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

by Laurel O'Donnell

  William looked at her in disbelief. “Then why was Emily killed?”

  She sighed softly. “I don’t pretend to know His plans. But I believe that everything happens for a reason. You have to trust.”

  William shook his head. “I did trust. For years. I had faith. I sought His forgiveness. And this is how He repays me? By taking Emily?”

  Grace placed a hand on his arm. “William --”

  “No.” He pulled his arm from her grip. Hellfire whinnied and tossed his head in response. “Enough is enough. I’ve done everything. Everything I was asked. And more.”

  She dropped her hand. “Did you really kill the archbishop?”

  His fists tightened around the reins and Hellfire danced to the side before William righted him. “I’m as guilty as the rest of them.”

  “What happened?”

  William thought back again to that fateful day. His jaw clenched tight. “I was a fool.”

  William had never intended to harm the archbishop. That was not the plan. The archbishop stood his ground, refusing to obey Reginald’s command to come forth and allow himself to be taken to the king. And now Reginald was set on death. William knew he had to get the archbishop out of the cathedral before Reginald did something they would all regret. His friend was already far too angry to think rationally. William lurched forward, followed by the others, hoping to reach the archbishop first. He grabbed hold of the archbishop’s white vestment, his hand fisting in the archbishop’s garments, attempting to drag him from the altar.

  But Reginald also grabbed hold of Archbishop Becket and pulled at him, trying to force him away from the altar.

  The archbishop seized hold of one of the pillars as if it were a lover. He fought back, shoving Reginald from him. “Don’t touch me, FitzUrse! You owe me fealty and obedience, you who foolishly follow your accomplices.”

  Reginald stumbled back away from Archbishop Becket before he righted himself. His face reddened in embarrassment and anger and he lifted his sword over his head, threateningly. “I don’t owe fealty or obedience to you who are in opposition to the fealty I owe my lord king.”

  One of the monks rushed to the archbishop’s aid, placing himself protectively before the archbishop to defend him from Reginald.

  No, William thought. No. He fought harder to free the archbishop from the pillar, tugging at his arms.

  A louder murmuring came from the group of monks Hugh was holding back with his brandished sword at the rear of the cathedral.

  Richard seized the monk who was protecting Archbishop Becket and tried to disengage him from the archbishop, twisting his arms away from the archbishop.

  William pulled at the archbishop’s robes, trying to wrench him from the pillar he clung to.

  Archbishop Becket inclined his head as if praying. Around him, chaos swirled in a vortex of confusion. “I commend my cause and that of the Church to God, to St. Mary and to the blessed martyr Denys.”

  With a cry of outrage and frustration, Reginald brought his sword down. The monk wrapped around the archbishop held up his arm to stop the blow. The sword hissed through the air, cutting the monk’s raised arm and landed on the archbishop’s head. The monk cried out, clutching his wounded arm and staggered away.

  Blood flowed down the side of Archbishop Becket’s face.

  The scene froze. The monk recoiling in horror, blood staining the archbishop’s face. William lifted his sword. If he could knock the archbishop out, he could yet save him. He brought the flat part of his sword down upon his head. It landed with a hollow thud.

  Archbishop Becket still stood, but stumbled away from the pillar.

  Reginald shoved the archbishop with a mighty push. The archbishop fell to his knees and elbows.

  The archbishop was weakened. William reached for him. They could now drag him from the cathedral and bring him to the king.

  Richard lifted his sword high in the air as William moved forward, his hand outstretched to seize the archbishop. But it was already too late. Richard brought his weapon down with such force that it cut deeply into Archbishop Becket’s head, slicing through his skull, moving through his head, to the stones below. The sword hit the stones with a loud clang and the metal blade split in two.

  The archbishop collapsed. Blood flowed from his split head over the stones and down the steps.

  Monks from the rear of the cathedral wailed and moaned.

  William stared, horrified. His breath came in puffs. His heart raced. What had they done? His gaze lifted to the statue of Mary. She stared at him in silent condemnation. He should have stopped it.

  Richard backed quickly away from the blood and dropped his broken sword.

  The monk who had led them to the cathedral rushed toward them, taking the stairs to the altar. He placed his foot on the neck of the archbishop. Archbishop Becket did not move; he stared up with wide eyes. The monk kicked his brains across the floor and smeared the blood across the stones. “It is done, knights. We can now leave this place. He will not get up again.”

  William stared at the fallen archbishop. He lay at the top of the stone steps on his side, his hands still clasped as if in prayer, his white vestments stained with his blood. They had come to take him to the king. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to die!

  William’s cold eyes stared straight ahead. His lips thinned with anger. “I was wrong. We were so young. So foolish. We sought to garner the king’s favor. The plan was never to kill him. We wanted to arrest him, take him before the king.” He shook his head. “But Archbishop Becket was obstinate and defiant. Righteous. We were all angry at Becket’s audacity to refuse the king.” He stared straight ahead. He could not take it back. It had been one moment in time. One moment he couldn’t stop replaying over and over. One moment that followed him through his life with devastating consequences. Slowly, the anger drained from him. He could no longer capture that moment than he could the last breath, the last sunrise. “I just wanted him to let go of the pillar. I raised my sword. But he refused. I brought down my sword... I never meant to hurt him. I meant it as a threat. If I could have knocked him unconscious we could have just carried him back with us...”

