Jennifer August

by Knight of the Mist

  “I apologize, my lord. I fear I am quite exhausted.”

  “As well you should be, lady-wife.” He stood and slid her under the cover of the pelt, running his hand over her hair. “Rest, Stirlng. We will talk soon.”

  She fought against the slumber calling her, she must tell him of Marcus. Wanted to ask about his parents. Warn him of Calvin. Stirling forced open her eyes, but he was already gone.

  Instead Millane stood above her, watching her closely. When their eyes met, the maid’s face brightened, chasing away her dour expression. “I am happy for your safe return, my lady.”

  “As am I, Millane. Thanks to my husband. And Snow.” She yawned again, the girl’s image blurring.

  Millane’s gentle hand stroked over her cheek. “Sleep, my lady, I will watch over you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Stirling? Wake up, love.” Quinn’s soft endearment pulled her from her deep, disturbed sleep. More images of death and betrayal wove their evil threads through her dreams.

  “Good morn, my lord,” she mumbled, stretching the demons of her fitful rest away, wondering if she’d heard him correctly, afraid to ask.

  Quinn chuckled. “More like good afternoon, lady-wife. You’ve spent the entire day lazing abed.”

  “Lord Quinn,” Temple reproved.

  Stirling screeched and yanked the blanket to her neck, glaring at the Scot. “You did not tell me we had a visitor, my lord.”

  “You did not ask.” Quinn dropped a kiss on her forehead, searching her eyes. “Are you well enough to speak of it, Stirling?”

  She hesitated for the barest of moments. “Aye, I believe so.” Again her glance found Temple. “But I would rather dress and meet with you belowstairs.”

  “Ach, of course you would, lassie,” Temple concurred, backing away. “‘Tis a trial you’ve been through and here we stand, gaping at you like three day old fish. ‘Tis enough to make me poor mum roll in her grave.”

  “Fie on you, Temple, I will tell her you said such when next we travel the Highlands,” Quinn countered.

  Stirling giggled when Temple glared at his lord. “‘Tis trying to put the lass at ease, I am, laddie, and your blabbing does not help a’tall.”

  The Scot smiled down at her. “We’ll wait for you down the stairs, my lady, while you dress and the do the things that women do. Will an hour suffice?”

  She laughed again. “Just so, Temple, but only if you promise to excuse my appearance.”

  “Done.” Temple strode from the room, leaving them alone.

  “Did I truly sleep away both night and day?” Stirling asked Quinn, tentatively placing her feet on the floor. They were not as sore as the previous day and she gingerly walked to the wardrobe. Indeed, the liniment Quinn applied had taken the pain entirely.

  “Aye, and soundly as well. You did not move each time I looked in.”

  Warmed by his concern, she smiled as she pulled a yellow daydress from the wardrobe, then sought a chemise. At the rate they were being destroyed, she must soon purchase linen for more or risk wearing naught but air beneath her gowns. She inhaled at the intriguing thought. ‘Twould make certain things much easier, she realized, and peeked over her shoulder at Quinn.

  “What is that impish look for, lady-wife?” He strode to her side, crowding her against the open wooden door.

  “Idle thoughts, sirrah, nothing more.”

  “Hmm, such idleness brings a delightful blush to your cheeks.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “I shall endeavor to unearth those thoughts later.”

  “We shall see, my lord. For now, you may help me into my dress as Millane is not here.”

  “I would rather help you from it,” he murmured, brushing his warm lips across her bare shoulder.

  “My lord, Temple waits for us,” she reproved lightly, handing him the yellow dress. She slid the chemise over her head, smoothing the fabric when it bunched at her hips. His teasing banter helped put her at ease, but so many questions and concerns swirled through her, ‘twas difficult not to fidget. “We’ve much to discuss, you and I.”

  Quinn raised an inquiring brow. “Aye, I’m most anxious to hear your tale. Best hurry Stirling, your hour diminishes quickly.”

  Stepping into her gown, she waited impatiently for him to tie the stays. She contemplated her toes and wondered if she should risk even a soft pair of kid slippers. Deciding ‘twould be most improper otherwise, she quickly slid on a pair of cotton stockings and the softest shoes she could find, then allowed Quinn to escort her from the room and down the stairs.

