The Black Knight’s Captive

by Markland, Anna

  Magnus struggled to control his skittish horse. “They’ll be slaughtered.”

  “Not if they retreat in time.”

  A cloud of dust soon gathered on the near horizon. “Gut! Duke Henry is retreating, and the enemy is following. His actions will have unnerved them somewhat. Now, for our part. Theodoric and Henry of Kessel will attack at the same time as us.”

  Amid a frightful din of trumpets, the opposing armies came together in a bone chilling clash of horses and weapons. For hours, the struggle remained undecided. Screams and moans rent the air as heads rolled, severed body parts thudded to the ground and horses stumbled in the gory mud. Men grunted, sweated and bled. Cries of momentary victory were smothered by the onslaught of the next wave of aggressors.

  The muscles of Dieter’s sword arm were on fire. He was covered in mud and blood, none of it his own, Gott sei Dank. Somehow he and Magnus had managed to stay mounted and close to each other. In a brief pause, he shouted breathlessly to his comrade. “The Archbishop must send in the special force soon, or the day is lost.”

  Even as he spoke, a band of young men from Köln, chosen for their unique fighting skills, joined the fray, launching a slashing offensive in a berserker rage. Their wild war-cry sent chills skittering up and down Dieter’s spine.

  Magnus too shuddered, but breathed a sigh of relief. “They’ll either prevail or die trying.”

  As they hoped, the enemy fell back under the crazed onslaught.

  Dieter realized the critical importance of their next move. He rallied his men. “We must join Count Theodoric in a direct attack on the disordered enemy forces.”

  Loud cheering followed him as he galloped into the melee. They subjugated the dispirited enemy in a short time, though it seemed like hours. Many of the imperial knights were killed or taken prisoner. None of the leaders on the side of Köln were killed or captured except Count Henry of Kessel, a friend of Dieter’s, who fell under a horse’s hooves and perished.

  In the aftermath of the battle, Dieter’s heroic leadership was credited with tipping the precarious final balance in favor of Köln’s forces. Heinrich had failed to capture the city. He abandoned the siege to return to Mainz.

  * * *

  Blythe wandered the halls and chambers of Dieter’s home, the three dogs her ever-present companions. “You miss him too, don’t you?” she said to Vormund, rubbing his ear. Löwe and Schnell nuzzled for her attention.

  She considered attempting an escape while he was gone. But where would she go? Was it possible to get to Tuitium? What would she find if she did make it there? She had no love for the emperor, nor for Matilda, whereas Count Dieter von Wolfenberg—did she want to escape?

  The dogs wouldn’t let me go.

  The servants were polite, but they also waited nervously for their master’s return. She no longer thought of them as her guards, but doubted they would let her leave. She worried about her family. Aidan especially would be bereft. If only England wasn’t so far away. A woman alone would never survive the journey.

  Perhaps if she disguised herself as a nun? But where to procure such a garb? She had heard stories of women who had taken holy orders being raped and murdered. She was a descendant of Vikings, a people not blameless in that regard.

  Her appetite fled. Even the garden failed to delight. It seemed there was no recourse but to wait for Dieter’s return. But what if he didn’t come back? What if he was killed? The thought sent her scurrying to her chamber where she collapsed on the bed, sobbing. The handsome knight of her dreams had come into her life, but he didn’t love her, and might never return from Andernach.

  News At Last

  Shelfhoc Hall, Salop, England

  “Agneta! Aidan! At last! News of Blythe.” Caedmon’s voice rang through the seemingly deserted manor house. He clutched a parchment, brandishing it high above his head. “Where is everybody?”

  At the age of two score and seven, Caedmon was still an active and virile man, though he suffered from rheumatism in the winter—a legacy from his father—and his black hair had turned completely gray. He teased Agneta it was she who kept him young and healthy. However, there was little doubt Blythe’s disappearance had taken a heavy toll on both of them. The missive in his grip had eased the uncertainty lodged in his gut.

  Ragna came running. “We are in the solar,” she panted. “My sister has been found?”

