by Beth Mikell
The younger knight cleared his throat. “My lord, I—”
Ryrie laid a hand on her brother’s arm, regaining his attention. She smiled. “Simon returned my harp. Hannah must have closed the door. He hasn’t been here long, I assure you. I promise there is no reason for your knight to be placed in jeopardy.”
Darrius did not speak for a moment, looking between his sister and his knight. He threw Simon a caustic glance, and said, “Out.” As the younger knight scrambled to leave, he made one last comment, “If I catch you here again, a harp will not save you.”
Simon bowed. “Understood, my lord.” He left, the sound of his boots echoing down the hallway.
Ryrie smiled, noting her brother’s disgruntled expression. “It was quite innocent, Darrius. I hope you will not hold it against Simon.”
He did not return her smile, reaching up to caress her cheek with the back of his hand. “Small thistle, forgive my reaction. I do not trust any man with those I care about. It is a habit, but please take care.” He paused a moment, and then said, “How are you? I was worried when you did not appear for the evening meal.”
“I needed a little quiet time. Nothing more.” She was not sure she appeased him, but she hoped. She had more to ponder, but she did not dare ask Darrius to explain the circumstances Simon related to her.
****
Before Simon could think of turning in for the night, he had one last piece of business to conclude. He left the keep and went straight about his errand with purpose, an obvious puppet on a string. Though he was usually good-natured enough not to care about a round of tug-of-war, since Colin’s return, things had gone to pot and back. “Do this Simon, go there Simon…” Who did he work for anyway?
The knight knew Darrius was going to have his head when everything was said and done. What a fine display such a sight would be. Perhaps he would suggest the battlements—not too close to the ground where the sight may sicken anyone. He found his puppeteer standing outside his pavilion, leaning up against the post entrance. One leg was bent and propped up against it—completely at ease. But of course. While Simon was risking his neck for his oldest and dearest friend, here said friend waited without a care. Typical.
Colin brought up his head at Simon’s approach, pushing a hand through his long blond hair, causing the long length to retreat down his back over his leather armor. “You were gone a long time. What were you doing in there?”
Simon grimaced. “God, nice to see you too,” he complained in a low tone. “For your information I was… busy staying alive.”
Colin straightened, arching a dark eyebrow. His blue eyes flashed inquisitively. “What do you mean?”
“Darrius came to check on his sister and found me there—God!”
Colin brought up a hand. “Wait, you went to her bedchamber? At this time of night? What were you doing? You were gone a long time.” His eyes narrowed.
Simon sighed on the upside of dramatic. “Do not worry, nothing happened. Ryrie handled Darrius. She told him I returned her harp and he believed her. But, please, for the love of God, never ask me to do that again.”
The older knight’s eyes flickered with something close to annoyance. “You still did not answer. What. Took. So. Long? How was she? What did she say?”
A bewildered look crossed Simon’s face. “What is wrong with you? Isn’t she like your sister or something? You are acting… really strange.”
Apparently irritated, Colin rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of God! No, she is not my sister, you idiot. The only connection we share is Darrius. She and I have different parents, end of story. Now what happened?”
Simon was not convinced, but he shrugged it off. “She is fine, but God, she speaks and acts just like Darrius—and as curious as a cat.”
“And?” Colin insisted.
“And nothing exciting. She asked me to tell her about you and Darrius’s falling out and I told her. She thanked me, and then Darrius came. Now I am here. My report has concluded, oh great one,” Simon said smartly. “What is up with you two anyway?”
Colin looked away and snorted. “It is none of your business.”
Simon scoffed. “Really? Will Darrius think so?”
“Leave him out of this,” he said with a growl.
“She is his sister. I am pretty sure he will care.” Simon folded his arms over his chest. If he was going to lose his head, he might as well have all the facts—just in case.
Colin reached up to pat his friend on the back. “Just let it go, Simon. You did well tonight.”
The younger knight blew out a puff of air. “All right, but it is your head! Quite frankly, I do not want to get too close to you if something backfires on your stupid arse. I like my head right where it is, thank you very much.”
