A knock sounded at the door. “Come!” Terran called, annoyed at the interruption.
The door swung open and Terran glanced over his shoulder to see a servant woman standing just inside the door.
“It’s good to see you up,“ the woman began, nervously.
Terran cut her off. “Who is that woman?” Terran looked back out the window, toward the outer gatehouse, his gaze sweeping the area. The boy herding the sheep was still there. The merchant was still there, moving into the inner ward. The woman was gone.
“What woman, m’lord?” the servant asked.
“She’s gone,” Terran whispered, half to himself. He wondered if he’d imagined her.
The servant woman sighed in understanding. “Lady Odella was a good woman.”
“I’m not talking about Odella. There was a woman standing near the gatehouse...” The servant’s patronizing look annoyed Terran, and he waved his hand quickly. “Never mind. What do you want?”
The servant bowed. “They’re waiting for you in the Great Hall, m’lord.”
“With all due respect, m’lord,” Kenric said to Terran, “you need a dowry to save you.”
Terran sat stoically in his judgment chair at the far end of the Great Hall. Here he listened to the seemingly endless litany of peasant complaints, problems, and pleas for assistance. The room was usually brightly lit with torches, filled with servants scurrying about, loud with the conversation of peasants and farmers, but not today. He’d ordered all the torches to be extinguished, had sent the servants away.
Odella’s smile haunted his memories. Her scent followed him wherever he went. She’d been everything to him, his sunshine. Now he hated the sun for reminding him of her. His betrothed was gone, and he was in even more desperate financial straits than before.
How could he have known his own prowess as a knight, his own skill as a fighter on the battlefield, would cause his current financial woes? As his skill and reputation had grown, so had the fear and unease of his opponents. No one would face him on the field of battle. At first, this fear had been a great source of pride, but as the number of men willing to face him quickly dwindled, so had his treasury.
Eventually, he’d been forced to travel to remote provinces to find tournaments where he wasn’t known. By then, his castle had fallen behind in its tithe to church and king.
But he didn’t give a damn. Let the king take this castle. Let him take everything.
“M’lord,” Kenric prompted, looking for some kind of response. “Terran, you’re going to lose Castle Knowles in three months’ time. You need to do something.”
Terran grunted and turned away.
“You need to marry someone with a large dowry to save Castle Knowles. You need a betrothal –”
“I had one,” Terran growled.
“Yes. Well, since that one is... no longer, may I suggest another?”
“No,” Terran snapped. “You insult her memory by suggesting such a thing.”
“M’lord,” Kenric said, approaching him, “I know you loved her. But she is gone and you need to move on. The farms are not producing enough. The peasants are not happy.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Terran growled.
“There’s an easy solution.”
“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it”
“You were betrothed once before,” Kenric said. “From when you were born.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Terran repeated.
“The Delaney lands are very profitable. They could well support you and your lands. All you need do is marry Delaney’s daughter.”
“I don’t want another wife.”
“Delaney is trying to betroth her to another. Go and claim your rights. It will save your castle.”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I don’t want any other woman.”
“You can grieve out on the cold ground, or you can grieve in your own nice warm castle. It doesn’t matter to me, cousin. This is an easy way out.”
Terran’s lip curled in disgust. “Delaney would never give her to me, not after what I did. Not with so many others vying for her hand.”
Kenric smiled. “I’ll take care of everything. You’ll have the Lady Bria’s dowry to save your lands.”
Terran couldn’t care less. All he wanted was Odella, and he couldn’t have her.
“Your time is running out,” Kenric reminded him. “I know the thought of marriage is repulsive, but there’s no other solution. I will handle Delaney’s daughter for you.”
Terran grunted and leaned back in his chair. “Do whatever you want.”
Kenric bowed and moved out of the room.
Bria quickened her step and walked down the road toward Knowles Village. Her hand was wrapped tightly around the reins of her horse, her palms wet with nervous perspiration. Damn him. Damn Kenric for being so evil. No one else made her tremble this way.
No one else you know is a murderer, the voice inside her reminded.
“Excuse me, m’lady.”
Bria glanced up to see a peasant hauling a cart filled with dried-out corn and rotten, worm-infested apples.
“Would you like to buy some of my fruit?” the man said.
Bria looked away from the horrendous fruit to stare at him. His brow was slick with sweat, his face reddened from exertion. He had a dark purple bruise on his forehead. “Where’s your horse?” Bria wondered.
The man shifted nervously. “Well, I...” He squared his shoulders. “I owed taxes and one of the tax collectors took my horse as payment.”
Bria scowled. Knowles’ men. His evil was spreading everywhere. “If you have no horse, how will you work your fields?”
The man opened his mouth to reply, but promptly shut it. His shoulders sagged in defeat. “I... don’t know. I will do what I can.”
“Shouldn’t you be working the fields now?” Bria wondered.
“Yes. But Lord Knowles just raised the taxes, and I need more income. My wife is working the fields, and I’m trying to sell this fruit. She would have done it, but she can’t pull the cart.”
