Silent Knight

by Tori Phillips

  “A good one,” Celeste answered with a grim smile of defiance.

  Guy, marveling at her coolness under the circumstances, nodded his head toward Walter’s belt. Celeste understood, and whisked his dagger out of its sheath before the stunned and bleeding suitor could gather his wits. Hauling Walter to his feet, and holding him securely with one arm pinioned behind, Guy led them back to the road. Celeste brought up the rear, humming and skipping as if she were just returning from a pleasant walk.

  “Bravo, mes enfants terribles!” Gaston stood in his stirrups and waved his cap. Then he drew his own sword and pointed it at Deighton. “You see your master? You see he will die if you do not drop your... your...” He motioned at the notched bows the ruffians held.

  “Weapons!” Pip prompted in a loud, cheerful voice.

  “Oui! Do it!”

  “Do as he says!” Ormond shouted, struggling against Guy’s grip. “Or this whoreson will kill me—and you’ll not be paid,” he added, hastily.

  With oaths and grumbling, Ormond’s guards threw down their weapons. Gaston dismounted, shouting rapid orders to his men. He strode up to the shivering Ormond and berated him in blistering French.

  “I do not bother to speak in your language—you have no brains to understand anything! Pah!” Gaston spat contemptuously at Walter’s boots. “But there is one thing I must do for the honor of the family de Montcalm.”

  Before Guy could stop him, Gaston hit Walter as hard as he could. The force of the blow rendered the odious lord completely unconscious. Guy laid the man down, surprised at both the power and the vehemence of Gaston’s anger.

  “That scurvy slug will never forget this day, I think. And I hope he will never forget me and this important lesson.” Gaston gathered Celeste in his thick arms. “Pauvre petite! Does your sweet face hurt still? Maybe I should kill him, eh?”

  Guy shook his head. Gaston probably did not realize the severe penalty for attacking a member of the English nobility. Strictly speaking, a court of law would find Walter’s treatment of his betrothed to be his right—especially since Celeste was French and therefore suspect of almost anything in the eyes of the average Englishman. Guy didn’t want to compound the problem any further. As much as he would like to strangle Walter, Guy, a sworn man of God, could not. The Bible said that justice was the Lord’s province, and Guy sincerely hoped that was true.

  “This time we will take their horses with us, eh?” Gaston’s brown eyes twinkled. “We could leave them Daisy.”

  Guy shook his head again. Though he disliked the beast, he couldn’t subject her to the mercies of an Ormond with a broken face and outraged dignity.

  The men-at-arms bound the foul-swearing Englishmen, using pieces of their own reins. Under Gaston’s direction, they removed the knaves’ boots and stockings, ignoring the howls and dire threats of their prisoners. Tossing the weapons and footwear into the cart, they gagged the brigands with the reeking stockings and dragged them over the hillock, where they would not be discovered soon by any late-wandering travelers.

  The early twilight descended. Guy knew that once Ormond and his men were found, there would be a hue and cry out for the French. The leisurely trip he had envisioned in the peace of the cathedral must now become a dash to safety—but which way?

  Do you wish to return to France? he wrote on his slate, then held it out to Celeste.

  She stared at the chalked letters for a long moment. A sheen of tears filmed over her eyes, turning them to a deep amethyst.

  “I cannot,” she whispered. “I must honor my father’s bond to Sir Roger.”

  Guy pointed over the hillock where Walter lay and wrote, With that?

  Celeste lifted her face to him, her lower lip quivering. “I must meet with Sir Roger, Brother Guy. Only he can release me from my father’s contract.” She tried to smile. “Perhaps he is a kind and just man.”

  Guy couldn’t look her in the eye. If the Grayfriar’s rumor proved true, Celeste might be walking into a dragon’s nest. As Guy contemplated their best course of action, she shivered in the rising evening wind and drew the cloak about her.

  “Sacrebleu! Let us be gone,” Gaston rumbled. “The men are hungry, and so am I. Where do you want us to go?”

  He looked from Celeste to Guy and back again.

  “To Snape Castle,” she replied firmly.

