“No,” Delaney roared. “I forbid it. There will be no fighting at Castle Delaney. We will settle this like civilized men.”
“There is nothing to settle. The dowry was set by my grandfather and your father. I will adhere to the terms, as will you,” Terran ordered.
“That is impossible,” Delaney said. “I have just sealed Bria’s betrothal to Lord Garret.”
Surprise rocked Terran and his glare shot to Garret. Odella had killed herself out of love for him. Now the man was betrothed to his future bride! Will this man ever stop dogging my every step?
Terran’s gaze moved over the other suitors. By the displeased grumbling and the shocked looks on their faces, Terran knew Delaney had made a snap decision to thwart him. His stare slammed back to Delaney. He smashed his fist on the table. “She is mine. I will not permit such insolence!”
Amid the stares of disapproval, Terran quickly composed himself. He straightened and forced his voice to be calm, hiding the fierce rage burning within. “If you persist in being unreasonable, I will take it up with the king. I’m sure he’ll see it my way.” He turned and quickly left the room, fighting to keep his feelings inside. But as he entered a spiral stairway, his rage finally surfaced, burning like molten lava in his veins.
He pounded the wall once, hard. A savage growl tore loose from his throat.
God’s blood! Must Dysen haunt me all my life? No matter. Bria will be mine in the end. I will see to it.
“Knowles! Where are you?” a voice called from the hallway.
Terran stepped out of the stairway to confront the anger he heard in the man’s voice. His own fury flared upon seeing Dysen standing in the middle of the hallway, searching for him.
Garret spotted him and stalked toward him. His fists were clenched at his side, his shoulders bunched, his eyes narrowed to twin orbs of flame. He stopped just feet from Terran. “Stay away from her, Knowles,” Garret snarled.
“I can hardly do that when she is to be my wife.” Terran fought to retain his calm, but deep inside he felt none of the even-temperedness that he put on.
“Did you not hear what Lord Delaney said? Lady Bria will be my wife.”
Terran lowered his chin and glared. “That remains to be seen.”
“Look, Knowles,” Garret said, “I respected your right to lady Odella when you won her. I expect you to do the same.”
“Yes,” Terran growled, feeling the fury rise within him, “except you neglected to tell me that you had already won her heart.”
Garret’s mouth dropped open, but he promptly closed it.
“Your name was the last thing she ever said.”
Garret’s brows drew together in agony, and for a moment he looked away from Terran. “Yes,” he admitted, “we loved each other.” When he lifted his gaze, there was bitterness and rage glittering in his eyes. “But when her father chose you, we agreed to abide by his decision. I left her with you.”
Terran straightened slightly. Perhaps Dysen is more honorable than I’ve given him credit for. Perhaps he did love Odella, and she loved him. Perhaps everything I thought was love was nothing of the sort. Could it be I only loved Odella as I’d love the spoils of war?
“And you tormented her so much she took her own life,” Garret added.
The words snapped Terran out of his ponderings. His fists clenched. The accusation was insulting. “I think your giving up on her love drove her to it, not me.”
Fury flamed in Garret’s eyes. “So you’ve come here to get even?”
Terran began to turn away. “I’ve come for my wife.”
Garret seized his arm, halting him. “You think you can go from one woman to the next without a thought to their feelings? Well, it isn’t going to work this time. You won’t have Bria.”
“Is that a threat?” Terran asked, jerking his arm free of Garret’s hold.
“Consider it a challenge. Tomorrow on the tilting field.”
“I’d have it no other way.”
***
Two swords crossed in the moonlight, their metal blades clanging as they collided.
“Come on, girl,” Harry goaded Bria, who was standing mere inches from him, trying to stare him down. “Concentrate. You want me to defeat you?” He swung his sword around to the side and in.
Bria just barely blocked it. She swung and the blades pushed hard against each other, then abruptly separated, the slender steel screeching as they slid free. Bria swung again, but Harry backed away and her blade whistled through empty air. She swung a third time, but this time Harry caught her swing and grabbed her wrist, bringing her in close so they were nose to nose.
