Silent Knight: Second in Command Series - Alexander

by Rose, Elizabeth

  “You have no choice but to pick yourself up by the bootstraps, Peter Mowbray,” he said, testing the name on his tongue. Damn, why didn’t it sound or feel as foreign as he’d hoped it would? Pushing up out of the chair, he knew what he had to do. “You died and managed to come back to life, so burying a dead man in the middle of winter should be an easy task.” It wouldn’t really be easy or pleasant but, then again, going to Framlingham and telling Lady Summer that he was her dead son was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever do in his life!

  Chapter 2

  “Lady Summer, it is so kind of you to invite us to your Christmas celebration.” Lady Charlotte Ashworth of Manchester did her best to act grateful but felt as if this were naught but an act of pity arranged by her meddling mother. After all, Charlotte was a widow, barren, and getting up in age. Nay, she wouldn’t show her true feelings in front of everyone in the great hall.

  She took in her surroundings of Framlingham Castle as the servants hurried around, decorating the great hall for Christmas. Long strands of holly were draped from beam to beam overhead. And from strings coming from the rafters dangled balls of mistletoe with lit candles attached in the middle. The room held the scent of pine and frankincense from the beeswax candles. The musicians played a cheerful tune from the gallery. Servants draped cloths dyed red and green over the long trestle tables preparing for the Christmas feast.

  “I think it’ll be fun,” said Lady Summer, holding on to the arm of her husband, Lord Warren Mowbray. “After all, we are hoping to find a suitable man to whom we can betroth our daughter, Claire, before this is all over.”

  “But Claire is only eight and ten years of age,” said Charlotte, already feeling doomed since she was seven years older. Nobody would choose a twenty-five-year-old woman to marry over an eighteen-year-old girl. Plus, Charlotte wasn’t a virgin. Once the men found out she was barren and had most of her good childbearing years already behind her, they would break a leg running in the opposite direction.

  If only her father hadn’t kept her living at the abbey since her husband passed away seven years ago, she might be married by now. Perhaps it was a blessing that her mother decided to pull her out of the convent now that her father had passed on. But unfortunately, she would end up with an old, fat knight if she even found a knight who wanted her at all.

  “There will be plenty of eligible men here who might want to marry you,” Summer told her.

  “Oh, do you really think so?” Charlotte’s mother, Ann, stood up straighter and cocked her head, listening intently. “After all, she is five and twenty years old now, and has been raised by nuns for the past seven years.”

  “Mother,” mumbled Charlotte under her breath, noticing people around them starting to stare. Her face was probably turning as red as the holly berries from her embarrassment.

  “A lady who lived with nuns that long and is looking for a husband has got to be a conversation starter,” said Lord Warren with a low chuckle. His wife scowled at him.

  “Warren, perhaps you should go see if Dominick and Robert have arrived yet.” Summer smiled sweetly and gave him a slight push in the opposite direction.

  “Right,” said Warren clearing his throat and heading away.

  “Who are Dominick and Robert?” asked Ann. “Is it possible they might want to marry my daughter?”

  “Mother,” Charlotte said under her breath, wishing the woman would ease up already.

  “Dominick is my son,” Summer told them. “And Robert is my grandson. He is the cutest five-year-old boy you’ll ever see. I swear he thinks he is at least ten.”

  “Oh, so Dominick is married,” said Charlotte, only so her mother would stop pushing.

  “Nay. His wife died in childbirth. He hasn’t remarried,” explained Summer.

  “He hasn’t?” asked Charlotte. “How old did you say he is?” Perhaps, this was an option. A widower might want her since he already had a child and wouldn’t require too many more from her. At her age, Charlotte didn’t know how many babies she would have, or if she’d have any at all. She heard that Lady Summer lost several babies through the years. Her last one had been a little boy that she never got over losing.

  “My brother is five and twenty years of age,” said a young woman joining them.

  “That’s my age,” said Charlotte, liking what she heard.

  “Dominick never got over losing his wife and swore he would never marry again, so don’t count on him,” said the blond girl.

