by Beth Mikell
Over one hundred armed knights flanked the king, but indeed he was not hard to miss within the circle of men. King Henry III sat tall and regal in his saddle, his gray-brown, wavy hair falling lush to his shoulders with a simple but elegant gold crown atop his head. A thick, full beard matched his hair, covering most of his face, but trimmed neatly against the smooth white of his skin. The simplicity of his dress may have shocked those of the court. He was not wearing the standard flair of the times. He wore a deep blue, fur trimmed mantle and gold belt around his waist, which suited his thick stature of forty-nine years.
Taking their cue from the king, everyone dismounted and followed King Henry to Simon and Brenna’s waiting position. Each knight, squire, and person of importance within the king’s party circled him with great care to his safety, fanning out to a respectable distance of privacy.
At the king’s approach, Brenna drew a deep breath and silently prayed to God that what she was about to do would help everyone.
“Simon the Clever!” the king said, his face breaking into a smile as he recognized one of his Elite knights.
Simon bowed. “Your Majesty.”
The king searched down his long, thin nose at his sudden guests, his inquisitive eyes roving. “And to what honor do I have at this impromptu meeting?”
“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Brenna dipped into a deep curtsy and Simon withdrew behind his lady, though still in a protective distance. “It was my request and I hope that I have not inconvenienced you,” she said, looking up at King Henry.
Stepping forward, the king offered his hand to her, pulling her up to stand before him. He smiled. “Indeed, Lady Brenna, it is no inconvenience. I am at a loss as to why you stopped me, or why you are even here!” he exclaimed heartily.
Simon followed close behind King Henry and Brenna to small clearing a small distance away from his entourage. As the king stopped, she inhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax, preparing the words within her mind with rapid, relevant hope of speech.
“Your Majesty, I am sure you are aware that your knight, Darrius of Blackstone has been installed at Dorling Castles these last few weeks.” She watched the surprised flicker within the king’s eyes, but he waited for her to continue. “Lord Darrius has traveled to Carthmore Keep to weed out the vicious rumors of traitorous activity housed within my family home. I beg you to intervene that those responsible will be brought to justice.”
King Henry leaned forward slightly. “Does that mean, Lady Brenna, that you are also aware of Darrius’s brother and my orders?”
Brenna nodded. “Yes, I am aware, but I do not hold you contempt, Your Majesty. Lord Darrius has been most honorable, and I hold him in the highest regard. I can see why you chose him for such a position of service.”
The king chuckled. “Indeed. He is a most valued knight and friend. How shall I be of service to you as your king?”
She swallowed hard. “My father, Sir William, has committed an atrocious crime of plotting treason against you along with Lord Gunther. I fear, perhaps, your Imperial Elite may be in danger, since they have lost two knights in pursuit of your mission. As I understand it, the Imperial Elite has been invaluable and successful for you. I have two requests, if you allow?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“I believe your unannounced presence would put an end to the crimes against the crown.” Brenna released a pent up breath, exhaling slowly as she watched the king contemplate her words.
“I see. Lady Brenna, your request comes not selfishly but for others. I admire that. I fear I must ask, what will you think of me if I must dole out swift justice against your father? Will you hold me in contempt then?”
Brenna lifted her chin bravely. “No, Your Majesty. My father has but one goal: greed. However, it pains me to say, he has not been a father to me my whole life. What distresses me more is that he has been gathering support from others in the hope of overthrowing you. I do not agree. I believe he will meet an end by either Lord Darrius or your hand of justice as God deems appropriate,” she concluded.
The king’s brows drew together. “And your second request?”
Brenna smiled. “I would like your permission to marry Lord Darrius.”
King Henry tilted his head back into raw, untamed laughter. “God in heaven above you are direct!”
She only inclined her head as she watched the king fold his arms in front of him, bringing up a hand to cover his lips—his laughter still shaking his body.
“You certainly do not mix words, do you, Lady Brenna?”
