Badge of Honor - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 10)

by Shea,Lisa

  “There, behind the copse of trees,” she whispered, pointing. Jack followed her outstretched finger and for a moment saw nothing. Then there was a movement, and he spotted an unsavory character lurking amongst the birch, a glimpse of shine indicating a drawn sword. “There appears to be only one,” she added.

  Jack looked over to the stream as Peter slid beside the pair, handing a strung bow to Jack and preparing the second for himself. The three acolytes were splashing in the water, hooting with delight. They came out of the water after a few minutes and shook themselves dry, then dressed, still horsing around.

  The bandit emerged from the woods and stalked toward them.

  Jack and Peter both raised their bows in unison. Peter’s voice was a low mutter. “Not until he makes a move,” he urged. “He could perhaps be a lost gypsy or some such.”

  Jack snorted in disbelief but did not argue. The three pairs of eyes watched as the bandit made his way down to the bank, his sword ready and drawn.

  The three below spotted the bandit and waved in friendly greeting. Catherine could not hear what he barked at the three novices, but their reaction was immediate. John and Walter flung themselves to two sides of the bandit, cringing in fear, rolled up into balls as tight as a millipede. Dismissing them, the bandit turned to face Michael, who was jumping around in a panic, crying out in heartfelt pleas for his safety.

  Catherine’s breath caught. “Wait ...”

  Both men were following the bandit’s movements with pinpoint precision, but they held back on launching the arrows.

  It all happened in an instant. Walter launched himself at the bandit’s knee, sending the bandit face-forward into the sand. John landed on top of the attacker, and it was over. The beach was quiet again.

  Jack quickly unnocked the arrow and handed his equipment to Peter. “Get them back on the horse,” he whispered, then took Catherine’s arm and moved back to the main campfire area. The priest was still snoring in long drones.

  “So then Marcie won the cooking contest?” he asked in a louder voice, grabbing randomly for a conversation topic.

  Catherine chimed right in, realizing what Jack was doing, nodding her approval. “Yes, she made an incredible apple tart,” she responded, her voice warm. “It was the most amazing thing you had ever seen. She laid out the dough to be shaped like leaves all along the edge of the pastry. She used a mixture of apples from different locations to get just the right flavor balance. She was like a woman obsessed, but all of her hard work paid off. She still keeps the ribbon in her room.”

  The three boys came charging into the clearing, falling over each other to tell Jack what had happened. John’s voice echoed across the meadow. “It was a bandit!”

  Walter spread his arms wide. “He was huge!” he added enthusiastically.

  Catherine and Jack turned to face the trio. Catherine quickly scanned the three lads for injuries. “You are all right?”

  Michael’s voice was rich with delight. “Yes, we are fine,” he assured her. “We did it just as you told us to, and it worked! It really worked!”

  Peter came to join them from where he was standing by the horses, and in a moment all six of them descended the long slope to take a closer look at the dead body.

  Walter, John, and Michael played out the scenario for them several times, providing moment by moment recreations of the event. Jack patted down the corpse, finding nothing of value but the sword in his hand. He undid the man’s belt, sliding the sword back into its scabbard, eyeing it thoughtfully.

  “Who shall we present this trophy to, then?” he asked the trio.

  John and Walter immediately looked to Michael. Walter did not hesitate. “Michael should have it,” he announced. “He took on the most dangerous part, to distract the bandit. He deserves to carry the sword.”

  Michael blushed, then accepted the offered weapon with a wide smile. He strapped on the belt with quiet attention, standing proudly, as if he had been presented with the finest war trophy that could be achieved.

  The rest of the afternoon was filled with recounts, reenactments, and descriptive monologues on the day’s event. Jack could almost echo the dialogue back at the appropriate part, but he held his tongue, letting the boys revel in their victory. It was long past dusk before the adrenaline had worn off and they tumbled into a deep sleep.

