A Restless Knight (Dragons of Challon Book 1)

by Deborah MacGillivray

  John Pendegast, glared at Challon, then looked past him to fix his stare on Tamlyn. In spite of the heat, she felt a shiver crawl over her skin. The cold black eyes, so like looking into Dirk’s, made Tamlyn feel like she looked into a grave.

  “Lady Challon, suas ri sinn a 'coinneachadh a-rithist.” He inclined his head slightly and then turned on his heels, stomping away. followed by Ambroise Pendegast.

  Tamlyn was pleased the Bruces timely arrival had diffused the confrontation. Still, she had an odd sense of foreboding that Sir Dirk’s brothers had not dropped the matter.

  Suas ri sinn a 'coinneachadh a-rithist...until we meet again.

  ♦◊♦

  Aithinne and she shared the bed. Pallets had been placed on the floor on either side, where Damian and Challon rested. Their four squires slept just inside the door, and several Challon knights were camped on pallets along the walls outside the door. She had a feeling Challon wanted them close because of the possible threat from the Pendegasts.

  She had heard him tossing and turning. On edge, he had not found his rest. Tamlyn glanced over to see he stood, staring out the arrow loop toward the night sky. He appeared tired…worried.

  Scooting on her hip, she watched his still form. Clad only in a short length of white linen about his hips, his back was tensed. Still, she was not surprised he failed to find rest. Being here brought back all the horrible memories. She had only experienced his memories. He had lived the nightmare. She wanted to see his face, know that he was all right.

  Carefully, Tamlyn eased off the bed, trying not to waken Aithinne, who had finally fallen asleep. Her steps were silent, but she sensed Challon was aware of her approach. His whole body tensed.

  She gently placed her hand on his back. “Challon,” she whispered.

  His head stayed hidden in the shadows, as if he did not want her to see his face. At last, the reply came. “You should rest. I will do my best to get Edward to let us leave on the morrow. He has paraded the Dragon of Challon before all to see that I am still his loyal lapdog. Hopefully, that shall be enough. Then, we can be quit of this hellhole. Two pregnant Scots carrying English babes in their bellies see the king quite pleased with himself.

  When his stance stayed shut off from her, Tamlyn ducked under his arm, braced against the wall. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “I want to explain―”

  “Later, Tamlyn. I have little liking for discussing our troubles before others. Wait until we return to Glenrogha.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he swooped down and claimed her lips with his. He backed her against the cold stone wall, letting her feel the hardness of his body, his erection, yet keeping his full weight off her. His kiss was not gentle. Not rough. Just insistent, as if he used it to silence her. But soon, domination gentled and he kissed her so slowly, so exquisitely, that a mewing arose in the back of her throat.

  He broke the kiss, leaning his head to hers. “Go to bed, wench, before I take you here before all.”

  He had kissed her. He wanted her. But he did not believe her. The Kenning read his thoughts so clearly. For a time, she had sensed his need for her and thought everything would be fine once she explained. Now, she knew he was holding her at arm’s length emotionally. “I thought you believed me―”

  “Go to bed, Tamlyn.” Challon turned away to look out the window, shutting her out completely. With a finality that brought a dagger to her heart.

  ”Challon…” Under this untruth between them, she hesitated to bring up the question, but she could not let it pass.

  “What is it, Tamlyn? ’Tis late and you need your rest.

  “My father…might I ask about his fate?”

  “No.” His reply was curt and final.

  She shuddered, as if he had slapped her. Even so, she could not leave it at that. “Surely, it would no’ hurt to ask after his wellbeing? Mayhap the king would grant me permission to see him.”

  “I said no, and by damn, that is the end of it, Tamlyn. I will hear no more on the matter. Edward is fickle in his tempers. Some days he is full of humor, and might even be thought wise. Of late, his mood sours and he is infected with a distemper that is staggering. Your father brought his fate upon his head when he rode out under the Scots banner at Dunbar. Thus far, the king is pleased that we have wed and you breed with my child. On the morrow, we shall quit this becursed place. I want nothing to change his humor until we are long gone. I am determined to quit Berwick in as much regard as I can conjure. You are now Lady Challon. That sits well with the king. I shall not risk changing his fickle whim by having him recall you are also the daughter of the Earl Kinmarch.”