“You have to control your anger,” he warned, “especially when you fight.” He pushed off of her sword and swung.
She ducked and spun away from him, then countered with an arc to his head. He blocked her blow. She lunged and then feinted left.
It took all his concentration to match her move and block it. She was quick, much quicker than he was. And she was smart. He could see her mind working even as she lunged. He caught her sword and twisted his wrist. He’d disarmed her more than once with that move.
But tonight it didn’t work.
Bria held her wrist firm and angled his weapon into the ground.
Disappointment settled heavily about his shoulders. How many times had he told her she couldn’t win against his strength? But just when he was about to overpower her and push her sword into the earth, she lurched forward, planting her leg behind his, and shoved him hard with her shoulder.
He went over like a felled tree, slamming into the ground on his back. Startled, he took a moment to recover and catch his breath. He began to rise, only to find the tip of a sword at his neck. Her blue eyes glinted, the full moon reflected in her bright gaze, a triumphant smile curling her lips.
With a sigh, he settled back against the grassy bed of the ground. “Well done,” he said.
Bria’s smile grew. “Yield,” she commanded.
His head came up quickly. “Don’t press your luck,” he said.
Bria withdrew her sword and laughed in pure delight. She threw her head back and joyful glee churned merrily from within her throat. “It worked! I did it!” she proclaimed. “I actually did it!”
Harry pushed himself to a sitting position. Every muscle in his body ached. The fall hadn’t done much to help his brittle bones either.
Bria danced happily around him, spinning wildly, as if she’d just won her first joust.
Harry planted his hands on the ground and began to ease himself to his feet.
Bria stopped her dance of victory and moved to his side, grabbing his arm and helping him to his feet. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve never won before. Garret said I could beat you if I used my wits and body. He said there were other ways to win a battle!”
Harry nodded. “Your skill has increased.”
“Increased?” Bria exclaimed. “I beat you!”
“I’m not the young man I once was, or I doubt you could have accomplished that.” He knew he was lying to save his wounded pride.
Bria took several instinctive steps toward the tethered horses.
“Stay on our lands!” Harry shouted after her.
Bria stopped cold. Harry watched her happiness fade as she stared at the forest, and he immediately regretted his words. With her friend dead, she had no reason to go racing off into the woods.
He placed an arm about her shoulders. “Mary knows,” he whispered. “She knows you beat me.”
He felt the agony written in her eyes, the grief etched in her brow. She threw her hands around his shoulders. Harry held her close, sharing her pain, soothing her with gentle touches and whispered words. But he knew nothing he said or did could replace her lost friend.
***
Later that night in her room, Bria stared out the window at the moon. The round circle shining in the cloudless night sky reminded her of a wide, shocked eye, shocked because of her instant reaction to Lord Knowles.
She tried to push the attraction aside, but it lingered.
Terran Knowles! How dare he show up at her own castle, demanding her hand in marriage, looking like some valiant knight? Giving her hope there was someone out there she wouldn’t mind marrying? And then revealing himself as her most foul enemy! The cur.
Bria turned away from the moon, trying to push his accursed image from her mind. She concentrated on her victory earlier that night, the joy and excitement she’d felt when she’d defeated her grandfather. Her first impulse had been to run off and tell Mary. Her friend would have been so proud of her.
She threw herself down upon the bed. If only she could make Kenric and that deceitful Knowles pay for their vile behavior.
Her hand brushed something soft, and she glanced down to see she was sitting on the black velvet she’d bought from the merchant. She picked up the material and held the fabric against her face, then draped it across her shoulders and leaped on the bed. “I am the Midnight Shadow,” she said softly, striking a pose with her hands on her hips. A feeling of power and righteousness filled her , a feeling very similar to what she’d felt after giving the poor farmer the coin in the village of Knowles.