  Growling an oath, Gaston threw up his hands in disgust. Celeste laid a slim hand on his arm. “You know I cannot return to L’Étoile, Gaston. You know my father will not take me back.”

  The old soldier covered her hand with his. “Oui, little one. I know him too well, and what you say is true.” To Guy he explained, “Better a child’s death than dishonor to her family—that is what Roland de Montcalm would say. We shall proceed to Snape Castle and lay your grievance at Sir Roger’s feet. Pray, God the father is not like his whelp.”

  Amen to that! Guy quickly wrote to Gaston, Loan me your horse. I will take Celeste on a faster route over the moors.

  Gaston narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “I do not like this plan. Why separate? Where do you intend to take my lady?”

  To Snape Castle, Guy wrote.

  “With night coming on?” Gaston reminded Guy of an old bear with one precious cub.

  Guy nodded. Speed and safety for Celeste. He wanted to get her far from Walter Ormond and his band of felons, as quickly as possible.

  Gaston stroked his chin, then asked Celeste, “You wish to go with him?”

  “Do you know the way in the dark?” she questioned Guy in turn.

  I belong to this land. His white letters stood out like ghost writing in the creeping night gloom.

  Celeste turned to Gaston. “Then I will put myself in his hands.” While she mounted her horse, Gaston grabbed Guy by the arm. “And your hands best behave themselves, master monk!”

  Guy swallowed his guilty thoughts and attempted to look surprised at Gaston’s thinly veiled warning.

  “Oui, Brother Guy, I am not so addlepated as some young ladies think I am. I have eyes that have seen much in my fifty-odd years. I see the looks you give her. Remember, you are a man of the spirit—not of the flesh. If you forget this, I will remind you—in blood. Do you understand my meaning?”

  Guy looked directly into the old soldier’s eyes and nodded. Though he gave his oath silently, he considered himself honor-bound by it.

  “Bon!” Gaston handed Black Devil’s reins to Guy. “We will stay on the main road. When you get to this Snape place, send someone out to find us.”

  Nodding again, Guy firmly gripped Gaston’s arm in his for a moment.

  “Do we ride or do we dance a pavane, gentlemen?” Celeste cocked her head, a grin on her face.

  “Go with God,” Gaston replied in a strangely husky voice.

  “Oh, la, la! I go with the next best thing, good Gaston. I ride with one of his archangels.”

  Chapter Twenty

  A frosty full moon rose over the rolling moorland as Guy led Celeste across its wild, near-barren terrain. Sometimes they walked their horses around boggy or rocky areas, other times they spurred Black Devil and Starlight into loping canters. Despite the unfamiliar ground and growing fatigue as the night wore on, Celeste’s little mare kept up with Guy’s huge stallion.

  Guy allowed only two short rest stops. When Celeste ventured to speak to him, he brusquely acknowledged her presence. Most of the time, he stared at the horizon. Guy’s moody distance confused her. After his magnificent bravery this afternoon, Celeste had thought that he would be much more open with her—even if he didn’t talk.

  Had her decision to go on to Snape Castle angered him? If that was the case, he should have left them this afternoon. She would not begrudge him his understandable desire to return south before worse weather set in.

  Celeste dipped her handkerchief into the chill water of the tiny rill beside which they rested. She patted the soaking cloth against her flushed cheeks, hoping that the cold water would sharpen her senses. Despite th
e excitement and novelty of this midnight ride, she had trouble keeping her eyes open.

  Guy sat apart. The moonlight illuminated the beauty of his face with its unearthly glow. Celeste took a secret pleasure in studying his handsome profile. When she told Gaston she rode with one of God’s angels, she had jested. Now she wondered anew if Brother Guy were truly a heavenly visitor come down to earth in disguise. If she hadn’t met his delightful aunt Mary, Celeste might have been tempted to fantasize Guy’s mysterious past. She realized she knew very little about this fascinating man whom she accompanied across an unknown stretch of landscape in the middle of the night.

  She covered another huge yawn with her hand and hoped Brother Guy had not noticed the first two. She didn’t want him to be held back because of her weakness.

  Guy suddenly rose, and helped her to her feet. Though the night had turned quite cold, his hand felt warm as it closed around her near-frozen fingers. He took her other hand and rubbed both of them to warm them. Celeste sighed aloud with pleasure.

