A Moonlit Knight_A Knights Through Time Romance

by Cynthia Luhrs

  “Aye. You talk strangely. Where are you from, mistress?”

  The waitress with black hair said, “And where is your escort?”

  “I’m traveling for the sum—for the year,” Chloe said. Deciding to play along, she added, “My husband is seeing to our horses.” That seemed to do the trick. The serving girl refilled the cup again, and Chloe hoped she wouldn’t be drunk by the time she left. “You were talking about a beast. Will you tell me?”

  She recognized the signs of a good gossip fest as the three girls looked around to make sure they weren’t overheard and that no one was calling for them. Then the redhead, who seemed to be the leader, said, “’Twas the deepest of nights when the beast appeared at Bainford Castle.”

  The raven-haired girl crossed herself. “Aye. The devil himself sent him. The beast is deformed. He wears a black cloth over one eye.” She leaned closer. “’Tis said if you look under the cloth, the eye glows red with hellfire.”

  The three girls told Chloe story after story of the beast, and the room filled with unease as thick as the smoke from the fire as the girls spun their tales.

  “No one will set foot near the castle. The ones who did never returned,” the dark-haired server said.

  The redhead, eyes round, whispered, “I heard he ate them.”

  Willing herself not to laugh, Chloe pressed her lips together.

  The dark-haired girl put a hand to her chest. “The Beast of Bainford never leaves the castle. He is cursed by the devil to walk the grounds of Bainford until his master drags him back to hell.”

  The redhead nodded. “If you look upon his face, he will ensnare you to do his unholy bidding.”

  The door banged open and all four of them jumped, knocking the ale over. It ran across the table and dripped onto the floor, looking a bit like blood on the dirty stone.

  Chapter 8

  Richard yawned, resting his elbows on the table, nodding into his trencher. Merry was a good cook; the bread did not have pebbles in it and the fish was crisp. He poked at a mess of green, not liking the taste, but he shoveled the weeds into his mouth and chewed quickly, not wishing to hurt the girl’s feelings.

  The children were convinced there was a ghost wandering about Bainford. For the past fortnight they had run shrieking from their beds at night into his chamber, piling in his bed like a litter of puppies. The men had found nothing amiss. Richard had not heard the wailing, but the children swore ’twas a fearsome noise.

  A se’nnight passed and still children woke screaming in the night. Richard swore he would banish the ghost. That eve, he was in the hall, staring into the fire, listening to the snores of the servants bedded down against the hearth, when he heard it. The wail was faint, coming from somewhere in the castle. The sword hissed as he pulled it from the scabbard and went in search of spirits.

  The sound of snoring came from the garrison as he walked the grounds.

  “Have you heard any odd noises?” he called to the guard on the wall.

  The man scratched his beard. “Nay, my lord. ’Tis the wind, nothing more.”

  Hrumph. Richard walked through the chapel, peering into the corners, though he did not believe a ghost would haunt a holy place, unless ’twas a priest who thought he was not dead. The stables were quiet, the horses calm; the stable boys were asleep in the hay. Convinced the sound was coming from inside the castle, he heard it again as he passed by his solar.

  There was a passageway leading to the top of the east tower that was rarely used. The other towers required repair before they would be safe enough. Sword at the ready, Richard climbed the stairs, shadows appearing on the wall, and the wailing grew louder.

  He pushed the wooden door open to see the newest arrival to the castle, little Maron, curled up in a ball before the cold hearth, a candle flickering. She was weeping, the sound piercing his heart like the arrow that took his eye.

  Not wanting to startle her, Richard slid down the wall to sit next to her and said softly, “Tell me what ails you, child.”

  Impossibly blue eyes full of tears looked up at him. The child threw herself into his arms and wailed. Not sure what to do, Richard awkwardly patted her on the back, murmuring soft words, as he did when caring for his horses or hounds.

  When he shifted to ease the pain in his leg, she sniffed and blew her nose on his tunic.

