Devil's Knight

by Geri Borcz

  Her heart lodged in her throat as they slowed to enter the unfamiliar gates.

  Scores of alert archers lined the battlements, armed with deadly crossbows. Ominous clangs resounded from the busy armory. Men-at-arms worked furiously to dig fire pits over which to heat pitch vats. Serfs shouted their panic as they hustled their few belongings and recalcitrant animals into the bailey, seeking the protection of the stout walls.

  From experience Juliana recognized the bone-chilling signs: the castle prepared for battle.

  "God help me," she whispered. "I've instigated a war."

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 12

  Over the bawling animals came a frightening clamor of voices. Most people hailed their lord as his horse trotted past them, some stopped to cast a curious glance toward Juliana, and others gave her a blank stare before resuming their appointed tasks.

  Behind her, Juliana heard the gates close on her chances of escape.

  At a glance, she'd calculated the thickness of the walls and counted the sentries. In a fortress heavily manned for seige, she needed God's grace--if he was listening--and more than simple trickery to get out. She needed patience and opportunity, and if she cultivated the former, surely the latter would follow.

  To one side of the bailey, stable workers scrambled from the outbuilding to await their mounts. To her front, several knights poured out of the keep.

  They emerged from the stairs that led to the keep's entry door on the second level. Rhys's destrier headed toward them. As he neared the sun-bright forebuilding that covered the staircase, dust floated in the air, kicked up by the horses' plopping hooves.

  Juliana wiped grit from her eyes. Among the battle-hardened group that watched them approach from the foot of the stairs, she spotted the squire and sandy-headed knight who had accompanied Rhys to Stanmore.

  The knights parted a path. A powerfully built man, in highly polished mail, with silver lacing his dark temples and a thunderous expression on his face, came down the steps to await them.

  "You are well come to Adington, wife," Rhys said.

  She cursed the shiver that invaded her spine. The man need only speak to ignite sparks of desire that licked at her insides. That wouldn't do. He knew well the devastating effect he had upon her senses, and ever did he press his advantage.

  "I'm not your wife," she said, grinding her teeth.

  "You will be."

  His smugness grated on her taut nerves. While her mood took a downward plunge, his seemed to lighten. It must owe to attaining the security of his walls.

  She concentrated on the horse's sway to calm her mounting worries. What would happen to her now?

  "Afraid, Ana?"

  More than ever in my life.

  "Surprised," she said over her shoulder, "to see the devil spawned more oafs like you."

  Rhys chuckled, a rich, easy sound. Her stomach fluttered. For a moment, he tightened the arm that encircled her waist, and she drew comfort from that small gesture.

  "Not to worry. He's my father, Richard. So you see, my lady mother did know his name."

  Juliana's tension ebbed a fraction.

  "Is he angry?" she asked, noting Lord Richard stared at them without a flicker of greeting to soften his features.

  Witless. Of course, the man hates the sight of you. You've brought Roger down upon his head.

  "Concerned," Rhys said. "What do you think of your new home?"

  If that harsh face reflected concern, Juliana hoped never to witness Lord Richard's ire.

  She let Rhys's irritating confidence slide, and in response to his question, glanced up at the imposing keep. I won't be the first man to lock an unwanted wife away. His loathsome words tumbled in her mind.

  Before her lay a square stone building. And no locked tower. She breathed a sigh of relief--no towers at all.

  Still, Juliana's hands went white. Though Rhys had said things to her that no man had ever dared say before--heat surged through her body with the seductive memory--she doubted that he spoke the truth. Nay, the conniving lout only whispered such titillating words in his quest to bring her to heel. Yet, despite her awareness of that unfair tactic, to her dismay, his scheme was slowly working.

  Her puzzled gaze scanned the weathered limestone again. Where would he imprison an unwanted wife? Then a dreadful thought occurred.

  "You have a dungeon?"

  "Of course. Beneath the forebuilding."

