Devil's Knight

by Geri Borcz

  "He's recanted that foolishness," Roger shouted back, rising to an intimidating height.

  "That Judas," she stormed, tromping to the window slit. A cloud band in the waning sky smiled back at her glaring eyes. "'Tis the foul reason for the messengers I've seen."

  "That," Roger hedged, "amongst others."

  She twirled to face her brother, the blood-red silk rustling in the air.

  "Out with it. Who's he sold me to?"

  "Calm yourself. I'd see you go to a man with many allies at our call."

  "Who?"

  "Malcolm."

  "Holy Mary and Joseph," she gasped, and crossed herself. Speak of the devil. She sagged against the wall's uneven stones, and her hand cut through the dying shaft of sunlight. "Roger, he's not the Scot I'd choose. Iain is."

  "I give you an eldest son," Roger bellowed. "I'll not consider a younger."

  "But Malcolm," she wailed, "has no hair and fewer teeth. And is of such an age, I'd see him to his grave before long." She teetered between screaming and crying.

  Despite himself, Roger blanched. "You exaggerate."

  "And he hates the sight of Oliver," she said. Her fisted hands shook. "Not again. You promised. Would you wed with that marauding Scot?"

  "Scots or nay, 'tis a sound alliance, Juliana." Roger stood firm. "You think Malcolm is an ogre, but you should fall to your knees that he forgave your childish prank and willingly takes you." He snorted. "Were you my wife, I'd see you beaten daily for the unpleasant memory alone."

  Her mouth fell open.

  "As for Oliver or us, Malcolm will permit you visits to Stanmore. Now cease arguing, 'tis an alliance you'll honor."

  "I won't do it, Roger."

  "By the Rood, quit worrying for yourself," he said. "Do this for your family, Ana. We need this alliance."

  "He has a sister," Juliana said, grasping at reason. "And you're the eldest son. You marry her and join our families."

  "I would," Roger said in a thin voice as he rubbed the scarred flesh. His words held a trace of self-mockery. "Ana, even to spare you this, I would." He shook his head. "But you're a strong woman, and if you curb your tongue, I know you'll fare well. More lies at stake here than you understand or I can explain."

  "Try."

  Roger's face blazed.

  "By God and all His saints! Ana, must you be difficult? Can you not be as other women for once and do as bid? Why must you always hear an answer?"

  Juliana had surprised herself with the emotionless challenge, but her life hung in the balance. She quivered inside from the force of his fury, still, her gaze remained steady upon him. She waited.

  "Very well," Roger said, quieting. "This once I'll explain myself, and then never again." He cut the air with an angry hand. "Do you understand?"

  Blood rushed to her face as Juliana nodded.

  Roger sought his chair. While choosing his words, he visually traced the floorboard pattern that was exposed by the scattered rushes.

  "We--your family--stand to lose something that we've fought to hold and control for years."

  To her astonishment, she saw the entreaty in the face raised to her.

  "And the only means to keep it, Ana," he said, "lies in your betrothal to Malcolm."

  The plea in Roger's voice accomplished what the thunder could not--he tore at her heart. She dropped to her knees beside him, her mind reeling with the shock.

  Land? Land is at stake, if I do not wed with Malcolm?"

  The foundation of a man's wealth, a serious matter. For centuries men had fought and died for scraps of dirt, vast tracks of land comprised kingdoms. More than one family prospered due to increased land holdings, and more than one fell to ruin because of the lack.

  What a weighty burden for her family to place on her shoulders. Juliana understood well that males hoarded their control over marriage alliances and that females went where given, but it rankled her to see a promise withdrawn from her grasp without thought or protest.

  "Aye, pet," Roger said. "Now do you see?"

  No, there was more here. She wavered.

  "But why Malcolm? And why only now? I bring to a marriage naught but a few hides."

  "No more, Ana," Roger said.

  With a sluggish movement, he rose from the chair and gazed down upon her as she knelt on the floor.

  "Tell me now," he said. "Will you do as I bid? For us? For your family? For me?"

  Roger grazed her cheek with his scarred knuckle, lifted her chin, and softened his voice.

