by Sherry Ewing
“I may question his motives and reasoning, but I would never be so foolish as to decline such a request,” Riorden declared as he began to pace to and fro within the chamber. He bumped into Fletcher, who grumbled about the state of his toes, afore he once more stood in one place.
“You will be missed, Riorden,” Amiria and Aiden said together, exchanging a silent look, which only twins could possibly share or interpret.
Riorden stared silently at those souls within the chamber who, for the most part, were the closest thing he could call his family. They all began to stand, although they, too, were seemingly at a loss of words.
Dristan came to him and clasped his hand on his shoulder. “It appears there is not much else for me to say after the two of us have traveled and fought beside one another for as long as I can remember. So...since you do not care to have ownership to the title and lands that are rightfully yours from your sire, which I will never understand, you leave me no choice than to see to matters myself. I will have no knight of mine and from my household going to the king lacking,” Dristan announced, breaking the silence of the room. “Patrick,” he called and watched as the boy turned his gaze as if seeing the room for the first time.
“Aye, my Lord Dristan,” Patrick answered when he came to stand before his liege with a bow.
“You have served me well these many years, Patrick, but it seems fate has other plans for us, for she is a fickle mistress,” Dristan proclaimed and turned the boy to face Riorden. “As you have served me, now go and serve your new master as his squire. He will need you more than I during his days at court, I think.”
“Dristan, really, I cannot−” Riorden began.
“As you wish, my lord,” Patrick answered promptly, ignoring Riorden’s protests.
Patrick knelt, bowing his head and holding out his hands towards his new liege as if in prayer and complete submission. He patiently waited ’til Riorden at last came to his senses and clasped the boy’s outstretched hands in his own.
It seemed as if Patrick’s oath of fealty to Riorden came easily to his lips, almost as though he had waited a lifetime to make such a commitment and sacrifice. “I, Patrick of Berwyck and of Clan MacLaren, do so swear on my faith in God the Almighty, to serve thee as my liege lord, Riorden de Deveraux. I promise in the future to be faithful to my lord, never causing you harm, and will observe my homage to you completely; against all persons, in good faith, and without deceit.”
“I accept thee as my vassal,” Riorden whispered and watched as Patrick stood afore him with pride.
“Watch over my brother, Riorden, and do not fail me in his care. I know you will do right by him in continuing his training so that he, too, may be a great knight someday,” Dristan replied, and the two men clasped each other’s shoulders once more.
“Of course, I will ensure his training and care, Dristan.”
Dristan nodded and gave a bit of a smirk. “He can be a bit mischievous, our young Patrick here, which is not much of a surprise, given who his sister is.”
“Dristan…really!” Amiria said, aghast, as she managed to remove a dirk from her boot and point it at her husband.
“You see what I must contend with?” Dristan laughed with an amused quirk of his brow towards his wife. He came to her and rested his hand upon her shoulder, which had a calming effect. “Now I have another, who seems hell bent to avoid wedded bliss no matter how many worthy lads I lay at her feet.”
Lynet could be heard muttering a very unladylike reply and took up a stance at the now vacated window. Everyone in the room knew the reason behind her continued rejections, for Lynet had fallen in love with Amiria’s captain, who had not graced the walls of the castle for nigh unto five years. ’Twas doubtful Ian would return anytime soon.
When the family began to leave the chamber in preparation of Riorden and Patrick’s departure, Riorden went to the young girl. As he drew near, he saw upon her face one lone tear running slowly down her cheek. Before she could brush it away, he reached out to cup her face. Ever so slowly, he brushed his thumb across the smoothness of her face to dry her tears.
He gave her a brief embrace, this young girl who had been like a little sister to him, and took her chin so she would stare up into his eyes.
“If Ian does not come to his senses soon, Lynet, he never will. Do not shed one more of your precious tears on his behalf since he will not be worthy of them,” he whispered. “Promise me you will not spend your life pining away for someone who could not see the prize that was right afore his very eyes. You deserve much better than that.”
