He glanced at Elena who made her way to the table. He would broach the topic with her. Even if he had to give up his honor, his identity. He would plow fields and live in poverty if it meant he could love her. But then again, he wouldn't want her to suffer for his selfishness. He was willing to die for her, but he'd never ask her to do the same. He couldn't ask her. The simple thing to do was just what she asked of him—protect her.
"Lord give me strength," he said under his breath.
The ladies took their places.
Could he do only as she requested? Her kiss in the woods, her offer of herself… Lord, she was asking him to be hers in the only way they could, even if it was a sin. He sat down to hide his body's reaction to the memories of her hot, silky mouth.
"Sir Devereux." Her voice was as warm as honey. Her green eyes sparkled.
"Good evening, my lady." He kissed the hand she held out to him, and then offered her a bit of meat.
"Devereux." Kent slammed his hand on the table. Droplets of wine spilled from several cups. "Come sit beside me. We have much to discuss."
He groaned inwardly. The moment he'd been waiting a fortnight for had been ruined. He inclined his head to Elena, and then moved to sit beside Kent.
Kent indicated for him to lean in close. "I received a missive." He shoved a large piece of chicken into his mouth. Grease spilled down his chin, and he wiped it with the back of his sleeve. "There have been raids on neighboring villages while we were away. Lord Arundel believes the villains may try and attack here soon."
Michael nodded. He wouldn't be surprised.
"I've had workers begin a wooden fence around the village, but I do not think it will be finished in time to protect the whole of the town. I want you and the men to devise a plan. I will not tolerate raiders."
"When did the missive arrive?"
"What does that matter? Do as I've instructed."
The muscle in Michael's jawed ticked uncontrollably. "My lord, if I may, I'd like to know so I have a better idea of how long we might have to prepare."
Kent rolled his eyes, as if greatly annoyed. "A sennight ago."
Michael's gut burned. At any moment they could be attacked. Riders could come barreling through the town, tossing burning torches onto the thatched roofs, pillage what supplies the town had, murder and rape… He couldn't bear to think of the carnage that could occur within the snap of his fingers. Why had Lord Kent kept the information from him? How was he to do his duty as Captain of the Guard properly and successfully if he didn't have such important information? And then it hit him—perhaps that was Kent's plan. He saw how well Michael was leading the men and he thought to undermine him—and at the expense of his people's safety no less.
"I see. If you'll excuse me?"
Kent nodded and went back to shoveling overly large bites into his greasy, rotten mouth.
Michael took off at a quick pace, signaling for Fletch, Colin and Jon to follow him to the stables.
"What is it, sir?" Fletch asked, catching up to him.
"We must ride the perimeter of the holding and see if there is anything amiss. Kent has just informed me he received a warning a sennight ago of an impending attack."
His men looked incredulous. All he could do was shake his head. He was seething inside.
"Jon, ride out to Sir Thomas Devlin's estate and tell him the news."
"Aye, sir."
"Fletch, you ride out over the south and west and let me know what you find. Ride hard, observe everything. I want to know if a flower has lost its petals, or if there is one less sheep in the herd. Check the perimeter of the wooded areas. Report back to me here as soon as possible."
Together they stalked into the stables.
"Colin, go into the village and make sure the people are warned and prepared. See that they have adequate food, water, weapons. Check on the wall. Tell them if they see anything to make a run for the inner bailey. We will lock them within our own walls."
He pulled Black from the stable and didn't bother with a saddle. "I will ride over the north and east, and warn the guards at the gates to be prepared."
Three Kent knights burst into the stables.
"Captain," they said in unison, out of breath.
Michael's stomach lurched. Had they already been attacked?
"Out with it," he demanded.
"We overheard what Kent said, and we'd like to help prepare against imminent attack. Raiders have been through here before, 'twas devastating."
Michael nodded. He was a little surprised at their support, but at the same time extremely pleased. Kent may be trying to ruin Michael's reputation among the men and the people, but it appeared now he would have a mighty hard time accomplishing that.
"Paul, you ride with Fletch. Donald, you're with Colin, and Mitchell, you come with me."
"Aye, sir. We've let it be known to the other knights to prepare as well."
The men hurried to get their horses, and together they rode out, separating in pairs at the gate of the outer bailey.
Doom spread like a thick blanket over Elena, strangling her.
What madness was this? What danger lurked beyond the courtyard?
Elena stared, eyes like saucers, as Michael and six others thundered out of the stables. They took off like men on a mission.
"My lord," she murmured in Kent's direction and then motioned for her ladies to follow.
Kent barely noticed her as he guzzled another mug of wine. At this rate he'd be passed out in a drunken stupor within the hour. She piled meat and bread on a trencher and then left the table. Oddly enough, since reuniting with Michael, a strange power seemed to fill her, a confidence she hadn't known in years.
Her ladies followed her silently to the stables. A stable boy lounged in a corner, chewing on a piece of leathery dried meat. His eyes grew round and he licked his lips as he eyed the trencher piled high with succulent meat.
"Where did the knights go?"
"Knights?" He frowned.
"Boy, don't play games with me. Tell me where they went, and this meal is yours."
