Silverhawk

by Bettis, Barbara

  Finally, Henry lifted his gaze, eyes shuttered. He nodded and rose. “Time to check on my sister. Will you see if the horses are settled in?”

  Giles recognized the order to meet in the stables. From what he’d observed during the meeting, Lord Henry and this king’s man had a history. Interesting, but not enough to lure him into remaining.

  In the stables, Nuit was in his former stall at the back, munching hay. The few lads tending other mounts ignored Giles. Except for one familiar, dirty face which popped out of a corner. Davy.

  “Is it true you kill ever’one when a town don’t surrender?” Awe tinged the boy’s voice. “Even women and children?”

  “Especially children.” Giles’ reply was a low grumble. “Inquisitive boys who beat horses.”

  The remark was met by a snort. “I didn’t touch your devil ’orse, Silverhawk. It was m’brother.”

  “What did you call me?”

  The boy hopped back at the menacing whisper, wide-eyed, as if he’d stepped on a forest adder.

  “That’s what they been callin’ you. It’s your name, aren’t it? The famous Silverhawk, who can spot a’ enemy a mile away and bring ’im down in one swoop. Nobody escapes.” Davy demonstrated with a swing of his fist, as if he relished the idea.

  “Bloodthirsty brat.”

  “I am.” The boy strutted. “That’s what Lord Osbert always says. I can stand the sight a’ lots a’ blood. When Sir Karl slashed ’is arm and bled all over everywhere, I ’elped old Maggie wrap it. And I’m not afeard a’ nothin’.”

  He crept closer as he told the tale, ending at Giles’ side. “You don’t have a page or a squire or nobody.” His voice notched up a note in excitement. “I could be your squire. The blood wouldn’t scare me at all.”

  Giles considered for a moment, then couldn’t resist. “I could use someone to clean my bloody gear,” he allowed. “As my squire, your first duty is to care for my horses.”

  Davy peered at Giles, the boy’s eyes rounded like moons. “You mean—’im, too?” He jerked his head at Nuit, who obligingly “thonked” a hoof on the floor and blew saliva-wet hay from his lips.

  “Of course. The two of you will learn to get along. It’s my destrier back in Normandy I’m concerned about. He once took a finger off a page who tried to feed him an apple.”

  Even in the dimness, Giles could see the boy pale. Unfortunately the story was true, although it was just the tip of the left forefinger. A rough lesson, but at least the boy learned not to tease a war horse.

  “If you don’t like horses, why do you work here?”

  Davy screwed up his mouth and wrinkled his nose. “English ’orses are nicer. I’m not afeard a’ them.”

  “Then you’d best apply to an English knight.”

  “Nobody around here does anythin’. They’re not famous. I’m goin’ to be famous when I’m grown. I could learn from you.”

  “Davy! To work!” At the stable master’s shout, the youth scurried on his way. Giles stared after him in bemusement. Learn from him. No one had ever wanted to learn from Giles of Cambrai. It was something a son did, learn from a father.

  He would never have a son. He always took care when he released his seed, so it would not take root, to grow alone and unwanted. A boy should never face such a fate. Better than anyone, he knew that.

  Inside Nuit’s stall, he brushed his hand along the animal’s side. On one knee, he checked the hooves. He didn’t realize Henry had arrived until he heard voices. The words were faint, but he made them out.

  “Ride to Windom and tell Lord Roark what I’ve said, then get home and warn Sir Rance to ready the men. We can’t be sure what’s in store.”

  Why would Henry send off such a message? Nothing threatened yet. He started to rise and identify himself, when a woman’s voice joined the others.

  “What is it, brother? Why did you send for me?”

  “Evie, we may have to leave early.”

  “But—”

  “We’ll stay for the wedding tomorrow, then we go.”

  “Why?” Lady Evelynn’s voice lowered, tensed. “What has happened?”

  “The mysterious messenger from the king was Lord Paxton.”

  “Oh, dear heaven. Not Roark and Alyss’s Paxton? Is he still here?”

  “That’s who left earlier.”

  “He doesn’t serve the king?” She sounded incredulous. “How could that be?”

