The Protector

by Becca St. John

  Too many to doubt. He must discern who to listen to and who not to listen to.

  He worried over the situation, as he headed to Derek’s old room and Albert’s tending. As he ordered, a guard stood at the door, Godric, one of Roland’s own men. As none of the castle garrison had yet pledged fealty, they were under guard themselves.

  “How goes it within?” He asked Godric, as he looked to the door. Once again, he on one side, Veri on another.

  “They’ve yet to come out and tell me,” the man answered.

  Roland narrowed his eyes. “Well?” he goaded, “what are you not telling me?”.

  The knight shifted. “It is not the ladies that worry me, but the interest from others. Your sister, Lady Hannah, is not pleased at being kept from the room.”

  “Is she not?”

  “Nay,” Godric shook his head, “She has threatened to round-up a guard to replace me.”

  “Did you tell her to speak to me?”

  “Aye,” he nodded, “but she told me she had, and that you’d given her leave to look at Sir Albert.”

  Roland frowned.

  Godric, always one to fill silence with words, continued, “I stopped a passing maid and asked her to summon Sir Jeffery or Sir Harold. I thought it best to have more men . . . in case . . .”

  “You did right,” Roland nodded, as he looked down the hallway for the other knights.

  “They’ve been a long time in coming.”

  Roland’s head snapped up. The other two knights would not be far, for they were as fond of Albert as Roland was.

  “Do not leave your post, and do not allow the women within to leave.” He commanded, as he set off in search of his knights.

  He saw them from the balcony. Jeffery and Harold, within the Great Hall, before the fire, hands behind their backs, in readiness to be called from any direction.

  “You are needed for Albert,” Roland called out.

  The soldiers took to the stairs.

  “How does he fare?” Harold asked.

  “Why did you bid us stay below stairs?” Jeffery asked.

  “You were ordered above stairs, not to stay in the Great Hall, and this some time ago.”

  “There is trouble?”

  “Brewing,” Roland snapped. “Jeffery,” They rounded a corner, “you have your ear to the ground, do you hear any sounds of opposition to my leadership?”

  Frowning, Jeffery shook his head.

  “Make yourself invisible in the way you do and keep your ears open. See to it that our pages do the same, and see that someone watch Hannah. If needs be, charm one of the kitchen wenches and see what she can tell you.”

  “You ask much,” Jeffery smiled.

  Harold laughed.

  “And Jeffery,” Roland had no time for ribald humor, “see to it that more of our men get to Albert’s room. Harold and I will go there directly. I believe we may find someone spinning a web around that door.”

  **********

  Ignacious stayed back in the shadows, as he watched the guard. The lord’s wife locked safely, snuggly within the room. No way to get to her, nor was she likely to come out.

  His Veri.

  Keen, hot, desire to confront burned, but he’d not risk arousing any suspicions. He would watch and wait.

  So many years of looking and here she had been all along. Guilt swamped, as he thought of the harm he caused, of the evil he suspected Lady Hannah of inflicting. He was a man of God, yet he could not let loose his of the flesh, nor could he stop those he loved.

  The thunder of men stormed through the hallway toward Veri’s chamber. Roland and two of his knights came around a corner, passed him without any notice. One separated, went another way.

  What good where they, if they could pass another, barely hidden within the shadows, taking no notice? They were not suitable guards.

  He would go to Lady Hannah. He would find her, in her rooms below stairs, among her herbs and potions. He would find his Lady Hannah, and together they would know what to do.

  Quietly, he moved from the shadows, his cassock flowing behind him as he hurried to the stairwell that would take him to the nether levels, where he suspected Hannah would be at work with her own brand of magic.

  **********

  “Was that the priest?” Roland asked the guard.

  “Aye, milord. He’s been huddled in that doorway for near on as long as I’ve been here.”

  Sharply, Roland turned his gaze from the fleeing back of the priest to look at Godric. “And you said naught? Earlier, you did not think to draw my attention to the man?”

