Knight Dreams

by C. C. Wiley

  James pulled her to his chest, folding his arms about her. “Well played, little one,” he whispered into her ear. He flicked her nose, adding, “Have you an idea up your sleeve for our next move?”

  Weary, she leaned into his arms. She nearly forgot that the chain between them would hamper their escape. “The chest, over there, holds a bow and arrows. We can start there.”

  “We’ll need more than a bow and a few arrows to hold Sir William’s soldiers at bay.”

  “Aye, but we cannot stay here like a rabbit trapped in its warren.”

  Picking up the slack of chain links between them, James led her to the trunk. Terrwyn pulled open the lid. Nestled within the folds of cloth lay the bow and a quiver of arrows. She balanced the smooth wooden bow in her hand, feeling its weight. She found comfort in being armed with a weapon she understood.

  James turned, forgetting to warn her of his decision so that she stumbled against him. “Will take me a while to get used to this.”

  “Thank the saints, we won’t have to grow accustomed to being linked to each other for long. Simon will release us.”

  “Your Simon will do nothing of the kind.”

  “He vowed to protect me.”

  “Maybe so,” James said. “But a vow to his brother will stand stronger than one he made to you. Besides, Sir William relieved Simon of the key when he discovered you went on a little walk. We’ll have to take our chances and find help outside the camp.”

  Terrwyn grabbed James’s sleeve. Since her strength had weakened, he slipped out with ease. “We cannot go about the camp. ’Tis certain they’ll notice us.”

  “We’ll get my horse. Zeus is the fastest mount amongst the soldiers’ nags.” He lifted the tent flap and peered out through the slit in the canvas. “Nearly dark. They’ll think to feed us soon.”

  “Then we best move on.”

  James let the flap drop. “Go back! Go back,” he ordered in a harsh whisper.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Terrwyn shivered beside the tent pole. She gripped James’s hands, interlocking their fingers. Her breathing slowed as she matched every intake and release of breath with his. Their quiet rhythm allowed her to hear footsteps draw near the tent.

  She felt his muscles tighten, his back become hard and rigid. His tension was like that of a wolf ready to attack at any moment. He released her hand. Panic began to bubble up her throat. They had come so close to escaping. She could not let him risk his life to save hers.

  “Stay,” she whispered.

  “If we are separated, promise me you will return to your home,” he said.

  “James, I cannot—”

  “Promise me.”

  Terrwyn thought about the vision she had seen so long ago. Drem was out there, somewhere, waiting for her to find him. How could she make another promise when she had yet to fulfill the one she made to her mother? She thought of her father, his ability to smooth a ruffled feather without really promising a thing. A vow could be made without any intention of following it through to the letter. Smiling despite the heartache, she agreed, “Aye, I will find my way home.”

  James grunted something akin to satisfaction. Terrwyn hoped he did not notice her failure to promise she would head directly home the first chance she had. Not a lie, really, merely an omission. She pushed away the small voice of caution. Nothing would keep her from finding her brother. Not James and certainly not the fates. Not this time.

  Sir William and his brother stood outside, arguing about what to do with Archer. Simon’s voice began to rise. “She should be sent home.”

  “If we cut her loose, will you accept the blame if it is discovered she’s a Welsh collaborator?”

  “C’mon, brother, ’tis plain to see she’s not a traitor.”

  “She’s Welsh, isn’t she? I’ve heard her father still seeks Owain Glyndwr’s return to Wales’s throne. The threat of murdering the king was mentioned.”

  “Ack,” Simon said. “Who did you hear this from? Edgar Poole?”

  Terrwyn tensed. James sat behind her. His fingers once again entwined with hers, keeping her from rising up in furor.

  The tent wall wavered. Shadows grew. The inside bulged, an imprint of a man’s arm pressed into the canvas.

  “How did Edgar Poole come by this information? ’Tis a wonder you did not question him of his whereabouts the night Sir James went missing,” Simon said. “Frost may be involved, but Poole is just as guilty.”

  “Any word of Poole’s whereabouts?” William asked.