  “It couldn’t. Anyone who knew the scoundrel would know better. He will always serve John. I’ll wager his mission is to create trouble for Richard, not prevent it.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of running feet. “Silverhawk?” The question preceded the boy.

  “Oh. Sorry, m’lord. I was lookin’ for the Silverhawk. He was right ’ere, visitin’ ’is ’orse.”

  “Well, lad, you can see he’s gone now. You’d best get back to your duties.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sound of steps faded before the stall door opened. A hoof still propped on his knee, Giles looked up at Henry and lifted his brows. Lady Evie peered around her brother.

  No one spoke. Giles placed the hoof on the floor and rose.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” He looked Henry in the eye.

  “Were you satisfied at what you heard?” Henry’s voice was low but hard.

  “What reason would I have to interrupt? Surely you knew I was here. Your orders, after all.” Giles stepped to the back wall, his arms hanging loosely, his fingers flexing.

  Henry’s gaze didn’t move from him. “Evie, go back to the hall.”

  “I have as much right as you to know what that hound of hell is up to.” The lady didn’t sound at all intimidated by her brother’s threatening tone.

  Giles smoothly interceded. “I’ve been called many things before, but never that.”

  “Oh!” she sputtered. “I meant—”

  Never taking his gaze from Giles, Henry said, “He knows what you meant. But leave us to talk. I’ll fill you in later.”

  “Oh, all right.” She sighed. “I never have any adventure.”

  Henry seemed disarmed. “My dear, you’ve had enough ‘adventure’ to last a gentle woman two lifetimes.” He kissed her forehead. “Go on, now.”

  Giles watched the touching scene with a twist of his lips. “I detect a story there,” he said as Henry turned back.

  “Another time.” Henry considered him for a moment, then sighed as if reaching a decision. “Do you have more information about this supposed threat to England?”

  Giles leaned against the wall, accepted the snub. Other families’ drama wasn’t his job. “Nothing you don’t already know. Why don’t you tell me about this Lord Paxton? You appear to know him.”

  Henry looked away. Silence stretched. Perhaps the lord didn’t entirely trust him. Why should he? I’m just the messenger.

  After a moment, the other man shot him a look then nodded toward the door. “Let’s walk.”

  Although dark enveloped the curtain wall, the bailey remained busy, and a clatter rose from the training field. The two made their way toward the spot where a pair of knights showed off in the guise of practice in defiance of the approaching night. Lowering his voice, Henry outlined his family’s history with Lord Paxton.

  “The day after my sister, Alyss, and her husband, Roark, were married, Paxton appeared at Chauvere with an order from Prince John to wed Alyss. When he discovered he’d been thwarted, he met King Richard in Nottingham. This was three years ago, right after the king’s ransom had been delivered, and he’d been released. You’re from Normandy; you may not know Prince John had consolidated power in England.

  “He was banished, but a few of his castles held out. Nottingham was one of the last. The king, himself, journeyed here to command the surrender, then stayed on for a Council. Paxton accused my brother-in-law of treason. Fortunately, I was able to provide evidence that set him free. Paxton was stripped of his land and title, and he disappeared from England.”

&n
bsp; Giles grimaced. “The king must have given him another chance.” From Henry’s silence, Giles guessed his words merely glossed the story.

  Instead of explaining more, Henry asked, “Do you return to Normandy now?” He uncrossed his arms and straightened. “But no, you had something else to attend to in England, you said. Where will that take you?”

  Henry didn’t give up easily. But neither did he. Giles blew out a breath. If Richard wanted him to remain in England, why hadn’t the king told him? He’d served the man for years, held royal trust second only to Mercadier in that mercenary band.

  Damn. He hated being manipulated, even by his sworn liege. He had volunteered for this mission for one reason only—revenge. Yet he did owe duty, allegiance to Richard, if not to England.

  Giles fisted and unfisted his hands. A lifetime of searching ended right here. Why should he turn his back on this chance at revenge? He’d settle the old score tonight. And afterward, if he decided to track down the traitor, he’d do so alone. Except for his men who knew how he thought, how he worked, he trusted only himself.