Colin breathed a curse under his breath. “Still using that ‘not my head, but yours’ speech? Buck up, this more exciting. What a nice way to use all those Imperial skills for something far more interesting.”
“Says you with nothing to lose,” Simon returned, turning to leave, shaking his head. “Lord Darrius is going to kill me.”
****
Colin did not say more. Probably Simon was right, but he could not let go of the possibilities. For the first time in years, he found something pure to look toward and by God, he wanted to test the fates with Ryrie, even at his determent by Darrius’s hand.
Chapter 4
The final word from Simon’s lips: Colin and Darrius were half-brothers, sharing Lord Robert as a father. And Colin betrayed Darrius. If it were not the truth, it would have been too ridiculous to believe, but Simon was clear about the entire story, beginning with Gunther to Colin’s misplaced vendetta by mistaking Darrius as his sister’s murderer. Then he kidnapped Brenna, causing his dismissal from the Imperial Elite. Such an outrageous story would be too absurd to fabricate. No wonder Brenna refused to speak about the events. Who could?
Ryrie’s heart could not be settled. She knew she would have to speak to Colin.
Somehow.
The tournament would last only three days and that did not leave her much time, considering what happened yesterday afternoon. It would be unlikely Darrius would allow her to walk out of the keep alone. No, impossible. However, she could be patient and find the best opportunity.
Ryrie did not know what she would accomplish by speaking with Colin, only her heart demanded it. Perhaps it was the girl of fourteen still within her. The young girl who still placed Colin so far above all other men or maybe it was her woman’s heart. He whispered into her soul unlike any man ever had. No wonder she refused so many marriage proposals. No man was Colin. With a shake of her head, she knew she must stop her thoughts. Nothing was certain, just her own confusion.
A knock at the door sounded, and Hannah entered. With a sigh, she readied herself for the first day of the tournament.
****
Daylight brought excitement to Blackstone Castle in full colorful wonder and splendor. The first ever tournament held at Blackstone, and every knight within the country was invited, either by common or noble birth. Of course, it was not only Lord Darrius’s intention to give an exciting and entertaining display, but to also discover the Gray Legion. It was a very huge undertaking, backed entirely by King Henry III.
The Imperial Arm and his Imperial knights suspected the leader of the Gray Legion walked among them, but the person in question remained elusive as the stars in the night sky. With only days to find their quarry, Darrius remained hopeful that their prey would at least make a mistake and they would alert the king’s knights to their folly or death—whichever came first.
Darrius peered down at his wife, and she glowed radiantly. Her sable brown hair fell over one shoulder, studded with pearls and the deep green of her gown complimented her swollen figure where their second child lay nestled under her heart. The Order of Blackstone, the only jewelry the lady of the keep wore, winked nobly. Her arresting beauty never failed to evoke his desire, arousal, and love. She was stunning
to him and he never forgot to thank God every day for his blessings, beginning with Brenna and ending with Liam… and their soon-to-be child. He would do everything to make his family safe, no matter the cost.
****
Ryrie descended the stone stairs into the great hall, dressed beautifully for the first day of the tournament. The deep red linen gown was studded with small rubies over the rich cloth. Hannah braided her midnight hair with a strand of rubies, which twinkled in the light. She decided to forgo the usual veil or wimple, wearing a golden circlet encrusted with rubies. A strange kind of nervous excitement bubbled up through her, yet her violet eyes revealed nothing as she walked with her head held high, finding her brother and sister-in-law beside the fire.
They smiled at her approach and Darrius, Ryrie noted, gleamed powerful in full battle armor and black mantle. The Order of Imperial Arm blazoned impressively in a red band on his upper left arm.
“Ah, there you are, small thistle,” he greeted warmly, holding out his hands to his sister, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.
Brenna smiled with sweet serenity, hugging Ryrie. “You look beautiful.”
Ryrie pulled back and gave Brenna a look of assessment. “Have you seen yourself, sister? You are glowing,” she said with truthful delight and happiness.
