The Maiden and Her Knight

by Margaret Moore

  “Take your hands off him, you…you Judas!” Allis shouted, twisting and turning and trying to get free.

  “Judas, am I? So accuses Jezebel,” Oswald jeered. “The whore dares to upbraid me? At least when I make a plan, it works.”

  He let go and Edmond fell to the ground. Still gasping for breath, he rubbed his throat. She watched, full of rage and hate, despairing and helpless, as Isabelle ran to him and put her arms around him.

  While Isabelle helped him stand, Allis’s gaze darted to the servants and Montclair soldiers, silently pleading with them to help. They muttered among themselves, upset and uncertain, and Merva started to cry, but they did nothing.

  Were they all traitors, too?

  Then, as she glared at them, dark anger on her brow, she realized with guilt and dismay why they did not come to their aid. It was the example she had set for them. For too long, she had only observed what was happening between her father and the baron, and rather than make trouble, she had stayed silent. She had even acquiesced to the baron’s plans, agreeing to the betrothal, rather than fighting him by going to the court and the king. If they did nothing now, it was because that was what she had taught them.

  “Connor’s gone, just like you wanted,” Rennick growled in her ear as he turned her to face him. One hand still clamped around her, he cupped her chin with the other, squeezing hard and forcing her to look at his loathsome face. “Gone for good. But I’ll find him. By God, I swear it. I’ll track him down like the cur he is, and I’ll kill him.”

  “The day he dies will be your last, Rennick,” she vowed in a low, determined voice. “Kill him, and I will kill you, even if I am drawn and quartered for it.”

  His eyes flared with burning anger as he let go of her chin. “You are both mad, the pair of you.”

  She smiled, for her love made her strong, and not afraid of his rage, or his lust. He could do what he willed with her body, but he could never destroy what she felt for Connor. “We love each other, which is something you will never understand, and for that, I pity you, Rennick.”

  “I don’t need your pity anymore than I need your love,” he snarled. “And have a care how you speak, my fine lady, for your brother’s and sister’s sake.”

  “It is for their sake that I do. I was silent too long, and let you work your way into our household. I should have spoken long ago and told my father—nay, anyone who would listen—what a despicable varlet you are.”

  Rennick raised his hand as if to strike and she stiffened, awaiting the blow and the taste of blood, when Oswald’s voice cut through the air. “Enough! Inside. Now!”

  “Take the young earl and his sister to the hall to await my orders,” Rennick commanded his men as he began to drag her there. “Auberan, I leave you in charge.”

  She fought him every step, across the courtyard, through the hall and up the stairs to the solar, but it was no use. He held her too tight, and although he didn’t strike her, it was only because he needed both hands to hold her.

  Once in the solar, he hauled her in front of the table while Oswald closed and bolted the door. Then, as she stood before the trestle table, Oswald took the seat behind the table as if he stood in judgment over her. Rennick went to stand at his right hand, the place of a lackey waiting to serve his master.

  She was lost. Those marshaled here against her had too much power—but she would not simply submit. Her pride and her honor and her love demanded otherwise.

  “That was a very foolish thing to do, Allis,” Oswald began.

  “Lady Allis.” She curled her lip as she looked at Rennick. “So, you cannot even be evil by yourself. You must latch onto someone more wretchedly clever, like the leech you are.”

  “My dear, you really are too hard on him. He does care for you in his own way, and many women would be grateful for that.”

  “I’m not.”

  Oswald leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his broad stomach. “What were you going to do, take to the road and live a gypsy life? You and your brother the young earl, and your sister, too?”

  “You have no right to question me.”

  “I do,” Rennick reminded her, glaring. “As your guardian, I have every right to question you, and to punish you for this, too.”

  “Punish me for what, Rennick? What have I done? Nothing except lead three horses to the gate to meet my brother and sister to go riding. Other than that, what evidence have you of anything else?”

  “You would go riding in the dead of night, with baggage tied to your saddle?”

