Bria looked away from him, her teeth clenched in anger. He was so concerned with betrothing her. How could she concentrate on choosing a mate? How could she even care about her own future when her friend no longer had one?
She couldn’t let Kenric get away with Mary’s death. He’d been getting away with horrible things for far too long. Someone had to do something.
Defeat, frustration, and grief swirled within her. What could she do? Who could she go to? Her father wouldn’t accuse Kenric without proof of Mary’s death, and he could ill afford to go to war with Knowles, even if he would risk his lands for a farmer’s daughter who wasn’t even one of his own people.
No, there’d be no help from him. Perhaps her grandfather would help, if she pleaded enough. But Grandfather was no longer lord of the castle. That was her father’s role. After her father had come back from the war so wounded, her grandfather had magnanimously given the castle to his son. Now Father’s word was law; Grandfather would obey his orders without question. There’d be no help from him either.
Despite her grandfather’s warning, despite her father’s direct command, she had to do something. Something very drastic. Only one man could help her. Only one man could act upon the truth.
And that man was Lord Terran Knowles.
Everyone had forbidden her from entering Knowles’ lands -- her grandfather, her father, everyone. So why had she rushed out first thing in the morning and gone straight to Castle Knowles’ Great Hall, demanding to see Knowles? Because she couldn’t live with herself without doing something to avenge Mary’s death. And telling Knowles who had murdered the old woman, and probably Mary, too, was the only thing she could think of.
Surely Knowles wasn’t as bad as all of the stories and gossip portrayed him -- a cruel tyrant who sat up in the towers of his castle, counting the coins he’d squeezed from his people. He couldn’t be that bad. Surely he’d do something about Mary’s death. He’d punish Kenric.
Bria sighed and looked around the hall. Near the back of the room, two servants scurried from table to table, cleaning up the remnants of the morning meal. One man was stretched out on the floor near the dying hearth, sleeping, or dead. Bria couldn’t tell which.
Bria looked at the doors behind her again. She’d sent a serving girl to find Lord Knowles, since he hadn’t greeted her when she arrived. It seemed like hours ago. Bria glanced back at the two women cleaning the tables. They hadn’t offered her anything to eat or drink. What kind of lord was this Knowles to treat people so rudely? In Castle Delaney, servants would be rushing over one another to serve any guest, much less a guest of noble blood.
Bria shifted slightly and dusted off her blue satin skirt.
“He won’t see you,” a voice called from the doorway behind her.
Bria swung around, appalled at Knowles’ lack of hospitality. But she froze in terror and shock as Kenric approached her.
Run! The thought exploded through her mind, but fright held her immobile as Kenric’s gaze swept her body disrespectfully. She wanted to dash from the room and keep running, never looking back. She wanted to hide behind a bush, in a cave, in the forest, anywhere this man wasn’t. But she stood absolutely still, clenching her hands before her. She couldn’t help but glance at the sword strapped to his waist.
“Lady Bria.” He greeted her with a slight bow. “What a pleasure to see you again.” A smug grin slithered onto his lips.
She frowned at the mockery in his voice. “Kenric,” she managed to say.
“I’m so sorry, but Lord Knowles is quite... indisposed.” Kenric told her. “If you would have sent a messenger...” He shrugged.
“Yes,” she murmured. Run! The thought again pierced her mind. Run! But she didn’t move for a long moment as she fought to remain calm. “Then I’ll be going.” She moved to step past him, aware of the sudden tightness in her chest.
He reached out for her arm, his fingers barely brushing her sleeve. She tore her arm away as if his nails were tipped with poison. A smile quirked his lips. “Do you desire some refreshment?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Father is waiting for me. I’d better leave.” The tightness in her chest refused to abate. She found it harder to take a breath the longer she stood near the man.
“Tell me what you came for, and I’ll relay the message to Lord Knowles.” Kenric’s grin stretched across his face.
Bria stepped quickly away from him, shaking her head. She turned toward the exit and all but sprinted from the castle and into the courtyard outside.
She took the reins of her horse from the boy standing in the courtyard waiting for her. Her fingers were trembling so fiercely she didn’t dare attempt to mount her horse. She turned to look at the door, half expecting to find Kenric lounging against the doorway watching her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Her gaze swept the keep, moving upward over the stone wall. Was he watching her, laughing at her?
Bria turned away from the keep and moved toward the outer ward. She clenched her fist around the reins to try to stop her trembling. Her palms were slick with nervous perspiration. Damn him. Damn Kenric for being able to do this to me, to make me feel this way. I am a grown woman, not a child any longer. I am a lady.
And he is a murderer, a voice inside her reminded. He killed Mary, and all she could do was run from him.
Her slender fingers curled into tight balls of rage. I should have wrapped my hands around his throat and choked a confession out of him, she thought angrily.
She stopped at the gatehouse to glance back over the inner wall toward the keep. Peasants moved all around her. An alemaker herded his oxen toward the inner ward. A farmer led his team of horses out of the castle, pulling an empty wagon. A knight dressed in chainmail raced by her toward the inner ward.
