The Haunted Knight 0f Lady Canterley

by Patricia Haverton

  “I know your meaning all too well with the loss of my own dear Grace. I have not slept a full night since her disappearance. Do you truly believe that Amelia will be able to find Grace’s kidnappers by following the path of he who poisoned her?”

  “It is possible, yes. It is likely the only way that we will be able to ascertain where the boat that took Grace across the sea may have gone.”

  “Then it is also possible that Amelia might have been taken as well upon encountering such men.”

  Tristan’s eyes met Henry’s in alarm. “The thought has not escaped me and yet it causes great distress to have it spoken aloud thus.”

  “My apologies, dear friend, but the reality of it is best not to be avoided. It is quite possible that tomorrow we will face our own death in the pursuit of answers and the women that we love. If they are capable of kidnap and the poisoning of a woman through her tea, they are capable of anything least of all the murder of two noblemen.”

  “I have sent warnings of such to Jonathan and the Viscount much as I did yourself.”

  “And each time that we take repast, we place our life in God’s hands.”

  “Do not lose hope, my dear fellow. Chances are high that your Grace still lives, with a ransom as her surety. Amelia is not protected by such.”

  “Nor are we.”

  “Nay, indeed we are not.”

  “Then tomorrow we ride for the unknown.”

  Tristan nodded grasping Henry’s extended hand in agreement to come to answers or die in the attempt. “Tomorrow.”

  Chapter 15

  When Amelia awoke once more, she found herself no longer tied to her horse advancing north, but instead she lay upon a bed with a wood beamed ceiling overhead. She turned her face toward the feeling of warmth and found a fire burning cheerily in the nearby fireplace. She moved her gaze about the room and saw many pleasantries in the form of dried herbs and flowers, lit candles, and other sundries. Where am I?

  “Hello?” she called out. “Hello?” No one answered.

  She attempted to rise and found herself unable. Her head swam causing the room to tip on end before her eyes. Gasping, she lay back unable to withstand the torrent of pain that splintered her skull. She grabbed her head groaning in misery. A sound from near the doorway drew her attention and she looked up to find a woman of advanced years entering.

  “Ye are awake. That is good.” The woman smiled as she set down her basket and moved to stand beside the bed. She reached down and checked Amelia’s skin for fever. “Ye are a verra fortunate lass indeed that I found ye when I did.”

  “Where am I?” Amelia asked uncertain what to make of the old woman.

  “Ye are in my cottage in the forest. I found ye tied dangling from a limping horse.”

  “How did a woman such as yourself manage to move me hence?”

  “By bringing yer horse inside my cottage.” The woman spoke with an accent blending that which was spoken both north and south of the Anglo-Scottish border. From what Amelia could tell of it she must still be within the English marches. “I may be an auld woman, but I am stronger than I look.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Agnes. I am a healer of the auld ways. And who might ye be?”

  Amelia hesitated to divulge her identity but decided that she had little choice given her circumstances; however, she opted not to reveal her title or surname so as not to further endanger Grace should the old woman have ties to the kidnappers. “Amelia.”

  “’Tis a pleasure tae make yer acquaintance, Amelia.”

  “The pleasure is mine. I must thank you for coming to my aid, Agnes. It is much appreciated.”

  “Not at all.” The woman waved away her thanks and moved to a kettle hanging over the fireplace. She ladled out a bowl of broth and brought it over to Amelia.

  Amelia cringed at the thought of attempting to eat only to expel it once more. She turned her head away refusing the offering. “Nay.”

  “Is it the smell that offends ye? Or are ye given tae drink as your own scent would reveal?” The healer eyed her thoughtfully.

  “Nay, I am not a drunkard.”

  “Evidence would prove otherwise,” the healer argued with her brow raised in doubt.

  “I was poisoned with camphor. The remedy…”

  “Wine and laudanum,” the old woman interrupted, nodding in understanding. “I see now the issue.”

  The healer turned and mixed a few of the dried herbs hanging about her cottage into a cup, then poured hot water over the herbs. She handed the remedy to Amelia. “Drink. It will help ye tae hold food.” Amelia took the cup but hesitated. “It is not poisoned. I have nae quarrel with ye, lass.”

  Amelia nodded, sniffed the mixture, taking a small sip. Not feeling any ill effects, she drank the entirety of the cup. “Thank you,” she offered her gratitude as she handed back the cup.

  “Now lay back and let it heal yer tormented stomach. When it has done its work ye will feel much better,” the healer promised.

  “Close yer eyes and rest.”

  Amelia lay back as instructed but did not close her eyes. In spite of the woman’s aid she did not trust her. Since Grace had been taken and herself having nearly been felled by poison, she could ill afford to trust anyone. In spite of her resolve, she soon fell into slumber whether by natural healing or by the herbal remedy given she did not know. Panic seized her at the thought that it might be the latter and yet she was powerless to hold slumber at bay.