  “Has someone hurt you? I will run them through, lass.”

  Maron wiped her face, sniffling. “I miss my mama. It’s so quiet here, not ’tall like London, and it scares me something fierce.”

  She was a tiny thing, curled up in his lap and clutching his tunic. “Why are you up here, alone in the cold and the dark?”

  With her long, curly black hair and those wise eyes, she looked like a tiny faerie. “I didn’t want Robin to hear me weeping. He says we must be strong or you will send us away and we will starve and die.” The weeping continued.

  Her little shoulders were thin under the wool of her green dress. Richard tilted her chin up.

  “Hear me well, lass. Bainford is your home. I will never send you away. You and your brother may live here the rest of your lives if you so desire. The larder is full; you will not starve.” He patted her back, almost sending her sprawling. “In time you will die—death comes to us all. But not today, and if the fates smile upon us, you will not die until you are older than Edwin.”

  “You are a good man, my lord.” She wrinkled her nose, tapping a finger against her lips. “How do I stop missing my mama?”

  He blew out a breath. “You will always miss her. When someone we love dies, their absence leaves a wound that never heals. In time, it will leave a scar and no longer hurt as you are being cleaved in two. Your mama is always with you.”

  “How is she with me? I can’t see her.” Maron curled up like a kitten and wiped her nose on his other sleeve.

  “Nay, you cannot see her—she has gone to the beyond. But her love for you will always be in your heart. Talk to Robin about her, tell each other what you remember, and you will keep her with you always.”

  “I want to be strong like you.” She wound a curl around her finger.

  “You are as strong as a warrior, little one. Now, no more weeping at night. You’re scaring everyone. They think there is a ghost at Bainford.”

  “I told them there was no ghost,” she scoffed. “They are witless dolts.” She sounded just like him. Richard pressed his lips together so he would not laugh.

  “I am sorry I scared them.” She blinked up at him. “The villagers are scared of you, but I am not. I told them Lord Bainford is not a beast, but I don’t think they believed me.”

  Maron mumbled something he could not make out, yawned, and fell asleep, her tiny hand in his.

  Richard did not know how long he sat holding her close, looking at her tiny fingers.

  “My lord?” Edwin peered into the room, holding a candle.

  Richard held a finger to his lips and whispered, “Do not wake the child.”

  His steward took the child as Richard got to his feet, wincing from sitting so long.

  “I will carry her.” Richard took the sleeping child, carried her to the chamber where the girls slept in a large bed, and covered her with a blanket.

  As he stood there, looking at the children, an odd feeling filled him. Mayhap these unwanted children would be his family. He did not need a wife. It did not matter he wished for a woman to love him. To not care he was a bastard with a ruined face. He shut the door behind him.

  Nay, ’twas a childish dream. Wishes were for children.

  Chapter 9

  “My lord, if you but hold still,” Edwin said.

  Richard cursed fluently. “How long, man?” he bellowed at the merchant cowering at his feet. Anything to cover his shaking leg. If he did not soon sit, his leg would give way and Richard would not fall on his face in front of this paltry man.

  “Truly, I am sorry, my lord.” The man scurried about to finish his measurements.

  “When you f
inish, see to tunics and hose for the men and boys. And gowns for the women and girls.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  “Nothing too costly. We labor at Bainford.”

  “Of course, my lord.” The man nodded and pulled out plain woolens in gray, brown, and greens.

  The man had implored Richard to wear a more fashionable tunic, with the sleeves wide enough that he would trip. How could a man fight when he could not see his bloody sword? The merchant draped blue silk across Richard.

  “At court, my lord—”

  “I care naught for court. Bloody hell, do I look like a courtier to you, man?”

  The man gulped. “Nay, my lord.” His hand shaking, he finished and scurried from the solar.

  * * *

  The tavern owner called to the servers to quit talking and get back to work, breaking up the gossip. Chloe gave the establishment credit: they’d done a great job on making the place look authentic. The dirt on the floors was a bit too authentic, but she was out in the middle of nowhere.

