother,” she repeated, disgust in her tone. “I have not seen my mother in fourteen years, Sir Knight. I do not even know her. Do you know what my last memory of her is? When she screamed at me for something, something I do not even recall, and then she slapped me across the mouth. The next day, I was bundled up and sent away with two soldiers for escort, one of which kept pinching my… well, suffice it to say he pinched something he should not have. Dear God, I was only five years old at the time. What kind of man would do that? And what kind of mother would send her child away like that?”

  Gates was listening to her with some sympathy. But he was mostly watching her delicious backside when she turned away from him, a shapely back that flared into hips that disappeared beneath layers of brown wool. He found himself wondering what she looked like underneath all of that fabric but when she finished her impassioned speech and turned to him, expecting an answer, he was caught daydreaming about her shapely behind. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat, trying to cover his blunder.

  “My lady, I cannot pretend to know your mother’s mind,” he said. “All I know is that I was ordered to bring you to your parents. Will you please come with me?”

  Kathalin was hoping for a bit more compassion from the man. “And if I refuse?”

  Gates met her intense gaze with intensity of his own. “I hope you will not.”

  “If I do?”

  “Then I have been ordered to bring you home by any means necessary.”

  So he revealed his true determination that she should come with him. She smiled thinly. “Then all of this politeness from you was a ruse,” she said. “You are going to take me whether or not I comply with your requests. Why not tell me that from the start?”

  “Because I was hoping I would not have to.”

  Kathalin opened her mouth to reply when a Welsh raider, evidently fleeing English pursuers, suddenly bolted in through the door. Kathalin screamed at the sight of him and Gates, spurred by her scream, acted on his training; quick as a flash, he threw his big shoulder against the door, slamming the Welshman between the door jamb and the door panel, hitting him so hard that the Welshman hit his head on the door itself. It was enough to stun him so that the two English soldiers chasing him were able to grab the man and haul him, dazed, away.

  Kathalin stood there, hand to her mouth in fright, as Gates watched his soldiers drag the man off. He also passed a practiced eye over The Garth, noting that nearly all of the Welsh had been commanded to sit on the muddy ground whilst his men corralled them. Stephan, astride his big, red war horse, was ordering the wounded gathered in one spot. After several moments of watching the activity, Gates finally returned his attention to Kathalin.

  “Well, my lady?” he asked. “Will you come peacefully or will you and I have to slug it out? The choice is yours.”

  Shaken by the abrupt appearance of the errant Welshman, Kathalin struggled to appear as if she wasn’t shaken in the least. But it was more than that; when de Wolfe had charged the door and thrown his weight against it to disable the man, she could see in that brief moment exactly how powerful the knight was. He was unstoppable, as strong as a bull, and she could only imagine his skill with a blade was equal. He was not one to be trifled with and her fear of him made a return.

  It was strength that could be turned against her.

  Still, it didn’t lessen her determination not to go with him. She had been unable to reason her way out of it and it was obvious he had no compassion about her position. He would essentially be dragging her out of her home, taking her to strangers who had control over her life. Strangers who had discarded her at a very young age. Knowing reason or brute strength would be no good against the knight, she had to be more clever than he was. A battle of wits was her last defense against him.

  She had to try because, Sweet Jesus, she truly did not wish to leave St. Milburga’s.

  She didn’t want to go.

  “I wish to speak with the Mother Prioress,” she said. “Is that too much to ask?”

  Gates shook his head. “Not at all, my lady,” he said, smiling to give her a glimpse of those de Wolfe dimples. It was a calculated move on his part, hoping to dazzle her a bit. “You and I will go and find her together, although I cannot imagine where she would be in the midst of this mess. Do you have any thoughts on the matter?”

  Kathalin wasn’t particularly moved by the dimples, although it made the handsome man ever more handsome. She was too caught up in her own turmoil to appreciate the glorious gesture. Moreover, she wasn’t sure where the Prioress was but she intended to hunt the woman down. There was a very specific question she wanted to ask her, the woman who had been more of a mother to her than her own ever was. She wasn’t going to leave without seeing the woman one last time and pleading for her intervention. At this point, it was Kathalin’s last hope.

  Will you offer me sanctuary, Mother Benedicta, so I may remain at St. Milburga’s?

  Aye, it was a calculated question. Silently, she left the kitchen with Gates right behind her, quite possibly tailing her closely so that in case she decided to run, he could quickly curtail the action. But Kathalin didn’t have a mind to run, at least not yet. She wanted to find the Mother Prioress first, a woman who went by the name of Mother Benedicta.

