A Knight for Love

by A. M. Westerling

  “Agreed.” Warin swung himself up onto Citadel’s mighty back. “I’ll go alone.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Horror made Bennet’s eyes round.

  “Aye. Three armed men would never be admitted into the bailey but one man unarmed may be. Once inside, I’ll be able to see their strengths and weaknesses.” With a curt nod to the other two, he whirled his horse about and trotted away.

  Once he broke free from the shelter of the trees to join the road twisting up to the keep, he urged Citadel into a full gallop. The powerful duo almost reached the drawbridge over the motte before the sentry hailed him.

  “Halt!”

  They skidded to a stop in a shower of dirt and snow.

  “I come for my wife,” Warin ordered. He would suffer no argument from a mere sentry.

  “She’s not here.”

  “I wish to see for myself.” He spurred Citadel and with a surge, the mighty animal crossed over the bridge and through the gateway before the surprised sentry had a chance to react.

  He thundered through the bailey and reached the base of the hill on which sat the castle before sawing back on the reins so forcefully that two front hoofs lifted off the ground.

  “Baldric!” he bellowed. “Release my wife!”

  “Hold!” Two guardsmen materialized from the gatehouse on the steps. Crossing their spears, they denied him entry.

  “Out of my way,” he snarled. Rage enveloped him.

  “Warin! Warin de Taillur!”

  Baldric’s hated voice pierced the red haze fogging Warin’s mind.

  “I want my wife,” he shouted.

  “Oh? Maybe she doesn’t want you.” A black haired man appeared beside Baldric on the landing to the castle.

  “Who are you,” Warin demanded, lip twisting with contempt.

  “Alan de Faulkenburg.” He swept an insolent bow in Warin’s direction. “And this is my keep.”

  “De Faulkenburg you say? The king will hear of your treachery.”

  Alan ignored the threat. “Are you so certain we have your wife?”

  “Aye, I saw her dragged up the hill.”

  “And you’re certain it is her? The light grows dark and one cloaked woman can easily be mistaken for another.”

  A sly look shone in the man’s black eyes, setting Warin’s teeth on edge. His fingers curled with the desire to close around Alan’s throat and choke the life’s breath from him.

  Warin instead clenched the reins to staunch his anger. “You have her,” he snarled. “Do not play me for a fool.”

  “And if we have her, how much is she worth to you, say mayhap—” Alan’s voice took on a considering tone and he rubbed his clean shaven chin. “A keep?”

  “You hold her ransom for Caperun Keep?” Warin’s blood boiled at the audacious plan. A plan he would do all in his power to foil.

  “A small price to pay, isn’t it?” Alan taunted. “Oh, and de Taillur, I must thank you for following us here, you saved us the trouble of sending a messenger.”

  Warin scowled. “The trail you left was blatant invitation. I merely accepted it.”

  “Well, now you may accept my invitation to leave. We have your wife. She’s unharmed. You know the terms of her release and you have two days to think on it. If we have no word by evening two days hence, she will be killed.” Alan bowed again then sneered. “Have a pleasant evening, Lord de Taillur. I know I will for your wife has a pleasing face and I mean to enjoy it.”

  “Unhand her now!” Warin roared. “Or I will have your head!”

  “Will you?” Alan asked, gesturing from the landing. “Not even that great beast of yours can leap this high. Besides, my arrows will fly as soon as you take one step this way. You’re helpless. Your wife is safe for now but her fate rests in your hands. I await your reply.” With nary a further look at Warin, he and Baldric turned around and disappeared inside.

  The door crashed shut and the sound echoed about Warin’s ears like the tone of doom embodied. Through it, he heard Alyna’s shriek.

  Her voice, shrill with fear, slivered through the echoes, stabbing his heart. He resisted the urge to shout his frustration at the blank walls, instead clamping his jaw shut as he wheeled Citadel about and charged out of the keep. A plan began to formulate in his mind.

  He would rescue Alyna or die trying.

  *****

  Alyna heard Warin’s roar.

  “Warin!” She screamed his name as loud as she could and rushed over to the window slit, tugging on the shutters to open them. “Warin! You must take care, they lay a trap!”