  “We planned to be riding all day.”

  Rennick strode around the table and raised his hand again. Instinctively, she shrank away, then wished she had not when she saw the flash of pleasure in his eyes.

  “There is no need to beat her—yet. Like any creature of spirit, she continues to fight the bit,” Oswald said. Rennick lowered his hand, like the trained dog she now knew him to be.

  “However, Allis,” Oswald continued, “it is time to surrender. Be grateful your betrothed doesn’t draw a sword and kill you. I certainly wouldn’t accuse him of murder if he did. You have utterly disgraced him with your misbehavior.”

  She glared at them, all vestige of demure lady gone, consumed by rage. “You would chastise me like a child?”

  “Would you rather we denounce you for a whore?” Rennick demanded.

  “I love another man, and it is he I want to marry. That does not make me a whore.”

  “All this talk of love,” Oswald scoffed. “We are the nobles of Norman England, Allis. We do not marry for love. Whatever fairy stories your parents fed you—along with tales of honor and chivalry—forget them. They are not reality. Reality is marriage for gain and power. Has your lover not gone just as he was ordered? Has he stayed to fight for you? No. He has run off like a thief in the night.”

  “He did so because I asked him to.”

  Oswald raised his heavy brows. “So why were you going after him? Really, my dear Allis, you lie even more poorly than Rennick.

  “Here is the way of things. Because you have dared to choose another man who is not your betrothed, because you have given another man your body, Rennick could kill you, and not a nobleman in England would speak against him. They have sisters and daughters to dispose of, and marriage for anything but alliances and gain will not sit well with them.”

  “Then let him kill me if he dares, the coward!” she cried, quaking with rage at the injustice of a world ruled by men.

  Oswald shook his head. “He will never kill you, Allis. You make so much of love, you should be pleased that Rennick dotes on you like a besotted boy. Indeed, I have long considered his affection for you a great weakness on his part, but you see, my dear, he simply cannot let you go. Nor should he, now. I told you, his coming marriage into the family of Montclair has already garnered more respect than anything else he has ever done.”

  Allis swiveled on her heel to glare at Rennick. “Do you hear how he speaks of you, this friend of yours? Where is the respect you crave by marrying me?”

  Rennick’s face reddened as his gaze darted to Oswald as if he half agreed with her—but in the next instant, he had her pressed painfully against the wall, his furious, impassioned face inches from hers. “I am going to have you, Allis, one way or another. Only then will my blood cool! Then I will be free of this spell you have cast over me. Afterward, when I am no longer enthralled by you, you will be nothing more to me than a well-born brood mare, the mother of my sons.”

  His lips took hers, cruel, domineering, in what was lustful possession, while his hands roughly pawed her body.

  Fear and loathing gave her strength. She splayed her hands on his chest and shoved him back. He stood staring at her, but with a different look on his face from any she had ever seen before, as if he were suddenly lost and alone. Vulnerable.

  She seized the moment. “We both want the same thing, Rennick—freedom. Let us go. You will have Montclair, and you will forget me.”

&
nbsp; That moment of vulnerability might have been a trick of the light, so quickly was it replaced by the familiar cold-blooded deliberation in his cold blue eyes. “No.”

  “I will not marry you,” she declared. “I will refuse to take your hand, or say the vows, or wear your ring. I will spit in your face instead.”

  “You seem to forget we hold your bold brother and charming sister, too,” Oswald observed.

  The fiery blood throbbing through her chilled at those words, and cold spears of terror stabbed her. Here was her vulnerability, made of flesh and blood.

  Oswald gestured at her while he addressed Rennick. “You see how easy it can be, Rennick? No violence, no rape—find the weakness and there will be submission. She will do anything for her family.”

  “If you harm them in any way, you will answer to the law!”

  “Oh, Allis, Allis,” Oswald sighed. “How tiresome you are! You will marry the baron, and Rennick will have the young earl for his squire, to train him in the ways of knighthood. As for pretty young Isabelle, she will marry Auberan. There is nothing you can do to stop it.”

