Halloween Knight

by Tori Phillips

  Belle sighed. “If I have lost Mark, twill all be for nothing. He is worth more to me than that heap of stones or a priceless jewel.” She touched the brooch that was still pinned to her ragged garment.

  Jobe squeezed her shoulder. “You have become a very wise woman this night.”

  She glared at him. “What good is wisdom if it comes too late?”

  Jobe stared at the castle. “Mark is safe enough. Tis not yet his time.”

  Hope swelled in her breast. She shook Jobe. “Truly? He will not die?”

  Jobe chuckled. “We all die, mistress, but not tonight. And everything is not yet over. Come, you will see.”

  Belle started to ask him what he meant, but she knew enough of Jobe to realize that he never explained his cryptic answers until he was ready. Huddling close to Kitt under the cape, she stumbled after the giant man. Much to her surprise, Montjoy waited for them in the driver’s seat of a small pony cart filled with hay.

  “How did you know?” Belle asked, snuggling gratefully into the sweet-smelling load. Kitt curled up next to her.

  Montjoy sniffed in his usual fashion. “This black wizard of yours told me to bring the cart and wait. I am sure that he gleans his knowledge from unholy sources but tis prudent not to ask.” He draped a dry blanket over the Cavendish siblings.

  Instead of leading the pony down the road, Jobe sat cross-legged and faced Bodiam. “Soon now.”

  As he spoke, a small pinpoint of light shot up into the sky and exploded red stars over the silent castle. Suddenly, a sparkling silver waterfall poured from the hideous mouths of all the gargoyle rainspouts in the northeast drum tower. The three other drum towers guarding the castle’s corners erupted with similar firefalls.

  Kitt’s eyes glowed. “Uncle Andrew’s fireworks! I had forgotten about them. But who is doing it?”

  Jobe tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. “Four bright lads who have spent the whole day hiding in the stable loft.”

  Despite being chilled to the bone, Belle couldn’t help but admire the sight of Bodiam Castle clothed in silver. The moat’s dark waters reflected the light. “Mortimer will kill those boys if he catches them.”

  Jobe shook his head. “They will not be captured. I showed them some of your secret passages. Mortimer will think he has more rats within his walls.”

  “What secret passages?” snapped Kitt.

  Belle frowned at him. She didn’t care to reveal all her secrets to him. “I found them ages ago. If you are a clever boy, you’ll find them too someday.” If we ever return to Bodiam.

  As the firefalls died out, whirligigs of colored lights spun along the battlements. The fire starters were indeed clever for they kept several jumps ahead of the confused guards. Shouts inside the castle floated over the still waters of the moat.

  “Tis too bad that the townspeople missed this show,” Belle remarked to Montjoy. “Uncle Andrew has outdone himself.”

  The old steward chuckled. “There are more of us hiding in these woods than you think, my dear,” he replied. “Many of your good friends knew of the fireworks and once I had convinced them that you were not a ghost, they stayed to watch.”

  I wonder if Mark can see it. Belle closed her eyes for a moment and sent a prayer for his safety winging to heaven.

  Shrill whistling rockets suddenly ascended from the four cardinal points. They arced high over the castle and exploded into gold and red stars.

  “Tis true, Jobe,” Kitt breathed with wonder as he watched the sparks cascade down from the sky. “You once told me there would be a devil darkness and a night of brilliant stars.”

  “Just so,” Jobe replied.

  The castle grew still again. “Is that the lot?” Belle asked.

  “One more, though where it will come from not even I can guess. Wait and watch.”

  Belle peered into the night, not knowing what to expect. They waited, listening to the confused guards shout to each other along the battlements. The stable boys lay very low. Then, from the southern mid tower another rocket shot into the sky. Belle heard a small pop followed by several more. Suddenly an enormous silver wolf’s head hung directly over the castle. Its eyes spun with red pinwheels and a large red tongue spewed red stars down into the courtyard.

  Tears pricked Belle’s eyes when she beheld the Cavendish family’s wolf badge. Kitt jumped up, rocking the cart.

  “Huzzah!” he shouted waving both hands in the air. Then he threw back his head and shouted the family war cry for the first time in his young life. “A Cavendish! A Cavendish to me!”