  The shutters refused to unlatch and in a blind panic that he might leave without her, she dashed towards the stairway. Warin waited below, he had come for her. Those thoughts beat a rhythm through her head as she hastened down the steps. Warin was here, Warin was here.

  “Stop her!” Philippa’s screech followed her as she ran.

  She made it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before a solid blow felled her, a blow that sent her flying headlong into a barrel. She smacked her cheek soundly on the edge before falling to her knees. Stunned, she remained on her knees for a few moments. Footsteps approached and stopped beside her.

  “Do not think to escape,” Philippa warned. “Next time he won’t be so gentle.” She pointed to the stocky man who had felled Alyna. “Wimarc is known for his strength.”

  Alyna raised her head and glared at Philippa. “Warin will return for me,” she spat. “And you will rue the day you chose to cross him.” Her stomach rebelled and she vomited into the floor beside the barrel.

  “You are with child.” Philippa’s voice cracked with astonishment. She prodded Alyna’s stomach with her toe. “You carry de Taillur’s bastard babe.”

  “Nay, no bastard child. We are married by word of the king and I carry the rightful heir to the Caperun lands in my womb.” Alyna raised her head and spoke the words proudly, cradling her belly in her hands.

  “So he spoke true that day. You are wed.” Philippa shook her head in mock amazement then spit on Alyna’s stomach. “The canker blossom has found a husband. Next you will tell me that roses will bloom in winter.”

  Alyna grabbed the edge of the barrel and pulled herself up. Deliberately, she wiped her hands on her tunic. Once again, she was the target of her aunt’s taunting and verily, she’d had enough of it.

  “Hold your tongue, if you please,” she responded with quiet dignity. “Aye, you hold the upper hand here but my husband will return for he loves me.”

  And as she said the words, a rush of warmth filled her, for she realized it as the truth. Aye, initially, she had meant the words as a shield against Philippa but as she voiced them, they became fact.

  And she loved him too. Why had she feared baring her soul to Warin? There was no stronger force than true love. How foolish she had been not to speak the words to him. Love was an absolute power, one that could banish even the danger hovering so close by at this moment.

  I cannot die now, she vowed silently. I have a husband to claim and a child to raise.

  Alyna rose and swept up the stairs leaving a speechless Philippa gaping at her back.

  *****

  “What?” Bennet yelped. “They threaten to kill her?”

  “Aye,” Warin nodded. “Her life or Caperun Keep. And I have two days to decide.”

  “They won’t kill her that easily,” Gerard spoke with assurance. “With Alyna gone, the ransom is forfeit.”

  “Aye.” Warin nodded in agreement. “They gain nothing by killing her because with or without her, I am still lord. They seek to kill us both.” That realization firmed Warin’s resolve. “Gerard, you must return to the keep for more men. Bennet, I need you here.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” Gerard said. “I’ll leave at dawn tomorrow.”

  *****

  “You have a plan?” Bennet guessed the next morning after Gerard left.

  “Aye, the castle is small and the numbers are few. I’ll hide in a hay cart and y
ou’ll act as cart man. Once you’ve delivered the load, wait with our horses where the road enters the forest. When night falls and all in the castle are asleep, I’ll find Alyna and bring her out.”

  “The tower is built for defense. It won’t be easy to enter.” Skepticism lined Bennet’s face.

  “There is a postern,” Warin said. “I saw it as I rode through the bailey. Alan of Faulkenburg thinks none can pass the motte and curtain wall and leaves it unmanned. I will prove the weakness of his stronghold.”

  “Where do we find a hay cart?” Bennet was still not convinced Warin’s plan would work.

  “We wait. There are horses and cattle in the bailey. They need fodder and it must be delivered.”

  Bennet stared long and hard at Warin before he nodded. “I’ll do as you ask and more, Warin. You and your lady can rely on me.”

  Any misgivings Bennet had he chose to keep to himself and for that Warin was thankful. Agreed, it was a flimsy plan but it was better than no plan.