  Arm-in-arm they burst through the door, both shouting at once.

  Agneta stood quickly and Caedmon put his arms around her, laughing. “It’s news of our girl, at last.”

  His wife clasped her hands to her mouth, tears trickling down her cheeks. “Blythe,” she whispered.

  Caedmon was aware he was shouting, but the relief surging through him was so overwhelming, he couldn’t seem to do otherwise. “She’s in Cologne! Of all places! I was in the town during my misbegotten journey to the Crusade.”

  Aidan jumped up from his chair to grab the parchment from his father’s hands. “What’s she doing there?”

  Caedmon clamped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “As you see, my boy, she’s said to be a guest of a man named Count Dieter von Wolfenberg. I’m assuming he’s a Saxon. We’re invited to retrieve her, which is an odd choice of words. The whole epistle is ambiguous. There is no outright mention of money, but—”

  Aidan scowled. “You mean someone is demanding we pay ransom to free her? Is she a prisoner?”

  Caedmon scratched his head. “I’m not sure. The letter has taken a while to get to us through convoluted channels, finally ending up in the hands of the king’s chamberlain and thence to my brother, Baudoin, at Ellesmere Castle. The English phrasing is flawless, but it was obviously written by someone whose native tongue isn’t English. It’s too perfect. I wonder how she came to be a “guest” of this count? The last we heard from our King Henry, she was taken forcibly from the cathedral at Trier during an attempt to kidnap Matilda. Now, this count, perhaps the abductor, wants us to retrieve her.”

  “Will we all go, Father?” asked sixteen-year-old Edwin.

  Caedmon tousled his youngest son’s hair. “No Edwin, the empire can be a dangerous place, but I’ll certainly go to retrieve my daughter.”

  “And I will accompany you,” Aidan said with authority.

  Caedmon was about to argue, but it was Aidan’s right as Blythe’s brother to aid in her rescue. His son had been in a restless torment since his twin had gone missing. No one had uttered the terrible possibility, but they’d all believed she was dead.

  Ragna folded her arms across her chest and sulked. “I won’t even ask. I’m never allowed to go anywhere, or do anything.”

  Edwin snorted. “You do nothing but complain, Ragna. If I’m not allowed to go then you’re surely not going. You’re just a little girl.”

  Seething like a volcano about to erupt, Ragna clenched her fists and fled. Meanwhile Agneta had slumped into a chair, sobbing. Caedmon went down on one knee at her feet. “At least, we know she’s alive and safe.”

  She gripped his hand. “But Caedmon, Cologne is far away. I was terrified for you when you journeyed through Germany all those years ago. Poor Blythe, she’s so compromised now, no man will want to marry her.”

  The truth of her words sickened him. Blythe’s whereabouts had been unknown for many months and now she had turned up in the hands of a foreign count. Her reputation would never recover. He grieved for his beautiful, spirited daughter. However, she was courageous and had obviously survived the ordeal of being abducted. He was determined to bring her home, no matter the cost.

  It took a sennight to organize men, horses and provisions for the trek. He offered his men-at-arms the choice as to whether they wished to accompany him and Aidan. He did not want to take too many men and give the appearance of a belligerent force, but the security of an armed escort was vital. He made it clear they were not going for plunder or for gain. It would not be an easy journey and, in all likelihood, they would not be home in time for Yuletide. However, he a
ssured them he had influential contacts along the route from his days on crusade.

  On a chilly November day, Agneta, Edwin and Ragna gathered to bid a tearful goodbye to Caedmon and Aidan, a score of Shelfhoc men and some from Ellesmere, contributed by Baudoin.

  Caedmon held his wife in his embrace for long minutes. Neither acknowledged it might be the last time they saw each other, but they were both keenly aware of the dangers that lay ahead.

  “Baudoin has already sent word to our brother, Robert, in Normandie,” he said when they broke apart. “We’ll lodge at Montbryce Castle for a day or two after we cross the Narrow Sea, perhaps gather more men and provisions there. Robert will be anxious to help us and is probably arranging assistance as we speak. I know it’s pointless to tell you not to worry, but never forget that Blythe will be with us when we return.”

