The Maiden and Her Knight

by Margaret Moore

  She didn’t reply to his boastful words. Let him talk all he wished, or strike her. She had her plan, one that would free all those she loved. And all it would cost was her life.

  Despite her firm resolve, her steps faltered. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live—to be Connor’s wife, to bear his children in peace. What had she said to Connor that first night? That we all had burdens to bear? Right now, hers seemed like the weight of the world.

  But she must bear it, and not weaken, even if she could never be with Connor again. If he heard of what she had done, she hoped he would be proud of her, and their love.

  Rennick behind her like the shadow of death, she made her way up the steps, into what seemed light as bright as heaven would be. A strange euphoria took her, like a contentment. Soon, everyone would be free, and that was worth her life.

  They reached the main floor of the armory and Attila was not there. There were so many weapons, and so close by! If she could but get hold of one, even as weak as she was—

  Rennick anticipated her thoughts and walked close beside her as they went outside. With frightened expressions, the servants surreptitiously watched as they passed. They could not help her, for if the baron could make the lady of Montclair suffer as he did, it did not take much to imagine what he would do to servants who tried to interfere.

  The strange sensation of being in the world yet not of it lasted as he took her through the hall and up to her bedchamber. A tub of water for bathing stood ready. Her finest gown of white silk lined with gold and a girdle of gilded leather lay upon the bed.

  Rennick shoved her into the room. She fell forward, putting her hands out to break the fall; her palms slapped the hard, unyielding stone with nearly the same force as her kneecaps. Pain leaped and bit, but she ignored it as she struggled to her feet. She would not be on her knees in Rennick’s presence. “Make her ready.”

  Who was he talking to?

  Rennick slammed the door behind him. She raised her head, and only then saw Isabelle and Merva, who hurried to help her.

  “Oh, Allis!” Isabelle cried, tears coming to her eyes.

  She patted Isabelle’s arm gently as her gaze anxiously scanned her sister. She was well dressed, and although she was pale and upset, did not look ill treated. “You are well?”

  “In body, yes, but we have been so worried about you! He wouldn’t tell us anything, that viper, and only Attila was allowed in the armory. Are you hurt?”

  “A little. Is there water? Or bread?”

  “Not here, my lady, my lamb, but never you fear,” Merva said. “I’ll fetch some right quick. That blackguard never said nothing about that, and the cook likes me right well, so orders or no, I’ll get it.” She hurried to the door and put her hand on the latch, then looked back over her shoulder, contrite and sad. “Forgive me what I said before, my lady. About disgracing your family. You’re the finest, bravest creature on God’s good earth.” With a sob, she opened the door and ran out.

  Although Merva’s condemning remark had been far from her mind, the woman’s words pleased her, and made her feel a little stronger as Isabelle led her to the bed.

  “Can you sit, or do you want to lie down?” Isabelle asked gently.

  “I can sit. Indeed, I shall stand, and you can help me out of these clothes. Then into the tub. The warm water will help ease the aches in my limbs.”

  With a nod, Isabelle began to help her remove her soiled scarf and barbette.

  “Edmond—how is he?”

  “He is well.”

  She caught the hint of fear in Isabelle’s voice, and another dread slid into her heart. “Has the baron hurt him?”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” Isabelle hastened to assure her as she untied the lacing of her gown. “It’s just that he barely says a word, even to me.”

  She was not surprised by that. “Much has happened, and he is young to comprehend it all.”

  “It’s more than that, Allis. He’s changed. He hardly seems like a boy anymore.”

  “As you are not a girl anymore. I did my best to spare you, and instead only made things worse.”

  “You mustn’t think like that! I shouldn’t have told you, but Edmond’s almost…almost like Father.”

  Oh, God help her, she had hurt them both, far more than she had ever imagined she could. And they were not the only ones. “Has there been word of Connor?” she asked, voicing the other great worry that had haunted her all the long, dark hours of her captivity.

  “No. We have heard nothing.”

