The Knight's Runaway Maiden

by Nicole Locke

  Ian was dead. No matter how many times she said it to herself, it wasn’t true for her. He had been too all-encompassing to be struck down by a mere dagger. But then Balthus had said it was so, and it hadn’t been an accident. What had he meant by that?

  There was a hollowness in her heart at the thought of Ian gone. His parents’ fervent belief in him had forced her to see him from their point of view. How were they coping with their son’s death? Would they now demand Clovis and Pepin?

  If she were a grandparent, she’d raze the world to find her grandchildren, but Ian’s parents? She didn’t know.

  Ian was dead, and with heaviness in her heart she knew she mourned him. Not the man who’d wrenched her from that hall so long ago, but the one who with much tenderness had taken her to his bed, lain with her and fallen asleep at her side. Who’d mumbled and muttered and tossed and turned. Who, with wild eyes, had realised what he had done and had left the next morning. She hadn’t seen him for months after that first night.

  His mad mutterings and endearments hadn’t turned her away from Ian, rather it was him abandoning her to his parents that was unforgivable. And he hadn’t done it just once. Constant messengers, late-night meetings, disappearances, and after Pepin was born, he’d watched her with eyes she hadn’t trusted.

  There had still been the tender words when he’d slept, but she’d begun to not trust those anymore, either. Then he’d bundled them all up in the middle of the night and they’d left for a keep he’d called forgotten.

  Had she loved him? No, she had never been given the chance. But she’d cared, and he was the father of her children. She’d run from him, but she hadn’t believed it to be indefinitely. She’d only wanted to give her children a chance to know the world like she did.

  For six years she’d run, hidden, survived. The moment she’d captured Balthus she’d feared she’d be plunged back into Warstone life; she’d even contemplated healing him to sway him to her side. Because there were always sides! One was either with the Warstones or their enemies. They pitted themselves against the world.

  But Balthus...a favoured Warstone...had revealed a path she hadn’t known existed, one she’d never dared hope for, for her or her children. That of breaking their malevolent reach.

  Which came at a cost: that of finding a legend, which would require games and intrigue. Of travelling and running and fighting. Another life she didn’t want for her children.

  Fortunately, it appeared she didn’t have to. She’d get the documents, they would or would not be what Balthus needed, and he’d be gone.

  There was a chance, too, that the Warstone parents didn’t know about this keep. With the boys tired of hide-and-seek, with Imbert and Sarah getting older, and now somehow she’d acquired Balthus’s butcher, maybe she had a choice about whether to stay or run again. Perhaps in a few years Balthus could contact her and let her know if their scheme had worked.

  The abbey was up ahead. It was smaller than she remembered.

  ‘Can you stay here?’ She turned to Henry, who somehow took a few more steps before he stopped along with her.

  From Sarah’s perplexed expression, they must have been talking while she’d been deep in her thoughts.

  ‘It isn’t close enough,’ Imbert said.

  ‘For what?’

  Henry ducked his chin. ‘You know why we’re really here.’

  Balthus had requested them for her protection. As if he had a right to request or protect.

  ‘He wanted to come,’ Imbert said, ‘but didn’t think you’d agree.’

  ‘If there is danger on this walk and at the abbey, what good do you think any of us would be? Even now Warstones and their mercenaries could be taking the boys.’

  ‘Séverine.’ Sarah laid a hand on her arm. ‘That’s not what I meant. I know there is inadequate protection for you or them with what we have. We care. That’s all.’

  She rubbed her forehead. ‘I know. Let’s see what the abbey still has.’

  Sarah opened her mouth, closed it again.

  ‘What is it?’

  She waved and ordered the men to the side and pulled Séverine with her.

  ‘He’s not bad for a Warstone,’ Sarah said.

