Loving the Knight: Book 2: Eryndal & Andrew (The Hansen Series: Rydar & Grier and Eryndal & Andrew)

by Kris Tualla

  

  When Drew arrived back at the stables, his first question was whether young William had been found.

  “No, my lord,” all three of the stable hands answered in unison.

  “And have ye searched out all the nooks in here?” Drew queried. “The last time I saw him hide was in an empty stall.”

  “Respecting ye, sir, but we—” the young man wagged his thumb at his companions. “We ken every hidey spot and well.’

  “Aye. Some of our nights are, how can I put it?” The older man paused, contemplating his words. “Less lonely than others, if ye’ll understand my meanin’?”

  “Privacy is important when ye have a guest, my lord,” the third one clarified.

  “Ye make your point well,” Drew said. “Have ye any idea where the boy might have gone off to, then?”

  “Nay, sir,” the older man spoke. “Which is to say, every spot we thought of, we’ve looked.”

  Drew handed his reins to the younger man. “I thank ye.”

  Back in the manor, Drew sought out Jamie and found him in the smaller of the first story’s two side rooms.

  “Did ye glean anything useful?” Jamie asked, hope lifting his expression when he saw the knight.

  “Aye, perhaps,” Drew began. “I ken why McDougal was angry. And why he came to see Lady Eryn.”

  Jamie dipped a quick nod and waited expectantly.

  Drew kept his tone calm, as if he was commenting on the weather. “It seems that one of the maids here told one of the stable boys that on the night of the English rescue, I bedded the Lady Bell.”

  The only shift in Jamie’s expression was a tightening around his mouth.

  “And that stable boy shared that tale, and the men in the tavern were taunting McDougal. In jest, they say. But ye ken how proud a man is,” Drew continued, his gaze leveled on Jamie.

  “Aye, sir. I can see how upsetting such a story would be on the eve of a man’s wedding to the lass in question.” The steward tilted his head. “I shall ferret out the offending maid and have her taken severely to task for spreading such an account.”

  Drew relaxed a bit. “Thank ye, Jamie.”

  “I want the best for Lady Eryn. Always,” he replied.

  “And, I thank ye again.” Drew paused, and then inquired, “Young William?”

  The steward’s entire body shifted its mood. “I’m quite worried about the boy,” he confessed. “He’s canny enough, if he’s stayed close by, to find shelter. But I can no’ imagine why he’s gone off, so I can no’ imagine where he’s gone off to!”

  “When did ye ken he was missing?” Drew asked.

  Jamie frowned. “I saw him last about an hour after we discovered Geoffrey’s body at the bottom of the stairs. I woke Liam then, and told him what had transpired, as far as we kent at the time.”

  “Which was?” Drew pressed.

  “That the constable was dead and Lady Eryn had fled.”

  “And where did ye see him?”

  “In the kitchen, eating his breakfast.” Jamie shook his head. “He was dressed warm, to go outside, which is no’ unusual. But now I recall that he wore the Lady’s crucifix—along with a coin on a leather thong.”

  “Her crucifix?” That’s odd.

  “Aye. He had it in his room for the last several days, I believe.” Jamie’s face twisted in concentration. “But she kent he had it—or she would have taken it back. It was no’ hidden.”

  “And ye never saw him after that?”

  “No. No, that was the last time. And then ye came later that same day.” As if to punctuate the story he added, “Yesterday.”

  Drew crossed the small room and peered out the window. Through the thick panes of diamond shaped glass, he saw the morning’s strong sun weakening as it approached the evening’s hilly horizon. “There are but a couple hours of light left.”

  “What will ye do, my lord?” Jamie asked, hope returned to his countenance.

  Drew peered at him, pondering his next action. “I shall find William.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Drew stood in the courtyard of the Bell manor and closed his eyes. If he put himself in Liam’s place, he understood what the boy was feeling. Because he had felt it, too.

  The unexpected loss of someone he cared for.

  By a terrible accident.

  And at the hand of another person close to him?

