He called to Valiant. The black stallion came to him and Noble lifted the unconscious man onto his back. Fortunately for him, Foster was a small man and Noble was young and strong. He slung the escaped prisoner face down sideways over the saddle and took Valiant’s reins in his own hands. “He doesn’t deserve a more dignified ride into town, even if he was able to sit in the saddle,” he said to the horse as he led the way toward Aber.
It was only a ten minute walk into town. Noble thought about what a close call it had been. If Foster had been able to hang on long enough to reach the village he might have found help and slipped away from Noble once again. “Thank you, Lord,” he prayed. Once again his Heavenly Father had helped him in his time of need.
They had just reached the outskirts of the village when an eerie howl rose above the gusts of wind. It echoed around them, seeming to come from all directions at once. Was it a single animal howling, or a wild pack? Noble knew the sound, for he remembered it well from his childhood days when he had first come to live at Granny’s cottage. Wolves!
He remembered the fear he had felt as a child the first time he had heard it. Grandfather had comforted him then, and he had felt safe enough within his grandparents’ small, snug cottage, but now out in the open, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he glanced over his shoulder. Knight of the King’s Guard or not, the old childhood fear came rushing back.
There were very few wolves left in all the land. A bounty had been on their heads for many years, for the beasts preyed upon the farmers’ cattle and sheep, and people feared them, as well. Now as he led Valiant to the gate of the inn, Noble noticed that even the great warhorse seemed nervous. His ears were pinned back and he tossed his head and pranced sideways. Noble patted Valiant’s neck and pressed on.
There were several men sitting around the fire in the inn when at last Noble and his frozen prisoner arrived. Noble half-carried, half-dragged Foster through the door. The men looked up curiously at the young knight and his strange burden, but no one stirred from the warmth of the fire or offered to help with the unconscious man. At last the innkeeper appeared and hurried forward. He looked at the armor and emblem of the King’s Guard that Noble wore. If he thought it strange that one so young would be a knight in the king’s service, he did not say so.
“How may I help you, sir?” he asked.
“I need a room. This man is my prisoner. I found him collapsed not far from Aber. He is in bad shape and needs a doctor. I must take him back to Caernarfon as soon as possible, by order of the king.” Noble said.
The innkeeper had been about to question the young knight, but at mention of the king, he closed his mouth and hastened to lead Noble to a room upstairs. Noble lifted Foster and followed the man up the narrow stairs.
The room was small and cramped, but it was clean so Noble lay Foster down on the bed and turned to the innkeeper. “Is there a doctor in the village?” he asked.
“No doctor, sir, but there is a woman knowledgeable in the field of herbs and remedies. Shall I fetch her for you?”
“Yes, and have someone tend to my horse, also, if you please. You have a stable?”
“Yes, sir. I will have my son care for him.” The innkeeper left and Noble was left alone with Simon Foster. The old man looked harmless and helpless, lying there on the bed. Noble could see how his victims might be deceived by his lying words, for he certainly didn’t look like a liar and a thief. At the moment, he just looked like a sick old man.
The innkeeper returned to the room a few minutes later with his arms full of blankets and animal skins. He handed them to Noble and left again, promising to have a warm meal ready for him soon. Noble heaped the covers over the man on the bed. He turned to stir up the fire in the small fireplace. There. He had done all he could for Foster—at least until the woman came with her potions.
Just then, as if summoned by his thoughts, footsteps echoed on the wooden staircase and the woman herself appeared in the doorway. She barely glanced at Noble but went straight to the bedside. She nodded her head at the sight of the warm coverings and felt the man’s forehead. “No fever,” she murmured, once again looking satisfied. She drew a small bottle from her pocket and held it to Foster’s lips, forcing them open. As the liquid poured into his throat the unconscious man coughed and jerked his head, but then settled back down into his deep sleep. From another pocket she brought out a small square of paper. The woman unfolded it to reveal some sort of ointment within. She spread some of the balm on the patches of frostbite, and then shoved the paper back into her pocket. She wiped her fingers on her skirt and turning to Noble, she held out her hand for payment.
