New maps were pinned to the wall. The lavender crystals continued to cast an eerie glow. Miranda scanned the parchments carefully before tearing them down and tucking them in her jacket. She spun toward the door then stopped.
She frowned, puzzled, as she stared at the purple crystals, stepping closer to study them. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the black shadows flicker in the smooth stones. She stared for several moments, struggling to figure out what they were. The only thing she could surmise was that they looked somewhat human.
Miranda tiptoed out of the room then raced down the hall. She stopped in the throne room before the roaring fire in the fireplace. A sly smile spread across her lips as she pulled free the maps and tossed them into the flames. She jumped as she heard a voice behind her.
“What do you think you are doing?” Brunon demanded.
Miranda fell to her knee as she hid her face in her cloak. “My lord, I’ve come to report. I have seen King Thaddeus and his men with my own eyes. They were heading to the northern lands to regroup and plan an attack. They intend to recruit villagers there to fight with them.”
She kept her eyes to the floor as the room fell silent. Brunon’s voice cut through the tension. “What are you doing at the fire?”
“Warming myself, my lord. The trip has been cold.”
“What is your name, boy?”
“My name is Ewen. I am pleased to serve you, my liege.”
Miranda felt a hand on her shoulder. “Rise, Ewen. The northern lands you said?”
Miranda stood, keeping covered. “Yes, my lord.”
Brunon snapped his fingers at his men. “Prepare to ride. Travel north. Destroy them.” The men bowed in reply and stormed from the room. Brunon clapped Miranda on the shoulder. “Good work, Ewen. With loyalty such as yours, you may serve as one of my men soon.”
“Thank you, sire. I look forward to the day.” Miranda suppressed a giggle as she watched Brunon sweep from the room. Now that Brunon’s men were heading north, she would head south. And before long, she would be with her Thatcher again. Even though he doesn’t know it is me.
Relaying information to both Thatcher and Brunon was exhausting. Miranda had been doing it for weeks. Holding the deception for Brunon was terrifying as she continued to provide him with false information. Sooner or later, he would see through her ruse. And if he discovered that his newest stooge was actually his betrothed? She trembled at the thought of his reaction.
And Thatcher—to deliver the critical information he needed to stay one step ahead of Brunon was heart wrenching. To see his radiant, sapphire eyes, to see his angled, beautiful face, to bask in the warmth of his smile and not be able to tell him her true identity shredded her soul.
Miranda tugged on a final boot and trudged from her room. Being one of Brunon’s men now, Ewen had free rein to come and go from the palace. She pushed at the large, rough, wooden entrance door to open it.
Miranda jogged down the dirt path, weaving between the forest trees in the direction of the knights’ newest campsite. It took the better part of the morning before she arrived. She searched among the men for Thatcher, unable to find him.
“Ewen, what the devil are you looking for?” Thaddeus chuckled as he caught Miranda’s arm in his grip.
“Sir Thatcher,” she replied as she smiled at her uncle. I’ve even fooled my own flesh and blood. “I have my report.”
“He’s down by the stream. He’s been by himself all morning.”
Miranda made her way through the trees until she heard the trickle of water. Through the clearing, she could see the large, majestic frame of her knight. She fell to her knee before him, bowing her head low. “My lord,” she breathed.
Thatcher glanced down at her. “For the millionth time, Ewen. Stop bowing to me. You are part of this band. Rise.”
Miranda watched as he gazed over the creek, seeming forlorn. She frowned. “What is troubling you, my lord?”
Thatcher sighed. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. “I miss Miranda, Ewen. It’s been too long without her. I fear what Brunon has done to her.”
“My lord, Brunon has not harmed Lady Miranda. She has been in hiding from him. And he seems to be less than interested in seeing her. That is, until their wedding.”
“I won’t let her marry him, Ewen. That is for certain.”
Miranda paused. “My lord, what if I could sneak Lady Miranda here to you?”
Thatcher’s gaze spun to her. “You believe you could get her from the palace?”
“Aye. As I said, Brunon has no interest in her as of now. But she cannot stay with you. And you cannot run off with her. Brunon will send his black-clad soldiers and that will be the end of you. And most of the kingdom.”
