A Knight With Grace: Book 1 of the Assassin Knights Series

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Curtis held out a shaking hand to her.

  William blocked her path as she came forward. “There is nothing to be done.”

  Grace surged around him and dropped to her knees at Curtis’s side. She took Curtis’s face into her hands, brushing his hair from his forehead.

  William’s mouth dropped open in surprise. That tender touch made everything clear. William knew in that instant. She had not been kidnapped. She was fleeing. He snapped his mouth closed. Of course she was, he thought. As she should be. He gritted his jaw, his thoughts bitter. He wasn’t certain if he was angry with her or her father. It didn’t matter.

  Curtis turned over, revealing the dagger lodged in his chest. He lay his head in her lap, staring at the sky above.

  Grace’s tears fell onto the young knight’s face, trailing paths of despair. She continued to stroke his forehead and cheeks, wiping the blood from his mouth with her sleeve.

  William turned away. Let the two spend his last moments together in privacy. Of course, he did not like to see his future wife grieving over another man, but there was naught to do about it now. Future wife, he thought in mockery as he stepped into the cottage. He patted the neck of his horse. He had kept the black war horse inside so they wouldn’t know he was here. This was not quite what he had expected. Lord Alan told him she had been kidnapped. Everyone was looking for her. Didn’t he know? She had run away! William couldn’t blame her. What woman would want to marry him? But for a moment, William had believed what he was doing was worthwhile and just. He bowed his head, leaning it against Hellfire’s neck. How wrong he had been!

  CHAPTER 8

  Grace gently stroked Curtis’s cheek even after he had long since slipped away. This was her fault. He would still be alive if he hadn’t agreed to take her away. Tearfully, she pressed her forehead to his. He would still be alive if he hadn’t have been her friend. Why? Why would the Lord take him away? Why would the Lord do this to her? After all her praying for her knight to come and save her, this is what He brought to her instead. She had prayed every day, every spare moment. What else did He want? She sat up and swiped at her eyes with her sleeve, only to freeze. Blood stained the hem of the sleeve. A new wave of anguish crested over her, and with it came resolve and anger. She had prayed enough. She had to be strong and depend on herself. If God wasn’t answering her prayers, then she would save herself.

  She eased Curtis’s head to the ground, silently thanking him. She backed away to a nearby tree, pressing her back against it as she sat. She lifted her knees, encircling them with her arms. She was not going home. She would fight. She would do what she had to. She was not returning to Willoughby Castle. Because if she did, everything Curtis had done for her would be for naught. Curtis. She bowed her head to her knees and grief washed over her, letting out a torrent of sorrow. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Dead. Curtis was dead. Just like her mother. Death was following her everywhere.

  That accursed Sir William! He had done this! He had taken him away. Why did he have to come after her?

  “M’lady...”

  She lifted her head to find Sir William standing before her. Vile murderer! She should have expected nothing less of this monster. He had slain the archbishop, so what did the life of a simple knight mean to him? Now he had murdered her friend, too. “You killed him,” she whispered, her voice ragged.

  Sir William stood stoically before her. No emotion crossed his rugged face. Icy blue eyes gazed at her. Finally, he turned and moved into the cottage. When he emerged, he was holding a shovel.

  Grace was surprised when he began to dig a grave, surprised at this honorable act. She lifted her chin. That still didn’t change the fact he had murdered Curtis nor that his soul was damned for all eternity.

  The sun was setting, spreading a deep red across the sky, when William finally finished burying Curtis. He patted the shovel on top of the grave.

  Grace stood in the shade of the tree, watching William bury Curtis. With Curtis gone, Sir William would take her back to her father and insist she marry him. But she never would. Her life was being buried with Curtis in that grave. Their life. She would not betray him. She would never make his death, his sacrifice, meaningless. She would never marry William. But how was she going to stop it now? Desperation filled her. She couldn’t just stand here and do nothing! She glanced over her shoulder into the woods. The leaves swayed in a soft breeze as if beckoning her. She could run. But she knew that would be even worse. Without protection, she wouldn’t stand a chance against the outlaws and bandits roaming the woods. And Sir William would come after her anyway. She was trapped. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She was not going back to her father.