  “The new man called Maffew can take her place in the archers’ line.” Simon continued to press. “He says he’s from her village. Her family’s beside themselves with worry. Allow me to return the woman to them.”

  “I’ll give the matter some thought, Simon. ’Tis all I can promise.”

  Terrwyn fought to hold back tears of frustration and rage. She had come too far to let the English return her like an errant lamb. When the tent flap moved, she tilted her chin and readied to fight Simon in his presumptions.

  Small, delicate hands bore a tray laden with a pitcher and a loaf of bread. Careful not to spill a drop, Gilbert entered through the opening. His face a structure of concentration, he nodded to them and put the tray on the ground.

  Terrwyn bit her tongue, stopping the harsh words before they poured out on the child. She blinked. “Saints above,” she whispered under her breath.

  This was no time to have a vision fall on her.

  A woman’s hand, pale and delicate, encircled in dainty ruffles at the wrist. A bracelet with a silver star dangled from the edge of the sleeve. She carried a tray covered with linen. Her tinkling laughter filled the room then faded away. She turned and left, leaving a trail of sadness in her wake. The heaviness stole Terrwyn’s breath.

  She blinked again.

  Gilbert stood in front of her. Her eyes drifted to his hands. A smaller version of what she’d seen moments earlier. An odd look crossed between them.

  “You have to eat it.” His thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Thought you might be hungry.” The child moved past her and stood out of her line of vision. She heard him tear off a chunk of bread. The scent of warm butter sailed into the confines of the tent.

  James moved against her as he shook his head. “Wonderful though it smells, young Gilbert, I’m unable to take it from your hand. You’ll have to come closer and feed it to me.”

  The boy’s heels scraped the ground as he edged near. James struck out, catching the child’s jerkin in his fist. A surprised yelp slipped from Gilbert’s little mouth.

  “When you take Zeus for his nightly exercise, bring him to the clearing behind the tent.”

  His eyes wide, Gilbert nodded in affirmation of James’s request.

  “James, you cannot put the child in danger.”

  They turned, mild irritation registering in their eyes.

  “He won’t be in danger. He’ll say I escaped and fought him for the horse. Everyone knows that no one but I can truly handle Zeus.”

  “Serves them right if I let Zeus go.” Gilbert flashed with outrage. “I won’t stand by and watch the soldiers mistreat him.”

  “Gilbert will have to come with us,” Terrwyn said.

  “Zeus can take two, but three on his back will slow our travel. Even if the third is small.”

  “We cannot leave him here,” she said.

  “I won’t go with you,” Gilbert muttered. The tears he reined in with purposeful control glittered back. “It will be as Sir James says. They won’t think to harm me. Besides I have Cook to care for and I won’t leave him behind.”

  Terrwyn slid over and held Gilbert’s hand. Its older form flashed again in her head. Aware she gripped too hard, she gentled her clasp, cupping her palms over his. “Gilbert, are you certain you won’t join us?” She peered into his eyes, lost in the awareness of how similar they were in shape and color to both Simon’s and William’s.

  Gilbert shook his head and smiled. “Nay, my mother on
ce told me I must stay with the commander if I’m to find my way home.” He lifted his hand from hers and slid a soft fingertip over her cheek. “’Tis all right,” he whispered. “Sir William and I have matching stars. I saw his today. Once we cross Offa’s Dyke, I’ll show him mine.”

  “Perhaps Terrwyn is right. We can load you on Zeus’s back. He’s a warhorse, he won’t mind a little mite like you.”

  They all flinched as angry shouts outside carried through the tent. Gilbert rose, dusting the dirt from his leggings. He picked up his tray and made for the opening in the tent wall.

  Simon stuck his head through the doorway. “Make haste, young Gilbert, you’ve more duties to perform before the night is out.”

  “Aye.” With an agreeable nod, Gilbert slid past him.

  Simon followed the child’s movements before pivoting to look at Terrwyn and James. He squinted into the fading light and then, apparently deciding all was well, left without a word.

  Terrwyn released her hold on James’s wrist. The small blade between them rolled out of his hand. “We have to find a way to protect Gilbert. I won’t ever sleep another decent night if we don’t.”