  Tamlyn nodded sadly, and went back to the bed, fearing she would get little sleep this night. Fearing neither would Challon

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Far am bi do gharadh, bidh do thathaich.

  (Where your love is, your haunting will be.)

  — Auld Scots Adage

  Tamlyn hated how Longshanks had derived great pleasure from parading Aithinne and her before all, showing these Pictish heiresses were under the power of his mighty English knights. Each time they were forced to attend a gathering, it took all her will—and kicks under the table to Aithinne’s ankle—to see they both remained placid before the arrogant monarch. Her face ached from the strain of keeping the perpetual smile in place.

  After breaking fast, Challon and St. Giles had taken their meeting with Edward. Tamlyn barely ate. Between the waves of morning sickness threatening, and the worry of what was transpiring behind closed doors, she had no stomach for food.

  In spite of the tale Challon had spake to Dirk’s brother, Challon had to justify his righteous killing of Dirk Pendegast. Tamlyn prayed the king would see the man’s death in that light. She closed her eyes and spoke dark words that they would soon be quit of this foul place. She sat in the hallway with Aithinne, waiting, trembling. Her eyes remained fixed on the oak door, as if she could discern what was being said on the other side. When laughter erupted from the room, the tension inside her eased a bit.

  Challon came out. Alone. The lines around his mouth had eased faintly, so she knew the matter had gone in his favor. He gave her a faint nod, saying Edward understood and deemed God had spoken through the outcome of the Trial by Combat. The matter ended there.

  “Aithinne, please go in. The king wisheth to speak with Damian and you alone,” he instructed, yet his countenance revealing naught else.

  Aithinne rose stiffly, lifting up the sides of her kirtle so she would not trip. Her hazel brown eyes flashed her mislike of going before the king. The slight incline of her head said that she would do as Tamlyn advised her: play submissive and accepting, no matter what was said or done.

  Tamlyn watched as her cousin enter the large chambers, as if she were going to an execution. She so hoped Aithinne would follow her own path as she had from the start—use her mind, not her emotions in dealing with an overwhelming situation.

  She turned to Julian, wanting to seek comfort, but knowing he would be angry with her for letting her guard down. The small passage was narrow and dark, and only lit by the light coming through the narrow slip of the arrow loop opening.

  His incisive eyes narrowed upon her, and then he grabbed her by her upper arm and almost dragged her down a long corridor. When they were some distance away, he spotted a boucle de fleche, and he pushed her down to the end of the enclosure. The small passage was narrow and dark, and only lit by the light coming through the narrow slip of the arrow loop opening. Her heart was pounding to where she could barely draw breath. Knowing he was furious, she did not know what to expect.

  Challon pushed her against the wall, pinning her there. She opened her mouth to complain that just asking a question should not have brought forth such a wrath. The words never escaped. His mouth closed over hers, and he was kissing her with the violence of a storm breaking upon the cliffs of Glenrogha. His hunger, all the restrained emotions that had been held in check were unleas
hed. As wild as feelings were, this side of Challon did not scare her. She embraced his desperation, his fury, his crippling desire, and made it her own.

  Finally breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers. When several men came down the corridor, he turned so his back was to them and they could not see her. Once they were out of hearing, he spoke. “We have permission to leave come morn.”

  “Blessings from the Lady.” She leaned her head against his shoulder to draw the succor she needed.

  “No lady wouldst have anything to do with what transpires in this hell hole. We leave come dawning. Edward is so delighted with your behavior and Aithinne’s—I pray she behaves well before him now—that he quickly agreed the foul airs of this place was not good for delicate females. My second-cousin Noel de Servian shall be sent northward soon to assume control of a holding to our west.”

  “What about your other brother?”

  “For now, Darian will remain behind with my cousin Redam. I have no illusions—they are held close as hostages to ensure my continued obeying.” His tone was grim.