  Right now, he must figure a way to approach Osbert. The number of soldiers gathered at Langley might present a problem, but he was not about to let his chance slip by. The wrong done so long ago would be avenged. A flick of a dagger would settle the score. Giles could do it undetected and be on his way before anyone knew the old man was dead.

  He could.

  He wouldn’t.

  He wanted Osbert to know why. He wanted the arrogant bastard to look him in the eyes once more and realize who killed him.

  “What are you planning?” Henry’s voice interrupted Giles’ thoughts. “If it can be postponed, we could use your help to stop this traitor.”

  “Are you sure you can trust me?”

  “Not entirely.” At least Henry was honest. “Richard trusted you. I suppose that’s something.”

  “Richard trusts the man I serve.”

  “And that man trusts you.”

  Giles’ soft “huh” was sarcastic. “You saw how the people reacted earlier. I’m a murderer. Can you have confidence in an outlaw?”

  Henry’s bark of laughter surprised him. “They fear tales they hear from soldiers who’ve returned from the war. I know how those stories can be exaggerated. There was a time I did it myself, when I was younger.”

  Giles shook his head. “They’re true. I have murdered. Every village, every town, every castle the war crushes, people have died who should not.”

  “So, the boy was right?”

  Giles’ head jerked around. Henry had heard that conversation? “No. Never women and children.” In that brief moment, scenes from the past swept through his mind. His jaw flexed.

  “I’ve heard of Silverhawk,” Henry reminded. “I know the rules you impose on your men.”

  “Then you know the penalty for breaking them. I’ve enforced those rules. Doesn’t that make me a murderer?”

  “It makes you a commander to be respected. And feared.”

  Giles sighed, slanted a glance at the other man. “What do you want of me?”

  “I have met Scotland’s king,” Henry said. “I know some of the lords who usually join him at court, so it won’t seem suspicious when I suddenly appear. If I leave tomorrow, I can make it to Scotland almost as quickly as Paxton can. With luck he’ll stop along the way, and I’ll be there before him.”

  “Why do you need my help? You’ve got it all planned.”

  Anger flashed across Henry’s face again. “We can’t be certain of his plan. Someone should follow his party from here. If he keeps to the main road, he can be tracked easily. But there’s a chance he will visit other lords. I don’t think Langley knows the man’s intentions, or we might pry the details from him.”

  Henry’s brows lifted. “Well?”

  Giles was silent. Finally he asked, “What about Lord Roark? Wouldn’t he want to settle old scores?”

  “If my sister’s husband knows everything, he’ll insist upon going. But he’s needed to keep watch at home. You know we can’t risk involving anyone else. That narrows the selection to one of my men or—you.”

  The threat might be real, but if Henry headed for Scotland to warn King William, Giles would not be needed. He refused to be distracted from his revenge.

  “No.” His words were soft but inflexible. “This is your battle. I have my own to fight. It can’t wait.” And if he chose to search for the traitors afterward, he’d do so alone.

  “Is your personal mission more important than the safety of the country?” came the insistent reply.

  Giles turned to face Henry. He hadn’t realized how firmly his jaw was clenched until he breathed deeply. It popped.

  “This isn’t my country. If you want to write a message to the king, I’ll deliver it.”

  As he started toward the keep, he heard a whisper from Henry. “Bastard.”

  Only Giles heard his own muttered reply. “Absolutely.”

  The path to the hall was cluttered with villagers and guests, forcing him to alter his course to the left to avoid them. He intended to seek Osbert right away, if for nothing more than to increase the lord’s discomfort.

  Various scenes of confrontation had played out in his mind when a movement at the far side of the keep drew his eye. There, slipping through a narrow gate, was the little nun. Why had she escaped the hall?

  “That’s the Lady’s Garden,” a voice at his elbow confided.

  Giles glanced down through slitted eyes. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

  “I am.” Davy bounced along irrepressibly, his gangly feet flopping. “I’m keepin’ my eye on you, just like I was told. ’Case you get up to trouble.”

