Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  His lips slid sensually over hers again and again, but she wanted so much more. Embers ignited in her belly, and desire sparked a flame. She parted her lips, sucking his lower lip gently into her mouth. She wanted to taste him, lick him. A rumble sounded in his chest, and he pulled her hips tightly against his. Their tongues mated in a delicious dance that made her forget tonight had ever happened.

  A scraping sound jarred her back to reality, and Elena jumped away from Michael. Her heart pounding from desire now turned to fear. Both of them darted their gazes about but not a person or shadow was in sight.

  "Do you think someone has seen us?" she whispered.

  But Michael was already walking away from her, his broad shoulders taking up the view of the rest of the parapets.

  "Stay here," he ordered.

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she'd brought her cloak. Her hair whipped with the breeze. The spring evenings were still a bit chilly. She strained her ears, seeking out any sounds, and attributing their cause. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Perhaps they were being unreasonable—except they'd both heard it.

  Michael returned a few minutes later with a goblet hanging from his fingertips, a frown marring his features. He turned it over, letting a few drops fall, the liquid carried away with the wind.

  "I didn't see anyone, perhaps we only heard this goblet scraping as it rolled on the floor. Even still, my lady, we must get you back inside. You shouldn't be missed too long. And it is not safe for you here. On the morrow, I've a need to speak with you about the tunnels." He avoided her gaze and instead scanned the area as he was well trained to do.

  Elena hated that Michael had turned back to all business. She wanted to scream and rave, to hell with cups and ale and tunnels! She wanted him to make love to her again—to live within the fantasy and not in her real world.

  Instead, he took her by the elbow and led her back to the wooden door that would take them down the spiral staircase. The door opened soundlessly.

  He escorted her to her rooms without a word. Shadows bounced off the interior corridor walls from the lighted sconces. Everywhere she turned she swore she would see eyes staring back at her. Still, no one lurched out to say they'd seen their lips locked in a kiss.

  Finally they arrived at her door. She bit her lip, wanted to reach out and touch her palm to Michael's face. Her hand lifted to do just that, but she caught herself.

  Michael grasped her hand in mid-air. "Goodnight, my lady." His voice held a whisper of longing as he bowed low to her and then kissed the back of her wrist. It was obvious, he wanted to come with her just as much as she did. "I will have a sentry posted to guard your door for the night."

  She held her breath, wanted to beg him to come inside with her. Instead she inclined her head and without a backward glance, slipped into her chamber.

  Wood scraped across the door as Elena placed a bar in its place to keep anyone from attempting to enter her room.

  Devil take it!

  Michael was glad she was safely locked away, even if it took all of his willpower, and then some, not to take Elena into his arms, carry her over the threshold of her chamber and make love to her until the sun graced the horizon. He could tell from her shy glances, her eyes filled with passion—lids slowly sliding down to hide their desire—that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  But it wasn't safe. Not tonight.

  Although he hadn't seen anyone upon the parapet, he had no doubt someone had been there. That person may not have seen them, but definitely heard them. Friend or foe, he couldn't be sure. He'd employ Fletch come morning on Elena watch duty. He needed to know once and for all who was following her. How many spies were in the household, and how dangerous were they to himself and his lover?

  He leaned against the stone wall outside of Elena's bedroom and ran his hand over his face. There was too much treachery going on in this one place. Too many enemies. He'd started to wonder if the earl himself, wasn't in fact an enemy of England. Did he have ulterior motives?

  Why had he done the tourney to begin with? Besides his lust for blood sport, had Kent hoped that the victory would have turned out differently?

  He tried to think back on all those who'd entered the lists. Having just come from Ireland, he didn't recognize any of the men. The only familiar opponent was Thomas, and that was after the fact. Besides, he'd only joined to see that Michael was victorious. For the love of Raelyn. A fool's errand. But hadn't Michael too entered for love?

  He couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right.

  Mayhap they were in more danger than even he'd first realized.