  “He’s been no danger. He didn’t so much as take note of Lady Hannah. Just stared at this door, as though he could will it away.”

  With a slap of gloves against his open palm, Roland shot a knowing look toward Harold.

  “More guards should be here in a moment, Roland,” the other knight assured him. “Then we can go to them”

  “Aye, that we will, with fetters and chains!”

  “Them?” The guard queried, to be quieted by Roland’s raised hand. They all listened to the sound of others as they approached.

  Roland and Harold backed away, to blend into shadows a few feet down the hallway.

  “Douse that torch, Harold,” Roland ordered.

  As the deed was done, plunging them further into shadow, four house guards came around a corner, led by the old maid Gelda. None of these men had been in the entrance over an hour ago. Clever that, to send new men.

  “Halt,” Godric commanded.

  “Nay,” the house guard refused, “Our lord has commanded we take the witches.”

  “And I’ve brought some broth for Albert. ‘Twas made special like by the Lady Cynthia,” Gelda weedled.

  Roland sensed Harold’s abrupt stilling, the negating shake of his head. The broth was not from Cynthia.

  Godric smiled. “As you know, we’ve had testers of late.” Gelda hissed, like a warning snake, but it did not stop his soldier. “Go ahead, maid, take a drink.”

  “You’d not trust a faithful retainer, who has been with the family her entire life?”

  “I’d trust no one.”

  “It matters not, boy,” one of the garrison men answered, “for we have been ordered by his lordship to take over the watch.”

  From the shadows, Roland murmured, “this grows tiresome.” Old Gelda, head tilted toward the voice from the darkness, slipped back into the shadows.

  Restlesss, the garrison men pressed in on Godric, as the door to the room opened. Veri on the threshold, disheveled, her arm raised to swipe at hair fallen across her brow, her hands stained with Albert’s blood.

  The garrison guard barged in, shouting. “Take the witches!”

  Roland’s roar surged into a war cry, shattered the air but, rather than stop, it incited their zeal. Like a swarm of pests, they stormed the chamber flinging Veri against the wall, her head hitting the stone wall with a hard crack. Another guard caught Angelica round the waist, lifted her from her feet, a fist full of her hair yanked to force her head sharply back. With a shove, another had Jasmine on the floor, his foot at the base of her spine, his sword aimed at the back of her neck.

  Dazed, Veri pushed against the wall, attempting freedom, only to be thrown back again, sword point pressed to her throat.

  Propelled by rage, Roland charged into the fray, Harold on his heels. Godric lay dazed and useless upon the floor, a victim of the onslaught.

  Pale and groggy, Albert tried to lift his head.

  Empowered with the show of force, Gelda hobbled into the room. “Take his lordship as well,” she cackled, her crooked finger pointing toward Roland.

  No one moved.

  “Take him!” Gelda cried

  A moment, a mere breath of time, no more than a shift of Roland’s eyes to Harold, and stillness erupted from nothing to everything. In that blink, both men held their own hostages. Roland’s sword point drawing blood from the neck of the man who stood over his Veri. Harold’s pie
rced the mail of the heart of the one holding Jasmine. No one moved. No one dared.

  Nostrils flared, muscles bunched, Roland’s voice remained soft, almost gentle as he asked the man Harold held captive. “Who ordered you to take these women?”

  “They were your orders, sir.”

  Roland’s lip lifted in a cynical smile as his sword edged further into the flesh of the man he held. “Do you still think so?”

  “No. . .”

  “Yes!” Gelda cried, “do you not see? She has him baffle- headed. At one moment . . .”

  “Stop!” Roland bellowed, as he yanked his prisoner away from Veri. “Stop your foolish ramblings, crone! This is my domicile, this is my wife!” His sword rounded an arc, as he used it to point to Veri.

  “She is working magic on one of our men!” The leader of the guard shouted.

  “Aye,” Albert gasped, “till you stopped her.”