  She sucked in a breath. A hole deep in the ground --cramped, dank, and filled with spiders. He wouldn't dare.

  By the Saints, she was daughter to an earl.

  He dared to steal the earl's daughter.

  A shudder rippled through Juliana's body. To obtain her land, Rhys needed her to become his wife, and to keep the land, he needed a child by her. Wife. He'd lock an unwanted wife away. Well, she'd fight wedding him with all of her strength. The future she'd envisioned for herself didn't include a prison.

  No dungeon for her, she'd go mad.

  When they drew abreast of the keep, the older man stepped near the halting horses. He showed no qualm in standing so close to the destriers.

  "Rhys, you're hurt! Did you meet with Roger?"

  "With supper," Rhys said. "But we had no time to bring the boar with us. All's well here?"

  "'Tis quiet, still."

  "And Isobel?" Rhys asked. He worked off his helm.

  Juliana stiffened upon hearing the anxious concern for his leman ring loud and clear. Here? Isobel here? God's teeth, what more must Juliana suffer?

  "Fear not," Richard said. "She fares well. Merely exhausted from our hurried ride back. She sleeps now, but I'll send someone to fetch her."

  He angled his head toward the waiting men.

  "Nay," Rhys countered, before his father ordered. "It'll only upset her to see my injury."

  Upset her? Juliana bit her lip to stifle a sarcastic retort. Oh, do let the queen sleep. The messy harlot who just dragged in the gates may contend with the oaf.

  "I'll wait to greet Isobel when she arises," Rhys finished, "and I'm clean."

  What did Juliana care? His mistress was his business, and it ill behooved her to show the slightest interest.

  She sat as rigid as a board and chewed her teeth, instead.

  "Lady Juliana? I am Richard of Monteux. Allow me." He stretched his arms toward her. "I see that you, too, have suffered an exhausting ride."

  Juliana glanced down to her torn and rumpled appearance. He thought she appeared so haggard from a mere ride? Either Lord Richard expressed a surprising kindness, or the man knew little of his son's true character.

  She gathered her flagging courage as strong hands plucked her from the saddle and put her feet gently to the ground. And rather than cower before this hulk and disgrace her family, she smiled her proudest and made her obeisance.

  "My lord," she murmured. Any other polite words froze on her tongue.

  When she raised her defiant head, the transformation in Lord Richard shocked her. Like father, like son.

  Other than the few lines of age, the midnight eyes, and the hair that reached only to his collar, a man as handsome as Rhys stared down at her with a beguiling smile.

  "My son has chosen well," Richard said, studying her face.

  Juliana bristled. The heat racing to her hairline owed nothing to the sun. She'd not play a farce for any man.

  "He's stolen, not chosen," she said, not an easy feat under his critical perusal. "Your son, my lord, drags me here not as a guest."

  "I mean to wed with her," Rhys said, throwing his reins to a waiting serf.

  "To force me into wedding him," she amended.

  She tried to ignore the possessive hand that rested on the small of her back.

  "I see." Richard scratched his bristly chin, stared at the two young people, then settled his inquiring gaze on Juliana. "You won't take him?"

  "Of course, she will," Rhys said.

  He draped his arm in much too intimate fashion around her shoulders and pulled
her snug to his body.

  "Nay. I'll not," Juliana said.

  How could she expect Lord Richard to intervene on her behalf, unless he knew she needed aid? She sloughed off Rhys's heavy arm and tamped down the urge to stomp his toes. The man infuriated her as no other.

  With a thoughtful mien, Richard turned to his son. "You know 'tis her father that must agree."

  His serious attentiveness encouraged Juliana's hopes.

  "Yet knowing that, my lord," she said, "Rhys persists in this folly."

  She leaned forward, closing the gap. The pleasant scent of sandalwood teased her nose as Lord Richard met her halfway. Rhys leaned toward the two of them.