  “The child is determined.”

  “Aye, as am I.”

  James lifted her hand, brushing her knuckles with his lips. “So I’ve come to know.”

  Mystified, Terrwyn found it odd that his touch both soothed her and set her yearning for something more. She wondered if he felt her pulse jump and skip under his fingertips. Her eyes closed, she pressed into his embrace, resting, pulling in strength.

  As she relaxed, pieces of the vision returned. There was familiarity in the hands. A young girl’s. A woman’s. A mother, perhaps. A child. The star. A bracelet. Stars. Eyes. The eyes so similar. Moss-green eyes. Lost in the pieces, she drifted, weaving in and out, searching for the answers. She cursed the fickle gift. It gave her nothing when she needed it.

  Ringlets of blonde curls. Much like the sketch James gave to Sir William. “The portrait of the woman. Who was she?”

  “You ask me now?” He looked at her as if she had finally lost her senses. “Do you really believe this is the best time for jealous feelings?”

  “Hush! I cannot concentrate when you are being ridiculous. Of course I’m not jealous. All I am saying is that she looks familiar.”

  James kissed the nape of her neck. “I don’t know how. The last I saw her, she was preparing to follow Owain Glyndwr.”

  “And why did Sir William covet it so?”

  James paused to weigh his answer. “I believe she was the mother of his child.”

  Before she could question him further, shouts rose up. Riders charged into the camp. The thunder of horses’ hooves filled the night. Two whistles, one short, then one long, came through the tent walls.

  James grabbed the remains of the loaf of bread. He slid the small knife inside the band of his leggings. “Make haste while their attention is drawn elsewhere.”

  Her questions forgotten, Terrwyn crawled toward the large chest. The heavy lid groaned when she lifted it. The bow and arrows lay where she had found them earlier.

  A lacquered wooden box sat atop a folded leather jerkin. She traced a finger around the crest. The familiar pieces began to fall into place. Peace settled. Her indecision dissipated.

  She pivoted on her heels and joined James. The arrow-filled quiver hung from her shoulder. She held out one of Sir William’s linen washing cloths, which she had pulled from the chest. James placed the chunk of bread in the center and tied the corners together, then tucked the ends under his belt.

  They wrapped a soft woolen blanket around the chain to muffle the rattle of the metal links and, moving with care, they slipped out of the tent.

  James pointed to the wooded glen behind the tent. The shadows were darker, the vegetation grew deeper there. Each step moved them farther from the camp. A large shadow wavered restlessly.

  A low whistle, two shorts, one long, and then the slight snap of fingers brought the shadow closer.

  Zeus stood, regal and impatient. Trained to keep silent, he did not bother the bit with his tongue. He bent his neck and nuzzled the leaves on the ground. His ears twitched, listening for instructions.

  James strode up and stroked his palm firmly over the lean muscles in the horse’s neck. He led the horse to stand near a boulder. Cupping his hands, he made a stirrup for Terrwyn to step into and lifted her to balance on Zeus’s back. The destrier quivered under the unfamiliar seat.

  James mounted behind her. He adjusted the chain, keeping enough slack between them to make their ride easier. Nudging the horse’s sides with his knees, he moved them from the encampment, away from Sir William’s tent.

  Terrwyn shivered. It was a dangerous plan. They would travel throughout the night, stopping only to water their horse. She searched her thoughts, testing, waiting for the vision to show her if they were on the right path.

  Dejected, she let go a soft sigh. Her gift was as dark as the wooded glen. Instead of relying on what she could not trust, she decided to rely on her eyes. The shadows danced as James turned them to the left.

  Wait. Terrwyn jerked her thoughts from her dismal curse. They were returning to the camp where his tent once stood. “What are you thinking, James?”

  “We cannot leave things as they are.”

  Terrwyn turned, nearly upsetting her seat. The journal she’d kept hidden all this time poked into her ribs. It was an uncomfortable reminder that she had not been quite as forthcoming as she should have. “’Tis no cause to go back to your tent. Everything is tossed and scattered. You’ll not find what you’re looking for.”