  Drew could not reconcile himself with the idea of Eryn purposefully causing the constable’s death. But it might have been an accident, considering that the man was very angry and very drunk. And she might well have fled out of fear.

  Liam’s room was at the top of the stairs. Had he seen the confrontation?

  “If he had, he would feel as I did,” Drew whispered, his eyes still closed. “What did I do next?”

  As Drew descended into the disturbing memory of his brother’s death, his chest constricted and his pulse began to surge. Rage bubbled up. Disbelief flushed through his bowels. He tried to ignore the feelings and concentrate on remembering his actions—what were they?

  I ran to my room.

  I packed my bag.

  I went to the kitchen and packed food.

  I went to the stable for my horse.

  Something was missing. Drew hadn’t replayed that day for over fifteen years, and some of the chronology was wrong. The sun was still in the sky when he saw Danny’s body on the ground. But when he rode his horse from the yard, it was dusk. Hours had passed in between.

  “What did I do?” he whispered again. Go back to the first thing. “What did I pack?”

  Drew conjured up the memory of the brown leather satchel. He saw the carved cabinet in the room he shared with Danny. He saw himself yanking garments from the dark wooden selves and stuffing them in the bag. He put on his best boots.

  He stopped and looked around the room.

  He grabbed his knives. His pouch of coins. Danny’s pouch of coins.

  Danny’s Drummond signet ring.

  And Danny’s rosary beads.

  Drew’s eyes opened as the impact washed over him. “The prayer beads! I wanted to pray that the day never happened,” he murmured. “And if God would not do that miracle—and restore Danny’s life—then I prayed for revenge on my father…”

  Drew recalled going to the kitchen next, eager to get out of the house. He chose foods that would not rot as he traveled: dried meats and small breads. A large chunk of cheese. A few onions. A skin of ale.

  No—two.

  And then he went to his family’s chapel. To hide and to pray.

  “I forgot all about that. I did no’ think anyone would look for me there,” he said aloud. “And they did no’ as I recall.”

  Liam had Eryn’s rosary beads.

  Drew spun on his boot heel and headed for the Bell chapel.

    

  The chapel was much like the others scattered on estates around England and Scotland. A heavy wooden door, carved with circles and Celtic crosses. Made of stone with a small high window or two. The wealthiest families had colored glass in the windows, stained with images of saints. The Bell chapel had one window of clear glass in the south wall, and one of painted glass in the east wall behind the altar.

  Rows of wooden benches lined up like soldiers. The front benches—intended for family members—had high backs for comfort and privacy. The other benches had no backs. They were merely utilitarian, intended for tenants and servants.

  The chapel was cold and dim. The sun hovered in the southwestern sky and glowed weakly through the small southward window. Drew was surprised there was no sign of the wedding that was supposed to take place in there yesterday; the building looked abandoned.

  He walked forward, expecting to find Liam sleeping on one of the high-backed pews. Not finding the boy stretched out on them, he looked under them.

  Liam wasn’t there.

  Drew stepped over the railing in front and looked under the altar table.

  Nothing.

 
; He rested his fists on his hips and scanned the church in the dimming light. He hadn’t noticed the confessional when he walked in—the tall carved cupboard was against the same wall as the entrance. He stepped back over the railing, looked again at all of the pews, and made his way to the double-doored cabinet.

  He opened the penitent’s side. Empty.

  He opened the priest’s side.

  Liam’s gaunt white face glowed up at him. He caught the glimmer of the beads.

  Before he could say aught, Liam launched himself from the closet and began beating his fists against any part of Drew he could reach. The boy had some decent strength for his size.

  “Why… did… you… leave?” Liam’s sobbing words echoed against the stone walls, reinforced by loud, gulping wails. “Why?”

  “William!” Drew deflected the blows aimed at his groin, but allowed the boy to land the rest of them. He understood the need to punish; the guilt of the victim was immaterial.

  “I hate you! I hate you!” Liam screamed. The punches he landed were going to leave bruises.

  The image of his sister Maggie doing and saying the exact same thing flashed into Drew’s thoughts. Why was everyone reacting so? All he ever did was what he thought he needed to do.

