Jennifer August

by Knight of the Mist

  Stirling rubbed the furry white patch as the beast yawned widely. “How are you called again? Winter?” The dog snuffled, eased her large body to the floor and rolled over, exposing her pink belly. Stirling laughed in delight. “Nay? Mayhap Ice?” A low growl escaped the dog, though she could not tell if it was from pleasure at her touch or disgust at the name. She snapped her fingers. “Ah yes, you are called Snow.” Snow wiggled on the floor, tail thumping it with heavy beats, and groaned several times. Stirling sank down beside her and continued to rub. Snow maneuvered her wooly head into her lap, closed her eyes and breathed noisily through her nose. Stirling laughed again. “You should be called Shameless, I think. But for now, I will call you friend. Is that a pact?” Snow opened one blue eye, yawned again and rumbled. “Aye, friend it is. With your keen nose, we should be able to rout that spawn of Lucifer with ease.”

  Pushing the beast from her lap, Stirling again strode to the corridor. ‘Twas obvious Quinn did not accompany his dog. “Which leads me to wonder how you came to be in the tunnels at all,” she murmured to the white hound, noticing again the startling blue eyes. The deep, rich color reminded her of the velvet of her favorite gown.

  “And, oddly enough, but just for a moment, my mother’s eyes,” she said softly. Snow barked sharply and sprang to all fours, stiff and staring. Stirling laughed. “Aye, ‘tis a foolish notion. Come, let us discover what we can ere your master returns.”

  Heart racing, palms damp, she turned away from the lord’s chamber, and headed toward the stable door. Logic dictated Tristan would seek this entrance first, ‘twas the least guarded.

  Please do not let me find him.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered the portal still securely bolted. “I wager he fumed when he could not open this one.” Snow blinked at her, but made no sound.

  “Lucifer’s horns, I must be daft to speak so to a dog.” But her words, and the animal’s presence, eased the riotous tensions clenching her muscles.

  Snow growled and trotted away from her, disappearing into the darkness. “Well fie, no need to get upset.” She caught her at the next door, the entrance to the armory. No lock held this door, but only the strongest of men could force the lever down. Or the touch of a legendary knight.

  She scoffed at her own thoughts. Well she knew the rumors of such a grand knight to be false. No mystical figure ever rallied her father’s men, or saved their lives. Nay, the figurehead Falcon Fire’s men revered, was naught but a girl encased in silver, as had been for generations before.

  If only they knew. But then, if that fable were unmasked, if she were revealed as the Knight of the Mist, her forces would have crumbled long ago and her fortress destroyed by the greed of Calvin and men of his ilk.

  No, she’d carried her secret for years, just as her mother did before her. And she would continue to guard her home, no matter the risk.

  She and Snow checked several more doors, each one secure and held tight to any intruder. Her heart lightened with each discovery.

  “The hour grows late. I must change and return to our chambers before Quinn retires.” Snow wagged her head up and down, but remained at her side. “I need to check the door by the kitchens. ‘Twould be a small thing to creep into the hall from there. The noise and commotion would disguise any such attempt,” she murmured softly.

  But that area of the corridor had remained untraveled for many years. She had no idea of its condition.

  Stirling inched forward, praying the dog would alert her to any pitfalls she could not see. She hugged the wall as the path sloped down, passing from the second to first floor, and finally stopped at the kitchen entrance. She could not discern if the door had been used recently or not. No dust marred the ground at this part of the corridor because of the water the maids splashed throughout the dining hall. The runoff seeped into the crevices, washing away the signs of an intruder.

  Stirling frowned, then looked at her white companion. “I do wish you could tell me,” she whispered to the dog who whined, ears pricked forward. Stirling lowered the torch, the orange flame reflected in the hound’s intense blue gaze. She backed away, certain she was more than daft to ask, but left no other choice. “Are you trying to aid me? Is it possible?”

  She whined a little louder and Stirling hunched down, putting her finger to her lips. “Silence is needed, dear one, lest we are discovered.” She took a deep breath and ventured forward with her mad idea. “Do you remember the man from the courtyard? The one you knocked down?”

