A Stormy Knight

by Amy Mullen

  "Of course not."

  "Then thank goodness for small favors and quit trying to make me out to be the enemy here. I am here to protect everyone, and you would do well to remember that," he snapped as he took a sip of his wine and slammed his goblet down on the table before him.

  She squirmed in her seat. "I was worried you would be cruel to all. You have been so angry since you arrived."

  "My anger is toward you, Gemma, as you had a hand in what happened to my parents. I was never good enough for your family. Someone must pay for what happened, but until I know who that person is, I will not alienate those who would serve me."

  Anger rose and then ebbed quickly as she tried to contain herself. She tried desperately to be thankful for what he had just said, even though he had implied she herself might suffer. So be it. He was deluded about the past, and she would show him the truth no matter how long it took or what she had to do.

  He continued, "The wine you are drinking is mine. I brought it with me, and the stores in your castle are to be monitored and dumped if needed. Wine and ale are the easiest way to poison someone, and I'll not have it happen again."

  Alarm surged through her as she stared at the goblet before her. In all that had happened, she had not thought of her own safety. "You sound sure my father has been poisoned."

  "I have seen poisonings before. 'Twas no different than what has happened to your father. I cannot be sure, but 'twould seem obvious."

  Her heart sank, and she was unable to eat another bite from her trencher. She moved to stand when he stopped her with a few words. "I have not excused you yet."

  For the second time that morning, she put a clamp on her temper and said nothing. She would not be the one to cause a commotion at the morning meal.

  "There have been other changes made," he said as he continued to sip his wine and picked at the fruit before him. "I have people in all areas of the castle, and there are more men-at-arms coming today. They will bring provisions I have personally chosen, supplied by Henry. I am not taking any chances. Until we know what is going on, you will do as I say and be where I tell you to be. Isabel is at risk, as she is so young and trusting. A man will continue to be with your father so no one can harm him. No one comes or goes without my permission, and everyone is suspect. You will not go anywhere without my blessing, and you will be guarded at all times."

  She did not want him to see the tears in her eyes. The tears were not about him, they were about her life and the people she cared for the most. Her happy home had become a prison, and she did not know whom to trust. There were so many changes coming, and she resisted them all.

  "You can go now, Gemma," he said simply. "I need nothing from you at the moment."

  Standing, she lifted her tear-rimmed eyes to meet his. In a whisper she said, "Congratulations. Your revenge is already in place. You have made my home a prison, and I no longer wish to be here."

  She whipped around, no longer caring who was watching, and dashed out the door. Without direction, she ran, needing to get away from him.

  Once out in the bailey she headed instinctively toward the garden, the only place where she felt any semblance of serenity and peace. Summer would begin in earnest soon, filling the garden with glorious blooms. She sought peace among the plants, a needed respite from a storm not of her making.

  She did not get far before she heard a shriek coming from within the hall. Was it Isabel? Terror ran through her like ice, and she moved without thinking toward the sound.

  When she arrived seconds later, she saw the laundress' daughter lying on the floor, not her sister. The girl was of only fourteen years, and assisted her mother as an apprentice so one day she could take her place. Her long, blonde braid lay across her face, and her blue eyes were lifeless. It appeared as if she had fallen backward from the bench. An ale mug was lying in the reeds on the floor next to her, and food was scattered everywhere.

  Nicholas was already there, and Father Darius was coming down the stairs. He rushed over as those around her tried to get her up.

  "Leave her be," Nicholas roared as he searched frantically around the room. Gemma searched too, terror gripping her as she watched him snap up the mug from the stone floor. Father Darius bent down to the girl and searched for signs of life. He found nothing.

  "I fear she is gone," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  Gemma backed away in shock as the girl's mother let out a wail and threw herself down on her lifeless daughter. Father Darius moved to close her eyes and tried to help calm the woman to no avail. Servants scurried in disarray, and someone began to sob.

  "Come with me now," Nicholas commanded. He grabbed Gemma by the arm and pulled her from the scene, taking the mug with him. She followed, not knowing what else to do.

  "Apparently you are not the only one who does not fear me," he began, as they moved near her father's desk and away from the ears of everyone else. He tipped the mug so she could see within and said, "There is a bit of liquid in here still. I would guess if she was poisoned, this would be how. I believe even more strongly your father was also poisoned. Mayhap he drank far less of it than she."

  "But how do we know?" She reached for the mug, her delicate hand shaking.

  "Nay," Nicholas pulled it from her grasp, "do not touch it!"

  Snatching her hand back, she lifted her chin in defiance. "How do we know 'twas poisoned?"

  He paused. "We do not. Some poisons have an odor and even a residue. I will not know until I can look at it. Some are undetectable. We may just have to go under the assumption someone within the walls has access to poison and will use it whenever they wish."

  The idea made her shudder, and forgetting her hatred of Nicholas for a moment, she pondered what that would mean. "Anyone could be poisoned at any time. There are enough herbs in the garden that can be used and many wild plants growing outside the walls that can kill man or beast. How are we to live like this?"

