The
Crimson Castle
Samantha Holt
Copyright 2012 ©Samantha Holt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 1
The vultures arrived more quickly than she had expected.
Like a winged demon he came, the hooves of his horse beating a path to her soul. His dark cloak billowed behind him as he galloped along the muddy path, birthed from the gloomy woods that bordered the village. She watched him with interest. Aside from merchants, strangers were an uncommon sight in their small settlement. She stood on the gently rolling bank of the hill, the cool spring air biting her cheeks as her skirts flowed around her ankles, the hem of her white gown muddied from her short journey to solitude.
From her position she could look out over the village of Beldersert and its farms. Houses were strewn haphazardly, scattered across the bulk of the land, radiating from her home - the manor house. Its thatched roof and whitewashed walls watched over the huts like a mother hen doting on her chicks. Children played in the street as they dallied over their chores, ignoring the scolding shouts from their parents. People worked the fields and tended the animals, fetching water from the well and greeting one another with a friendliness borne of living in close quarters.
Sorrow assailed her, her solitude emphasised by the social activities of the villagers. As daughter of the Lord of the Manor, she had always felt excluded, her standing in society drawing a distinct division between her and the villagers that had now become her responsibility. Evelyn had lost her father a little over a sennight ago, but the pain was as fresh as if it were yesterday and on days like today she felt it would never abate.
Her journey to the outskirts was a bid to escape the burdens life had thrown upon her and to primarily escape the fear of a future now unknown. Watching the newcomer, she wondered if fate had taken the decision from her hands and was bringing her future to her. As he approached she could make out his almost black hair and shadowy clothing to match.
A flick of his eyes as he bolted past afforded a view of their startling colour - a bold blue - unexpected in the sinister figure he struck. Villagers watched him with distrust, as if they could sense that change was upon them. As he galloped towards the manor and stopped at the stables, fear lurched in her stomach. Reluctantly she hitched up her skirts and made her way slowly home to see what fate had in store for her.
***
She was greeted by the anxious bustling of Sarah, the family servant since before Evelyn’s birth, and took her time readying herself to meet their visitor. Shedding her cloak with deliberate leisure, mayhap hoping to delay the inevitable, Sarah whispered to her with a guarded look.
“There’s a Sir Gabriel of Merston here to see you, milady. He comes with word from Lord Tibald de La Roche.”
Evelyn nodded and suppressed the feeling of gloom that descended upon her. Of all the vultures, it had to be him.
Upon viewing Sir Gabriel, Evelyn understood Sarah’s wary expression. He was tall, broad shouldered, with an ominous presence. Something she was unable to asses from her hill top. His dark, dishevelled hair sat unfashionably long upon his collar. A surcoat of dark brown leather laid over his chainmail.
“Sir Gabriel.” She dipped as she greeted him and he turned at the sound of her voice, hesitantly stepping away from the crackling heat of the fire.
“Lady Evelyn.”
He looked at her with those blazing blue eyes, a distinct contrast to the darkness of his attire. There was no softness in his face; his was one that spoke of the hardships and trials of life and a grim smile pulled across it within a shadow of stubble. The light from the fire, whilst warming the pallor of his skin, did nothing to disperse the menacing aura that shrouded him. Shadows danced on a face that bore down on her, the illumination starkly contrasting the strength of his features.
“Lady Evelyn, I have come on behalf of Lord Tibald de La Roche.” His eyes flicked over her somewhat disconcertingly, but she determined he found nothing of interest as his stony expression remained.
Though there was some distance between them, he towered over her, absorbing what little light there was in the room. She resisted the urge to back into the doorway. His appearance certainly belied the image that his name conjured.
“Pray tell, what brings you with such haste.”
She knew she was being abrupt, but his bearing put her on edge and the sound of his master’s name did not relieve her anxiousness. She had never met him, but her father had spoken of the man and she was given to understand he had been highly interested in a union with Evelyn, motivated no doubt by her dowry. Her father had painted him as cruel and grasping and had steadfastly refused any notion of the betrothal of his beloved daughter to such a man.
Evelyn was the youngest of the children born to her parents. They had suffered the loss of two daughters in infancy prior to her birth and had doted on her and her brother, William. When her mother had passed, her father’s reliance on her only heightened. His reluctance to part with her had saved her from an arranged marriage, something she was most grateful for as she watched her peers married off in loveless unions. In spite of being ever practical, Evelyn suffered the trait of being easily distracted -an escapist by nature - and the thought of her freedom being stolen in such a manner petrified her.
Gabriel interrupted her thoughts. “My lord wishes me to pass on his condolences at the death of Sir Roger.”
“‘Tis very kind of Lord Tibald, but I know you did not come all this way to offer sympathies. Speak plainly, Sir, and tell me the true reason behind your visit.”
Evelyn hadn’t intended to be so forthright but there was something about him that provoked her. He stood with arrogance, a slight smirk on his face, and his eyes penetrated deep into hers. His manners, whilst not poor, did not seem natural, as if his every action was carefully considered.