Lynet only stood there, trying to find the words to ease his mind.
“Your promise to me, Lynet,” Riorden urged.
Lynet gave a heavy sigh of resignation. “Aye, I promise, Riorden. Safe travels and God speed to you.”
“Good lass. I shall endeavor to return soon to ensure you have kept your word, for I am sure our paths shall cross again.” Giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, he left her standing there and made his way to collect his belongings.
The courtyard was filled with familiar faces, people who had come to wish him well as he traveled to serve the king. Riorden’s goodbyes were brief and to the point, for there was no sense dwelling on what this place had come to mean to him. Dristan lifted his hand in farewell, and he returned the gesture. Gathering the reins of his mount, he turned his mighty war horse and proceeded through the inner and outer baileys.
He looked back only once to see Berwyck off in the distance, afore he turned his attention to the road ahead of him. At least, he was not alone with only Patrick for a traveling companion. Aiden had joined his company.
Chapter 3
Bamburgh, England
Present Day, Spring
Katherine pulled into the car park of the inn. With a heavy sigh of relief, she turned off the rental car. Leaning her head back, she gratefully closed her eyes amid kudos from her friends for her driving skill. Skill…that word was almost a joke, considering her hands felt as if they were still clenched in a steely grip on the wheel. Driving on the wrong side of the road with everything she knew about driving being backwards was no small feat, and she was glad to have this last leg of their journey at an end.
The four women unloaded their luggage and started making their way to check in. The hotel was small, cozy looking, and fashioned in a lovely Tudor style. Upon entering, Katherine could almost envision the dark paneled room from days of old, filled with locals as they drank their mead or lounged near the fireplace that took the chill from the room. Although exhausted, she took a moment to look with longing out the window at a small portion of Bamburgh Castle in the distance. As much as she wanted to rush there to see its sights, it would have to wait until the morning. With the coming sunset, visiting hours would soon be over for the day.
“Katie,” Juliana called as she waited on the stairs with Emily. “Are you coming?”
Brianna came up next to Katherine and gently took her bag. “It’s been standing there for centuries waiting for you, sis.” Katherine’s face must have shown her desire for where her heart really wanted to take her. “It will still be there for you tomorrow.”
Turning her gaze from the window, she slowly made her way up the stairs, feeling as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. Brianna opened the bedroom door, since it was their turn to share a room. It was quaint with tiny lavender floral wallpaper on the walls, rich mahogany bedposts, and easy-on-the-eye, pale blue quilts for bedspreads. Katherine went to one of the beds and lay down as visions of their trip flashed in her memory.
To say this had been a dream vacation would be an understatement. Between the four of them, they had spent a small fortune, but it had been worth every penny. Traveling throughout Scotland and England, they had hit as many sights as they could cram into one day and gotten a good taste of what life here was all about. Emily had looked as though she felt she had tasted heaven itself, Brianna had been busy composing a song, Juliana’s pen never seemed to stop its writ
ing unless she was to take her turn at the wheel, and as for herself…well…Katherine felt that if she were to die tomorrow, she would be content.
There had only been one time that had marred an otherwise perfect vacation for Katherine. The ruins of Warkworth Castle, where they had stopped on their way to Bamburgh, had brought her to her knees in grief. She had no clue as to why such was the case. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen other similar ruins that had also saddened her in their travels within the past week. But for some unknown reason, she couldn’t find any comfort in the hollow shell of the keep, which the ravages of time had been rather unkind to over the centuries. She had almost felt as if a piece of her, inside, had died that day, especially when her friends had to help her from the ground.
Was that really only yesterday? she wondered, not for the first time this day. What was it about those ruins that could have affected her so? She would have thought such a reaction would occur at Bamburgh. It had taken everything within her not to rush to the castle, if only to lay her hands on its outer walls and feel the cold rough stones beneath her fingertips. She only had to wait until tomorrow for it to become a reality.
