Starless

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “No trouble,” he said. “We will not bother you if you will not bother us.”

  The dark-eyed knight grinned, looking pointedly at their tunics. “Pembroke,” he muttered in disgust. “You are very far north, Pembroke. Are you coming to visit your brothers at Richmond Castle? ’Tis a travesty that Pembroke has command of the place. Like vermin on a dog, they should be washed away.”

  Alexander didn’t rise to the insult. “As I said, we will not bother you if you will not bother us.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Minding my own business. As should you.”

  The smile faded from the knight’s face. “It was a civil question. Since you are in my territory, I expect an answer.”

  Alexander eyed him. “Who are you?”

  “De Meynell,” he said as if that should mean something. “Lord of Whorlton Castle.”

  Alexander returned to his wine. “Now I understand,” he said. “South of Richmond, your much bigger and much more enviable neighbor. It is at least a two days ride from here.”

  “We can make it in a day.”

  It was a boast and Alexander remained unimpressed. “It is still far to the north. Therefore, this is not your territory. We are in Skipton’s territory now and his soldiers are loyal to William Marshal. Shall I send for him so you can tell him this territory belongs to de Meynell?”

  The smile vanished from the knight’s face. Glaring at Alexander, he took a swig of his ale, contemplating what to say next.

  “Since you serve a contemptable man, you must be contemptable yourselves,” he snarled. “Tell me what underhanded and despicable things you have done today, knights. Well? I wish to be entertained.”

  “I would not provoke them if I were you.”

  The decidedly female voice came from the corridor as Susanna stepped into the common room. She was without fear as she moved, brave beyond measure, but for the sake of a quickly deteriorating situation, she felt the need to intervene. One more insult and seven knights could quite possibly be missing heads. Never mind that it was seven against three; those seven knights had no idea just who their opponents were.

  Susanna intended to educate them.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked. “It would be best if you did not provoke them.”

  At the sight of her, the de Meynell knight’s eyes widened. “A wench with a sword?” he said, aghast. “And she wears the colors of de Winter.”

  “Indeed, she does.”

  “The man has a cow serving him!”

  As his friends laughed uproariously, Achilles flinched but Alexander threw out an arm, preventing the man from attacking. Susanna, looking over the de Meynell knights, joined them in their laughter.

  “He does!” she agreed, forcing loud laughter. “And your lord has swine serving him, so I suppose our lords are even in that regard.”

  The laughter ended abruptly and the de Meynell knights seated at the table stood up, insulted by the wench bearing the de Winter tunic. As they stood up, Achilles and Alexander stood up, and the situation was about to become critical. Susanna held up a finger to the de Meynell commander to emphasize a point.

  “Since we understand one another now, I want to explain my comment when I told you that you should not provoke these men,” she said. “I am doing you a favor.”

  The de Meynell knight eyed her with contempt. “I do not need your favors, cow.”

  Susanna shrugged. “It was for your benefit,” she said. “I simply wanted to point out that these two knights are not ordinary knights.”

  “They look ordinary enough to me.”

  She smiled, humorlessly. “That is where you are wrong,” she said. “Have you heard of the Executioner Knights? If not, then you should have. They earned their reputation in The Levant because if there was a dirty job to be done, these men would do it. They are warriors, spies, and assassins in every sense of the word. You even asked them what despicable things they had done today, so surely you know yourself what men serving William Marshal are capable of.”

  The de Meynell knight cast Alexander and Achilles a long, if not disbelieving, gaze. “Capable of nothing more than the rest of us, I am sure, only less honorable and less skilled.”

  He was mocking them and Susanna continued. “The Muslim commanders could not kill them,” she said. “Years with King Richard could not destroy them. They are men so skilled, so deadly, that you would be stupid to tangle with them, for they shall end your life without effort. If you do not believe me, try them. You shall find out soon enough.”

  The de Meynell knight was still looking at Achilles and Alexander with great disdain, but he wasn’t so foolish that he didn’t take some measure of her words seriously. The seeds had been planted. After a long moment, his focus returned to Susanna.

  “And you?” he said. “Don’t tell me you were in The Levant, too.”

  She shook her head. “Blackchurch.”

  That brought a strong reaction. “You trained at Blackchurch?”

  She nodded. “The Lords of Exmoor run the finest training school in England and I was there for three years, learning my craft. And before you scoff in disbelief again, know that they take women if they are particularly talented. If you do not believe that I am, I would be happy to demonstrate.”

  The knight stared at her as if trying to determine if she was jesting or not. After a moment, his smile returned and he extend his hand back towards his table of men.

  “It would be a pleasure,” he said.

  One of his men placed the hilt of his sword in his open palm. Susanna wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for combat considering she was still recovering from her gut wound, but she was willing to give it a go. She certainly wasn’t going to back down.

  “First one to be disarmed or fall loses,” she said.

  “And first blood?”

  “If you are on your feet, it makes no difference.”

  The de Meynell knight snorted. “You are going to be very sorry, cow.”

  “And you are going to look like a fool when I am done with you.”

