The Haunted Knight 0f Lady Canterley

by Patricia Haverton

  Her heart raced with the fear of being caught and the excitement of finally catching up to her prey. She smiled at the thought. She was not certain if her glee was more from hysteria due to her weakened state or the thought of vengeance against those who had taken her sister. She followed the man as best she could, but her vision faded in and out as darkness edged in once more. She fought it off the best that she could, but eventually it got the better of her and she lost consciousness.

  The next thing she knew she awakened to the sound of a male voice that she did not recognize. Her mind froze in fear, the only thing she could think was, They have found me.

  * * *

  Tristan stared in horror at the sight of the dead woman upon the floor lying in a pool of her own blood. “Good God,” Henry breathed from beside him. Tristan nodded in agreement then bent to ensure that the woman was indeed dead. It appeared that she had suffered a head wound that had crushed a section of her skull, whereupon she had bled out onto the floor. “The poor woman,” Henry murmured bending down beside him.

  “Yes, poor woman indeed.” Tristan looked around him to see if there were any signs of Amelia’s presence or of whomever had attacked the healer. He found a blood stain on the edge of the table, some items of little import lay upon the floor, and the bed was disheveled, but other than that there were no other signs of anything suspicious.

  The drunkard from the tavern stumbled over to the table and sat down in a chair. “She’s dead then is she?” he asked callously, as if he could not have cared less what had befallen the woman.

  Tristan and Henry ignored the man. “Amelia is not here, but someone obviously was. I do not believe her capable of killing another person unless it was in defense of herself or someone she loves.”

  “Nor do I,” Henry agreed.

  Tristan moved over to the bed and searched through the blankets but found nothing. The cottage was filled with dried flowers and herbs, the necessities of domesticity, drying candles, and little else. Nothing that said Amelia had been there for certain could be found, but Tristan did not believe the healer’s death to be a coincidence. “It is possible that Amelia might have tracked her poisoner to this woman.”

  “That would explain why the woman is dead if the men responsible did not wish for her to reveal their identity.” Henry nodded in agreement.

  “Yes, if the woman herself was not the one responsible. Unlikely, I know, considering she is now dead, but it is possible.”

  Henry shook his head. “It is terrible to think that a woman of such advanced years would spend them in treachery. I would not wish to meet my maker with an act such as that marring my soul.”

  “Nor would I, but it happens. Either way I cannot help but think that the poison came from here.”

  “If we involve the magistrate, we could be putting Grace at risk, if the old woman is indeed involved with the kidnappers.” Henry’s brow wrinkled in concern.

  “We need not do so if we send Mr. Johnson,” Tristan suggested. They both turned to look at the drunkard who had fallen asleep sitting up in the chair. “Though it is doubtful that he would remain sober long enough to actually report that she is dead.”

  “We were seen with the man in the village. Word will get about that we were present at the time of her discovery.”

  “We cannot simply bury her without reporting her death, Henry.”

  Henry sighed and closed his eyes in frustration and dread. “I know, and I did not mean to suggest such a thing. I simply wished to point out that it is unlikely that our names will remain out of it.”

  “It was always a risk when we set out to find Grace that we would be found out. It is clear that they already know about past movements. It is likely that they will already be aware of our presence here, though there is a small chance that this could have nothing to do with it.” Tristan walked over and shoved at the drunkard, Mr. Johnson. “Wake up,” he ordered. “Wake up!”

  Mr. Johnson snorted and opened his eyes peering up at him. “What do ye want?”

  “Return to the village and report this to the magistrate. It is likely that he will send a constable out, if he has one under his supervision.”

  The drunk man snorted in amusement. “This ain’t London.” He laughed. “A constable indeed.” He stood shaking his head.

  Tristan frowned. “I am certain that the magistrate has someone to aid him with this. We must continue our search but will return as soon as is possible to ensure that you have returned the horse and speak with the magistrate about the old woman.”

  “He’ll want tae speak with ye,” Mr. Johnson warned as he stumbled to his feet.

  “I am certain that he will, but it will have to wait.”

  “He won’t be pleased tae see my face.”

  “I can imagine,” Henry muttered. Tristan barely managed to keep from smiling at the sarcastic remark.

  They aided Mr. Johnson back onto his horse. “Return the horse to the stable upon your return or I will hunt you down and take the price from your hide,” Tristan threatened.

  “I will, I will.” Johnson acted as if the entire ordeal was nothing but an imposition. “Where are ye goin’ anyway? Why aren’t ye comin’ back tae the village with me tae report tae the magistrate yerself?”

  “The old woman has not been dead for very long. That means her killer could still be in the area, as may the woman we are looking for. We must continue on to ensure that we do not miss the opportunity. You do as we have instructed and there will be more coin in it for you upon our return.”