He looked from side to side, chewing on his lip. His decision, she supposed, was a hard one. Tell the lady and risk a beating for having given away information he should pretend not to know, per Kent's rule—but he would have a full belly—or stay silent and starve. Self-preservation won out.
"The captain ordered them to take stock of the village, get ready for a raid."
Elena gasped. So there was truly a threat. She hadn't been able to overhear the conversation between Kent and Michael, but it must have regarded the danger. She thrust the trencher toward the boy and waved him away. He eagerly grasped it and ran off toward the village, most likely to share his fortune with his family.
"Ladies, we must make haste to prepare. We've been raided before by men who've become outlaws at Kent's hands. They will be hungry, fearless, relentless, brutal. My lord sits at the table eating, and ordering none of his men to prepare for attack, nor for provisions to be readied." She looked at each of her ladies who wrung their fingers together tightly. "I know I have already asked so much of you, and if you so choose, you may go and hide in my chamber now. I would understand."
None of them moved.
"All right, then, let's get started."
Her lady's maids, Mary, Sarah and Beth went off to the kitchens to tell the servants to take stock of the cellars and bring bread, ale and water to the chapel. They ordered the kitchens to bake more bread. Hidden beneath the floorboards of the chapel was a crypt for the people to seek sanctuary during an attack. Tunnels had been built underground from the castle to the chapel, and from the chapel to outside the village walls. The women and children would be kept hidden in case of attack, and could escape if need be. Her maids Olivia and Nicole went to the chapel to seek out Father Patrick who could prepare the chapel's secret sanctuary.
Elena took Raelyn with her to the keep. They sent some of the servants into town to warn the people and to gather the peasants and h
erders out in the fields to come in early. The people were told sanctuary would be ready for them.
"Raelyn, if there is to be a battle, we must prepare linens, herbs, medicines, needle and thread and whiskey for the wounded. Will you help me?"
"Of course, my lady."
They gathered the supplies into satchels in Elena's solar.
"Raelyn, when the attack happens, I want you to take the ladies into the sanctuary with you. I will stay here."
"My lady, no!" Raelyn rushed to her side, placed a staying hand on her elbow.
"I must. I have to do what I can to help as lady of Kent. The people need me—their lord cares not. Who else is there to watch out for them? Look." She pointed down to the courtyard where Lord Kent had already passed out in his grand chair. "The man is incapable of ruling. I am Lady Kent. It is my duty."
Raelyn nodded, pain in her eyes. As much as Elena despised her husband, hated having ever come here, she'd never once shirked her responsibility as Lady of Kent.
"Do not be afraid, Raelyn. I have my dirk." She fingered the knife at her waist. "My second dirk, here." She patted her thigh. "And my bow and arrows are beneath my bed. I shall be well protected."
Walking to her window, she looked out over the village. Although the people prepared for an attack, all seemed peaceful.
The remainder of her ladies returned, anxiousness pinched creases around their eyes and lips.
"All is prepared, my lady," Beth said. "In fact, several of your people said they thought something might have been coming. A few had received word from the neighboring village and a stranger was seen in town earlier today, but disappeared quickly."
"Could be tonight," Elena whispered. "Do they have any idea who it might be?"
"No, my lady. Outlaws, is all they heard."
Outlaws. Most of the outlaws in these parts were prior servants and peasants who'd been banned, and tossed on their ears by Lord Kent himself. She supposed they'd been attacking the neighboring towns as a warning, and would impose the biggest attack here at any moment. There was no running, no avoiding it.
Her lips set in firm disappointment. Didn't Kent realize he brought this on himself? The man was a brute. It was no wonder the people would retaliate. If Michael hadn't come along and rallied some sort of support over the last couple of weeks, she wouldn't be surprised if the people joined the raiders and outlaws and burned their own village. But with him, Michael had brought hope. She could see it shining in their eyes. Their dull depths seeping away to a sparkle. As long as she'd been at Kent, she'd never seen it. The people respected Michael, and believed in him.
She believed in him.
Black charged into the Bailey with Michael on his back. Two other riders followed. Elena craned her neck. Where were the rest? There had been seven of them to set out including Michael.
Half the knights had since disappeared from the tables, presumably to gather armor, weapons and boil oil and tar. However, a few of the more stubborn ones remained behind, imbibing on copious amounts of wine with Lord Kent. They sobered immediately and jumped to their feet when Michael issued a shout. Elena had never seen the men so eager to do their duties. But she had to wonder if those who'd remained with Kent at the table only now jumped to Michael's commands because they feared he'd beat them, rather than a call to duty.
Servants came running from the kitchens to clear away the mess, and the men then carried the tables and benches back inside. A few lifted the drunken Lord Kent and carried him grumbling, into the hall as well.
Michael looked up at her window. He always seemed to sense when she gazed on him. Their eyes connected. He looked away quickly and began issuing orders.
Two other riders burst into the courtyard, and rushed to Michael's side. She recognized Fletch and Paul.
"They come from the south!"
A man knows not which day will be his last. But Michael had a good idea today would be the day many men met their maker—and he hoped none would be his own.
"Ready the gates! Pull up the bridge!" he bellowed.