  As Susanna assumed a defensive stance, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned in time to see Achilles flying at the de Meynell knight, so fast that he was nothing more than a blur. The de Meynell knight received a sword in his gut. As he fell to the floor, the entire room erupted in chaos.

  Alexander was charging the entire table of de Meynell men, throwing punches as well as swinging his sword, no easy feat, but he made it look effortless. Enraged that Achilles disrupted what she considered a personal fight, Susanna leapt into the fray, attacking a man who was engaged in a battle with Achilles. While he was distracted with Achilles’ big sword, Susanna took him out by the knees, severing the tendons that controlled both of his legs.

  Screaming, the man went down. Before she could go after another man, Achilles grabbed her by the arm.

  “Get out of here,” he roared. “You cannot take another wound!”

  Susanna flatly ignored him. A de Meynell knight charged her and she deftly stepped aside, sticking out a foot and shoving the man to the ground at the same time. When he tried to rise, she clobbered him on the head with the heavy hilt of her broadsword, knocking him unconscious.

  Very quickly, six of the seven de Meynell knights were down. Three of them were badly wounded and the other three were unconscious. The last remaining knight standing lifted his hands, letting his sword fall to declare his surrender. As quickly as the fight started, it was over, and as Alexander took care of the remaining knight, Achilles grabbed Susanna by the arm again and dragged her away from the carnage.

  She let him.

  They were down the corridor and into her chamber without a word spoken. Instead of yelling at her, as Susanna had expected, Achilles’ simply pointed at her saddlebags.

  “Collect your things,” he said in a low voice. “We must leave in a hurry.”

  His command was not meant to be disobeyed. Susanna did as she was told, picking
up her possessions and following Achilles back out to the common room, where some of the dazed de Meynell knights were beginning to come around. When Alexander saw Achilles and Susanna emerge, he quickly went to them.

  “I do not think we should be here when they regain their wits,” he said, looking at the man Achilles had gored as one of his comrades knelt over him. “Let’s move on to Skipton and seek lodgings for the evening there.”

  Achilles didn’t say a word. He simply collected his possessions, as did Alexander, and the three warriors headed out into the moonlit night with the destination of the safety of Skipton Castle.

  So much for a restful evening.

  CHAPTER TWO

  He was angry.

  Susanna knew that Achilles was angry for the simple fact that he wouldn’t even look at her. Since leaving The Horse’s Arse, he had not said a word on the short ride to Skipton Castle, lit up like a beacon against the night as it overlooked the darkened landscape. With its six enormous drum towers and magnificent walls, the powerful fortress was a welcome sight.

  It was held by descendants of the family who built it, de Romille, but it was commanded by a seasoned knight by the name of Amund de Bermingham. De Bermingham welcomed Alexander and Achilles congenially, as vassals of William Marshal, and extended Skipton’s hospitality. Susanna was barely introduced to the man before Achilles was asking for a chamber where she could rest and de Bermingham was most accommodating.

  Almost immediately, Susanna was whisked away by two older serving women in aprons and tight wimples. One woman had each arm and Susanna was coming to think that she couldn’t have pulled away from them had she tried. They had quite the iron grip. One was speaking of food and water to wash with, while the other was speaking about fresh linens for the lord’s bed.

  Susanna had no idea what they were talking about until they wound their way up a steep flight of steps that took a sharp turn to the left. There was a door in front of them and the women ushered her straight through those doors, straight into a large chamber with a large, four-poster bed.

  It smelled of smoke and the pungent musk of a man. Susanna had been around enough of them to know what they smelled like when they hadn’t washed for weeks on end. Once inside, the women let her go and went to work. One of them stoked the fire, bringing about a nice blaze, while the other one went rushing off through an alcove, only to return with linens for the bed. Stripping off what was there, she replaced them with the stiff, slightly scratchy linens, including a coverlet that she proudly announced had just been washed and dried in the sun.

  All the while, Susanna stood in the middle of the room, watching the fuss and feeling very awkward about it. She wasn’t used to people fussing over her and she wasn’t entirely sure she liked it, but she let the women do whatever they needed to do. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful but, in truth, the longer she looked the bed, the more exhausted she became.

  With the fire roaring and the bed freshly tended, food was brought to her along with a bucket of steaming water than smelled of rosemary. The serving women were very solicitous and offered to help her wash, but Susanna politely declined. She couldn’t help but notice the disappointed and even disapproving looks as the women left the chamber and shut the door. Susanna could only imagine what they thought of the lady wearing a mail coat and the de Winter tunic, and who didn’t need help washing.

  It was all quite scandalous.

  Finally alone in the borrowed chamber, Susanna took a brief moment to observe her surroundings. The chamber beyond the reach of the firelight was rather impressive with pewter plate on the mantel and a big tapestry on one wall. But there were no windows and she realized it was because the big tapestry hung over the openings that faced out over a small inner courtyard.

  It was a room she could have taken a good deal of time exploring but all she wanted to do was sleep. It had been a long day and an eventful evening, and the bed with the fresh linens was calling to her.

  She was anxious to heed the call.

