Loving the Knight: Book 2: Eryndal & Andrew (The Hansen Series: Rydar & Grier and Eryndal & Andrew)

by Kris Tualla

  Eryn froze. She couldn’t breath. She felt faint. One hand flailed for the wall. Her other hand fell to her belly.

  Geoffrey’s bloodshot eyes followed her hand. They rounded, then narrowed furiously. “Ye did! Ye laid with him!”

  She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She was being pummeled by too many reactions to sort them out. The edges of her vision filled with spots.

  She reached out for Geoff, needing help before she fainted.

  “Get away from me, whore!” He stumbled backward. “Is his bastard growin’ in ye even now? Is tha’ why yer in such a sudden rush to wed me?”

  Oh, no.

  How long since the rescue? More than a month. She hadn’t bled in that time. She hadn’t bled since Christmas. Six weeks past.

  No. No no no no no.

  “Stop it, Geoff,” she squeaked. Her throat was so dry she couldn’t manage more. “You’re drunk.”

  Geoff staggered toward her and waggled a crooked finger in her face. “Bu’ I ken well enough what ye’ve done, Lady Bell.”

  He opened the door to her chamber and fell into the hall. “Yer no better than yer own mither, are ye then?” he sneered. “Just one bastard whore begettin’ another.”

  “Get out of my house!” she cried. “I’ll not have you now, even if you sober up and realize what a monumental ass you are!”

  Eryn slammed her door so hard it shook her windows. Then she locked it.

  Holy Father, please have mercy on me.

  She was with child.

  Drew’s child.

  She knew it was true. That was why she was tired all the time. Why she couldn’t get over her illness.

  “But he wore a sheath!” she cried. This was not supposed to happen.

  Panic filled her. She was set to wed Geoff tomorrow, but that was not going to transpire now. And he would tell everyone why. She would be branded a harlot, a whore, in front of everyone.

  Everyone.

  So much for claiming a title.

  So much for being a Lady.

  “That’s what I get for trying to climb higher than my station,” she sobbed. There was only one course of action available to her now.

  She wiped her eyes, threw open her cupboards, pulled out her satchel, and began to pack.

    

  The pounding on the door woke Liam.

  The shouting yanked him from his bed. He eased his door open and peeked out into the passageway. Sconces on the wall held flickering candles, ready to gutter. But there was enough light to recognize the man going crazy outside the master chamber.

  Geoffrey? Why was he shouting at Lady Eryn to open the door? He sounded odd; he sounded angry. He sounded dangerous.

  A knight protects women.

  Lord Andrew’s words prodded Liam to action. He turned and crossed to the other side of his room. He ran through the nurse’s abandoned chamber and out into the upper parlor. Over to the schoolroom. He cracked that door and peered at Eryn’s, just as she closed it.

  Geoffrey was inside her room.

  Liam tiptoed across the passageway and rested his ear against the master chamber door. He didn’t understand everything that they were saying, but he knew what ‘whore’ and ‘bastard’ meant. Is Lady Eryn going to have a baby?

  Is Lord Andrew the father?

  Footsteps approached the door and Liam threw himself into the next chamber, the one that Lady Eryn vacated. He stilled in the shadows and flinched at Geoffrey’s final vicious tirade.

  The slamming door shook the wall.

  The lock clanked with finality.

  Liam listened for Geoffrey’s fading footsteps.

  He counted to twenty.

  He stepped into the passageway.

  Geoffrey wavered at the top of the stairs. His head swiveled heavily toward Liam, upsetting his balance. One shifting foot plunged downward and missed its target. He toppled forward.

  Liam squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his hands tightly over his ears. His heart thudded harder than he thought possible. He was paralyzed by fright. By dread. By disbelief.

  Was Geoffrey badly hurt? Was he dead?

  After the surge of shock drained from his body, Liam loosened his hands to listen.

  Nothing. No moans. No cries.

  When he heard thumping movements in Lady Eryn’s room, he found himself again. Liam ran across the hall and retraced his path back to his bed. He buried himself under his blankets and tried to silence his ragged sobs against his pillows.