So this wasn’t the way. But what was she to do? How could she face Kenric and pronounce him a murderer? He could have killed her right there on the spot if she’d actually confronted him. She grimaced. He would have killed her without hesitation.
This wasn’t the way to bring Mary’s murderer to justice. But there was a way. There had to be a way. And she vowed she would find it.
Terran stared out of his bedroom window at the courtyard below, his gaze traveling over the inner ward to the outer ward. He felt alone. Trapped. He had never liked to stay at his castle, choosing instead the life of a warrior, traveling the countryside from tournament to tournament. For years he had enjoyed fame at all the popular tournaments and jousts across England; he had even traveled to France several times to participate in the festive battles. Each victory had brought him magnificent spoils, glorious suits of armor, strong horses. He’d even ransomed off two defeated French nobles for a hearty sum.
Freedom. Success. Now he was trapped in a place where his beloved had died with the name of another man on her lips.
Terran’s bitter gaze moved over the people in the outer ward. All of them were scurrying about their work, doing their business of the day. A merchant drove toward the inner ward, yelling at a child who had run before his cart and spooked his horse. A boy herded a group of sheep toward the outer gatehouse. A man was speaking earnestly with another man holding a horse’s bridle.
Terran’s lips curled in disgust. These pathetic people with their dull lives, their mindless duties. He didn’t know them. And they mattered not a whit to him. Life would continue for them just as it had yesterday and the day before that. It didn’t matter to them that Odella had died.
Then his gaze came to rest on a woman standing near the outer gatehouse, holding the reins to her horse. She was staring up at the keep, almost as though she were looking at him. Her brown hair was nearly hidden beneath a sheer blue veil, and her satin dress glimmered in the sunlight. She was a noblewoman. That much was obvious from her dress and the way she carried herself. Who was she? Terran wondered. She looked so lost, so forlorn. She looked as desolate as he felt.
A knock sounded at the door. “Come!” Terran called, annoyed at the interruption.
“It’s good to see you up,“ the woman began, nervously.
Terran cut her off. “Who is that woman?” Terran looked back out the window, toward the outer gatehouse, his gaze sweeping the area. The boy herding the sheep was still there. The merchant was still there, moving into the inner ward. The woman was gone.
“What woman, m’lord?” the servant asked.
“She’s gone,” Terran whispered, half to himself. He wondered if he’d imagined her.
The servant woman sighed in understanding. “Lady Odella was a good woman.”
“I’m not talking about Odella. There was a woman standing near the gatehouse...” The servant’s patronizing look annoyed Terran, and he waved his hand quickly. “Never mind. What do you want?”
The servant bowed. “They’re waiting for you in the Great Hall, m’lord.”
“With all due respect, m’lord,” Kenric said to Terran, “you need a dowry to save you.”
Terran sat stoically in his judgment chair at the far end of the Great Hall. Here he listened to the seemingly endless litany of peasant complaints, problems, and pleas for assistance. The room was usually brightly lit with torches, filled with servants scurrying about, loud with the conversation of peasants and farmers, but not today. He’d ordered all the torches to be extinguished, had sent the servants away.
Odella’s smile haunted his memories. Her scent followed him wherever he went. She’d been everything to him, his sunshine. Now he hated the sun for reminding him of her. His betrothed was gone, and he was in even more desperate financial straits than before.
How could he have known his own prowess as a knight, his own skill as a fighter on the battlefield, would cause his current financial woes? As his skill and reputation had grown, so had the fear and unease of his opponents. No one would face him on the field of battle. At first, this fear had been a great source of pride, but as the number of men willing to face him quickly dwindled, so had his treasury.
Eventually, he’d been forced to travel to remote provinces to find tournaments where he wasn’t known. By then, his castle had fallen behind in its tithe to church and king.
But he didn’t give a damn. Let the king take this castle. Let him take everything.
“M’lord,” Kenric prompted, looking for some kind of response. “Terran, you’re going to lose Castle Knowles in three months’ time. You need to do something.”
Terran grunted and turned away.
“You need to marry someone with a large dowry to save Castle Knowles. You need a betrothal –”
“I had one,” Terran growled.
“Yes. Well, since that one is... no longer, may I suggest another?”
“No,” Terran snapped. “You insult her memory by suggesting such a thing.”
“M’lord,” Kenric said, approaching him, “I know you loved her. But she is gone and you need to move on. The farms are not producing enough. The peasants are not happy.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Terran growled.
“There’s an easy solution.”
“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it”
“You were betrothed once before,” Kenric said. “From when you were born.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Terran repeated.
“The Delaney lands are very profitable. They could well support you and your lands. All you need do is marry Delaney’s daughter.”
“I don’t want another wife.”
“Delaney is trying to betroth her to another. Go and claim your rights. It will save your castle.”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I don’t want any other woman.”
“You can grieve out on the cold ground, or you can grieve in your own nice warm castle. It doesn’t matter to me, cousin. This is an easy way out.”
Terran’s lip curled in disgust. “Delaney would never give her to me, not after what I did. Not with so many others vying for her hand.”