Bria glanced back at the towering castle behind her, the fortress of Terran Knowles. Home of the ogre who refused to see visitors, but taxed his people to death. This was what Mary was talking about, she realized, what she must have experienced day after heartbreaking day. This was why she’d charged to the rescue of Widow Anderson.
Bria reached down to the belt at her waist and untied a small leather purse. Without a second thought, she handed it to the man.
He took the purse, shook it to hear the jangle of coins, then looked inside. “You want corn or apples?”
“I don’t want any of it.” Bria moved to step past him.
“But, m’lady,” he objected, “surely you want something in return.”
“Keep it,” Bria replied. “It’s the least I can do for you and your family.”
The man’s eyes widened. “God bless you, m’lady. God bless you!”
Bria wished she had more to give to the poor man. She wished she had enough to take care of the entire village. They needed someone to watch over them, someone to protect them, someone to take a stand against that ogre Terran Knowles and Randolph Kenric and all of the other men under their command, she thought bitterly. What they really needed was a Midnight Shadow they could call their own. She sighed a tired sigh. If only her grand hero wasn’t a figment of her imagination. If only the Midnight Shadow were real.
MIDNIGHT SHADOW
CHAPTER SEVEN
The fire from the hearth heated Bria’s cheeks, as well as her anger. Her gaze was trained on the group of men gathered about her father, all come to Castle Delaney to win her hand in marriage. She’d been briefly introduced to all of them, but couldn’t remember a single one of their names. Garret was the only man she knew.
They were all seated around her father, talking earnestly to him, no doubt boasting about their prowess in battle or the size of their coffers. She shook her
head and turned her gaze back to the fire.
Maybe they should spend more time wooing me instead of my father, she thought with disgust. Not that she wanted them to pay attention to her. She’d done everything in her power to discourage their attentions during the last three weeks, which was undoubtedly why they’d turned their attentions to her father.
One of the castle dogs wandered by and nudged her fingers. Bria absently scratched the animal’s head. She missed Mary so, and she couldn’t stop thinking about that night. Maybe she shouldn’t take all the blame. If Mary hadn’t run out to help the Widow Anderson... Bria shook her head. For weeks, Mary had been so angry about the taxes Lord Knowles was imposing on them she would have run out to help Widow Anderson even if she’d been surrounded by twenty armed men.
Bria thought back to the poor farmer selling rotten apples and shriveled corn. He’d been so grateful for her assistance. The poor people of Knowles. What a tyrant! Bria began to shake her head, wishing she could help them.
Laughter erupted from the group of suitors, drawing her attention. The pompous buffoons. They could help Knowles’ people if they wanted to. But they were too self-absorbed to be any good to her, even Garret. She wished she could talk to him about what to do, what needed to be done to help the people. But he’d just brush her aside and tell her there was nothing to do. Bria knew nothing was further from the truth.
“You’ll have to choose one of them.”
Bria glanced aside to see her grandfather standing beside her chair. She grunted softly. “I’ll choose the one who apprehends Mary’s murderer.”
Harry sighed. “Garret is a fine man,” he encouraged, ignoring her comment.
“Garret is a good friend,” Bria retorted, crossing her arms stubbornly and leaning back in her chair. “I just can’t see him as my husband.”
“You’d better see someone as your husband,” Harry warned, “or your father will choose for you.”
Bria’s scowl deepened. “Maybe they can win his hand in marriage.” She jerked her head toward the group around her father. With that, she stood up and headed out of the Great Hall.
For the remainder of the day she avoided her suitors. She spent time embroidering, which she hated, but no one would think to look for her in the small room with the rest of her ladies. She spent time in the kitchens trying to help the cook, but getting in the way more than not.
Finally, she retired to her room, skipping the last dinner completely. It was only now, late at night, that Bria could finally relax. She sat on the window ledge, staring at the moon floating high in the dark sky. It was almost full, a sliver of it gone as if an artist had chiseled it away. Or maybe a lover had stolen a piece of it to give to his fair lady, Bria thought wistfully. She wondered if she’d ever feel that kind of love. She didn’t think so.
Suddenly, the pounding of horses’ hooves sounded in the courtyard. She glanced down from her seat on the window ledge as a group of five soldiers thundered in.
They came to a halt in the middle of the inner ward and dismounted. One man gave orders. Bria couldn’t hear the words, only the resonance of his voice echoing off the castle walls. The men moved to obey his commands. The leader stood, his hands planted on his hips, gazing up at the keep. He reached up to slide his chain mailed hood from his head. Flowing black hair fell about his shoulders.
Bria squinted, trying to make out the man’s face, but he was too far away and the night was too dark. She shrugged slightly. Rude of him to be coming this late at night, Bria thought. Her father was in bed and couldn’t welcome him properly.
As if to confirm her thoughts, her father’s personal servant rushed out in a long night dress to greet the leader, bowing humbly. One of the soldiers moved to the leader’s side. Together they turned to gaze at her.
Bria straightened her shoulders. If she’d been closer, she would have been able to see his face, his eyes. As it was, she could see neither. But his gaze pinned her where she sat. Strangely, a tingle raced along her shoulder blades.
He gazed at her for a long moment and then turned toward the servant. After a moment, he followed the servant up the stairs and into the keep.