Darrius smiled, slipping an arm around his wife’s waist, holding her to his side. “Shall we ladies?”
“Yes, but where is Maude?” Brenna’s eyes searched the hall for the young woman in question.
“I am here, my lady,” Maude called softly, entering the hall, wearing her new pink gown. She smoothed a hand down the front. Her blonde hair hung down her back in a thick braid, covered in a sheer pink veil and golden circlet. “Forgive me.”
Brenna smiled at her companion, but Darrius spoke, “It is more than all right, my lady. Your timing is perfect. Shall we?”
Maude blushed bright red, nodding her reply.
The Imperial Elite had assembled outside the entrance of the keep, ready to accompany their lord and lady to the tournament. Each wore full Imperial Elite armor with their red Imperial insignia armband glinting on their left arm. Lord Dugan fell in step beside Brenna as Rowan moved in beside Ryrie. Simon and Nyle each accompanied Maude on either side with Thomas and Angus at the rear of Blackstone’s liege and family.
Rowan nudged Ryrie in the side, leaning closer. “You look beautiful today, cousin, perhaps Erik of Chevington will ask for your favor today,” he whispered, laughter threading his voice.
She flashed him a warm smile, but kept her tone biting, “You are more than generous, Rowan. I pray for the day when you stumble upon a lady that takes one look at your charms and sees right through you. She will make you regret the day you underestimated a lady of integrity and wisdom. If I live to see that moment, then I will have lived a full life indeed.”
He gave her a baffled look, while Darrius chuckled. “Oh, have a care, lassie, you don’t want to put a hex on me, do you? I honor all women above everything, surely you know that?”
Ryrie winked at him. “Surely, I do,” she said, mocking his Scots brogue.
The entourage neared the portcullis and drawbridge, and John, the gatekeeper, stepped out to meet the party with a bow. “My lord and lady, ‘tis a very fine day and I pray peace upon you and success on your tournament.”
Darrius smiled with clear pleasure on his bearded face. “Thank you John, you are more than welcome in the galleries with my family. I am sure I can find someone to take your post.”
John beamed at his lord’s words. “Indeed, my lord, that is a most kind offer, but I must decline. I can see the event quite easily from here. Besides, I have still have people of importance within the keep to look after.”
The Lord of Blackstone nodded his approval. “It is your loyalty and excellent service that I find refreshing, John. Thank you for your dedication.” He moved to clear the drawbridge with his family and knights.
The tournament ground blazoned with colorful banners as the sounds of minstrels sang to happy music in the background. Hundreds of people gathered on the wooden benches Darrius had built, or sitting on large cloth, awaiting the festivities with much enthusiasm and excitement on their smiling faces. The lord and lady passed several groups of vassals, dancing in small groups, their laughter ringing through the air, while children scurried back and forth in mock battles with wooden swords. The whole atmosphere shuddered under happiness and bright smiles of glee.
Ryrie’s eyes searched for Colin, finding him easily. He was leaned up against the wooden benches. Darrius tensed under her hand, yet she boldly met Colin’s gaze, and he half-smiled, unnerving her. Her heart sped up into a thousand rapid beats, stealing her breath. He was dressed in full chainmail, his long blond hair hanging down over his shoulders. Colin looked impressively dangerous.
What was she thinking of wanting to speak with him? What would it prove or condemn? She knew the history of Colin and Darrius, but her heart could not be settled. It must be her damned-fool girl infatuation crying out for another round. He still affected her with impossible seduction, and curiosity took hold of her better judgment.
They drew closer to the galleries and a procession of nobles gathered at the entrance stairwell to welcome them. Ryrie knew several, including Sir Robert of Chevington, but she gave him a polite hello, dismissing his oily charm. Before he could needle a conversation from her, she turned her attention upon their next noble guest and one of great interest to her.
The woman stood as tall as Ryrie, but very sleek in build, and dressed in the most unique white gown Ryrie had ever seen. White, sheer sleeves with a white leather bodice to her waist, which fell into yards of cottony white, sheer fabric. It was split up each side, revealing white leather pants complete with white leather knee boots. She did not wear the traditional girdle, but a specially designed weapons belt, which sheathed a gem, studded dagger and small sword at her waist.