  Michael pushed away from the wall and descended the stairs into the great hall. The fire in the hearth had been banked, and several servants lay sleeping among the rushes. Others moved restlessly against one another in an attempt to make love silently beneath woolen blankets.

  He walked discreetly out of the great hall to the spiral stairs leading to the lower level and the dungeon. If some of his wounded knights were to spend their nights in the dank, musty hell of a place, he would join them.

  As much as he wanted to stay up all night and contemplate the situation at Kent, he recognized that a good night's rest was what he needed.

  Two guards stood sentry at the wooden hatch that led down to the dungeon. "You there," Michael addressed the man on the right, "go and guard Lady Kent's bedchamber."

  The knight nodded dutifully and left. Michael acknowledged the other guard who skimmed the brim of his helmet with two fingers as a sign of respect. He had his work cut out for him here, and it was going to take all of his strength of mind and body to keep Elena safe.

  With a heavy sigh, he placed a foot on the ladder and descended through the hatch into the dungeon below.

  Michael jolted awake and sat straight up in the darkness.

  He looked around, blinking but could see nothing.

  After a few moments, his mind cleared of cobwebs and he realized he was in the dungeon, asleep with his wounded men, and a few of the unharmed knights who'd also taken vigil.

  What woke him?

  He heard the sound again. A scraping. A whisper.

  Silently he crouched, still fully clothed in his breeches, tunic and boots. Ears pricked and keen, he listened for the location of the noises. They were coming from the entrance to the dungeon.

  With only the skill a well trained knight obtained, he walked silently through the throngs of bodies, stepping effortlessly over those in his way, sure not to disturb a one.

  Just as soundlessly, he pulled his dirk from inside his sleeve and edged closer to the entrance. The whispers grew louder and then there was a dull thud. Silence. The hairs on his arms rose. He narrowed his eyes to try and see better with the dim light from above. Within two breaths, the light from the night guard's candle extinguished.

  Stopping short of the ladder which led up to the entrance, he listened. There was nothing now. Silence. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Something was amiss.

  Effortlessly he climbed up four rungs of the ladder, when a soft wind rushed passed his ear. Michael hurried his steps, and at the last moment ducked as the wooden hatch to the dungeon came crashing down.

  He tried to shove against the wooden planks, splinters biting into his flesh. The door moved an inch and then another crash came from above as something was tossed on top.

  Several sleepers stirred behind him.

  "What the devil are you about? Open this bloody door! That is an order!" he bellowed.

  But the only answer to his demands was cruel laughter on the other side that slowly faded away.

  Whoever locked him here, locked the men in here, had done it on purpose. Warm liquid seeped from the planks and landed—drip drip drip—on his nose and forehead. Metallic. Tangy. Blood. If he had to bet a coffer of silver, he'd wager the object tossed on top of the wooden door was the bleeding body of the night guard.

  Dammit! There was a murderer within the
walls of Kent, and Elena was alone with her ladies above stairs, one guard to watch over her.

  "Wake you bloody fools and help me!" He shoved with all his might against the wooden hatch.

  Arthur stepped from the shadows near the dungeon.

  His eyes were wide and droplets of sweat beaded on his upper lip. He couldn't believe what he'd just seen.

  A murder within the walls of the castle.

  The mighty Black Knight locked in the dungeon.

  He didn't know whether to panic or rejoice. The man who'd attacked the night guard was shrouded in darkness. Like a demon he'd swept in. At first, Arthur thought him a friend of the guard as they'd chatted for a few moments, but then he'd seen the flash of something metal in the dim light of the wall sconces.

  The cloaked figure's arm whipped out, then a ribbon of crimson had appeared on the night guard's throat. Slashed.

  Arthur gulped, his throat dry.

  "Open this bloody hatch before I run you through!" Captain Devereux's booming voice made Arthur's blood chill.