  The outlandish stories the girls told her about the beast were so over the top that Chloe could almost see a pair of red glowing eyes in the dimly lit corner of the tavern. She rubbed her arms. Obviously, the scary stories were a ploy to get people to pay to visit the nearby castle. Someone was good at marketing. They knew their customers. Chloe was definitely going there next. After those stories? She had to see the place for herself. “Excuse me, miss? How much do I owe you?”

  The woman told her an amount, but it didn’t sound right. To be on the safe side, Chloe handed her a credit card.

  The girl frowned. “What is this?” She turned the card over and over, smelled it, and then bit the corner. She made a face and handed it back to Chloe.

  Guess they only took cash. Chloe handed over a twenty-pound note and the same routine ensued. Was she supposed to have exchanged her money for whatever they used here before ordering? Inspiration struck when she noticed a few of the old coins her granda had given her had fallen out of the crossbody bag and were lying on the table. The drawstrings on the pouch must have come loose.

  The server picked out a couple of the coins and laid the twenty on the table. “Best keep yer fortune hidden.” She nodded at the patrons. “There are those here would slit yer throat for what you have.”

  Well, that was a bit more realistic than Chloe wanted. “Do you have a room? It’s too late to go back to the village.”

  The girl held out a hand again, and, not sure how much to give her, Chloe fished out a handful of coins and let the girl take a few. She hoped the antique coins weren’t too valuable, or she’d feel awful for wasting them on a simple meal and a room.

  “Come along.” Without waiting for a response, the girl led Chloe up a set of rickety stairs. They passed two doors before the girl opened the final door at the end of the hall. The room was rustic, the bed looked lumpy, and Chloe had never been so happy.

  “I will see to the fire, mistress.” The girl bustled around the room, built up the fire, and turned to go.

  “Is there someplace I can wash up?” Chloe asked. The girl pointed to a basin and ewer on a wooden board attached to the wall.

  She paused in the doorway. “Bolt the door. Unless ye want company tonight.”

  “Thanks.” Chloe hurried over and threw the simple latch, hoping the door was sturdy. Though surely the restaurant-slash-inn wouldn’t take things so far as to make the guests feel unsafe?

  No toothbrush or other toiletries in sight—not to mention a bathroom. She used a finger to scrub her teeth as best she could. Mud spattered the tablecloth and her clothes, so they had to go. No way was she sleeping in dirty clothes.

  At least there was what looked like a linen washcloth and a small lump of awful-smelling soap. Once undressed, she washed as best she could. The rag did a decent job of getting rid of the worst of the mud from her jeans and shoes. There was an iron stand near the fire, so she put everything there to dry and wrapped herself up in the tablecloth. The bright pink undies and bra looked funny in the old-fashioned room. A small stool by the fire beckoned her to sit and warm herself. Grateful and clean, Chloe nodded off.

  The feeling of falling startled her awake as she landed on her butt next to the stool in an unfamiliar room.

  Blinking, she saw her clothes on the stand. “Right. The pub.” Chloe checked the clothes to find they were dry.

  “No. You have got to be kidding me.” So that was what the smell was: a charred scrap of pink lay half out of the fire, and as she reached for it, it caught fire and was no more. The silky material of the bra and undies must have caused them to slip off the stand and into the fire.

  She put on her t-shirt, thankful it came down over her bum, and left the jeans by the bed. With the last of the water, she washed the tablecloth and hung it to dry.

  Exhausted, she climbed into the lumpy bed, refusing to think about bedbugs.

  * * *

  “Leave me alone,” Chloe mumbled, and burrowed deeper into the bed.

  A rough hand on her bare hip jolted her awake. “Get off me,” she yelled, and elbowed the body next to her.

  There was a man in her room. In her bed. She’d been so careful at the hostels to keep her valuables safe and watch out for creeps. All the girls watched out for each other. How had he gotten in her room?