  They had the fate of her family all planned. Yet there must be something she could do. There had to be!

  “I grow fatigued and it is nearly dawn,” Oswald said as he hoisted himself to his feet, “so do with her as you will, Rennick, to ensure her cooperation. Just take care not to leave any visible marks.”

  Rennick stood stiffly, as if he were not a human being at all, but a blue-eyed marble statue. “I know a way, my lord.”

  Oswald eyed him as he sauntered to the door. “I thought you might.”

  As the door closed behind Oswald with a dull thud, Rennick lunged for Allis and shoved her hard against the tapestried wall. His wrathful, icy blue eyes bored into hers. And although he held her pinned against the wall as he had before, there was no lust in his eyes—and that frightened her even more.

  His eyes glittered like hard blue diamonds as he pressed his body against hers. His knee slid between her legs. Panic seized her, but she forced it back. She must think, and remember Connor, and not be afraid.

  “Why do you make me do this?” he murmured as he put one hand on either side of her head and leaned closer. “Why do you goad me?”

  Her throat parched with dread, she swallowed hard. “I am not goading you, Rennick. I did not fall in love with Connor to spite you.”

  He kissed her neck and the feel of his wet lips disgusted her. “You wanted to inflame my desire, and you have.”

  Oh, why had she ever said that to him? she silently cried as she willed herself not to move. “If I were not sincere, would I abandon Montclair, and take Edmond and Isabelle with me?”

  He abruptly drew back. “Then you do give me no choice. Hear this, my lady, and remember it well: you will do as I say, or your lovely little sister who spoke of passion will pay.” He boldly caressed her breast. “Do you understand how?”

  Oh, Connor, Connor, I need you! I need your help and your strength. The words keened through her mind as she numbly nodded her head. She looked up into Rennick’s face, and his eyes told her that he saw her surrender. “I believe you understand me, Allis, but just to make sure you know that I can and will punish you in other ways, you will come with me.”

  Weakened, distraught, not sure how or if she could fight him anymore, she put up no resistance as he hauled her to the door. “Now take my arm, my lady, as if we are going for a walk in your lovely garden.”

  The garden, where she had kissed Connor. At least he was well away from here, and safe. Yet even that knowledge couldn’t silence the wail of misery that seemed to swell within her, trying to burst free, as Rennick led her from the solar.

  They passed through the hall, past Merva and the servants and soldiers who looked confused and fearful, but made no move to intervene. They went out through the courtyard and toward the armory. Was he going to rape her there? Her steps faltered, so that he was all but dragging her by the time he pushed open the door with his foot.

  “Attila?” he called out.

  There was no answer. Was that good, or bad?

  He roughly pulled her into the workroom. “He’s getting drunk in the village, I expect. I don’t suppose the clever chatelaine of Montclair knew that about her armorer, did she, or that the man will do anything for pay? He will burn the pieces of a broken lance, or ignore a woman’s cries for help.”

  Allis tried to breathe, to think, to stay calm as he forced her down the steps. A scuttling sound told her rats were the usual denizens of this horrid place. At the bottom, he shoved her into a small, dank, windowless room.

  Was this where he was going to rape or beat her?

  Rennick stood in the doorway like a hellish gate-keeper, watching her.

  She crouched, almost afraid to disturb him, because at least he was not touching her.

  She dared to hope a man of honor lurked in him somewhere. “Rennick, it is not too late. Show yourself a chivalrous knight of the realm and let us go! You know what you do is wrong. I have seen it in your eyes. If you truly care for me at all, you will let me and my family go.”

  He started to close the heavy wooden door, shutting out what little light there was.

  “If you do this, Rennick—if you treat me and my family as pawns for your gain and ambition—you will live to regret it.”

  She could no longer see his face, so his voice seemed to come only from the darkness, like that of some grim spirit.

  “My father used this method of correction on me, and it always worked. And my only regret is that I didn’t try it sooner.”