  "Sweet Ana, for the love you bear me, will you do as I bid?"

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 4

  Rhys sought a private spot away from the busy ears in the hall, so he walked into the late afternoon courtyard with Costin and Alain at each elbow. A cooling breeze rode the sun's path and slowly pushed the night over the walls.

  Beneath the deceptive calm, his blood raged with tension, and he clenched his fists to quell the urge to explode.

  "All day Baldwin leaves me to cool my heels," he said through gritted teeth. "I suspected something afoot with all the cursed Scotsmen coming and going."

  The trio crossed the mucked courtyard in a diagonal line toward the stables. Enticing aromas rose from the kitchen on their left and wafted into the air. Workmen repaired portions of the outer wall, and the lazy pounding carried to their ears. Slowly, the buzz of daily activities wound down.

  Divested of his mail and clad in a black tunic with matching chausses that hugged his legs like a second skin, Rhys moved with the grace of a predatory animal, sleek and silent, a shadow beside Alain. Thin rays lit Costin's head like pale fire.

  "Fer the insult Baldwin offers," Alain said, "I'd not stay the night under his roof."

  Costin nodded. "I don't like how Roger enjoyed conveying his father's message that the land you wish to purchase was his daughter's dowry through her lady mother. I go with Alain. I prefer a pallet in the forest this night."

  "Baldwin is clever," said Rhys. He shook his head and banked his temper's fires until they smoldered under cool reason. "But this smacks of Roger's dirty hand."

  His fist slammed into his palm, the sharp crack belying his steely exterior. The delay, added to the messengers he'd seen come and go during the wasted day, confirmed Rhys's earlier suspicion. Roger feigned innocence of Henry's dictate, yet, all the while he and Baldwin reeled in the lines they'd cast in their scheme to circumvent the king's order.

  "A convenient betrothal," Rhys said. "Wouldn't you agree?"

  "Roger flatters himself," said Costin, "if he assumed you wouldn't see through his ploy."

  "'Tis the point of this farce," Rhys said. "Blind revenge is unsatisfying. On the surface, he appears to comply with Henry's wish to end the quarrel between us. Instead he buries the order's intent by shifting to the Scot. Roger wants me to squirm. So we stay."

  "You make no sense," Alain said.

  "He's bought that cursed border raider, and now they're in league against me," Rhys said. "God knows what unholy bargain they've struck."

  Despite what he'd told his father, Rhys had expected to meet a wall of opposition, but without knowing what direction Baldwin's attack would take, he'd been forced to sit back and wait for their move. Now that the first blow had come, an idea leapt into his mind.

  "Baldwin must think to send me on a wild chase after Malcolm," Rhys said, "but he underestimates my audacity. And Roger mistakes my talents." Rhys's eyes gleamed with ferocity. "I'm not so easy to thwart. So, we'll enjoy the earl's reluctant hospitality a bit longer."

  "The earl hasn't appeared below stairs since he arrived," Costin said. "He seems disinclined to leave his bride's bed."

  Rhys laid an arm about Costin's shoulder and sidled closer. "This may come as a surprise young friend, but not all men share your wish to bury their lance to the hilt and die betwixt honeyed-thighs. Even if that is what detains him, we needn't wait long."

  Costin shot him a curious glance.

  "Bed sport is a pleasurable, but exhaus
tible business," Rhys said. "Man is of this earth, Costin, a truly imperfect creature. Man ages. Alas, as the sun sets and the tides wane, so do we all, and so too, will Baldwin's rod." Rhys clapped Costin's back. "We wait to reason with him."

  "As you wish," said Costin. "I don't know who to pity more, the lady or her betrothed, though he is a Scot."

  All traces of humor vanished, and Rhys turned a vicious face on the young knight. Roger's deliberately polite announcement still inflamed Rhys. Not only had he lost his bargaining leverage, but the news had hit him at a much deeper level. His stomach had roiled upon hearing Roger so casually ally his tenacious sister to a cold-hearted man.

  "Who is this man?" Costin blurted out.