  “How do you know what I’m looking for?” James said. “You think I jeopardize our lives for a trinket?”

  “Nay,” she soothed. “I would rather we rid ourselves of this place. Be gone.”

  “You were in agreement with me a few moments ago. I intend to find Gilbert and make him come with us.”

  Terrwyn did not know how to explain she knew it, but she had to try. “The child will be happy here.”

  “I cannot take that chance. As you said, we need to be able to sleep at night.” He pulled on the reins and slowed their mount. “I cannot very well do this alone. I need your help. We’ll slip over to Cook’s tent and find Gilbert. If ’tis safe, we’ll search my tent for anything to help us on our way.”

  “’Tis a poor plan,” she hissed.

  “I know you’re afraid. If not for this chain, I’d go by myself.” James stopped and made a shushing sound.

  Zeus’s ears twitched forward, backward and then forward. His muscles rippled under their legs. A dry twig snapped. The crunch of leaves crushed underfoot drew near.

  “Don’t move, either of you.” Simon stepped out of the shadows of a scraggly bush, his broadsword drawn. Gilbert stood by his side, the back of his neck clutched in Simon’s ham-sized fist.

  “Please. Don’t harm the child.” Before James could stop her, Terrwyn slid from Zeus and took a cautious step toward them. Caught by the same chain linked to their ankles, he was dragged off, falling in an undignified manner. He scrambled up from the ground. Barefoot, he stood as tall as he could make himself.

  Terrwyn felt his rage but could not focus on it. This time, standing side-by-side, Simon and Gilbert showed her the answer to her vision. James grumbled a curse and she made a point to ignore that as well.

  “Simon, I cannot believe you intend to dismiss your vow to me.”

  Simon narrowed his eyes and grunted. His grip showed no signs of loosening from Gilbert’s neck.

  “Simon, what did you say was your niece’s name?”

  He jerked as if she had struck him in the stomach. “What?”

  “Her name. Before her mam took her away? What did they call her?”

  “Gilly. William called her his Gilly-flower.”

  Terrwyn took another step toward them. The chain between her and James grew taut. “’Tis all right now, Gilly. Deep down, your uncle’s a good man.
He keeps his vows.”

  “Gilly?” Simon whispered. “Gilly-flower?”

  He swept the oversized cap off Gilbert’s head. Waves of pale wheat unfurled. Transformed in front of their eyes, Gilbert became Gilly.

  Hesitant, Gilly nodded. She stepped away, rubbing the back of her neck. Her fearful eyes flicked between Terrwyn and Simon.

  “Wait,” Simon said. “How do I know this is not Welsh trickery?”

  Terrwyn knelt down beside the young girl. She held Gilly’s small hands and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Show him the star, Gilly. ’Tis time to show him the star. Your uncle will make an easy path to your father. To your home.”

  Gilly pulled out a bracelet from a pouch hidden in her leggings. A silver star dangled from the links. It matched the one Terrwyn saw in her vision. The design was similar to the one hidden in the crest on the small decorative box in Sir William’s chest.

  Simon lowered to one knee. His hands shook when he lifted the star to look close. “How—how do you know of this?” he stuttered.

  Terrwyn smiled and shrugged. How could she explain something she did not understand? “You and your brother will need to get yourself another page.”

  Simon stood up. He rested his hand on his niece’s shoulder, as if to make sure she did not disappear from his sight. “You best be leaving now. Though my brother will be forever grateful, he has his duty to uphold. He will need to detain you and James until he has his answers.”

  “But I—we—found his daughter.”

  “Reuniting with his Gilly-flower may slow him down. I will do what I can to see he does not slight her return. His attention will be turned to his little one for a time, but he will renew his search for you. I’ll say what I can to redirect my brother from returning to your village.”

  “I thank you, Simon of Norwich,” Terrwyn said. “I know I ask a great favor, but can you hold to your promise for a little while longer? Please. For the children. They’re as innocent as young Gilly.”

  “Said I’d do what I can,” Simon snapped. “Then my vow as your protector is fulfilled.”