Knight Dreams

by C. C. Wiley

  Before James could tell the drunken sot to shove off, Terrwyn stabbed her blade into the wooden planks of the table. It struck close to the odiferous stranger’s eyes.

  “You’ll take your mangy cur hide and leave before I carve a hole in your head where your brains ought to be,” she said.

  “Beg your pardon, young gosling.” The drunkard burped loudly. He winked then shoved his filthy body off the table. Saluting the duo, he made a wobbly bow and headed out into the night.

  James slammed down enough coins to cover the cost of their bill. He groaned out loud when the apple-cheeked serving wench trotted up to them.

  “Coo, that was amazing, my lad.” She rubbed her hand up and down Terrwyn’s sleeve. “I’d be ’appy to thank you proper like for ridding our fine establishment of that oaf.”

  Terrwyn jerked her arm out of the maiden’s grasp and trotted after James. “Was that Drem?”

  A group of men pushed past them. The apparent bulges at their waists announced the presence of clubs and dirks tucked within easy reach. A reveler, his steps heavy with drink, stumbled out of the passage between the two buildings. He yanked at the cords holding his hose up and drifted toward the tavern lights.

  “Was it?” Terrwyn demanded.

  James stopped and pulled her into the dark alleyway. The stench of waste assailed their noses as they moved deeper into the shadows. He unlaced his leggings and pretended to relieve himself against the wall of the tavern.

  “You cannot speak so loud,” he said under his breath.

  “Would you tell me if you knew?” she pressed.

  “There are more lives at stake than ours or your brother’s. He knows we are here and will reveal himself when he knows it is safe. Do you understand?”

  “Aye,” she whispered, apprehension filling her gaze.

  A horse-drawn cart rolled by the alley. James hooked his arm through Terrwyn’s and strolled behind it. He whistled a jaunty tune until the cart was well ahead of them.

  They walked in and out of the misty shadows. He led her to a small cottage hidden in the gloomy night. A small wooden sign with a faded emblem of a swan swimming in a sea of ivy swayed in the sea breeze. He lifted a rock and pulled out a key to the gate. Despite the unkempt, dilapidated look about the cottage, the gate swung open on well-oiled hinges. He lit the lantern hanging on a fence post and then blew the flame out.

  The door opened after he rapped out a cadence. Terrwyn waited for James to motion that it was safe to enter. He nodded at her caution and led the way.

  Hushed voices paused in mid-speech. Though the lights were dimmed, the darkness about the place was due largely to the heavy furs covering shuttered windows.

  Terrwyn moved closer to James’s side and found his hand. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and started to lead her away from the door.

  A large redheaded man stepped up. He held a candle aloft and peered at them. His eyes glowed with the most astonishing green Terrwyn had ever seen. It reminded her of the first shoots of grass after a winter. She supposed her mam would call it meadow green.

  “Frost,” he said, “I cannot believe you enter as you do.”

  James looked at the ham-sized palm pushing his chest and then looked up at the man. “What’s the meaning of this, Nathan? You’ve known me most of your life.”

  “Aye, I thought I did until word came of the danger you pose to the king.”

  James released Terrwyn and nudged her to step aside.

  “Nay,” she hissed.

  Nathan took notice and pointed at her with his chin. “Said that you’d be traveling with another.” He shoved James’s chest with the flat of his hand. “Though no one would believe you’d bring a stranger here.”

  Though the man called Nathan was taller by a foot, James stood his ground. “Who delivered this message? How long ago did you receive it?”

  “I tell you that you’ve been named a traitor and that is all you want to know?”

  When the great paw did not ease off his chest James added, “Sir Nathan Staves, you know me well enough to let me speak.”

  “Aye,” a voice over Terrwyn’s shoulder rumbled. “I would hear of his tale before we run him through.” He pushed past Nathan. His dark head came closer in height to James’s but his shoulders were wide and powerful under his leather jerkin and doublet. He pointed his blade to the table where three other men sat.

