Once Upon a Knight

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “He is good to me,” her sister confessed. “I love him. And speaking of love... did you see the expression on Weston’s face?” Adelaine asked. “He knew you at once, despite our like gowns. That is a man who knows and adores his wife,” she reassured.

  “Do you truly believe it?”

  Adelaine nodded with certainty. “Nearly no one else can tell us apart,” she said. “Aleth can. So can Weston and he has eyes only for you, Chrestien.”

  Chrestien sighed. Even if her sister spoke the truth, she didn’t know how to end the feuding between them and his silence was killing her. “’Tis fortunate you were not gifted with my tongue, Adelaine, for the accursed thing has brought me more grief than not.”

  “’Tis a wise man who can conquer man—”

  “Aye, this I know—and wiser yet did he conquer his tongue. I’ve heard it a thousand times if once, I warrant.”

  ‘To hear without listening—”

  “Aye... aye... is to eat without chewing... soon you will strangle upon overlooked words. Cease, Adelaine! Before you cause me to go daft!”

  “Papa was a wise man,” Adelaine conceded. “I miss him terribly.”

  “As do I,” Chrestien agreed. “More than words can say.”

  It was a somber mood that followed that admission and with solemn thoughts Chrestien halted her mount and looked to the sky. It was a beautiful day for riding, though it brought back too many memories, for her father had taken them riding oft. Betimes, when Chrestien rode, she still felt him at her side.

  Adelaine reined in beside her, whirling her mare about to face her sister. “Oh, Chrestien! I want you to have a wedding as I did and when you and Weston resolve this silly dispute, I will give you a proper one... here at Montagneaux.”

  Chrestien shook her head. “Nay. He would never agree to it—of that I am certain.”

  “You are a pea brain!” Adelaine said with a giggle. “That man would give you anything you desire. That I—”

  A flash erupted on the horizon, drawing Adelaine’s attention, and she paused, cocking her head to examine the glare.

  Chrestien spied it too, but the glitter was gone in an instant, and she noted that their guards paid it little mind. In fact, two of the five were making their way toward the woods, and she reasoned they must need to relieve themselves.

  Nudging Adelaine’s foot with her own, Chrestien inclined her head, indicating an opening in the woods. “The woodland ahead is where Weston and I made camp after our nuptials. I shall always recall it fondly.”

  Chrestien sighed wistfully.

  “So you have told me, but I cannot see you lying as naked as a wood nymph upon the ground—in the cold rain no less! That is not my idea of a fanciful tryst with the one you love. Nay, for me ’tis a warm bower lit with scented candles and soft words of love.”

  Adelaine’s amber eyes glinted gold and her happiness was evident in her ensuing smile.

  Chrestien was pleased to see her sister so contented, though she scrunched her nose in response to Adelaine’s notion of romance. “I’ll not be finding any of that with Weston,” she assured. “And yet I would have him no other way.”

  Chrestien watched curiously as another of their guards took to the woods, and within scant seconds of his disappearing, arrows flew from the trees, felling the remaining two men watching over them.

  “Sweet Mary!” No sooner did she say the words when she spotted the approaching cavalcade... only seconds before Adelaine spied them as well.

  “Those are not Aleth’s men, Chrestien.”

  “And that is not Weston—follow me!”

  Chrestien whirled her mare and made for the forest at breakneck speed, while the clanging of armor followed at their heels. Adelaine followed, not needing further urging. Chrestien’s mind raced, searching for a way to save themselves, when of a sudden she remembered the hidden shelter she and Weston had shared. It was their only chance—if only they could make it there.

  The clashing of metal drew nearer.

  All at once, the forest surrounded them.

  Chrestien didn’t dare take the time to check that Adelaine was behind her. She knew she was. The toppled tree was upon her before she realized it was there. Her mount hesitated only a second before leaping over the hurdle, clearing the dead timber easily. But just as her mount alit upon solid ground once more, she was nearly struck with the outstretched arm of an ancient oak. Her head missed the limb by scant inches.