  “Lady Charlotte, Lady Ann, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Claire,” Summer introduced them.

  Charlotte groaned inwardly. While Charlotte was plain-looking, Claire was a vision of beauty, just like her mother. Long, blond curls peeked out from under her jeweled headpiece, framing her heart-shaped face. A little, button nose and big, turquoise eyes only accented her long lashes and full lips. Her body was curvy but petite. Her waist was tiny.

  “So, you are interested in marrying as well?” asked Charlotte, almost hoping the girl’s parents would change their minds and wait another year to betroth Claire.

  “Aye, I’m going to have all the men fighting over me,” said Claire, brushing a speck off her sleeve.

  “Claire, what did I tell you about acting haughty?” asked her mother.

  “I’m not haughty,” said Claire. “I’m just in a hurry to marry because I don’t want to end up old and single. I want to have lots and lots of babies.” Claire looked at Charlotte when she said it, only making Charlotte feel worse.

  “Oh, look. Here come Dominick and the baby now,” said Summer, glancing across the great hall. “Lady Regina is with them. You three girls will have a good time sharing a room during the length of the festivities.”

  “Mother,” said Claire, rolling her eyes. “I’m not sharing a room with . . . them,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Claire, Lady Charlotte is our guest,” Summer reminded her. “Her mother will be staying in my chamber during their visit, and Charlotte and Regina will be with you.”

  “Fine,” said Claire, letting out a frustrated breath. “But can’t Regina sleep with the servants where she belongs? After all, sharing a room with a nun is bad enough.”

  “Claire! That’s enough from you. Now let’s go and greet your brother. Excuse us,” said Lady Summer, nodding to her guests. She took her daughter by the arm and led her away, reprimanding her quietly as they walked.

  “Who is Lady Regina and why does Claire want her to sleep with the servants?” asked Charlotte.

  Her mother leaned over and whispered behind her hand. “Regina was raised as Summer’s stepdaughter at the death of the girl’s mother. Rumor has it that Regina’s father was the late Baron Mowbray, and her mother was naught but Lady Summer’s handmaid. Can you believe it?”

  Charlotte peered across the hall perusing Lady Regina. She looked to be a few years older than Claire and a few years younger than herself. The girl seemed shy and also overweight. She wasn’t comely at all. Charlotte’s heart went out to her. She knew how it felt to be unwanted. After all, she’d heard the rumor that the whole reason she was sent to a nunnery, to begin with, was that her father thought she wasn’t his child. She’d asked her mother about it, but the woman swore it wasn’t true.

  “I’d like to meet Lady Regina,” said Charlotte, picking up her skirts and heading across the hall. Perhaps, her own situation wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought. After all, Regina wasn’t married either, and no one said a word about finding her a husband. Mayhap, Charlotte would have a chance to wed again after all.

  Chapter 3

  With a dreary gray sky overhead, Alex rode his steed over the snow-laden ground as he approached Framlingham Castle. He wasn’t at all sure why he was here. Sitting atop an old nag he’d found out in a field, he had everything he owned in travel bags tied to the horse. He’d never stolen anything in his life but needed a steed to get here. With his bad leg, there was no way he could walk this distance.

  He’d buried his father
two days ago, using a pickaxe to break the frozen ground and only managing to dig a shallow grave. All the while, thoughts filled his head of the last words the man told him. Alex considered Crandell his father and always would even if it proved not to be true. He already missed the man dearly and felt isolated and alone.

  Alex pulled the hood of his cloak lower, trying to block out the cold. He felt chilled to the bone from the journey and welcomed the thought of sitting by a warm fire. Stopping just before the drawbridge, he took in his surroundings. Framlingham Castle was enormous in size and outlandishly impressive. Long, colorful banners of the lord’s crest fluttered in the breeze from the battlements. The castle had four round turrets, a massive keep, and high walls around the inner bailey. There was even a gatehouse with a long ramp over a moat that led to the drawbridge.

  His heart raced thinking that there was a woman inside who might be his mother. He’d never had a mother of any kind growing up and thought he hadn’t missed it. That is, not until now. With Crandell’s demise creating a void in his life, he needed someone to fill it.

