Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion

by Glynnis Campbell

  The beggar placed a rude hand on her backside and shoved her a foot closer to the rail. She gasped. But why the intimate contact startled her, she didn’t know. After all, it wasn’t as if the man hadn’t touched every part of her anatomy at one time or another in the past two days. It seemed he was ever finding an excuse to swat, squeeze, pat, or maul any piece of her he could get his hands on, all in the name of lending believability to their ploy.

  “Hurry!”

  “Nay!”

  Some of the reivers were beginning to wander back to mid-ship.

  “Can’t you swim?” the beggar demanded pointedly.

  “Of course I can swim,” she haughtily replied.

  Before she could draw breath to expound upon her talents, the beggar lifted her bodily from the aft deck and dropped her without ceremony over the edge and into the sea.

  It was fortunate that Linet gasped in a great gulp of air as she tumbled overboard. The water was freezing and much deeper than it had appeared from above. Still, she feared her lungs would burst before she finally emerged from the briny drink. She shot through the surface, coughing and sputtering and swallowing more than a little seawater in the process.

  Salt stung her eyes. Icicles stabbed into her veins. The heavy clothes weighed her down. A wave rose and plastered her woolen coif in an unflattering fashion to her head, and she scowled through the wet mess of her hair. But anger moved her to stay afloat. She fought the current, swimming in the shadow of the great ship, and swore she’d see the wretched beggar hang for his devilry.

  How dare he toss her overboard like a bucket of bilge water! After all she’d endured—all his pawing, all the painful pretense—she deserved so much better. She was glad to be rid of him, the scoundrel.

  Once she escaped, she’d collect the tangled threads of her old life and weave a new one—one free of men like that devil whose presence she’d been forced to enjoy…endure, she corrected peevishly.

  She shivered. The chill of the sea sobered her and made her focus on her own survival. She clamped her chattering teeth shut and with a firm shake of her head, swam a steady course for an empty stretch of shore. And by the time she hauled herself, dripping, exhausted, onto the beach, she’d almost forgotten about the one-eyed beggar. Almost.

  Duncan dusted off his hands. Linet would make it to land. He was sure of it. She was a fighter. She’d survive, if only to spite him. For now, he had to trust in her talents and concentrate on his own end of the plan.

  By the time the Corona Negra furled her sails and dropped anchor in the harbor, Duncan could no longer see the tiny speck that was Linet. She had either found her way ashore or…

  He didn’t dare think about it. It was time for action.

  He clapped El Gallo familiarly on the shoulder. “Philip’s man is staying not far from here. I will fetch him, and he will draw up the papers for your clear passage.”

  El Gallo squinted dubiously. “If you leave the ship, my friend, how will I be certain you will return?”

  “I thought we trusted each other.”

  “Only fools indulge in trust.”

  Duncan nodded. “Then it is good I have locked the girl in the hold. If I do not return, she is yours to sell.”

  El Gallo scratched at his bushy beard. He glanced at the hatch of the hold, no doubt calculating the worth of one flaxen-haired wench. “Done.”

  Duncan strolled casually toward the dock, silently congratulating himself on another successful deception. Of course, he wasn’t so naïve as to believe El Gallo wouldn’t have him followed. But he intended to give the captain no reason to suspect him of foul play.

  The Spaniards were all eager to disembark and find the nearest alehouse. It would be at least a quarter of an hour before anyone began to seriously wonder about Duncan, and even then, they wouldn’t think to check the hold for a long while. By then he would have informed the Flemish officials of El Gallo’s presence and his crimes, and Linet and he could be at least a mile away on their journey to the de Montfort castle. Then, with Linet safe, he’d seek out Sombra and rescue Harold.

  That was his plan.

  Unfortunately, at that moment some wayward crewman chanced to want access to the hold. When El Gallo saw the hatch flung wide, he knew he’d been gulled. The reiver captain’s roar of rage stopped Duncan in his tracks.

  Duncan fingered the haft of the sword he’d pilfered from an inattentive shipmate. He wondered if he’d need it. He whirled and faced El Gallo’s look of murderous wrath with quiet determination, swiftly assessing the situation.