  There was barely time for relief. A loud sickening thud stopped her dead in her tracks.

  Adelaine!

  Instinctively, Chrestien knew her sister had not made it beyond the oaken limb, and panic found a foothold in her heart. Whirling her mare about, she spied Adelaine crumpled amidst the crushed leaves, unconscious, blood flowing from some unseen wound upon her head—so much blood Chrestien could barely see her sister’s face!

  Bile rose into her throat as she tumbled from her saddle. Falling to the ground beside Adelaine. “Oh, Adelaine!”

  Panicked, she shook her sister’s shoulder. Pleading now, she cried, “Nay! Oh, nay, Adelaine! Nay!”

  Suddenly seeing the gash from whence Adelaine’s life ebbed, she reached to staunch the flow. Pressing her hand against the wound, she watched in horror as the blood shot through her fingers. Suddenly sick, she observed helplessly as the white velvet capuchon Adelaine wore stained crimson.

  Her heart racing, she lifted her sister, knowing that at any moment the soldiers would be upon them. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, she placed Adelaine over her own horse, so that she lay upon her belly in front of the saddle’s pommel.

  The rush of metal grew closer and Chrestien smacked the rump of her sister’s riderless mare, sending it in the opposite direction from the shelter. Then, mounting behind Adelaine, she spurred her own mare in the direction she had originally intended.

  Within moments she reached the shelter and dismounted to lead the horse within, keeping a wary eye to her back to be certain she was not followed.

  Once inside, she ripped a strip from her gown and placed it between the wound and the capuchon. Seconds lapsed before it was soaked red, and she tore another strip, packing it tightly over the old.

  Tears spilled from her eyes as she kissed Adelaine’s bloodied forehead, clouding her vision. She refused to acknowledge anything other than that her sister was unconscious—there was so little time to spare. She had to find a place where she could spy upon the soldiers without being seen. Only then could she escape and get Adelaine to someone who could help her—that someone was certainly not her, for she had learned naught of the art of healing, having stupidly left that bloody task to Adelaine and Janelle.

  It was not long before the armed knights returned to track her. A shiver of recollection made its way down her spine as she watched a fully armed figure approach.

  It was the same knight who had ambushed her the first time—there was no mistaking him. A red symbol of some sort was blazoned upon his mailed chest, but she could not see its entirety for the shield he carried. His shield also bore a symbol—mayhap the same one that he wore upon his chest, but she could not make it out. The conical helm was slit across the upper face, exposing the eyes, and an icy chill swept across her nape as she scrutinized their familiar darkness.

  Where had she seen those eyes before?

  She’d seen them other than the time in the woods, of that she was certain.

  Her heart stopped when she realized he was staring intently in her direction, and a shudder passed through her as she watched one half of his devil’s brow rise.

  She nearly bolted from her hiding place, but fear kept her rooted to the spot. And it was a good thing, for though it seemed he had discovered her, he turned abruptly and disappeared deeper into the forest.

  She could make out tiny bits of his rant... bastard... escaped again... bitch...

  Where had she heard that voice before?

  Every part of her body came alive, aching with the need to
scream—run—something—anything! But she did none of those. She sat rooted to the spot.

  Another rider came to the first, seemingly from nowhere. And when they started off together, away from Montagneaux, Chrestien knew this would be her one and only chance to escape.

  It was obvious they had not fallen for her ruse and it was but a matter of time before they searched the entire span of woods adjacent to Montagneaux’s parklands. The time to flee was now, while his men were separated. Once they came together again to search it would be far too late.

  Taking the already skittish mare by the reins, she edged as quietly as was possible toward the opening in the brush. Once there, she scanned the area for a sign of her assailants and when she could see no sign of them, with a pang of anguish, secured Adelaine’s limp form to her horse, remounted, and made for the clearing.

  The blanket of trees gave way to familiar blue skies and behind her a trail of shouts assured her that she had been spotted. She did not spare the precious seconds to look back, but she knew that she was being pursued.