  What was he to do? Arthur stepped forward, then stepped back into the shadows. It was possible the murderer was still in the darkened corridor. He'd extinguished most of the lit sconces. If he saw Arthur try to help the captain, he would be slashed open, too.

  He swallowed hard, and pressed his hands to his stomach. Bile rose in his throat, his bowels twisting into knots. He was going to be sick.

  Loud grunts and curses came from the hatch, and the body lying atop it lurched as forceful hands shoved at the dungeon door. The men would break through any moment. If he helped he would be in the clear, and the murderer couldn't get to him so quickly. If he didn't help and they opened the door and saw him standing there, he would be condemned.

  Arthur gagged, realizing how little stomach he had for machinations. He just wanted to go back to his old life. To be a peasant again.

  Worthless you are!

  The sound of his mother's bitter and angry tongue jolted Arthur back to reality. He needed to stop being a milk-sop boy who'd just soiled his pants. He stiffened, straightened his back and stepped forward. With his foot he nudged the fallen guard, but his body barely moved. The man was a hulk of flesh, bone and muscle. Arthur nudged harder, and smiled when the body moved a fraction of an inch. Sitting down, he used both feet to push and kick the guard away from the side of the door that opened the latch. With each press of his foot and the shoves from the knights below, the door opened more.

  "I'm here a helpin' ye, Cap'n!" he shouted.

  More grunts and curses. He didn't rightly expect the captain to acknowledge him, but then again, maybe he hadn't heard?

  "It's me, Arthur, Cap'n. There be a murdered man here! I'm pushin' ‘im, I am."

  With one final shove and lurch, the body was out of the way and the latch opened. The captain leapt from the ladder leading down into the dungeon and grasped Arthur by the throat, lifting him from the ground and into the air. He pressed Arthur against the stone wall, jagged edges digging into the tender flesh of his back.

  "What the bloody hell happened?" Veins pulsed in the captain's forehead. His rage was an incredible sight to see—especially after having seen him so tender with the lady earlier.

  Arthur had gone up to the parapet for a solitary mug of ale and seen the captain coddling her. Then he'd decided to follow him, hoping at another chance to blackmail him, but Arthur'd been too scared to go into the dungeon, so he'd sunk into the shadows to wait.

  "I—uh—I…" His eyes flickered to the other guards as some ran past in search of the villain, and others lit the sconces.

  "Out with it, churl!"

  How in all the sheep's asses would he explain his situation?

  "I heard a noise, captain, came to see and saw the man bleedin' on the dungeon door." His words were choked gasps and he smothered the urge to gulp, hoping in the dim light the captain wouldn't see that he was lying.

  "Did you see the man who did this?"

  Arthur shook his head emphatically. "Weren't nothin' but a shadow, Cap'n."

  The captain let go, and Arthur grasped at his own neck, sucking in air. He would have bruises on his flesh tomorrow.

  "I don't like that you're skulking about at all hours of the night. Are you thieving again?"

  Arthur's eyes widened, remembering his first encounter with the knight. "No, no, no I ain't thieving again."

  "Get you to bed then, else I have a mind to charge you as an accomplice in this guard's murder."

  Arthur bowed low, stood, then bowed again, backing away from the captain. He didn't know what else to do, only he was so relieved to be getting away, to not be in as much trouble as he contemplated, and indeed he was still alive. Not such a worthless whelp, Mother.

  'Twas a fact he did not get to tell the captain what he'd seen and heard up on the parapet, but he wouldn't be forgetting it, and he'd get another chance soon.

  Michael issued orders for the body of the guard to be removed, cleansed, given the last rights, and the news brought to his family. They would bury him in the morning after a short mass. There was no evidence in the hall, not even a few drops of blood left from the weapon as the murderer walked away. The villain simply disappeared.

  A dozen guards were sent to the earl's chamber and to Elena's as well to keep them safe, with orders not to disturb them—not that his lordship would stir if they should tell him the news. All of the wounded were ordered taken from the dungeons, and instead two chambers in the west tower were made into sick rooms.