  “My thanks, Sir Darrick,” James said. “I’d as well tell it once and be done with it.”

  “Aye? No promises here. You’ll tell it until we’re satisfied.”

  James smiled at the menacing faces. Each kept to the shadows, but Terrwyn knew that any one of them would gut them from throat to hip. She winced when Sir Darrick caught the back of her neck and pushed her to the table.

  James nodded at Terrwyn and spoke slowly out the corner of his mouth. “’Tis okay, love. They’re a good lot of men once we get past this formality.”

  Nathan drew back. “Love? Dear God, man, have you lost your senses completely?”

  James shook his arms free. Before he could make another move, heavy hands pushed his shoulders down, forcing him to sit at the table. He pulled Terrwyn to his lap when the drunkard from the tavern broke through the door.

  The man sat next to them and leaned in, his words clear of liquor. “They may hesitate, but I won’t have trouble running you through if you don’t take your hands from my sister.”

  Terrwyn searched his face. Under the dirt and stink of his disguise was the man in her dreams. The same man who broke her nights with the visions. The little boy she knew six years ago no longer lived. In his place was this tall brawny man. He had the same high cheekbones as their father’s. His nose was similar too. But his eyes, now those were the same golden-flecked shade as their mam.

  “Drem,” she whispered. “’Tis really you.” She touched his cheek with trembling fingertips. “You’re alive.”

  He caught her hand to his face. “I should pray so. Though when our mam and father learn you’ve run away, ’tis certain they’ll skin the both of us.”

  Terrwyn slid from James’s lap and fell into Drem’s embrace. “I fear we have so much to discuss,” she said, her voice breaking as she swiped at the tears streaming down her face. She lifted her gaze to James then looked at the rest of the men in the room. “With all of you.”

  A few hours later, a handful of men, brothers of the Knights of the Swan, rode off in the middle of the night. Armed with their instructions they would find the two men who had brought the false message that accused James and the archer of deceit. Aided by Bran’s information, they knew which tavern to search for Simon of Norwich and Edgar Poole.

  Word came to the cottage in the wee hours of dawn that the brotherhood had found their prey.

  Tasked with protecting the king’s ship, James and Drem sat at the long plank table. Though not a Knight of the Swan, Drem was one of King Henry’s personal guards. James listened to his observations and advice on protecting their king.

  Heads together, they discussed Henry’s plans for taking France by storm. He intended to reclaim what he deemed should have been England’s prize all along. Surprise and perseverance were his battle cries.

  “And a great number of men,” Drem jested. “Ever hear the tale of a Welshman called the Archer? Said to be on his way. Can bring down a bird in the air, blindfolded.”

  Terrwyn lay on the rug in front of the hearth. She turned on her side and watched the two men she loved dearly. She knew when James broke the news of her history as the famed archer. Drem’s stunned silence ended with a string of curses.

  Lifting the blanket to her chin, she listened to them talk throughout the night. Despite the pain he caused her by his lack of trust, James had delivered on his vow to find her brother. After all this time, she could not believe she found Drem only to learn he prepared to go to war with his king. At least the night visions would not come to her tonight. Her eyelids began to drift shut. This time sleep would indeed be restf
ul.

  Startled by the silence, Terrwyn awoke to an empty room.

  Sweat-soaked, she shoved back her damp hair. A note lay on the table. Recognizing James’s hand, she picked it up and read his cryptic letter.

  My love,

  Received word Simon and Edgar Poole slipped through our fingers yet again. Your brother and I are off to slay this dragon once and for all. Stay put until our return.

  Yours,

  James

  Terrwyn lifted the fur and stared out the window, searching for answers. No matter her efforts, the chill in her bones lingered. She could not make sense out of the dream’s return. Although Drem’s face remained blackened, a new element had been added. Blood. Blood on her hands. More worrying were the thick rivers of blood on James.

  The recent dream coupled with James’s note told her she should not stay, idly waiting for the vision’s fulfillment. She tossed the parchment on the table and hurried to dress for the day.