  “William! Calm yourself!” he admonished.

  That seemed to inflame Liam. He roared hoarsely and redoubled his efforts.

  Enough.

  Drew wrapped his arms around William, pinning the boy’s arms to his sides. He lifted the struggling lad and carried him to the front bench, trying to keep his shins out of the path of wildly swinging boots. He sat with Liam on his lap and held him tightly against his chest, effectively staunching most of the youngster’s aggressive actions.

  And he waited.

  “I can hold ye longer than ye can fight me,” he said in Liam’s ear. “And I’m a patient man.”

  The fire faded from Liam’s fisted fury.

  “Why did ye go?” he croaked. His breath came in spasms. His cheeks shone with tears and snot slicked his upper lip. He did not look at Drew.

  “If I let ye loose, will ye wipe yer nose and stay put?” Drew asked.

  After a moment of tight-mouthed consideration, Liam nodded. His eyes were still downcast.

  “Look at me, young William.”

  He shook his head, his red locks tumbling in his face. He swiped a sleeve under his nose.

  Drew said it again, more sternly. “Look at me, young William. I’m no’ angry with ye.”

  He looked up then, from the cover of his lowered brow.

  “I have to ask ye a question or two, ye ken?”

  He assented with a tiny nod.

  “All’s right then.” Drew shifted a little to settle his captive a bit more comfortably on his lap. “Did ye see what happened to Geoffrey McDougal?”

  Another infinitesimal nod.

  Shite. No wonder he’s hiding. “Did the Lady Eryn kill Geoffrey?”

  Liam’s lower lip quivered and his sobs renewed. The boy grew hysterical. Anguish bellowed out from his childish body with the force of a ferrier’s fan. Drew held Liam tightly on his lap and waited. Several long minutes passed until he passed the peak of his fit and Drew thought him able to listen and speak.

  “Can ye hear me?” he tested.

  Liam nodded shakily.

  “I need ye to tell me the truth, young William. I can no’ save anyone with a lie,” Drew said firmly.

  Liam’s words came as ragged as his crying. “She… did no’… kill him.”

  That was both a relief and a puzzle. Was someone else in the manor?

  “No?” Drew prodded.

  Liam waggled his head and descended into fresh spasms of wails. Tears dripped off his chin. He started to hiccough.

  “Who did, William?” Drew asked. “Did ye see?”

  He nodded, this time with determination. “It was me—I killed him.”

    

  Drew held Liam close to his chest. He rubbed the boy’s back while he cried and rocked him without thinking about it. Could Liam have pushed Geoffrey down the stairs? If the man was as gone with drink as the others said, that would not have required strength.

  But why?

  Was the constable threatening Eryn? Did he accuse her of cuckolding him? What did Liam hear?

  “William?” Drew whispered as the boy’s sorrow succumbed to exhaustion.

  His answer was a wet sniff.

  “Was there an argument?”

  Liam nodded.

  “Was Geoffrey upset?”

  Another nod.

  “What did ye do?”

  Liam grabbed the Roman coin hanging against his chest. “Ye told me that knights protect the women.”

  “Aye,” Drew said carefully.

  “So when he woke me with his yellin’ and bangin’ I looked to see what was amiss…”

  “He was banging on Lady Eryn’s door?” Drew guessed.

  He nodded. “And when she opened it, he went in the room. So I snuck into the passage and listened at the door.”

  “And what did ye hear, Liam?”

  “He was shoutin’ and callin’ her names. Bad names. He said she was a whore.” Liam looked down at his hands. “Then I kent I was right to be praying.”

  Drew’s brow wrinkled. “Praying what?”

  “I took Lady Eryn’s prayer beads. I told her I would pray hard for her husband,” Liam explained. “And I did!”

  Drew felt punched in the chest. “Ye were praying for Geoffrey McDougal, then.”

  Liam looked up at him, horrified. “No! I was praying for ye!”

  Another chest punch. Breathing became more difficult. “For me?”

  “Aye! I prayed that God would take Geoffrey away,” he cried. “And then bring ye back!”