“He will recover?” Noble asked as he gave her a coin.
“Yes,” the woman finally spoke to him. “Keep him warm. Give him more of this in a few hours.” She handed him the small bottle. Then as suddenly as she had come, the woman turned and left, stomping noisily down the wooden stairs.
“Wait!” Noble tried to call after her. “How long—” but she was gone without another word.
Once again Noble was alone with Foster. He stood at the foot of the bed and studied his prisoner once more. A bit of color had come back into Foster’s face with the warmth of the bed and fire, and perhaps the medicine the woman had given him, as well. Noble wondered if he would be fit to travel back to Caernarfon the next day. He would have to find a horse for his prisoner to ride. It was too far to make him walk in this weather. That was what had gotten the old man in trouble in the first place today. He would have been better off physically, at least, if he had not tried to escape on foot.
Noble went to the top of the stairs and called down, “Innkeeper!” The murmur of voices below told him that there were still several men gathered around the fire. “Innkeeper!” he called a bit louder.
The fat old fellow appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “What might I do for you, sir?” he asked.
“I need someone to sit with my prisoner for a few minutes. I want to check on my horse, but I cannot leave this man alone,” Noble said.
“I’m sorry, young sir, but I am busy tonight. I have other customers to attend—”
“Then find someone else to help me, if you please. Your son, perhaps?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send him right up.”
“Thank you.”
A boy burst through the door a few minutes later. “Here I am, sir!” he said, his eyes shining. He had cared for the big, black warhorse out in the stable and now he was anxious to meet its master, the young knight not much older than himself.
Noble smiled at the boy’s excitement. He knew how the lad felt, for he had often looked at the knights of the King’s Guard in the same fashion before the king had made him a knight himself. “You are the one who cared for my horse?” he asked.
“Yes, sir! He is a beautiful animal!”
“Yes, he is. I am sure you did a fine job, but I must go out and check on him nevertheless. Would you please sit here with this man while I am gone? I’ll only be a few minutes, but if he should wake up send for me immediately! And whatever you do, do not allow him to get out of that bed. Call for help, if you must. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Don’t worry. I’ll watch out for him,” the boy promised.
With one last glance at the sleeping figure in the bed Noble left the room. The men at the fireplace glanced up at him as he walked through the room downstairs. A couple of them nodded and whispered to one another. Noble paid no attention and went on out into the night.
The stable was across a small courtyard from the inn. It was pitch-black outside, but a lantern shone through the stable door and guided him to the entrance. Noble could see snowflakes beginning to fall in the patch of light, blown by the gusts of wind that still battered the countryside.
Valiant was safely inside the small stable. He turned his head and whinnied loudly at Noble as he entered. “Yes, I am here,” Noble laughed. “And how are you, my friend? I see the boy has covered you with a blanket.
That is good. And did he feed you? Yes, there is still food and water within your reach. Very well. You will be safe and warm enough here through the night, I think. We will leave in the morning, Valiant, if our prisoner is strong enough to travel, and if I can find another horse for him.” Noble looked around the stable. There were two or three other horses quietly standing in their stalls. Noble assumed they belonged to the men in the inn.
Noble grabbed a brush that was hanging nearby and brushed Valiant’s sides for a few minutes, more for the pleasure of his company than because he needed it. At last, though, he knew he must return to the inn so he patted Valiant one last time and bid him goodnight. He heard Valiant whinny softly as he stepped back into the cold, black night.
It was only a few steps across the courtyard to the inn, but in the minute it took to cross it, Noble heard once again the howling of wolves. They were in the distance this time. The long, mournful sound failed to frighten him as it had earlier, but he quickened his step, nonetheless. It was time to get back to his prisoner.
Suddenly Noble had a moment of anxiety. Perhaps he should not have left the room. Foster was cunning and tricky. He should not have left him, especially in the care of a young village boy. What if he had escaped while Noble lingered in the stable? What if—?