  Temple bowed low over her hand when they entered the war room. “Enchanting, my lady, to be sure ye take my breath from me.”

  Stirling forced a smile, her nerves once more taut with the memories of her harrowing night and the perplexing questions poised on her tongue. She looked around.

  “Where is John?”

  “On the walls,” Quinn said, escorting her to a chair and sitting next to her. Temple pulled a third from near the hearth and settled into it, closing the circle.

  Stirling stared at them, then swallowed hard. “‘Twas Tristan,” she finally blurted.

  Quinn nodded. “Aye, such was my thought. What happened, Stirling? I must hear of it all.”

  She sucked in a deep calming breath, fighting the panic and the coldness threatening to return. Safe, she reminded herself, you are safe.

  She focused on Quinn’s iron eyes, seeking his strength and told them of her arduous night, omitting only the conversation about his illegitimacy. ‘Twas a subject for only the two of them to discuss.

  “Calvin?” Quinn muttered. “I would not have thought the cowardly bastard possible of such a well-organized assault on the throne.”

  “The other man Jax made an odd comment, Quinn. He said while Calvin would be king, Tristan would rule Calvin.”

  “Ah.” Quinn leaned back, steepling his fingers as the pieces of this damnable puzzle finally fell into place. For the most part. “With Tristan guiding Calvin’s hand, and his armies, ‘twould have been easier for him to gain control and remain unobtrusive.”

  “Aye, most people thought he’d flown these lands after Father’s imprisonment,” Stirling offered.

  “Your pardon, lassie.” Temple cleared his throat. “But are you telling me you killed Tristan a’purpose and with his own blade?”

  Quinn straightened, he did not want her ability public knowledge just yet.

  “Aye, Temple, ‘tis just what I’m saying,” Stirling retorted.

  Quinn scoured Temple’s doubting face, saw his acceptance, then his pride and relaxed. Damn Scot would probably encourage her further. “No one is to know, Temple.”

  “Aye lord, you’ll not be hearing it from my lips.”

  “I believe I shall call on our neighbor and discuss his unfortunate alliance,” Quinn said, relishing the idea of the fat man’s squealing surprise when a contingent of armed men descended on him.

  “You mean lay siege to his keep, do you not, my lord?” Stirling said pertly.

  “Indeed I do, lady-wife. Calvin will pay for his attack on you.”

  “What proof have you, Quinn? ‘Twill not be an easy task to convince William of his guilt without solid evidence.”

  “I am the king’s justice, Stirling, my word is all he requires.”

  “‘Tis not a very good law, that.” She scowled. “‘Tis why my father rotted in Harold’s cold dungeons.”

  “I’ll not argue politics with you now, Stirling, you may take that up with William.”

  “Indeed I shall.” She nodded sharply and he hid a smile. Her impertinent words pleased him, the return of her usual manners easing his mind greatly. She would fare well when he left to confront Calvin.

  “Gather your men, Temple, and inform John to prepare his as well. A small garrison will remain here at Falcon Fire, the rest shall ride to Thornhatch. The sight of your band of rogue Scots alone should be enough to convince Calvin to surrender.” He shared a look with the grinning Scot. “But
we can always hope otherwise.”

  “Ach lord, you’ve the bloodlust, ‘tis a grand thing to see.” Temple chuckled on his way out the door.

  Quinn stood as well, helping Stirling to her feet.

  “Will you speak with him first?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “I think you shan’t, my lord. ‘Twould be better if I ride with you.”

  “Nay, absolutely not.” Quinn reigned in his roar when she tipped her proud chin and crossed her arms.

  He gritted his teeth, cursing her stubbornness, and tried to reason with her. “Stirling, ‘tis my duty as both your husband and William’s justice that I alone see to the traitor.”

  “And ‘tis my right to confront him. I am the one he took, the one he sought to have.”

  “I am your champion, lady-wife and claim my husbandly right of defense.”

  She frowned. “You do not fight fair, sirrah,” she finally muttered.

  He hid his smug smile as he raised her hand, stroking the softness with his lips. “Nay, I do not. Snow will remain here with you.” He tipped her head side to side. “I would that you return to your rest when we depart, you are still too pale for my liking.”