Peasants, men, women and children poured through the opening, into the lower bailey. His men shouted for the people to hurry as they prepared to fortify the entrance. He watched as one by one the people streamed into the chapel instead of into the upper bailey as he'd instructed.
"What the devil?" he asked under his breath.
Father Patrick came through the chapel doors and ushered them in, stronger men he ordered aside. What was he about?
"Captain, they are close," a guard on top of the tower shouted down.
Michael ran up the tower stairs and peered over the horizon. Rugged men brandishing weapons, some on foot, some on horses, charged out of the woods and across the fields. They trampled crops, but did not burn the goods. Outlaws. They wouldn't burn what they expected to eat.
He watched with anger and horror as peasants who'd not made it into the safety of Kent walls ran to and fro, a few run down by the outlaws. Why were they still out in the fields? He'd ordered everyone into the village.
Several knights, seeing the stragglers, charged over the drawbridge and away from the castle as it was being raised.
"Damnation!" Now wasn't the time to be heroes for a few. The knights risked everyone's lives by not following his orders.
Michael's gut wrenched. He wanted the people protected, it was his duty, but at the same time, he needed to protect the whole of Kent.
The tower guards hesitated, the drawbridge remained half raised.
The villains drew closer—their battle cries heard loud and clear over the hills.
What was he to do? If he ordered it up, he'd betray those who were left outside. If he didn't—he risked the lives of everyone on the inside.
"Colin, see to Lady Kent." The knight disappeared in search of Elena.
"Follow me!" Michael shouted to several other knights and ran down the inner bailey tower stairs and charged into the outer bailey.
From atop the outer bailey tower, a horn was blown. The sound sent chills running up and down his spine. They were closer now. It would be too late for the heroes to return with the few people left behind. There was no time.
He and his men formed a line at the gates awaiting the outlaws, for they would surely cross the drawbridge at any moment. The clangs of metal on metal, the thud of bodies and shouts of pain carried through. The outlaws had reached his men who'd charged out.
He gritted his teeth. Legs stiff, arms held out with sword and shield in hand, he and his men waited.
"Hold!" he shouted when a few knights inched forward. "Hold… Hold!"
The drawbridge was wrenched down from the other side.
And the battle began.
Outlaws by the dozens crawled like ants into the outer bailey. Some made it past the burning oil and large stones thrown from the battlements. Of those who made it past the initial onslaught, a few succumbed to the burning arrows shot down on them from the archers. Those who escaped both, had yet to meet their final fate—Michael.
He rent a battle cry into the air, and his men stormed forward. The outlaws fought savagely, but they were no match for trained ferocious knights.
As he swung, parried and connected, Michael kept one thing on his mind—Elena. He would do everything in his power to see that she was safe. He would let no man get beyond the outer bailey.
There came two close calls, and each time an arrow pierced the heart of the enemy. He didn't have time to thank the archers, but continued to fight as more and more heathens scrambled over the drawbridge.
Within the hour, the outlaws were defeated, and those who had yet to cross the bridge disappeared into the woods like mist.
They would be back, he was sure of it.
He turned to assess the damage. They'd lost no one on the inside of the gates. Men lay bloodied, but their wounds would heal.
As he looked at the bodies on the ground, something struck him as odd. At least a quarter of the arrows were shorter with a gold ring painted just un
der the feathers. The rest were normal in length, no painting, just plain wood.
Where had they come from? He stepped forward and pulled one from the enemy. The craftsmanship was ornate, delicate. Almost…feminine? He glanced up at the tower walls. None of the archers were female; he wasn't even sure why he looked. He tucked the arrow into his belt. He'd an idea of the owner… faint memories lingered just beneath the surface. A word with Elena was in order.
Outside of the gates was what he needed to worry about. What would they find there?
"Lower the bridge." His voice was harsh from shouting and fighting.
The bridge was lowered the remainder of the way. Each creak and crank of the metal links echoed in his mind. Beyond the moat, lay bodies. Lots of bodies. But none of them belonged to his knights, and none of them belonged to the peasants.
"Devils! What evil is this?"
The outlaws had taken the bodies of his knights and the few peasants they'd tried to rescue—but left their own to rot.
Elena scurried down the stairs of the keep, her dress lifted in balled hands to keep from tripping. She rushed into the great hall. Scents of blood, moans of pain, and panic filled the room. She sighed in relief that Lord Kent had been taken to his chamber to sleep off the effects of an over-abundance of wine. He'd imbibed and then passed out while everyone else fought for their lives. At least she wouldn't have to deal with his boorish behavior. No doubt he'd be angry he wasn't involved in defeating the enemy.
The battle was ended, she would attend the wounded. Even now knights still carried the injured to the great hall.
They were laid out in rows on the floor. And still no sign of Michael. Servants went to each battered knight, offering whiskey and herb-laced ale to dull their pain.
"My lady," Edgar, the village's surgeon addressed her.
"Aye?"
He bowed to her, and when he looked up, it was the first time she noticed genuine gratitude in his eyes. "Many thanks for your preparations. With your help, and Mercy's, we should be able to get these men better in no time."
Knights of Valor Page 12