  Setting her saddlebags on the floor by the bed and propping her broadsword against the wall where she could get to it quickly, Susanna began to remove her clothing. Belts came off before the tunic, both ending up on a nearby chair. The mail coat was a little more difficult, but she’d been dressing herself for years, so she managed to get that off with little problem. Underneath, she wore two more tunics, including a padded one, so she proceeded to strip down until she was nude in the middle of that big, borrowed room.

  But God’s Bones, it was a relief.

  Over on an elaborately carved table near the hearth, the tray of food and the bucket of warmed water continued to steam. Susanna padded across the cold wooden floor, which only had animal hides near the bed, and headed straight for the warmed water. She very much wanted to wash her face and hands, but as she came upon the water, she saw that the serving women had left her two clean rags to wash and dry with, and a white bar of lumpy soap that smelled heavily of the same rosemary that was in the water.

  It was heavenly.

  Taking one of the rags, Susanna proceeded to wash herself from her head to her toes. The soap was milky and slimy, but it cleaned the grit from her face and body, a luxury she didn’t often have.

  Or maybe it was because she never really took the time.

  Being raised as a warrior meant she dressed like a man and often smelled like one. The entire time she had been Cadelyn’s bodyguard, the woman had constantly been trying to coerce her into being a bit more feminine.

  But the truth was that she didn’t know how.

  Or perhaps she was simply too stubborn and embarrassed to learn. It wasn’t something that concerned her in the least until the advent of Achilles. Now, she thought about it constantly.

  Drying off with the other rag, Susanna came across the puckered, purple scar on her body where the sword had punctured her. It was near the left side of her pelvis, almost on the bone, and she’d been very fortunate that although she’d lost a good deal of blood, the wound hadn’t festered. She ran her finger over it; it was tender, but certainly nothing like it had been. It could have been deadly.

  But Achilles wouldn’t accept that fate.

  Thoughts of Achilles flooded Susanna’s mind. Even as she dunked her head in the soapy, warm water and used more of the soap to scrub her hair, her thoughts lingered on the enormous knight who had once been her greatest enemy. She smiled as she thought of the insults they’d slung at each other and the actual fist fight they’d once had at a tavern called The Nag’s Head.

  It had been quite a brawl.

  Days of insults and hostilities had come to a head, and the two of them had slugged it out for quite some time before being separated. Bric MacRohan, the big Irish knight who served the House of de Winter as well as William Marshal, had broken it up along with Alexander. Achilles had been dragged away by Alexander while Bric had remained with Susanna to ensure she didn’t try to follow. Susanna had come to like Bric by the time their assignment had finished because he was one of most skilled knights she’d ever seen. He was also as mean as a rabid dog, a personality trait she had a healthy respect for.

  But her respect for Achilles was greater even than that.

  He’d nurtured her through a very bad wound, tending her as closely as a mother would tend a child. Odd how a man who had antagonized her so should be so caring. He was aggressive, annoying, and reckless, but he was also a man who felt deeply and had a great deal of loyalty to his friends. She’d seen that from the outset. There was nothing restrained about him when it came to his personal feelings or his emotions, and she found that fascinating. Knights were taught to control their emotions, to think clearly in every situation, but Achilles threw the control of his emotions to the wind. He seemed to use them to feed his drive in a unique way.

  With Achilles, one always knew where he, or she, stood.

  Wringing out her wet hair, Susanna began to dry it off with one of the rags, going over to her saddlebags and pulling forth a long sl
eeping shift. It was her one and only guilty pleasure, given to her by Cadelyn. She wore breeches and tunics as her main staple, but when she slept at night, it was in the only feminine thing she had. It was soft and warm against her skin. Pulling the rumpled, slightly torn shift over her head, she went over to sit by the fire and dry out her shiny curls.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t last long at that. Fatigue was pulling at her and she only managed to get her hair somewhat dry before the lure of sleep was just too much. Braiding her hair tightly, she went to the bed and collapsed on it.

  She was asleep before she hit the pillow.

  “Susanna.”

  It was a voice in her dreams, calling her name, but it took her a moment to realize that it was no dream. Someone really was calling her name. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring up at Achilles as he stood next to the bed.

  Blinking, she sat bolt upright, but Achilles grabbed her before she could pitch herself off of the bed in her haste. Gently, he pushed her down again.

  “Nay,” he said quietly, reaching over to pull the coverlet over her. “Do not get up. You can lay there and listen to me. I shan’t take long.”

  He was bundling her up with the coverlet and, still half-asleep, she let him. “What is wrong?” she asked, yawning. “Has something happened?”

  Achilles had a strange look on his face. “Happened?” he repeated. “Nay. Nothing has happened, but I have something to say to you.”

  She was a little more lucid now. “What is it?”

  He took a deep breath, planting his big fists on his hips. “We must come to an understanding, you and I.”

  “What about?”

  “I have come to a decision.”

  “What decision?”

  “I do not want you to bear arms any longer.”

  She blinked in surprise, sitting up even though he’d told her not to. “What?” she finally hissed. “What are you talking about?”

  Achilles didn’t look pleased. He turned away from her, running a hand over his scalp in an agitated manner before turning to face her.