“Aye, I know that, Ewen.”
“All right. Then, tonight. Here. At this stream. I will bring you Lady Miranda.”
The smile that spread across Thatcher’s face was brighter than the blazing sun overhead. “Thank you, Ewen. You are a true friend.”
“You are welcome, my lord.” Miranda scampered through the woods toward the path. She stopped to watch Thatcher. The joy on his face at the thought of seeing her made her heart race.
* * * *
Miranda swept silently down the dirt path beneath the lush, fragrant canopy of the towering pine trees. The light of the full moon above cast everything in an unearthly, pale glow. Her heart raced in anticipation. Although she had seen Thatcher several times in the past few days, the thought of his eyes gazing on her as Miranda, and not as Ewen, made her tremble in excitement.
A soft laugh escaped her throat. Count Brunon was disgusted that his betrothed seemed to have such a weak stomach. Miranda did not even have to fake it. Brunon craved meats and delicacies that made Miranda cringe. However, Brunon happily avoided his sick beloved in case her malady happened to be contagious, which made it easy for Ewen to appear and volunteer to gather firewood.
Miranda stopped short as the path reached the creek. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes found Thatcher. He stood, his tall, chiseled, muscular frame draped in a linen shirt and chocolate brown trousers. He watched the moonlight glimmer off the water. He ran a strong, powerful hand through his short, black hair. Miranda sighed, hopelessly in love.
Thatcher’s head spun at Miranda’s whisper-soft sigh. In just a few long strides, she was caught in his strong arms, his sweet lips prying hers apart in a soul-wrenching kiss. “Miranda,” he breathed after they parted.
Miranda caressed Thatcher’s cheek, her fingers grazing the stumble there. “I cannot stay long.”
“I know, my love. Our forced separation will be brief. I will free you from Brunon.”
Miranda smiled gently. “I know.”
The emotion in his eyes became intense. “I will not let him wed you. I will die before that will happen.”
“I know, my love,” she assured him.
He chuckled. “I owe Ewen a debt of gratitude for bringing you to me. I wasn’t sure he would.”
“He shouldn’t have.”
“I am surprised he didn’t join you.”
She scrambled for an answer. “He is keeping watch at the edge of the forest. He wanted to give us privacy.”
“He is a good man. There is something about him.” Thatcher gazed at Miranda. “He has your beautiful eyes. Are you related to him?”
“Perhaps.” Miranda pulled Thatcher’s face to her. She bravely parted his lips with hers, kissing him deeply, possessively. The mystery of Ewen seemed to flee Thatcher’s mind as he held Miranda close.
Their time together was far too brief. Thatcher clung to her hand as she turned to go. It took all the will in Miranda’s heart to pull free. All she wanted was to run away with him and leave the kingdom behind. Tears burned her eyes as he disappeared from her sight.
The heat from Thatcher's kisses still burned Miranda's lips the next morning. She rubbed the tender flesh, moaning softly as she made her way through the dark hallways to the knig
ht's bedchambers. Pulling her fingers away, she adjusted her cloak. She was sure she wore her courtier's clothes now more than she wore her gowns.
She stepped inside Thatcher's room, finding everything as it normally was. The purple crystals glowed softly, the black shadows inside a little more erratic than usual. There were new maps pinned to the wall. Despite the passing of time, the space still smelled of Thatcher. Miranda sighed again as memories of the previous night filled her mind.
She was distracted from her thoughts as a piercing, white light filled the room. She squinted against it as she attempted to find its source. The purple crystals suddenly flashed pure white, pulsing out beams of light in waves that filled the room. Riding out of the crystals on the waves drifted the black shadows. Each fell to the floor then stood on newly formed legs. A small army of black-clad soldiers slowly materialized.
Miranda screamed. She grabbed a walking staff leaning against the wall and swung at each of the crystals with all her might. As she made contact with each one, it fell to the floor and shattered. When the last crystal was destroyed, the room fell dark.