  Snow’s head bobbed and she took the movement for agreement. She waved a hand at the doorway. “Can you tell if he has entered here?”

  Snow grunted and pushed her nose to the floor, snuffling loudly. Finally, she lifted her face and stared at her. Stirling tapped her foot. “I am a twit. How would I know if ‘tis aye or nay?”

  The hound woofed and Stirling rolled her eyes, feeling the complete dolt. “Aye?”

  Silence.

  “Nay?”

  The dog woofed softly.

  “I suppose ‘tis settled then, he has not entered the keep through this door.”

  Snow’s lips pulled back in an odd smile and Stirling shook her head. “Daft. Come, Snow.”

  A loud crash reverberated through the dining hall and into the corridor. She jumped, dropping her torch. The flame sputtered against the wet stone and dirt floor before dying out, plunging them into darkness. A deep rumble echoed from Snow and she shushed her, digging her fingers into her fur. The dog’s keen sight would take them back to her chambers. Before they could move, Calvin of Thornhatch’s angry voice slammed through the room just beyond the wall and Stirling gasped. What was that cretin doing here? She could not make out Quinn’s curt response and tugged at Snow’s fur.

  “I must return to the hall.” They hastened through the maze of dust and brick, Stirling putting all her faith in the dog’s guidance. When the light from her chambers spilled into the shadowy corridor, she ran into the room. Snow followed her, ducking out of the way as she slammed the wardrobe closed. She disrobed with as much speed as she could muster and tossed the black clothing into the depths of the chest. A harsh pounding at her door spun them both.

  Pulling her white wrap about her shoulders, she eased the door open, revealing two of Quinn’s men. They did not look pleased.

  “Lord Quinn requires your presence below, my lady.”

  “Of course. I will be down as soon as I dress.” She started to close the door, but one of the men grabbed it.

  “Now, my lady. Lord Quinn is most insistent.”

  She stiffened. ‘Twas true, they were his men, but she was his wife. And that meant they were her men, too. “I will join him when I am decent and not before. You,” she pointed at the silent one. “Tell Lord Quinn I shall be but a moment. And you,” she glared at the impudent one, pleased when he fell back a step. “You will wait and accompany me. Do you understand?”

  He swallowed. “Aye, my lady.”

  She nodded sharply. “As it should be.” She slammed the door and regarded Snow, fear pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest. “The time has come to face the monster, my friend. I pray your Lord Quinn is strong enough.”

  Chapter Seven

  Stirling breathed deeply the entire length of the winding steps, steeling herself for this confrontation.

  “Why is he here?” she muttered.

  “My lady?” Her escort turned his head slightly as they descended.

  “Nothing. I… nothing.” Do not be a twit, she chastised herself, he cannot harm you now. Stirling’s refusal to bow to Calvin’s demands was the only reason she still called Falcon Fire home. She would not lose it now. Straightening her shoulders, she infused her spine with the strength of her will. She would not cower before him.

  “Lady Stirling of Falcon Fire,” Dustin announced to the assembled knights as they passed through the entry hall. She gave him a startled glance. Such formalities had long since been abandoned in this household. The corners of his mout
h quirked, but he did not speak again.

  Stirling looked to her husband, resplendent in his blue jerkin and leggings, as he stood with typical arrogance looking down on Calvin. Quinn’s black hair escaped the leather queue and brushed his shoulders, giving him a fierce and untamed look. ‘Twas perfect. Little emotion showed on his strong features, though his jaw was clenched and his eyes were flat and hard. She mustered a smile and strode to his side, head high, and pride showing.

  “You requested my presence, my lord?” She held out her hand and curtsied low, showing him the respect she had never displayed to Calvin.

  Quinn’s warm hand closed around her fingers and squeezed gently. He drew her up and together they faced the portly man whose face flushed red with anger. Calvin’s pig-like eyes fastened on her and he stepped forward, tainting the air with the stench of stale sweat and rancid meat.

  “What do you want, Calvin of Thornhatch?” She spoke firmly, though she dreaded his answer. Show no fear.

  “I’ve come to demand Falcon Fire.” The intruder’s pungent breath wafted across the table with his bold pronouncement.