  Grace stroked his arm, encouragingly.

  He had never told anyone the story before. He had kept it hidden inside, embarrassed by it. He felt compelled to continue. As if now that it was started, he couldn’t stop it from escaping his lips.

  “It got out of hand. I never meant...” He shook his head, his brow furrowing in anguish. “I think it was Richard who cut him next. I still just wanted to carry Becket back to the king. But we were angry. And it seems...maybe irrational. I hit Becket on the head with the flat part of my sword, hoping to knock him out. Hoping to save him. We could still arrest him. But it was not to be. The archbishop was struck once more and fell forward. Reginald cut him deep. And then Richard raised his sword and...”

  Silence fell around them for a long moment. The leaves of the trees rustled. The footsteps of the horse's soft clops could be heard.

  “Do you think me a monster now?” William asked softly.

  Grace wrapped one of his hands with both of hers. “A monster? Nay. I imagine that if the archbishop had gone with you, there might have been a different outcome. I imagine that if you had gone to talk to him alone, there might have been a different outcome. As it was, too many factors contributed to the death of the archbishop for it to have been any one person’s fault.”

  William turned his head to her, his eyes wide in disbelief. “I killed him! There is no mistaking that.”

  “Nay. Yours was not the killing blow, was it?”

  “I could have stopped it. I could have saved him...”

  “Nay. You could not have stopped it.” She squeezed his hand. “You could not have saved him.”

  William was silent, staring down at their entwined hands. He refused to believe this. He could have saved him. But he didn’t. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could never have saved him.

&
nbsp; Grace put her hand on the side of his face and he lifted his gaze to her. “I think there is only one thing to do now.” She looked deeply into his eyes. “Forgive yourself. God has forgiven you already.”

  William scoffed. “How can you know that?”

  “Because He sent you to me.”

  CHAPTER 17

  William stared at her large trusting blue eyes. God did, indeed, send him to her. But was it some sort of mockery? She was so beautiful and forgiving and gracious. His heart ached. She was everything he could ever want. And he could never have her. She deserved so much more than he could offer.

  He ripped his gaze from her. It wasn’t forgiveness God was bestowing on him, but further punishment. His jaw clenched hard.

  She lifted her hand to his cheek, her fingers trailing a soft touch over his hard jaw. “I love you, William,” she whispered.

  Startled, he snapped his gaze to hers. Disbelief held him as still as a stone statue as she pressed her warm soft lips to his. He shook his head. “You can’t...” He breathed against her skin. She refused to be put off and continued the kiss. He couldn’t deny her and didn’t really want to try. With a groan, he relented and returned her kiss. She was a temptation he couldn’t resist. He hardened instantly and shifted his position. When he pulled back to look down at her, even more confusion erupted in him. “I don’t understand. After everything I told you.”

  “Because of it,” she insisted. “All this time, they’ve made you out to be this horrible demon who killed the archbishop in cold blood.”

  “I did.”

  “No. You didn’t. You tried to save him. The entire time. All you wanted to do was bring him before the king.”

  “That’s all any of us wanted to do. In the beginning.” He looked away from her. “It got out of hand.”

  “Oh, William,” she sighed and framed his face with her hands, gently lifting his gaze to meet hers. “You are not the monster others see you as. You’ve treated me with the utmost courtesy and chivalry.”

  William shook his head firmly. “You can’t love me. Think about it, Grace. There is no future, no family, for me. Any offspring I produce cannot be christened. I am excommunicated. Think about what you are saying. What that means.”

  “We’ll make it work. If you are willing.”

  Her voice held all the excitement he should have been feeling. She said she loved him! And he knew he loved her. That was the problem. Because he loved her, he would never subject her to a marriage with him.

  She straightened as realization crept through her. She clasped her hands and looked down. “Perhaps I am not what you want.”

  “What? No! I mean...” He had never allowed himself to hope. She was so beautiful. She was everything he wanted! But he had never dared to hope. Never thought it might be possible... He cupped her chin. “You are everything I want.”

  Those brilliant blue eyes grew wide with excitement. “Then you do...? You will...?”

  “I love you, Grace. I suppose I have from the very first day I saw you.”

  With an excited squeal, she threw her arms around him. Startled, Hellfire rose up slightly on his hind feet, throwing Grace back into William.

  William laughed as he hugged Grace. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. Perhaps Grace was right. Perhaps the Lord had forgiven him.

  Suddenly, William heard a growing noise. The thunder of pounding. He reigned in Hellfire, keeping his arm around Grace, and looked toward the noise. Horses. Horses riding hard.

  Grace heard the familiar sound of the pounding hooves a moment later. It wasn’t one horse. It sounded like an army.

  William turned Hellfire toward the forest.

  Grace wasn’t sure who was on the road, but she knew William was taking no chances. He dismounted behind some trees and helped Grace from the horse. Then, he quickly pulled out his sword. Grace’s heart raced, pounding like the horse’s hoofbeats stomping toward them.