  Johnson’s eyes glittered with greedy interest at his words and he kicked his horse forward back toward the village. Tristan and Henry turned to search the ground for signs of recent activity. They found two separate tracks in the soft earth of the forest floor and followed them. While one path was fairly straight and steady, the other weaved a bit back and forth as if the rider were drunk or ill, certainly not in full control of their sensibilities.

  “Amelia?” Henry proposed.

  “Amelia,” Tristan nodded as they continued on following the trail.

  Tristan’s heart beat faster with concern at Amelia’s obviously unsteady state. It is beyond belief that she has made it this far in her condition. He fully expected to find her lying upon the ground in front of him at some point along the trail, but he prayed that it would not be so.

  I have never met another noblewoman of such frustrating foolhardy character and yet it is somehow one of her most endearing qualities. There is no limit to what she will do to protect someone she loves. He longed to be one of those people, and yet it was clearer than ever that there was no place for him in her heart. Nor was there any place in her heart for herself, if the frequency in which she put herself in danger was any indication.

  Caring for her sister had been Amelia’s driving force since their mother had died. It was the thing that had helped her to survive the loss. He did not know what she would do if anything happened to Grace, but her behavior thus far did not make him hopeful. How does one go on in life if their reason for living is gone? Even if he did find Amelia unharmed, he was concerned that he would not be able to turn her away from her current destructive path.

  Chapter 17

  “I think she is wakin’ up,” a man’s voice announced standing over her. “Lass?” The man touched her shoulder and Amelia opened her eyes. “Lass?”

  “Where is Grace?” Amelia managed to mumble out as the fog inside her mind began to clear. “What have you done with Grace?”

  “Grace? Who is Grace, lass? Did ye lose someone in the forest?”

  “You took her,” she accused, attempting to sit up.

  “Slowly now, lass,” the man warned reaching out to gently aid her into a sitting position. “I am sorry, lass, but I dinnae ken any Grace, let alone have taken her anywhere.”

  Another man stepped forward and peered down into her face. “Is she daft?”

  “I dinnae ken,” the first man answered. “Mayhap, or she may just be lost.�
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  Amelia looked from man to man uncertainly. They did not appear to be lying, but one could never be sure. “I am not daft,” she informed them. “But I may very well be lost. Where am I?” She looked all about her, her eyes widening in surprise. It appeared that she had stumbled out of the forest onto the shores of a mountain lake. It was one of the most beautiful things that she had ever seen. How far did I travel?

  “Yer in The Lakes, lass.”

  A sheep’s baa sounded in the near distance and she turned her head to find an entire herd of sheep grazing nearby with two black and white border collies keeping them in place. “Who are you?”

  The first man removed his hat and bowed his head ever so slightly. “The name’s Maxwell, Alasdair Maxwell. This here is my brother, Malcolm.” Both men were older gentlemen in shepherd’s garb.

  “And who might ye be?” the one introduced as Malcolm demanded to know taking in Amelia’s masculine attire with disapproval.

  “Amelia.” She elected not to tell them the full truth about her identity. She did not know them, and it had become clear to her that she could not trust anyone that was not family.

  “A lady from the sounds o’ it,” Malcolm Maxwell noted referencing her way of speech. “What would a noblewoman be doin’ way out here, and wearin’ a man’s clothes? Her speech is tae refined for her tae be a whore.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Amelia reproached him.

  “Definitely a lady o’ quality,” Alasdair agreed. “But why the men’s clothing, lass? Are ye on the run from someone, a husband or faither perhaps?”

  Amelia did not know what to say to the men. She did not want to put Grace in further danger by her actions. If she were to admit the truth and these men were a part of the group that took Grace, then she would be playing right into their hands. If they were not a part of the men who took Grace, then she would be jeopardizing her family’s reputation. “Have you seen anyone else traveling through here before me? A man on a horse, perhaps?”

  “Nae,” both brothers shook their heads to the negative.

  “Ye are the only thing other than sheep we have seen all day, lass. Why do ye ask?” Alasdair asked, frowning. “Are ye seekin’ or hidin’ from someone?”

  Amelia attempted to stand and wobbled precariously. Malcolm, being closest to her, grabbed her arm to steady her. “Easy, lass. Ye have had quite a fall if that bruise to yer head is any indication.”

  “My horse?” she asked searching the landscape around her.

  “Nae, I am afraid nae, lass. We found ye here as ye are now, alone,” Alasdair answered, shaking his head in pity for her situation.

  Amelia closed her eyes attempting to get the world to hold still. What am I going to do? I cannot go chasing after shadows in the forest on foot.

  “Have ye eaten, lass? Ye are as pale as one o’ our woolies o’er there,” Malcolm asked, examining her face with a worried frown. Amelia shook her head. He pulled a bannock from his bag and handed it to her.

