Her hand brushed something soft, and she glanced down to see she was sitting on the black velvet she’d bought from the merchant. She picked up the material and held the fabric against her face, then draped it across her shoulders and leaped on the bed. “I am the Midnight Shadow,” she said softly, striking a pose with her hands on her hips. A feeling of power and righteousness filled her , a feeling very similar to what she’d felt after giving the poor farmer the coin in the village of Knowles.
She’d felt so full of confidence that she could make a difference, a confidence renewed when Garret had shown her how to win the fight with her grandfather... and it worked! Because of her new assuredness, she was able to defeat him. She felt strong and unbeatable, confident enough to take on the world.
Then the questions came from deep inside her, questions which now repeated themselves over and over in her mind: Confident enough to take on the world, yes. But confident enough to avenge Mary’s death? Confident enough to stop Kenric’s reign of terror over helpless farmers and merchants? Confident enough to wage a secret war against that monster Terran Knowles?
She stared at the midnight moon and thought of a different kind of midnight, one in human form. The Midnight Shadow would know what to do.
Bria shook her head and lowered her hand so that the fabric fell from her face and shoulders. The feeling of confidence and strength that had surged through her faded. He was only a legend, not someone real. Yet why couldn’t someone become the Midnight Shadow to give the people hope?
She dropped to the bed. I could be the Midnight Shadow, she thought for a fleeting moment. Then a wistful smile crossed her lips. She could be, if she were more courageous. Then an idea came to her. Maybe she couldn’t be the Midnight Shadow, but she could help the people that Knowles and his men harmed, starting with Mary’s mother.
The sun was just rising over the horizon as Mary’s mother, Sandra, walked back toward her house, carrying a bucket of water from the stream. She’d awakened early to begin work in the fields. The days of searching for Mary had cost them dearly. She and her husband, George, hadn’t worked the fields while they had been out looking for her. To make up for it, they’d worked through two full days and two full nights.
Then disaster struck. Exhausted, George fell sick.
Now Sandra had to work the farm alone until George was well. She doubted they’d have enough crops to pay Sheriff Kenric and survive the winter.
She lifted her gaze from the ground to the house. A shadow shifted behind one of the trees in the forest just beyond the small thatched house. Panic seized her. Robbers, she thought. Or worse yet, tax collectors.
She dropped the bucket and raced toward the house, calling, “George!” Her heart pounded as she thought of him hurt inside. She couldn’t live if something happened to George. She couldn’t bear it.
Sandra shoved the door open and almost hit George in the face.
“What?” he asked, startled by her urgent tone. “What is it?” He leaned heavily on the table in the center of the room.
Relief swept through Sandra, but she stepped outside to look for the shadow. Had it been an animal of some sort? A witch?
“What’s that?” George asked, pointing at the ground.
There by her feet, in the dirt just before the door, was a small bag. She bent and scooped it up. The faint clink of coins reached her ears and she cast a glance at George. His brown eyes were wide and he gripped the table for support.
Sandra pulled the string on the bag. Slowly, it opened in her hands. The sight that greeted her made her breath stop. She clutched at her chest.
George joined her, taking the bag from her hand. He dumped the contents into his open palm. It was gold, more than he could have made from his harvest!
Sandra looked for the person who left the bag, for the shadow she’d seen in the forest, but no one was in sight. Her eyes shifted to the money in her husband’s hands.
Slowly, a smile lit George’s face and laughter began to churn from his throat.
Sandra sat heavily in a wooden chair, staring at the gold coins. Relief and exhilaration surged through her. They’d survive. They’d live through the winter. Sandra felt wetness on her cheeks and lifted a hand to swipe at the cool moisture. She was crying, but not tears of sadness. They were tears of relief and gratitude.
Bria pulled her knees to her chest, watching the knights practice their skills in the field. She’d felt a strange satisfaction in watching from behind some trees as Mary’s mother found the pouch she’d left. The warm feeling still lingered. She was sorry for taking it from her father and fixing the books so he wouldn’t notice it missing. But Mary’s family needed it more than her family, and she’d vowed to repay her father... somehow.
If she was going to continue helping the people, she needed to figure out some other way to get money and another way of helping Knowles’ people besides giving them coin.
Bria winced as one of the young knights tumbled from his horse after being hit by his opponent’s lance. Dark clouds brewed on the horizon, threatening rain since the early morning, but Bria had ignored them, choosing to come out and watch the men practice in the tilting yard.
“You seem particularly offended by my presence.”
Bria glanced up and saw Lord Knowles standing above her. Despite her vow of anger, she felt a moment of breathlessness.
He looked at his hands as he pulled on a pair of black gloves. His black hair fell forward, obscuring her view of his face except when a breeze blew his hair aside. He wore a black tunic beneath his chest plate and black leggings over his powerful legs. Behind him, his ebony horse whinnied softly, tossing its mane. Bria shook herself. “I wasn’t the one who refused to see you when I came to your castle,” she retorted.
He shifted his dark gaze to her, snapping on his second glove.
Bria raised her chin and stood squarely facing him, planting her hands on her hips. “I wanted to tell you one of your people was murdered. By your sheriff.”