  Belle glowed with pride and determination. “Nothing will stop us, Marcus. You’ll see!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mark spent the remainder of that memorable night curled up at the dry end of Bodiam’s foul oubliette located deep under the northwest tower. He pulled his knees closer to his chest and listened to little rodent feet skittering across the dank stone floor. He hated rats, especially now when he couldn’t see them. One dropped onto his arm. With an oath, he flipped the creature in the general direction of the tiny cell’s flooded end. At least Belle and Kitt were safe, he consoled himself.

  He touched his tongue to the split on his lip. Before Mortimer’s men had dragged him down to this hellhole, they had beaten him practically senseless while Mortimer stood by exhorting them to strike harder. The man was more barbaric than Jobe could ever be.

  Another rat ran over his foot. Mark kicked at it. It didn’t matter that he had no light to see by. His eyes were swollen shut from the heavy-handed louts who had taken their pleasure pounding him into a pulp. He rubbed the old break on his arm. It throbbed from warding off the blows that had rained down on him.

  An enormous furry rat pushed itself against him. Jesu! This one felt as large as Belle’s cat. Then it mewed.

  “Dexter?” he mumbled. His jaw ached with the effort.

  With a snarl, the cat launched itself at an unseen enemy. A rat squealed its death throes. Dexter returned to Mark’s side.

  “Good boy,” he said through his bruised lips. He tentatively petted his protector. “How did you get in here?” he asked.

  The cat purred against him. Mark continued to stroke his thick fur. If the cat found a way in, there might be promise of a way out—if only Mark could see.

  Dexter stiffened, snarled, then launched himself at another rodent. When he had dispatched the attacker, he returned once more to Mark’s side.

  “You are the prince of cats,” he praised. His nose had been so pushed out of shape that he couldn’t sneeze even if he wanted to. In any event, he infinitely preferred Dexter’s company to being eaten alive by the rats.

  After several more defensive actions by the cat, the scuffling ceased altogether. As the hours crawled by, Mark’s joints stiffened from the cold and the punishment he had endured. He shivered. Dexter crawled into the space between his chest and his thighs. The cat’s warmth brought him a tiny measure of comfort.

  “Now I see why Belle loved you so much,” he remarked as Dexter curled up against him. “You are truly a friend in need.”

  Mark put his head down in the crook of his elbow and prayed for sleep. He needed all his wits about him when next the guards came for him.

  If they ever came for him.

  The groaning of the rusted hinges on the trap door above his head woke Mark. The lantern light hurt his slitted eyes. With little ceremony and many curses, Fowler and his men hauled Mark out of his confinement. His cramped muscles refused to sustain his weight. The guards dragged him up the stairs to the courtyard. Dexter trotted behind them.

  The rain had returned during the night. Mark lifted his battered face to its healing drops and stuck out his tongue to slake his burning thirst. Five horses stood saddled in the courtyard, including Artemis. Hunched inside the protection of an oilskin cloak, Mortimer glowered down at his prisoner.

  The churl looks as if he has had as vile a night as I have.

  “Good morrow, Fletcher,” Mark croaked. �
��Did you sleep well?”

  Mortimer ignored his jibe. “Bind his hands!” he barked to Fowler.

  As if I had the strength to fight or run!

  With a cold glint in his eye, Fowler wrapped a thick rope around Mark’s wrists and pulled the knots tight enough to hamper circulation. Mark gritted his teeth but said nothing. I will remember your smiling face, villainous knave. You will rue this day, I swear.

  Then two of the guards hoisted Mark onto his horse. He clung to the pommel while his numb feet searched for the stirrups. Before he could seat himself squarely into the saddle, Mortimer gave a signal and they rode out through the open gateway. Mark did not bother to cast a backward glance as Bodiam receded behind him. The castle was only a hollow shell; its life extinguished by the villain who rode ahead of him.

  Instead, Mark squinted at the woods on either side of the road. The rain turned everything into a blur of brown and orange. Just then, a bird’s shrill whistle rose above the raindrops’ patter. Mark cracked his lips in a semblance of a smile. Somewhere among the trees, Jobe followed them. Mark wondered what action his friend would take.