  “Merci, Brother Guy.” His callused fingers sent tingly showers of sensation on her soft skin. The glow he generated intoxicated her. “I do not feel the night’s discomfort, with you to keep me warm.”

  Guy dropped her hands as if they burned him. He frowned, then pointed to her horse.

  Taken off guard once again, Celeste straightened her shoulders and tried to shake away the smothering fatigue that closed in upon her. She mutely agreed it was wiser for them to remount their horses and be on their way. If he had continued to hold her hands, Celeste feared, she might have fallen asleep standing up. Guy grasped her around her waist and lightly placed her on her sidesaddle. For a brief moment, their gazes locked and held. His blue eyes reflected the moon’s glimmering beams of crystal light. In their depths, she saw a message that she did not understand but that caused her breath to come in short gasps and her cheeks to flush with a fiery heat. Hearing her gasp, he quickly lowered his lids, then turned to his own horse.

  More than a little shaken by their silent encounter, Celeste clutched the reins firmly in her hands and fought off another yawn. She reminded herself that soon she would be at her journey’s end and could at last have a bath and a safe night’s sleep. Through the fringe of her lowered lashes, she watched Guy mount Black Devil in a single fluid movement. She couldn’t help admiring the way he controlled the temperamental horse. What a perfect knight Brother Guy would have made! Celeste chewed her lower lip. Once she had dreamed of Walter as her champion, but now that she had met him... No, she wouldn’t think about that now. Out here in the middle of nowhere was not the place to mourn the shattering of one’s childish fancy. She kicked Starlight into a trot and followed after Guy.

  It seemed only a few minutes later when he signaled her to stop. After dismounting, he tied Devil’s reins to a low bush beside a cluster of rocks. Celeste blinked. Had she fallen asleep in the saddle and traveled farther than she thought? Guy walked around to her near side and held up his hands to her.

  “Are we lost?” Celeste scanned the countryside. It looked the same in all directions.

  Guy’s lips twitched, and then he shook his head.

  Celeste allowed herself to be lifted off her horse. She would never have admitted it but her backside was numb and her every muscle ached.

  “Why have we stopped so soon?”

  In answer, Brother Guy opened his mouth in an enormous, jaw-breaking yawn. Then he stretched his arms out to each side, the movement accompanied by a faint cracking of his joints. He concluded this performance with another yawn, and a fierce rubbing of his eyes, followed by a shrug. Celeste did her best not to laugh, but failed miserably.

  “You are tired, n’est-ce pas?” Guy had never once admitted either hunger or fatigue during the past two months.

  He nodded and laid his head on his folded palms, miming a pillow.

  Celeste put her hands to her hips. “Sleep? But where?”

  Nearly folding himself in half, Guy crept under the rock outcropping. He beckoned to her to follow. Lifting her skirts from her ankles, Celeste picked her way over the gently sloping boulder until she was inside.

  “Ma foi!” Celeste gazed at her escort with wonderment. “You must have the eyes of a cat, to find this small cave in such a wild country. Either that, or an angel sits on your shoulder and showed you the way, eh?”

  Guy arched his brow, then patted his shoulder. In the darkness, the moon lit up his white teeth as he grinned at her. He brushed away the loose dirt and pebbles, then pointed to the cleared spot. Did he expect her to sleep here? Outdoors, on the bare earth?

  Before she could voice her objections, Guy ducked outside and tended to their horses. Celeste sat gingerly, wrapping her cloak about her. She hoped no spiders or mice lurked about. Admittedly, the tiny cave provided a windbreak and a little warmth. The earthy smell of moss and peat filled her nostrils. She found the scent oddly comforting.

  Guy crawled back inside, carrying both their saddles. He spread out one of the horse blankets and motioned for Celeste to lie down on it. He placed her dowry bag under her head. Without warning, he pulled off her boots, then tucked her stocking feet securely under the second blanket.

  “But where do you sleep, Brother Guy?”

  Surely he didn’t intend to lie on the cold ground—or, worse, stay awake all night. He pointed to the mouth of the cave.