Suddenly, she felt a powerful hand clench down hard on her shoulder. A foreign voice spoke, "The Master will wish to speak to this one for shattering his stones."
Miranda stumbled between Brunon’s men as they dragged her mercilessly to the throne room. She dropped her head forward, allowing the oversized hood of her cloak to hide her face. The men halted as they arrived before the throne. Brunon slid his slight frame upright.
“We found the cur, your excellency,” the thug with the tightest grip on Miranda’s arm announced. He shook her violently for emphasis then forced her to her knees.
Brunon stood, taking one step after another, until he hovered over Miranda. “You insolent traitor,” he spat. “I trusted you to serve me. I had hopes for you to become one of my men, Ewen. But you betrayed me.” Miranda remained silent, keeping her head low. Brunon slid his sword from its scabbard, the silver glint of the blade radiating in the sunlight that shone through the multi-colored windows. He continued, “I want to see the terror in your young eyes when I end your life.”
Brunon grasped Miranda’s hood and ripped it back. She looked up to her betrothed with defiant green eyes.
“Miranda,” he breathed in surprise. The sudden, deep murmurs that filled the throne room echoed his amazement. Then, he erupted in laughter. “You,” he accused. “You have been the spy. You. You have given our tactical movements to the king. And why? For your precious knight, Thatcher? Have you secretly plotted my demise, so that you may find yourself in his arms once again?”
Brunon pulled her to her feet. He rummaged in his linen shirt until he pulled free a vial of thick, crimson liquid. The glass was wrapped in a thin strand of silver and hung from Brunon’s neck by a matching chain. “Do you know what this is?” he questioned her. “This is your brave knight’s blood. I took it from him as he hung in the dungeon. I don’t need to draw my sword to attack Thatcher. I can destroy him with his. And it will be an excruciating death.”
Miranda felt her stomach turn and the blood drain from her face. “Do not, please, I beg you.”
Brunon’s lips curled in an evil smile as he caressed Miranda’s cheek. “You will obey me. You will do exactly as I wish. And you will become my bride. Understand?”
Miranda’s breath trembled as her eyes filled with tears. She nodded.
“Very good. To your chambers,” Brunon ordered. He glanced at his men. “Guard her door. Do not allow her to leave.”
Miranda trudged ahead of Brunon’s men as they disappeared down the corridor toward her bedchamber.
* * * *
Thatcher studied the new documents Ewen had brought him. He smiled warmly. Inside the parchments, Thatcher had found one of Miranda’s favorite hair ribbons. He pressed it to his lips affectionately, wishing to see her again.
His mind filled with memories of the previous night, of holding his precious woman in his arms. Her sweet kiss still resonated on his mouth. The feel of her body pressed against his still echoed on his skin. He moaned softly as he let himself drown in the images of the night before. He nearly didn’t recognize his name as it was called.
“Thatcher!”
Thatcher spun around. He found Xavier, one of his best soldiers, scrambling down the dirt road to him. “What is it, Xavier?”
“Brunon captured Ewen. He knows what Ewen’s been doing,” Xavier reported breathlessly.
Thatcher shook his head sadly. Ewen was a devoted asset to their cause. But he knew Brunon well. Brunon would punish the boy severely, probably kill him long before they could mount a rescue. “Ah, poor lad,” he sighed. “We could mount an attack to free him. It may be too late…”
“No, Thatcher. That is not the trouble.”
“Then, what is?”
“Ewen is not real. Ewen is Lady Miranda!”
Thatcher’s heart slammed in his chest. Nearly every day his beautiful love had come to him, assisted him, brought him information to end Brunon’s tyrannical reign. Yet, he had never known. Those eyes seemed so familiar… Then, Thatcher’s nerves quaked in disbelief and panic. He did not know what Brunon would do to Miranda now that he knew the truth. “Xavier, get the king,” he ordered. “We need to mount an attack. Now.”
Xavier bowed quickly before he scampered off to find Thaddeus. Thatcher stormed back to his tent as he ran his hands through his short, black hair. Miranda was Ewen. He had never recognized her. How many times did she come to me, and I never knew it was her?