  “On what grounds?” Quinn coldly questioned. His tone froze Calvin’s angry blustering for a moment and fierce gladness grabbed Stirling at his comeuppance.

  “I was Lord Robert’s liege lord. Upon his death, all properties and unmarried children fall under my protection!” Calvin’s voice rose with each word until he squeaked like a mouse in the jaws of a cat.

  “You have proof?”

  “Pro-? Damnation, man I need no proof.” Calvin drew himself up, and shook his head, the jowls that hung beneath his chin wobbling with the agitated movement. “‘Tis the law of fealty. You heathen Normans may have usurped our throne, but you must still respect our laws!”

  “I don’t believe that was part of William’s coronation,” Quinn stated with cold calmness.

  Stirling clenched his hand as she replied. “You are too late, Calvin. The Norman king has already granted Falcon Fire to Lord Quinn.” She spoke demurely, hiding the glee the words gave her. Unless he chose to challenge her fierce husband, the disgusting, vile man would be forced to leave and she need never face him again.

  “He cannot!” Calvin snarled and grabbed the hilt of his sword, inching closer. Falcon Fire’s knights closed ranks, encircling Calvin and his meager protection.

  “He has,” Quinn retorted. “You have no claim on this house. Leave while I still allow it.” He turned to Stirling, raising her fingers and caressed them with delicate kisses that sent frissons of heat up her spine. “We should retire, lady-wife, to view our chambers.”

  “Wife!” Calvin’s roar ripped through Stirling and she jerked her gaze back to him. Froth gathered in the corners of his mouth and his beady eyes glowed nearly red. She gasped and took a step back, unable to control the fear now pounding within her. Even Quinn’s strong presence did little to dim the effect of Calvin’s rage.

  “Aye, wife.” Satisfaction rang loudly in Quinn’s voice. He nudged Stirling back another step and stroked the pommel of his sword. Unable to see clearly, she scooted to the side to view the challenge, though remained well away from Calvin’s reach.

  “I am her legal guardian and she may not wed without my approval.” Calvin lowered his tone, though his chest still heaved with emotion.

  “Approval or not, ‘tis done and shall not be undone,” Quinn stated loudly. Several knights, including John, nodded their heads sharply.

  Stirling, eager to have Calvin gone, stepped forward, clearing her throat. “You are not my guardian Calvin. I was a ward of the court, passed to the new king at Harold’s death. He has chosen to give me and these lands to his faithful, valiant warrior. We wed yesterday. Cast your avaricious gaze elsewhere and forget this keep. You shall gain naught.”

  “Wed last morn? And who witnessed this marriage?”

  A chorus of names flew through the room. Calvin grunted and pursed his lips. “And the bedding?” No one spoke. A sly smile lifted the corners of his mouth and he puffed out his bulging belly. “I demand to see the wedding sheet.”

  Stirling reared back, amazed at his audacity.

  “You may make no demands,” Quinn growled. “I have had enough of this mockery. My men will escort you out.”

  “Even in the Norman courts, a marriage is not legal unless the bedding is witnessed. Or the bridal sheet displayed,” Calvin gloated, his narrowed gaze sweeping the walls of the great hall. “I see no evidence of either here.”

  Stirling knew this law to be true and that Calvin would grasp any straw within his reach to take her. She moved closer to Quinn and slid her hand to his stiff shoulder. Raising to the tips of her toes, she pressed her lips to his warm cheek. “Please, my lord, let us be rid of him. Order the bedclothes displayed.”

  Quinn stroked her jaw and she sighed, turning her face into his strong hand. “I would not see you shamed so, little warrior.”

  She was touched by his consideration, but most eager to see Calvin gone. “There is no shame, Quinn. Please?” she entreated again, holding his gray eyes with hers.

  “You may have it shown,” he finally acquiesced.

  “Millane, please fetch the bedclothes from Lord Quinn’s chambers.” Stirling refused to let the embarrassed heat flooding her show and nodded sharply. “The linens should still adorn our bed.”

