Debra Kay Leland

by From Whence Came A Stranger. . .

  From Whence Came A Stranger…

  Chapter One

  A thick damp fog rolled across the meadows of Glenton Moor… Flickering flames shone from the still smoldering ruins with a deep golden glow into the darkening night… Distant sounds of battle yet echoed through the heavy forest around them as the man slowly drew back, his breath still heaving in his chest, the blood of his enemy still wet upon his sword. He glanced around with worried eyes, and then looked down at the now motionless body that lay at his feet knowing he must hurry…

  Cold dark eyes moved over the man remembering the surprise on his face as he advanced on him from the shadows beyond. He’d drawn his sword slowly, the sound of it hissing though the still night air as he moved warily towards his target knowing all the while how this day would end; and yet, it mattered not to him but for the gold that lay in his pocket.

  The man before him had been taken unaware; he straightened at the sound of the drawn sword, frowning as his adversary advanced upon him, his voice low and guarded as he faced him, “Ye would dare draw thy sword against me?!” He hesitated for the barest of seconds before he too reached for the handle of his own weapon and withdrew it purposefully as he faced his attacker.

  It was then that the armed man rushed him. Metal clashed against metal, the sound of it ringing through the cool damp air as yet another skirmish began as so many others had in the darkness around them. Each man moving and striking with precision and accuracy, thrust for thrust, steel for steel, bloodied strike for bloodied strike… And then all at once it was over. A miss calculation, a stumble in the dark, he hadn’t know what had happened when he felt his sword connect with the side of the man’s helmet, and watched as he slowly staggered back, his sword falling from a loosened hand as he sank to the ground before him.

  He stood there for a long moment, warily watching and waiting; but yet, the body before him remained motionless. He glanced around cautiously hoping that none would heed to the sound of their brutal exchange and yet a lie lay upon his lips for such a purpose as that. Slowly, he moved closer, kicking the man’s sword away from him as he drew near. The toe of his boot nudged his side bringing no sound from the body that lay at his feet… And yet, he needed to be sure his sword had struck true lest it cost him his own head in the end. Cautiously, he knelt down; sword still in his hand as cold hard eyes moved over the dented metal of the helmet. One gloved hand lifted it off recklessly throwing it to the side. Hard eyes lingered on the dark blood that now ran over the man’s pale blue face as it stared out into the dim night; his eyes open and unblinking, his hair wet with sweat and blood; and he couldn’t help but feel relief for it was over and done quickly. He leaned back on his haunches, and then stood on steady legs before he turned away. The task completed; and what was done, was done.

  William struggled to blink back the deep haze of images that swirled before him, unquelled fears racing through his veins, pounding in his very skull as his body lay frozen as if in time. He drew a halted breath as a whisper slipped past pale blue lips into the cruel night air, “…L—let me not d—die like th—this…” But even as he said it, the darkness that lie just beyond his eyes drew him in unwillingly…

  It was a fortnight later when William finally opened bloodshot eyes; his room was dim, a single candle burning on the table near his bed, but he was alive... He slowly blinked away the haze that shrouded his vision, and turned his head slightly to the side, wincing as he did so. Blurry eyes swept over the sleeping face of his father in the chair beside him, his head tilted back as he slumbered on. He closed his eyes at the feeling of his father’s strong hand around his own, and at the comforting strength it gave him. He squeezed it weakly, and then watched as his father’s blue eyes opened and a smile spread across the older man’s weathered face.

  He sat up straighter hardly able to believe what he saw, for in truth his son had hardly stirred since they had carried him to his chambers. “Dear God… William…”

  His son murmured weakly, his voice hoarse and strained as he did so.

  His father took the cup from the table aside his bed and held it for him to drink; careful not to hurt his son further as he did so.

  He sipped it slowly, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat before he managed a weakened smile, slowly laying his head back down on his pillow once again. “…H—how long?”

  His father squeezed his hand tenderly and pressed a soft smiled on his worried face. “…Nigh a fortnight.”

  William sighed heavily and winced at the tenderness in his head.

  His father leaned forward and laid a gentle hand upon his arm. “William… Do—do ye remember anything? Anything at all of what happened?”

  But only vague images of that night darkened his thoughts, yet he could not bring himself to speak of it as he closed his eyes with a sigh. “…N-nay…”

  His father frowned as he watched him, wanting to press him for the answers to questions that had haunted him since that night, and yet he could not. “Are ye in pain?”

  “…Aye…”

  He reached out and lifted a cup of herbs the healer had made to soothe him to his lips. “Drink this it shall soothe thee... Ye need only to rest and then all shall be well again.”

  A weak smile touched his pale lips as he finished and closed his heavy swollen eyes yet again.

  ...His father watched as the soft smile faded from his son’s swollen and bruised face taking him with it into unconsciousness, and all his could was pray that his youngest son would somehow awaken again... He looked at the wound, now covered with a clean cloth and frowned, wondering if he would ever know what had happened to his son that night or see whoever had done this to him pay the price for their deeds! He knew it shouldn’t matter to him as long as William lived, and yet he couldn’t make himself let go of it either…!

