The commander from Harbottle was a seasoned knight who had seen many battles in the name of the king. He wore battered armor and was missing an eye. Experienced and intelligent, he set up a perimeter around his army including massive bonfires that essentially created a circle of fire.
The Welsh would have to be insane or foolish to breach the soaring flames, but none of his men slept much following the establishment of the firewall. Most of them, including Keir and the commander, were standing just this side of the perimeter, watching the surrounding countryside through the flames. Their senses were peaked for an onslaught at any moment but as the night passed, everything remained peaceful. Eventually, they took turns sleeping.
Keir had been up for nearly four days. Four long, exhaustive days. He stayed awake as long as he could before sitting down near the exterior wall of Dolwyddelan, eventually laying down in the cool, wet grass and falling asleep almost immediately. It was a dreamless sleep, deep and exhausted, and he had no idea how long he had been sleeping when shouts from the wall roused him. He was on his feet with his weapon in his hand before he realized he had even moved.
“What is it?” he asked the commander, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
The man with the missing eye was focused on the darkened landscape beyond the ring of fire. With the brilliant flame as a backdrop, it was difficult to see much beyond the blackness.
“A lone rider, my lord,” he told him.
Keir stopped rubbing his eyes and struggled to focus. “A lone rider?” he repeated. “Welsh or English?”
“We cannot tell.”
Keir wriggled his eyebrows. “Whoever he is, he is a fool to be riding alone in this land.”
The commander grunted in agreement, ordering his archers to raise their weapons as the rider drew closer. They could see him approaching from the valley below now, heading up the road in the dead of night. The half-moon glistened off the man’s armor as he drew nearer and the commander lifted his hand to his archers, preparing to give the order to fire. A word from Keir stopped them.
“Hold your fire,” he suddenly barked, his pale blue eyes widening. He jockeyed around to get a better view of the rider. “I… I think I know that man.”
The commander turned to him. “You know that fool?”
Keir simply lifted an eyebrow at him, preparing to agree, when he realized that the rider was Michael. The man emerged from the darkness, like Lucifer from the cloaking caves of Hades. There was no mistaking Michael’s size or his black and white charger. Keir bolted out of the ring of fire, heading for the knight.
“Michael!” he shouted, waving a hand.
Michael caught sight of him and spurred his charger in Keir’s direction. The charger, foaming and weary, kicked up clods of earth as it came to a halt within several feet of Keir. Michael dismounted, nearly falling because he was so fatigued. Keir went to him with a mixture of great curiosity and great fear.”
“What in the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
Michael blew out his cheeks, exhausted. “Kurtis sent me,” he told him. “Keir, there are problems you must be aware of. There was no choice but to ride into Wales and pray that I found you. I have been following the army for seven days, into Wales and back again. It was only by sheer luck that I found you.”
Fear erased whatever curiosity Keir was feeling, gripping his heart with icy fingers. “And so you have,” he said. “Is Chloë well? Has something happened to her?”
Michael shook his head. “Chloë is fine,” he replied. Then he lifted his hand in a helpless gesture as if unsure of where to start. “We received a missive from Ingilby. It was addressed to you.”
Keir’s brow furrowed. “A missive from Ingilby?” he repeated, confused. “What in the hell does the man have to say to me?”
Michael struggled to be gentle with him but there was no way to couch such impacting news. He tried to buffer the delivery.
“Let us go into the castle and I will tell you,” he indicated the bastion before them. “I have not eaten in a day.”
Keir grabbed his arm and refused to let him move. “You will tell me now,” he commanded. “What does Ingilby have to say to me?”
Michael sighed heavily. “Keir, it would be better.…”
“Tell me now.”
Michael looked at him, knowing he had no choice. He removed his helm and scratched at his dark head beneath the hauberk.
“We received the missive from Ingilby just over a week ago, addressed to you,” he said, lowering his voice. “Keir, there is no simple way to put this so I will just come out with it. Ingilby claims to have Merritt in his possession and has offered a trade – your son for Chloë. He says he will give you a fortnight to make your decision and if it is the wrong choice, he will send the boy back to you in pieces. Chloë has already decided that she will exchange herself for the boy, thinking that is what you would want. Kurtis is trying to hold her off and sent me to find you.”
Keir stared at him for several long, painful moments, still as stone, the ice blue eyes wide with shock. Michael watched him carefully, seeing no discernable reaction to the news. He finally reached out and grasped his arm.
“Keir?” he shook him gently. “Did you hear me? Ingilby claims to have Merritt and he wants Chloë in exchange for the boy.”
Keir still didn’t reply. Then, as Michael held on to his arm, his knees seemed to buckle and Michael grabbed him so he wouldn’t collapse. But Keir steadied himself, feeling more shock and distress than he ever imagined possible. Like a wave, the impact of the news washed over him.
“He has Merritt?” he breathed. “How does he have my son?”
Michael could see how distressed the man was. “I do not know,” he said softly. “Let us go and sit somewhere, Keir. We need to discuss this and I must eat something before I collapse.”