  It must have been when she’d gotten up to find a bathroom in the night. There was no sink, only a hole in the floor with cold air coming up. She’d never taken care of business and ran so fast in her life, once she’d checked that no one was in the hall. All she could think was that she’d hadn’t latched the door properly, she’d been so tired and disoriented.

  “Hey, I said no.”

  The man was heavy and only grunted before pawing at her again, so she did what she had to and kneed him. Hard. The man yelped and rolled off her.

  In that moment, Chloe grabbed the sheet to wrap around her and leaped out of bed. But she wasn’t fast enough. The man jumped up so quickly that she never saw it coming as he punched her in the stomach. The air left her with a whoosh, and she fell back, desperately sucking in air, tears running into her hair. The pain was intense. She couldn’t breathe. Panic set in as the man leered at her.

  Liquid fear replaced the blood in her veins as she saw the intent on the man’s face. There was realistic and then there was completely and utterly wrong.

  “Ye may be addled in the head, but yer body is fine, wench. I will enjoy your favors and then give you to my men.”

  He sat on her. The tiny bit of breath she’d managed to suck in whooshed out, and Chloe desperately tried to buck him off, which only served to make the creep laugh.

  The alcoholic fumes coming off him were enough to set her eyes watering. He had on some kind of ridiculous top with the most enormous sleeves she’d ever seen. You could fit a small car in those sleeves.

  Sucking in a bit of air, Chloe fisted the excess fabric in both hands and yanked as hard as she could. His drunkenness was what saved her, as he lost his balance and went tumbling off her.

  A yelp escaped as she kicked him in the stomach and her bare foot connected with some kind of metal. She snatched her bag, shoes, and jeans from the floor. Then she ran for the door, hurdling the drunk like she was first in line at a Lilly Pulitzer sample sale.

  He made a grab for her and got hold of the sheet, and she had no choice but to let it go. Ignoring the fact she was running downstairs clad in nothing more than a t-shirt, Chloe sprinted for the door.

  There were people sleeping on the floor. She hurdled them, yanked the door open, and escaped into…a winter wonderland.

  “What’s with all the snow? It’s supposed to be July, not November.” Why would a restaurant haul in snow? Was it some kind of festival? It had to have cost a fortune.

  A small, sleepy-looking boy carrying a bucket of water in each hand stared at her, mouth open in the early morning light. Chloe looked at the bundle in her arms. Somehow she’d grabbed the guy’s coat along wit
h her stuff. Grateful she had something warm, she yanked her jeans on, slid her feet into her sneakers, and wrapped what looked like some type of long cloak around her, making sure to hide the crossbody bag under the coat.

  With a wave to the boy, she walked as fast as she could through the snow into the woods. She’d go to the castle the waitstaff had talked about last night. Who cared if the place was supposed to be haunted? It had to be better than being here and risking another assault. The castle would have a phone. She could call someone to take her back to the hostel and then call her family. A small voice told her perhaps she might not find a phone there. Or anywhere, for that matter.

  “Shut up,” she told the voice, and focused on getting away before the creep decided to come after her.

  What did it say about how rattled she was that Chloe was willing to face the Beast of Bainford and beg for sanctuary?

  Chapter 10

  Winter 1337—England

  Unable to sleep, Richard paced the battlements. It had snowed last night, turning everything white. When he was tired of pacing, he walked about gazing at the repairs that had been made these past three years. The men had done well. His home would soon be a fortress.

  His fearsome black reputation had men eager to stand before the gates of Bainford. They paid dearly in gold to cross swords with the beast. To best him. In the time he had spent here, isolated from others, Richard had amassed a large amount of hard-won gold. Enough to stock his larder and fund all necessary repairs and many improvements. None but the Irish would stay. Other men came but left within a day, swearing his home was haunted. The cowards told tales in the villages of how they had survived after seeing the beast, black as night, running through the forests, eyes red and glowing with the fires of hell. Dolts. The lot of them. With each tale, his reputation grew until Richard himself was impressed.