  "No one is to be trusted. More of Henry's men will be here later today, and things shall be more secure then," he said in a quieter, more thoughtful voice. "'Tis a helpless feeling when people are keeling over. We have to clamp down and do all we can to bring this person to light. Anyone who has not been here longer than five years will be excused from duty."

  "What will they do then?" she asked. "Surely we cannot punish everyone. Most of our servants earn coin for their work. 'Tis not much, but they depend on it. This is being done by probably just one or even two people, 'twould seem. Everyone here is so kind, and they have little room for complaint. They are treated well, at least in comparison to what I have heard of other households."

  "The innocent shall return to their former positions when this is done. No one will go hungry, but would you risk your sister being the next poison victim? Perhaps someone should throw her from atop the curtain wall?"

  Putting her head down, she stared at her slippers. "That is fair enough."

  "Go find your sister and stay with her. Come to the hall after this mess has been cleared out and the girl has been taken. Find a reason to keep her here and do not leave. If you need something, have someone search for me or for Willis."

  "You may as well throw us into the dungeon!" she said, looking up to boldly meet his gaze.

  "Do not be stubborn. We are not wed yet, but you are still my responsibility and I owe my freedom and position to Henry. I will do as he asked, and you will obey me!"

  "Fine. Once the hall is cleared I shall bring Isabel here and work on embroidery with her. She is sorely lacking in skill, and 'twould do her some good to sit still and work on it. I only obey because I fear for the safety of my sister. 'Tis not because you command me," she said, her face without expression.

  "I do not care why you do it; just do it now," he said as he departed with mug in hand.

  ****

  Isabel chafed under Gemma's watchful and worried hovering. "Why can I not go down to the orchard? Why must we sit here? I hate embroidery! I want to see the secret tunnel. You pr
omised!"

  Gemma groaned, unsure of how to keep Isabel occupied. The girl was full of wonder and mischief and knew how to slip away, not unlike Gemma was when she was Isabel's age. She could only imagine, looking back, how her parents would have felt knowing she was sneaking out at night, going down that dark tunnel out into the woods.

  She put a hand lightly on Isabel's arm and tried to lighten the mood. "Issy, there will be plenty of time for all of that. I know I promised to show you the tunnel, but 'twill have to wait until father is better. Can you try to be patient?"

  Isabel let out a long, loud sigh and rolled her eyes. "I'll try."

  The nursemaid, who had been sitting by Isabel trying to show her how to make a straight stitch, nodded as if she understood. The girl was simply meant for motion.

  "Isabel," Hesse said in a calm voice, "do not make faces at your sister. 'Tis disrespectful."

  "Sorry," the girl said, without sounding as if she meant it.

  Glancing around, Gemma saw quite a few men she did not know, which meant they belonged with Nicholas. She decided it was safe to leave Isabel and Hesse long enough to go visit her father.

  "I shall return soon, Hesse. Please keep her here. I wish to go see Father." She stood, patted the top of Isabel's fair head, and headed for the steps.

  One of the men moved to follow her, and she whirled around. "I assure you I will be fine. I am only going to see how my father is doing. I shall be right up the steps in his quarters and will return shortly," she said, trying to sound authoritative.

  "Not a chance, milady," he said. "The orders are to keep you safe. I must go with you."

  With a huff, she headed toward the stairs with the soldier hot on her heels. "What a way to live," she mumbled and headed straight for her father's room within the solar.

  As she entered, Father Darius stood and greeted her warmly, "Gemma dear, 'tis good news. Your father has stirred just a small time ago. 'Twas only for a moment, but he tried to wake. 'Tis a good sign, my dear."

  She stepped to her father's bedside, sat on the stool, and took his large, warm hand in hers once again. "Father, can you hear me?"

  He did not respond with words, but he weakly squeezed her hand.

  A hot tear slid down her cheek and plopped on the sheet that covered him. He must be getting well! Perhaps there was hope to stop this hoax of a marriage after all.

  "He was trying to squeeze my hand," she said with hope in her voice. "He can hear me."

  "I will have to leave his side soon, for I have to prepare for the burial. Such a sweet, young girl. 'Tis a shame. I will continue to pray whatever evil has taken hold of Blackstone will depart in due course."

  "If Father awakes, can I be freed from this marriage?"

  The priest wrung his hands together. "I fear 'tis out of your father's hands now. The missive from the king states you are to marry de Reymes, and there are few who can overrule that. I have read the paper myself, and it is as it seems. The marriage contract is sound. You will be wed to him no matter how quickly your father recovers. I am sorry, my dear."

  Her heart sank. She had held out hope if her father woke, he could denounce the marriage, and she would be free of Nicholas and his arrogance for good. Now it seemed it was not possible.

  "I know 'tis hard to accept, but you must try," he said as he stood. "As soon as Oliver comes to sit with your father I will be going to the chapel. There is much to attend to. We shall bury the girl on the morrow, and mayhap your father will be awake by then. He does not have much time to come around before his body starts to fail him. Keep praying for your father."

  She nodded. "Such a mess this is," she whispered and tried to come to terms with her marriage, now just four days away.