  Several silent minutes seeped by.

  The click of a lock opening in the passageway echoed as loud as thunder in the still night.

  Liam hadn’t closed his door, he realized with horror. Too late now. He peered over the edge of his blanket into the dimly lit hallway.

  Lady Eryn paused in front of his doorway and looked toward him. She was dressed in her man clothes and a heavy cloak. She had a large, full bag slung over her shoulder.

  Liam held still as a rabbit. He didn’t think she could see him.

  She turned away. Two steps forward and she opened the door to the servant’s staircase. When the stairway door clicked closed, Liam catapulted from his bed and pushed his door shut. Then he hid under his blankets, shivering and praying for daylight.

  February 9, 1355

  Castleton, Scotland

  Drew pulled his cloak tighter around his neck as a mean-spirited and damp Scottish wind tried its best to blow him right off his mount. He had been in the saddle all day yesterday. And all last night. Now it was past midday and he was just ten miles from Castleton. He rode alone, having left Kennan behind to sleep in a town he couldn’t remember the name of.

  No matter. He’ll come soon enough.

  Drew hoped to cover the remaining miles in an hour. He prayed he arrived in time to stop Eryn’s wedding to the Cob Constable. And if he didn’t, he was fully prepared to reveal his repeated bedding of the bride and invalidate the vows.

  She will no’ like that, I do no’ suppose.

  Any more than she liked his uninvited digging into her parentage. It was still a conundrum to him, why she was so angry at him. But his mind was too muddled and his body too far beyond exhausted for him to puzzle out a solution now. Not when every bit of his attention focused on remaining seated on his destrier, and pushing the tired war horse to go just a little faster.

  Into the wind.

  Into Castleton.

  Through the town.

  Men and women of Castleton squinted up at him, odd expressions on their faces. Then they turned away, not meeting his eyes. Something was amiss, of that he had no doubt. What he had to do with the disturbance, he couldn’t imagine.

  Drew turned toward the Bell estate. Every step closer raised contradictory emotions of relief and fear, fatigue and excitement, joy and trepidation. When he rode into the courtyard, he expected to see evidence of a celebration, either in preparation or in progress.

  But the yard was empty. Silent. There was no sign that this day was any different than any other day. That made no sense.

  Unless I’m a day too late.

  Drew’s belly clenched and anxiety flushed his veins, momentarily heating him in the frigid, windy weather. He mentally counted the days since he left Castleton. Eryn said she would wed McDougal in five days. Today was the fifth day. Tired as he was, he knew he counted right.

  He reined his steed to a halt. He threw his leg over the animal’s back and lowered himself to the ground. He stood still a moment, leaning against the horse’s side, waiting for the numbing stiffness in his legs to ease. He took a few shaky steps toward the manor. Gradually he gained strength and stability. He climbed the steps and pounded a raw, cold-reddened fist on the door.

  Jamie pulled the door open. His gaze traveled up Drew’s frame to his eyes. The steward’s eyes were red-rimmed and hollowed out, underscored with streaks of gray.

  “What happened?” Drew blurted.

  Jamie looked as if the words falling from his lips could not p
ossibly be his: “Lady Eryn murdered Geoffrey McDougal. And then she fled.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Drew looked past Jamie, into the entry of the manor. The scent of iron colored the air. Two maids knelt on the stone floor at the bottom of the stairs, urgently scrubbing at a large rusty puddle of what must be blood.

  On Eryn’s spotless floor.

  Drew swayed and Jamie grasped his forearm. “Come, Lord Andrew.” He pulled Drew into the Hall and pushed him into a chair. “I’ll bring you something to refresh you.”

  Drew raised a finger, intent on making a point. “My horse is outside…”

  “Aye, my lord. And have ye come far?”

  Drew nodded. “Near Falkirk.”

  Jamie’s brow rose in surprise. “How long have ye been in the saddle?”

  Drew raked his fingers through his hair as if that action could rake order through his thoughts. “Yester morn.”

  “Ye rode all night into this afternoon?” Jamie exclaimed.