  It had always been just Crandell and him and no one else. Without the man at his side, Alex felt empty and lost. He looked down to his twisted leg, wondering what Lady Summer would think of him. Would she reject him, not wanting a lame son? Or would she pity him and treat him like a child? He wanted neither. Actually, he wasn’t even sure he would tell her the story he’d heard from Crandell. After all, if it weren’t true, he would feel like a fool. Aye, he decided, he would just keep silent about it until he found out more.

  If he really were Lady Summer’s son, would she even want him after all this time? Perhaps her husband would send him away. No man wanted a son who was naught but a crippled mercenary, no matter how well he fought.

  Alex’s stomach clenched in a hard knot. He suddenly felt as if he didn’t want to go inside at all. He’d made a promise to Crandell, but did it even matter anymore? The man was dead now. If Alex, indeed, was Peter, everyone thought he was dead, too. Mayhap, it was better left this way.

  Looking down to the gold signet ring on his finger, he caressed it with his thumb, hoping it would give him strength. He had wanted a remembrance of Crandell, so he didn’t bury the ring with the man. Besides, Alex had very little to live on and might end up having to sell it just so he could eat.

  He was turning around when, out of nowhere, a horse approached behind him at high speed. The rider caused his horse to rear up. Alex was taken by surprise and thrown to the ground.

  “Get outta my way,” growled the man. “Keep this road clear for the knights and other nobles. You commoners have gotten much too bold. Now go back to your hovel where you belong.”

  Alex looked up to see an angry man about his age with oaken hair, staring down at him. He was dressed like a knight but certainly didn’t act like one. Dark stubble covered his face, and his clothes were dirty. There was a crest on his tunic, but Alex couldn’t make it out from his position, prone on the ground.

  “Here come the ladies. Now, get out of the way.”

  Alex pushed up to his knees but wasn’t moving fast enough for the man. The knight slid off his horse and trudged through the ankle-deep snow, stopping right in front of him. “Did you hear me? Get up, you sorry excuse for a man.”

  Alex struggled to stand in the snow, not being able to hide the fact he was lame.

  “Oh, you’re a cripple,” said the man, kicking snow in his face. Alex’s fury grew. He wished right now that he had two good legs so he could kick the man in the teeth for treating him this way.

  “What’s this?” asked the man, reaching out to take the swords tied to Alex’s horse. Alex had his father’s sword tied to the horse and also the one his father had bought him on his eighth birthday. He’d been raised with a blade in his hand and could use it just as good as anyone. “I like this,” said the man, pulling Alex’s sword from the sheath. The horse whinnied and stomped its foot.

  “Put it back,” said Alex, getting to his feet, not wanting to lose one of the last things he owned.

  The man chuckled. “And what the hell are you going to do about it?” Then he called out for his squire as he raised the sword in the air. His squire rode up to join them. “Get the other sword and let’s get to the castle. I want to be one of the first ones there so I can eye up the wenches. After all, if they’re rich enough, I might want to marry one of them.”

  “Aye, Sir Dreyfis,” said the boy. But before the boy could get to Alex’s horse, Alex reached out and drew his father’s sword.

  “Drop the sword,” Alex commanded, holding it pointed at the man called Sir Dreyfis.

  Dreyfis looked up and started laughing. “Squire, look at that,” he said. “The lame one is foolishly threatening me.” The squire started laughing as well.

  “Don’t make me fight you, because I will,” Alex warned him, probably sounding too docile since he very rarely raised his voice.

  “You dare threaten a knight?” asked the man. “That is punishable by death, coming from a commoner.”

  Dressed in a tunic and breeches and wearing a traveling cape, Alex looked like a commoner. He didn’t own chain mail, or spurs or armor like a knight would have. That was reserved for the nobles and quite expensive.

  “Where does a man like you get swords like this?” Dreyfis inspected Alex’s sword.

  “It’s none of your business,” said Alex.

  “On the contrary, it is. I want to know all I can before I kill you and take from you that which you have probably stolen from a noble to begin with.”

