“My father hath bequeathed a small cottage to me upon his dying bed. It is slightly north and west of Sir Breton’s lands, on the border. I grew up there. I’m sure it will need some work, as no one has lived there for years. But it will be perfect for us. It won’t be what you are used to. It is no castle.”
Grace didn’t care how small it was. She didn’t care where it was. She only cared it was not with her father. “Is there room for a garden?“
“We will plant a garden with enough food to sustain us. I shall chop wood for the fire.”
“We will have a goat. And some ducks,” Grace added. She would be with her friend. It would be a happy place.
“And my horse and sword.”
Grace nodded. “Of course.” His horse. She sighed softly. Their images of their future lives were vastly different. She still thought he imagined being a knight in a cottage. He wasn’t really thinking about a home or a garden. He was not the knight she had prayed for. She had thought he might be; she had convinced herself he could be, but she knew deep in her heart, he was not her knight. Still, he was the next best thing. And he was her friend.
“I’m sorry, Sir William, but I have not seen a woman matching that description come this way.”
William handed the inn keeper two shillings. “Thank you.” He walked toward the door. This was the only inn on the road. He didn’t think she would have come this way, too many people would have seen her. He also spoke to Captain Trenton as he rode back to the castle. The Captain assured him she had not come this way. He said they had already searched the inn. William searched anyway. Things could be overlooked and he had this feeling...
He paused at the door of the inn to glance around the room. It was almost empty, only two tables with patrons eating at them. Two men, travelers by the looks of them. It made no sense. She couldn’t have just disappeared. Had her kidnapper taken her the opposite way? Into the forest? Could his instincts be wrong? He opened the door and stepped out into the sunny day.
He glanced around the yard. His gaze fell on the stable. A dark-haired woman emerged carrying a bucket in two hands.
He moved to her and took the bucket from her. It was full of water. “Are you taking this to the inn?”
“Aye,” she said, cautiously looking him over.
He carried the bucket to the door of the inn. She hurried to step in front of him, standing rather close to him. “Aren’t you a helpful one? And so strong. Surely there is some way I can repay you.” Her smile was coy and seductive.
William stared down at her. Her teeth were brown and a front one had fallen out. He was not aroused by her in the slightest. “There is one way.” He set the bucket down.
“Oh,” she laughed low in her throat.
“Have you seen a noble woman with golden hair?”
She placed her hands on his chest and then laced them about his neck, pressing her body against his. “I see lots of noble women.”
“The one I’m looking for is fairly young. Maybe eighteen summers. It would have been early today or yesterday.” She sighed and her breath fanned his face. It was all he could do to not pull away from the odor of dead fish.
She stepped back and put her hands on her hips, jutting out her breasts. “Yea, I saw ’er.” She looked him over slowly. “But she couldn’t satisfy the knight she was with like I could.”
“A knight?” William repeated. “Do you know who he was?”
“I think he said his name was Curtis. Sir Curtis. Yes. He was a large man, but you are so much bigger.” She smiled through her gap-toothed mouth.
A knight had kidnapped Lady Grace. Sir Curtis. William looked down the road. “Which way did they go?”
“They rode off in that direction.” She pointed away from the castle. “Down that road.”
William picked out two shillings from his pouch and handed them to the girl. “For your time.” He turned away from the woman toward the stable and his mount.
“I have more time!” she called after him.
William didn’t turn back.
“Knights,” she whispered with contempt and picked up the bucket, carrying it inside the inn.
CHAPTER 6
“How much farther?” Grace asked, wearily. They had been on the road for over a week and she had begun to think Curtis had no cottage and they would wander the roads forever. Her bottom was numb, her limbs tired. Her entire body ached.
“Not much farther,” Curtis replied.
He wasn’t very convincing. There had been many times during the week they had veered off the road and hid in the woods to avoid her father’s men. And every time she saw them, she was reminded of her father, of the hate she saw in his eyes. The days were long and she had too much time to think. Too much time to think about why her father would have scorned her in such a way. At first, she thought it was his sadness and anger at losing her mother. She felt the same anguish, the same loneliness. But every time she approached her father, he would scowl at her and his lips would thin, as if he was angry with her. It must have been something she had done. As she thought back to the days, before her mother’s death and after, there was nothing she could think of. Nothing she had done to cause such animosity in her father.
Curtis pointed down the road ahead of them. “See the bend in the road? We turn off there and head west. We’re almost there.”
Excitement soared within her. The fatigue and aches in her body disappeared and she was energized by anticipation. Finally! The horse suddenly seemed to be moving very slowly. The animal was just walking. Curtis wasn’t urging him into a cantor. How could he be so patient? She wanted to leap from the horse and race ahead. She shifted her position.
Curtis chuckled. “Patience, little dove. We’ll have the rest of our lives to live there.”
His voice sounded indifferent. Bitter, almost. She swiveled to look at him. “Aren’t you happy?”
“Of course I am,” he said and smiled at her.
The smile didn’t reach his eyes. She couldn’t help but notice his lack of enthusiasm. He seemed somehow distant. She couldn’t figure out what it was. She lay a hand on his arm. “I am truly thankful for you, Curtis.”