  "A mercenary," said Alain. "A ghost mothers use to bring children to heel. His pleasure is extorting money from his neighbors across the border. And they pay, or risk his glee in night raids.

  "He's not what I'd choose in my family. The man knows little beyond pillaging, burning, and killing, and holds loyalty to none save himself and profit."

  Untrustworthy and self-serving, men like him sickened Rhys.

  "I'd fight to keep a toothless hound from Malcolm," Rhys said. "And if Lady Juliana were his wife--he'd eventually kill any spark of life in her."

  The words flew like daggers before Rhys thought, but once spoken, they took form and meaning.

  Alain and Costin shared a look, questioning his vehemence.

  "Unfortunate fer the lady, Rhys," said Alain. "But 'tis the way of things. Not all men share yer concern fer their daughter."

  Rhys let his man's assumption stand.

  His insides lurched. Juliana tried his temper at every turn, but her fire and honesty had managed to barge through his defenses. He remembered his bath; her musical laughter, her honey eyes sparkling with feisty humor, her wit, and her warming caresses.

  He hardened with an intensity that shocked him. Despite himself, the image of the sable-haired temptress sharing that sensual joy with another man ate at Rhys.

  Foolish. Far from the serene personality Rhys valued in a woman, Juliana's ways might suit another, given a strong hand and unyielding will. Qualities in short supply with him, as evidenced by his out-spoken daughter.

  Perhaps Alain was right. Rhys empathized because of his love for his daughter. But unlike Isobel, Juliana understood more of the world and what she faced. Growing up along the border's frontier, coupled with widowhood, had imbued her with a strong will and courage. Ridiculous to worry for her.

  "No matter how disobedient and troublesome," Rhys said, "no woman deserves to be used as Roger's weapon."

  An unshakable guilt wrapped around his shoulders like a leaden weight, spurring his deepening anger. Because Roger wanted to strike back at Rhys, Juliana would suffer.

  "So now" said Costin, "you must consider dealing with the barbarian."

  "And he needn't settle," said Alain, "unless it suits Roger's purpose. Henry will not force the issue on King David. Yer no better off than before."

  Familiar smells of horse, leather, and hay reached their nostrils upon entering the outbuilding. The stable master bobbed a greeting and placed a lantern onto a peg that threw a murky light into the dim interior. Rhys waved a hand in dismissal. The man nodded. Straw carpeted the aisle and crunched under their boots as they approached the stalls, their animals perking up at their scent. Rhys's stormy gaze searched the nooks for prying ears, but detected none.

  "Malcolm's ability to fill David's coffers makes him valuable," Rhys said, "if not a favorite. Henry won't anger the uncle to his heir for so trivial a matter as a few hides of land to a minor English baron."

  Rhys leaned against a rough post between two stalls and rubbed his jaw. The soft stubble provoked teasing images of an earlier pleasure, and again his insides tightened.

  "How well Roger understands this," Rhys breathed. "He and Malcolm are as thick as cut-purses at a fair. But of the two, Roger is cunning and far more dangerous."

  "Then there's little hope to obtain the land by peaceful means," said Alain, patting his mount's neck. "What now?"

  Rhys shrugged, mulling over his options.

  Costin checked his horse. "Baldwin must have little regard for the lady or--"

  "Or," Rhys finished, "Roger's hatred for me is greater. Of late, his opinion holds sway with his father."

  The young knight dropped his animal's hoof and stepped to the end of the stall, an intent stare boring into Rhys.

  "You fostered with Roger," Costin said. "Was it your hand that inflicted the damage to his face?"

  "My crime was much worse."

  "Worse?"

  Rhys nodded. "As Roger sees it, and I assume his father still agrees, I stole from him."

  Costin grasped Rhys's upper arm, disbelief awash his face. "You? Why 'tis no one more honorable!"

  "By the Rood!" said Alain. "I'd tear the tongue from his head fer such lies."

  No denial came forth.

  Alain stood firm. Costin dropped his hand and retreated an uneasy step.

  In the hazy light, Rhys searched Costin's wary face, then Alain's expressionless one. He straightened from the post.