  A silence settled across the camp, only broken by Father Berram’s low snores. Jack sat back against a roughly barked log, letting out a long breath of satisfaction. He looked in turn to Catherine and Peter who sat on either side of him. The three smiled to each other and settled in to watch the fire.

  Chapter 15

  Catherine found that, despite her concerns, the days and nights rolled on in an orderly progression. The daytime sword practices became more spirited, with the three lads now secure in their own ability to face danger. At night, she reconciled herself to her path. She protected the innocent. She was not exiled to Ireland, not trapped with a cowardly man who apparently had every intention to keep his mistresses at his side as well.

  Life was never perfect. This was a compromise she could be at peace with.

  The journey continued to unfurl, step by step, hour by hour. She felt both appreciation that the time would go by smoothly, as well as a hollow, lonely core form in her soul. She knew how difficult the choice had been for her to create the wall, to keep Jack away. It hurt her to see how easily he remained on his own side of that barricade. Had he forgotten her so easily in the brief days she had been gone?

  It seemed no time at all that they were about halfway done with their journey, and the lads’ spirits had never been higher. They had faced their fears and survived them. They were on an adventure to see new lands. Father Berram looked forward to seeing his old friend Father Oswold and sharing stories with him.

  Catherine was less ebullient. Where the four religious men were looking forward, she found herself looking back, second guessing her decisions. Her own future seemed uncertain, hazy.

  When she glanced into the eyes of Jack and Peter she saw that they had become drawn into a quiet melancholy. It occurred to her that Lord Epworth’s leaving had left both of them adrift as well. She wondered what plans they had, once the trip to St. Albans was through. Would they return to Worcester, to work with the new Bishop?

  Jack, in particular, seemed to become lost in thought at every opportunity. She often caught him with a distant gaze as they moved along the quiet road, as he sat musing by the campfire in the evening. He became preoccupied once again during lunch while the boys enthusiastically discussed what new and interesting things they might see in St. Albans.

  Catherine chuckled at the list, which seemed to grow with every new dawn. Based on the boys’ tellings and retellings, she could count off many of the priority attractions now without thinking. There was the coffin of the martyr, the Roman ruins, the fabled clock-tower.

  Walter gave her a nudge of glee, seeing how immersed Jack had become in his far-off ponderings. “I will bring him back,” he promised with a grin. He turned to the older man. “All right, there, Jack, time to rejoin the living,” he insisted, giving Jack a shove on the arm. “It is your turn. What do you think you will do first once we arrive in St. Albans?”

  Jack started in surprise, then stretched and put down his mug. “I will probably start in Harpenden first,” replied Jack absently, his mind clearly still distant.

  Walter blinked in confusion at the nonsensical reply, but Catherine sat up from her lazy enjoyment of the afternoon with a quick movement. She turned to look at Jack, her eyes sharp. It seemed as if a cloud had drifted across the sun, leaving a bitter wind to cut at her, drive away all warmth.

  “You are going to immediately track down Shadow,” she stated coldly, surprised that she had not realized this before. She exhaled in a long, steady breath. Her hope for a peaceful parting suddenly vanished, as a morning mist evaporates in the bright, harsh sunlight of day. Her voice became bitter, but she forced herself to hold her po
sition; to not turn away to hide her pain. “You are not even going to wait one day. You are going to hunt him down, relentlessly, like a wolfhound sent after prey.”

  * * *

  Jack froze, realizing he could not un-say what had been said. He held Catherine’s gaze with an effort, seeing her disappointment clearly. There was no use trying to sugar-coat or hide this. He had avoided the topic for many days, but now it was here to be faced.

  “Aye,” he replied simply, wishing that life had led them on a different course. “The moment the boys and Father Berram are set, I will begin my hunt.”

  A cascade of emotions crossed Catherine’s face – frustration, anger, and then finally, a deep seated calm. She drew in a steady breath and climbed deliberately to her feet. She turned on her heel and strode down the slope to the clump of aspens where the horses were tied.