  Please God let me awaken once more, not for my sake but that of my sister.

  * * *

  Tristan and Henry left Slantonshire riding to the south toward where Tristan had last seen Amelia. He prayed that he had simply passed her unknowingly upon the way as they retraced his steps. Henry had left his trusted butler with orders that should the solicitor arrive with the ransom the man was to remain at Slantonshire to await his return.

  “We will find her, my friend, and return her to your loving care,” Henry promised.

  “From your lips to God’s ears. May it be so.” An image of her wasted body lying upon the road flashed through his mind in fearful dread spurring his horse ever faster.

  “Perhaps she will have discovered something along her journey.”

  “That is the very thing I fear.”

  Henry looked at him in empathy. “And yet it is the very thing that I long for.”

  “In that I cannot hold you to blame for were our roles reversed I would feel much the same.”

  “I wish Amelia no ill will as you well know, but I long for answers of my Grace, no matter the source.”

  “I understand all too well and I will stand by your side as the men responsible hang for their misdeeds having been brought to such ends by our very own hands, but first we must find Amelia.”

  They rode through the day questioning everyone along their path many of which they had questioned before in their pursuit of Grace. One old man deep in his drink even went so far as to make a jest that they were incapable of holding on to their women. It had taken all of Tristan’s restraint not to punch the man in the face. As they turned to walk away the man called out to them stumbling forward. “Ye say ye are in need o’ a healer?”

  “Yes,” Tristan answered turning back to face the man in disgust of his drunken slobbering state. “You know of such?”

  “For a price.” He rubbed his hands together a greedy light in his eyes.

  Tristan dropped a coin into the man’s outstretched hand. “Speak of what you know.”

  “There is an auld woman who lives in the forest not far from here that might render ye aid.”

  “Are you able to lead us there?”

  “Aye, for an even better price.”

  Tristan shook his head and grasped the man up by his shirt. “Can you sit a horse?”

  The man snorted. “What do ye take me for?”

  “A drunkard,” Tristan answered honestly.

  “Aye, I can sit a horse.” The man stumbled forward again
.

  Another man sitting at a nearby table snorted. “He could nae sit a horse were he sober tae say nothing o’ his current state.”

  “And do you know of this healer of which he speaks?” Tristan demanded of the second man.

  “Nae,” the man shook his head.

  “Then mind your own,” Henry interjected stepping between them. The man turned back to his drink and Tristan hauled the drunkard from the tavern out into the fresh air in hopes of clearing the man’s addled head. He took him over to a nearby horse trough and dunked the drunkard’s head beneath the water. The man fought back spluttering under the watery onslaught. Tristan lifted the drunkard’s head so as not to have the man drown.

  “Any clearer?” he asked studying the man’s bloodshot eyes. The man spat angrily at Tristan’s feet in reply. “Again then.” Tristan dunked the man’s head under once more. Lifting it he questioned, “And now?” The man issued an expletive that was best not repeated. In response Tristan thrust the man’s entire body into the horse trough.

  The drunkard came up sputtering and cursing. “Enough,” he shouted. “I have sobered.”

  “And you will take us to the healer?”

  “Aye, I will take ye if ye would but cease yer attempts at drowning.”

  Henry snorted. “Had he wished to drown you, he could have easily done so.”

  “I but wished to clear your mind, old man, not to bring about your end.” Tristan hauled the man up out of the water trough and set him on his feet. “Do you have a horse?” The man shook his head. “Then we shall have to procure you one.” They moved to the stables where Tristan arranged to borrow a horse for the man. He was forced to pay a tidy sum for it as the stable owner recognized the drunkard and expressed his distrust of him.

  “I will not release any of my horses to the likes of Rob Johnson,” the stable owner remarked spitting in disgust.

  “But you will do so to the Duke of Slantonshire and the Earl of Ayle,” Henry stepped forward coin in hand. Tristan smiled at his friend’s authoritative manner. He was grateful to have him by his side during this time of difficulty. “You have my personal guarantee that the horse will be returned to you and if it is not, I will replace the steed with one of greater value from my own stables.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Grace. My apologies.” The man scurried about providing all that was needed in short order having lost all will for resistance. “Will you be needing anything else, Your Grace?”

  “Not at this time. I thank you for your cooperation.” Henry placed coin in the man’s hand, then turned with Tristan leaving the stables.

  “Rob Johnson is it?” Tristan asked as he shoved the man onto the back of the rented horse.

  “Aye,” the man nodded.

  “Take us to the healer, but I warn you that if this is a trick, I will see that you suffer greatly for the deceit.”

  “Nae, My Lord, there is nae trickery afoot. I have spoken nae but honest words.”

  “Then let us depart.” Tristan and Henry mounted their horses and set out to find the healer of the forest.