  “Thank God!” It was as she had hoped and prayed. Rennick would surely have come to gloat if they had him in their power.

  “Do you know where he might have gone? We could send him a message—”

  “No, I don’t, and it is better if we do not. Otherwise, Rennick and Oswald may discover his whereabouts, too, and harm him. I have already caused enough trouble to my loved ones. I will prevent what I can. Is Oswald here still?”

  “Yes, but something happened yesterday that upset him. A messenger came, and he was obviously displeased by whatever news he brought. Auberan says he thought the messenger was from Lord Oswald’s estate.”

  “I dearly hope some part of his clever plan has gone awry!” As she removed her shift, she slid Isabelle a questioning glance. “And Auberan?”

  Isabelle’s eyes flashed with anger. “Still here. Still trying to convince me that he cares for me, but he doesn’t. He’s just doing what Lord Oswald tells him, like a child.”

  Relieved that Isabelle knew not to trust that young man, she walked to the steaming tub and carefully slid into the warm, soothing water. It surrounded and embraced her, and made her feel almost human again. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and let herself enjoy the sensation, for it was almost like being in Connor’s arms.

  Merva barged into the room like a force of nature. “’Ere I am, back with food and some nice cool water.”

  “Give it to me here,” she requested.

  With a nod, Merva obeyed.

  Allis ate and drank, feeling the life returning to her limbs, energy to her body, and strength to her determined heart. When she was finished, she rose from the tub and wrapped a large square of linen about her body. “Merva, please leave me alone with my sister.”

  Merva’s brow furrowed at the calm tone of Allis’s voice, then she glanced from sister to sister, and left when Isabelle nodded her acquiescence.

  She put on the clean silk shift Isabelle gave her, then the gown. “What are you going to do?” Isabelle finally asked after she had tied the bodice lacings for her.

  “I’m going to marry Rennick.”

  Isabelle gasped. “What?”

  Poor Isabelle…but this was how it must be. “I will go through with the ceremony. I will do as he commands me, until the day I get my hands on a knife. And then I will kill him.”

  How very simple it sounded. How very simple it was.

  “You’ll be accused of murder!”

  “I expect so. And convicted, too, I should think.”

  “Allis!”

  Isabelle was so young. But she had been younger than Isabelle when their mother had died, and Isabelle had the makings of a fine and worthy chatelaine of Montclair. She could die knowing that Edmond would have Isabelle to watch over and protect him, as he would Isabelle when he was of age.

  “If I could conceive of another way for all my loved ones to be free, I would do it,” she said, certain of her course. “But I cannot. This is the only way I can be sure that you do not have to live in fear of Rennick.” She reached out to cradle Isabelle’s horrified face between her palms. “So we must be a little patient, but one day, you will be free. I want you to promise me that you will do your best to look after Edmond.”

  Isabelle fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Allis!”

  She bent down and gently pried them apart so that she could look into Isabelle’s eyes. “Promise me.”

  “I do. Of course I
do!”

  She let go of her and smiled. “Then I am content.”

  Yet even as she spoke, they heard the sounds of a mounted party coming through the gate and into the courtyard.

  Isabelle rose and ran to the window.

  Allis wanted to follow, but fear weakened her knees and she could only stagger to the bed, holding on to the large post at the foot of it.

  Despite her prayers, it might not be Connor, or anyone coming to her aid. It might be guests Rennick had invited to the wedding.

  Isabelle whirled around and stared at Allis, her eyes wide, her expression both astonished and jubilant. “It’s Connor—and the king!”

  Joy, relief and hope exploded in her as she stumbled toward the window. Yes, there he was, riding beside a man in a scarlet surcoat marked with three golden lions and wearing the crowned helmet of the king of England. Behind them rode the king’s guard, pennants flapping and harnesses jingling, as they entered the courtyard of Montclair.