Brianna came over to place a light blanket over her. “Get some rest, sis. I’ll take care of putting our stuff away.”
“You sure you don’t want some help,” Katherine said, even as she felt her eye lids become heavy.
“Nah, I got it.”
Katherine rolled over on the bed and watched Brianna begin to busily put away their clothes. She smiled as she heard her friend humming the tune she had been working on for most of the day. With no motivation to do anything else this afternoon, she closed her eyes and dreamed…
* * *
He stood before her with his hand outstretched for her to take, a bit of arrogance and impatience clearly etched across his features.
“Is it you?” she heard herself ask, even though she would have known this man before her no matter where in time he had found her.
“I only mean to keep you safe,” he declared, not answering her question as he shifted uneasily on his feet. His eyes were ever watchful on the knights standing guard nearby.
“Yes, I know. Have you seen me before?” she asked quietly, hoping that he, too, had dreamed of her.
He gazed down upon her, searching her face until the ocean winds whipped the hood on her cloak from her head then watched with interest as her hair became tossed about. Finally, he reached out to catch one of her errant curls. The tendril wrapped itself around his hand, almost as if laying some kind of claim to him. He began rubbing the tresses between his fingers as if memorizing the silkiness of her locks. She watched as he came back to his senses, and he frowned, she assumed, at her words. “You’re speech is most strange, mademoiselle.”
“I’m not from…the area.”
“You travel with King Henry? Mayhap, you are one of the ladies in waiting at court?” he inquired. One look at her humble cloak would have told him this wasn’t the case.
“No,” she replied simply, for what explanation of where she came from would make sense to him.
“You’re sire is here then. Perchance, I may return you to his side so I can ensure your safety,” he concluded. Once more, he held out his hand for her to take.
She acknowledged his gesture with only a sad smile. “I suppose I’ll one day see my parents again, but I think it’s impossible for now.”
“Then let me, at the very least, see you inside the keep so I may rest, knowing you are not in danger.”
She looked up into his blue eyes and began to wonder if she’d ever seen their color on another. To say they were blue, didn’t do them justice. She had dreamed of him for so many years, she could only stare in wonder that he really stood before her. There was no doubt she trusted him, so she did the most natural thing she could do. Smiling, she looked into his eyes as she reached out to take his hand.
Neither was prepared for the reaction of their hands touching, nay, going through one another. For in truth, they did not stand there in the flesh. They were but memories of what could have been, if only they had been born in the same century. Their heartrending loss brought tears of sorrow to her eyes. With only one look at his face, she knew he felt it, too.
“I do know of you…” he whispered, his voice like a silken caress across her soul.
“You’re name!” she cried out. “Tell me your name!”
He began to fade from her vision, yet still, she heard his voice clearly inside her head. “Katherine…come back to me, my love─”
“I will find you,” she promised him as a mist appeared, surrounding his body until he was at last taken from her sight. Emptiness consumed her entire being with the knowledge he might be lost to her forevermore. She could do only one thing, now that he had been torn from her side. She wept.
Chapter 4
Bamburgh Castle
The Year of Our Lord’s Grace 1179
I will find you…” Riorden awoke with a start, still hearing the haunting words and seeing the tears of the woman from his dreams. There had been such longing in her voice that, for some unknown reason, the sound seemed achingly familiar. Yet, he knew her not...or so he thought. So why did he know her name?
He threw the coverlets off and rose naked from his bed. Kneeling afore the hearth, he began to rekindle the few remaining embers into a small semblance of a blaze. It took but a few moments ’til most of the chill began to recede from the room as the fire grew brighter. As he went to grab his tunic, he noticed his hands were actually shaking. God’s wounds! What is wrong with me? He continued to watch his hands as if they were not his own ’til, disgusted, he donned his remaining garments.
Despite the fact he had just warmed the room, he went to the shutter and flung it wide open, letting in the cool air to clear his confused head. He peered out into the early morning hours, but ’twas still too dark to see much of anything. Looking back into the chamber, his brow furrowed. It had all begun with this damn room.