  The first big dormitory-like room they came to was called the Refectory where the sick were usually housed, but at the moment it only had a few frightened nuns huddled in it and no Mother Prioress, so they continued on through chambers with names like the Warming Room and the Day Room. Continuing through the cloister to see that the Welsh had, indeed, torn the place apart in their search for possessions of value, they came to a room called the Prioress’ Seat and, following the peculiar sounds of banging, found the woman locked up in a small wardrobe.

  The Mother Prioress, a tall and rather wide woman, was very glad to see Kathalin but very puzzled to see the enormous knight accompanying her. Even when Gates explained who he was, the Prioress was still not entirely accepting of him. She
was more interested in the state of her priory than in the big English knight, which didn’t help her attitude in the least, not even with Kathalin told the woman that it was the English knights who had saved them from the Welsh.

  Gates stood by while Kathalin followed the flustered Mother Prioress around, collecting the nuns and wards and servants, and even a few children, and gathering them all together in the sanctuary to count heads and offer prayers for their safety and health. He even stood by while they prayed, standing in the back of the cavernous sanctuary that smelled of dirt and heavily-fatted incense, and he was eventually joined by Stephan who informed him that they had forty-four Welsh prisoners as a result of the raid.

  Gates certainly hadn’t expected the burden of prisoners when he’d come to collect Kathalin de Lara but that was exactly what he found himself with, and his frustration began to surface. Mostly, it was centered around Kathalin and the fact that she seemed to find the need for very long prayers on this day.

  As he watched the entire priory pray, keeping an eye on Kathalin’s dark head, Gates told Stephan to take the Welsh to Ludlow Castle, only a couple of miles away, where they could better handle the prisoners. Gates, however, didn’t go himself; he wanted to remain close to the source of his increasing frustration because something told him not to let Kathalin out of his sight.

  It was an instinct that proved to be correct. When prayers were over and the Mother Prioress informed him that Kathalin was not allowed to leave with him because she had been granted sanctuary on the basis of escaping parental abuse and a genuine desire to serve God, Gates unhappily carried out his orders down to the letter and extracted Kathalin de Lara from St. Milburga’s Priory by force.

  In the end, he did what he hadn’t wanted to do – he ended up carrying a struggling woman, bound hand and foot, out of the only home she had ever known.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hate.

  Kathalin wasn’t familiar with the feeling much but she knew that every time she looked at Gates de Wolfe, that was exactly what she felt.

  Hate.

  Any man who could so coldly and callously pull her from her home was a man to be hated. He’d dragged her out of St. Milburga’s as the Mother Prioress wailed, creating a truly chaotic and distressing situation, and the knight had kept her bound and seated in front of him as they made their way north through snow-white landscape and freezing winds that knocked the snow from the trees. As they had traveled along, they could hear the clumps of snow hitting the wet, slushy road around them.

  He had shown his true character as he’d pulled her from the priory, a man of brutality and cruelty. Kathalin prayed that one of the snow clumps would fly off the tree and hit de Wolfe in the head as punishment for his actions, unfamiliar feelings of vengeance and hate filling her for what he had done. She should have felt guilty for such emotions but she couldn’t manage to feel that way.

  All she could feel at the moment was utter devastation at what had happened and the fear of an unknown future. All of it, thanks to de Wolfe. He rode silently behind her, his big right arm around her torso to steady them both on the saddle, but since leaving the priory, he’d not said a word to her. She hadn’t said a word to him, either, so they traveled together in tense and terrible silence.

  It made for an uncomfortable ride until sunset when clouds rolled in and the winds increased, and Kathalin was so cold that her lips were blue. De Wolfe hadn’t noticed because of her position in front of him and, with layers of protection between her body and his, he couldn’t feel her trembling with the cold. Only when the other knight, a burly beast of man with a great brown beard who had been introduced as Stephan d’Avignon, pointed out the fact that the lady was cold did de Wolfe react. He had someone bring him a rain cloak because it was really all they had and while he held her steady, the bear-like knight covered her up adequately with it.

  The cloak hadn’t provided much warmth but it had at least provided protection against the cold winds. Exhausted, and distraught, Kathalin continued to ride in cold silence, refusing to utter a sound, well into the night until they reached the large village of Craven Arms where de Wolfe sent d’Avignon to secure lodgings for the night. As de Wolfe wait with a half-frozen woman and his escort on the edge of town, the burly knight returned within an hour to inform them that he had secured two rooms in a tavern and that he’d also found a livery for the men to sleep in, which they gladly did.

  The warm haven of the tavern turned out to be a nightmare.

  Unfortunately, the establishment was very loud, smelly, and full of people nearly all night long and the two rooms the knight had secured were nothing more than small chambers off the kitchen that the servants usually slept in. The tavern keeper had rented them out, however, with the lure of money to make, so Kathalin and de Wolfe crammed into one room whilst d’Avignon took the second room.