  The worry his father had for him only grew when William did not awaken again and for nigh three days he worried on. In his heart of hearts, he knew he would gladly give his own life if it would only mean having him back for even one more day, and yet he was helpless to do anything but pray…

  James watched as his father came down the hall from William’s room where he sat in vigil night and day with guards at the door protecting the young man with their presence these last few weeks. The worry that was written on his father’s tired features told him that nothing had changed, and that William had still not awakened a second time, nor spoken a word of what had really happened that night; and although the knowledge of it should have comforted him, it did not. Yet, for now, his hands were tied and he knew it. He nodded to his father who returned it without a word as he walked past him heading towards his own chambers with James hard cold eyes following.

  William, drew a deep breath feeling the cool air fill his lungs as he opened his eyes yet again, blinking back the pull of sleep that surrounded him as he gazed into the concerned face of his squire who now stood leaning over him, his strong hands on his shoulders. He whispered his friend’s name as he resisted the overpowering desire to close his tired eyes once more.

  The hoarse words brought a smile to the young man’s worried face, and he reached for the cup of water near him. “Aye, William, ‘tis I. Ye have worried us… It has been three days since ye last awoke and I feared thy father would have collapsed for he is so distraught.”

  William couldn’t hide the frown that creased his forehead at his friend’s words, nor the pain of it that made him wince. “…T—three days?”

  He took a slow unsteady drink and looked to his friend again. Phillip had been his squire since he was old enough to fight and he trusted him with his life. The man wasn’t much younger than he, with short reddish hair and a stocky build; and smile that lit up his rugg
ed features when he did so. “Aye.”

  He looked at his friend with bloodshot eyes as he murmured weakly. “…Am—am I dying? Tell me true, Phillip...”

  Phillip smiled softly and shook his head. “…Nay, William, the swelling is much improved and there is no corruption of the wound. Soon ye shall be on thy feet again.”

  William sighed softly with relief and reached up to touch the bandages alongside his head that still ached with every beat of his heart.

  His friend laid a careful hand on his shoulder. “Rest now and I shall return shortly with thy father.”

  “Nay, Phillip, I—I have need to speak with thee first…”

  “With me?” He frowned at his friend’s worried words and slowly sank back down into his chair. “William—do ye remember what happened that night?!”

  William looked at him for a long quiet moment, then dropped his hand to his side and closed his weary eyes as he spoke. “…Aye, I do… But not enough to help, I am sure...”

  A hard frown creased the other man’s forehead as he watched him with angrily eyes. “Ye must tell of it all, for whoever it was that did this struck the son of an Earl and surely deserves the sword himself! For I know that it was not by a woman, nor a mere child of Glenton Moor that ye were struck so brutally!”

  William winced as he turned to look into his friend’s concerned eyes. “I—I only remember that the man walked from the shadows near roadway, and—and he wore armor. …And it was one of ours.”

  Phillip’s eyes widened as he leaned closer gripping his friend’s arm with concern. “…Are ye sure?! One of our men?!”

  William closed wearily eyes as he murmured, “…It—it is possible that he had merely stolen the armor… I—I know not… But he handled a sword with ease and I—I am not easily overtaken—and yet…,” He paused and grimaced at the memories that still swirled in his head, “…Ye shall swear to me that ye shall not speak of this to anyone! I am not safe if any knows that—that I have remembered the night...! S—swear it, Phillip!”

  His friend sat back stiffly, frowning hard as he considered William’s haunting words. He wanted to protest, and yet he knew that William was in no condition to do so now. Nor was he thinking rightly, he knew that too, for there was more fear in the man’s eyes than the courage he had always known—but he would not have him worry more than he already was. “Aye, I swear it…” And yet, for his own good he would not only take measures to ensure William’s safety, but find a way to uncover the truth one way or another! And if it were one of their own men—then God help the man!

  William frowned wearily and closed his eyes for a long moment. “…I—I shall never be safe here again…” His features tightened with pain as he continued, “…W- we must leave as soon as I am able… Promise me, Phillip…”

  The younger man merely nodded without a reply, more than worried about the things he’d just been told and yet he could not bring himself to distress his friend more with the questions that swirled in his own head. The man he knew beforehand would have searched every darkened corner and overturned every stone till he discovered who had done such a thing; and yet the weakened man that lay before him could only find the will to fear. “We shall do whatever is best for thee, William, I give ye my word.”

  William slowly turned to his young squire with bloodshot eyes. “…Does James yet remain at Whittington?”

  Phillip nodded his head. “Aye, but I believe he plans to go to Kent to see to the building of the mill there soon.”

  William couldn’t hide his frown. “No doubt he has only stayed long enough to see if there would be a funeral...”

  Phillip hesitated before he nodded with a frown. “Ye shall recover, have no doubt!”

  William looked at his friend with worry in his tired eyes. “Aye, but Phillip, I am not safe here…”

  Phillip shook his head as he spoke, “Ye have never been left alone, I promise ye that! So ye may rest easy, my friend, no one shall slip into thy room unannounced, for never has thy father left thy side that I or Thomas were not here with thee.”