  “Oh, Albert,” Veri reached his side, soothed the hair from his forehead, “be still, just lie quietly. Roland will sort this out.” She looked over her shoulder, and Roland knew why he fought to protect her, why he strove to keep her here rather than let her leave.

  She made him feel as though he could hold the world upon his shoulder. And he knew, if he were but half as strong as she dreamed, he would be strong enough to let her go.

  “She is right, old man,” Roland urged Albert to quiet, “we will sort through this mess if the old woman would tell me where she received her direction.”

  Gelda slumped in on herself once more, as though, by making herself smaller, no one would see her.

  The men shifted, those who held Jasmine and Angelica, looked from one to another, not certain who to listen to.

  “Let them go.” Albert rasped.

  Their eyes shot to Roland, who nodded in assent. With release, the women rolled their shoulders. In a turn of character, Angelica helped Jasmine up and then to where Albert lay. There was new strength in Angelica’s haughty tilt of chin, despite the tears that pooled within her eyes.

  “It was your sister, sir, Lady Hannah.” One of the soldiers offered. “She claimed it your request.”

  “I see.” Roland nodded. They were more the castle’s men than his own. “And how many of you are prepared to pledge your fealty to her?”

  “Milord, . . . these women . . .”

  “Aye?” Roland crossed the room, to stand between the women and the garrison guard. Harold and Godric joined him. “What of these women?”

  He waited, tensed, as he watched all but one fall to their knees, heads bowed. With the side of his blade, he urged the one standing to look at him.

  “You’re Hannah’s man?”

  “No sir.”

  “Yet you followed her orders?”

  “She said they came from you.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Thomas, sir.”

  “Are you ready to pledge your fealty, Thomas?”

  “Aye.”

  Roland released him. Thomas dropped to his knees.

  “Tonight,” Roland addressed Thomas, “you will prove, or disprove, your allegiance. For now, follow us.” With a jerk of his head, he had Harold beside him, just as twelve of his own men filled the doorway.

  He addressed them. “It is time we corner the foxes in their den! Sort out this mess.” He ordered his head guard, “see who is loyal and who is not and have them sent packing.” Gelda slipped to the doorway. “And see that the old woman sleeps within the dungeon tonight. In the darkest, coldest . . .”

  “Roland!” Veri placed a hand upon his sleeve, “put her under guard if you will, but she is not to sleep within that disease infested place.”

  “You ask much.”

  “I ask little.”

  As he cupped her head in his hand, felt the lump already swelling, another formed in his throat. So small, so fragile, yet her spirit ran large. “She once had you put to the dungeon. She would have seen worse come to you if she could have.”

  Veri nodded and he understood Angelica’s show of pride along with tears. “And should we all set our ways to the worst that comes to us? Wouldn’t that make the world a very bad place, indeed.”

  He wanted to tell her it was a very bad place, he wanted to tell her that she would never be safe until she understood that, but she sensed the thoughts he fought, for she continued. “Think of what bitterness did to Dori. Think of those you trust, such as Harold and Albert. Think of your sister Margaret.”

  “You, wife,” he bent his head, felt the soft slide of her hair, smelled the wildflower freshness of it. “I will think of you, and believe the world can be a better place.”

  Veri tilted her face, so their lips were a mere breath apart. “And you husband, I will think of you and know that no danger will come to me.”

  Her words choked him much as, no more than a boy, words choked him when his mother died. He had yet to protect her, to truly make her safe. All he had managed, until now, was to deflect attack.

  “Stay within this room until you hear my voice telling you differently.” He made her promise.

  “As you will.”

  He studied her, not fully certain she would hold to her word.

  “I need to see to Albert.” She tried to ease his doubt. He tipped his head, touched his lips to hers, a butterfly’s brush of lips. “Do that.” He instructed.

  With a curt nod and instructions for the other women to see to Veri’s battered head, he joined Harold outside the room. Harold strode on his right, Thomas his left, a contingency of knights in their wake.