“I know,” he said softly.
She turned away from him to look at the bend in the road which grew closer and closer. She bowed her head. Maybe he had reason for reserve. “Curtis, have you thought about what would happen if my father’s men come looking for me here?”
“Of course! You will hide. I will tell them that I am here alone, tending my lands.”
She looked back at him, his warm eyes, his gentle and encouraging grin. He seemed to have thought this through. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps he was just as tired as she. Her gaze swept his face. It was clean shaven and rugged, confident. “I would never implicate you. If we are discovered, I would say I forced you to take me.“
Curtis laughed. “And who would believe you?”
Grace was quiet for a moment. A question nagged at her and she had to ask it aloud. “Why are you helping me, Curtis?”
“I am your friend.”
It was the way he said it. As if he had said a thousand times before. Just words. There was no feeling behind the words. She turned to look back at the road. It didn’t matter. She had escaped with Curtis and this would be her life now. “If you want to leave me here, I will understand.”
“Leave you? Then who would protect you?”
She looked back at him again and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
His brows rose in surprise.
“I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
Curtis looked away to the side and the dirt of the road.
“You’ve freed me,” Grace whispered.
“Don’t be too certain. You’ll have to look over your shoulder all of the time. Pretend to be someone else. That’s not freedom, if you ask me.”
Grace scowled at him. It certainly was better than the life her father had wanted for her with Sir William.
Curtis guided th
e horse forward, turning off the main road, moving to the right.
Grace didn’t see a path through the high stalks of grass.
“I’ve taken this way many times when I was a boy,” Curtis said fondly. “The cottage is just ahead. Over that ridge.”
Grace sat straight in the saddle, straining to see the building. She knew it wouldn’t be grand, but she imagined a sturdy structure with a small side garden. “You grew up here as a boy?”
“Yes. My father and I. I used to play with my brother in these very fields.”
“You have a brother? You never mentioned him.”
“He left when I was five to find his way in the world. He sells his sword.”
“A mercenary? Has he ever worked for my father?”
“No. I haven’t seen him in years.”
A brother. Strange, he had never mentioned him. But she had never asked. She looked ahead, searching for the cottage. “What type of games did you play with your brother?”
He shrugged. “King and peasant, sometimes. Mostly knights. We would use sticks as swords.” He pointed ahead. “There. There it is.”
Grace saw the thatched roof first. As they rode closer, she saw the rest of the building. It was a small, simple square structure. There was no door to the entrance leaving a gaping hole and darkness inside. The entire area was overgrown with weeds. It was clear no one had lived here for a very long time. It wasn’t quite what she had imagined. Perhaps the inside was in better shape. Trepidation spread through her. And then, she lifted her chin. It didn’t matter. This was her home. With Curtis. What had she expected? It will be fine, she told herself. We will make it work.
He reined his horse in before the open door and dismounted. He looked around, gazing from here to there, as if lost in memory. Then, he turned to Grace and helped her from the horse.
Grace glanced at the overgrown doorway, the weeds twisting and turning as if to block her way. There was a rectangular area beside the cottage that seemed particularly overgrown with thick weeds and tall stalks of grass. It must have been the garden at one time, but it was almost non-existent now. If it weren’t for the lone vine of cucumbers she might not have recognized it.
She suddenly felt Curtis’s gaze on her. She hadn’t realized she was wringing her hands until he grasped one. “Would you like to go home now?”
Shocked, she pulled her hand free of his. “This is my home now. This is our home. It just needs a little...work.” A little work? They would have to pull all the weeds and replant. She didn’t know if they would even get any food this year. As she gazed at him, a slow realization dawned in her. “You thought I would return home?”
Curtis bowed his head, ignoring the question. He gently pulled her toward the doorway. “Come. See the inside.” But he stopped as a figure appeared in the doorway and stepped out into the daylight. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
The man was dressed in chainmail with a sword strapped to his side. He wore no helm, his dark hair falling to his shoulders in waves. He glanced at Grace. Blue eyes burned into her, sweeping her from head to toe. She was surprised she wasn’t afraid of this man.
“I’m here to take Lady Grace home,” the knight proclaimed in a calm, assured voice.
“Who are you?” Grace asked.
“Sir William de Tracy.”
CHAPTER 7
Sir William sized up Sir Curtis with a quick glance. He was a tall man, but not of impressive stature. He was young. Maybe just a few years older then Lady Grace, if even that.
Curtis’s lip curled in a sneer and he stepped back, drawing his sword. “You shant be taking her anywhere.”
William had known it would come to this. He held up his hands. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Of course not,” Curtis snarled. “You’ve done enough murdering for a lifetime. You will have to fight if you intend to take Lady Grace, for I have no intention of giving her up.”
With a reluctant sigh, William pulled his sword from its sheath. “So be it.” William was skilled in sword fighting and he was sure he would defeat this young knight standing so brazenly defiant before him. He hoped that perhaps he could teach the brash young hot head a lesson without hurting him.
Curtis swung first, two quick blows.