  William straightened, wiping a hand across his sweat drenched forehead. He arched his back. He had removed his chainmail armor and his gambeson and worked in a tunic.

  She lifted her chin slightly and determination filled her. She prepared for a fight.

  He put the shovel on his shoulder and turned to her.

  Her entire body clenched in dread. He would take her back to her father, regardless of whether she wanted to go or not. The thought was agony. The thought was horrible. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t return. She couldn’t. She squeezed her arms.

  He bowed his head and his long dark, damp strands fell forward. “We’ll stay here for the night and start out in the morning.”

  She didn’t acknowledge she heard him. She looked at Curtis’s grave, a lump rising in her throat. Grateful relief swept through her. She had one more night to think of a solution. She would do anything not to return to her father.

  He lowered his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Shocked at the sincerity in his voice, she looked at him. Dark strands hid his face from her.

  “You can stay inside the cottage. I will remain outside.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t move. It was more sympathy than her father had shown her after her mother’s death. He was allowing her grieving time. She had to use the time wisely. Yes, she would miss Curtis and she did grieve for him. But she had to think of her future. There would be time to mourn him later. She glanced again at Curtis’s grave before brushing by William to enter the cottage and begin planning.

  William sat beneath a nearby tree with his horse, Hellfire, standing nearby. The moon was far overhead, casting the surroundings in a surreal muted glow. Curtis’s steed whinnied softly, perhaps missing his owner. William had tied him to another tree where there was plenty of grass to feed on. He lifted his head to gaze at the moon. It had been almost fifteen years since he had last gotten a good night’s sleep. He had spent time fighting in Jerusalem, had participated in many skirmishes, had nearly lost his own life many times in the frenzied madness of battle, but that was not what kept him up at night. It was the blood. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw pools of innocent blood filling his mind’s eye. In his dark dreams, he often found himself staring down at his hands, seeing them covered in dark red liquid. He wondered if his friends had this much trouble sleeping.

  He doubted Reginald FitzUrse had any trouble sleeping. Reginald was always confident in his actions, never regretting them. It was for the king, Reginald would say. Everything they had done had been for the king. Reginald’s loyalty was to King Henry, even above God. His excommunication never seemed to bother him. Reginald was tough, always fighting for what he believed in with the courage of a lion, but he was also angry and headstrong. After all this time, William wondered if it hadn’t been for Reginald’s anger, if they would have sought to bring the archbishop before the king. William thought back to that fateful night. A colder night. A December night.

  Two monks clad in brown robes opened the doors of the cloister for the four knights. The four knights, William, Reginald, Richard le Brey and Hugh de Morville, entered the monastery, each man’s face filled with grim determination. Reginald led the way into the hall. William nodded at one of the monks he passed. He couldn’t help but notice the fear and
anxiety in the young monk’s dark eyes.

  Long tables lined the hall and monks ate quietly at them.

  “Where is Thomas Becket?” Reginald demanded.

  The monks looked up at him. Some set aside their food and drink, but none said a word.

  Richard Le Brey stepped forward. “Where is the traitor?”

  “We bear a message from King Henry!” Reginald added. “Speak up!”

  William glanced at Reginald in surprise. They had no message from the king. Perhaps he meant they were here on the king’s mission. Still, the half truth made him uneasy.

  Finally, a man dressed in white robes rose from one of the tables. His bearing, his demeanor was different than the others. He clearly commanded respect. “I am here, FitzUrse,“ Archbishop Thomas Becket said. ”Why do you disturb these monks at mealtime?”

  “By the king’s orders, you are to return with us to England,” Reginald commanded.

  “I do not answer to the king, but to One in higher authority. I will not return to England.”