Bria watched until he’d disappeared inside the doors and they were closed behind him. She narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering who the arrogant lord was. She hoped he wasn’t another suitor, but she knew he was.
The next morning, Bria stood in the outer ward, staring at the lowered drawbridge, wishing her father had asked her to go hunting with him. Instead, he’d taken her suitors. She was surprised when even Garret had gone.
“What troubles you?”
Bria shook herself from her thoughts and turned from the entrance to look at her grandfather.
Harry smiled warmly at her. “There are other places you’d like to be, eh?” He leaned close to her. “Me, too.”
Bria smiled and returned her gaze to the soft blue velvet in her hand. She placed the fabric down on the merchant’s cart and moved to the next fabric. Harry trailed behind her as she softly touched the material and then moved to the next fabric laid out on the wooden pushcart in the outer ward.
The merchant said to her grandfather, “Perhaps some beautiful satin will make her happy.”
Her grandfather glanced at him, but didn’t answer.
Bria didn’t even look at the merchant. Her mind was occupied by the five men hunting with her father. She didn’t want to marry any of them. Bria shook her head, trying to shake the feeling of trepidation mounting inside her at her pending betrothal. She could only hope someone else would show up to rescue her from the sinking feeling growing deeper in the pit of her stomach.
“You went to Castle Knowles after Mary’s death, didn’t you?” Harry asked.
Bria was so unprepared for his statement that she could not hide the affirmation written all over her face.
Harry shook his head in disapproval.
“I had to do something!” Bria objected in a low voice. “I was hoping Knowles wasn’t as bad as I was hearing.”
“He’s worse,” the merchant whispered.
Bria’s eyes shifted to the merchant as he presented her a piece of red satin.
“I’ll never grace his lands again,” the merchant continued. “His tax collectors stopped my wagon yesterday, demanding payment for my passage through their lands.”
Bria perused the short man. His black hair was creeping away from his forehead; his eyes were lined with age. He had to look up to meet her gaze.
“Now, I consider myself a very fair man, as my prices are testament.” He indicated the fabrics on the cart with a generous wave of his hand.
Bria didn’t move. “Go on.”
“Oh, yes. Well, I was ready to give my fair amount. It’s not unheard of for a lord to tax a poor merchant. After all, we’re only trying to make a living. We work as hard as any man –”
“About the tax collectors,” Bria reminded him.
“Of course. Sheriff Kenric and his men stopped me on the road and demanded payment. But what he asked was three times anything I have ever heard of! It was an outrageous amount. He might as well have stolen my entire wagon of fabrics. I usually have three or four times as much cloth. But alas, this is all I have. Sheriff Kenric took the rest as payment.”
Bria glanced at her grandfather. What Lord Knowles was doing to the people of his lands, as well as those visiting, was preposterous. Anger surged through her so fiercely that she clenched her fist around the red satin fabric.
“M’lady, please,” the merchant said gently. “The few goods I have left are quite delicate.”
Bria immediately dropped the red satin and mumbled an apology. She moved on to the next piece of fabric and her breath caught in her throat. It was a rich, luxurious black velvet. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch the fabric, which caught the light of the sun and seemed to absorb it. It was beautiful -- perfect! “Grandfather, don’t you think this is what the –” She stopped suddenly, feeling foolish about speaking of her imaginary h
ero in front of the merchant. “Never mind.” Though she didn’t say it, this fabric was exactly what the Midnight Shadow would wear.
Bria stroked the material lovingly, sensing something powerful in its color.
A hand seized her wrist and she glanced up into her grandfather’s intense blue eyes. “Bria,” he whispered.
“What?” she asked, confused at his intensity.
“Don’t do anything rash,” he pleaded.
Bria shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.” But even as she said the words, her gaze traveled to the black velvet. Exactly what the Midnight Shadow would wear.
“Have you decided upon some fabric?” the merchant wondered.
Bria lifted her gaze to the merchant, a reply on her lips, but over the merchant’s shoulder through the inner gatehouse, she spotted a tall man with hair as black as the witching hour moving past the opening. Was it the man she’d seen in the courtyard the previous night? She dropped the black velvet back onto the cart. She wanted to have a few words with the man for arriving at such a rude late hour. “Excuse me,” she muttered and moved quickly toward the gatehouse.
“Bria!” her grandfather called after her.
She raced after the dark-haired stranger, feeling the need to explain to him why it wasn’t good manners to arrive so late and, in doing so, discourage him from seeking her hand. She agilely dodged the other merchants in the outer ward.
She skidded to a halt just inside the inner ward, looking first left, then right. The courtyard was packed with peasants and knights come to see what the merchants were selling.
Bria exhaled sharply, thinking she’d lost him. But then the man revealed himself, rising from a bent position. He was tall, Bria realized, a good head above the tallest man in the crowd.
That did not dissuade her from her mission. Bria followed him as he continued into the inner ward toward the keep, skirting the crowd. She kept her gaze on him so as not to lose sight of him, though it would have been difficult to do so. As he moved through the ward, Bria noticed his confident gait, as if he were used to getting what he wanted. Well, she thought, this was one woman who would sorely disappoint him.
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