  Wonderful, beloved Connor! He must have gone to Richard, the one person with the power to defeat Rennick’s plans. Her gaze lingered on Connor, drinking in the blessed sight of him. He was dressed in knightly apparel, and bareheaded, so that his long, waving, beautifully savage hair fluttered in the breeze.

  “Come, Isabelle, we must go to him!” she cried, her voice, like her love and her hope, given new life.

  She dashed from the chamber and, hiking up her skirt, ran down the stairs, then through the hall past astonished servants. She came to a halt when she went out the door and nearly collided with Rennick, who had gone down on one knee as the king dismounted. By this time, most of the servants had got wind of the king’s arrival and come to the courtyard, where they milled about, curious and uncertain.

  She bowed to the king, but she kept her head raised so that she could look at Connor, her love, her life.

  How tired he looked! Strain, weariness and pain were etched in his brow and around his mouth. His shoulder probably ached from his journey. Going to Richard had not been easy for him in so many ways, and if she had needed any proof of his devotion, this would have been more than enough. She would gladly return that devotion all the rest of her life.

  He stared at her, too, as if equally desperate for the sight of her. But he did not smile.

  A quaking sliver of dread touched her happy heart.

  Perhaps it was only that he dare not look too joyous because things were not yet resolved. Yet they would—must be, or else why was he here with Richard?

  Oswald the betrayer strode out of the kitchen and bowed to Richard. “Greeting, sire.”

  Attired in his finest clothes, Edmond approached the royal party. There was no longer any hint of boyish innocence or even excitement in her brother’s features as he, too, bowed to the king. Only days ago, he would have been fairly dancing with glee to meet Richard.

  “I bid you welcome to Montclair, my liege,” he said.

  Tall and broad-shouldered, handsome and commanding, every inch the warrior king, Richard acknowledged Edmond’s obeisance with an inclination of his head. She could see why a man might follow him into battle, and how a man would be disappointed to learn Richard was a fallible, mortal man—even more shocked and disillusioned than she had been by Oswald’s betrayal, for she had not left home and family to fight with the promise that it was a chivalrous undertaking for the glory of God.

  “You must be Edmond, the son of the late earl of Montclair.”

  “He is, sire,” Rennick said, stepping beside Edmond and putting a possessive arm around his shoulder. “This is my ward.”

  Enraged by his action, she stepped purposefully forward, but before she spoke, Edmond shrugged off Rennick’s encircling arm.

  She glanced at Connor, seeking his reaction, but his face showed nothing, and he didn’t meet her gaze. It was as if he was dead inside—and the finger of dread touching her heart became a fist clutching it, strangling her joy and confidence that all would now be well.

  “And who is the young lady?” Richard’s scrutiny had more than a touch of royal insolence, but she kept her face as carefully blank as Connor’s, taking her cue from him, for he knew Richard well and perhaps—please, God, let it be thus!—the king disliked displays of emotions, save for the hot-blooded rush of battle. If that were so, she would do well to show nothing of the emotions roiling within her.

  Rennick quickly abandoned Edmond’s side for hers, and answered before she could. “Sire, may I present Lady Allis, my bride-to-be. How delightful that you have arrived on our wedding day. This is an honor I had not anticipated.”

  “It is not an honor at all.” Richard gestured for Connor to join him, and her heart raced at the sight. Surely this was a good sign. “Sir Connor has given me to understand that there is conspiracy afoot in Montclair. That you, Rennick, are plotting against me.”

  Sweet heaven, not only were they in danger, but the whole realm. She should have seen it.

  As she gazed at Connor, so honest and noble, and the arrogant man who ruled, she guessed how Connor had convinced him to come here. He had appealed to the man’s fear of conspiracy, the price of power every king must pay.

  “Your Majesty, that is a blatant falsehood!” Rennick protested. “Surely you don’t believe that, or you would never have confirmed me as the guardian of this boy and his sisters.”

  “Sir Connor had not spoken to me then.”

  “Sire, perhaps we should retire inside—” Oswald began.