“I have a missive.” He handed it to her, fumbling slightly as he did so, taken aback by her candour. “As I am sure you are aware, Beldersert has been left in a vulnerable position since the death of your father. Lord Tibald wishes to offer you his protection.”
His face revealed no sign of emotion other than the impassive look of someone performing a duty beyond his station.
She read the letter, acutely aware of his observation as she did so. The missive gave Evelyn no immediate cause for concern but intimated the benefits of an agreement between the two of them, an arrangement that she suspected would be more of benefit to Lord Tibald. He requested her presence in order that they could discuss matters. Evelyn did not relish the thought of being at his mercy but knew she would be obliged to visit him.
With a barely suppressed sigh and a droll smile, she raised her head to meet with the knight’s intense scrutiny. “And tell me, Sir, what does Lord Tibald expect in return for his protection?”
Gabriel had the decency to look slightly discomfited at this question. “I have not been informed of the details, my lady. Lord Tibald requests that you visit him
to discuss the nature of your agreement. I have come to personally escort you.”
Evelyn’s composure slipped slightly. “He wishes me to leave Beldersert now? I have not long buried my father. I cannot possibly leave.“
“Lady Evelyn, I think it wise you meet with the lord as soon as you can. Beldersert need not be left vulnerable any longer than necessary.”
She huffed, “Your lord is not the first to have his eye on our land and I am sure he will not be the last. Why should I bow to such demands? “
Her father had been a famed warrior in his prime and well respected. There had been little interest in their land until recently. Now greed and corruption seemed to be spreading throughout England like a disease, leaching its way into the hearts and minds of previously good men. With her brother fighting in the crusades and her father dead, Beldersert was more vulnerable than ever. Word had been sent to William after her father’s death, asking for his return, but it would be many weeks until he received her letter.
He looked gravely at her. “You are aware of my master’s reputation, are you not?”
She merely nodded her assent, a frown creasing her smooth forehead.
“Then heed my advice, Lady Evelyn. Lord Tibald is not a man to be trifled with. Do as he bids and protect yourself and your people.”
Taken aback by his response, her frown deepened as she watched the disturbing man. She was unused to such frankness, the men she associated with usually going out of their way to prove their gallantry. Evelyn’s headstrong personality meant she was accustomed to voicing her opinion, possibly stemming from her father’s side over leniency, but she was little used to being on the receiving end of such candour. It disconcerted her and trepidation simmered within.
“It seems I am to have my hand forced, does it not? But tell me how am I meant to travel when I cannot afford to deprive my lands of its guard, seeing as it is evidently in such a perilous position?”
“I assure you, Lady Evelyn, your people will be in no danger. You have no need to take any men, ‘tis only a short journey and I am all the protection you will need.” He glowered slightly as if to prove his masculinity. “My lord can despatch his guard within a day if necessary to help protect your lands in your absence.”
Evelyn released an unladylike snort and checked a laugh as he looked at her with surprise. “I am sure my people have no want for the sort of protection Lord Tibald can provide.”
She had no doubt that her people would be held accountable should she disagree with his terms.
Pleased to have erased her conceit, if only for a moment, she didn’t wait for an answer. “Give me leave to prepare myself, Sir. You may stay the night; I will have you shown to your chambers shortly.”
Without waiting for acknowledgement, Evelyn swept out of the room leaving Gabriel somewhat bemused.
The knight watched the swish of her skirts as she exited the room, her nose angled high with a majestic countenance. Her bold manner had startled him, an unexpected spirit in such a delicate creature. Her diminutive form was emphasised by the cinching of her white gown, her long sleeves serving to accentuate her slender limbs. Her fiery green eyes conflicted with her nymph like appearance and hinted at her wilful temperament.
She had been older than he expected, mayhap nineteen. He had assumed she would be but a girl as she was yet unmarried but instead he had been confronted by a passionate, obstinate woman, and he suspected she would be a handful.
With a sigh, heavy with life’s burdens, he wondered how she would fare against Lord Tibald’s anger. He hoped she would reign in her impudence when in his presence. There was no telling his reaction if Evelyn angered him and Gabriel was quickly tiring of bearing the brunt of it.
Chapter 2
Their journey began early the next morning. The guest was up and joined her silently for the morning meal. The only sign of animation came from his quick eyes, skimming over her in an inquisitive nature.
A farewell to the servants and a brief meeting with Geoffrey, her father’s steward, and all was settled. He was a capable man and Evelyn trusted him to take care of everything in her absence.
She joined Sir Gabriel, who was already mounted and waiting. He took scant notice of her as they mutely began their journey and Evelyn, knowing that this may be her last look at Beldersert, took one final glance before heading on to an uncertain future.
Travelling for some hours, they still had several more to go and Evelyn grew weary and sore. The journey was not a necessarily long one, there being only some thirty miles between Beldersert and Etone, Lord Tibald’s demesne. She loved to ride but was rarely given the opportunity since duties had left her little leisure time. As her father’s health had declined she had taken on more responsibility until the care of Beldesert had been entirely in her hands.