  El Gallo had all the wits and fury of a bear awakened early from a winter nap. There was no point trying to talk his way out of this one.

  It wouldn’t be easy. True, most of the crew had left the ship, but those who remained posed no mean threat. He’d have to strike like lightning.

  He flipped up his eye patch and tore his sword from its sheath. With the pommel of the weapon he knocked aside a reiver standing too close before El Gallo could even draw steel. Then he took a step backward and nearly stumbled over a coil of rope.

  El Gallo unsheathed and came hurtling forward with murder in his eyes. Duncan dove away and rolled across the deck. He tripped another oncoming crewman, who slammed headfirst into the railing. He barely had time to bolt to his feet before El Gallo came for him, confident and menacing.

  The giant lumbered forward. Duncan skirted away. A man of El Gallo’s size could crush a man’s ribs with little effort. The tension thickened as they circled.

  Eventually, El Gallo stabbed blindly forward. Duncan dodged and turned the heavy blade aside. Then the captain hefted his sword high and brought it down hard toward Duncan’s head. Duncan ducked out of the way. The weapon made a breeze through his hair as it sailed past. But its point lodged harmlessly in the wood of the deck, making the planks shudder.

  While El Gallo rocked the blade to work it free, Duncan tossed his sword to his left hand, elbowing back a crewman who’d crept up behind him. When he pivoted back to El Gallo, he had to resist the unchivalrous urge to immediately lop off the unarmed captain’s head with a single blow.

  Instead, he glanced up into the rigging and found what he needed. Swinging his blade in a wide arc, he slashed the key rope, which brought an enormous crate of hoisted plunder crashing down between them. Wood and treasure exploded outward, coins and bright jewels skittering like colorful beetles across the deck.

  Finally, El Gallo’s blade came free. But by then Duncan was already leaping over boxes and ropes and on his way down the plank. He discarded his sword, replaced the eye patch, and immersed himself in the densest part of the crowd before El Gallo could pick his way across the scattered spoils.

  If he’d been on his own, Duncan would have simply set off for the nearest authority, then made an easy escape through the wood. But he had Linet to think about. He couldn’t leave without her.

  Where was the lass?

  Hundreds of faces swam in this thronging human sea. Fishermen flung their largest catches over their shoulders as if they were babes to burp. An old rheumy-eyed man shuffled by, muttering to himself and swilling ale. A boy chased a chicken down a cobbled street past a flock of preening strumpets. But nowhere did Duncan see a pretty peasant wench in men’s garb, soaked to the skin.

  He listened to the noisy throng surrounding him. Fishmongers hawked their wares in raucous rhyme. Muffled, drunken singing could be heard through the open door of a nearby alehouse. Lambs bleated, babies squalled, sailors argued. And then he thought he recognized the shrill cry floating over the crowd from down the lane.

  He was about to follow the sound when he spied El Gallo coming from the opposite direction. Peering cautiously over the heads of the passersby, Duncan watched as a small retinue of Flemish knights halted the Spaniard. It was obvious from the captain’s bluster that he’d attracted trouble, what with charging through the crowd with a drawn blade.

  Good, Duncan thought. That would slow El Gallo down while he sought out the source
of that scream.

  As predicted, Linet was in trouble, cornered in an alley. Apparently, three drunken sailors had taken a fancy to the pretty wench trying to pass herself off as a lad. One had stolen her sodden coif and was entertaining himself by keeping it just out of her reach. Another couldn’t keep his hands off of her. The third insisted on singing bawdy songs to the mortified maid. They didn’t notice Duncan until he was upon them.

  “Och, thank God ye’ve got her!” he sang out in his best Scots brogue. “The laird would have my head if the witch escaped again!”

  The three sailors stood frozen in their last comical positions.

  “You!” There was undeniable relief in Linet’s tremulous voice, though her eyes plainly blamed him for her predicament.

  “What?” was all one sailor could manage, dropping Linet’s coif.

  “She didna harm ye lads, did she?” Duncan rolled his exposed eye dramatically.