  The two men hid themselves in some shrubs by the side of the road and as Warin had predicted, they didn’t have long to wait. In the distance came the creak of a wheeled vehicle and the sing song chant of the driver. A two-wheeled cart piled high with hay and pulled by a bony ox rumbled into view.

  The two glanced at each other and Warin gave a slight nod. It would serve the purpose nicely.

  Warin mounted Citadel and, lowering the faceplate on his helm, moved into the middle of the road. He held up his hand.

  “Stop. Give me your cart.” His voice rang out, searing the chill morning air.

  The ox driver, an old man wrapped in a wolf skin, did not have to be told twice by the armed knight on horseback. Dropping the lead rein, he backed away, holding his hands up in supplication.

  “Please, my lord, do not kill me,” he whined. “Take my cart but I beg you to spare me. My wife waits with my children. I canna leave them alone, the winter is cold and long.”

  “And your hat,” Warin ordered. “Give me your hat too.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The man took off his hat and threw it to the ground. He stood there shivering with fear, greasy hair plastered to his head.

  “Now go.” Warin pointed back down the road. “And if you value your life, do not look back.”

  “Thank ye, thank ye, my lord,” the old man groveled, falling to his hands and knees before Warin. He backed up a good distance on all fours before standing up and turning tail to run.

  Warin waited for the man to disappear before calling to Bennet. “We have our cart.”

  Bennet strode out to join Warin. “Do you think the driver runs still?” He grinned and reached down to pick up the grubby hat. “I’ve never seen a man crawl so far backwards.” He jammed the hat on his head.

  Warin gave a tight smile at Bennet’s words. “Aye, he runs knowing he’s no match for an armed knight.”

  “Do you think this will work?” Bennet stood beside the ox, holding onto the lead with one hand, adjusting the hat with his other. “It’s a tight fit. Will I pass as the driver?”

  “It will work.” Certainty filled Warin’s voice. It had to work. Alyna’s life depended on it.

  He swung down off of Citadel. “Here.” He kicked at the snow and dirt of the roadway. “Dirty your face.”

  “Aye, and this.” Bennet leaned down and slashed at the hem of his tunic, giving it a ragged appearance. For good measure, he took off his cloak and rubbed it in the muddy snow before throwing it over his shoulders with an exaggerated swirl. He looked to Warin. “How do I look now?”

  Warin laughed at Bennet’s smug expression. “You play the role well. Mayhap you missed your calling in life and are better suited as ox driver than knight.”

  “Or mummer,” Bennet replied cheerfully. “What next?”

  “Wait here.” Warin grabbed the reins of Citadel and stalked away into the woods. He re-appeared a short while later. “The horses should be safe for awhile, we only need enough time to deliver the hay to the stable. When you return, pull the cart off the road and conceal it well. Get the horses and find a hidden spot to watch for us.”

  “Aye, to drive a cart is simple enough and the distance is short. I have the easy task. It is you, my lord, who faces danger.”

  “Danger?” Warin shrugged. “Dangerous it may be but danger for a purpose is different than foolhardy danger. It heightens the senses and makes a man keen.”

  “You’re not afraid?”

  “For me, nay.” Warin shook his head. “It’s only fear if you let it become fear. Faulkenburg is a small keep and poorly manned. I will succeed.”

  “Aye, you will,” Bennet announced, nodding stoutly. “And Warin?”

  “Aye?” Warin grunted as he hoisted himself up onto the back of the cart.

  “Lady Alyna is courageous. Hold fast.”

  Warin paused, legs dangling over the back of the cart. “Your declaration is heartening, Bennet. I can’t deny I worry for her.”

  “She’s unharmed and waits only for your rescue.”

  Bennet’s words were reassuring and Warin was grateful for them.

  “You are a true friend, Bennet.” Warin clasped Bennet’s hand. “I would have none but you at my side on this day.”

  “And you.” Bennet’s voice rasped with emotion. He rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat. “I, that is….” His words trailed away.

  “Enough, Bennet,” Warin advised. “We stand here like two besotted fools when there is much to be done.” He began digging through the hay. “Help me.”

  “Aye.” Bennet jumped to Warin’s aid, covering him with the cart’s contents.