  "I agree. You have the right to know what peril you face in following my lead."

  "You stole what from Roger?" Costin asked.

  Rhys let out a weary breath. "Isobel's mother."

  * * *

  Juliana stood in a shaft of magenta light in front of the arrow slit, a rigid statue who gazed through icy eyes on the waning day. Cooling air met every angry breath and splayed gooseflesh on her arms, but nothing compared to the bitterness building the icy wall around her heart.

  Her scattered thoughts railed at men and their perfidy, while helpless rage clogged her throat. Of all people, Roger's betrayal staggered her--hadn't he cared a little for her, if for no one else?

  An agony of humiliation swamped every pore with the dawning realization of Rhys's true purpose. It was so clear to her now. The timing of his arrival was too convenient.

  Her dowry bordered Adington. Of course, he coveted her land. Why else would he withhold his identity and put himself in her path at every turn, deliberately using his lethal looks to his advantage?

  She'd mooned like a foolish young maiden, when all the while she was a means to an end and nothing more. How he must have laughed at her expense.

  The door behind her opened, and she heard Agnes waddle in and pause. Juliana waited for the nurse to mention her dishabille, the upturned table, or the meal debris that landscaped the chamber.

  Instead, Agnes righted the table. A moment later, light threw shadows on the embrasure as the nurse lit the candle, and Agnes calmly instructed a page to set down the fresh tray before fetching Marta to straighten the mess.

  "You heard?" Juliana turned from the window.

  "Little escapes me," Agnes said, and shrugged. "A curse on men... aye, that much was clear. So out with it."

  Juliana related the ugly scene just past, and repeating before her eyes....

  Roger had recognized his victory and waited for her to yield. A gesture of courtesy. Arranging marriage alliances remained the business of men, and her consent mattered little to the outcome he demanded. But in the cost to her pride, it mattered to Juliana.

  She refused.

  "Malcolm sent word to expect his arrival day after the morrow to sign the contracts," Roger said, ignoring her hot protests. He turned to the door and pivoted on an afterthought, a hard warning in eyes gone steel gray. "And before you think to scheme any foolishness, know that he and Iain have parted company, so Malcolm comes without his spineless friend."

  Speechless, Juliana fumed. She gulped huge breaths of frustrated rage and pierced her brother with a fiery stare. A muscle clenched along Roger's jaw, and from experience, she knew no further amount of screeching or cajoling would budge him.

  "I know that look too well," he said, as if reading her murderous thoughts. "Understand that you'll receive no aid from our cousin, either. I've assigned Oliv
er to duties elsewhere. Heed my advice, Juliana, 'tis best you select your prettiest for the betrothal ceremony and swallow your ire." His tone slid into silky menace. "It ill becomes a bride to display an unseemly temper."

  "God rot all men." She snaked out her arm, raking the table top clean with such force that the table rocked before it toppled on end to the floor. Candle and dishes sailed, and food splattered in all directions. The congealed gravy lumps extinguished the small flame that licked at the planks.

  In the brazier's eerie glow, Juliana vibrated with anger and hurt. And fear. Without another word, she ran past a stunned Roger. She threw open the heavy door, glanced back, and her eyes narrowed to black slits.

  "Out. Get out." She gripped the wood until splinters gouged her palm. "You'll regret this, Brother."

  Roger swaggered into the corridor, the frightened dog scurrying in front of him.

  "And mark my words," she'd promised, "for the rest of his days, I'll see that Malcolm regrets it as well." Then she'd slammed the door in Roger's face.

  Juliana finished her tale, but the hollow sound of bravado reverberated in her head....

  "God help us," said Agnes, clucking her tongue and seeking the chair. "I feared one day it would come to this, and I see my Lord Roger wasted no time." She blew a heavy sigh. "Marta," she called to the maid, who entered the door on a timid knock. "Find Sir Oliver and fetch him to your mistress--with none the wiser about your task."

  Some of the tightness squeezing Juliana's chest eased at the mention of her cousin. Despite what Roger thought, she still had one ally, of that she was certain.