Noble burst through the door of the inn and dashed up the wooden stairs. He threw open the door of his room.
The boy looked up from his spot by the fire with frightened eyes. He glanced fearfully at the bed and then back at Noble.
Noble was aware of the boy’s fright, but his eyes were only for the bed. There lay Simon Foster, still sleeping, unmoved since the moment Noble had left him. Noble let out his breath in relief, suddenly realizing he had been anxiously holding it.
“I—I am sorry,” he apologized to the boy. “I did not mean to frighten you. He did not wake up while I was gone?” he questioned the lad.
“No, sir.”
“Thank you for sitting with him. And thank you, also, for caring for my horse. You did a good job. What is your name, boy?”
“Thomas, sir. Thomas Locke.”
“This is for you, Thomas, for your help.” Noble handed the innkeeper’s son a coin.
“Thank you, sir. May I ask you a question, sir?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“What is your horse’s name? He is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen!” Thomas’s face was all aglow.
Noble smiled. “His name is Valiant, and I agree with you. He is very special.”
“I love horses,” Thomas confided, “but I don’t suppose I’ll ever have one. I must be content with caring for other people’s mounts.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Thomas. You never know how life will turn out. You may have a horse someday, after all. I never dreamed I would be a part of the King’s Guard, either, but the Lord had His plan for my life, and here I am.”
“You are Sir Noble Heart, aren’t you?” Thomas suddenly asked.
“Why, yes, I am,” Noble answered. “How did you know that?”
“Oh, they are all whispering about it downstairs. Everyone has heard of you, the king’s youngest knight. We have heard of the great things you have done for King Stephen.”
“I have only done those things as God has led and in His strength, Thomas. It disturbs me when I hear people talking about me like that, for all praise goes only to the Lord.”
“We have heard that you are humble, also, Sir Noble.” Before Noble could reply they heard the innkeeper calling for his son. “I must go,” the boy said. He thanked Noble for the coin once more and left the room.
Noble turned back to the bed. What he saw sent a chill down his spine. His prisoner was awake. His eyes were staring daggers at him, cold and hard and filled with hatred. This man was no harmless old fellow. He was no sly old fox. The look in his eyes was that of a ferocious beast, a trapped animal – a wolf!
___________
CHAPTER THREE
___________
Simon Foster
The look in Simon Foster’s eyes lasted only an instant. The next second a veil seemed to drop over them, and a small groan escaped from his lips. “Where am I?” he moaned pitifully.
“You are in Aber,” Noble answered. “I found you by the side of the road, half-frozen. I brought you here to the inn.”
“Thank you, kind sir. I am in your debt, I am sure, but I must not impose upon your generosity any longer. Now that I am feeling better I will be on my way.” The old man started to sit up in the bed.
“Not so fast, Simon Foster. Yes, I know who you are,” Noble said when the man started at the sound of his name. “The description I was given of you was very good. I recognized you immediately when I found you. You are my prisoner, Foster. I am taking you back to King Stephen himself. He is very eager to put an end to your crimes and put you away where you’ll not hurt anyone ever again.”
“You are mistaken,” the man whined. “You have me confused with someone else. My name is not Foster. I am Harry Lovejoy of King’s Crossing. I don’t know anything at all about these crimes. I would never steal from old women, or anyone else for that matter.”
“Who mentioned stealing from old women?” Noble asked. “I didn’t! If you are not Simon Foster, than how could you know the crimes he is accused of?”
Foster fell silent, for he knew he had slipped up. He was angry, seething with rage on the inside toward this young upstart who dared to challenge him, who dared to hold him prisoner. It would not do, though, to let the boy knight see the ugly side of him. He would bide his time, and then when he saw the opportunity, he would once again make his escape. And if he could, he would make sure the brat paid for taking him captive! There was no gratitude toward Noble for saving his life in the black heart of Henry Foster, only thoughts of malice and revenge.