  Must be ready.

  At the crossroads, the company turned away from Hawkhurst and rode steadily toward the seacoast. Mortimer must be taking me to Rye, either to jail me or to put me out in the Channel in a leaking boat.

  Mark’s head throbbed from lack of food and his injuries. It took all the strength he could muster to stay upright on his horse. Twas a good thing that Belle could not see him now, he thought, as Mortimer relentlessly pounded down the road ahead of him. Mark was not the picture of a heroic knight.

  Every so often throughout the remainder of that wet miserable journey, Mark heard Jobe’s whistle. At least, his friend had the prudence not to attempt a rescue against such well-armed odds. By the time the party drew up in front of Rye’s town hall, Mark was near to falling from his mount. He laid his head on Artemis’s neck while Mortimer went inside the building to vent his grievances into the nearest bailiff’s unsuspecting ear. Mark did not care what happened next as long as he could sleep and eat. His guards looked longingly down the cobbled street at the cheery sign of the Mermaid Inn.

  After a tedious delay Mortimer emerged from the building and signaled for Mark to be brought inside. The guards pulled him out of his saddle and dragged him up the steps. At least he was now out of the rain. The bailiff, portly with his own importance, cast a piggish eye at Mark.

  “Take him down,” he instructed several other men who hovered by the door.

  I wonder what lies Mortimer has told them. The bailiff looked like the type of rogue who lined his ample pockets with bribes. Mark comforted himself with the thin hope that his friends would soon sort out his current plight. The guards dragged him down a set of stone steps and tossed him into a foul cell that reeked of urine. At least it had a small window, though stoutly barred and open to nature’s whims. Later a minion brought him a bowl of watery gruel, a crust of stale bread and an armful of clean straw. When Mark attempted to question his keeper, he discovered that the man was deaf and dumb.

  Warmed by the scant fare, Mark collapsed on his straw and fell into a deep, healing sleep.

  His first visitor arrived the following morning; but it wasn’t Montjoy or Belle as he had hoped but Lady Katherine Cavendish, Sir Brandon’s wife. Though taken by surprise, Mark struggled to his feet and gave her a pale imitation of a bow. With his best clothes now torn and filthy, his face battered and unshaven, and having had no opportunity to clean himself, his appearance deeply embarrassed him.

  “My lady,” he said hoarsely. “Tis good of you to come. Forgive my—”

  Lady Kat shook her head at his apologies. “No need for forgiveness, Mark. Sit down before you fall down.”

  The keeper appeared behind her carrying a load of bags and baskets. He dropped them in a heap, then scurried off to find a stool for the noblewoman. Lady Kat waited until they were alone once again before she resumed the conversation. She tucked her skirts closely around her feet then gave Mark a warm smile.

  “Well, my boy, you seem to have landed yourself in a deep pickle barrel this time.”

  Mark returned her smile though it hurt his swollen lips. “Just so, my lady. Tell me that I am not dreaming. Why aren’t you at Wolf Hall? How fares Belle? Is she safe? And Kitt?”

  “All in good time, Mark.” Lady Kat pointed to one of the canvas bags. “In there are some blankets. Wrap yourself up this minute. I will not have you freeze to death while we talk.”

  Mark mumbled his grateful thanks as his stiff fingers untied the bag. He drew out a clean thick woolen blanket and draped it around his shoulders. Now I know exactly how Belle felt when I first saw her, he thought ruefully. “And Belle?” he asked again. “Nothing is ill if she is well.”

  Lady Kat arched her brow. “Tis very gallant of you to say that considering where you are. Belle is in London staying with Francis’s old tutor at the Inns of Court. She is getting you a lawyer. You are going to need one.”

  Mark hid his disappointment. He wanted desperately to see Belle and yet for his vanity’s sake, he was glad that she was not here. “What are the charges against me?”

  Lady Kat drew in a quick breath of astonishment. “Sweet Saint Anne! Did no one tell you?”

  He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, reveling in its warmth. “Nay, my lady. My gaoler’s tongue is tied up and I have seen no one else till now.”