  She didn’t need to guess who she was talking about. ‘No, he’s worse. Did you know he knew of Ian’s death and didn’t tell me? All these weeks I worried that we’d be caught because we stayed too long, and I had nothing to fear from my husband.’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘I do grieve for that boy who never stood a chance, but he was never your true threat.’

  Ian had felt like one, since he’d chosen her at the betrothal announcement, but Sarah was right. If it hadn’t been for the parents, being married to Ian wouldn’t have been a love match, but it wouldn’t have been the frightening experience it was.

  ‘Did Balthus tell you why he needs these books from the abbey?’ Sarah asked. ‘I’m assuming you’re retrieving them at his request. Otherwise I’m surprised we’re here at all.’

  ‘A parchment,’ Séverine corrected. ‘I think I know which one, too. It isn’t very large, but it is intricately beautiful. And if I told a few people about it, it’d get him killed.’

  ‘So he trusts you, then?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘He trusts you with his life?’

  Did he?

  She wouldn’t have any questions if he was simply cruel. None of this would be hard at all if Balthus hadn’t said...the kind of things he had to her. If he hadn’t kissed her, held her. Why have contradictions like his brother? Kind, protective and then...

  Didn’t she confuse things just as much? Didn’t she want those touches and those words of his? Was torturing him for answers all she’d wanted when she shoved him in the pit?

  ‘The Warstones have harmed you, but has he?’ Sarah said.

  ‘You know what he’s done.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘He’s also helped. It took some time, but eventually Imbert understood why he had to tear down the walls in that village, and as many times as you compromised your safety, he never harmed you.’

  ‘That’s because he was playing games.’

  ‘Weren’t you?’ Sarah said. ‘You told us yourself that you healed him to sway him to our cause.’

  She didn’t want to hear this. Wasn’t it enough to know her husband was dead? That there was possibly an end to the Warstone nightmare she’d been living? To contemplate Balthus being good, wasn’t that simply inviting more conflict into her life?

  ‘I thought you were better than this,’ Sarah said. ‘I thought you of all people would understand about second chances and lives.’

  ‘I just want to get to the abbey and be done.’

  No matter how long they walked, there were no answers for her here.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When he was beaten by Lionel again, the boys put down their sticks and just sat. When sweat poured from him and Pepin stacked pebbles in the dirt, Balthus finally called a stop to the training.

  ‘How did you learn?’ He locked his legs so as not to fall in front of Séverine’s boys.

  ‘From my father,’ Lionel panted.

  ‘No Warstone watch guard knows those manoeuvres,’ Balthus said, moderately comforted that Lionel looked as exhausted as him.

  ‘No, because you only hire them when they’re young.’

  ‘My father was the only one who travelled with them that day and stayed. He got old.’

  ‘And then?’ Balthus said.

  ‘He learned how to fight a different way. To strengthen his arms for fluidity as well as strength.’

  ‘So you could do that flip,’ he said.

  Lionel gave a smirk. ‘To disarm you.’

  When Lionel had first done it, Balthus’s instinct had been to grab his sword with his other hand for balance. It was a habit that must be
broken, and that would take more practice.

  ‘I think you’d better show me again.’ Balthus straightened, widened his stance for balance.

  ‘Not today.’ Lionel looked alarmed.

  He was tempted, but the boys had lost interest. Balthus shook his head and Lionel stepped back, staggered and crumpled to the ground. ‘I haven’t any legs left. If you had swung one more time...’

  At least he still had some skill left to fell an opponent. ‘You’re good at holding your own. That’s often all you need, but now that I know, we’ll see about it tomorrow, then.’

  Lionel huffed. ‘Day after, I beg you.’

  Laughing, Balthus turned to ask the boys questions, and saw them. Séverine was tall, but Henry dwarfed her. Sarah and Imbert were involved in some heated argument.

  His eyes took in the bags Henry carried but rested only on the woman he loved. She’d walked to the abbey and back and she was safe. Home.