She’d felt so full of confidence that she could make a difference, a confidence renewed when Garret had shown her how to win the fight with her grandfather... and it worked! Because of her new assuredness, she was able to defeat him. She felt strong and unbeatable, confident enough to take on the world.
Then the questions came from deep inside her, questions which now repeated themselves over and over in her mind: Confident enough to take on the world, yes. But confident enough to avenge Mary’s death? Confident enough to stop Kenric’s reign of terror over helpless farmers and merchants? Confident enough to wage a secret war against that monster Terran Knowles?
She stared at the midnight moon and thought of a different kind of midnight, one in human form. The Midnight Shadow would know what to do.
Bria shook her head and lowered her hand so that the fabric fell from her face and shoulders. The feeling of confidence and strength that had surged through her quickly faded. He was only a legend, not someone real. Yet why couldn’t someone become the Midnight Shadow to give the people hope?
She dropped to the bed. I could be the Midnight Shadow, she thought for a fleeting moment. Then a wistful smile crossed her lips. She could be, if she were more courageous. Then an idea came to her. Maybe she couldn’t be the Midnight Shadow, but she could help the people that Knowles and his men harmed, starting with Mary’s mother.
***
The sun was just rising over the horizon as Mary’s mother, Sandra, walked back toward her house, carrying a bucket of water from the stream. She’d awakened early to begin work in the fields. The days of searching for Mary had cost them dearly. She and her husband, George, hadn’t worked the fields while they had been out looking for her. To make up for it, they’d worked through two full days and two full nights.
Then disaster struck. Exhausted, George fell sick.
Now Sandra had to work the farm alone until George was well. She doubted they’d have enough crops to pay Sheriff Kenric and survive the winter.
She lifted her gaze from the ground to the house. A shadow shifted behind one of the trees in the forest just beyond the small thatched house. Panic seized her. Robbers, she thought. Or worse yet, tax collectors.
She dropped the bucket and raced toward the house, calling, “George!” Her heart pounded as she thought of him hurt inside. She couldn’t live if something happened to George. She couldn’t bear it.
Sandra shoved the door open and almost hit George in the face.
“What?” he asked, startled by her urgent tone. “What is it?” He leaned heavily on the table in the center of the room.
Relief swept through Sandra, but she stepped outside to look for the shadow. Had it been an animal of some sort? A witch?
“What’s that?” George asked, pointing at the ground.
There by her feet, in the dirt just before the door, was a small bag. She bent and scooped it up. The faint clink of coins reached her ears and she cast a quick glance at George. His brown eyes were wide and he gripped the table for support.
Sandra pulled the string on the bag. Slowly, it opened in her hands. The sight that greeted her made her breath stop. She clutched at her chest.
George joined her, taking the bag from her hand. He dumped the contents out into his open palm. It was gold, more than he could have made from his harvest!
Sandra looked for the person who left the bag, for the shadow she’d seen in the forest, but no one was in sight. Her eyes shifted to the money in her husband’s hands.
Slowly, a smile lit George’s face and laughter began to churn from his throat.
Sandra sat heavily in a wooden chair, staring at the gold coins. Relief and exhilaration surged through her. They’d survive. They’d live through the winter. Sandra felt wetness on her cheeks and lifted a hand to swipe at the cool moisture. She was crying, but not tears of sadness. They were tears of relief and gratitude.
Chapter Eleven
Bria pulled her knees to her chest, watching the knights practice their skills in the field. She’d felt a strange satisfaction in watching from behind some trees as Mary’s mother found the pouch she’d left. The warm feeling still lingered. She was sorry for taking it from her father and fixing the books so he wouldn’t notice it missing. But Mary’s family needed it more than her family, and she’d vowed to repay her father... somehow.
If she was going to continue helping the people, she needed to figure out some other way to get money and another way of helping Knowles’ people besides giving them coin.
