But it was apparent enough that Derrik hated Geoffrey and wanted to punish her for associating with her cousin. The unfairness of it all struck her to the core. Her breathing came out ragged, uneven, and that tight feeling wrapped around her chest, squeezing it until she could hardly breathe.
But Derrik wasn’t done destroying her yet.
His entire demeanor had changed. Gone was the pleasant knight that she had come to know. The man before her now was a cold, calculating mercenary that would readily stab her or anyone else in the back.
“I know where Lord Stanbury is hidden,” he said, looking straight at Roldan.
“Nay!” Amelie screamed. She grabbed Derrik’s arms, shaking him. She gazed up at his face, searching for the honorable knight that she thought she knew. “Why are you telling him where my father is?”
“Excellent.” Roldan’s mouth curled into a satisfied smile. “We shall ride out now.”
Derrik looked over her head and nodded.
Panic squeezed painfully at her heart.
“Please, Derrik! Do not tell him where my father is hidden.” She released his arms, and instead pulled at the front of his tunic, desperately clutching the rough fabric in her fists. She stared into his eyes while her own shimmered with tears. “Do not do this,” she whispered.
Derrik carefully disentangled himself from her grip and set her aside.
“We can leave now, Your Grace, however it will take us five hours to get there.” He looked up at the fading light. “’Tis unlikely that we’ll get to the place before nightfall. I suggest that we wait until first light before we make the journey.”
“Fine,” Roldan said. The annoyance he expressed earlier had dissipated, and he continued to watch them with mild interest. He stroked the smooth tip of his walking stick, a contemplative expression crossing his countenance. But instead of speaking what was on his mind, he said, “We shall ride out at first light.”
“I can have my troop join yours then,” Derrik said, making plans with Roldan as if she wasn’t present.
A sound of rage burst through her lips. She hurtled herself at Derrik and pushed at him with as much force as she could muster. But even then she couldn’t get much satisfaction, for he barely budged from his spot.
“You betrayed me and my father,” she hissed. Stepping back, she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. “All this time I trusted you while you worked in concert with my uncle.”
He gazed at a point over her head, although she could see the muscles on his jaw flexing with every accusation that she flung at him.
“The both of you are despicable,” she said, looking at the two men with hate spitting from her eyes.
“I am surprised that you are so gullible, Amelie,” Roldan said, baring his teeth at her, although there was no trace of amusement on his lips. His eyes hardened. “Sir Derrik is a king’s man, however he reports to me as well.”
“I do not care who he works for.” She glanced at Derrik and then shifted her gaze back to her uncle. “Your dishonor toward my father and our king is not only disgraceful but — but wicked,” she sobbed. “I hope you both burn in hell for this sedition.”
“Once again,” Roldan shook his head slowly, his jaw tense. “I would caution you in your choice of words, my dear.”
And even through her curtain of despair, she could sense the dark, cold fury beneath his words.
“When your father is executed,” Roldan continued, “you and your mother will be at my mercy. I will not tolerate this display of insolence in the future.”
“I would rather die than be at your mercy!”
“That can easily be satisfied,” he said, baring his teeth again. Then he slanted a sly look over at Derrik. “I may even ask your knight here to grant you your death wish.”
Chapter 32
Gordon absently pressed a hand to the dull ache in his torso. The wound he had sustained from the attack was severe. By the time the Healer found him, the cut had festered, and he was almost out of his mind with pain and delirium. She administered a poultice on the infected area, and managed to make him lucid again. And although the intense throbbing pain faded into something more bearable, it now served as a constant reminder of his brother’s duplicity.
He pulled at the material that clung to his body. The Healer’s servant had brought him an extra tunic from Wykeham. At first Gordon was glad to change into a different outfit since the one that he wore was tattered from the knife attack. But this borrowed tunic he wore was thicker and more suitable for winter. He wasn’t used to the coarse, scratchy wool. And though he tried his best to ignore the abrasive feel of the material against his skin, he didn’t dare take it off. There were too many blood thirsty insects buzzing around him, and he didn’t want to be eaten alive.
The hot, humid air made him feel weak, and he was forced to stop many times to rest. He didn’t know how much time had passed, likely more than the three hours that Sir Derrik had predicted. Soon enough, the sun was setting above the trees, and he had no idea of knowing how much further he needed to go. All he was aware of was his overwhelming thirst, and the constant rumbling in his belly.
Licking his lips, he longed for a cool tankard of ale to moisten his dry throat. The map that Sir Derrik drew on the ground made the trip seem deceptively short. Everyone had left the Healer’s cave in such haste that no one had thought to equip him with a flask of ale to slake his thirst, or even to give him stale bread to stem his hunger.
But now was not a time to moan about the lack of small comforts, he told himself sternly.
At first when he caught sight of the patch of wild blackcurrant bushes, he thought he was hallucinating. But as he nudged the horse closer, the sweet, sticky smell of the fruits was unmistakable. His heart soared. Abruptly stopping the horse, he nearly launched himself into the shrubs, stuffing the juicy berries into his mouth. He was so focused on eating that it was almost too late when he discovered that he wasn’t alone. Just on the other side of the bushes was a wild boar and her four piglets.
