A Knight for Love

by A. M. Westerling

  “Look.” With a snarl, Alan leaned over and cut the rope from the tree with his sword. “They seek to beat us by trickery.”

  “Show yourselves!” Baldric shouted, scanning the trees about him. “Show yourselves as warriors and do not hide as cowards.”

  “De Taillur!” Alan bellowed. “Show yourself and meet your fate squarely. You travel with a woman who only slows you down – you have no hope of escape.”

  The seconds ticked by but Warin’s voice didn’t breach the stillness of the breaking dawn.

  “De Taillur!” Alan shouted again. He held his sword high, brandishing it and the polished blade gleamed in the early sun. “I challenge you!”

  Still Warin did not reply.

  “What do we do, my lord,” Wimarc asked, seemingly impatient. His hand clenched and unclenched against the pommel.

  “We wait.” Alan sat back on his saddle, resting his sword across his lap. “And don’t forget,” he twisted about to look at Baldric, “Lady Alyna is to be unharmed.”

  “I say kill her and be done with it,” Baldric grumbled.

  “Lady Philippa wishes the safe return of her niece.”

  “I don’t understand why.” Baldric shook his head.

  “What is there to understand? Alyna is with child and Philippa wishes to claim the child as her own.”

  “Lady Alyna will not give up the babe,” Baldric said.

  “Once the child is born, then she will be killed.” Alan spoke as if talking to a simpleton.

  “Is it worth the bother?” Baldric’s voice was dubious.

  “Philippa is barren. She’ll claim Caperun Keep on behalf of the real heir especially if the parents are dead. The king will have no quarrel with that.”

  “And you?”

  Alan shrugged. “I’ll wed Philippa. The Caperun lands combined with Faulkenburg will be a tidy parcel.”

  Baldric frowned at his words. What treachery was this? Philippa was to wed him, Baldric, not Alan. Philippa had professed her love for him, not Alan. Together they had gone to Faulkenburg and Philippa had pretended an interest in Alan in order to solicit his aid in reclaiming Caperun Keep. And now Alan sought to gain not only Caperun Keep, but Philippa too? His eyes narrowed and he backed his horse away a step or two.

  “Listen!” Wimarc interrupted them. “Someone comes.” He swiveled about to look. Intent on searching for signs of movement on the road behind, he didn’t see Warin charging out of the trees to his left. When he did, it was too late.

  With a roar, Warin cut Wimarc’s steed out from beneath him. The horse began to sink to the ground and he stabbed Wimarc in the chest as the other man struggled to hold his balance on the falling animal.

  Blood frothed on Wimarc’s lips and a gurgling sound came from his throat. With an incredulous look, he glanced down at the sword in his chest. He clasped his hands about the blade and with a feeble motion, tried to pull at it once, twice, before he fell back, lifeless.

  Alan saw his chance as Warin endeavored to pull the blade free. He spurred his mount and lifted his sword to attack.

  Warin, realizing what Alan was about, ducked to avoid the swooping arm as Alan careened past. He managed to free his weapon just as his opponent collected his mount to charge again.

  “I have you, de Taillur!” Alan’s voice oozed satisfaction and he spurred his horse back towards Warin.

  Warin stood his ground and again nimbly stepped aside as Alan galloped past, swinging his sword wildly at Warin’s head. He turned his mount and prepared to charge again.

  “Fight me as an equal,” Warin shouted. “Leave your horse and we fight to the finish, man to man.”

  Alan hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing his odds. “Aye,” he agreed, sliding off his horse. He took a few steps towards Warin. “It will be more to my liking to squeeze the very life force from you with my bare hands.”

  “As you say,” Warin said coolly, ignoring the taunting words. He stood in the middle of the road, sword held upright before him in both hands. He shifted to his toes in preparation for the initial blow.

  Bennet, meanwhile, engaged in duel with Baldric. He managed to parry a few strokes from the much larger man before Baldric smote him in the head. Dazed, Bennet fell to his knees then dropped over on his side. His eyes fluttered shut and he sagged against the ground. Baldric prodded Bennet’s limp form then hung back to watch the battle fought by Warin and Alan.