  A half-dozen guards woke the servants sleeping in the great hall, and were lining them up for Michael to question. Another dozen guards circled the grounds to bring in the rest of the servants, or to try and track down anyone who might have seen something.

  Michael frowned, thinking Arthur knew much more than he was telling. And the thought did pass through his mind that Arthur himself had been the culprit, but there was no way. The whelp couldn't weigh more than eight stone and was about the size of the guard's left leg.

  How complicated this post had become. At one time he'd simply thought to be closer to Elena, to secure the castle's fortifications and train the men. Now he was dealing with attacks, murders and a tyrant of a lord who also happened to be deceptive. And he couldn't help but be reminded that the murderer had been seeking to gain his attention. Why else would he have done what he did? Certainly the guard who'd been killed wasn't anyone's enemy. No, the villain was most definitely after Michael. But why? Was he ordered by the earl? Was it just to warn him? For other than unsettling Michael, no harm had been done to him.

  He wanted desperately to give up, to leave, to take Elena with him, but now he saw things more the way she did. The people of Kent needed their protection, someone to make them safe from the evil machinations of their lord. Right now they were all hens waiting to be pecked by foxes—foxes that lived within the chicken coop, waiting, lurking until the time to strike was right.

  "Captain," Fletch said, startling Michael from his thoughts.

  "Aye, go ahead, give me your report."

  Other than a slight flaring of his nostrils, Fletch did not comment on Michael's agitated state. "The extra guards have been posted at my lord's and lady's chambers. Extra guards are up on the walls, and we have wakened every knight, squire, servant, even the dogs and rats to question them. We will ferret out the culprit, Captain. Have no doubt."

  Michael nodded. "Well done, Fletch."

  "Permission to speak freely?"

  Michael rolled his eyes. The flared nostrils were apparently not all he was going to get from Fletch.

  "Aye, man."

  "Captain, perhaps it would be best if the lady were to seek comfort at an abbey. She would be safe there, and in the meantime you would be able to get the rest of the castle under control, and well fortified."

  Michael narrowed his eyes as Fletch's words rolled through his mind. The man was right. He would be able to concentrate on getting the holding under control, without the distract
ion of worry for Elena's safety—and her scent, the sight of her could make his mind into a muddle in seconds. A damned fine idea it was. He nodded.

  "I will speak with his lordship come dawn."

  But seeing it done was not as easy as it sounded. Kent balked mightily at the idea of his countess leaving the castle. Kent thought it showed too much that she was running away, despite Michael's efforts to convince the man that it would only serve to keep his wife safe until the murderer could be located—that she would then return to the keep. In the end, Kent relented, muttering that he'd be glad to have the worthless woman out of his way for a time. He then ordered Michael to bring the news to Elena—a task easier said than done, as Elena had no desire whatsoever to leave Michael—toting that she could protect him as she was a good shot. Nor to make a show to her people that she was running away from danger.

  "Captain, if I may?" Raelyn, one of Elena's ladies in waiting said, stepping forward. Her pretty eyes were downcast, and in that moment, where she looked so calm and regal, Michael could see where Thomas would be in love with her. She placed her arm gently on Elena's and said in a soothing voice, "My lady, you have oft said you wished to visit St. Augustine's Abbey. Would not this be a great opportunity to do so? You could bring them shirts, we could hold a small court for women and children, do a bit of gardening, praying. It will be a spiritual cleansing, and one I think we are all in great need of."

  Her other ladies nodded emphatically. Michael watched the play of emotions on Elena's face. He could see her wanting to acquiesce for her own good, and for the wishes of her ladies, but at the same time, he knew she struggled to leave those less fortunate behind.

  "I have longed to see the new Lady Chapel. I hear the stone workers and master builder have done a wonderful job rebuilding the abbey after the earthquake that tumbled several walls, but…"