His hands stopped in mid-motion, and the sweet currants turned to dust in his mouth. He had been on many hunts before, and was well aware of how dangerous wild boars were. A male boar could kill with his tusks, while a female could easily send a man to his death if she thought her young were threatened in any way.
Slowly, Gordon backed away, glad that the boar hadn’t noticed him. But with his eyes so focused on the beast, he wasn’t watching his footing. He bumped into a small rock and then losing his balance, his foot fell on a dry twig.
A loud crack shot through the still air.
The boar raised her head and stared right at him.
He felt the blood draining from his face, and he lifted his juice stained hands into the air as he cautiously moved further back.
“I’m looking for food just the same as you,” he told the boar.
The small ears on the black boar twitched at the sound of his voice. And with her great head, she continued to glare at him, a menacing gleam in her beady eyes. She let out a loud snort, and then without further warning, she started to charge. Her short legs raced at him at an impossible speed. With her mouth gaping, she displayed sharp teeth that were ready to bite into his flesh and rip him into pieces.
Gordon ran to the horse. But the palfrey, seeing man and beast rushing at it, reared its hind legs, and took flight in the opposite direction.
So with no other choice Gordon turned, with his heart in his throat, and ran for his life. The snorting boar dashed at his heels as he raced to a tree he saw up ahead. And with strength that he didn’t know he still possessed, he threw himself at the tree. He barely had enough time to clamber up the rough bark when the boar let out a loud, angry squeal. She rose up on her hind legs, trying unsuccessfully to climb up after him.
With a great sigh of relief, his fingers grasped at the top branches just as the vicious, demonic sounds beneath him increased in volume.
He had escaped with his life, but only barely
.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the boar snorted, almost in disdain, and left him shaking among the leaves. By that time, the sun was making its rapid descent, and Gordon was reluctant to climb down from the tree and face whatever else was down there, waiting for him. So he decided to stay in the tree, settling between the forking branches. And he sat there, looking bleakly at the forest floor. His horse was now gone, and there was only so far he could walk in the fading light. And as his encounter with the wild boar proved, it was dangerous for him to wander alone and defenseless in the forest. When daylight came, he would continue his journey.
But daylight seemed far off. It wasn’t the constant, rhythmic hoo-hoo of the owls, the chirping crickets, or the scratching and rustling noises coming from the bushes below that bothered him. He felt assured that at least no boar, bear or wolf would try to eat him while he rested in the tree. The problem he wrestled with now was how he planned to make Roland pay. His tumultuous mind called up the image of his brother like an unwanted apparition, while another part of his brain concentrated on Stanbury Castle.
Vaguely he was aware that his legs had turned numb, and that the inky darkness had folded all around him. He wondered if Edeline was dying. He choked back a sob. Would he ever see his beloved again? He had been so wrong to leave her after their last disappointment. It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t give him sons. It was just that he was so full of pain and grief, and he needed to get away from everything that reminded him of his failure. He was all too aware that all his possessions would go to Roldan if he failed to produce an heir.
Gordon looked up at the stars twinkling in the night sky. At least God blessed him with a strong and courageous daughter. Amelie had shown her true mettle when she sought him out despite the price on his head, and the danger she faced. Perhaps if he prayed long and hard, God would allow Edeline to recover from her illness, and issue His divine wrath on Roldan.
His thoughts darkened at the thought of his brother. He was so idiotic and trusting, and should never have tried to talk Roldan out of his foolish endeavor. Yet no matter how many times that they saw things differently, Gordon still loved his older brother, and had only good intentions toward him. They were family after all. He grinded his teeth as his mood became increasingly bitter.
“’Tis apparent that only I hold this belief,” he muttered angrily to himself. “Roldan is likely laughing at my stupidity.”
It rattled him to the core that Roldan would set him up for a fall. Tightening his grip on a branch, he squeezed it until the bark flaked off into his palm. He reluctantly loosened his hold. If he clasped any tighter, the dried limb would break. The last thing he needed was to fall onto the hard ground, and become fodder for the nocturnal beasts waiting below.
And so his thoughts whirled and collided, and it was when the black sky slowly took on a gray cast that he scrambled down from the tree.
The dawning of the sun brought new luck, and Gordon found his horse not too far from his tree. He was then able to continue onward to his destination. But he knew that this area of the shire was remote, although he never had the need to go this far north. Anyone could see why so few people ventured to these parts. There were no roads to navigate, and large boulders and fallen tree were strewn everywhere, creating hazardous obstacles.
Conjuring Sir Derrik’s map to his mind, he was uncertain as to whether he headed in the right direction. This place was far from the king’s highway, and even further from civilization. He paused, and looked around at the vast wilderness. A man had to be a lunatic, or a loner to want to live in such seclusion.