After pouring a chalice of wine, Riorden sat upon a stool and ran his still trembling fingers through his mussed hair, recounting the events of the past hours. Upon his arrival yester eve, he had assumed he would be shown to the Garrison Hall. Instead, a servant had shown him to a richly appointed chamber. Afore the man had left, he had informed Riorden the table held instructions from His Majesty King Henry.
He had begun to walk across the room to retrieve the missive, when he had halted as he had felt a presence in the chamber with him. A shadow of a woman had appeared, dressed in the oddest blue hose he had ever seen. Her strange lavender tunic was cut shockingly low with some sort of odd fasteners running down the front of the garment. Tawny colored hair fell well past her shoulders in soft waves of long, loose curls, which flowed teasingly when she moved. She had been touching the frame of the bedpost, almost reverently, ’til she at last had turned to stare upon him, as if she had finally taken note that he, too, was there. Recognition had flashed across her face with a look of such yearning reflected in her aquamarine eyes, it had torn at his heart, for he had never in his life seen a sign of elation of this magnitude in another.
He remembered having rubbed his eyes to clear his vision of what surely must have been some kind of trickery, and she had been gone. At the time, he had shaken off what he knew was his imagination making a fool of him. He had begun to leave the room to find Aiden and had not gone but a few steps past his door into the passageway when, blinking his eyes in disbelief from what he was seeing, he had had no doubt that his mind was once more playing games with him. There she had stood, yet again, looking just as lovely as she had but moments afore inside his chamber.
This time, she had been walking down the corridor towards him whilst brushing her hand along the stones of the wall. His footsteps had faltered and he had felt unable to move by what he was witnessing. He had stared in wide eyed fascination at the strange lights hanging from the ceiling. ’Twas not any kind of candelabrum he had ever seen afore. Even the
torches placed in the sconces on the wall had not been familiar to him.
The woman’s tinkling, merry laughter had rung out, drawing his attention back to her. The sound of her unmistakable joy, which he had been privy to hear, had filled his head with a sense of contentment. He had wondered what she had found so entertaining to make her face radiate such happiness. Her smile had lit up her entire visage with so much delight that it almost seemed unfair that he had not been able to join her in the knowledge of whatever had pleased her so.
She had continued her steps toward him, but afore he could comprehend her actions, she had begun to vanish, passing right through him and causing his breath to catch in his throat. ’Twas as if they had been one, for the briefest of instances, as he had felt an icy shudder rush through his entire body. He had turned, scanning the passageway behind him, but there had been no sight of her. In truth, if he had not seen her for himself, he would have thought she had not been there at all. Yet, with her disappearance, he had felt a strange, unknown sense of regret, almost as if he had lost something most precious to him.
A shiver that had nothing to do with the breeze coming from the window began at the top of Riorden’s head and made its way clear down to his feet whilst he was brought back to the present. ’Twas almost as if the dead were calling to him from the grave with these hallucinations of ghosts. But why, then, would he dream of her? Did she have some message to impart to him? Who was she and, more importantly, why did he feel as if he, in truth, knew who she was? She had appeared so real when she had come to him in his sleep, and even now, he could feel the bitter disappointment when he had lost her in his dream as the mist had all but consumed them.
Riorden stood, grabbed the wooden shutter, and closed it with a soft click as the latch fell into place. He turned and stared at the obnoxious, dark blue, velvet box he had all but forgotten the day afore. No good will come of whatever it holds, he thought, as he made his way to the table. Reaching out for the parchment, he broke the wax seal of the king and scanned the brief few words that seemed to blur as he read. ’Tis time to claim your birthright swam afore his eyes, along with the king’s signature. Opening the box, he swore, for inside was his father’s signet ring. Set in heavy gold, a lion’s head carved from black onyx looked back at him with mocking eyes. The fact that the ring was here could only mean one thing. His father was dead, and the title Riorden never wanted now belonged to him. Damn his father’s soul to hell!