  “Wait - where are you going?” asked Jack, standing to look after her, his voice blended with both concern and anger. He had not meant for Catherine to find out like this, so casually. He knew his plans would disturb her, and had hoped to broach them with some context. It twisted at his soul, that she could be so protective of the man who had cruelly slain his friends.

  Catherine reached the horses, tossing the answer back over her shoulder as she untied her horse’s reins. “I need to be alone for a while,” she responded in a flat voice. “I will return soon enough.”

  She mounted and cantered down the road, quickly vanishing from sight.

  Jack slowly sat down again, shaking his head with frustration. There was nothing to be done about it. She would not reveal more details, and he would not push her. She had a tie to Shadow that he might never know the full depth of.

  By killing Shadow, he would lose Catherine forever - but he was honor bound to do so.

  The boys quieted, some of their lightheartedness shaken by the scene.

  Time passed, and Jack became lost in thought, wondering just what the future would hold for him. What would happen after he found and dealt with Shadow? It seemed fated that the act would create an uncrossable chasm between him and Catherine, and all options appeared grey and lifeless. Would he join his foster father after all? Find work somewhere? No path seemed to appeal to him.

  When hoofbeat sounded, he did not bother to look up. Whatever Catherine had thought about while she had gone, it was unlikely she would share her musings with him. She seemed to have chosen protecting Shadow over trusting him. He looked at the grim possibility that what he did in the next few weeks could easily cause Catherine to never speak with him again.

  A single word from Peter brought him out of his reverie. “Jack ...”

  There was no thought necessary - Jack knew that tone and reacted instantly. Immediately he was putting his hand to his hilt, scanning the area, rising smoothly to a standing position.

  The horse had stopped several yards in front of the group. It was the same black bodied, white blazed stallion that Catherine had been leading for the past weeks. On him, however, sat a figure in a long black cloak, wearing a black tunic and pants. A black scarf covered the lower half of the figure’s face, leaving only the eyes visible.

  Jack drummed his fingers down the sword hilt, settling his grip in tightly, and it seemed like the world slowed down around him.

  Jack’s voice came out as a deep, sibilant hiss, the sound matching his blade as it was drawn from its scabbard. “Shadow.”

  Shadow dismounted easily, the cloak sliding aside to reveal a green-wrapped hilt worn on a belt scabbard. “Jack,” came the low reply, a deep, resigned growl in the voice.

  * * *

  Catherine’s every nerve ending tingled with alertness. She exposed herself to great risk by coming to face Jack openly. The man believed Shadow was a well-trained, cold-blooded assassin. He would have no compunction in killing her.

  She had gone over the options in her mind every hour since Jack had made his discovery of Shadow’s guilt. In the end, if Jack was going to pursue her, and he could easily catch her unawares. Confronting him directly seemed the only way that provided any chance for a future. She could think of no other way to bring a resolution to this situation that would be positive.

  If she simply told Jack of her dual identity, he would never believe her. If she did not tell him, he could spring into her life when she was unprepared, and one or both of them could die. There was still hope that the two could talk this through.

  She fervently hoped that by approaching him with Peter present, in a situation where Jack felt relatively at ease, that he would be open and perhaps even obligated to discussion rather than combat.

  Jack’s whole body shimmered with tension, and he held his sword off to one side. He eyed her with steady appraisal for a few long moments, a hint of confusion crossing his brow as she did not approach.

  Finally, he asked abruptly, “I want to hear it from your own mouth. Did you kill Craig and Carl?”

  She nodded. “Yes,” she admitted simply, keeping her voice low.

  Jack expelled his breath in a rush. “Why?” he pressed, his voice tight.

  Catherine had expected this as well, but still felt the familiar tightening of the throat when her actions were questioned. Her voice held a hint of steel when she responded.

  “I would have hoped that the incident with Conrad’s men would show you that I act with honor. Peter here can vouch for my character.” Pride pricked at her and made her add, “I do not lightly divulge the reason behind actions which may have involved innocents. I cannot compromise others. Either you will trust that my actions were just, or you will not.”