  William gaped at this, as did the rest of the knights. Defying King Henry’s order was unthinkable. “You defy the king?” William asked, shocked.

  The archbishop looked at William and his gaze softened. “I answer only to one rule. His rule.”

  His rule. The Lord’s rule. Uncertainty immediately filled William. Is that what he was doing by being here? Is that what this mission meant? Was he placing king over God? Before he could answer, or question himself further, Reginald stepped forward.

  “All who are on the side of the king, hinder the archbishop!” Reginald ordered the monks. “Do not let him leave!” He whirled and stormed from the hall.

  William stood still for a second longer, as his comrades moved out of the hall, following FitzUrse. Would they return to England empty handed? Would they return as failures? His gaze moved over the hall. Many of the monks mumbled amongst themselves. Some rose and gathered together near the archbishop. William began to turn, but locked eyes with the archbishop.

  “Turn from this path, knight,” the archbishop commanded.

  William knew there would be no turning back from this. The monks knew they came for the archbishop. Others would know of their mission after they left. They would be seen as failures if the archbishop did not return with them. They would be laughed at. Ridiculed. He turned and followed his friends from the hall.

  William had missed that first opportunity to abort their mission, to talk his friends into leaving. But he knew Reginald would never have left regardless of any arguments William might have presented to him. Reginald would never have run from the mission. Thomas Becket had been doomed from the moment the king uttered the words ’What a parcel of fools have I nourished in my house, that not one of them will avenge me of this upstart clerk!’.

  With a sigh, William knelt in the dirt, as he did every night, and said a prayer for the archbishop’s soul.

  Sleep came sporadically for Grace. She sat in a corner, as far away from the door as possible. The mattress had bugs and moldy straw in it. Her stomach grumbled. The uncertainty of her future haunted her. How was she going to get out of this? Her thoughts shifted to William. What of that murderer? He was cursed for what he had done, doomed to hell, excommunicated. Why would her father have betrothed her to him, knowing his grandchildren would be cursed as the spawn of evil? She didn’t understand her father. Not his sudden hatred of her, nor his decisions. Had her mother’s death driven him to insanity? She lowered her chin to her chest and closed her eyes. He would be furious that she ran away, that she had defied his order. He had commanded her to marry William and she had defied him. He wouldn’t tolerate it. Maybe Curtis was lucky to be dead.

  She slept little that night, fitfully tossing and turning. Having come up with no plan for her future, despite her praying, she remained in the cottage when morning came. She paced, desperately trying to come up with a plan of escape.

  The sun was high overhead when William called to her, “Lady Grace. Are you hungry?”

  She rubbed her stomach. Yes. She was hungry! She and Curtis had eaten very little on their trip. She hesitantly moved to the open doorway, her hunger overriding her caution. She had to keep her strength up for the coming ordeal.

  Sir William stood over a small fire, roasting something on a spit.

  Grace lifted her chin, debating whether to refuse him. But the smell of the meat made her mouth water and she left the safety of the cottage to approach the campfire.

  He didn’t look at her as she approached. He bent to turn the spit.

  She sat across the fire from him where she could observe him while pretending to look at the food. His dark hair hung in waves to his shoulders. He knelt on one knee, the other bent before him. He wore a simple green tunic and black leggings. His sword was strapped to his waist.

  He reached across to her, holding out a small loaf of bread.

  She took it with a mumbled, “Thank ye.” She told herself to go slow as she bit into it. She didn’t know when she would eat next. The bread was fresh and flavor erupted in her mouth. Her eyes almost rolled in enjoyment. She finished the loaf in only a moment. It was delicious!

  “I thought he kidnapped you, but I see I was wrong.”

  Grace lifted her gaze to him. “Why would you think Curtis kidnapped me?”

  “Your father told me.”

  Her father thought she was kidnapped? Maybe he would be relieved she was safe. Maybe... But she didn’t think so.

  “When you disappeared, your father was concerned. You are lady of Willoughby Castle. You would make for a fine ransom.”