  Horror gripped Alyna. Bennet is dead! She screamed it in her mind. Nay, not Bennet, he is to be godfather to our babe! She clenched her hands together in supplication. It cannot be, she prayed. She closed her eyes for a moment then forced herself to continue watching the battle. However fruitless her escape attempt might be, she must be prepared to flee if the time came.

  She opened her eyes in time to see Warin slip on the frosted road, falling heavily onto his back, his sword flopping out of reach.

  Without thinking and disregarding the warning given to her by Warin, Alyna screamed.

  “Warin, no!” She wanted to move, wanted to run to help him but her legs wouldn’t obey.

  Instead, she kept her gaze on the tableau unfolding in agonizing slowness, kept her gaze on Warin lying helpless on the ground as Alan advanced on him, sword first.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Warin struggled to rise but the mail hindered his movements. He turned his head to gauge the distance to where his sword lay and the other man saw his chance.

  With a triumphant howl, Alan raised his sword high in both arms for the fatal stroke. For a heartbeat he held the weapon high then slowly he lowered it. “There’s no sport in killing a helpless man. Get up,” he ordered.

  Warin managed to sit upright. Steely calm enveloped him. He would not succumb to despair. Aye, the odds at this instant favored Alan but arrogance filled the man. He, Warin, would use that arrogance to his advantage.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bennet stir. Time, he must buy time for Bennet to recover. Of Baldric he saw naught, hence no immediate threat lay there.

  Warin fixed his gaze on Alan, holding his attention. “First you claim to desire a fair fight, equal with equal. And now you stalk an unarmed man? You worthless cur, do the rules of chivalry mean naught to you?”

  A dull flush swept over the other man’s face; his lips thinned. “Now you die,” he roared. “And your wife will know the exact moment you do, for I heard her scream and know she’s nearby.” Alan raised his arms again, the edge of his blade catching the early sun like a sliver of death.

  “No, Alan of Faulkenburg. It is not my time to die,” Warin growled, remembering Alyna’s words of long ago. She had believed in him and had given him pardon. Her remembered words strengthened his resolve and he knew he would not fail her.

  He kept his eyes on his enemy’s face as he placed one hand on the ground beside him in an effort to lever himself to his feet. With the other, he felt around for his sword. He clasped his hand around the hilt, drawing from the power coursing through the blade. “Why do you pretend to honorable behavior,” he taunted. “You threaten a disadvantaged man with death. Kill me now and be done with it.”

  “You will die but I’ll wait for you to stand. To kill you while defenseless is too easy of a death. I prefer to watch you suffer. Like this.” Alan sliced Warin across the arm and blood striped the sleeve. “And this.” A second bloodied line striped the sleeve below the first.

  At Warin’s flinch, he laughed. “More wounds will cover your body before you draw your final breath. And while you die, the greatest wound to you is the knowledge I’ll claim your wife and unborn babe as the prize. You’re powerless to save them.”

  “Babe? You jest, Alyna carries no babe.” Babe, what nonsense did Alan spew? Impossible. He would have known if Alyna carried a child, a wife would freely share that with her husband.

  But if it were true, he would have the family and the future he so wanted.

  He must hear the truth from Alyna. And to do that, Alan must be vanquished. Hope fla
red in Warin’s breast and he readied himself to spring to his feet at the opportune moment.

  “Aye, she does. And when she is delivered of the babe, your wife will meet the same fate as you. Philippa and I will claim the child, and Caperun Keep, as our own.”

  Hate twisted Warin’s guts at the gloating words. He wanted nothing more than to pierce Alan’s heart but he forced himself to remain on the ground. He had to keep his foe talking – Bennet crept on silent feet, only a few steps from Alan’s back.

  “Any child of mine would know you’re not his father. You’re witless, a worm seeking to gain riches on the backs of a newborn babe and a shrew.” Warin shook his head. “You fancy yourself a warrior but you’re useless.”

  The insults had the desired effect. Anger cloaked Alan’s face. “No more of your false words. Now you die.” He raised his sword arm overhead. At that instant, Bennet raised his sword and swung it down, down, slicing through his enemy’s shoulder.