  “Stay hidden,” he ordered her.

  They watched the road through the branches and leaves of the trees. For a long moment no one appeared, even as the thunderous hoofbeats grew louder like an approaching storm. It was such an overwhelming sound. So loud. Grace reached out and clasped William’s arm.

  Then the army was there. And it was an army, an army of armored men on horseback racing by. It took a moment, but Grace spotted the heraldry the men wore on their tunics. It was a familiar symbol, a blue crossed pattern overlain with a black knight. She straightened. “My father,” she said softly.

  William lunged out, moving toward the road.

  Grace reached for him, to stop him, to encourage him, she didn’t know. Her fingers closed around air as he moved out of her reach and waved his arms, shouting to the men to stop.

  Suddenly, her father’s angry image rose before her, his scowling brow, his thin lips turned down in a pout. Would he forgive her? She had every intention of marrying William now. Could she convince her father it was all a misunderstanding? It didn’t matter. There would be no further running for her. Determination filled her. She and William would face her father together. That thought gave her courage and conviction.

  Men from the army gathered around William. He spoke to them and they turned to look at her.

  Trepidation welled up inside of her under the barrage of their glares. Then she looked at William. He was not looking at her; he was speaking to a man on horseback. Without his calming presence near, without his courage, fear churned in her stomach. Some of the guards dismounted and headed her way. Most of their faces were familiar and she should have felt comfort, but the thought of her angry father would not be banished from her mind. She was afraid of her father, she realized. Very afraid.

  The guards asked her questions as they led her to the road, but she didn’t hear them; she was looking at William. He stood a head over the rest of the men and was easy to find. He turned to look at her. Their eyes locked. There was something sad in his blue eyes. It wasn’t comforting, nor strong.

  He turned away then, heading into the forest.

  Panic twisted her stomach. “No,” she whispered more to herself than the guards. She attempted to follow William into the forest, but her father’s men moved to block her path, attempting to herd her toward a horse. One man put his hands on his waist to help her mount, but she twisted and lurched away from him. “William!”

  “M’lady,” the guard said softly. He tried to take hold of her hand and prevent her from going into the forest.

  She yanked her hand away from the man with such force she was propelled backward and fell onto her bottom. Booted feet trapped her like bars of a cage. She heard words, but in her anxiety didn’t understand. A hand reached out for her. She followed it up.

  William stood before her, his hand outstretched.

  She reached for him, clasping his hand. He helped her to her feet. “She will ride with me,” he announced and guided her into the forest toward Hellfire. “Courage, Grace,” he whispered to her. “These are your men. They only mean to protect you.”

  They mean to take me away from you, she thought, but didn’t voice her concern.

  The courtyard at Willoughby Castle was empty and dark as the soldiers followed William and Grace in. It was late and Grace was certain many villagers were abed. For the first time since she had runaway with Curtis, she had hope for the future. She couldn’t wait to see her father and tell him of her love for William. She was certain he would be happy she had agreed to follow his order and marry William. And yet a nagging uncertainty, an unsettling anxiety, still gnawed at her.

  William dismounted and helped her off of Hellfire. She smiled at him and he returned her happiness by lifting her hand to his lips. Grace kept his hand in hers and turned to the doorway. She stopped short. Her father stood silhouetted in the open door of the keep outlined by the dancing torchlight from the hallway. A demon. The thought erupted in Grace’s mind and she took a step back, coming up against William’s body.

  William lay
a comforting hand on her shoulder and it gave Grace courage. She was relieved he was with her. She took the first step toward her father. Her happiness faded beneath the rage she saw in his tight jaw and snarled lips.

  William stopped her, catching her arm. He bowed slightly to her father. “She is safe, m’lord.”

  Her father’s eyes did not move from her, locking on her like twin beacons of hate. Like a falcon eyeing its prey.

  “Father --” she began.

  “You defied me, girl,” he ground out. “I would speak to you alone.” He whirled and headed into the keep.

  Grace glanced back at William. Dread slithered through her, snaking its way around her body, and for one beat of her heart, she couldn’t move. William nodded reassurance to her. She didn’t know what else to do. She followed her father inside the keep. Her footsteps echoed softly in the stone hall. Despite being inside the warm castle, a chill raced through her. How foolish she was for thinking her father would be happy to see her. Happy at all. She should have known he would be furious at her disobedience. He didn’t know she and William had fallen in love. Perhaps when she told him... But something told her not to tell him.

  She turned the corner in time to see him enter the farthest room. The judgment room. She followed after him, hurrying so as not to make him even angrier. The moment she entered the room he lashed out, striking her across the cheek with enough force to send her to the stone floor. Stunned, she stared up at his fury. His lips had curled back from his teeth, his eyes were wide. It transformed his entire face into that of an evil, hateful man.

  “You willful whore,” he snarled. “You leave with one man and come back with another. Did you bed them both? Like your mother?”

  “Father,” she whispered, shaking her head. Tears rose in her eyes. “I didn’t --”

  “Lies!” he shouted. “You disobeyed my order!”

  She shook her head. “I will marry him! That’s why I returned. To follow your order. Father, please.” She extended her hand. “I know what I did was wrong.”