  Not home, though this odd place felt comfortable enough. Only the bottom of the keep was from some ancient structure. The rest was new, with fireplaces, garderobes and anything else that could be found in the grander structures being built.

  It was small, secure, not well protected, but then it would definitely not blend in with the landscape. But to call it Forgotten Keep when it was this near an abbey...? It was too large for that and that needed an explanation.

  On shaking legs, he walked towards them.

  ‘Is there a lake around here?’ Henry said. ‘Someone needs to use it.’

  ‘If I had any arms left, I’d shove you in,’ Balthus said. Henry burst out laughing. Balthus did, too.

  It felt good, better because Séverine was watching him instead of walking away. He’d take that odd expression on her face over her avoiding him.

  ‘Are those they?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘Let me get cleaned up, and I’ll meet you—’

  ‘In my rooms.’

  * * *

  With hastily dried hair and a change of clothes, Balthus took the stairs to the spacious rooms at the top. Again, he marvelled at the design of this keep. The floors were finely sanded, every stone well mortared. It would be cool in the summer and warm in the winter.

  Facing the closed door, he knocked before he entered. Here was sumptuousness he hadn’t seen for many weeks and hadn’t expected. How had this room survived the six years of her escape? How much coin had Ian left her?

  ‘Are you wondering why I have so many pillows?’ Séverine set down the book she was reading.

  ‘I had noticed them,’ he said.

  She looked weary, beautiful, but tired. He almost suggested she sit, but he was in her home now and if he followed her wishes, he wouldn’t be for much longer.

  ‘It was a crumbled heap when we first arrived, but Ian had ordered much in advance, and I couldn’t take everything with me when I ran.’ She turned away and grabbed a scroll.

  Balthus rested his hand in the small of his back, felt the door behind him and waited. If Séverine wanted to talk a bit longer and keep him in her presence, he’d stand here.

  ‘I wanted nothing to do with your family, had no intention of attending that betrothal announcement. I never got along with my sisters very well; couldn’t understand their obsession with gowns and men. My life was meant for the abbey. I was never happier than when I was alone, but I was taken from that life, and it changed me into a person I didn’t like. I became suspicious; unkind to others when Warstone eyes were on me and I had to be so careful. But I love my sons so I ran. When you found me, you brought it all back, and then you reminded me what it was like to be lied to.

  ‘What were you thinking when you didn’t tell me about Ian? I can only think you didn’t trust me, yet I knew your parents, and had lived in your home. I was married to Ian. After coming from my family, you didn’t think I could detect the difference between a family that trusts and one that doesn’t? Why could you not trust me, even a little?’

  ‘I feared you’d run at first, but after that?’ he said. ‘No, I didn’t trust you. You say you were broken again, but that implies that there was something there to begin with. Trust was never in my family. All those years you were with my family, do you think you were one of them? Did my mother ever sit down with you and share a drink?’

  ‘We spent many hours together with needlepoint in the solar, we visited and chatted.’

  ‘But no drink,’ he said. ‘She wouldn’t have shared a drink with you, even if she’d ordered it herself. In her own home, she only ever drinks out of my father’s goblet and only after he drinks first.’

  ‘That can’t be true.’

  ‘My mother didn’t trust her own husband, let alone an outsider who married into the family. As for her children, we were half of our father. Hence we had to prove our loyalty to her by holding our hand over a flame. My father wasn’t innocent or naive in any of this...his cruelty was simply more direct.’

  ‘But you were her children; I was a spouse of her child.’

  ‘No one is spared. I was the youngest. What do you think that did to me?’ he said. ‘Do you think I escaped it all because I was the last born? No, I was honed from all the errors my parents had made before, then I had the benefit of siblings who added their own ways of educating me. So, trust? It’s a word, but one I’ve learned to wield...until you.’

  ‘But you still lied to me.’

  ‘If I had thought matters through, I would not have—’

  ‘Lain with me?’ Séverine tossed the scroll back on the bed.