  “C’est impossible! You will freeze in only that poor robe of yours. No, you must have one of the blankets. I have my cloak to cover me.” When he started to shake his head, Celeste narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “You should have listened more closely to Gaston when he told you that I can be a very stubborn woman. You will take this blanket, or I will stay awake all night.”

  Guy studied her thoughtfully for a moment; then he bowed his head and accepted her offer. Taking his place at the mouth of the cave, he rolled up in the worn blanket, which smelled strongly of Black Devil.

  Having gotten her way, Celeste laid her head on the lumpy leather saddlebag and burrowed under her cloak. For the first time since meeting Walter Ormond, she allowed her thoughts to wander over the events that had brought her to this hard, cold bed.

  Sweet Saint Anne! What would happen on the morrow, when they finally arrived at Snape Castle and met Sir Roger? Celeste tried to remember what the man looked like, but she had only a dim recollection from eight years ago. At age eleven, she had been much more interested in gazing at the handsome knights of the French and English courts, sampling the various sweetmeats and shopping with her sisters for such gaudy trifles as pretty songbirds in wicker cages. All she could remember of Sir Roger was his loud voice and a grizzled beard.

  Celeste rolled over in an effort to get more comfortable, then returned to her train of thought. Sir Roger must be halfway civilized, or else Papa would never have allowed her to marry his son. Celeste shuddered as Walter’s hideous face rose in her mind’s eye. How could Sir Roger let her come all this way, knowing his son’s disease? Perhaps he was not so civilized as Papa thought.

  Ma foi! He lives at the end of the world! Good Lord, give Sir Roger a cup overflowing with compassion and have him free me from this contract, for I swear I will die before I marry with his odious son.

  Something rustled in the bracken near the cave’s entrance. Celeste sat up with a start. Guy didn’t move. Being a man—and a monk—he naturally was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places with unknown creatures roaming under his very nose. They probably had mice in his priory.

  Celeste hugged her knees. She vowed not to wake him with her fears. He needed sleep more than she did. And she did not want him to think she was a coward.

  When she was a little girl, she used to beg her nurse to let her sleep in the garden on the nights when the moon rose fully round. People said the faerie folk always danced on such nights, and Celeste had passionately wanted to see them. Now, huddled in a dirty cave in the middle of a savage land, Celeste rued her youthful wish.

  She heard the
flap of wings as some night bird swooped low. Bird? Or bat? Celeste grimaced in the darkness. Aunt Marguerite had once told her that bats liked to roost in a maiden’s long hair. Celeste flung herself back down on her makeshift pillow and pulled her cloak over her head. In a month I shall laugh at this adventure. She squeezed her eyes shut. A month seemed so very far away.

  Guy lay still and watched Celeste through slitted eyes. Poor thing! This was probably the first time she had ever slept on the ground. He hid his grin when she jumped at an owl’s soft hoot. Any moment he expected her to call to him. He couldn’t go to her side unless she invited him. And he desperately wanted to lie as close to her as he could. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Guy imagined himself lying on a four-poster bed, with a feather mattress and a velvet coverlet, and making long, sweet love to a very naked Celeste. He could almost feel the silky curtain of her raven hair cascading over his chest. He ran his tongue over his lips as he imagined the taste of her kisses. He grew hot and hard with a deep, aching desire.

  Guy inhaled the cold air and tried to banish the tormenting image. Once he delivered her to Snape Castle, he would fast for a week—and wear a hair shirt, if he could find one. Most of all, he would pray—pray without ceasing for forgiveness for the weakness of his flesh.

  Less than three feet away, he heard her shiver, despite her furred cape. Surely she would ask him to come warm her. No! You must not wish for that! his conscience chided him. He had renounced the pleasures of a woman’s soft body molding against his while her fingers gently teased him into sweet agony.

  Guy dug his nails into his palms. I am in agony now, and there is no sweetness about it.

  As he wrestled with his demons in the darkness, Guy became aware that Celeste had grown quiet. He cocked his ear, but could not hear her breathing. Jesu! Had she been bitten by some poisonous thing, and died within the reach of his arm? Goaded by this terrifying thought, Guy threw off his blanket, and crept over to where she lay.