  The blow from behind caught Alan unawares. His sword dropped from nerveless fingers to the ground. Cradling his injured shoulder, he watched with disbelieving eyes as Warin sprang to his feet and lunged forward, sword extended. Alan grunted as Warin’s sword pierced his midriff then collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

  Blood trickling from his temple into his unruly beard, chest heaving from the effort, Bennet slowly lowered his sword. Swaying slightly, he rested on the tip as he watched Alan fall.

  “My lord?” He managed to ask before sinking to his knees.

  “Thank you, my friend. The hardest thing for me was to pretend helplessness to hold Alan’s attention while you crept to him.”

  “Aye,” Bennet agreed, heaving a ragged breath. “I know you for the warrior you are.”

  “Ah well,” Warin shrugged. “Sometimes the bravest man is one who does not raise his sword.” He looked around for Baldric. The fight would not end until that one had been defeated as well. Where was he?

  *****

  Baldric watched Bennet creep towards Alan. He made no move to assist Alan but watched as Bennet struck the first blow. Alan faced his doom, but he, Baldric must save his own skin.

  And before he did, he had to find Alyna and take her with him, back to Faulkenburg. It was what his Philippa wanted, a babe to raise as her own. And if he brought Alyna back, and with Alan gone, then Philippa would be his again. He would have it all – Faulkenburg, Caperun Keep, Philippa and a child.

  He must act fast. The battle between Warin, Bennet and Alan would soon be over and then they would hunt for him. By then he would be on his way with a hostage to provide him safe passage.

  Indifferent to his companion’s fate, he turned to follow the tracks leading to his prey.

  *****

  A scream pierced the air.

  Alyna.

  Warin charged up the hill, pushing through the trees as if made from thin air. Fear gripped his heart at the scene that met his eyes.

  Alyna perched on Citadel’s broad back, reins in one hand, pommel clenched in the other, while Baldric yanked on the stirrup trying to dislodge the saddle. She kicked at him but the horse stood so tall her foot barely grazed the top of his helm. Baldric dropped the stirrup and reached up to grab her ankle. Desperate, Alyna leaned away, pulling against the pommel, trying to free herself.

  Citadel had been trained well, for the horse stood solid against the altercation. For that Warin was thankful – the last thing he needed was his destrier plunging and bucking wildly.

  “I have you now,” Baldric gloated, pulling on Alyna’s ankle with both hands. “Come, Philippa will be pleased to see you.”

  “Let her go.” Warin’s voice sliced whip keen through the morning air. His sword arm trembled with the effort of holding back the killing blow but it was too dangerous to Alyna. He might strike her by mistake. He had to get Baldric to loosen his grip. “Let her go,” he repeated.

  “Wh-what?” Baldric hadn’t heard Warin coming. He let go of Alyna’s foot to swing about, reaching for his sword as he did so. Warin’s blow flew so swiftly that hand never touched hilt. Baldric crumpled and fell on his back and in an instant, Warin stood over him, sword point at his throat.

  A pulse pounded in Baldric’s neck, saliva flecked his lips. “Kill me,” he whispered.

  Warin leaned on his sword and a drop of Baldric’s blood quivered on the silver tip. “Aye. I should kill you.” He pressed a little harder and Baldric flinched; a second drop of blood joined the first one.

  “Do it.” Baldric could barely force the words past the sword jammed against his larynx.

  Rage mingled with blood lust and Warin’s hand shook with the effort not to plunge the blade deeper. “I should. But I won’t. King Henry will judge you. And anything you endure at his hands will be worse than the quick death I could give you. The king does not suffer traitors gladly.” He stepped back and rested his sword on the ground. “And when the king is finished with you, the Almighty will judge you as well.” He tipped his head back and looked at the sky, bright with the promise of a new day.

  The prospect of further bloodshed wearied him. It wasn’t his place to punish Baldric or any man, for that matter. Other men, men with wisdom and courage, could and would mete out punishment. He, Warin, only wanted to hold his sweet wife close to him.

  “I’ve killed enough men,” he murmured. Slowly he sheathed his sword, turning to look for Alyna as he did so.