Her dark red hair appeared very long. It was braided and wrapped around her neck, twice, falling down over her right breast. The thick braid flashed with white stones throughout the plait, and she wore a soft gray mantle with gray fur trim fastened with a cross pin.
“Lady Adara of HieLach, you are most welcome at Blackstone Castle this fine day,” Darrius greeted warmly. “How is your father Samuel? I heard he was suffering from an illness recently.”
Lady Adara bowed, smiling. “Thank you Lord Darrius and Lady Brenna for the invitation and for making it possible for my knights and me to attend. It was most generous of the king to send retinues of knights to guard my father’s keep during my absence. I know I have you to thank for that, Lord Darrius. The borderlands are becoming increasingly unstable, as you may know. Alas, my father is unwell and was not able to travel, but I shall convey your respects.” She turned to the man beside her. “And I am sure you know Sir Douglas, the king’s representative.”
As Darrius addressed his remaining guests, Ryrie noticed that Rowan went quite still at her side and she turned to find him staring at Lady Adara without flinching. She was unable to resist a small jab at him. “Has the day of your reckoning appeared, dear Rowan?”
Startled, he looked at Ryrie. “Mayhap, lassie, mayhap,” he returned, his expression guarded.
The nobles seated themselves, waiting for the tournament, and Darrius moved to the center chair within the lower seating with Brenna and Maude to his left, Ryrie and Lady Adara to his right.
Ryrie was stunned at Lady Adara’s knight who came to stand behind her chair. The uncommon knight in question was a woman, dressed in a specially designed feminine armor, black fabric sleeves with a metal bodice fitted snugly over her breasts down to her hips. Wide strips of black leather made up a short skirt to her knees. She wore black leather pants, knee boots, metal gauntlets and a very large broadsword at her waist. Her black hair was braided, wound on top of her head in a coil with only a short end hanging down to her neck. Expressionless, she stood erect with her arms folded over her chest.
Darrius moved to stand at the railing and all the armored contestants entered the jousting field with squires leading their horses draped in different color cloth. Ryrie’s eyes followed Colin as he walked into the jousting field followed by Simon’s squire, Jacob. Darrius must have noticed because he turned to flip Simon a disapproving glare. The young knight turned green, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
Once all the knights were assembled, Sir Douglas stepped forward, bowing. “Lord Darrius, I would like to respectfully ask for your wife’s favor in the tournament.”
Darrius chuckled. “It is indeed a brave man that would ask for the favor of my wife, but I will allow you the opportunity,” he called out and the crowd cheered with a mixture of laughter. He turned to Brenna, offering his hand in assistance to her feet, bringing her up to stand beside him. He kept his arm about his wife’s waist.
Sir Douglas made his way up the outer gallery steps, stopping in front of Darrius and Brenna to claim his favor. She offered a green ribbon studded with one gold coin, which she tied to his lance. The crowd sent up cheers of happiness, but before helping Brenna back to her seat another voice called out.
“Lord Darrius, I would like to ask the favor of your sister, Ryrie.”
At the sound of her name, her heart fell into her stomach and churned with anxiety. That voice was unmistakable. Her heart thundered. She saw Colin move forward, awaiting a response from her brother’s lips.
Fury etched in Darrius’s profile, but Brenna placed a hand on her husband’s arm and shot him a pleading glance. Her green eyes appealed for peace within their depths and despite the Lord of Blackstone’s feelings, he allowed it.
“Aye, you are indeed a brave man. Come,” he said with frost.
Ryrie moved to Darrius’s side and eyed Colin’s approach with savory anticipation, bordering on feverish. She was punched low in her stomach with a rush of desire, spreading out through her bloodstream in a warm, sweet flow. He was so… amazing… more than her memory could hope to paint in her mind. His metal armor clung to his hard body with resounding authority, shouting power and lithe fortitude.