“So I have been told, Your Majesty,” she said with concise fortitude.
He rubbed his woolly chin a moment longer. “Well, in all my years as king, there is one thing that Providence has taught me. No matter how much thought provoking planning I may do, never underestimate a brave, confident woman on a mission,” he surmised, waving a hand in front of himself. “Indeed, I can find no fault you in either request, Lady Brenna. Consider it granted. Now, shall we travel together to Carthmore?” King Henry offered his arm to her.
The young knight moved to protest, but Brenna laid a gentle hand on his arm. “It is all right, Simon,” she whispered, taking the king’s arm to accompany him back to the fold of his traveling party.
Chapter 15
The Imperial Arm rode with his Elite without hesitation or stealth for Carthmore Keep. The time of intrigue and guile had ended. They traveled right up to the entrance with brazen confidence and the gatekeeper called out to them to halt, though the drawbridge was down and the portcullis was up.
“We are the knights of King Henry III requesting an audience with Sir William at once!” Rowan shouted.
Several minutes went by before the gatekeeper spoke again. Permission was granted with the condition all knights disarm before entering the keep. With control as his vise, Darrius commanded authority befitting his position right up to the gatekeeper with his men behind him.
“We are the king’s personal guard, and we will not disarm. According to the law mandated by King Henry, we are within our rights to maintain our weapons without protest. You will desist and allow us to pass without delay,” Darrius said with authority.
The gatekeeper’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, waving them through.
“That was easy. Please tell me you have a plan.” Rowan leaned closer to Darrius as they strode to the entrance of the keep.
The Imperial Arm did not spare a glance toward his cousin, striding with purpose. “What do you think? Or have I always led my knights into battle without thinking first?” Darrius returned stiffly.
The people of Carthmore Keep stared with astonishment at the six Imperial Knights with fixed curiosity. At the entrance of the keep, two large knights in full armor met them, and hostility etched their faces.
Darrius’ eyes pointedly met their hostility without flinching. “Let us pass,” he stated, but the two men did not so much as blink.
“Angus, Dugan,” Darrius ordered, and the two men pulled their swords, stepping forward.
“I am sure you do not want to test my sword,” Dugan said gruffly.
“We suggest you back off,” replied Angus in a thick Scots brogue.
The two Carthmore knights instantly changed their minds and allowed them to pass. Angus and Dugan kept their swords out—ready for the slightest threat.
Darrius and his men entered the great hall and came face to face with Sir William’s riveting personality, sitting on his chair beside a warm fire. The room was neatly decorated with fresh rushes on the floor, and four knights stood within the room, standing sentry over their lord.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here? The infamous dark knight and his lackey Elite,” Sir William sneered.
The Imperial Arm’s lips curved into a smirk. “Coming from you, that is indeed a compliment.”
The older man snorted. “What do you mean by entering my keep, armed?”
“We are looking for Lord Gunther of Dorling. I have reason to believe the tr
aitor ran here. You will hand him over to me. Now.”
The older man laughed with disdain. “Since you resemble him, perhaps you are looking for yourself,” he scoffed, and his knights joined in the amusement.
Darrius was neither amused nor rankled at their attempt at humor. “Swords.”
At the sound of Darrius’s command, all the Imperial Knights pulled their weapons, and the laughter ceased.
Sir William surged to his feet, his face flushing red. “You cannot pull your swords here!” His knights pulled their swords in offense, ready for battle.
Darrius’ eyes internally calculated each man throughout the room, recalling how fast they withdrew their weapons. Not one of Sir William’s knights possessed enough skill to best the Imperial Elite, fumbling for their swords like green knights. The Imperial Arm observed the way they held their weapons within their grasps—not one held their steel in confidence. It was his innate ability and position to understand these telling facts before blood was drawn and the next order given.
“I suggest your men lower their weapons and give complete cooperation or my next order to my men will end in your deaths,” Darrius said coolly.