William easily deflected them, but he was too close to the cottage and had nowhere to retreat, so he eased to the side. Curtis attacked that side with another swipe, intent on keeping William cornered. William parried the blows, the tings of the blades ringing out through the air. William quickly moved the other way, away from the cottage.
They circled, each man holding his sword up, and each sharp, deadly tip pointed at its opponent.
“Murderer,” Curtis hissed.
William betrayed no emotion. He had grown used to the accusation and the derogatory names and comments others threw at him. He had lived with them for a long time.
“You don’t deny it.”
“It would not matter what I said. You’ve cast your judgment,” William stated. He watched the young knight’s style, looking for a way to disarm him. Curtis made many mistakes. He kept his sword too low. His grip was too loose. His eyes focused on his opponent’s blade. It was a wonder he was still alive. But William knew Curtis had not been trained as he had. The young knight had been in no wars, only mock battles, and play. It was an entirely different affair if your life depended on your sword skill. He glanced at Lady Grace and was pleased to see she seemed to be unharmed and had the sense to back away from the battle.
“Imagine the hero I would become if I slay you,” Curtis said with a cold glint in his eye and scorn twisting his lips. He lunged forward, but quickly changed his move to arc a blow at William’s head.
William could have easily lunged in and stabbed Curtis in the chest. Instead, he stepped aside and the tip of Curtis’s sword hit the ground, a small cloud of dirt spraying up upon impact. William kicked Curtis’s hand and the sword went flying through the air.
Stunned, Curtis stared.
William worked out his wrist, moving his sword around in a circle. He moved to the side, giving Curtis safe passage to his weapon. “Pick it up.”
Curtis quickly dashed to the spot his weapon had fallen and grabbed it. He scoffed. “Luck.”
William knew luck had nothing to do with it. If Curtis was a smarter opponent, he would have known that and run away. But, as William mentally predicted, he didn’t.
Curtis approached, cautiously now, not as cocky.
William bent his knees slightly, preparing for the attack. He was no longer in the mood to teach this young knight. He wanted this done quickly so he could return Lady Grace to her father. He didn’t want to kill the knight, just incapacitate him enough to allow them to leave unhindered. Perhaps a cut on his leg.
Curtis took a quick moment, assessing William before he attacked, swinging from the left and then the right, moving forward with quick vicious strikes.
William blocked both blows and struck back with brutal force, pushing Curtis into the grassy field. He continued his attack, hitting Curtis’s sword again and again, leaving him on the defensive. He swung left, left, left, and then a quick right. The change-up was difficult for his opponent to block. Curtis just managed to switch his sword in time to deflect it. And then William attacked again on the left. After only one swing, he kicked Curtis back. The young knight staggered, but kept his footing to counter a thrust to his body. He used only one hand and William saw his moment. He caught Curtis’s sword with his blade and spun his wrist. Because of Curtis’s loose grip, the sword spun through the air and landed in the long grass.
William put the tip of his sword to Curtis’s throat. “Yield,” he ordered.
For a moment, Curtis couldn’t move. He stared in disbelief. Shocked, he slowly lifted his hands.
William waited. He gently pressed the tip of his sword against Curtis’s throat to remind him of his choice.
“I yield,” Curtis said through gritted teeth.
&
nbsp; “Then be on your way.” William lowered his sword and turned to Lady Grace. He sheathed his weapon. He expected to see a glimmer of happiness in her face, or even for her to run to him and throw her arms around him in gratitude. He expected to be the hero for once in his life. But her eyes were wide and her lower lip pouted. “You need not fear, Lady Grace. You are free now.”
Tears welled in her large eyes. Were those tears of happiness? He scowled. Something was not right here. He heard a shifting of clothing behind him.
Grace lifted a hand and stepped forward. “Curtis, no!”
William turned in time to see Curtis coming toward him, a dagger raised high. Instinctively, William thrust his arm out behind him to catch Grace and sweep her aside as Curtis brought the dagger down. William turned away and the dagger hooked into a link in his chain mail. Curtis pulled the dagger free and lifted it for another blow. William caught his wrist. They struggled, both pulling and pushing to get the other into a weak position. William hooked a foot behind Curtis’s leg and shoved him aside with all his strength.
Curtis fell heavily, dropping his hands to catch himself.
William stood over him, his legs bent, his arms out defensively, awaiting Curtis’s rise. Curtis remained on his hands and knees, his head bent and his long blonde hair concealing his face. William cautiously stepped around to the front of Curtis, ready for him to lash out or jump to his feet. Was this some sort of trick to draw him closer? Then one drop of blood fell onto the dirt ground near Curtis’s hand, then another.
Curtis lifted his gaze to William. He sputtered and blood splashed from his mouth.
William scanned him, glancing quickly over Curtis’s body. And then he saw what had happened. The dagger Curtis held had been twisted up in his fall and impaled him. William straightened. He had been in enough battles to know this kind of wound was fatal. The fight was over. And still, despite his less than honorable attack from behind, William felt a twinge of regret. It didn’t have to end this way. He could have run.
“Curtis?” Grace called.
A Knight With Grace: Book 1 of the Assassin Knights Series Page 3