  After donning the woolen gown Lady Mary sent with her, Terrwyn tucked a blade in her boot. She lifted the skirt and strapped another blade to her thigh. Her hair hung down her back in a single thick braid.

  As the door slowly swung open, she turned, feigning surprise.

  “I told ye I’d make ye pay for yer interference,” Edgar Poole said.

  “My father—”

  “Yer father’s a foolish man. I knew better than to believe that tale young Bran brought back. Didn’t have the heart for spilling a little blood.”

  Though Terrwyn knew from the dream that she must go with him, she struggled to break free when he grabbed her and threw a bag over her head. He looped a rope over the sack and knotted it around her waist.

  “Not like I do,” he said as he hoisted her over his shoulder. “Don’t mind me a little blood now and then.”

  With every step, Terrwyn’s head bobbed against his back. She fought to drag in a breath and ignore the rising nausea. She kicked out as panic began to swell. Her muffled shouts for freedom continued until he dumped her into the back of a cart. Her head hit the wooden slats so hard that she thought she might lose her morning meal.

  “Don’t ye worry none. Yer two men are anxious to see ye. They be waiting for ye to join ’em.”

  Terrwyn strained to see through the bag over her head. The coarse grain sack allowed bits of light to filter in. She could tell by the salty mist in the air that they were drawing closer to the harbor. She rolled to her side when he brought the cart to a sudden halt. The bag had inched up until she could stick her fingers out and grab the folds of her skirt.

  Poole lifted her out of the cart before she could gain access to the blade in her boot. Once again slung over his shoulder, she focused on the sounds around her. The lonely call of a seagull rose over the sound of his hobnailed boots striking the cobblestones.

  He opened a door. “Damn Simon’s black-hearted soul. What’s the impatient fool gone and done now?” Poole dropped her off his shoulder, unknotted the rope around her middle and shoved her into a room. “Appears yer man left without ye. Now don’t ye fret. When I come back for ye, we’ll have a right cozy talk.”

  “Go to the devil,” Terrwyn shouted.

  “Mind yer tongue, ye spiteful wench.” Poole slammed the door and the lock clicked into place.

  Terrwyn wiggled the bag off her head and made a quick search of the room. The brick walls looked solid and strong. Large iron hinges held the heavy oak door in place. A rustic bench, the only piece of furniture, stood against the wall. The only light came from a small window, no bigger than the one on the Genoese Queen, which overlooked the waterfront. A fleet of ships floated in the harbor. Their tall masts rose into the gray sky.

  Her hands no longer confined, she dug into her boot and pulled out the blade.

  She sat on the bench to recall where she had seen James and her brother in her dream. The pain in her head grew as she tried to force out the details. She pressed her temples. It was difficult to focus on the background and not on their faces. They were not alone. Someone else stood nearby. The small room was dark, deep in shadows. Much like Captain Russo’s tiny cabin. Then it went to black. Nothing. The dream evaporated into the mists.

  Opening her eyes, she saw the sun had begun its descent. Her patience worn, she knelt down to examine the flooring for loose boards. Her hand swept over the floor and under the bench. A silver ring emblazoned with a swan rolled out. She picked it up, cradling it in the palm of her hand. She read the word engraved inside. Brotherhood.

  “James,” she whispered. She kissed it, knowing he’d left it there for her to find. He meant to return for her and for the ring. Her thoughts turned to their talk of marriage. Surely one of her dreams would come true. She recalled the happy faces of children running and laughing in a meadow. The sun was shining on their faces. Faces that looked like James.

  The explosion rocked Terrwyn to her knees. It sucked the breath from her lungs. Gripping the edge of the bench, she dragged herself off the floor. She ran to the small window and peered out.

  Smoke billowed from one of the tall masts. A tongue of fire flickered from the porthole of one of the ships. Bran’s message returned to her. The treacherous men had succeeded in igniting a ship.

  A shadow of movement caught her attention. Her stomach clenched and she turned to confront the rat-faced man running through the door. Edgar Poole came toward her, a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “What a sight to behold! I daresay there’s nothing much left of them now.” He rubbed his hands together. “Went off a bit sooner than I planned, but I know how to make a nasty situation better.”