“You—” Sir William began only to be cut off by an overwrought squire, running in through the keep in haste.
Dugan stepped forward, catching the boy securely, holding his sword to the young boy’s throat. The boy blanched and wisely refrained from moving. “My lord, we have royal guests,” he said between gasps, eyeing Dugan’s sword.
Before anyone could respond to the young squire’s announcement, two sentries entered the great hall. “Make way for His Majesty King Henry III.”
Stunned by the turn of events, the king entered with his knights, squires and… Brenna and Simon.
His heart lurched in a sweet ache at her entrance, but it was quickly smothered into anger. Her arrival into the fray only meant a guaranteed front row seat to danger. Hot rage filled him. He offered a cursory glance toward Simon who at least had the decency to look guilty and remorseful, though the young knight was in serious violation of direct orders.
“Everyone sheathe your swords!” Darrius commanded, taking charge of the room, moving forward only when all weapons were safely stowed.
He bowed. “Your Majesty.” He shot Brenna a hard, displeasing glance. “My lady.”
“Darrius,” the king said. “I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Lady Brenna as I was passing by Carthmore.” He waved a hand in her direction and moved to stand in the middle of the room, observing each person.
Darrius gave a slight nod to his king, moving beside Brenna. His eyes were watchful. He sensed her gaze upon him, but his attention remained forward and detached. The overwhelming desire to protect her was exactly the reason he did not want her here. A room full of swords and betrayal was no place for her.
“The question in my mind is this: what is going on here?” The king directed his gaze at Sir William.
“Your Majesty, indeed there is no foul play.” Sir William took a step forward.
The king brought up his hand. “I will determine what is foul or not. Sir William, it would seem your overzealous ambition has caused quite a stir within the countryside. Reports are coming in right and left of treason,” King Henry stated, turning cool eyes upon the accused.
Sir William had the audacity to look baffled, the scar upon his cheek more pronounced. “Your Majesty, please. I do not know who could have reported such a vicious lie. Tell me who the culprit is and I will speak with them.”
King Henry looked at his Imperial Arm. “Darrius, please give an account to Sir William.”
The emissary took one step forward, his deep voice carrying throughout the hall, “In the name of God and King Henry III and by the laws of England, you, Sir William of Carthmore are held in contempt for conspiracy of treason with intent to kill. I pledge myself first witness of your account voiced directly to me with malice. Your words and I quote, ‘I shall align our allies and you will kill King Henry.’ Do you deny your words and the charge, sir?” He lifted an eyebrow at the older man.
Sir William’s face grew red, his demeanor seething. “How dare you! You impersonated a lord of the country. You took my daughter into a false marriage as well as her maidenhead. How dare you stand accusing me of treason! You tricked me into untruth and I certainly deny all charges.” Sir William turned to King Henry. “Your Majesty, I beg you not to listen to these blasphemous lies!”
****
Brenna gasped, embarrassed by her father’s public admission of her private affairs and his hate-filled words against Darrius. Her anger bubbled up from her stomach, flaming her with disgust and outrage. By only a few words from his venomous tongue, he branded her a whore, belittling her—yet again.
“How dare you!” Brenna began vehemently, starting toward her father, but Darrius spun and caught her around the waist. He drew her close. “All my life I have been held in the highest esteem from the position of the bottom of your boots—without love or affection from my own father.” She drew a deep breath, continuing, “My own mother threw herself from the top of this keep to escape you. Both Linnea and I have received beatings and cruelty from your hands for no other reason than you derived some perverse pleasure out of it. I have heard you plot against the king and there is no one—no one that deserves to die more than you, Sir William,” she heaved, her chest hot with indignation.
“Easy, little dove,” Darrius whispered.
Brenna turned her emotion-filled gaze to look up at him. Tears swam in her eyes and she shook her head, biting her lower lip. He knew how to anchor her back to himself without many words. His love drowned every pain.