  Jack shook his head. His voice was ragged. “While I agree you acted courageously when these four were in danger, one brave action does not make up for the callous murder of two respectable men,” he insisted. “Now you are making Catherine cover for your behavior as well? Is that the deed of a man of honor?”

  Catherine’s eyes widened. For all of her musings, it had never occurred to her that Jack was jealous of Shadow! She should have realized that there were many components to the antagonism Jack felt.

  She smiled without mirth. “I refuse to provide details of the deaths. You apparently refuse to accept my actions as just. I have come here to work this out. How do you propose we resolve this situation?”

  Jack’s eyes sharpened. “By the powers vested in me by my father, Lord Epworth, I will do justice on you, and sentence you to death. That sentence shall be carried out immediately.”

  Walter gasped in shock, and Catherine gave a short barking laugh. “By authority of your father?” she scoffed, her voice sharp with derision. “I do not accept that Lord Epworth has any say over my actions. I also do not accept that you – or anyone else - has the right to mete justice out in his name. Surely he has already abandoned all power on these shores, and fled his duties?” Her hand fell to her sword, and she tossed her head in defiance.

  Jack’s mouth tightened with fury. His voice became a steely threat. “How dare you declare your actions outside the law?”

  Catherine’s retort was quick and low. “My actions are the law,” she stated with heat. “It is the interference of Lord Epworth - that -” Her throat closed up as she realized how close she had come to marrying him. “That coward’s actions are what I object to. I will not be judged by that man.”

  Jack coiled even tighter, and she prepared for the inevitable attack. Adrenaline surged through her; she was playing with fire, but she found could not help herself. Her emotions were overwhelming her; she struggled to rein them under control.

  She had to stop the fight. That was her priority.

  She pitched her voice to hold a sharp lack of respect. “So, this is how you honor your vows,” she taunted him, “You know that I have slain two renowned swordsmen, yet you intend to abandon your care of the religious men in order to satisfy a personal vendetta. Tell me, are you so certain that you will get through this fight without even a scratch?”

  That comment made Jack pause, and his eyes f
lickered momentary to the men who stood in a nervous circle watching the encounter. He looked back to Catherine again, giving the blade in his hand a quick rotation to loosen the wrist muscles.

  Peter spoke into the thick silence. “I propose a duel to touch only,” he offered in a quiet, almost placating voice. “The first of you to achieve three touches will be declared the victor.”

  His eyes sought out Jack’s, and he spoke to his old friend first. “Jack, if you win, then Shadow will swear to return to the cathedral. He will place himself into the custody of whoever is in charge - be it your father or the new Bishop, and accept the judgment of the court there on his actions.”

  Jack and Catherine both looked sharply at Peter, Catherine’s eyes flashing furious anger. Jack looked back at his opponent and he seemed startled by the strong feelings shining there. Slowly he nodded.

  “Would you swear to do that?” he asked gruffly, a visible calm settling down over him.

  Catherine took a deep breath, trying to gain a handle on the anger she felt. Turning herself over to the cathedral minions was the last thing she would possibly want to do. She could think of no worse humiliation. Her council would be beyond furious. Still ... there seemed to be no other solution that would suit all involved. She certainly did not want a duel to the death be the only way around this. Her mind raced to find another solution - but it had tried this task for weeks without coming up with any answers.

  “Yes,” she finally ground out, her voice reflecting the frustration she felt. “I swear on my honor and life that, should you best me, I will go immediately to the cathedral and turn myself in.”

  Jack studied Catherine for a few moments, then nodded. “I believe you,” he responded simply. He turned back to Peter. “If I win?”

  Catherine had numerous ideas for what her victory should entail, but before she could put them into words, Peter spoke up again. “Jack, you would swear to consider this matter settled. You would not pursue Shadow in any way going forward, nor pressure any other person about him.”