Terran shifted his dark gaze to her. “Then he deserved it.”
Bria clenched her teeth. What a fool she was for thinking to confront him with the truth. “She was my friend, you dog,” she snarled and whirled to walk away.
His hand shot out, capturing her wrist. “All your suitors have left,” he said in a deceptively soft voice. “You will be my wife.”
She bridled as anger seared through her. He shrugged off Mary’s death as if the news had been a fly buzzing about his head that he swatted away with a simple flick of his wrist. He’d dismissed every word she’d said and then expected to marry her?
“Not all my suitors have gone,” she replied defiantly, struggling to be free of his hold. But he was much stronger, and she couldn’t break his grip. “Garret is still here.”
Knowles grunted softly. “I will deal with him in a moment.” He lifted those black, cold eyes to her. “He will be gone by this eve.”
“My father will never consent to my betrothal to you,” she retorted. “You overestimate your importance, Lord Knowles.”
“You overestimate your own worth,” Knowles responded. “You were betrothed to me before you were even born, and your father will adhere to the letter of the law.”
Doubt and disbelief crept into Bria’s self-righteousness. “You lie,” she finally declared.
“Ask your grandfather.” He released her wrist as if it were nothing more than an old rag, then turned and led his horse down the slight hill toward the tilting yard.
Fear gnawed at her confidence. If he was telling the truth, why had she heard nothing about it for all these years? This past year, relations with Knowles had become strained, but none of Bria’s questions to her father or grandfather about it had been answered. When she questioned the servants, she’d discovered Knowles had become betrothed, but she’d thought nothing of it at the time.
She watched him walk to the fence of the tilting yard. His gait was powerful, demanding attention. He immediately attracted Garret�
��s gaze. Garret spurred his horse to the wooden fence separating the practice field from the spectators, racing his horse boldly toward Knowles.
A sudden bout of fear seized Bria, and she began to walk quickly down the hill. As Garret’s horse neared the fence, her anxiety increased, as did her pace, until she was almost running. Bria reached the fence to hear Garret’s reply to something Terran had said.
“You got lucky with Odella,” Garret snarled. “But your luck has run out.”
“Prove it,” Terran replied, without looking at Garret.
“No!” Bria gasped, boosting herself up onto the wooden fence. She held the top rung with a tight grip.
“I’m more than ready,” Garret sneered.
“Garret! Don’t! You can’t win!” Bria cried.
Garret’s eyes shifted to her and he spurred his horse to Bria. He gazed down at her for a long moment, his blue eyes full of hurt pride. “I know you don’t have faith in my ability as a fighter. I will do this to prove myself.” He turned the horse, presenting her with his back.
Bria opened her mouth to protest, but Garret was gone, moving his horse toward the other end of the field. She looked quickly left, then right, then all around the field, hoping to find someone who could put a stop to this madness. Several squires practiced their swordplay nearby. They’d have no power to stop the dueling knights, and the other knights wouldn’t dare question Garret and Knowles’ right to do battle.
Terran swung himself up onto his horse and entered the tilting field. He rode past her, sitting tall in the saddle, his black eyes locked on her.
Her eyes swept his confident form. His mastery of his animal far surpassed Garret’s. Bria’s heart pounded with dread. She thought of racing back to the castle to get her father or grandfather to stop the fight, but by the time she returned, the battle would be over.
The two opponents went to opposite ends of the field and were handed jousting poles by their squires. They turned their horses and Terran spurred his steed first, heading toward Garret.
Garret responded in kind, leveling his lance at Terran, driving his horse forward with a firm kick.
Bria’s mind reeled. It was all happening so fast! The fools weren’t even wearing helmets!
There was a low thump as Terran’s lance struck Garret in his chest plate. Bria held her breath as Garret dropped his lance and teetered in the saddle. Somehow, he managed to hang on to the reins and stay atop his horse.
Terran reached the opposite end of the field and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw his opponent was still seated, he grabbed another lance and turned again, relentless in his assault.
Garret caught his balance and seized a pole from his squire, spurring his horse to meet Terran. The horses’ hooves pounded the earth, dust exploding into the air behind them.
“Come on, Dysen!” a man called from beside Bria.
Bria couldn’t tear her eyes from the joust. The pounding of her heart matched the thunder of the horses’ hooves.
Garret hit Terran hard near the top edge of his chest plate. It slid into his shoulder hard enough to knock Knowles’ lance free.
Bria gasped. But Terran was not unhorsed. He turned a scathing gaze to Garret, shaking his arm.
A grim smile crossed Garret’s face. Men around the field cheered as he rounded on Terran again, a lance in his hand, readying for the final attack.
Terran seized the final lance and turned on his opponent. His horse exploded toward Garret. A burning intensity lit Knowles’ gaze. Lowering his head, he gripped the lance tightly, then leaned away from Garret’s thrust and jerked his lance just in time to hit Garret squarely in the stomach.
It was a brilliant move. If Bria hadn’t been so horrified watching Garret fall backward off his horse and crash head first into the dusty earth, she would have marveled at Knowles’ expertise.