  Tamlyn could not stop the question from coming. “And my father?”

  “I told you—there is naught I can do. If I press this matter, then all kind concessions coming from his favor will vanish. Your lord sire made his bed, Tamlyn. To keep his head, he needs must make peace with the king. I am not stepping between them. I—we—have too much to lose. Let that be the final word on this until we are back at Glenrogha.” His words were harsh, but he reached out and dragged the outside of his first finger along her cheek. “Come, Edward’s audiences are usually short in duration.”

  Aithinne was sweeping out of the door with Damian on her heels, as they reached the king’s chamber. Her face was pale, but two rosy spots on her cheekbones bespoke her anger. “He—” Her sharp eyes glared daggers at Damian. “now rules not only as Baron Lyonglen, but of Coinnleir Wood as well. My holding by Rite of Line.”

  Damian seemed unaffected by Aithinne’s ire. “It hardly matters since—”

  “Och, it slipped my wee mind! It hardly matters since I am to be taken as lady wife by this...this...king’s jester! The world be made right, eh?” Her voice choked as she fled down the hall.

  ♦◊♦

  Even after being back to Glenrogha for a fortnight, sleep was a tenuous thing. In truth, she had not found a peaceful night’s passing since that last evening in Berwick.

  Tamlyn screamed, clawing herself out of the nightmare. She was covered in sweat and shaking. Her heart raced, pounding so hard that it vibrated her whole body, terror so bone deep she could not shake it. Her hands were fisted, so tightly, she feared she would have trouble opening them.

  “Julian!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

  Strong arms encircled her and pulled her against his chest. “Hush, lass. ’Twas naught but a night terror.”

  “Nay...no dream. ’Twas real?” She gasped, half-statement, half-question, for at this moment in the dark of night she truly was not sure.

  He kissed the side of her head. “Aye, it happened. The experience is all behind us. Pray let it rest. Please spare no more worries and fears. We are safe in Glenrogha, unharmed.”

  The reality crashed into her. “Damian. He—”

  “Yes, he took two arrows—to the leg and shoulder. ’Twas he you saw in your vision—not I. He heals. Aithinne shall see to that. Oonanne is there to dose him with all her nasty tasting potions. I am not sure they truly help, but ’tis an incentive to getting well, so you can stop taking them.” His soft laugh was meant to be reassuring.

  Still, the details lingered fresh in her mind...

  ♦◊♦

  As they waited for the early morning fog to lift, they were given a chance to speak with Challon’s kinsmen, still in service to the king. Tamlyn was most interested to meet Darian Challon, another half-brother that Julian had barely spoken about. The two reminded her of dogs with hackles on their backs, circling each other. She had no need to be told this man was of Challon blood—the wavy black hair and green eyes brooked no doubt.

  With him was a companion, a Challon cousin, Redam Maignart, Baron Raoullin. They had been out on a mission for Edward, and had missed the start of Parliament. They came riding in as the Challon party was set to decamp. Baron Raoullin had many of the Challon traits in his blood, though his face was leaner. And whilst as strikingly handsome as Julian, there was a coldness to his eyes that made Tamlyn happy Edward had not sent him to claim Glenrogha.

  Challon cut their visitation short, in a hurry to leave that foul city. Damian, too, had seemed strangely tense, alert against some unseen danger arising. His black mood hung around him like a shroud.

  As they mounted to leave, she had seen the Pendegast brothers watching from across the courtyard. A frisson slithered up her spine. She had not needed The Kenning to warn her they were bad tides, and no matter what the king had ruled, they had not let Dirk’s death drop. Though he had said nothing to indicate it, she assumed Challon’s urgency to be on the road, and to put miles between them and Berwick was mistrust of the three men. He feared the Pendegasts intended to waylay them on the journey back to Glen Shane.

  His edginess could not outpace her own. Every step of the way back, she was ever alert to spot landscapes that matched the dream. The Kenning seemed to be a constant buzz warning the attack would come soon. Still, the long ride back remained uneventful.