  She sketched a brief curtsy. “As you wish, my lord, but after I have seen to Lord Marcus.”

  Quinn stiffened. He’d not yet told her of his friend’s death for fear the news would hinder her recovery. But he knew she would not let the matter rest until his return. He pulled her close, feeling the surprise stiffening her spine. She leaned back in his arms, her golden eyes narrowed.

  “What is amiss, my lord?”

  “Marcus is dead, Stirling.”

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Oh nay, ‘tis not so Quinn --”

  “Aye, ‘tis true.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, seeking to comfort her and, he admitted, take the solace her nearness offered. She struggled against him, pushing at his chest and tearing her mouth from his.

  “Nay, lord, listen to me. I know why he was attacked.”

  Temple’s battle horn wailed from the courtyard and Quinn cursed. “We will discuss this when I return, lady-wife. I’ve ordered Cook to lock and bar his door, allowing no one entrance until the morrow. See to it.”

  “But, Quinn--”

  “I must go, Stirling. We will speak of Marcus later.” He pulled her through the great hall, out the door and down the stairs. Giving her no chance to catch her breath or speak, he pressed a hard kiss to her lips. “Think of me, lady-wife.”

  She glared at him. “Curse you is what I shall do, arrogant cur.” But her tremulous smile softened the harsh words and he grinned at the tears pooling in her eyes. She could not hide her concern from him.

  “‘Twill not be long, Stirling, I promise.” Charon stamped his foot and snorted. Quinn mounted the black steed, turning him to the head of the assembled knights. “We ride.”

  Stirling waited only until Quinn’s daunting figure disappeared before racing up the stairs to her old chambers. Slamming the door shut, she was brought up short by the sight of Snow lounging on her bed, eyeing her with almost a knowing glance.

  “I wondered where you had gotten to, old friend.” She rubbed her ears quickly, then made her way to the wardrobe, pulling her hidden chest forward. She thought the dog’s growl held disapproval, then banished the foolish idea. ‘Twas her own guilt producing such thoughts, but she could do nothing else. Quinn and their men may need her. “I can not sit idly by while he rides into battle for me, Snow.” She shed her gown, hastily strapping on her padding and armor, until at last she stood before the looking glass, helm clutched in the crook of her arm. “The Knight of the Mist is called forth,” she whispered and settled the helm over her head. Snow jumped from the bed and circled her, sniffing the armor, low grumbles issuing from her throat. “I’ve no time to debate this, Snow. The men of Falcon Fire need me now. The sight of the legend come to life will aid them should they falter.”

  She thought for a brief moment of all Quinn had accomplished with the knights, their training and how they worked almost seamlessly as one unit now. It was possible she need not show herself. Not this time.

  But still, if her appearance saved even one knight, the masquerade was worth it.

  Especially if that knight was her husband.

  She scooped up both swords, ramming them into the twin sheaths hanging at her sides and sped from the room to the chambers she shared with Quinn. Her shield sparkled from above the hearth and she hefted the metal gingerly, strapping its weight to her left forearm. She was ready.

  Snow loped at her side as she walked through the keep. Servants gasped and crossed themselves as she passed by, but she ignored them all, her only thought to reach Quinn. She strode into the stable, and ordered Bluefire saddled.

  Gavin, the stable lad looked at her as though she’d grown a second head, but quickly complied. She understood his surprise, always before it had been done in secrecy. Never had she so boldly walked through the keep clad in her armor, carrying the sacred shield. Stirling swallowed hard. She would face many questions when she returned.

  “My lady, he’s ready.”

  She unstrapped her shield, handing it to the slight boy and mounted her horse. He bucked at the weight and she soothed him, then retrieved her shield. Clucking her tongue at Bluefire, she led him from the stables and past the curious crowd of onlookers gathered in the bailey.

  “Godspeed,” Gavin yelled as she kneed the horse to a faster clip, racing through the gates as they swung open.

  “Find Quinn,” Stirling ordered Snow, following the hound as she caught the scent and tore down the dirt road leading to Calvin’s fortress.