Keir, his face still taut with shock, simply nodded his head, distracted, moving for the ring of fire and taking Michael inside the blazing safety. He somehow made it over to his possessions, calling for food, and by the time he reached his little corner of the wall, he fell to his knees. He simply couldn’t remain upright any longer.
Michael watched him with concern. When the one-eyed commander came to speak with Keir about something, he noted how fragile and shaken the man looked. He looked to Michael questioningly, but Michael simply shook his head. He did not know what to say. The one-eyed commander, sensing that perhaps now was not the best time for any manner of question, discreetly bowed away.
A soldier handed Michael a cup of some kind of liquid and a big hunk of bread. Michael gratefully accepted the food, crouching down beside Keir, who was still on his knees in the wet, thick grass.
“We do not know how Ingilby came across Merritt,” he said to Keir as he tore into the bread. “In fact, we do not even know for sure that he has Merritt. He could be lying. But Chloë is so convinced that he has your son that she is willing to do whatever he says so you will regain your son. She knows… she knows how much this means to you.”
Keir seemed to snap out of his trance, looking to Michael with a tightness in his expression that Michael had never seen before. It was as if the impact of the news had stripped away all of his strength and what was left was a volatile and emotional shell.
“How much it means to me?” he muttered. “God’s Blood, if it is true, then I cannot tell you how much it means to me. I have been searching for Merritt for three long years with no sign of the boy. And now….”
“As I said, we do not even know for sure if the boy is really Merritt,” Michael interrupted him. “Kurtis feels that you must make the decision. He does not want Chloë doing anything foolish without your knowledge or blessing.”
Keir blinked as if suddenly realizing that Chloë was already planning something that would take this decision, this horrible situation, out of his control. He began to shake his head.
“There is no question,” he said in a raspy voice. “Chloë will not go to Ingilby, not ever. I will
ask for proof that the child Ingilby holds is, in fact, Merritt and then I will negotiate for his release.”
“Ingilby threatened to kill the boy if you do not turn Chloë over to him.”
Keir’s expression grew darker. “If he does, then he shall rue the day, I swear it. I will raze his castle and put the man to a slow and painful death. I will make him wish a thousand times over that he had never tangled with me. You will make sure he understands this.”
“Me?”
“You are going to deliver my response.”
Michael sighed heavily. “He will probably kill me, Keir. The man is insane.”
Keir shook his head. “He will not kill you. You will deliver the missive from a safe position. You will, under no circumstances, enter the grounds of Ripley Castle. And while you are there, you will demand to be shown the boy. You will recognize him, Michael. You know him.”
Michael wriggled his eyebrows. “I knew him as a baby but he has grown much since that time,” he pointed out. “What if I am not sure?”
“Then speak with the boy. Find out what he knows.”
Michael scratched his head, not particularly happy with the directive. Too many variables and too many things could go wrong and he didn’t like the fact that the burden had now shifted to his considerable shoulders.
“He was a baby when he was abducted,” he reminded him. “What child would recall memories of his infancy?”
“He had Madeleine’s eyes. You will know them.”
Michael was obviously reluctant. “Perhaps,” he said vaguely, not wanting to argue about it because it would not end well for either of them. He decided to shift the subject, the wiser choice at the moment. “Chloë, however, seems to have another plan, one that would aid you in both keeping her and regaining Merritt. It is not an unreasonable plan, surprisingly.”
Keir shook his head even as the words left Michael’s mouth. “She should not worry over this,” he said firmly. “This is an issue for me to decide.”
“She felt otherwise. She felt you should not have to make the decision because it would tear you apart. She thought to ease you by making the choice for you.”
“Ease me?” Keir’s voice was full of irony. “She believes it will ease me by turning herself over to Ingilby? That is madness.”
He was becoming enraged and Michael held up his hand to steady him.
“She would not, not really,” he insisted. “Her plan is to commit herself to the convent at St. Wilfrid until the identity of the boy can be verified. Ingilby will believe she is being held by a neutral party until we determine if the boy is truly Merritt, but it is her intention to seek sanctuary from the Church rather than keep her end of the bargain with Ingilby. The baron cannot touch her if the Church protects her.”
Keir stared at the man as if he had lost his mind. “Neither can I!” he threw up his hands. “The Church will not take this lightly, considering she is using them to renege on a bargain. If she agrees to Ingilby’s proposal in writing, whether or not she commits herself to the Church like some holy holding cell, by law she will belong to Ingilby. She will be his property and he will have every right to take her.”
“Not if you take her first.”
“Then I would be stealing what is rightfully his, Michael.”
Michael didn’t have a swift answer for that. He averted his gaze, chewing on his bread and wondering if the situation was truly so complicated.
“Then you had better send word back to Aysgarth,” he muttered. “I am not sure if Kurtis can keep Chloë from doing as she wishes. If she feels she is doing what is best for you, then there will be no stopping her. Only a missive from you will prevent her from doing anything foolish, and even then….”
He trailed off and Keir looked at him, knowing what the man was going to say. He knew it was the truth as well. If Chloë truly thought she was doing what was best for Keir, a direct missive from him might not even be strong enough to stop her. He had no choice. He had to go in person.
“Gather my belongings,” he commanded Michael. “I am going to see de Lacy.”