  He closed his eyes weakly as he sighed knowing that Phillip had not understood that his real threat might be from his own brother, and yet he was too afraid to tell him more. “…I trust thee, Phillip; yet, as soon as I am well enough to ride we shall leave this place, ye and I… and Thomas...” He opened bloodshot eyes slowly and looked into his friend’s concerned face as he took his hand. He paused, his voice slurred as he went on with both weariness and pain, “…S—swear to me…”

  Phillip watched as sleep took him again with a worried frown, hardly aware of what he agreed to... “Aye, I swear it.”

  Lord Sheridan opened the door to his son’s chamber and walked in quietly. Phillip straightened and stood as he glanced at the older man who came forward and stood beside him with worried eyes, not sure if he should speak to him of what William had told him. His father’s dark brows knit together as he watched his son struggle in his sleep; his own fear that William would never fully recover written on his tired weary features as he whispered, “…He sleeps fitfully…”

  “Aye, m’lord, though—though he did awaken for a time, but he would not that I leave his side to get thee…”

  The older man nodded with relief. “Thank goodness… I trust thee, Phillip… and I am much relieved that he has again awakened; but yet, I would be more reassured if he slept peacefully this night. At times he does, but then at others he struggles even within his sleep.”

  “Aye...”

  The older man looked at his son’s squire with a frown. “Did he say anything to thee of the night?”

  Phillip hesitated and dropped his eyes hoping William’s father could not see the truth as he spoke. “Nay, m’lord, though I fear he is not quite himself.”

  He sighed and turned back to his son again; worry sweeping across his weathered features. The young man lived, that much was true, but would he ever recover and be the same as he was before? He just didn’t know… “I fear for him.”

  “Aye, as do I.” But for Phillip it was more than he could ever speak.

  Lord Sheridan took his son’s trembling hand and held it before he slowly sank down into his chair again, praying that somehow all would be well...

  Phillip stepped silently away, glancing back at father and son before he closed the heavy door behind him. He sank down into the wooden bench just outside his friend’s chambers where he had sat for the past few weeks, waiting and worrying to be told the worst—and yet even now, he could not help but worry as never before...! One of their own, was it possible?! His eyes went to the guards who stood not far from him, knowing it could be any of them!

  He gave himself a mental shake and lowered his eyes again at his own wayward thoughts. He had to keep his head for William’s sake! For it was possible that even one of the villagers had stolen the armor and had trained himself how to fight; it was not unheard of-- and if it were true, then all his worrying would be for not! But yet, if indeed it were one of their own, the man would have had to either ridden with them to Glenton Moore or had left the castle on his own accord and laid in wait for him there. Though, to find William as he did in such commotion and darkness and smoke; no, it could not have been just by chance. The man would have had to have ridden with them and followed William that day hoping to find him alone so he could draw his sword on him!

  Phillip almost shivered at the thought that one of their own could do such an evil thing! But why?! It made no sense! William was a goodly man, loyal and honorable, and all considered him to be a friend. If it were a villager the reason was more than evident—but if it were one of their own what could the man have gained but revenge?! And those who knew William knew him to be fair! He frowned even harder.

  William himself was merely the second son of the Earl without even title to his name save that of being a Knight—it made no sense! What would one gain in doing such?! Unless, it was for revenge against the Earl himself and not William...?! He sighed and glanced
around again knowing he would need to talk to Thomas as soon as he could and find out if there were any rumors of what had happened in the villages… And he would need to know who had ridden with them, and not returned; or who it was that might hate William enough to do this to him… He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and then ran a tense hand through his hair as he glanced up at the guards again with worried eyes…

  It was just before day break when his father noticed that the trembling in William’s body had finally ceased, his raging breaths were now calmed, and he slept… And yet he could not help but worry on…

  Thomas came up the long curved staircase and met Phillip’s worried eyes.

  Phillip stood and drew him to the side glancing back at the guards who now watched him.

  “What is it?! Tell me true that he is not worse!” Thomas said with concern.

  Phillip glanced back at the guards and shook his head as he lowered his voice, “William rests, but I have need to speak with thee…! Things are far worse than either of us knew…!”

  Thomas frowned at the other man’s words as they stepped farther down the dim hall, speaking in a low tense whisper, “Far worse?! But ye told me he had begun to recover?”

  Phillip glanced back again before he spoke making sure that the guards were not overly concerned with their actions, “’Tis true, though William awoke and what he told me gives us each need to worry.” He tightened his grip on the other man’s arm and told him of the things that William had said.

  Thomas’ frown hardened with each tense word, his heart filling with worry and anger at the same time. “Can it be possible he is mistaken!”

  Phillip shook his head warily. “Nay, I do not believe so—and even if he is wrong, we cannot take a chance with his life and just do nothing!”

  Thomas glanced around them with narrowed eyes feeling the threat that surrounded them. “What ye ask shall take time, ye know that.”