  Warin lay back and grasped his sword firmly in his right hand, keeping his left hand firmly over his face. The hay pricked him in a hundred places, even through the seams of his leather jerkin. He had removed his mail and left it behind with the horses. Its weight would hinder him, and too, it clinked when he moved and the noise would give him away.

  “The cart appears just as before?” he asked. Dust tickled his nose and he fought the urge to sneeze. God’s blood, he was uncomfortable.

  “Aye.” The hay muffled Bennet’s voice.

  “Then let us go.”

  “We’re away,” Bennet mumbled. And with a lurch, the cart began to trundle up the road towards Faulkenburg keep.

  But Warin had lied when he had told Bennet he was unafraid. The truth was, he was deathly afraid.

  Afraid for Alyna.

  Afraid that mayhap she lay dead already, that Alan had lied about holding her for ransom.

  Afraid that the key to his happiness would be snatched away from him before he even had a chance to turn it.

  The fates could not be that cruel, could they? He was a fighting man and he had been given a chance to save a life rather than take a life. He need not stand by helpless and lose her. He could save her, proving for once and for all that he deserved to live.

  The journey to the Crusades was supposed to have absolved him, but it hadn’t worked that way at all. Instead, he battled with the demons of participating in a war he now saw as fruitless. Thousands had died but he had survived, wasn’t that a sign the heavens favored him, that he had earned the right to live?

  And now he could rescue Alyna. The Lord had given him one last chance for absolution. He, Warin, would rescue Alyna, or die trying. Without her there would be nothing for him, only more demons to join the hundreds already milling through his mind.

  The wheels of the cart bounced on the frozen ruts of the road with such force his head bounced on the flat bed. The sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. The time had come to focus on what he needed to do.

  He gritted his teeth. Straw poked at his ears and he had to resist the urge to clear it away. Any movement might expose his presence before the eyes of the sentry.

  They rumbled unchallenged over the drawbridge and through the gatehouse. Finally, he heard Bennet’s voice, calm and reassuring. “We’re here, at the stable.”

  Warin shifted and m
ade as if to sit.

  “Wait, my lord. Someone comes,” Bennet hissed. With an inward groan, Warin remained still.

  “Good day,” Bennet’s voice was non-assuming, but a little more high-pitched than usual. Whether by intent or by nerves, Warin couldn’t decide.

  “Where is Herlewin?” The unknown voice was brusque, arrogant.

  “Ill. He bade me come in his stead,” Bennet replied evenly.

  “Ill?” The other man snorted. “Herlewin likes to lie abed and seizes upon any excuse to do so.”

  Silence reigned for a moment then a sword clanged, as if its wearer shifted it to a more comfortable position. “Who are you? I’ve not met you before.”

  “Ranulf.”

  “Ranulf? And how come you to be in the village?”

  “Herlewin’s wife is sister to my wife,” Bennet lied smoothly. “Raiders burnt down our hut and stole our cattle. We’ve traveled far in search of shelter.”

  “You seek shelter with Herlewin?” The other man guffawed. “I wouldn’t call his hovel shelter. The roof thatch rots and the walls bow. You’d do better to live in the woods.”

  “Ah well,” Bennet sighed, “my wife wishes to live with her sister. I do as I am told, it’s easier that way.”

  “Aye,” the other man snickered. “A wise man avoids a woman’s shrewish tongue.” His tone was insulting, as if trying to provoke Bennet.

  Bennet, however, would not rise to the bait.

  “We’re only here until the spring,” he replied mildly, “then we’ll move on. If you please, good sir, I wish to deliver the hay and return home. The day is chill and a warm fire and a mug of ale await me. Where do you want this?”

  “Over there.”

  “As you wish,” Bennet said. Warin heard him croon softly to the ox as the cart lurched and rolled a little. “Here?”

  “Aye,” said the other. “And tell Herlewin that Wimarc finds him an idle knave. Mayhap you, Ranulf, should take Herlewin’s place and send him on his way, for you appear much stronger than he.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Bennet chuckled, ostensibly amused by the comment. “But neither he nor his wife will be happy to hear it.”