  It was all she could do to keep the frightened mare galloping at such a strenuous pace and she could feel the animal tense as though she were going to buck. Leaning forward, Chrestien whispered desperate words of praise to the beast, hoping to reassure her, while Adelaine’s body slipped to and fro, threatening to fall from the horse’s back.

  Dear God, Adelaine! She was as pale as new parchment—and covered with her own blood!

  The rush of steel was a roar in Chrestien’s ears and she imagined the devil’s heated breath at the back of her neck.

  For an instant, she turned to look behind her and was startled to find those eyes so near. She could see their color—black, angry, insane eyes.

  Then of a sudden there was some other emotion registered there and if Chrestien didn’t know better—know he was after her as he was once before—she would have sworn his eyes mirrored surprise. He then did something she would never have expected. When she could nearly feel his arm reach out to grab her reins, the man reined in and gave chase no more.

  The towers of Castle Montagneaux were within sight and Rolfe reined in his horse, his hand clamped tightly about the shield he carried—so tightly that his knuckles turned white beneath his mailed fists.

  His surprise had worked against him. Having seen the face of the injured one lying atop the horse’s shoulders, he’d not expected to see the very same frightened face peering back at him, and it had unnerved him. He knew them to be twins, but it never occurred to him they might be identical twins. By the time he’d recovered from his shock, it was too late. He did not dare come within range of the garrison’s sight. As it was, he’d risked exposing himself by bribing the men sent to guard the damned women.

  Rolfe’s voice was choked with his anger. “I think it was Adelaine... she saw me—damn her to hell!”

  Grinding his teeth, he threw his shield at the nearest man, nearly hitting the lad in the temple. “Damn that bitch!”

  Damn her—damn, damn, damn!

  Adelaine would have to die now, for he could take no chances. He let fly another string of oaths and angrily turned his steed from Castle Montagneaux, the veins in his neck pulsing until it seemed they would burst.

  Though mayhap it was Chrestien? In that case, it would have been Chrestien who had turned to look at him and she would not have recognized him.

  “Gervais… return to Montagneaux and discover what Adelaine knows.”

  Gervais nodded.

  “But do not go until this eve,” he added, and then he shouted. “That bitch has more lives than Satan’s familiar!”

  Rolfe turned in his saddle to consider his fallen shield, and Gervais did the same.

  “Should I retrieve it, my lord?”

  Rolfe’s deep unexpected laughter resounded across the meadow and it seemed of a sudden that clouds moved in to darken the horizon.

  “Nay. I was not foolish enough to use my own,” he said and grinned.

  It was the shield of Aleth’s most trusted advisor, Roland le Blanc. Finally le Blanc would get his due. The bastard had managed to delay his execution long enough. The eve before the battle at Tinchebrai he’d abandoned camp and had gone to Aleth. It had weighed heavily on Rolfe’s mind that Roland had gotten to his brother first.

  Had Roland overheard him and Gervais making plans? Had he warned Aleth?

  Nay, or Aleth would have confronted him with the accusations by now—his dear brother would have given him a chance to deny the allegations made against him. His honor was impeccable. Nay, Aleth did not suspect.

  And in all probability neither did Roland for the man was too stupid to surmise anything.

  “Leave it,” he demanded. “With a little luck it will be found and another of our obstacles will be removed.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the grace of God, the gates were open to receive them and Chrestien flew through them, dismounting before the keep. It seemed everyone within the walls of Castle Montagneaux immediately flocked to their side.

  With the aid of a castle guard Chrestien dragged Adelaine from her mount; all the while, tears coursed down her cheeks. When Aleth came from the hall, she ran to him.

  Weston watched as Adelaine ran to Aleth, embracing him soundly.

  With a catch in his throat, his gaze returned helplessly to his wife, who lay face up on the cobbled stones. Her body lay without movement; her arms strewn lifelessly and her neck bent in the most frightening position—caught in an impossible pose. His warrior’s instinct told him that her neck had been snapped, and the realization dawned with a sickening clarity. His heart burst from his chest as he ran to her, taking her limp form into his arms. He could not stop the ache that was mounting to an unbearable weight, threatening to crush his heart.