  “Go away,” Giles growled over his shoulder. He veered toward the garden gate.

  And the kind of trouble a lad wouldn’t understand.

  Chapter Seven

  The Lady’s Garden. Such a grand name for the stick and weed enclosure beside the keep. Giles eased open the weathered door, the faded wood rough against his fingers. He tipped his shoulder to slip through the narrow opening. The musty smell of plants gone to seed hung in the air, and he inhaled the odor. Strange, the comfort he felt, like a flash of memory.

  He glanced around. Where was his quarry? Moonlight flooded the enclosure, and several bonfires in the bailey sent wavering light bobbing over the fence top.

  She knelt at a patch of what looked like dead grass, undoubtedly remnants of flowers. Perhaps they’d resembled the colorful blossoms that once dotted his mother’s palm-sized yard. How she’d loved the sparse but fragrant blooms that escaped their one hen’s search for food.

  His head jerked. God’s blood! Why had those thoughts surfaced just now, of a nearly forgotten long ago? This was neither time nor place for such childish reminiscence.

  Intent once more on the graceful figure before him, he picked his way through the tangle of growth. She wore the same green gown as when he arrived, some kind of embroidered figures at the neck and wrist.

  The color suited her vibrant auburn hair, draped now with a flimsy square of fine white linen. He should have known the color would be fiery to match her spirit.

  As he advanced, the bright moonlight cast his shoulders as a darker shadow on the ground ahead.

  By the rigid set of her back, he knew she heard him. He couldn’t explain what prompted him to veer off course, to seek her out. Osbert had been the object when he started across the crowded, dusty bailey.

  Yet the moment he saw her disappear behind the weathered door, a voice in his mind whispered, “Follow.” It didn’t tell him why. Now he stood in the midst of a dead garden, unsure of his intent.

  Emelin sat back on her heels with an exaggerated sigh. “Would you move your shoulders, Sir Knight? They block what meager light I’ve found.” If a tone could cross its arms and tap its toe, hers did.

  A lightness inside him felt shockingly like a smile. That’s why he was here. She amused him.

  “Where would you
like me to move them, my lady?”

  “London, I should think.”

  He smiled in spite of himself, and he stepped to the side. “I thought you would be inside, preparing for your wedding. You seemed so eager before.”

  She slanted him a vexed look. “It isn’t polite to mock. My betrothed is a fine man, and his valor is undisputed. He will protect me and our family.”

  The lightness inside him sizzled out, a fire doused in rain.

  “Thus saith the Lord,” he intoned. What rot. The lady who braved a bloody battle site to rescue a stranger should never give up so easily. Where was that spirit she’d shown?

  “Who convinced you so thoroughly?” His eyes focused on her temple where a pulse throbbed. “Was it the sight of a sturdy home? Or are you so eager to throw off your nun’s habit that you’d bed a man old enough to be your father?”

  She was up, swinging her arm so fast he hardly had time to duck the blow. His hand caught her wrist, and he jerked her forward, bringing her curved body close.

  He wanted more of it. His other arm eased around her slender waist, the gown’s texture soft against his sword-roughened palm. Sweet; she smelled like lavender and woman. His body hardened, and he tightened his grip, fitting her to his hips.

  Her soft cheeks glowed with anger. “You are contemptible.” She hissed through clenched teeth. “I should have left you to die in the woods.” She flattened her hands against his chest and looked up. Her eyes were the varied green of a springtime forest with sparks of sun glinting through. He felt himself grow harder.

  “Come now, little nun, you wouldn’t be so cruel,” he murmured.

  She balled her fists and tried to shove away. “Don’t call me that.” The light wimple had slid askew across one eye. He wanted to tear it from her head and toss it to the ground.

  “No, you’re not a nun at all, are you?” Firm, full breasts pressed against him as he pulled her closer and lowered his head. Just a quick touch of those plump, moist lips that—God help him—she had just licked. That’s all. One taste.

  ****

  Somehow, Emelin knew the moment the gate opened it was the dark, dangerous knight who prowled the garden. An unexpected thrill had quivered down her back. Now she stilled in his firm embrace.