A Restless Knight (Dragons of Challon Book 1)

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “Challon...” The Kenning suddenly slammed into Tamlyn.

  Flashes of men crying, of horses screaming. Arrows flying through the sky. The horrible sound as they embedded in flesh and bone. Several plowed into the side of a steed, belonging to one of Challon’s squires—the oldest one, Gervase. The mighty horse went down in a stream of blood and agony. She saw the young man’s agonized expression, but yet, he did not hesitate to move before her, covering her with his long shield. Tamlyn’s mind searched frantically, desperate to see Challon within the new vision. She sat paralyzed by the horror, the frantic uncertainty.

  “Tamlyn, I take heart in your worry for me. But you needs must learn to accept this part of my life. Our life. I have come to protect this valley and all the people within Glen Shane. I neither care if they be Scots or English. If they raise hand against any in this vale they shall pay the price.”

  Still caught in the tendrils of The Kenning, her mind strained to hang on to the fading wisps of the foreseeing, searching for some hope Challon would be safe. “I...I...” She tried to form a reply.

  “I assured Sir Priest the May Day celebration shall take place on the morrow. We cannot do so with these men of Comyn lingering in the shadow of Kinmarch. I am not sure how long I shall be at the task. Do not fret.” His hands took hold of her shoulders. “Stay within the curtain until I return. No herb gathering, eh?”

  Tamlyn nodded, looking down, wanting to understand more of this vision. She would do as he asked, though there was little danger to her since they were Scots. They were just men trying to return to their homes. The threat was for him.

  As if sensing the bend of her mind, Challon’s fingers lifted her chin so she was forced to look up to meet his eyes. “Warfare changes men, Tamlyn. You have no idea. High ideas of chivalry and of honor are ground into the dirt. Harbor no loyalty or sympathy for these men, thinking they shall treat you fair because you be Scot. Right now, they are desperate. All is lost for them―their homes, their lands. Longshanks will see every keep, peel tower, castle and stronghold in the Highlands with a new lord―an English lord―before he be done. They know that. There is no going home for them. They lurk in the woods, living off the land, and stealing from other clans. These men live on hatred to survive, and hope to fight another day. This turns their minds inward. They would not hesitate a heartbeat to kill, rape or make prisoner of you or the people in this glen. You have too much. You retain all through my being lord here. They shall resent that. Resent you. Do you grasp this?”

  Tamlyn nodded, unable to voice her sadness and her fears. Men fighting, dying, this was something that never touched her world before. Nay, she did not understand it. Did not want to understand it.

  “I know you view my coming as a penance. You still be lady of this holding. Other than marriage to me, you shan’t suffer because of the Scots’ rebellion. You are to be the bride of the Dragon of Challon. There are many who would seize you and try to use you against me. ’Tis of import you believe that.”

  Tamlyn sensed he imparted truth. Somehow, the enormity was much to wrap her mind around. In just a few days, her life had been put on its head and spun about. Glenrogha’s gates had always been opened in well-come to her countrymen. Now, those same men were to be eyed with suspicion, even fear. The gates would remain closed and the enemy she so dreaded was now their protector.

  “I know this is strange to you. Give it time, Tamlyn. Once we wed—”

  In spite of her fear over his safety, it rankled when he spoke of the wedding. He was deciding all. It rubbed against the grain. “You do no’ ask, my lord. You demand. Say I this—there shall be no marriage betwixt us, until you offer true compromise. I ask two things. Two things only. ’Tis no’ much. I shall no’ marry with you unless you wed me in our ways—not just the Christian ceremony—but in the rites of the Auld Faith…”

  “Agreed.” he laughed, “though I have no idea to what I just consented. And the second?”

  “You will help see my lord father is made free.”

  “Tamlyn, despite once being the king’s champion, I now hold little sway with Edward. No one does,” Challon admitted.

  “Surely, he would listen to you?”

  “Know that I would grant this if it were within my power. You ask for something beyond my control.”

  “I do no’ request much, Challon. Meet these conditions and I will no’ fight you about marriage,” Tamlyn begged.

  Sounds of his squires outside the room signaled he was out of time. He frowned toward the door, and then turned back to her. “We shall discuss this further when I return.”