  When they arrived, they found the cottage door standing open. They dismounted and looked about for anyone around the cottage but finding no one in the immediate vicinity they entered the house. The sight that greeted them there was shocking. “What are ye starin’ at?” Rob Johnson pushed his way into the cottage and peered around the Duke and Earl who towered over him.

  Tristan could barely swallow the lump of worry that threatened to clog his throat cutting off the air from his lungs. “Blood…”

  Chapter 16

  Amelia awoke to the sound of voices. “Ye swore that nae one would be able tae trace the poison back tae me and yet the verra lass that ye used it on is lying in my bed!”

  “Calm yourself old woman. The girl knows nothing as you said yourself, she admitted to you what had happened to her. If she had thought you responsible, she would not have done so would she? You have risked much in sending for me,” the man growled in warning.

  “What would ye have me tae do? Kill the lass myself?”

  “It was never our intention to see the girl dead, simply to warn her, to keep her from finding out too much. Were you to kill her, you would suffer grave consequences. The intent is money, not murder, but if pushed you will find that we are quite capable of it.” The threatening tone of the man’s voice caused Amelia’s heart to race in fear.

  “Dinnae threaten me,” the old woman’s voice sounded low in her throat.

  “’Tis not a threat but a promise.”

  “If ye were tae ever lay hands upon me, I would see ye dead where ye stand.”

  “You reach beyond yourself, old hag.”

  “As do ye, ye good for nothin’…” the old woman’s words were cut off by a hard slap.

  The sound of a scuffle filled the room as the woman cried out in rage, launching herself at the man with knife in hand. The pretense of the gentle healer was gone and in its place a Fury to rival that of Greek mythology. Amelia watched everything through veiled eyes so as not to alert the man to her wakened state. The woman lashed out at him with the knife cutting his arm, but she was no match for the muscular man and was thrown to the floor.

  The healer’s head hit the edge of the table, filling the room with a sickening cracking sound. The healer fell to the ground lifeless, never to utter another sound. The man growled, spitting on her corpse, and moved to the edge of the bed. He poked at Amelia’s leg, but she did not react. She did all within her power not to do anything that would reveal that she lay awake instead of in slumber.

  Amelia wished that she had a means to protect herself, but she did not. The best that she could hope for was that the man would believe her sleeping act and leave without causing further harm. The idea of being murdered while she lay in such a state was terrifying. She used every muscle in her body to keep shuddering breaths at bay for the moment that she were to give way to her terror, would be the moment that her life would end.

  She felt the heat of the man as he bent over to inspect her more closely. She felt the muscles in her legs quiver and pleaded to God to keep such movement from the man’s eye. She tightened her legs in hopes that such an action would keep the trembling from taking over her entire body. She felt him lay something upon her chest and waited for the sound of gunfire, but it never came.

  When the man’s footsteps echoed across the floor toward the door she nearly cried out in relief. The sound of his horse retreated away from the cottage. Amelia threw the blankets from her body and crawled out of bed. She stumbled her way to the door and found her own horse standing tied to the post, all signs of a limp were gone.

  Amelia clung to the side of the cottage until she reached the horse then pulled herself into the saddle. Every muscle in her body trembled from the exertion as she first lay across the saddle then pulled her leg up over the side. She clung to the saddle and turned the horse’s head in the direction that she had heard the man ride away in. The horse blew air as if in protest of her choice.

  “I am aware of the dangers, Pericles, nevertheless, this man holds knowledge as to Grace’s whereabouts and for such news we must risk all,” she informed her horse, as much to soothe and justify her actions to herself as much as anything else. She knew all too well that what she did was foolhardy, but she had come this far and was not about to turn away now that she had found her first real clue since turning away from the shores of the North Sea.

  Clinging to the horse’s back, she followed the man’s tracks through the forest as Tristan and Fergus had taught her when they had searched for Grace. She kept her eyes to the ground, too weak to do much else. The man’s tracks led north further into the trees, away from the road and the village.

  For the man to be this far south either he has remained behind to tend to matters closer to home, or they have moved Grace back here. Hope sprung in her breast that the latter was true. If they have brought her back, then I can find her. Perhaps they have done so in preparation of re
ceiving the ransom? Perhaps word came while I was away? Amelia’s heart swam with hope that it might all be over soon.

  I am coming for you, Grace. Do not give up hope. A still small voice of warning entered her mind that she had been threatened away from searching for Grace or risk her sister’s life, but she shoved it down deep within her mind. The man had said that murder was not their intent, that Grace’s abduction had been entirely about money. Armed with such knowledge it is worth the risk to stop them from doing this to anyone else ever again.

  If Amelia could somehow remain undetected and discover where the men were hiding, she could see that they were brought to justice. Even if Grace was not able to be freed before the ransom was paid, such knowledge would aid them in capturing the men responsible after the exchange. The horse plodded along as if it sensed that she could not go any faster or risk her passenger falling off. Amelia was grateful for the animal’s intuition.