  The last thing she could remember eating was what the old healer had given her and that had not gone very well. Her stomach protested loudly at its empty state as she turned the bannock over in her hands. She ripped off a piece and put it in her mouth. It was not the best that she had ever had, but it would no doubt fill the empty spaces. “Thank you,” she murmured. Malcolm nodded in approval and moved away.

  The brothers set about making a fire, pulling supplies from a pack on the back of one of their horses. They pulled water from the lake and set it on to boil. Once it boiled, they threw in handfuls of grain and made a parritch. When it was done, they spooned out the parritch into wooden trenchers and handed one to her. As they ate in silence, Amelia studied the brothers. They appeared to be genuine in their compassion for her plight, but she had thought the same of the old healer.

  The entire time that she ate she was on edge, searching the landscape around her for any sign of the man that she had been following. She saw nothing. When they were finished eating, the brothers cleaned and packed up their supplies and readied to head out with their sheep. They mounted and Malcolm leaned down offering Amelia his arm. “Come on, lass.”

  “Where do you plan to take me?”

  “I dinnae ken, but we cannae leave ye here, now can we?”

  Amelia looked all about her for any other option that she might have available to her, but seeing none, she reached out and accepted Malcolm’s hand. He pulled her up behind him on the saddle, then he and Alasdair rode around the flock of sheep gathering them with the help of the dogs. Amelia felt nervous about the entire thing. She was worn down from everything that had happened, and she was sick unto death of bad people.

  I cannot trust anyone, but I cannot remain here. She looked from man to man unable to tell whether she was in danger or not. She sat behind Malcolm rigid with distrust. She had no choice but to hold onto his waist so that she would not tumble from the horse, yet she could not bring herself to relax. The brothers had shown her nothing but kindness since she had awoken to their faces standing over her and she wished to be able to trust someone, but she could not be sure of their intentions.

  They rode around the side of the lake until they came to a cottage on the other side. An old woman greeted them at the door. The brothers dismounted after herding the sheep into a paddock. “Màthair,” Alasdair greeted the woman, bending to kiss her cheek. The old woman smiled and patted his cheek affectionately.

  Malcolm lifted Amelia from the back of the horse and set her down upon the ground. He led her over to the woman and spoke to her in Gaelic. Amelia did not understand a word of it, but she assumed that he was explaining her unexpected presence. Turning back to Amelia he introduced his mother. “Lady Amelia, this is our maither, Eilidh.”

  Eilidh motioned for Amelia to enter the cottage. She poured hot water into a bowl and handed Amelia a cloth to bathe herself with. She pulled out a dress from a chest against the far wall and laid it over the back of a chair. “Wash, dress, I will return.” Eilidh left the cottage, bucket in hand.

  Amelia turned in a circle to examine the room around her. There was a door that led off of the room and she walked over to it and peered inside. She found a simple bed, a chair, and a few other items lying about here and there to show that it must have been the mother’s room. She assumed the brothers must sleep in the main room upon the beds in the corners. The house was usual for its kind, warm and useful in every respect.

  She returned to the bowl of water and quickly shed her clothing, bathed herself, and slipped into the dress. She ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to remove the tangles. She wished that she had a brush but gave up and just let her dark curls fall around her shoulders. She took Jonathan’s clothes with her outside and down to the lake to wash them. When she was done, she laid them out over the rocks to dry. Returning to the cottage, she found Eilidh cooking something in a pot over the flames in the fireplace.

  “May I be of aid?” she offered, not knowing what else to do with herself. She fought the urge to run off into the forest alone knowing that it would be extraordinarily foolish.

  “Nae, ye go and rest, lass. Ye have been through enough for one day.”

  Nodding, Amelia stepped back outside and walked over to sit in the grass along the shore. She looked out across the beauty before her in awe. To live in a place such as this…

  The water stretched out before her reflecting the beautiful blue sky overhead. The trees and grass surrounding the water added a touch of emerald green to the rippling blues, creating a nearly iridescent sheen. It was the most beautiful, tranquil landscape she had ever seen. She had an overwhelming need to lie down in the grass and surrender to the exhaustion that threatened to overtake her.

  Amelia heard a sound from behind her and turned to see what it was. She found Malcolm and Alasdair approaching her. Malcolm dropped a blanket around her shoulders and then both brothers sat down on either side of her. “Dinnae ye think it is time for ye tae tell us where ye are from and how we mi
ght go about returnin’ ye tae yer people, lass?”

  Amelia sighed and pulled the blanket around her shoulders, putting a barrier between herself and the circumstances in which she found herself. “It is complicated,” she murmured, her mind racing to decide just how much to reveal about her identity.

  “Ye were askin’ about a lass named Grace when we found ye. Who is Grace?” Alasdair gently prodded.

  “My sister.”

  “Was she in the forest with ye?”

  “Nay,” she shook her head, a tear slipping unbidden down her cheek.