  Chapter Nine

  The following afternoon Nicholas welcomed more of his own men-at-arms and soldiers from Henry's personal forces into Blackstone Castle. Gemma had attended the funeral for the laundress's daughter and spent time by her father's side. Though he still slept, he showed more promising signs of recovery. Between her father, trying to keep Isabel close, and the new people coming into the castle, she was a bit overwhelmed and utterly confused about her role in everything.

  Nicholas, for his part, was too busy to say much to her. He grunted at her a few times during dinner and was off to see to the arrival of his men. She resigned herself to staying out of the way and keeping Isabel as busy as she could. All around her so much of her life was changing.

  Leda was left to run the kitchen, but so many servants were dismissed to go stay in the village. The sorrow on their faces when they trudged through the outer bailey to the gate was heartbreaking. They carried their meager belongings with them, their fear evident. Most of the men-at-arms stayed on duty, but some of the newer ones were relegated to lesser roles than they had previously enjoyed and were always paired off with Nicholas's most trusted men.

  In late afternoon, Gemma was summoned to her father's bedside, and she feared something awful had happened. She almost collided with Willis Gromme when he had the misfortune of stepping in her way. To his credit, he did not flinch and simply moved to allow her to pass as soon as he made sure she was not running from someone. Nicholas had coached everyone well. There was an enemy among them, and everyone was to be on guard.

  Oliver was sitting with her father again, but this time Blaise's eyes were open. She was delighted, but Oliver held up a hand to slow her approach. Her father's eyes went to her and something akin to a smile lit up his face.

  "How are you?" she asked as she took his hand. She sat upon the small, wooden stool she has sat upon so many times in the last few days.

  "Hurts," he said. It was apparent he was unable to say much just yet, but Gemma was bursting to speak to him.

  "I am sorry. Is Father Darius helping with the pain?" she asked.

  Her father nodded slightly and then winced at the motion.

  "I won't stay long; you need more rest," she began. "Has Oliver filled you in on what is going on here?"

  Again, he nodded, and she decided she needed to wait until he was in less pain to speak more. Her heart was soaring, however. It appeared her father would recover after all. "I will come again in the morning, and we can talk if you are feeling better."

  She hesitated for a moment and then planted a light kiss on his cheek before she left.

  After she exited his chamber, she decided it was as good a time as any to go through her trunk to see what she had to wear for her wedding. Perhaps black, the color of mourning, would make a statement. The marriage must happen and she accepted that now, but living with that knowledge was a heavy burden. She knew nothing of being a wife, and she certainly knew nothing of the intimacies of a marriage bed. Would he let that part of their relationship go? He, after all, could not stand the sight of her.

  As if he heard her thoughts, Nicholas sauntered into her private quarters and startled her as she went through her trunk. She was holding up a black kirtle she had worn after her mother's death. Once, she owned quite a few of them, but this kirtle was the only one remaining. It was drab and faded with visible wear and tear about the bottom hem. The bodice was high, showing little skin, and there was a visible tear on the right sleeve.

  "Black? I hope you are not choosing a dress for our wedding," he said, and she jumped backward, nearly dropping the kirtle to the floor. "I thought green would go better with your eyes. I want you to be beautiful when we wed. Choose something else. Throw the black away. I will not have you wearing such a depressing color."

  She spun around, clutching the kirtle in her hands. "Why do you care? I still cannot figure out why you have agreed to this madness. You could simply secure the castle and be on your way if you are so worried about the king and his interests. You could leave us be. My father would reward you well."

  A smirk skated across his face. "Do you honestly think I would pass this up? A chance to take this land and this castle from you? A chance to have a home? I have not had a real place to call home since I was twel
ve. You saw to that."

  "I'm not leaving. I cannot or I would!" she said, resisting the urge to stomp a foot on the floor like a child. Preserving her dignity had become a full time endeavor. This was hard for her indeed, as he invoked emotions so volatile she feared she might be losing her mind.

  "I have a gift for you," he said. "I care nothing for your temper tantrums, so shut up and take it."

  He tossed something toward her bed, but she refused to touch it. "I do not want to take anything from you. I just want you to come to your senses."

  "So you have not yet accepted we will be wed?" His eyes flashed as he stepped toward her.

  "I did not say that," she said as she returned to her trunk, deliberately turning her back to him. "I just thought mayhap you might rethink your position. Surely being tied to a woman you hate is not something you wish for your life."

  "I loved you once. I was young, but I knew love when I felt it. I was a foolish boy, thinking all would end well. In a way, having you as a wife will take away some of the sting for feeling so stupid, for feeling I was not good enough. Having this land may make up for some of what has happened to my parents. We cannot get those years back, but we can look forward. My parents are strong and they seem happy now, but that does not mean I will ever forget or ever forgive you."

  Gemma clamped her hands down on the lid of the trunk. It took everything within her to stay where she was. She would have loved nothing more than to turn around and beat her fists upon his chest. "You keep insisting we did something to you. You forget it was the other way around. You meant to turn us over to Matilda with no care as to what would happen to us as a result. My entire family could have been wiped out, not to mention the innocents who live here as servants."

  "We can keep having the same argument, but nothing will change until the truth is known," he said, pulling her around to face him. The lid of her trunk slammed down, and she jumped again, this time toward him.