  “Have a care, my lord!” Bennet’s shout reverberated through the clearing, startling a few sparrows who chirped in fear as they fluttered up into the sky.

  Bennet lunged past him and plunged his sword deep into Baldric’s stomach. He twisted the sword once, twice, before turning to face Warin. “He meant to kill you, my lord. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “Warin!” Alyna slid off Citadel and held her skirts aside as she sidled past Baldric, pretending not to see the bloodied hand he lifted to her. She felt nothing for him. He had betrayed her family and had come to a just demise. She only wanted to run to Warin, to the comfort of his arms.

  “I am loyal only to myself,” Baldric mumbled to Alyna. Pain glazed his face and twisted his lips.

  Pity stirred her. She stopped then, unsure of what to do, and looked to her husband for guidance. His cherished face filled her vision, a slight smile softening his lips, the blue eyes encouraging.

  “We are safe,” he said gently. “We have a lifetime to share but a dying man has but a few moments. Give him the succor he needs.”

  Her heart swelled with love at his kind words. Only a good man would think of the needs of the dying, even for one who did not deserve compassion. Nodding, she knelt beside Baldric to hear him out.

  Baldric’s eyes began to cloud and he spoke with great effort. “I thought allegiance only to myself would see my goal but it didn’t come to pass. Do not berate me, Lady Alyna. I sought to further myself but I wronged you and David, I see it now.”

  “Nay, Baldric, I do not berate you,” she murmured, tears stinging her eyes at the thought of David. “All has come to a fine ending.”

  “Warin de Taillur is a noble man, worthy of you and Caperun Keep.” Groans of pain punctuated Baldric’s whispered words. “Alan de Faulkenburg promised much but he didn’t keep his word. He stole Philippa from me. He deserved to die.” His eyes closed. “And Philippa.” He coughed and blood flecked his lips. “She professed words of love yet tossed me aside like offal. I thought to win her back by bringing you to her. But blinded by love and greed as I was, I didn’t see her true nature until now, now that death stares me in the face.”

  “Don’t speak of things that pain you, Baldric. What is past, is past.”

  “Live well, Lady Alyna. I go to make amends to your brother and father.” His head fell back.

  “And they will welcome you,” Alyna replied softly. She pulled his cloak over his face and stood, looking for Warin.

  “I’m here.” He held his arms out in welcome.

  She ran to him then and hugged him cl
ose, secure in his sheltering arms.

  “I love you.” Unsure of his reaction, she said it very softly. The simple admission filled her with such relief, such joy, that she clung to him tightly for if she were to let go, she would float up and disappear into the sky.

  “And I you,” he whispered in her hair. “Let’s go home.”

  And as he said it, a wonderful feeling of peace washed through him.

  Home.

  He was home. Home was not lands, or a scattering of buildings, or even a cozy hut. Home was here, in Alyna’s arms. Home was having her by his side. Home was having her love.

  The smile that crossed his lips fair split his face in two. He bent his head to kiss her, to drink from her lips. She kissed him back, too, eagerly, leaning hard into him.

  A laugh of pure joy burst from him and within seconds, her laughter joined his. They stood, laughing like fools until Bennet grew concerned.

  “My lord Warin? Lady Alyna? Is there a jest I’ve missed?”

  “Nay, no jest.” They answered in unison and that set them off again, their laughter echoing into the trees surrounding them.

  Bennet joined in and the three of them stood, heads tilted back, roaring with laughter until tears streamed down their faces and they gasped for breath.

  “Enough,” Warin said finally, wiping his eyes. “We must go.” He couldn’t resist brushing his hand across her belly – mayhap new life bloomed there. When they reached Caperun Keep he would ask her about the babe.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The trip to Caperun Keep passed in a blur. Fearing reprisal over the deaths of Alan, Baldric and Wimarc, they had continued on at frantic pace, riding through the night and easing up only after encountering Gerard and his men on the road. However, they still did not rest easy until within the welcoming confines of the bailey.

  The great hall had been held in readiness for their return – the yule log still burned, ivy still covered the tables and even the mistletoe hung intact with fat clumps of berries.