  The impact of the boy’s wish was overshadowed by what Drew assumed he believed. “So ye think ye killed Geoffrey by praying for God to take him away?”

  He bounced a jerky flop-haired nod.

  “Oh, William,” Drew sighed. “Your prayer did no’ kill him.”

  “No!” Liam thumped his own thigh with a fist. “When I heard him comin’ to the door, I hid in the next room. I waited and counted to twenty. And then I came out.” Liam stopped and his face screwed tight.

  Drew squeezed his shoulder. “What happened next, son?”

  Silence.

  “Liam?”

  More tears, quiet ones this time. “Geoff was standin’ at the top of the steps. He was waverin’ and he had one foot in the air.”

  Drew squeezed his shoulder again and waited.

  “He turned real quick. He saw me. His foot came down, but missed the step. He started to fall. I was so scairt, I did this.” Liam curled tight, squeezed his eyes shut, and covered his ears.

  Drew pulled a deep and shaky sigh. No one pushed him. The drunken fool fell on his own. He pulled Liam’s hands from his ears.

  “What happened after that?”

  Liam shook his head. “I ran to my room, through the classroom, the parlor and the nursery, so I did no’ have to look down the stairs. Then I hid in my bed.”

  Drew understood every mite of Liam’s terror. To witness someone fall to their certain death—and to believe he was somehow at fault—was a horrific burden for the nine-year-old to shoulder.

  “Ye did no’ kill him, Liam. No’ with your prayers, nor with your attempts to protect the Lady Eryn. It’s no’ your fault in any way. Do ye hear me?”

  He felt the boy’s body sag against his. Liam’s eyes narrowed and searched Drew’s, testing the truth of his words.

  “Geoff acted foolishly. He drank too much, and he allowed others to work him up to a state where he was no’ thinking clear.” Drew ran his hand through Liam’s rusty hair and brushed it from his brow. “Ye are as innocent as the day ye were born, son. Do no’ think otherwise again.”

  “Aye?” he breathed.

  “Aye. But,” Drew continued, “why did Lady Eryn run away, do ye suppose? Was she afraid
she might be blamed for McDougal’s death?”

  Liam shook his head. “She did no’ ken he died.”

  “How do ye know that?”

  “I forgot to close my door, and when she was leaving she stopped and looked in. Then she went down the servants’ staircase.”

  “And ye can no’ see the bottom of the main stairs from the top…” Drew finished the thought. “So she did no’ see him laying there in his blood.”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever call out? Make any sound?”

  “No.”

  Drew leaned back and loosened his hold on Liam. What was she about? “Did ye hear anything at all, Liam, which might give a clue as to why Lady Eryn left?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  “What, then? Tell me.”

  “I heard Geoff say she was no better than her mither. One bastard begettin’ another, he said.”

  Drew’s blood roared in his ears. His body felt set on fire. Was it true? Could it be true? “What—what do ye think he meant?”

  Liam’s brow puckered in disbelief. “It means she’s havin’ a baby.”

  Drew had no words. Of course the boy was right. Of course she would leave. And of course she would go to the Abbey. It was the only other home she ever had.

  She hadn’t escaped a murder; she was escaping the humiliation of a broken betrothal and a bastard child.

  My child.

  “And,” Liam stated with all the confidence a nine-year-old owned. “She went to look for her right husband—you.”

    

  Liam repeated his stories of how Geoffrey fell, and how Eryn left, for Jamie and the rest of the household. Jamie wrote the accounts down, made a copy, and Drew and Liam signed them both. One would be posted in the town, the other would be locked up on the estate.

  Not included in the telling were the accusations of infidelity, nor the Lady’s delicate condition. One was no one’s business. The other, a private matter—for now.

  Until Drew found Eryn and confirmed Liam’s words.

  Then he would marry her immediately and she could have no objection to make.

  Drew paced in his room that night, rage boiling his blood. He was angry enough to strangle Eryn with his bare hands. How dared she run away instead of come to him? The child in her belly was his—she kent it as well as he. Even though she didn’t know about the leaking sheath, none other had ever shared her bed.