  “Thomas,” he didn’t bother to look at the young guard.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How strong is Lady Hannah’s hold on the guard?”

  The man stopped. Roland halted, raised his eyebrows as he waited.

  “All of her direction comes from you.”

  Roland didn’t bother to respond.

  “She claims they are from you.” He amended.

  “Through Gelda?”

  “Aye, milord.”

  “You men listened to the crone, but not to the knights who went on Crusade with me?”

  Thomas bristled. “They think themselves better than they are, sir!”

  “Thomas!” Roland’s patience was gone, “If I put a man over the guard, then he is there to give you some order! Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And do you know why I have been able to dissolve rebellion, without blood being drawn, twice today?” He ignored Harold’s chuckled. “Almost no blood.”

  Thomas did not. “Do you see, sir? Do you see the lack of any respect?”

  “Child’s play, Thomas. Harold acts like a child and you, aye, respond like a child. But when it comes to orders, it is time to drop the toys and act as men!” Roland rolled his shoulders. “Or else you have no strength of purpose, no focus of leadership. You remain children, Thomas. Do you see? Obstinate, rebellious children, with a temperament to match!”

  “I have nearly two-score and ten years, sir!”

  Roland snorted his disgust. “Tell him, Harold, tell him why the guard is pitifully weak!”

  “Beg pardon, sir!” Thomas objected.

  “Stand tall, man!” Harold shouted. “The guard is weak because you lack the discipline of command, boy. You snivel when you are confronted and you have no true leadership.”

  “But we have his lordship here now.”

  Harold stopped him. “Then trust who he puts over you. Trust that he knows their weaknesses as well as their strengths, and that he will do what suits the learner best.”

  As disgusted as Roland, Harold stepped lively to catch up with his lord.

  “Still green, Roland, they’re still green, but teachable.”

  Roland grunted, rounded a corner and asked, “what is Cynthia to you?”

  Harold allowed three strides to pass before he responded. “I wish her to wife.”

  This time Roland stopped, stunned, before he could gather his wits to move forw
ard. “To wife, you say?” He frowned.

  Harold held him back, as the others continued.

  “What is it?” Roland barked.

  “I am the father of her son.” Harold blurted and stood, the muscle of his jaw tight with tension.

  “You cuckolded my brother? You took his wife as your own, and you would dare admit this to me?”

  “Better than to live in lies.”

  “Then best give me a reason other than her beauty, for my own assumptions could have you hung!”

  Harold looked to the other men, who now waited farther down the hallway, watching. “I have pursued the Lady Cynthia since before my sixteenth birthday. Her father would not have me as her husband. He preferred a wealthier, titled alliance.”

  “And so you claimed her anyway.”

  “She was not your brother’s choice of bride.”

  Roland sucked this information in, trying to remember events that he would have been too young, and then too far away, to know much about. As he absorbed Harold’s words, he turned to continue on his way.

  “Who then, was his choice.”

  The other knights followed.

  “The Lady Alice.”

  “Lord Belter’s niece?”

  “The same. And the reason for your brother being absent from this domain so much of his marriage.”

  “She was at court.”

  “As was your brother.”

  Roland’s nostrils flared.

  “Your child has no place as heir of Oakland.”

  “Nay,” Harold responded, keeping stride with his Lord, “as you well know, I have my own lands now, my own fortune.”

  “Aye, I should know, for I was with you when you acquired them.”

  “I will still be your arms.”

  “That I should trust, as you have my brother’s widow’s child. But that will not stop me from asking you to swear the child is no heir to my family’s holdings.”

  “Done.” They continued on in silence, until Harold finally asked, “You would wish us well?”

  “Aye, I will wish you well, for as long as my wife fares well.”

  “She will come to no harm.”

  “You cannot know that.” Roland pickedup their pace.

  “She will stay within that room, until you go to her. She will be safe there.”