  He nuzzled her ear and whispered, “Before you know it, I’ll be back in your bed, touching all those places you love me to touch.”

  Agneta laughed through her tears and blushed, pressing her mons against his arousal. “You’re going to have an uncomfortable ride, my Lord.”

  He glanced at his son’s stern face as they rode away. Almost without his being aware of it, Aidan had grown into a courageous young man. “I’m proud to have you at my side,” he said.

  His reward was a solemn nod.

  Conquering Hero

  After laying awake for hours worrying about Dieter, Blythe had finally succumbed to exhaustion. She startled awake, blinking against daylight flooding the chamber. Propped up on her elbows, she heard raised voices outside and the frantic barking of the dogs. Since the capture of Tuitium and the blockade, the streets were often more or less deserted, especially early in the morning, and she wondered what the hubbub was about.

  She strained to hear what people were shouting.

  “Sieg! Sieg!”

  Struggling to don her bed robe, she tried to recall what the word meant.

  She almost bumped into Anna when she opened the door to her chamber. “Anna, what’s happening?”

  The faithful maid’s cheeks were always two shiny red apples, but now her entire face was beet red and she was breathless with excitement. “Victory for Köln,” she shouted in German. “Victory for Graf Dieter! We’ve beaten the emperor! The brave Köln boys and our courageous Saxons have sent him packing!”

  Dancing around, she grabbed Blythe who had understood little, except that Dieter was apparently safe. She clasped Anna’s hands and joined in the dancing, elated by the news.

  The entire household quickly threw itself into preparations for the triumphant return of its hero, their master, who, by all accounts filtering up from the streets, had played a large part in the victory. Berta, the cook, set off to purchase provisions in order to prepare all the count’s favorite dishes in time for his homecoming. Throughout her stay in his house, Blythe had become aware the servants respected their master, but now she saw how much they loved him, how proud they were.

  She was conflicted. Her heart told her she was in love with him. Her head insisted he had kidnapped her and held her for no reason. His actions had dishonored her, and she would never be able to marry. No man would want her. Even he didn’t want her, except for his gain. His plan was to ransom her to her family. Her heart whispered that she should tell him she loved him. Her head scolded that he would laugh in her face, that he was not the kind of man to fall in love with a woman, especially a foreign woman. He was perhaps a rogue who might take improper advantage of her confession of love?

  She ached for his return to assure herself he was safe, but longed to see her parents again and hoped her father would come to rescue her from this torment. It would be better to spend her days as a spinster at home with her loving family than here in a foreign land with a man she loved, but could not have.

  On the morning of Dieter’s triumphant return a few days later, she watched from an upstairs window as he and his men rode into the street. She clenched her fists and pressed them to her mouth, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving that Count Dieter Von Wolfenberg had returned unharmed. Pride soared at the sight of the crowds hailing their champion. He sat tall in the saddle, smiling and acknowledging the accolades with a wave of his hand. The notion of being loved by such a man sent desire swirling. She arched her back, ran her hands over rigid nipples, then down her belly, bringing them to rest on the aching need at her mons.

  Gooseflesh marched over her body when he unexpectedly glanced up at the window. She stepped back, hoping the thick glass had prevented him seeing her inappropriate behavior. After a few deep, calming breaths, she hastened down to greet him.

  * * *

  Dieter was elated by the tremendous welcome Köln had given the army, but he was tired. He had thought Blythe might come out to meet him, and was disappointed when she did not appear. He scanned the windows, wondering if she was watching? Did she care he had returned safely? He had thought of nothing else but her on the journey from Andernach.

  The servants mobbed him when he entered the house, bowing and clapping and cheering. Tails wagged joyfully when he hunkered down to rub the whimpering dogs’ ears. Blythe came quietly into the hallway and his mouth fell open. He had never seen her hair unbraided. The auburn tresses fell about her shoulders like liquid amber. His rute swelled at the sight.