  “You speak need for compromise. I have. Now I say you compromise. Please, Challon.”

  He grabbed her upper arms, yanking her so his mouth could cover hers. Not in gentle wooing, but in a hot demand, as if he could change her will through a kiss. At first she held back, hurt by his refusal to help her father, but his dark magic spiraled, swirling about her in a heady storm of sensations. Resistance crumbled like a curtain wall under siege.

  He broke the kiss, pressing her tight to his chest, so tight it hurt to breathe, his hand fisting in her hair at the back of her head. Then, he released her, and strode to the door.

  He paused in the deep shadows to glance back at her. “We speak again upon these matters. I give my word.” Sword rattling with each step, he was gone.

  Tamlyn slid beneath the bedcovers where he had lain, absorbing his remaining heat. Running a finger over her swollen lips, she tasted Challon’s kiss. Her mind struggled, trying to reach out to the horrible vision. She could summon the same pieces so clearly, but she could find naught to tell her more. Reason finally pushed back the worry, and told her that she had seen Gervase covering her with his shield to protect her from the arrows. Her heart lurched and then beat steady again. ’Twas clear—she had to be there. Since Challon rode without her this morn, the vision was not near, but something that would come in the distant future.

  ♦◊♦

  Julian stood beside Lasher, impatient as Gervase adjusted the long shield on his left arm. The fog was thick, blanketing everything, but he was coming to learn this was typical for Glen Shane. Haar the Scots called it. The grey mists hovered low, shrouding the landscape until the sun finally rose over the craigs and burned it off, only to creep back on cat feet at the approach of gloaming.

  Off toward the passes, he heard those bloody ravens screeching and raising a fuss. ’Twas odd so many of them flocked together, staying close to the entrance of the glen.

  Lasher shifted nervously from hoof-to-hoof. Then, he saw why. Tamlyn’s grey mare was fussing in the barn. He wondered if she were coming in season. If so, he would breed her with Lasher or Dragon’s Blood, though he feared Tamlyn might raise objection.

  He slid his hand down the charger’s muscular neck. “Eager to mount your lady, my fine steed? I know the feeling.”

  He put his foot in the stirrup. As he swung into the saddle, he caught a glimpse of Tamlyn at the window of the solar of the lord’s chambers. She watched him preparing to leave. For a brief bend in time, their eyes locked, and he saw little but her. It took all his willpower not to dismount, storm back into the tower, and take her.

  He patted his horse again. “Aye, I know the feeling well,” he said under his breath.

  Damian reined his stallion before Julian’s, his eyes taking in what his cousin saw. “Queer morn, eh? Those bloody ravens seem to nest in the passes. Almost as if guardians.”

  “Aye, never knew so many to stay in the same place, outside of ones at the White Tower.”

  “Strange, they be carrion birds, but the Scots consider them sacred.” Damian added, “My lady mother spoke of them as bringers of foretellings of great import or death. Likely, why she designed the Ravenhawke crest for my lord father when they first wed. I can see why the Scots believe them to be part of an enchantment.”

  Julian gave a nod to Tamlyn, but received no show of recognition in return. He supposed she was still upset tha
t he refused to agree to help her lord father. Damn it! If only he could. Fetching the man from Edward’s prison would go a long way to setting his upcoming marriage to Tamlyn upon the right footing. He could not very well explain Longshanks had ordered his marriage to Tamlyn not as a reward, but punishment.

  As he turned Lasher toward the gates, he noticed Damian’s eyes lingered on the woman in the solar window. His cousin had not made prisoner of her father. He would not bear that taint in her eyes. Irritated at the prospect, he spurred Lasher forward, leading his men out of the bailey.

  Damian finally caught up, keeping pace at his side. They rode across the dead angle, their silence companionable, albeit cool. They had grown up as brothers, thus Julian found it hard to remain angry with his cousin.

  Soon, Damian would go to lay claim to Lyonglen. And Julian had to admit having him so close would make it easier for him to manage his lands. He was surprised Edward had permitted that. The king could have awarded the holding to anyone, but this way, the man to assume control would be the estranged grandson Lyonglen had never seen. Lyonglen would still be held by the family. With Damian the baron of the ancient holding in the valley beyond, Glen Shane’s position would be all the more secure.