Bria winced as one of the young knights tumbled from his horse after being hit by his opponent’s lance. Dark clouds brewed on the horizon, threatening rain since the early morning, but Bria had ignored them, choosing to come out and watch the men practice in the tilting yard.
“You seem particularly offended by my presence.”
Bria glanced up and saw Lord Knowles standing above her. Despite her vow of anger, she felt a moment of breathlessness.
He looked at his hands as he pulled on a pair of black gloves. His black hair fell forward, obscuring her view of his face except when a breeze blew his hair aside. He wore a black tunic over his strong shoulders, and black leggings over his powerful legs. Behind him, his ebony horse whinnied softly, tossing its mane. Bria shook herself. “I wasn’t the one who refused to see you when I came to your castle,” she retorted.
He shifted his dark gaze to her, snapping on his second glove.
Bria raised her chin and stood squarely facing him, planting her hands on her hips. “I wanted to tell you one of your people was murdered. By your sheriff.”
Terran shifted his dark gaze to her. “Then he deserved it.”
Bria clenched her teeth. What a fool she was for thinking to confront him with the truth. “She was my friend, you dog,” she snarled and whirled to walk away.
His hand shot out, capturing her wrist. “All your suitors have left,” he said in a deceptively soft voice. “You will be my wife.”
She bridled as anger seared through her. He shrugged off Mary’s death as if the news had been a fly buzzing about his head that he swatted away with a simple flick of his wrist. He’d dismissed every word she’d said and then expected to marry her?
“Not all my suitors have gone,” she replied defiantly, struggling to be free of his hold. But he was much stronger, and she couldn’t break his grip. “Garret is still here.”
Knowles grunted softly. “I will deal with him in a moment.” He lifted those black, cold eyes to her. “He will be gone by this eve.”
“My father will never consent to my betrothal to you,” she retorted. “You overestimate your importance, Lord Knowles.”
“You overestimate your own worth,” Knowles responded. “You were betrothed to me before you were even born, and your father will adhere to the letter of the l
aw.”
Doubt and disbelief crept into Bria’s self-righteousness. “You lie,” she finally declared.
“Ask your grandfather.” He released her wrist as if it were nothing more than an old rag, then turned and led his horse down the slight hill toward the tilting yard.
Fear gnawed at her confidence. If he was telling the truth, why had she heard nothing about it for all these years? This past year, relations with Knowles had become strained, but none of Bria’s questions to her father or grandfather about it had been answered. When she questioned the servants, she’d discovered Knowles had become betrothed, but she’d thought nothing of it at the time.
She watched him walk to the fence of the tilting yard. His gait was powerful, demanding attention. He immediately attracted Garret’s gaze. Garret spurred his horse to the wooden fence separating the practice field from the spectators, racing his horse boldly toward Knowles.
A sudden bout of fear seized Bria, and she began to walk quickly down the hill. As Garret’s horse neared the fence, her anxiety increased, as did her pace, until she was almost running. Bria reached the fence to hear Garret’s reply to something Terran had said.
“You got lucky with Odella,” Garret snarled. “But your luck has run out.”
“Prove it,” Terran replied, without looking at Garret.
“No!” Bria gasped, boosting herself up onto the wooden fence. She held the top rung with a tight grip.
“I’m more than ready,” Garret sneered.
“Garret! Don’t! You can’t win!” Bria cried.
Garret’s eyes shifted to her and he spurred his horse to Bria. He gazed down at her for a long moment, his blue eyes full of hurt pride. “I know you don’t have faith in my ability as a fighter. I will do this to prove myself.” He turned the horse, presenting her with his back.
Bria opened her mouth to protest, but Garret was gone, moving his horse toward the other end of the field. She looked quickly left, then right, then all around the field, hoping to find someone who could put a stop to this madness. Several squires practiced their swordplay nearby. They’d have no power to stop the dueling knights, and the other knights wouldn’t dare question Garret and Knowles’ right to do battle.
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