  In a whisper, Juliana said, "Though he's a son of which any parent may stand proud--"

  "My thanks, sweeting."

  "Do be quiet," she snapped at Rhys and straightened.

  He shrugged.

  "My Lord Richard," she began again, "he's much too arrogant for my tastes. Surely, you can see we'd never suit."

  "Would you prefer I returned you to your father?" Richard whispered back.

  "Why nay," she said, and smiled. "An escort to Bekton Abbey will suffice."

  "To. . .?" Richard's dark brows rose, and his incredulous gaze darted to Rhys. When he addressed Juliana again, his tone turned grave. "You wish to join holy orders?"

  She blushed at the cynical expression that swamped his face, but thank God, he didn't laugh. Aye, with her bedraggled appearance that request needed clarification.

  "S'truth as my nurse, Agnes, pointed out, I'm little suited to the cloister."

  "Smart woman," Rhys chimed in.

  Juliana nudged him, none too gently, in the side with her elbow. Rhys grunted. A ploy for sympathy, she suspected, since he wore so much padding. Her paltry effort gained her little, beyond a sharp pain that radiated to her fingertips.

  Rubbing her elbow, she added, "I fully intend to negotiate with my father and elder brother, Roger, from there."

  "You will negotiate?"

  "Of course."

  Richard threw his head back and burst out in roaring laughter. "By the Rood, the lad has chosen well!"

  Juliana changed her mind. Like son, like father. Both possessed a demented sense of amusement.

  "Papa," Rhys said, "my leg throbs, and Lady Juliana is weary unto death. May not this interview be postponed?"

  "Aye, you've the right of it." Richard's features pulled into a frown, and he pierced his son with a stern glare. "We've other matters to discuss."

  Rhys turned to his squire. "Are you finished with your tasks in the dungeon?"

  "Aye, my lord," Serle said, coming forward. "And I've seen that all is for the lady as you instructed."

  "Then attend my lady. Show her where she'll rest."

  Rhys turned back to his father, and the waiting knights, who had remained at a discreet distance, now converged around him. Serle, trusting Juliana to follow, disappeared into the shadowy forebuilding that covered the wooden stairs.

  "B-but--but," Juliana stammered to empty air.

  Her stomach lurched to her throat. She stared at the back of Rhys's head as he talked with his men and dismissed her from his mind.

  Holy Mary and Joseph, he meant to put her into the dungeon now?

  Her frantic gaze searched for her cousin amongst the milling men. When she spotted him, she waved a hand to gain his notice. After a moment, he raised his head, grinned and returned her quick wave, then continued talking to four of Rhys's men.

  The callous lout.

  Indifferent to how Rhys treated her, Oliver busied himself--guessing from his gestures--by relating his narrow escape to an interested audience.

  Alone.

  Her mouth grew dry. A film of perspiration sprouted on her skin. The mantle smothered her breathing.

  She turned her wide-eyed attention to the long flight of stairs that loomed before her. What choice did she have?

  The repugnant image rose in her mind of brutal arms hauling her, kicking and screaming, to her fate. Nay, she'd not give them the satisfaction of seeing her in such a disgraceful display.

  Courage.

  Lifting her skirts and placing her foot on the first step, she squinted into the gloom at the top. She gulped short breaths, unable to get enough air. Did the eager squire wait for her now with the dungeon's iron grate in his hands?

  "My lady," said a cheerful voice to her side, "may I escort you?"

  Aghast at the cruel offer, Juliana sucked in another quick breath. Tiny black spots danced before her eyes. Any patience that remained after the disastrous conversation with Lord Richard fled her completely. She threw a murderous glance to a smiling young knight who reached a hand toward her elbow.

  "Touch me and die," she gritted out.

  The startled man tripped over his boots in his haste to back away.

  "Wretch," she mumbled after him.

  Her body trembled. She felt light headed.

  Rats. Dungeons housed rats.