  “Who?” Terrwyn cried. Flashes of her night vision exploded in her head. The blood. Dear God, do not let it be James and Drem. “What did you do?”

  “Told them yer man was never a match for me. Too bad yer father wasn’t here to see it.” He reached out to stroke her head. “Though, like I said, I don’t think he woulda’ had the stomach for it either. Not in the long run.”

  Terrwyn jerked her head out of reach. She felt the comfort of the blade strapped to her thigh. She gripped the other blade she kept hidden in her skirts.

  “Yer a pretty wench, aren’t ye? I cannot see why Dafydd wished ye dead. Maybe ye gave him too much trouble.” He snatched her braid and gave it a yank. “Ye need a firm hand is all ye need.”

  He drew her close enough for her to smell his sour breath. “You are no man for me, Edgar Poole. You won’t have me, nor will you have your victory.”

  Poole pressed her to his chest. “Plenty of men of station are willing to pay me good coin to rid Lancaster blood from the throne. ’Tis Henry’s ship that is aflame. He bedded there last eve. And he met his death by noon.” He lowered his head to gain access. “Ye are me added prize.”

  Air sucked through the gap in his teeth. His eyes widened in shock. He let go of her head and stared down at his stomach.

  Terrwyn’s blade, struck through to the hilt, impaled his body. Furious, he pulled it out and stumbled back. Armed with her own weapon, he staggered toward her.

  She flipped up the hem of her skirt and withdrew the blade strapped to her thigh.

  Poole fell to the floor. His eyes glazed, he struggled to breathe.

  She did not wait for him to draw his last breath but ran out the door.

  Chapter Thirty

  Her feet flew over the cobblestones and toward the docks where the fire raged. The harbor was alive with soldiers and common folk running to put out the flames on the ship. A water brigade had been set up. Townspeople and soldiers handed off bucket after bucket.

  The ring gripped in her hand, Terrwyn searched for familiar faces. Two men stumbled past, one with blood streaming down his face, the other one blackened from soot. She ran to them. They looked beyond her, their eyes marred from shock.

  She turned to scan the harbor, searching the waves lapping at the shore. They had to be alive. She would not believe otherwise. Caught in the swell of locals who did not want the fire to reach bey
ond the bay, she pushed closer to the king’s ship.

  Captain Russo stood in the water brigade line. He had removed the brocade coat and rolled up his sleeves to pass the buckets, one after the other.

  “Signora Frost,” he said over the roar of the crowd. “Where is your husband?”

  Terrwyn blinked, pushing through the terror of life without James. “Have you seen him, Captain?”

  A deep frown furrowed his bushy brows. “Sí, but that was before the explosion. Is possible he has returned to your lodgings?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, I—I believe he and my brother are still here somewhere. Mayhap near the king’s ship.”

  Captain Russo motioned one of his men to take his place and stepped out of the line. “This is not a place for you. The docks surrounding the ship have been cleared. The only ones there are the wounded and the dead.”

  “Captain, you know how stubborn I can be. You know me. I will stay by your side until I get my answers.” Seeing his wariness, she tried a different tack. “Please.”

  “You stay,” he said. “I will see what more I can learn.”

  Terrwyn nodded and watched him walk into the bank of smoke. She jumped out of the way when the soldiers came out with the first stretcher. She peered closely and offered a prayer of thanksgiving that it was not James or Drem. Only one came out covered in canvas sheeting.

  The shuddering of her bones built as the waiting continued. By the time Captain Russo returned, she feared his answer.

  He gripped his hat under his arm. Blackened from the smoke, his countenance seemed grimmer than when he entered.

  “Good news, signora.” His teeth flashed in contrast with his soot-coated face. “Though many are injured, only one is with mortal injuries. Burned beyond recognition, but I do not believe it is your man. Is as I said earlier. He is probably waiting for you at your lodgings.”