  “Hold,” Calvin brusquely demanded. “I would one of my own men accompany her, just to be certain we are not played false.” He snapped his fingers and a young knight stepped forward, stopping at the maid’s side.

  “And one of mine.” Quinn riposted. “Sir John?”

  “Aye, my lord. Gladly.” The aging captain motioned his companions forward.

  Silence reigned in the great hall until they returned accompanied by Snow. Millane clutched the white sheet to her bosom. Fear niggled Stirling at the paleness of her friend’s face. Her gaze skipped to John’s, finding his eyes bleak and mouth turned down in a grim frown. Calvin’s man smirked and raked her with a smoldering, contemplative glance.

  She gasped when Quinn reached out and grabbed the young knight around the throat, lifting him off the floor. “I should kill you for that.”

  His captive gurgled and kicked his feet in vain. The whites of his eyes showed clearly against the intense purple hue of his face. Stirling licked her lips and swallowed hard.

  “My lord? Please. Release him.” She touched the arm holding the man in the air, brushed the hard muscles clenched with anger.

  “Leave,” Quinn ordered and tossed the man to the ground, where he struggled to pull air into his lungs. “Show the sheet and be done with it. I would have them gone.” He stalked to Millane and tore the cloth from her grasp. “Here is your proof, Calvin of Thornhatch.” With the snap of his wrist, he whipped the sheet over the lord’s table.

  To her horror, Stirling realized nothing marred the sparkling white crispness of the bed cloth.

  “Aye, proof she is unwed,” Calvin observed smugly. “She comes with me.”

  His claw like hand reached out and she jumped back against the damning cloth-covered table.

  Quinn’s blade caught the fleshy man below his chin. “Enough. She belongs to me. Get out.” His words held as much lethal intent as the sharp point of his sword.

  Calvin grinned as a thin line of blood trickled down his neck. His beady eyes bore into her as he backed away. “I will return.” He glanced at Quinn. “And by your own king’s word, she will be mine.” Calvin and his men sauntered from the hall without a backward glance.

  Stirling closed her eyes, fighting the terror that threatened to overwhelm her. She must be strong. She must believe that William would not forsake his own knight. Would not renege on a promise once given.

  “Millane.” Quinn’s voice wrapped Stirling in its frigid tones and she shivered. She clenched her teeth together as another, more terrifying thought struck her. Did he believe she was not a virgin when he took her?

  “Aye, my lord?” The maid’s hesitant
voice broke the frozen fear holding Stirling captive and she inched away from the dais. All eyes were riveted on the white-faced maid and the thunderous lord of the keep. Stirling slipped away from the crowd and down the hall toward the kitchens. What was she to do?

  ###

  “Where did the sheet come from, girl?” Quinn strove to keep his voice calm, despite the fury that nearly choked him. Who would seek to injure his wife by such cruelty?

  “The bed, my lord. By the blood, I swear ‘tis the truth.” She licked her lips and twisted her hands together.

  “John?”

  “Aye, sir.” John replied disgustedly. “Took it right from the ticking. I watched her myself.”

  “And did you remove the sheet earlier? Changed the bedding and perhaps do not recall?”

  “Nay, lord.” Tears streamed down her face and her blue eyes beseeched him.

  “No one went into your rooms after the wedding,” the housekeeper confirmed.

  Quinn could see he would wring nothing more from the frightened chit. He looked at the people of Falcon Fire, his people, as they surrounded him, confusion and fear on their faces. Which one betrayed her? “Know your lady was a true and gentle maid when we --” He stopped, unwilling to disgrace Stirling any further with cold, harsh words. “Last eventide when we retired to our chambers, she was pure. You have my word on it.”

  “And how do we know the value of your word, Norman?” A brash voice asked from the rear of the hall. Though no others spoke up, several heads nodded in silent question.

  “Because he is your lord,” Marcus blustered, fists clenched and face mottled with his anger.

  “Be still, Marcus,” he tempered his friend. Again, Quinn tamped his own ire. They did not know him. Yet.

  “I am the Avenger, the king’s justice. My oath is my honor. She was pure.” He could not make them accept his truth, but he would battle any who challenged it. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.