  A lone, silent tear trickled down his cheek as he gazed into the heavenly face that lay before him. Her eyes were closed. Though her face was covered with blood, she was as beautiful as ever.

  Brokenly, he bent to kiss her lips, coming away with her ruby blood upon his.

  He knew her to be dead—had seen the face of death too oft to deny it.

  Tears streamed from Chrestien’s eyes as she embraced Aleth. “Adelaine!” She could barely speak. “She fell!”

  Confusion muddled Aleth’s mind as he stared at the woman in front of him. Her eyes were deep and dark, not the sweet honey-colored eyes he’d grown to love.

  Dread took hold of him. Familiar lips were moving, though he could hear naught she said… her eyes were not the ones he knew...

  Somewhere in the confusion he sensed Weston pass him by, carrying Chrestien into the hall. But it was not Chrestien he carried, for Chrestien was standing before him now. Shoving her aside none too gently, he went after Weston... and his wife.

  Weston’s chest heaved, laboring to catch a breath that would sustain him. He lay her upon a table and strained to hear a heartbeat. But he could hear nothing save for the pounding of his own heart. He pressed his cheek to hers, hoping to feel her breath upon his face. It was then he sensed Aleth’s presence beside him, though he could not look up to acknowledge him.

  His cheek was to her bloodied nose, and though he prayed fervently in his heart, he could still not feel her breath. Feeling at a loss, he let her face slip from his callused hands. His heart broken, he allowed Aleth to remove her body from his embrace.

  Aleth took the limp body from Weston’s arms and held it close to him, while somewhere in the distance he could hear a woman screaming—or were the screams his own?

  Nay, they were the screams of a woman.

  His senses were reeling and he could not make out the origin, for it seemed his soul was shrieking as well.

  Numbly, he tried to calm the distraught Adelaine, but she would not respond and her screams of grief were wrenching his soul. He shook the screaming woman until he was crushing her arms in his grip. Still, she would not stop and her voice was a dagger slicing at his brain!

  Curse Aleth, f
or it should be him comforting his wife!

  For a moment, Weston could not see her features in his benumbed state. But finally he focused on her anguished dark eyes. They were dark, he noted—dark. Adelaine’s were amber.

  The woman standing before him was Chrestien.

  Suddenly her lids closed and the screaming ceased and she collapsed into his arms.

  The bright blue sky belied the day, for it was black—as black as the eyes of the devil who had put her sister in this place.

  The priest said his holy words and the casket was lowered unceremoniously into the earth.

  Numb with grief, Chrestien took a handful of the white miniature rose blooms her sister had loved and sprinkled them onto the casket.

  As soon as she was able, she would plant the roses at her sister’s grave. Adelaine would have liked it thus, she was certain. And when Rolfe brought the red roses, she would place them here as well. Aye, she would have Aleth remind his brother of his promised gift.

  She could vaguely feel Weston’s crushing grip on her shoulders, vaguely feel him dragging her away as the soil was shoveled back into the damp ground, burying with it a part of her.

  It was all her fault, dear God. Adelaine was an innocent! How could it be that she was lying beneath the cold hard ground?

  “Nay,” she whispered, brokenly. It was the first word she had uttered in two days—the longest two days of her life. A heaviness had settled in her breast that was unlike anything she had ever felt before now.

  It was as though a part of her had died with Adelaine... and a part of her had, for Adelaine was more than a sister... she was friend as well. Nay, she was more than that even; she was half her body, half her mind, half her soul.

  “Nay!” she cried, pulling away from Weston and falling to the ground, fingers clutching the soil as gut-wrenching sobs racked her body.

  When Weston tried to lift her from the ground, she threw his hands from her.

  His touch would bring her back to reality, and she never wanted to go there again... not without her sister.