But his fears subsided when Sir Derrik’s guidance proved true. An hour later, the farmhouse finally came into view. The sturdy structure seemed as if an unseen hand had simply plopped it in the middle of nowhere. The house itself was simply constructed, looking like the many farmhouses that dotted the Stanbury countryside. However there was no farm land that extended past the house except for the natural forest, which was barely checked. At first he had thought the house was deserted, but upon closer inspection, he saw a thin stream of smoke coming out from the hole in the thatched roof. He noticed the wooden fence surrounding the house, and saw that it rose up to his shoulders. Beyond the fence, he observed two bored looking pigs lying in a muddy sty. A stable with its doors open sat next to it, and in a stall was a lone horse munching on hay. Meanwhile a rooster strutted about the yard, while a handful of chickens roamed around.
“So this is where Sir Gareth disappeared,” he said in wonder.
He craned his neck, expecting to find a servant tending the garden or working in the yard, but there was no human activity within the fenced area.
It was not that long ago that Gordon heard rumors that the knight had a falling-out with the Iron Hawk. None of the details had come to light of course, but the legendary team parted ways. Stories emerged that the Hawk inherited his estates, and ruled them with an iron fist, surprising no one that he continued to be a force to be reckoned with. No stories came forth about his commander though. And that knight simply faded from people’s memories.
Gordon’s initial feelings of elation soon dissipated when he realized he was only delaying the inevitable. Hiding out here, in this remote spot, did nothing to resolve his dilemma. And it was a mistake, he realized. He should’ve followed his instincts, and returned to Stanbury Castle. Staring blindly at the wooden structure, he knew it was impossible go back in time and rectify his mistake in judgment. He could only hope that Sir Derrik kept his wife and daughter safe.
Shaking his head, he tried to tamp down the gloomy thoughts. The practical side of him knew that he needed to regain his strength if he wanted to confront his brother. And once he was strong again, Roldan would pay for what he had done.
With those buoyant, hopeful thoughts, Gordon felt his mood shift. And the hovel before him seemed most welcoming.
His horse shifted impatiently beneath him. “You smell fresh hay, do you?” he said, giving the animal a friendly pat on the head. “Do not worry. I will open the gate, and let us inside.”
Dismounting from his horse, he went to unlatch the gate.
“Who are you?” a low and menacing voice said just as Gordon went to place the latch back onto the gate. “And what are you doing on my property?”
A sudden heat rushed down from the top of his head all the way down to the soles of his feet. He turned cautiously, his hands raised in the air.
He didn’t know what to expect, but it was definitely not a large, disheveled man with long, wild hair. A beard obscured his face, and there was no denying the deadly look in his eyes. He stood at the entrance of the farmhouse, his long bow stretched and taut. The deadly arrow was trained at Gordon’s heart, which had gone still. There was also no mistaking the fact that despite his long absence, the knight had not forgotten how to use the weapon.
“I,” he cleared his throat, and looked nervously at the weapon in the man’s hand, “I am Gordon de Calmette, Lord of Stanbury. Sir Derrik d’Evant sent me here.” He hesitated again. “You must be Sir Gareth.”
The man stared at him as if he tried to see into to the recess of his mind.
“Ah, Derrik,” he said, understanding in his voice. He lowered his weapon a notch. “I had to make sure. You can never be too sure what knave might emerge from these woods.” He set aside the long bow and stepped forward. “I take it you’re here to seek shelter.”
“I have been accused of high treason by my brother, the Lord High Steward,” Gordon said, nodding slowly. He could feel his heart starting to beat normally again.
“That is a serious accusation,” Sir Gareth said, the expression on his face unchanged.
“Aye, ‘tis serious, and ‘tis false,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Sir Gareth looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. Suddenly the knight turned his head and bellowed, “Boy!”
The unexpected sound caused Gordon to jump.
“Is it the lord?” a
youth of about sixteen years old asked from the open doorway.
“You ask too many questions, boy,” the knight replied. He gestured impatiently to the barn. “Take Lord Stanbury’s horse to the barn, and see to its comfort.”
The boy ran out of the house, and threw a quick assessing look at Gordon before taking the reins and leading the horse away.
“Come inside,” Sir Gareth said, beckoning him toward the house. “You look like no one has fed you in weeks.”
In a daze, he followed the knight into the farmhouse. The shutters were closed, and the room seemed dim after coming in from the bright sun. Blinking, he stood at the doorway for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the interior of the building. He never had the occasion to enter such a humble dwelling, and so he took the opportunity to look around him. At once, he caught sight of a man sitting quietly at the end of the table. A cowl covered his head, obscuring his features. His head was bent over a wooden bowl as he concentrated on spooning watery soup into his mouth. He seemed preoccupied and unconcerned that a stranger had entered the premises.
Gordon’s curiosity of the man at the table soon gave way to the welcoming smell of cooked food coming from the open hearth. An iron pot sat over a small fire, bubbling away. Not far from the hearth were the bare essentials — a table and bench, stools and various other items including a straw filled mattress, and a small pallet placed a couple of feet away from it.
If he wasn’t told that this farmhouse belonged to Sir Gareth, he would never have guessed. There were no signs of greatness, no indications that this hovel belonged to a celebrated knight. Everything he saw here were possessions of a humble farmer.
“Have a seat while I get you something to drink,” the knight said, waving his hand toward the table.
A Knight's Duty (The Knights of Honor Trilogy, Book 2) Page 22