  “Aye. I wanted to get here before…” Drew let his words dissolve. Obviously there was no wedding to stop. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

  Jamie left the Hall. He returned with a steaming mug of spiced wine and a tray of meat pastries.

  For the wedding supper, I’ll wager. Drew gulped the pastries in one mouthful each. He had been too tired and cold to think of food before; now his stomach rumbled its continuing demands. When he finished, he drained the stein of wine.

  “Come with me, Lord Andrew. I’ll see ye comforted,” Jamie urged.

  Drew wanted to ask the steward what specifically had happened. How Eryn could be accused of murder. Who witnessed any part of Geoffrey’s demise. When had she left the estate.

  But as he stepped around the maids still scouring the stones, he couldn’t make a coherent sentence.

  Jamie led him to the room that was once Eryn’s. To the bed where he slept a full, blissful night beside her.

  “The Lady moved into the master’s chamber,” Jamie answered Drew’s unspoken confusion. “I’ll have ye in here now.”

  Ian began to help him undress, though that was not Drew’s intent. Where did he come from? Drew mused. That man always seems to materialize out of air.

  Stripped to his shirt, the valet and the steward pressed Drew into the bed. “Rest a while, Lord Andrew,” Jamie insisted. “Then ye’ll be fresh for the investigation.”

  “Investigation?” Drew mumbled. His head felt fuzzy; was the wine drugged?

  “We’ve no constable, now. Ye’re the authority who must deal with the murder,” Jamie said softly. “So when ye wake, ye’ll be ready.”

  “Aye…” Drew stretched out on the mattress and the blankets fell over him, heavy and soothing. The room darkened. He closed his eyes. “Wake me…”

  February 10, 1355

  Drew opened his eyes. Sunlight seared a path across the floor, cutting through a gap in the drapery. He smelled food.

  “Good morn, Lord Andrew.” Jamie set a tray of breakfast near the fire which was already stoked and fed. “I trust ye slept well?”

  Drew sat up straight and looked around for his clothes.

  “What time is it?” he rasped.

  Jamie turned to face Drew. “It’s mid morn. Ye slept all night.”

  “Did ye drug me?” Drew demanded. He grabbed his hose which were folded at the end of the bed.

  A swift smile moved across the steward’s lips. “Ye were exhausted. A comfortable bed, a darkened room, and a large goblet of wine were the only drugs required, my lord.”

  Drew grunted and donned his hose. His belly grunted and he realized he was hungry again. He sat by the tray and began to eat, not noticing the particular dishes. His concern for Eryn had stolen their taste.

  “Tell me what happened, Jamie,” he said between bites.

  Jamie pulled another chair close to the fire with a heavy sigh. “It appears Geoffrey was celebratin’ his wedding rather heartily in a local tavern. Something was said that angered him, and he came to the manor, plaistert and wroth.”

  “Did ye see him?” Drew asked.

  “No, but I heard shouting.”

  Drew looked up from his meal. “What did ye do?”

  “Nothing. It stopped.”

  “Do ye ken what was said?” Drew pressed.

  Jamie shook his head. “No.”

  Drew stared into the steward’s eyes. “Do ye think she kilt him?”

  He stared at his hands, knotted in his lap. “I can no’ imagine it. But none other was here.”

  “And then she fled?”

  “Aye.”

  “How long past was that now?”

  “A day and a half.”

  Shite. “Did she take aught with her?” Drew prodded. “Have ye noticed anything missing?”

  Jamie nodded. “She took most of her clothes. Her horse. Some jewelry that belonged to Lady Bell—the other one.”

  To sell no doubt. “Any coin?”

  Jamie’s face reddened.

  “Did she leave any behind?”

  The steward nodded. “Most of it.”

  Drew pulled a deep breath and blew it out. “I believe I ken where she’s gone—”

  “Elstow Abbey?” Jamie interrupted.

  “Aye. And she’s canny enough to ride low and no’ be noticed. Do ye agree?”

  “I do.” Jamie looked hopeful.