  Damian broke the solitude with a question. The wrong question. “Is the Lady Tamlyn resigned to this forced marriage?”

  Julian looked to his side, sizing up Damian’s mood. He gave him a half-truth. “Tamlyn consented. She spoke of wedding preparations upon rising this morn.”

  His cousin watched Julian with hooded eyes. “She seemed resigned enough last night, but did you ever give her any choice?”

  “Neither of us had a choice. Edward decreed it. I am satisfied. She shall make a good lady wife,” Julian snapped, wanting to reach out and punch his cousin in his handsome face.

  “I see your understanding of the gentler sex has not improved,” his cousin mocked.

  “Gentler?” Julian snorted a laugh. “The females of Glen Shane are a bloody hazard to the English male. Word came this morn that Destain took an arrow to his leg when they stormed Kinloch. The Scots foolishly tried to put up a resistance—led by a woman-child in Lady Raven’s absence. A bolt from her small crossbow! A female not yet marriageable age was rallying Kinloch’s people to fight. I sent word to Guillaume at Lochshane to dispatch the lady of Kinloch to care for my brother and see he is returned to good health. You want to know the reply that came back? The baroness said that Annelee always did aim a bit low, but she would do as I bid. Even you, with your St. Giles potent charms, might find them troublesome.”

  “Troublesome or not, handle Lady Tamlyn softly.” Damian’s grey-green eyes narrowed on him. “I love you as a brother, Julian, but if ever you raise hand to Tamlyn, I shall kill you.”

  “Cousin, we have traveled long, hard roads together. ’Twould be a shame if your misplaced regard for my betrothed should come between us.”

  ♦◊♦

  There was plenty to occupy Tamlyn whilst Challon and Ravenhawke hunted the rebels from Clan Comyn.

  Taking pause from the morning care of the wounded, she reflected on how everything in her life had changed so quickly. Yet, no one at Glenrogha voiced concern the Earl Challon now chased Scotsmen away from their glen. In part, mayhap, because the Scots they sought were Comyn men.

  Few here held love of the mighty clan up north. The Comyns descended from ancient bloodlines through Pictish heiresses, same as the Ogilvies. This usually drew respect amongst the Scots. Animosity arose due to their constant greed, which through one means or another now saw a big portion of the Highlands under their control, and John Comyn, Wolf of Badenock, at the head of the Scottish army. They were powerful, holding thirteen Scottish earldoms, and fiercely determined to press their claim to the crown of the Scots. Still, bitter feelings were long held by some, resulting from actions of a cadet branch called Quhele. To mortar their hold in Dunkeld, the Quheles invited their rivals—the MacIains—to a gathering. At the given moment, a head of a black bull was fetched in on a platter―an ancient symbol of the killing of an enemy’s chief. ’Twas a signal. The Comyns rose and slayed all the MacIain men. The incident demonstrated their utter ruthlessness.

  On numerous occasions, trouble had arisen between the Comyns and Ogilvies over proposed alliances, going back to before Tamlyn was born. More than once, men of their clan had attempted to abduct her aunts, with aim to forcing them into marriages. Hadrian had even killed Balin Comyn for setting into motion a plan to kidnap her mother on their wedding night. Again, years later, they had sent forth offers for Tamlyn and her sisters. When they received a nay from her father, they plotted to steal Rowanne away, and nearly succeeded. They had her sister halfway to Badenoch before Rowanne had broken the nose of the chief’s son and made good her escape. Their chieftains remained most desirous of getting a footing established in an area that could see them coming and going to the south with ease, so they were, and are, a constant thorn in Clan Ogilvie’s backside.

  The enemy of my enemy is my friend. That long held enmity now worked in favor of Julian Challon.

  Still, in spite of that old hatred, it did naught to diminish the respect earned by Challon. The legend of the Black Dragon, a man once a king’s champion, bespoke he was a powerful warrior. A man who could be trusted to protect this valley. Bessa’s fine hand was at work in this. Tides The Shane thought to make a match between Challon and his youngest daughter— supported by Evelynour’s visions and foretellings—went a long way to easing his support in Glen Shane.