****
Darrius ached to pull her into his arms and chase away every wrong, every pain so caustically given in her life. For him, Brenna was no ordinary woman, but brave and strong with never ending beauty inside and out. He promised himself that he would do whatever was necessary to make her happy again. He would erase every tear from her soul.
The Imperial Arm threw a glance at Simon. “Come, take your lady out of the room, but do not go far,” he warned with a meaningful stare.
Simon came to direct Brenna out of the great hall, but not before Sir William made one last jab in her direction.
“You will hold your lying tongue, daughter. You deserved everything you received by my hand. You whored yourself out to the devil—and now, you are Satan’s daughter. No one here cares what you think or have to say,” Sir William sneered, his lunatic behavior unfolded before everyone’s eyes.
Primal rage filled Darrius, flushing his face under his close kempt beard. His hands fisted at his sides. A tremor of anger shook him with murderous intent. Every savage torture imaginable filled his mind with a rush, beginning with cutting Sir William’s tongue from his vile mouth to ending his life. Involuntarily, Darrius took a step forward, his sanity overpowered.
Rowan laid a hand on his lord’s arm and Darrius turned his scathing glare upon his cousin. The McLeod shook his head. “Not yet,” he whispered.
Darrius bled jagged emotions through all his senses, seething in dark repulsion until it took every ounce of willpower to sequester his all his thoughts under control. But, he waited—like the lion he was trained to be. His eyes were watchful.
The king was not swayed by Sir William’s outburst. “May I remind you to hold your countenance, sir? This may not be the official court of the palace, but I am king over you, your lands, title, and life. Lord Darrius is part of my Elite guard and my most trusted knight. He was sent to Dorling Castle to investigate a traitorous canard and as I see it, the rumors were true.”
Sir William moved to protest, but the king cut him off. “And furthermore, you not only conspired to kill me, but you pursued your fiendish plan with an alliance with Lord Gunther of Dorling, and sealed pact with the murder of Lord Robert, his father. You even had the audacity to mention your scandalous plan to Sir Robert of Chevington. And you are wrong on one very important matter: I do
care what Lady Brenna had to say and she deserved a better life than what you gave her. You were never fit to be a father. You sir, are found guilty of all charges. Guards, seize him!”
Outraged, Sir William lunged forward, grabbing one of his knight’s swords from its sheath, turning his eyes on King Henry. “Then by God, I will take you with me! I do not care if I die, but I will take you with me, king bastard!” He lunged forward.
At Sir William’s first movement, Darrius pulled his sword and sprang forward; his reflexes were tighter and stronger. A hard roar tore from his throat, sounding his rage. Before the other man could swing, Darrius buried his sword deep in Sir William’s chest.
The Lord of Carthmore sucked in a lifesaving breath, yet blood ran out his mouth with every effort to maintain life. He reached up to clutch the sword embedded deep within his chest. He fell to his knees, staring up at Darrius, breathing in small, shallow pockets of air; death’s eminent embrace ricocheted throughout the great hall.
“This is for Brenna and every cruelty you ever inflicted on her,” Darrius ground out, pushing the sword deeper into his chest. Sir William tried to scream, but he only managed a strangled gurgle before dying.
Darrius sank to his knees beside Sir William’s dead body, his breathing ragged. In all his years of service, he had never lost control—not like that. A black hole opened without thought, deed, moral, or honor. It was only a pure unadulterated desire to kill Sir William and send him to hell.
A hand fell on Darrius’s shoulder and he looked up into the eyes of his king—the king he saved again and would proudly do so again. But, this time, he had not killed directly to protect his monarch. He had killed for Brenna. Just for her. For her honor and his love.
“It is over.” The king’s kind, dark eyes reflected upon his most faithful knight. He nodded. “Now let it go.”
Before Darrius could draw in a cleansing breath, Dugan rushed into the hall. “My lord, Lady Brenna and Simon are missing.”
Chapter 16