  Ransom? That had never been their plan. She and Curtis were going to build a future together. She shook her head and looked back at the spit and the meat William was roasting. It looked like rabbit. “I paid Curtis to take me away.”

  William snapped his gaze to her in surprise, raking her from head to toe thoughtfully. “You must have been very desperate to get out of the marriage.”

  It wasn’t just the marriage. She wanted to be away from her father. “We were going to make a home here.”

  His gaze shifted to look at the cottage before turning back to her. “It didn’t occur to you that this would be the very first place your father would look?”

  She opened her mouth and then closed it. It hadn’t.

  “It must not have occurred to Sir Curtis, either. Although any soldier would know that.”

  “What are you saying?” Grace demanded.

  William shook his head. “Just that if I were taking the woman I loved away...”

  She straightened and corrected him by declaring, “He was my friend.”

  “Pardons. If I were taking my friend away, I would go to a place that had no connection to me. If someone was trying to find you, home would be the first place to look. Next, any relations. Aunts, cousins. Seems suspicious to me, that’s all. Why would he bring you to the first place he knew they would look?”

  Grace scowled. She stared down at her slippered feet. “Perhaps he didn’t know they were going to search here. His father died a long time ago. He said he left this cottage to him.”

  “He grew up here.”

  Grace nodded. “Yes. But he had not been here for some time.” She scowled and raised her gaze to him. “You shouldn’t belittle a dead man. It is dishonorable.”

  “I am not belittling him. I am simply pointing out facts. Once I found out his name, Sir Curtis Mortain, he was easy to find. You were easy to find.”

  Easy to find, her mind repeated. Curtis would never have wanted her to be found! This was to be their home. They had talked about the garden and... Why would he bring her to his family home? Doubt plagued her and this made her angry. “Your logic doesn’t make sense. Curtis had nowhere else to go. This was a good choice. I mean... why would Curtis have wanted my father to find me? He would have been thrown in the dungeon!”

  William’s gaze shifted to the rabbit. He cut off a piece of meat with his dagger and hande
d it to her. “You said you paid him. How much?”

  She stared at the rabbit he offered, her anger outweighing her hunger. Curtis would never have brought her here if he knew her father would find them! Would he? “It doesn’t matter.”

  William lowered the rabbit. “But it does. He was a young knight. If you had paid him enough, he wouldn’t need you. Maybe he only wanted the coin.”

  His words made her re-think her recent time with Curtis. Every time they had stopped, Curtis had left her. Almost as if he were anxious to be away from her. What had he been doing? She swallowed down the uncertainty, but it had already snaked a path into her mind. Sadness filled her. Had he really deceived her? “He said we would live here.”

  William’s gaze moved slowly over her. “You should consider yourself lucky, Lady Grace. He could have simply killed you.”

  Shock rocked her. “Curtis was honorable,” she defended vehemently. “He would never have hurt me! We were friends!” It couldn’t be! William was just trying to confuse her. She had thought that perchance Curtis might come to love her someday. But more nagging thoughts came to her, more questions. Curtis had never kissed her. He had not even tried! Stunned at the realization, she turned and slowly made her way back into the cottage.

  William combed down Hellfire, speaking to him in soft tones. His horse had been his only one true friend through all of this. And they were both getting older. The horse tossed his head and William patted him on the nose. “She just needs time.” He cast a glance at the opening to the cottage. Lady Grace had not emerged since earlier that morn, although he had heard her moving about. She must be thirsty, if not hungry. He was glad she ate a loaf of bread. Perhaps he had been too harsh, too early. After all, the man she had paid to take her away just died. Died. William shook his head as he moved to put the brush back into his saddle bag. Curtis had been brash and reckless attacking a trained knight. But William had not wanted him to die. After the brutal fighting in Jerusalem, he had made a vow never to kill again. And he hadn’t. Sir Curtis had fallen on his own dagger after a less than honorable attack.