  He rose and continued to graciously accept the accolades of his servants, hoping none of them would take note of his arousal. They would probably ascribe the heat in his face to the excitement of the homecoming. He wanted desperately to sift his fingers through Blythe’s hair, press her body to his, kiss her and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She stood motionless, hands clasped tightly in front of her. He sensed her nervousness and strode over to take her hands.

  “Dieter,” she murmured shyly, “you’ve come home safely.”

  She’d used his given name, and it heartened him to hear her refer to his house as her home. “Yes, Blythe. I’ve come home—to you.” He raised his hand to touch her tresses. “Your hair—” The words caught in his throat.

  He was glad his servants were still milling around, watching curiously, otherwise he might have taken her into his arms and kissed her silly. He forced himself to move away. “I will excuse myself from your presence, Lady Blythe. It’s been a tiring journey, and I must bathe.”

  She blushed beautifully, her eyes wide. Perhaps she was imagining him naked in the bathtub. It was tempting to invite her to scrub his back, or…

  “Of course,” she replied huskily, jolting him back to reality. “Bernhardt has all in readiness, I believe. Later, at luncheon, you can tell me all about your heroic deeds.”

  He kissed her hand and smiled. “Until then.”

  Arrival

  Breaking their journey at Montbryce Castle took Caedmon and Aidan out of their way. However, it afforded a chance to visit with Aidan’s uncle, his father’s half-brother, Comte Robert de Montbryce and his wife, Dorianne, both now recovered from a kidnapping ordeal a few years before.

  Their five children, Alexandre, Catherine, Marguerite, Laurent and Romain, greeted their visitors enthusiastically. Aidan was fond of Alexandre. Although much younger than himself, the lad worshipped the ground Aidan walked on, following him everywhere. The older girls were too bossy for his liking, and the other boys too young.

  Relaxing in Robert’s solar before the evening meal, the men reminisced. “After crossing the Narrow Sea, we passed through Caen on our way here,” Caedmon said. “I pointed out to Aidan the Abbaye aux Dames, where Baudoin and I found Dorianne and her newborn son, Alexandre, and spirited them to safety at Montbryce.”

  Robert studied the apple brandy in his tumbler. “We’ll both be eternally grateful for your courage,” he rasped.

  Aidan felt ill-at-ease. It was obvious his oncle Robert preferred to talk about something else.

  However, his father continued. “When we passed the great hulk of the castle, I could barely speak of finding you in the cells.”

  “Bea
ten and broken,” Robert replied. “It seems like only yesterday, though the years have flown by since that wretched day.”

  Aidan was relieved when the announcement that the meal was being served interrupted the uncomfortable silence that ensued.

  “I wish I could accompany you to Germany,” Robert told them over dinner. “I will always be grateful for the sacrifices you made in helping rescue me from imprisonment at the hands of the Duke of Normandie. However, the political situation here is so volatile I cannot be away for too long. Dorianne would have my head if I left her alone with the children.”

  Caedmon shook his head. “You and Dorianne have endured long separation in the past. I should never have allowed King Henry to send my daughter to Germany. Events have proven him and the emperor incapable of protecting her. This is my duty to uphold. It’s my responsibility to rescue Blythe. Mine and Aidan’s.”

  Aidan, who never failed to be amazed at the physical resemblance between his father and his half-uncle, listened quietly to the conversation between them, and his heart filled with pride. Yet, he was deeply concerned about his twin sister, sensing she faced an emotional crisis that had nothing to do with being kidnapped. There’d always been an indefinable bond between them, an ability to communicate without words. He concentrated on sending her positive thoughts.

  The following morning, before their departure, Caedmon took his son into the crypt to pay their respects at the tomb of Aidan’s grandfather, Ram de Montbryce, Earl of Ellesmere and Comte de Montbryce.

  Aidan had been in the crypt before, but he’d been too young to appreciate what he’d been told. “You’re aware I’m Ram’s illegitimate son,” his father whispered, his voice choking with emotion, “but I was welcomed wholeheartedly into the Montbryce family, especially by Mabelle, who had every reason to reject me.”