As his mind whirled, he recalled the subtle nuances that were undoubtedly Miranda. The scent of lavender and rose petals. The way Ewen would laugh, soft and musical. The soft, slender body beneath the large cloak. No courtier he had ever seen was that petite. And the lips, pink and perfect. Far too feminine for a man. Why didn’t I see it sooner?
Then, his heart thundered in terror as his imagination betrayed him, playing one nightmarish image after another of Miranda at the hands of Brunon. He was far too familiar with the count’s behavior. Brunon murdered his own men in cold blood. He would have no qualms hurting a woman. He would never kill her. She was his key to obtaining the crown. But the horrors he was capable of putting her through—it might be better off if she were dead.
The sounds of the men preparing for battle set his blood ablaze. He was ready to fight. He wanted Brunon’s blood on his sword. The lord had made Thaddeus and his brave knights hide like scared rabbits as he took control of the kingdom. He had held Miranda captive, threatening her with a lifetime of prison as his bride. He had ruled with a cold, hard, murderous fist.
It was high time to change all that. It was time to set things right and return the realm to a warm, loving king.
Hearing a rustle at the door of his tent, he turned. William stood at the entrance. “We are ready, Thatcher. Are you, little brother?”
“Aye. It’s time to reclaim my Miranda,” Thatcher confirmed as he strode past William toward his steed.
The ride to the palace was brief, the hooves of steeds belonging to the king’s army rumbling the dirt road like an earthquake. Rows of Brunon’s black-clad soldiers lined the base of the cliff, waiting for their attack. Thatcher frowned. Something was amiss, and whatever it was, it was in the knights’ favor. The black-clad men were corporal, their typically shadowy figures as solid as the rock they were defending.
Thatcher smiled. Something had happened to make them real. And therefore, vulnerable to defeat.
Thatcher did not slow as he sprung from his horse’s back, swinging his sword at the closest enemy he could find. He would waste no time starting this battle. The sooner he defeated Brunon, the quicker Miranda would be in his arms.
* * * *
Miranda had hardly changed from her courtier's clothes to her crimson gown trimmed in gold before she was summoned to Brunon again. She did not have to ask why. The sounds of battle outside the palace echoed throughout the halls. The building itself shook with the sounds
of war.
Brunon greeted Miranda in the entrance hall, an evil smile wisping across his gaunt face. "Come, my beloved," he crooned as he beckoned to her with thin fingers. "I have a simple task for you."
Miranda lowered her head. "Yes, Brunon?"
He motioned to the wall that surrounded the palace. "I want you to stand on the wall. I want you to address the king's army. I want you to tell Thatcher that you never loved him."
Tears filled Miranda's eyes as she shook her head. "I cannot do that."
Brunon pressed his lips into a thin line as he pulled free the vial in his shirt. He clasped his skeletal fingers around it and closed his eyes. The thick, crimson liquid began to bubble. Above the building sounds of battle, Miranda could hear Thatcher's anguished roar.
"Stop!" she begged.
Brunon released the glass. "Will you obey me?"
Miranda couldn't speak. She could only nod as she fought back her sobs. Without another word, Brunon gestured toward the door.
Miranda's sudden appearance silenced the fighting. She closed her eyes as she heard Thatcher call her name. She took a deep breath. "I've come out to speak to you, Sir Thatcher."
"My love, hide yourself. The war—"
"There is no need to fight. I am marrying Count Brunon. I love him."
"Miranda, you are speaking nonsense."
"I have never spoken truer in my life. The lie I told was to you when I said I loved you. I never have. I never will. You do not possess my heart. Those were sweet words I spoke to trick you."
"Miranda..." Thatcher's voice was low and dangerous.
"I only agreed to marry you so I would not die alone. You were a better option than the townspeople feeling pity for me." Miranda finally forced herself to look in his eyes. The deep blue pools were full of hurt, anger, and betrayal. She swallowed back a whimper. "So, fare thee well, Sir Thatcher. Return to the putrid little hovel you came from. I will remain here, in royalty, with my one, true love."
The Thirteenth Knight Page 5