  “So now I must find out what made McDougal so angry.” Drew stood and wiped his mouth. Ian appeared at his elbow with a clean tunic over his arm. “How do ye do that, man?” Drew sputtered.

  Ian looked at the garment in his hands. “Water and a brush. Why?”

  “Never mind.” Drew slipped the tunic over his shirt. “I’ll need my mount. I’ll go into the village and ask around about McDougal.”

  “Aye.” Jamie jumped up and hurried from the room.

  Drew looked at Ian. “Do ye ken what happened?”

  Ian shook his head. “But I do ken one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Now Liam’s fled, too.”

    

  Drew dismounted outside the tavern. A few quick questions led him to the establishment where the constable celebrated the imminent end of his bachelorhood. Apparently McDougal's outburst was the most exciting event of the season and everyone who missed it knew of it.

  Before he left the manor, Drew cornered Jamie and asked about Liam. No one in the house had seen him since Drew arrived. That meant the boy had been out all night.

  “In the midst of a Scottish winter,” Drew muttered as he tied his war horse to a post.

  He told Jamie to have the stable hands search every inch of the stable—the last place he found Liam hiding. Every inch. Liam had to be there. Drew was confident that young William would be eating soup in the kitchen when he returned from his inquisition here.

  “My, lord.” The portly middle-aged man behind the tavern’s counter bowed his head. “How may I serve ye?”

  Heads swiveled in his direction. The curious gazes moving over him were palpable.

  “I’ve come to ask about the Constable,” Drew began.

  Glances shot around the room like arrows. The tavern keeper shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “What is it ye wish to know?”

  Drew pulled out a chair and casually lowered himself into it. “Might I have a pint?”

  “Oh. Aye.”

  Drew waited quietly until the man served him. He dropped a coin on the tabletop. Then he took a long, slow swallow. He looked around the dim room where half-a-dozen men of various ages watched his every move.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I wish to know why he was so angry. That’s all.”

  More arrow-glances bounced through the group.

  “Were any of ye here, then?” Drew met each man’s eyes. “Or no’?”

  The tavern keeper cleared his throat again. “My lord… Some things were said by men deep in their cups, ye ken?”

  “Aye.” Drew sipped his ale. He
set the goblet carefully on the table in front of him. “I’m no’ concerned with the veracity of what was said, of course.”

  “That means the truth,” a loud whisper rasped.

  “Right!” Drew propped his tall boots on a chair. “No man will be held up for what story he repeats. But without those stories, I can no’ prove the murderer.”

  “Murderess…” the whisper hissed.

  Drew lifted his goblet in acknowledgement. It didn’t mean he agreed, of course. “So what do ye recall?”

  All eyes turned to one thin man in a frayed cloak. He squirmed under the weight of their pointed regard.

  “All right, then,” he blurted. “It seems that one o’ the maids from the Bell place told one o’ the stable hands that ye—my lord—slept in the Lady Bell’s bed on the night o’ the English rescue.” He glared at the other tavern inhabitants. “There, I said it! Are ye happy now?”

  Drew kept his expression innocently blank. “And the constable believed such a tale?”

  “No’ at first, no.” The man waved his hand at the room. “But all else picked up the idea and they pushed him, ye see?”

  “I told ye, they were deep in their cups,” the tavern owner interjected.

  “Aye, ye did that,” Drew said sympathetically.

  “The joke went a bit far, ye ken? And the more McDougal drank, the angrier he got,” said the man in the cloak. “The others thought it were funny, his rage.”

  “Where was his mind when he left?” Drew prodded.

  The pointed glances fell to the floor.

  The tavern keeper finally answered, “He was goin’ to see her, the Lady Bell.”

  “And he was plaistert?” Drew clarified. “Angry and plaistert?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Drew looked from man to man. “And none of ye stopped him?”

  None would meet his gaze.

  “To meet up with a man in such a state? She might have acted in self preservation,” Drew posited.

  They all looked at him then.

  The man in the frayed cloak spoke what the rest were clearly thinking. “If that’s true, my lord, then why did she run?”