  The only distraction was Damian and Aithinne. The two had bickered nearly the whole distance. Aithinne was madder than a wet cat, and perversely, Damian seemed to enjoy taunting her. The two were an odd mix, but she sensed they would work matters out between them. One thing she knew: Aithinne was very deeply in love with Damian.

  Rain clouds had sounded high, near the passes on the final morn, but had not broken to shed the life-giving water upon the parched land. Tamlyn prayed for rain. Traveling through it would make matters harder, but there had been no storm in her dream. If it rained, they would remain safe.

  As they neared the middle land between to the two lochs, enough moisture hung in the air, to see the haar stayed heavy and low to the ground, so heavy it was growing hard to see very far ahead of their party. As Damian rode ahead to scout, the fog seemed to swallow everything, the landscape—even Damian on his dapple stallion Galleon.

  She knew they drew closer to the passes. The shrill cries of the ravens gave forth with the well-come back to Glen Shane. Only, something startled them; their voices were strident. They took wing, flying about frantically, screaming their discordant warning, and turning the sky black for several heart beats.

  Then, Damian came galloping out of the fog, and behind him, men melted from the shelters of the high craigs. In the first waves of arrows, Damian took one in the side of his thigh. Challon was already calling his knights and men-at-arms into a phalanx, the men unslinging their long shields to protect Aithinne and her. As Gervase and Vincent helped them from their mounts, more arrows slammed into the side of Gervase’s steed. The mighty horse went down with a bellow of agony.

  Men on foot fell upon them; riders converged from both flanks. They were trapped. Damian, still astride Galleon, rode forward to outpace the coming horsemen. As he spun the stallion around, heading for Aithinne, another arrow lodged in his left shoulder at the edge of his breastplate. Some of the attackers, armed with crossbows, moved in closer. Going for the kill. Arrows slammed into the shields, causing Tamlyn’s body to jerk in uncontrolled response with each dull thud. Even so, she struggled to see past Gervase and his shield, trying to locate Challon.

  Calling out to Aithinne, Damian rode to her, dismounting before the horse even halted. “Get down!” Instead of doing as he commanded, she tried to rush to him. He grabbed her and pushed her to the ground, trying to use his body to protect her.

  Panic rising, Tamlyn searched desperately for Challon, and finally was able to breathe again, as she saw him dismounting before her.

  “Just who the bloody hell is trying
to kill us?” Damian growled, as a pennon of a goshawk on a field of half-red, half-gold came into view on the horizon.

  In a breathless shard in time, Tamlyn saw Julian. The mighty Dragon of Challon stood before them, ready to protect her, Aithinne and the wounded Damian. Like a warrior king of old, he would kill all daring to challenge him. Or die trying.

  The pennon brought relief to Tamlyn. The goshawk belonged to a distant clan. “Nay, no’ be foe, Challon. That be the standard of Grant Drummond. Duncan MacThomas rides at his side. Aithinne’s brothers and Einar are at the head of the column, as well.”

  Swords drawn, the combined forces of Lyonglen, clans Drummond and Thomas galloped through the attacking force, hacking at the men like a scythe cleaved wheat. In a short time, they had killed most of the enemy. Once the action was completed, the two Scotsmen rode back.

  MacThomas had a man, gagged, feet and hands bounded, and slung cross the shoulders of his horse. He had dumped the attacker at Challon’s feet. The man landed face down in the dirt, so the Scotsman dismounted and kicked him in the ribs to roll him over. Clearly, her husband had expected it to be Pendegast behind the attack.

  Instead, they stared at Phelan Comyn, one-time suitor for Aithinne’s hand.

  A son from the sept of Comyns to the north of Coinnleir Wood, he had been trying to win Aithinne for years. After rumors reached the clan of the old baron’s death, Phelan decided to attack Lyonglen while they had been absent. Aithinne’s brothers repelled the attack, and were chasing them from the glen, when they met up with Drummond and MacThomas. Likely, after Phelan failed to seize the castle, and after learning that Damian now stood in his way, he hit upon attacking and killing Challon and Damian on the road back to Glen Shane.