  Linet frowned. It was clear she wasn’t enjoying his theatrics. She slapped away the man’s hand that seemed to be affixed to her hip, making him jump.

  “Harm us?” one sailor repeated.

  “Nay,” another answered.

  “Ye’ve got her dagger then, eh?” Duncan asked.

  “Dagger?” the third echoed.

  Linet was fast losing patience.

  “Don’t tell me she’s still got her…” he began, his voice shrill. “Stand back, lads! Watch her! She’s a wily one!”

  The sailors didn’t need a second warning. They backed up instantly. Then Duncan deftly palmed his own dagger and appeared to draw it from within Linet’s jerkin. Linet gasped in amazement. The sailors stepped back, awestruck.

  “She had a—” one of them began.

  “I told ye she’s a wily one,” Duncan nodded, tucking the knife into his belt.

  “Wily,” one sailor aped sagely.

  Then Duncan took hold of Linet’s elbow, anticipating a struggle. She didn’t disappoint him. She’d obviously decided she was having no part of this nonsense. Also, her face had taken on a greenish cast. If she’d swallowed seawater…

  “Where are you taking her?” one of the curious sailors interrupted.

  “To the hangman.”

  The sailors gasped collectively.

  “What’s she done?” one of them asked.

  “What hasn’t she done?” he replied enigmatically, winking.

  The sailors backed away another step, regarding her with new respect. Duncan pressed forward.

  “Shall I tell ye what happened to my eye?” he confided softly, bending close.

  The lads nodded. He glanced at Linet. She was swaying. She didn’t look well at all.

  “The witch waited till I was fast asleep.”

  The sailors leaned forward, hanging on his every word.

  “She used this very dagger…”

  Linet moaned.

  “Plucked out my eye and swallowed it, she did,” he crowed.

  The sailors paled. Linet’s stomach rebelled then. She heaved salt water forth all over the ground at their feet. The sailors shrieked like scullery maids and scrambled off as if they half expected to see the beggar’s eye looking up at them from the stones.

  When they’d gone, Duncan chuckled, laying a sympathetic hand on the poor girl’s back. “I couldn’t have timed that better myself.”

  Linet obviously didn’t share his amusement. She cringed from his touch, shivering as with the ague. “Leave me alone,” she murmured miserably, leaning back against the rock wall to let her stomach settle.

  Duncan could no more suppress the guilt and empathy that surged inside him than he could stop the tide. His heart went out to the exhausted, pathetic maid as it always did to helpless urchins.

  Still, despite the pale cast to her skin, Linet looked rather charming in her oversized, waterlogged clothes. Her hair, drenched to a deep gold, was drying in tantalizing tendrils about her face, making her look like a water nymph just emerged from the sea. He told her as much in his softest, gentlest voice.

  Linet curled her lip. His compliment didn’t seem to please her at all. Seething, she swung her arm round to strike him as hard as she could.

  The blow fell upon his sleeve like a wet fish. Then she collapsed in his arms.

  From deep beneath the blankets of slumber, Linet heard the familiar crackle of fire on a hearth, felt its comforting burn upon her face. She was back home in Avedon, she thought, safe within her demesne. Her cocoon, though warm, was lumpy. She snuggled further down into the rough wool, trying to get comfortable.

  A low chuckle coaxed her awake. Eyes like two blue sapphires sparkled down at her. She groaned. Her memory came back in a rush. Immediately, she tried to extricate herself from the beggar’s lap.

  “Easy,” he encouraged as she struggled from him.

  She fell with a painful thunk to the wooden floor and tried to fight her way out of the blanket. “What happened?” she demanded, thirst making her voice husky.

  “You fainted,” he said, handing her a cup of watered wine.

  She accepted it, swilling it down all at once, hoping to rinse the sour taste from her mouth and the fog from her brain.

  “More?” he offered, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

  “Nay.” She shoved aside the cup, and then resumed her battle with the blanket, searching for the crux of the problem. She could feel his prying eyes on her.