  “I have a hearty dislike of secrecy,” Richard interrupted, running a scornful gaze over the large man, delighting her. “That is the breeding ground of conspiracy and mistrust. I see no reason we should not air these suspicions in the courtyard and settle the matter.”

  Oswald’s demeanor became smoothly humble. “Majesty—”

  She could not even bear to hear him speak. “He is not the man you think he is, sire. Do not trust him, either.”

  Richard gave her the ghost of a smile. “Oh, I don’t.” He darted a condemning look at Oswald. “Sir Connor has raised many questions in my mind, and answered some, too.”

  “Your Majesty, I am innocent of any conspiracy against you,” Oswald said at once. “But, I, too, have had my doubts about the baron, which is why I stayed here. They have been confirmed. I was about to leave for Westminster myself to warn you about him.”

  “Liar!” Rennick snarled.

  She smiled as their evil alliance shattered like Connor’s lance. Then relief hit her full force, and she thought she was going to swoon.

  Connor rushed to her side, and once again his strong, protective arms enfolded her. “Sire, I fear the lady is unwell. She should not be standing.”

  She looked up into his wonderful brown eyes—still full of a pain she could not fathom. If Rennick was arrested by the king, they would be free.

  “We will all sit out here in the courtyard,” Richard ordered. “Bring chairs and benches, and have the horses taken care of.”

  Nobody moved for a moment, until Allis spoke, for she was still the lady of Montclair. “Do what the king commands.”

  As the servants hurried to bring benches and chairs, and the nobles took their places, she was aware only of Connor and being with him once more. “You’ve come back to save me,” she murmured, gently caressing his cheek.

  As he looked down at her, seeing how thin and pale and weary she was, his heart broke anew. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms forever, yet no matter what happened today, he would never again have that chance.

  She could never be his, for so he had promised his king.

  As for DeFrouchette—he was going to die today. That was the only thought that had lightened his despair all the way back from Westminster. Even if he didn’t know exactly what DeFrouchette had done to Allis, one look at her altered state would have sealed the man’s doom if he had not already determined it.

  Holding her close, he stroked her glorious hair, and gazed over the assembly at Edmond and Isabelle.

/>   Mercifully, they looked in better health than Allis, and Isabelle seemed little changed, except for the dignity of her carriage, so like Allis’s the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her. But Edmond—he was different, and he could guess why. The lad had been forced over the threshold of manhood by all that had happened.

  Merva brought a chair. “For my lady,” she murmured, her eyes full of pity for her mistress.

  Allis must sit, but he hesitated nonetheless, not wanting to let go of her.

  Yet slowly, slowly he helped her to the chair. Then, unable to bear the sight of her loving eyes, knowing that she was still blissfully ignorant of his promise to Richard, he turned away and went to face DeFrouchette.

  “What exactly are the charges this Welshman brings against me?” DeFrouchette demanded, his eyes full of hate, his stance outwardly confident—but only outwardly.

  Connor had fought too often, against too many men, to be fooled by mere bravado. “That you have obtained your current position by fraud and deceit upon the earl of Montclair,” he declared. “That you caused the untimely death of Percival L’Ouisseaux, and that you tried to kill me by tampering with my lance. That you are unfit to be the guardian of the young earl and his sisters, and utterly unworthy to marry one of them. That you are a foul traitor, plotting against your lawful king.”

  Fiercely angry, DeFrouchette turned to Richard, who was enthroned on a large and finely carved chair. “He wants to marry my betrothed and has made up these accusations against me to prevent the marriage. What evidence does he have to prove these incredible charges? How did I cause Percival’s death? How did I tamper with this Welshman’s lance? How do I plan to kill you, sire? If he has proof, let him produce it.”

  “The matter of Percival’s death can be brought before another court another time,” Richard said. “It is because of a conspiracy I have come.”

  Rennick flushed hotly. “Again, I say, what proof?”

  “I have none,” Connor answered, “but we can put the matter to judgment.”