  Juliana dragged her other shaky foot up a step.

  Two more men started down the steps, but one look at her and they plastered themselves against the rough wall. Deeming it wiser not to speak, they slid past.

  Moldy and wet, too.

  Her vision blurred. Men's voices and courtyard noises sifted into oblivion, lost in the roar of her heart. Did he expect her to willingly descend the ladder into the black pit?

  Another leaden foot plopped onto a step.

  How long would he keep her down there? She recalled gruesome stories of people thrown into dungeons and forgotten... for years. Creepy places. Her knees turned to water.

  Did he rid the pit of cobwebs?

  Her sluggish ascent halted with a jerk and a cold shiver.

  What little courage she'd dredged up from the depths of her soul now deserted her in the wake of her overwhelming fears. She swallowed her pride and whirled around.

  "My lord of Adington. Rhys? A moment, please."

  He disengaged himself from the circle of men and moved to the bottom of the stairway.

  "What is it, Juliana?"

  She dropped her anguished gaze to the wooden step and wrung her hands.

  "I can't," she mumbled.

  "What's that?" With a pained grunt, Rhys took two steps at one time. Standing one below her, nose to nose, he leaned his head closer. "Say again. I couldn't understand you."

  "Please," she said, a bare whisper. Her bowed head nearly touched his. She swallowed. "Order me put somewhere else."

  "See for yourself," he whispered back, "the keep is full."

  She lifted her hands to his chest. "I'm afraid."

  An odd light shimmered in Rhys's eyes, then he covered her hands with his and grew serious.

  "I won't tolerate more tricks, my lady. "

  Prideless desperation leapt from her mouth.

  "No tricks. None. Please. I'll behave."

  "And recant your word, later?"

  Thinking he was about to refuse, she almost let an hysterical laugh escape. She'd plead with the devil before sharing a night with spiders.

  "Never." She swallowed again. "Do this, and I'll cause you no trouble. I swear."

  "I have your word?"

  "Aye," she whispered. "I give my word."

  He nodded, satisfied, then touched her chin with his thumb and forefinger, raising her head. His tender gaze studied her a moment.

  "In that case, Serle? The third floor." Rhys lowered his head. "Go sweet Ana. Rest you well." And then he brushed her mouth with his lips. Warm and reassuring. "Ana, he waits to show you the way."

  Rhys nodded to the squire, now angled upon the stairs, who had returned to fetch his dawdling charge.

  Suddenly drained, Juliana heaved a ragged sigh.

  "My thanks," she breathed. "Oh. . . your leg. Rhys, shall I see to your wound first?"

  "Nay, sweeting," he said, trailing a finger down her cheek. "'Tis but a scratch. You rest. I'll see to it at once."

  She searched his face
, then nodded.

  Squelching the ridiculous urge to throw her arms around him, seek the shelter of his embrace and cry her troubles into his neck, she mounted the steps. She was careful to avoid looking at the offensive opening in the floor at the top, and stopped at the arched doorway to glance back down.

  Rhys remained on the steps, watching her. The heat shimmering in his eyes sent a tingle to her toes.

  In the second their gazes locked, Juliana sensed more had passed between them than her cowardly lack of pride.

  She gave him a watery smile. The promise in the smile he returned to her wrapped around her heart like a cozy blanket.

  Once through the shady entry, Serle led the way up the spiral stairs and into a chamber off the third floor. He pointed out the laver and cloth and asked if she wanted something to eat.

  Food held no interest for Juliana; she doubted she'd keep any down. Shaking her head, she glanced around the chamber. Light filtered through an arched window and reflected off the assorted weapons that lined the washed out stone walls. The sparse but rich furnishings spoke well of masculine tastes.

  "Where am I?" she said, though it mattered little.

  "The lord's chamber," Serle said.

  Rhys's chamber? Chills dissipated the warmth, and a nervous laugh broke the surface.

  She'd stepped into the spider's web after all.