Garret’s head hit the ground hard and his body crumpled after it. Then everything was still. He lay unmoving.
Silence encased the yard.
Terran brought his horse around and threw his lance to the ground.
For a long moment, Bria couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. “Get up,” she whispered to Garret. But the moment stretched on and Garret still didn’t move. Bria ducked beneath the planks of the fence and raced onto the field.
Garret’s squire reached his side first and bent to him. Still Garret had not moved.
Bria couldn’t run fast enough. If I just make it to his side, he‘ll be all right, she told herself.
As she reached his side, Garret’s squire lifted his head to her and she read confusion and dread in his young blue eyes.
Bria turned her gaze to Garret. He lay on the ground, his arms out to the sides, one knee lifted as if at any moment he’d get up. Her eyes shifted over his body to his face. She began to tremble and tears filled her eyes.
Garret’s eyes were wide and glassy, staring blankly up into darkening clouds.
Behind her, thunder rumbled.
“No!” The wretched cry tore from her throat as she collapsed to her knees beside him. “Garret!” She lifted her hands to help him, but she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to touch to make him better.
Bria lifted her shocked, hurt gaze. Panicked, she glanced around her at all the men. Sympathy, horror, and anger met her gaze. But she didn’t give a damn. Her friend -- her friend, for the love of God -- was dead. There was nothing they could do.
Finally, she locked eyes with Terran, who stood across from her. She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a sob.
She rose to her feet, stepping across Garret’s body to confront Terran. “You wretched beast,” she snarled. “You killed him.” She hit his chest with her open palm. “You killed him.” As the tears fell from her eyes, she stared at him, daring him to deny her claim.
But he simply stood there.
Finally, Terran turned his back to her and moved out of the practice field. Men parted to let him pass as if he were Death himself walking upon the earth in human form.
Bria’s chest contracted painfully as a sob shook her body. The tears that had welled in her eyes overflowed, rolling down her cheeks.
Garret was dead! How many more of her friends would die because of Terran Knowles? How many more?
The sky opened up and a heavy rain started to fall.
Hurt and rage burned fresh in Bria’s heart. Garret’s death was so pointless, such a waste of a wonderfully promising life.
She sat quietly alone in her room. She held the black material in steady hands, pulling a stitch through the soft fabric, the battle replaying again and again in her mind. It could have been an accident.
But Terran’s words echoed in her mind. ‘I will deal with him in a moment. He will be gone by this eve.’ He’d known what he was doing. He had eliminated his competition with ruthless efficiency.
Thunder rumbled around her, shaking the entire castle.
The shock she had initially felt was slowly wearing off. In its place, a fierce anger shrouded her. What right did that man have to think he could just walk into her castle and demand her hand in marriage? Just who did he think he was?
And he killed my friend to achieve it.
The thought of his total lack of regard for life made her cold. But she had known that from the beginning. He overtaxed and all but starved his own people. What kind of lord was he? What kind of man was he?
She pulled through another stitch. It was time someone showed that heartless cur he couldn’t treat people, be they peasant or noble, the way he did and get away with it. It was time to take action.
There would be no more senseless killings. There would be no more injustices to the people of Knowles. Mary would have wanted it that way.
Bria pulled the final stitch through the dark black material and stared at her labor. It was one of her finest works. The sewing was precise and sturdy, reinforced by double stitches.
She set her work on her lap, staring at the dark material. It w
as perfect. A hooded cloak made of the richest, blackest velvet. Simply perfect.
Exactly what the Midnight Shadow would wear.
Bria stared into Lord Dysen’s watery brown eyes and clasped his old hands tightly, sharing his pain and agony, but her loss could never equal his. He’d lost a son. She’d lost a friend.
He lifted a hand and placed it on her cheek. “God be with you, child,” he whispered, then turned, his great blue cloak flaring out behind him. He exited the double doors of the keep, moving toward the funeral procession awaiting him. Her father stood near Lord Dysen’s horse, waiting to wish him luck. Hunched against the downpour of rain, they clasped arms. Bria watched them stare into each other’s eyes. They needed no words. Their deep friendship sheltered them from much, but the death of Garret wounded them both.
There had been talk of bringing Knowles to justice, but as they’d questioned the squires and the spectators around the tilting field, they learned the challenge had been a fair one and the battle had been fought honorably. Garret’s death had been a horrendous accident; he’d taken a bad fall that had broken his neck. Though all the facts pointed to this, Bria refused to believe it. How could she when Knowles had threatened Garret just moments before the joust?
Her father and Lord Dysen exchanged words, and then Dysen glanced back at Bria, sheltered inside the keep, before mounting his horse and leading the solemn procession toward his homelands.
If no one has the courage to put an end to Knowles’ tyranny, then I will, Bria vowed as she looked at Garret’s coffin resting atop a wooden wagon pulled by two black horses. The conviction she’d felt as she sewed the cloak still burned in her heart, in her very soul. The preparations had been made. All the years of practice with her grandfather would finally be put to use.
Her father walked slowly up the two steps to the keep and to her side. Together they watched the horses and the wagon carrying Garret’s coffin move off through the gatehouse.
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