Kenric smiled. “I’ll take care of everything. You’ll have the Lady Bria’s dowry to save your lands.”
Terran couldn’t care less. All he wanted was Odella, and he couldn’t have her.
“Your time is running out,” Kenric reminded him. “I know the thought of marriage is repulsive, but there’s no other solution. I will handle Delaney’s daughter for you.”
Terran grunted and leaned back in his chair. “Do whatever you want.”
Kenric bowed and moved out of the room.
Bria quickened her step and walked down the road toward Knowles Village. Her hand was wrapped tightly around the reins of her horse, her palms wet with nervous perspiration. Damn him. Damn Kenric for being so evil. No one else made her tremble this way.
No one else you know is a murderer, the voice inside her reminded.
“Excuse me, m’lady.”
Bria glanced up to see a peasant hauling a cart filled with dried-out corn and rotten, worm-infested apples.
“Would you like to buy some of my fruit?” the man said.
Bria looked away from the horrendous fruit to stare at him. His brow was slick with sweat, his face reddened from exertion. He had a dark purple bruise on his forehead. “Where’s your horse?” Bria wondered.
The man shifted nervously. “Well, I...” He squared his shoulders. “I owed taxes and one of the tax collectors took my horse as payment.”
Bria scowled. Knowles’ men. His evil was spreading everywhere. “If you have no horse, how will you work your fields?”
The man opened his mouth to reply, but promptly shut it. His shoulders sagged in defeat. “I... don’t know. I will do what I can.”
“Shouldn’t you be working the fields now?” Bria wondered.
“Yes. But Lord Knowles just raised the taxes, and I need more income. My wife is working the fields, and I’m trying to sell this fruit. She would have done it, but she can’t pull the cart.”
Bria glanced back at the towering castle behind her, the fortress of Terran Knowles. Home of the ogre who refused to see visitors, but taxed his people to death. This was what Mary was talking about, she realized, what she must have experienced day after heartbreaking day. This was why she’d charged to the rescue of Widow Anderson.
Bria reached down to the belt at her waist and untied a small leather purse. Without a second thought, she handed it to the man.
He took the purse, shook it to hear the jangle of coins, then looked inside. “You want corn or apples?”
“I don’t want any of it.” Bria moved to step past him.
“But, m’lady,” he objected, “surely you want something in return.”
“Keep it,” Bria replied. “It’s the least I can do for you and your family.”
The man’s eyes widened. “God bless you, m’lady. God bless you!”
Bria wished she had more to give to the poor man. She wished she had enough to take care of the entire village. They needed someone to watch over them, someone to protect them, someone to take a stand against that ogre Terran Knowles and Randolph Kenric and all of the other men under their command, she thought bitterly. What they really needed was a Midnight Shadow they could call their own. She sighed a tired sigh. If only her grand hero wasn’t a figment of her imagination. If only the Midnight Shadow were real.
The fire from the hearth heated Bria’s cheeks, as well as her anger. Her gaze was trained on the group of men gathered about her father, all come to Castle Delaney to win her hand in marriage. She’d been briefly introduced to all of them, but couldn’t remember a single one of their names. Garret was the only man she knew.
They were all seated around her father, talking earnestly to him, no doubt boasting about their prowess in battle or the size of their coffers. She shook her head and turned her gaze back to the fire.
Maybe they should spend more time wooing me instead of my father, she thought with disgust. Not that she wanted them t
o pay attention to her. She’d done everything in her power to discourage their attentions during the last three weeks, which was undoubtedly why they’d turned their attentions to her father.
One of the castle dogs wandered by and nudged her fingers. Bria absently scratched the animal’s head. She missed Mary so, and she couldn’t stop thinking about that night. Maybe she shouldn’t take all the blame. If Mary hadn’t run out to help the Widow Anderson... Bria shook her head. For weeks, Mary had been so angry about the taxes Lord Knowles was imposing on them she would have run out to help Widow Anderson even if she’d been surrounded by twenty armed men.
Bria thought back to the poor farmer selling rotten apples and shriveled corn. He’d been so grateful for her assistance. The poor people of Knowles. What a tyrant! Bria began to shake her head, wishing she could help them.
Laughter erupted from the group of suitors, drawing her attention. The pompous buffoons. They could help Knowles’ people if they wanted to. But they were too self-absorbed to be any good to her, even Garret. She wished she could talk to him about what to do, what needed to be done to help the people. But he’d just brush her aside and tell her there was nothing to do. Bria knew nothing was further from the truth.
“You’ll have to choose one of them.”
Bria glanced aside to see her grandfather standing beside her chair. She grunted softly. “I’ll choose the one who apprehends Mary’s murderer.”
Harry sighed. “Garret is a fine man,” he encouraged, ignoring her comment.
“Garret is a good friend,” Bria retorted, crossing her arms stubbornly and leaning back in her chair. “I just can’t see him as my husband.”
“You’d better see someone as your husband,” Harry warned, “or your father will choose for you.”
Bria’s scowl deepened. “Maybe they can win his hand in marriage.” She jerked her head toward the group around her father. With that, she stood up and headed out of the Great Hall.
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