  Curious to hear another’s words upon this matter, Tamlyn spotted Auld Angus and went to ask his thoughts. As an elder of Clan Ogilvie, his word held great sway with the other men.

  The grey-haired man sipped the cup of warmed mead, and watched her with knowing eyes, as he sat in the corner near the fireplace. “Tamlyn, if our Hadrian sought a bond with the Black Dragon, ’twas with eye that the man wouldst make you a braw husband. After seeing the Earl Challon, speaking with him, I’d say yer father chose well for ye. Oh, aye, the Dragon be English with Norman blood. Still, when he weds with ye, he becomes a man of Glen Shane. Ye can witch him into belonging to us, eh? Then, he will fight for our lands, not for the English king. Heed Evelynour’s foretellings. Speak with her if ye still hold doubts,” Angus advised in fatherly fashion. “These are bad times, lass. In the past our lands stayed protected from the fighting, but it might no’ always be thus. War changes men. Oft makes them into wounded animals. Ye be a headstrong one. Just like yer máither. But cipher, with Hadrian gone, our people need someone to take up the shield and sword to defend us.”

  War changes men, words Julian had spoken just this morn. ’Twas clear her people understood. Challon and Ravenhawke rode to safeguard the people of this valley.

  Tamlyn rose, intending to set her fortress to order. The Beltaine festival was upon them and much needed attending. First, she saw rooms prepared for her sisters’ return. With Damian staying, and then the addition of Challon’s brothers, she needed to do some shifting to see all were accommodated. Then, she needed to check with Cook concerning the May Day Cake. After the noontide meal, she conferred with the alewife about the brewing of extra ale, and left instructions for casks of wine and mead from the cellars to be carted to the stone circle. Coming to the end of her tasks, she went to care for the wounded men, seeing their bandages changed and potions given to keep their blood pure.

  Coming back from the stillroom, Tamlyn had just entered the Great Hall when she saw Rowanne and Sir Guillaume arrive. Happy to see her sister again, she rushed to embrace her. Strangely, when her sister hugged her back, she had the urge to break down and cry. ’Twas so unlike her.

  Rowanne’s expression showed shock at feeling the small tremor through her sister’s body. “Tamlyn, how fare you? You never needed anyone’s strength before. Has the fearful Dragon done something in my absence?”

  Tamlyn smiled. “I fare well. I am just happy to see you.” Her eyes moved past her sister to the tall
banneret, soon to be the Lord of Lochshane. “And matters are well for you, Rowanne?”

  “I think we make the best of the situation. I figured you wouldst need a hand with the Beltaine preparations. We heard there had been trouble, news about Comyns attacking Glenrogha?” Rowanne’s face reflected her concern.

  “Nay, they did not attack us. ’Twas riders under Lord Ravenhawke. Challon and he led a force out at dawnbreak to rid the area of Comyn men.”

  “My cousin was unharmed?” Guillaume asked, removing Rowanne’s mantle from about her shoulders.

  “He was tired, but fine, though several of his men took arrows. They are well cared for.” Tamlyn glanced around. “Where be our Raven? Did she not come with you?”

  Flashing Guillaume a look of resentment, Rowanne informed her, “The Earl Challon commanded that she be fetched to Kinloch to care for the other brother.”

  “Care? What happened, I had not heard.” Shards of the dream surfaced once again, reminding her of the attack she had seen with the second-sight.

  Guillaume offered her a smile. “It seems rebellion is bone deep and bred young in your females. A lass, barely more than a child, rallied the men there to resist.”

  Tamlyn did not have to ask. “Annelee.” For a moment, she closed her eyes against the pain building behind them.

  “I fear my brother will have a hard time living down being bested by a lass of thirteen summers.” Guillaume chuckled.

  Tamlyn begged, “Annelee? She be all right? Sir Destain? And Kinloch?”

  “Please do not beset yourself with worry, Lady Tamlyn. The skirmish was over in a thrice with none harmed save my brother. In the deep of night, he and some men scaled the fortress wall and opened the gates before alarm could be raised. His injury, it seems, was sustained in a minor scrape with the girl warrior. My brother erred in trying to take hold of the young child—with the intent of turning her over his knee for trying to raise the people to fight. In the scuffle, the small crossbow she held went off and the bolt lodged in his thigh.”