  He reached out for a corner of the material and easily pulled it loose. With muttered thanks, she gathered up her sagging garments and her dignity and stood tall before him. The fact that the top of her head scarcely reached his shoulder didn’t discourage her. She’d tell him in no uncertain terms…

  “Where are we?” she blurted out, aware for the first time of her surroundings.

  There was a merry hearth and a worn wood floor, a chamberpot half hidden by a screen of pauper’s lace, a loaf of bread, cheese, and more wine on a tray, a lit candle, and a bunch of daisies placed on a mean table at one end of the room, which was small but tidy. The shutter to the window was open, and she could see they were on the upper story of the building. The beggar sat on the edge of a straw bed of mammoth proportions that was covered with several cheap wool blankets.

  “A…an inn.” Duncan cleared his throat and stroked his chin. He’d paid handsomely for this “inn.” He’d chosen this place, knowing a bath and anonymity would be easy to obtain at such an establishment. And he’d made certain the place was too rich for a sea reiver’s purse. The ladies who served here were accustomed to the bizarre antics of their customers. So when he showed them his coin, they jumped to do his bidding, not even questioning the fact that he carried a wet, unconscious woman in his arms.

  A soft scratching came at the door. Linet whirled to glance at him in askance.

  “Your bath, sir,” a young servant announced through the door.

  “Bring it in.”

  Four boys hauled in a large wooden tub, their schooled eyes ignoring the young lady. Within minutes, they’d filled it with steaming water and taken their leave. When they’d gone, the wistful longing in Linet’s eyes assured Duncan that his silver had never been so well spent.

  “You may have the first bath,” he said with a chuckle.

  Linet sighed. The last thing she’d do was argue with him. The bath was too inviting. Even the sound of his laughter was like warm waves already caressing her back. Later, after she dressed in dry clothing and her hair was combed, she’d upbraid the knave for dumping her off the ship. Then, of course, she’d forgive him. After all, he had saved her life. And he’d ordered her a bath.

  “I’ll let you know when I’ve finished,” she said.

  She paused expectantly for the beggar to leave, but he only leaned against the door, his arms folded across his chest. She swallowed. She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that, all handsome and imposing and amused.

  His black hair draped along his neck in unruly locks, and one particularly stubborn curl fell across his forehead. He
needed to scrape his chin, but the whiskers there added an intriguing, dangerous cast to his face. Now that the leather patch was discarded, his crystal eyes seemed to burn into her soul, reminding her all too vividly of the degrading night they’d shared in Sombra’s cabin.

  She quickly averted her eyes. “You may go now,” she said by way of explanation, though she was almost certain he understood and just as certain he had no intentions of leaving.

  “Go?” He lifted a brow.

  “To your room,” she whispered.

  “This is my room,” he whispered back.

  She took a breath to steady her nerves. “Then where is my room?” She was afraid she knew the answer to that, too.

  “I’m not a greedy man,” he told her with a magnanimous bow of his head. “What’s mine is yours.”

  God help her, she tried to be patient. “We’re no longer aboard El Gallo’s ship. There’s no reason to continue the farce. I need my own room.”

  “Oh. Have you more coin?” he asked innocently enough. But then he grinned, and she could see he’d manipulated this whole situation to his own advantage.

  Of course she had no coin of her own. The reivers had seen to that. Even her medallion had been taken. She wanted to scream in frustration. Damn it all! She wasn’t helpless! How could she prove to the beggar she could take care of herself when she kept needing him?

  She flounced down upon the bed and began peeling off one of the thick leather boots clinging to her ankles. She muttered to herself as she worked, calling him every name she could think of from “filthy cur” and “shandy knave” to “heartless brute.”

  The last one he took issue with.

  “I’m not heartless,” he told her, coming away from the door. For just a moment, he looked rather like a hurt little boy.

  “All right,” she grumbled. “Perhaps not heartless.” She struggled with the other boot. “But you are a churl and a knave. And a brute.”

  He smiled at that, infuriating her more. Her boot finally slid off with a sucking noise. She dropped it to the floor, wiggling her toes to make sure she could still feel them. Then she crossed the room and began wrestling with the screen.