  “I don’t steal,” said Alex. His eyes roamed over to the horse, realizing it was a lie. He felt pretty low right now even if the only thing in his life he’d stolen was a broken-down nag. He planned on taking the horse back once he made his visit, so it didn’t really matter, he told himself.

  “Let’s see if you can even hold that thing.” The man swung the sword at him. Alex instinctively raised his blade, clashing with that of his attacker’s. He had sparred constantly with his father ever since childhood. Crandell had taught him everything the late baron had taught him when he worked as a guard at the castle. Alex’s skill in handling a weapon was the one thing that he prided himself on. He was just as good as any knight when he had a blade in his hand. That is, as long as he could stay on his feet.

  “My lord, he seems to know how to handle the weapon,” said the man’s squire.

  “I see, but I don’t understand it,” said Dreyfis. He lunged at Alex a few more times and, each time, Alex rose to the challenge, blocking and keeping the man at bay. Alex’s leg hurt like hell from the fall, but he bit back the pain and continued to spar. Every job he and Crandell had as mercenaries during his life had made Alex that much stronger.

  “Come and get me,” taunted Dreyfis, backing away, wanting Alex to attack. Of course, with his leg, he couldn’t chase him, and neither did he want to. What he needed to do was get on his horse. From atop his horse, Sir Dreyfis would be no match for him. He reached out to pull himself up into the saddle. When he did, Dreyfis rushed forward and kicked Alex’s bad leg out from under him. Alex grabbed for the saddle, accidentally dropping his sword in the process as he fell to the ground in the snow.

  “Now let’s see how well you handle a weapon from the ground.” Dreyfis held the tip of the sword up to Alex’s throat.

  “What is going on, here?” came the low voice of a man on horseback. He was followed by a woman riding her horse sidesaddle, and two younger women on horses of their own.

  “Lord Mowbray,” said Dreyfis, lowering the sword and nodding his head. “I was just clearing the road of undesirables to make room for you and the ladies.”

  Lord Mowbray frowned. “Sir Dreyfis, no one treats anyone with such disrespect while on my lands, no matter if they are a commoner or not. Certainly, as a knight, I would expect better from you.”

  “What is your name?” asked the woman who accompanied Lord Mowbray, looking straight at Alex. Suddenly, he felt tongu
e-tied. He pushed up to his knees and then to his feet, embarrassed that all the women were watching him, seeing that he had a bad leg.

  “Lady Mowbray asked a question. Answer her,” snapped Dreyfis.

  Alex’s head snapped up at hearing Dreyfis call the woman Lady Mowbray. He drank in the sight of the mature but beautiful woman who looked like a goddess atop her horse. Her long, blond hair was pulled back and atop her head was a small hat. She wore a long, purple, velvet cloak that stretched out and covered the back of the horse. She looked to be mayhap twenty years his senior but did not show her age with wrinkles or gray hair. If she was Lady Mowbray . . . Alex realized he could be staring at his own mother. Now, he found it impossible to answer.

  “Sir Dreyfis, I do not like your tone. And I warned you to hold your tongue while on my lands.” Lord Warren Mowbray sat majestically tall atop his steed. He was dressed in fine clothes that looked very expensive. Even his horse had elaborate tack trailing down the sides. “Now please, give the man back his sword and go to the castle and wait for me there.”

  “He doesn’t need two swords. He can’t possibly use them both,” complained Dreyfis. “He probably stole them, because no commoner would have swords like these.”

  “Don’t make me tell you again,” warned Warren.

  Dreyfis snarled and threw the blade down on the ground at Alex’s feet and left with his squire following.

  Alex collected both his swords and proceeded to wipe them down on his cloak and sheath them. All the while, he focused on his weapons, not having the nerve to look up at Lady Summer again.

  “Is there something wrong with your leg?” asked the young, blond girl from atop her horse. She stretched her neck to peruse him.

  “Claire, that is inappropriate for you to ask him that,” warned Lady Mowbray.

  “Mother, I simply asked a question.”