  Chapter 25

  Tired and hungry, his knees aching and his shoulder throbbing with pain, Connor approached Westminster, that area outside London dominated by the great abbey and the palace built by William Rufus, where Richard would be.

  He had been on the road for two days, ever since he had left Montclair as night fell. Determined to get to London as quickly as he could to see the one man with the power to change Allis’s fate, he had ridden hard and rested little.

  It had been so difficult to leave her in the garden with that blackguard. Only the conviction that he had to go to Richard enabled him to do it, not her pleas, or her belief that she could save him and her family by sacrificing herself. He had known too many men, greedy, self-centered men like DeFrouchette, who would do whatever suited their own purposes. Men like Richard, and himself, in the days of his youth, before he had seen what selfishness could do. Once more he silently vowed that if he did nothing else with his life, he would do whatever was necessary to save Allis and her family from their enemy.

  The people made way for him, and as they did, many pointed surreptitiously at his surcoat, his shield and his helmeted head, for he had dressed to show all, and especially the palace guards, that he was a knight of the realm.

  He passed the abbey, the large hulking building built for the glory of God. Only slightly less impressive was the palace, built to remind people of royal power. The sense of awe he had felt the first time he had seen them returned, but muted. He had learned that men of God could be as fallible as men of power, and men of power could be as vicious and unchivalrous as any brigand.

  He dismounted and approached the soldiers guarding the entrance.

  “Who are you?” one of them demanded, stepping out to meet him.

  “I am Sir Connor of Llanstephan and I have come to see the king.”

  “You and half the nobles of England,” the guard replied with a smirk.

  “If our sovereign spent more time in England, he might not be so besieged.”

  The man frowned and glanced at his fellow guard, obviously not sure what to make of Connor. “Who did you say you was?”

  “I am Sir Connor of Llanstephan, and I was in the king’s retinue on the Crusade.”

  “That’s what they all say,” the other guard scoffed. “The king’d be a poor man if he had as many in his retinue as claim to be.”

  Frustrated to be so close and yet
kept at bay by two foot soldiers, Connor spoke sternly. “The king is a poor man. Is my surcoat not proof that I was on the Crusade? Are my armor and my destrier not evidence that I am a knight of the realm? Is not my manner? Or would you care to test me by combat? If not, go to the king and tell him who awaits.”

  “You might have stolen those clothes and that horse,” the first guard charged.

  “Here, Bert, I’ll go. What’ll it hurt? And what if he be a knight?”

  The first guard gave a reluctant nod, and the second one trotted off.

  “So, you were with the king, eh?” the first guard said as he slowly surveyed Connor. “You don’t sound Norman.”

  His jaw clenched, but it would not be wise to push his way past or fight his way inside, despite the temptation. “I am from Wales.”

  “Ah.” The guard leaned on his spear. “You were a good friend of his, were you?”

  Although he would have thought it impossible to be more anxious, he tensed. “Not that good a friend.”

  The second guard strolled back toward the gate.

  “What did he say?” Connor asked, trying to keep the impatience from his voice.

  “You’re to come inside and see him,” the guard replied, eyeing him as if not at all sure what to make of him. “The king laughed and said you had some gall.”

  Richard’s laughter could mean so many things, not all of them pleasant. Still, he was going to the king, and that was what mattered, Connor told himself, as he led Demetrius through the gate.

  The moment Connor saw Richard enthroned in a chair in the great hall of Westminster, he knew he was not forgotten or forgiven. Suspicion shone in his sovereign’s eyes beneath his slightly lowered brows and anger flared his nostrils. A hint of grudging curiosity resided in his face, as if he could not quite believe a man he had threatened so specifically would dare to come into his presence again.

  Still the same Richard—haughty, arrogant, fearless, a warrior king for all that meant, and despite all that had passed, admiration rose in Connor’s breast. But never again would he stand in blind awe of his king and obey without question. Never again would his hands be stained with blood shamefully shed.