  Sighting the column of mounted knights, Stirling turned off the main road, shadowing them through the trees. She urged Bluefire to a faster gait, hoping the men’s own horses would cover any noise from the snapping branches and dead tree limbs she came across. Finally she spotted Quinn at the lead and slowed her horse, keeping pace with him. She looked for Temple’s men among the others, but did not see him and wondered where they’d gone.

  As though she’d summoned him, Temple ran to Quinn’s side, appearing from the opposite direction. Quinn halted the garrison and conferred with the Scot. Stirling realized Temple had been scouting the area ahead and was now reporting. She took advantage of the brief respite and leaned back in the saddle, stretching her spine and wiggling her toes against the iron sides of her boots. She’d forgotten how damnably hot the armor could become and longed for a draught of mead or ale, even Quinn’s vile red wine would be welcome. She licked her lips, cursing her own stupidity, her own lack of planning. She had not even thought to bring meal rations.

  Snow crept toward Quinn, belly low to the ground, tail tucked between her legs. “Nay, hound, ‘twill ruin everything should he see you now,” she hissed and the animal whined softly, but obediently returned to her. She bit her lip and stared at Quinn, hoping he’d not heard her rebuke. He glanced toward the dense foliage concealing her, but did not approach. When he signaled the men onward, she breathed a sigh of relief and sent another sharp, scolding glare at Snow.

  She nudged Bluefire’s flanks until they reached Quinn again. Following at a safe distance, she calculated the length of their journey, dismayed at the thought of three nights spent in the hot, sweaty armor, with no food or drink.

  While she could easily doff the armor, ‘twas more the thought of the stench she was sure to project than any other discomfort that annoyed her. She sighed, checking the surrounding growth for edible berries, roots and leaves. ‘Twas not the most appetizing meal she’d ever consumed, but far better than starving.

  Blessedly, Quinn made camp near a water source, one she could access without rousing their interest. Tying Bluefire to a low-hanging tree limb, Stirling removed the gauntlets, leg casings and shirtmail covering her, then opened her arms to the wispy breeze darting through the forest. ‘Twas meager relief, but welcome all the same.

  Snow stayed by her side as
she picked what palatable fruit she could find, even nibbling some of the round berries when she offered them. Thirst parching her throat, Stirling peered through the trees across the small pond to Quinn’s camp.

  The soldiers were bedded down for the night and Quinn lie on his back, head propped on his saddle, arms crossed over his chest. She could not tell if he slept or stared at the night sky, but decided to chance discovery anyway, her thirst would wait no longer.

  She scooted silently through the branches, under the brambles and parted a large bush where the pond lapped at its roots. She glanced at Quinn before greedily scooping the cool water into her mouth by the handful. Again and again she dipped into the blissful reservoir until finally she quenched her thirst. Replete, she scrambled back to her own meager bedroll and dropped down, suddenly exhausted, wondering where she would next find water. To her knowledge no other pool formed between their lands and Calvin’s.

  ‘Twas difficult to sleep knowing Quinn was but a few feet away. She longed to lie down next to him, to wrap herself in the shelter of his arms, but knew the futility of her wish. He would send her home should he discover her presence and she could not allow that to happen. Her men, if not his, might need the presence of the Knight of the Mist to inspire them to successful battle. Wearily she cursed the burden put on her by the past dames of Falcon Fire and vowed her own daughter would not bear it.

  The bushes to her left rattled and she rolled away, jerking her sword from its sheath. Snow crept from the foliage and grinned at her, the strap of a drinking horn clamped between her sharp fangs. Stirling dropped the sword and took the horn from the hound’s mouth. ‘Twas filled with sweet honey mead and she smiled with delight.

  “How did you manage to steal this from under their noses, thief?” Snow rolled on her back, paws in the air and wiggled her backside. Obligingly, Stirling rubbed the dog’s pink belly. “Nevermind, ‘tis an angel you are, Snow. My thanks.” She tamped the cork back into the neck of the drinking vessel, her worries abated. The horn carried enough mead to last her several days, at least long enough to reach Calvin’s estate, show herself to the battling warriors of Falcon Fire and return home. She refused to contemplate her husband’s reaction once he spotted her. God willing she would be able to appear and disappear ere he could confront her.