  It made an awkward situation worse when Kathalin realized de Wolfe intended to sleep in the same chamber with her even though he politely yet professionally informed her that it was simply to prevent her from escaping.

  Frustrated and fighting off tears, Kathalin refused to lay on the bed at all, embarrassed at the impropriety of it. De Wolfe, seeing how distressed she was, untied her hands and allowed her to relieve herself and stretch her muscles, but he didn’t trust the woman and ended up tying her to the only chair in the chamber because she wouldn’t lie down on the bed. Kathalin’s first night away from St. Milburga’s was spent trussed up to a broken chair.

  It was a barbaric situation to say the least. Kathalin wept quietly most of the night, knowing that de Wolfe was watching her but hardly caring. She was so distraught and drained that she could hardly think straight. But she fell asleep at some point because de Wolfe woke her up before sunrise to ask her if she was hungry. Kathalin simply shook her head and looked away, unwilling to speak with him in any fashion, so de Wolfe untied her long enough to allow her to relieve herself again but the ropes went back on before they continued on their journey.

  Hate.

  That was all she could manage to feel for the man and the next day of travel was even more miserable. Kathalin only had the rain cloak for protection, wearing the same uncomfortable brown wool she had been wearing when Gates hauled her out of the priory and even though the wool was warm, it wasn’t enough against the icy temperatures.

  Wrapped up in the cloak, d’Avignon had put her on Gates’ horse, seated behind the man this time, but her hands were still bound and Gates held the end of the rope in case she decided to jump off and run. She wouldn’t go far if she tried. It was quite clear she was a prisoner to anyone observing the situation. The earl’s daughter was now evidently a captive.

  The snow returned as they traveled on the second day, first in a light dusting but then increasing in intensity every hour. By the time mid-afternoon rolled around, it was nearly blizzard conditions and Gates knew he had to find shelter before they all froze to death, so he stopped at the very next village they came to.

  There were a few homes, two or three businesses that could be seen near the town’s well, and a small inn near the north end of the town. It was a very small inn, no bigger than a home to be truthful, but that was his destination and he didn’t care how crowded it was. As the whiteout from the snow began to blur everything around them, the tiny inn was to be their shelter for the night.

  The escort came to a halt in the snow-covered street and Stephan ordered the men to find the nearest livery to safely store the wagon and the horses for the night as Gates pulled Kathalin from his steed. The heavy-boned war horse went with the soldiers towards shelter while Gates and Stephan, followed by Kathalin being led by the rope around her wrists, headed for the inn.

  Predictably, the structure was full to the rafters. As Gates, Kathalin, and Stephan entered the place, the smoky and cramped inn wasn’t particularly inviting. But it was dry and that was all that really mattered. Initial observations of the room showed that it had a loft above the common room where bodies w
ere already piled in and sleeping. Further investigation showed two additional sleeping rooms upstairs that were barely big enough for a man to move around it.

  It didn’t matter, however, and Gates ended up paying the innkeeper a very valuable gold crown for the privilege of the loft and the two rooms, enough so most of his men had a warm, dry place to sleep and he and Kathalin and d’Avignon had sleeping rooms. The majority of his men crowded into the inn to get out of the snow, pushing out heavy-clothed patrons and roughing up those who resisted. Gates instructed the innkeeper and the two frightened wenches by his side to feed his men and make them comfortable for the night. He tossed a few more silver groats at the man to make it worth his while and with that, he pulled Kathalin up the stairs behind him.

  The de Lara army had taken over the inn for the night.

  Only one of the sleeping rooms, the larger of the two, had two beds and a window that overlooked the snowy street below. The second room was windowless except for a very small hole in the wall up near the ceiling for ventilation, and was barely big enough for the small bed that was jammed into it.

  A wide-open hole in the wall served as a hearth, shared with the loft on the other side of the wall so the hearth was open on both sides, and the chamber was exceedingly warm, which was a relief considering how cold it was outside. Gates inspected the chamber and realized that, other than the door, there was no way to escape unless one wanted to leap through the flames to the loft on the other side. He hoped Kathalin wasn’t that foolish. He pushed the door open wide and indicated for her to enter.

  “My lady,” he said emotionlessly. “If you please.”

  Half-frozen, disheveled, and exhausted, Kathalin didn’t even look at him as she did as she was told and entered the chamber. But Gates stopped her just inside the door and silently untied the ropes around her wrists. When he pulled the rope off, he could see that the skin beneath them was chaffed and bleeding. Her wrists were badly irritated and he tried not to feel guilty about it.