Foster looked up at Noble with sad, pleading eyes now, though, and said, “I am sorry, sir. You are right, of course. But I have been falsely accused—I swear it!”
“That is for the king to decide. If you are innocent you have nothing to fear,” Noble said sternly. He was not taken in by Foster’s act. He had been warned that the man was a liar and skilled in trickery. “We will return to Caernarfon tomorrow and you will soon be able to plead your case before the king.”
Foster nodded his head. He had no intention of going anywhere with the young knight, of course, but for now he would be the perfect prisoner—agreeable, cooperative, meek and mild. Gain the lad’s trust now, and then when he least expected it—well, he would be in for a rude surprise, that was certain!
There was a knock at the door and the innkeeper entered carrying a tray. “Your supper, sir,” he said to Noble. “Oh, I see the other gentleman is awake. Would you like me to bring him some supper, as well?”
“Just a bit of soup, please,” Foster said. His voice quavered slightly. He could play the role of a helpless, sick old man easily. He had done it many times before.
Noble nodded to Master Locke. He did not touch his own food until the innkeeper had returned with Foster’s soup. At last Noble bowed to ask the blessing upon his dinner. Foster was staring at him once more when he lifted his head. The prisoner’s eyes shifted quickly to his bowl of soup, but not fast enough to hide the hard, cold, calculating look in them.
There was silence in the room as they ate. Snow continued to fall outside the window with gathering strength. Noble stood when he was finished and went to look through the frosty pane of glass. In just the short time since he had visited the stable, two or three inches of snow had already fallen, covering everything outside with a cloak of white that illuminated the night. He looked down to the ground below. Good. It was a fair drop from the window to the hard stones of the courtyard. Foster would find no escape that way. He would be crazy to risk a broken leg, or worse—if he could even fit through the small opening to begin with.
Noble turned back to the man in the bed. “Get some sleep. I want to leave as soon as possible in th
e morning. I will be right outside the door all night, Foster. You cannot escape through the window, and I promise you, you will not be able to sneak past me in the night, so do not attempt it.” Noble put his hand on the hilt of the sword at his side, a silent warning that Foster understood at once.
Noble took his chair out to the hall and set it directly in front of the doorway. He removed the key from the keyhole inside and fit it into the outer lock. He looked Foster in the eye and without another word he closed the door and locked it.
The wooden chair was hard, and its slats pressed painfully into his back, but Noble heaved a sigh of relief nevertheless. It had been a long, hard day, and now the responsibility of bringing Henry Foster back to the king for judgment lay heavily upon him. He wished he could slip his boots off and get comfortable. Sleep would come, but it must be light, and he must be prepared for anything. He shifted in the chair and at last settled down for the night. Noble’s eyes closed and he slept.
Foster slipped from the bed in the locked room and tiptoed to the window. He peered through the glass. The snow far below looked soft, like a down-filled pillow. The old man was not fooled, though. Beneath those white billows lay hard rock. He might be desperate to escape, but not that desperate. He would bide his time. There would come an opportunity to sneak away from the youth with the stern face and big sword before they reached Caernarfon, he was sure of it. And he would be ready to seize that opportunity!
Foster went back to bed and lay there awake far into the night, trying to devise a scheme to get away. In the meantime, and long after he finally fell asleep, the snow continued to swirl through the air, driven by the howling wind and obscuring the rest of the world beneath a blanket of silvery white.
Above the wind, just before midnight, rose another howl. Noble heard it in his dreams and shivered. The face of a wolf appeared from the mists of his mind to hover before him—the face of a white wolf. Noble woke with a jerk and nearly leaped to his feet. He looked around and realized that he had been dreaming. All was quiet in the room behind him. Go back to sleep, he told himself. You have a long, difficult journey ahead of you in the morning. He closed his eyes and soon was back in dreamless slumber.
Winter of the White Wolf (Noble Heart Book 4) Page 2