Initially she was thrilled at the welcoming sight of the forest edge, the verdant greenery beckoning. The shadowy fissures between the trunks, instead of appearing foreboding, drew her in. The fragrant damp earth transported her back to memories of childhood freedom and happy times spent out of doors.
Now, however, exhaustion diminished her enjoyment of their ride and apprehension had begun to inch through her, her brazen confidence sapped by her protector’s taciturn attitude. They had already stopped once to give the horses a drink from the nearby stream and Evelyn was loath to ask for another. Her pride stopped her for one – she didn’t wish to appear weak – but more than that, she didn’t want to be forced into stilted conversation. They were both aware he was leading her into unfavourable circumstances and any attempts to breach his stony façade were met with limited tolerance.
She watched his proud, shadowy back shift easily upon his horse. He possessed the broad shoulders of a warrior and something in his eyes suggested to her that he was no stranger to battle. Evelyn was not wholly uncomfortable around the male of the species and took pride in talking with men as an equal, whether they thought her so or not, but Gabriel’s brooding temperament and disdainful stare caused her to become self-conscious and her usual air of superiority vanished. They approached what appeared to be a bundle of rags further along the dirt path. Gabriel motioned to her to move aside and he placed a hand upon the pommel of his sword. Drawing closer, she realised it was a pair of beggars hunched over the figure of a woman, her rough clothing merging with the vegetation.
Initially assuming they were doing her harm, she opened her mouth to shout to Gabriel to intervene, but she swiftly realised they were tending to her ills. They eyed Gabriel cautiously as he made to usher Evelyn past but, as she did so, the man turned yellow eyes towards her, his ragged hair and filthy face in much the same state as his attire.
“Milady, pray help, I beg thee.”
Evelyn couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity and she paused for a moment, hesitant.
Gabriel noticed this and motioned her to move on. “Lady Evelyn, pray, continue.”
The peasant looked up beseechingly. “If ye have some drink, I’m sure ‘twould rouse her…”
Evelyn’s charitable nature took over and she moved to get off her horse.
“Evelyn…” Gabriel warned, forgetting propriety. “Evelyn! Nay!”
She ignored him and grabbed her drinking flask with a cold look extended towards him. His hand remained cupped on the hilt of his sword as he jumped from his horse, ready to move into action if necessary but unwilling to force her to remount.
The two men moved aside so she could help the woman. Evelyn lifted her head and tipped some drink into her mouth. The woman coughed and spluttered, slowly opening her eyes. As Evelyn smiled reassuringly at the peasant, Gabriel yelled out from behind her and a strong arm circled her neck, yanking her roughly to her feet.
The beggar’s pungent smell clouded her senses momentarily until the feel of a blade pressed into her side registered. His tunic’s rough wool chafed her neck and she shuddered involuntarily as his breath hissed in her ear.
Gabriel stood, sword drawn, eyeing the knife pre
ssed to her side. The terrifying ferocity in his eyes did little to alarm the ragged group. The woman, now fully recovered, scrambled to her feet and raided Evelyn’s belongings, while the second male beggar kept an eye Gabriel as he angled his own small dagger at him.
Evelyn wriggled, trying to free herself from his constricting grip as his clothes rasped against her. Evelyn’s captor pressed the dagger into her side, its point piercing underneath the thick cloth of her cloak and through the fine fabric of her gown causing her to yelp.
Her sound of anguish spurred Gabriel into action. Before she had drawn another breath, he had flung his dagger into the neck of the man holding Evelyn captive, missing her by a whisker. She screamed as a heavy mist of blood pumped from his neck, splattering her face and clothes, and the beggar buckled, clutching at his neck. Evelyn watched on in horror as he gurgled and choked in the dirt. He stilled, sallow eyes wide open.
Stupefied, she was only vaguely aware of Gabriel’s next actions. With one swift movement he lunged at the other man, running him through with his sword, shock now permanently ingrained on the beggar’s face as he sagged to the ground. Withdrawing his sword, Gabriel turned to the female peasant, now frozen in fear, and approached her aggressively; bearing over her with such savagery that Evelyn was sure there would be further slaughter.
“Go - or you too will feel the point of my blade,” he growled at her.
She squealed, dropped Evelyn’s belongings and ran off into the forest. His blade followed her progress, the threat of the point remaining.
Evelyn watched, still frozen in terror. He swung back around and pointed the bloodied sword tip at her. She jerked in fright and stared at the dripping tip, then at the man holding it. Aggression and anger coursed through him, clearly visible upon his face, and for a moment she feared for her fate at the end of his sword.
“I propose you heed my advice from now on, my lady,” he spat. “There need not have been bloodshed this day.”
She nodded mutely, eyes still fixed upon the end of his sword, her breath rapid. He noted this and regretted scaring her, but his rage had got the better of him. He sheathed it slowly, regarding her shivering state, observing the blood spatters marring her striking fairness in a gruesome manner. In an uncommon act of compassion he placed his hand on her arm, awkwardly trying to reassure her. She wiped her face and paled at the sight of blood on her fingers.
The Crimson Castle Page 1