  Lady Kat gave her shoulders a little shake. “Master Fletcher is indeed a nasty piece of work. As I understand it, he has brought suit against you for breach of contract, fraud and disturbing the peace.”

  Mark shrugged. “All false and can be easily proved in my favor. Can you arrange bail for me, my lady? I will pay you back in full measure.”

  She gave him a sweet sad look. “Ah, dear Mark, if I only could! But there is one other charge that is the most dire. Fletcher swears that you have stolen some personal property of his worth over a thousand pounds.”

  Mark gaped at her. “Surely he jests!”

  She shook her head.

  He slumped against the cold plaster wall. “Tis a hanging offense,” he muttered. “But what property? I have nothing to my name now but what is on my back.”

  “I know not, nor could Brandon discover the particulars though he shouted a great deal at that ass of a constable.”

  Mark lifted his brows. “My lord is here? But his hip—”

  “Is mending well,” Lady Kat replied. “And your predicament is the perfect tonic for his spirits. He wanted to challenge Mortimer Fletcher in personal combat. Fortunately, I talked him out of it. Brandon still depends upon his crutches.”

  Mark grinned. “I would like to have seen Mortimer’s face if my lord had indeed sent his challenge. Twould be worth all my bruises.”

  Lady Kat handed him a small basket. “You have a most loyal friend in your African. He told us of your mistreatment. Here are some salves and ointments made especially for you by Mistress Owens. Also bandages and some poppy juice to ease your pain.”

  Mark pressed his lips together for a moment until he had his raw emotions under control. “Please convey my most profound thanks to that wonderful woman. By my soul, Lady Kat, tis good to know that I have friends in this cold world.”

  Her eyes sparkled with a liquid brightness. “You are loved far more than you can imagine.” She cleared her throat. “And if you look out of your window, you will spy Jobe in the alley across the way. He has watched over you ever since he informed us of your capture.”

  Mark set the basket aside. He would make good use of its contents later when Lady Kat was gone. Bless you, noble African! He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Then you are not too angry…about Kitt?” he ventured to ask.

  The boy’s mother rolled her eyes. “That scamp should be hung by his heels for the anxious moments he has given me this past month, but to tell you the truth, I am full of amazement when I see him. All of a sudden, my little boy is more
grown up. He and Brandon had a long conference together.” She snorted. “Not for a woman’s ears, they told me, though I soon learned the whole tale of your adventures. Brandon does nothing but puff out his chest with pride in his son. He, that is we, would count it an honor if you would keep Kitt as your squire.”

  “Before or after they hang me?” Mark asked, only half in jest. Mortimer’s calumny troubled his spirits.

  Lady Kat shook her head. “Tush, you will live to break many more hearts.”

  He looked down at his hands. “There is only one heart I want now,” he whispered. And the flighty chit has gone to London. Once more she leaves me without a word of comfort. Aloud he asked, “Have you now returned to Bodiam, my lady? I fear we left it in great disarray.”

  A dark frown crept over her beautiful face. “Nay, we lodge outside Rye at the home of dear friends. Alas, Bodiam is still plagued with that maggot Fletcher. As he is legally Belle’s brother-in-law tis his right, especially since Belle is still thought to be dead. Oh! I could cut that man up in pieces inch by inch when I think of the pain his loathsome letter almost caused us. That man’s heart is a chunk of ice.”

  Mark whistled through his teeth. “He has more perseverance than I suspected.” He cleared his throat. “Tell me, does Kitt still have a paper that I gave to him?”

  Lady Kat nodded. “Aye, though he did not say what it was.”

  Good lad! Mark swallowed. “Please tell him that I said to give it to you and my lord. Please, my lady, think kindly of me when you read its contents. In truth, I want nothing for myself. Tis only for Belle’s sake. I wrote it only to protect her property from that churl. When this episode is past and Bodiam Castle is once more in her sweet care, tear up the document. I will be content.”

  “You have aroused my curiosity, Mark,” she said. “What does this interesting piece of paper say?”

  Mark avoided her eyes. “Twould be best if you read it through first, rather than hear of it from my mouth. My brains are so scrambled at the moment that I can barely think straight. I have not eaten a real meal in two days.”