  Why was she talking about any of this? What would change from their previous conversations? The parchments were here, all he had to do was sweep through them and find what he was looking for.

  Except... Would that change things between them? It felt like Balthus was thrumming with some emotion not yet disclosed. And for her? He was right, his mother had never drunk in front of her. She wasn’t truly a Warstone, regardless of her marriage or the children. She wasn’t trusted, and after six years Balthus shouldn’t have trusted her. She could have been anyone at that point.

  ‘Wanting you is the most truth I’ve ever shown anyone,’ he said.

  ‘How am I to believe that?’

  ‘You weren’t like this when I first saw you. We hurt your ability to trust, didn’t we? My family, Ian and I.’

  ‘You’re simply reciting facts, Balthus. Yes, my trust was damaged. Why do you think I ran? What I don’t know is why you followed me, why you didn’t tell me immediately.’

  ‘You would have run if I’d told you at first. If Ian was dead, and I was stuck in a pit, you would have run.’

  That was true, but that only helped his cause a bit. He tapped his left foot as if he was feeling a bit restless or was holding himself back. From the way his grey eyes were pleading with her, she knew what his direction would be. The room was large, but not that big, and he was blocking the door.

  ‘Afterwards?’ she said. ‘After your fever broke, or when I entered the stables? You acted like I mattered. You told me about the legend. I didn’t appreciate what that meant or how much trust you placed in me, but I understand that now, and yet you still lied to me about the most important fact!’

  ‘I’m...trying!’ he said. ‘Some deeds and words I say and do are just impulses I fight against but can’t always succeed. For years I relied on the Warstone training simply so I didn’t die. But I hate that what I do hurts you.’

  He stepped forward, and she gave him a warning look, and he suddenly stopped.

  ‘I’m a coward. That’s the reason I didn’t tell you. I...kept my dead brother between us in the hope that if I couldn’t stay away, you would. I’ve wanted you for so long, Séverine, it seems more than a lifetime. The memory of you standing in front of that tapestry has fulfilled my soul more than water ever did my body. I had
no chance against you once I stood next to you, once I truly understood you as a mother.’

  ‘But why keep me away, then?’

  He held up his truncated arm. ‘This is one of the reasons.’

  ‘Your arm?’

  ‘I’m not whole. I’m not...like one of your beautiful tapestries.’

  She studied his tortured grey eyes. Despite her feelings towards him, he was beautiful, but in that raw unfinished way she found far more intriguing than any completed tapestry. He’d said he was trying to be good, and despite everything...she believed him, responded to him.

  Was she being fair to him? Was Sarah right that she wasn’t looking at everything?

  She had in the beginning. She’d kept noticing the differences in him, but then...the parchment and Ian. But were those just...messages? Balthus was no messenger, he was a Warstone after all. Maybe, just maybe she needed to look at him like a man again.

  Maybe he wanted to be seen like a man since he showed her his arm, thought himself not beautiful because of it. But that wasn’t all.

  ‘What’s the other reason?’

  ‘I’m a Warstone!’ he said. ‘You ran from us before, and I don’t know what you had to endure. I could guess, but—’

  ‘Do you know Ian threw a fruit tray at me? Apparently, your mother isn’t the only one who hates fruit.’

  She tried to keep her tone humorous, but he turned his head, his eyes snaring hers before his lids dropped.

  ‘I’m...sorry,’ he said.

  Séverine waited for him to continue, afraid he might. It wasn’t a good memory. Ian had thrown the tray at her. She’d ducked, but the mess behind her, the noise...

  Shaking, embarrassed, she had picked it up, and he’d been very tender afterwards. That was the only violence he’d ever shown her. Never had he hit her, never had he truly harmed her, but it had taken her years to understand the rigidness of his needs.

  ‘What else?’ she demanded.

  The corner of his mouth curved. A smile, as if she pleased him. ‘Everything I say to you is going to be disjointed.’