Michael struggled to his feet. “What are you going to do?”
Keir was already walking for the gatehouse of Dolwyddelan. “I am returning to Aysgarth to sort out this mess.”
“Now?”
“This very moment.”
Michael sighed heavily. “Can I at least sleep a few hours? I have not slept in almost two days.”
Keir cast him a long look over his shoulder. “Sleep if you wish,” he said. “I am returning to Aysgarth with or without you.”
Michael pursed his lips irritably as Keir continued on into the darkness, heading for the gates of the castle that were lit by heavily smoking torches against the black night. But he did not pursue. Wisely, he sank back to his buttocks to finish the remainder of his meal, knowing it might be his last for a while with Keir in such a determined mode. Michael was positive they would be on the road back to Aysgarth within the hour.
When morning dawned, Michael awoke to the heavy smell of smoke around him as cooking fires took flight in the early morning air. It took him a moment to realize he had fallen asleep for several hours and Keir had not returned.
*
Haze. Pain.
Those were the only coherent thoughts in Chloë’s mind as she lay in a stupor, hovering on this side of unconsciousness, having no real grasp of time or space, or even where she was.
She faded in and out, dreaming of a goat she used to have as a child. Occasionally, visions of a knight with pale blue eyes would enter her dreams and she would reach for him, only to watch him fade into mist. When Chloë finally became lucid, it was like being born again. From darkness to mist to light, accompanied by pain and shock. A stabbing pain in her back and torso welcomed her back the world.
A gasp arose from her lips and she could hear her sister and mother speaking softly to her. But Chloë had never been any good with pain and the agony was more than she could bear. She howled and panted as Cassandra gripped her hand and whispered in her ear.
“I am here, Chloë,” she squeezed her hand tightly. “I am here, sweetheart. Everything will be well again.”
As Blanche demanded that the physic give her something, Chloë burst into tears.
“It hurts,” she wept. “What… what….?”
“You fell down the stairs,” Cassandra told her. “You hurt yourself.”
Chloë sobbed loudly, squeezing her sister’s hand as she struggled through the pain. “I… I do not…”
“Ease yourself, Chloë,” Blanche instructed softly, firmly. “The physic will give you something for the pain.”
“Mama?” Chloë heard her mother’s voice and the great brown eyes rolled open. “Mama?”
“I am here, child. Breathe deeply.”
“Mama, what happened?”
“You tumbled down the stairs and hit your head. Be still now and rest.”
Chloë did as she was told, taking a few deep breaths, at least as deep as she could without causing herself excruciating pain. Her gaze was focused on the ceiling and after a few moments, she began to look about.
“Where are we?” she wept.
“Aysgarth Castle,” Cassandra replied. “We are at Aysgarth.”
Chloë fixed on her sister. “Why are we here?” she asked. “I must return to Pendragon. Where is Keir?”
Cassandra stroked her sister’s head. “He is in Wales.”
Chloë was confused. “Wales?” she repeated. “What is he doing in Wales?”
Cassandra was puzzled by Chloë’s reaction. “He had to go,” she said softly. “Do you not remember?”
Chloë had stopped the painful weeping by now but she was shaking and sniffling, looking around the chamber as if she had no idea what was happening.
“Where is Keir?” she repeated. “I want him.”
Blanche hovered over her daughter. “He is in Wales, Chloë,” she said evenly. “He has gone there with the king.”
Chloë looked at her mother as if she truly had no idea what the woman was talking about. Her mind was skittish, foggy, everything coming to her in pieces. She remembered the battle at Exelby and going with Keir to Pendragon. She remembered their declaration of love for one another, but after that, things grew hazy. She gripped her sister’s hands tightly, looking fearfully between her mother and sister.
“He is in Wales with the king?” she repeated.
Both Cassandra and Blanche nodded. “The king summoned him,” Cassandra said gently.
“But why?”
Cassandra glanced at her mother for support as she spoke. “Well,” she said reluctantly. “There was some trouble with the Welsh and… well, the king needed help. He trusts Keir.”
“He went to battle?”
Cassandra nodded sympathetically. “Aye.”
Chloë’s eyes welled with new tears. “I do not remember any of this,” she whispered. “I only know that I love him but… but I do not remember coming to Aysgarth and I do not remember him leaving for Wales.”
Cassandra was growing increasingly distraught, realizing that her sister’s memory had been damaged by the fall. The lump on her forehead shielded hidden symptoms.
“We came to Aysgarth so that we could seek permission to marry,” she told Chloë. “I married Kurtis last week but father would not….”
Thankfully, the physic interrupted her stammering statement with a white willow brew and Cassandra was grateful for the reprieve. In hindsight, she probably should not have told Chloë that her father had denied the marriage to Keir until the man returned from Wales. That would come later, when Chloë was stronger. Or perhaps she would remember on her own. In either case, Chloë’s spotty memory was very concerning.
Between Cassandra and Blanche, they managed to lift Chloë up so she could drink the bitter potion. It caused Chloë great pain but she fought it, drinking down the brew with quivering lips before being lowered back to the bed. Her watering eyes overflowed as she lay still upon the mattress, eyes closed, lips shaking.
England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 150
