Page 11 of A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight’s Tale #3)

T he morning passed as expected.

Preparing for, and attending the fair at Stirling had left many a decision to be made at the manor.

When they’d adjourned to the fields behind the manor house, Cara, as predicted, was more hindrance than help.

When she’d naturally drifted toward the women, he was glad she found something else to occupy her time.

With so many driven to build extra living quarters, the work went fast, but it was getting hot.

In the north as they were, they were fortunate to have wood aplenty, and his men had been industrious in his absence, cutting and stripping trees and hauling them back to the property.

There were five huts under construction, partially framed, cords lashing the wood tightly into place.

Piles of animal hair and clay were pressed together to plaster the walls.

He was pleased with the industry of his people, and tried to hide the bitterness he felt that they’d been driven to this.

Their perfectly fine homes taken over by Dinsdales, given, upon a whim, to whoever that treacherous fiend felt deserving.

Many of his serfs had been unable to make their way to him, too afraid to travel when they’d never been so far from home. Mayhap afraid for their security under his care. Still others, often cast out, braved bandits, weather, and starvation to reach him.

Wallace hated the situation.

They were his responsibility. He’d been raised from birth to believe so. That he struggled under the burden was unacceptable.

Favian brought water around and Wallace stopped what he was doing and wiped his brow. The boy, aged ten or so, and a villager all his life, grinned, clearly glad to be of help.

Wallace should be fostering boys his age, raising pages, and turning them into squires; eventually knights. But none wished to send their sons to the house of a defeated lord.

His mood darkened as he resumed work. He would take care of necessities for the here and now. Crops, shelter, safety. As soon as he was able, he’d petition the king once again, for his right of might, for the chance to bring the Dinsdales their due.

They might enjoy the fruits of Wolfsbane labor at the moment, but when he had his way, and he would, the Dinsdales control would end.

Cara’s laughter drew his gaze once again to where she sat in the shade with four peasant women, pulling apart sheep’s wool and shucking it into baskets to be mixed with clay.

She chattered, her animation a draw, a lure, a trait he loved in her.

He was not the only man there straining to hear her conversation. His people were not usually having so much fun, but with her there, that now seemed changed.

Smiles all around.

She’d been truthful in her desire to assist, and he could not help but admire her all the more for it. A gently bred lady, willing to work with serfs? She had earned a bit more of his respect.

He was gratified to see her gaze sought him often as well.

Several times he’d put his shoulder into the work, shoved a heavy pole into place, then looked to see if she noted.

Once she’d clapped her hands and said, “Wow! You’re so strong! Well done!”

He did not know if the heat in his cheeks was from praise or exertion, but either way it seemed to make her smile.

He’d long thought of vengeance, it consumed him for years. Still did, truth be told. But now, he also had her to think about.

No hardship there. A bright spot in his otherwise dark existence. He couldn’t help but look forward to another chance to travel with her, to hold her close, her shield and protection.

“Ho! We’ve company, my lord.”

Several of the women scattered, grabbing up children as they ran.

Wallace called a nearby man over to take his place holding one side of the structure, and moved forward to intercept the three knights wearing Dinsdale colors.

Lord Dinsdale sent men upon occasion, to hassle and spy, but so close to the arrival of the serfs, made the matter suspect.

Wallace scanned the woods, glad of the dagger at his back. “Stop there, and state thy business,” his voice boomed across the distance.

The whelp in the lead smiled, smarmy and disdainful. He and his friends had been there before, threatening and frightening families, spreading lies.

He’d ridden down a woman, snatched her up, then dropped her upon Wallace’s arrival, breaking her arm, hooting and laughing as he rode away.

Wallace still owed him for that.

The fool urged his mount forward at a steady clip, on a path to force Wallace to give ground.

Muscles loose, he readied himself.

“’Tis come to Lord Dinsdale’s attention that certain items have gone missing from Wolfsbane Castle. He sent me to adjust the matter.”

Eyes glowing with malice, betraying is intentions, he urged his mount onward. “Return his possessions and he’ll overlook the theft. Do not and he’ll send enough men to destroy what little you have left and he’ll take them back anyway.”

The knight dug his heels, and the animal lunged forward as Wallace sidestepped and yanked the other male off his mount and slammed him flat upon the ground within the next moment. He smashed his fist into his face three times until the smirk, now missing teeth, was permanently gone, and covered in blood.

He heard swords slide out of scabbards, and relieved the fallen man of his own. Jumping back he barely missed getting his face sliced.

He immediately surged forward and clashed with the man who’d tried to disfigure him, feeling no pity as he used his strength to knock the weapon back from his unskilled opponent, and then plunged his borrowed sword into the man’s stomach.

“At your back, my lord!” Several called out and he turned to find the knight on the ground slashing with his dagger, trying to slice his ankle, and he jumped back, stabbed the man’s wrist with his own sword, and thrust a dagger into his throat even as he screamed.

The third knight, still seated, tried to control his fidgety mount, and though his sword was out, he yanked furiously at the reins until the horse turned. He dug heels into the stallion’s side yelling, “There will be a price to pay for this day’s work!”

There would, but not until Wallace was better prepared to face the threat. He pulled an axe from a dead man’s belt, ran forward, and grasping the handle with both hands, flung it hard and true and it embedded in the fleeing man’s back.

Grim satisfaction filled him as he watched the man fall. His mount continued on for a moment, skittering off to one side, before slowing.

Muscles bunching, Wallace sucked in air. “Sir Thomas,” he said to the man suddenly at his side, sword in hand. “Fetch the horses, and get some of the men to help bury the bodies away from the property.”

Sir Thomas Brooker, one of his knights, was thin, taller than most, and though he was young, was touched with common sense. “Yes, my lord.”

Wallace turned to see Cara, standing alongside the women, wide-eyed and still.

This was the second time he’d proven his prowess in front of her and he gave her a slight nod as pride lifted his chest.

She turned away, her expression one of dismay and perhaps a touch of fear.

He frowned, his lips pressing tight as he drew air in through his nose, waiting for his heart to slow its beat.

Her reaction was unexpected. The last time he’d killed, she’d clung to him for the entire day after he’d dispatched her attackers.

As the men behind him carried the corpses away, Wallace strode toward his lady, who now walked back toward the manor with another female.

“Cara?”

She turned and waited.

He dismissed the woman at her side with a look. “What is amiss?”

She glanced down, waited until they were alone, and took a shaky breath. “Until the other day, I’d never seen anyone killed before. Now it’s happened again. I know I don’t know the circumstances and it looked like self-defense,” she gave him a look.

“Mostly, anyway. And now I’ve had six men killed in front of me. And it was my boyfriend who did it. And while I’m truly grateful for the fact that you’re a stone-cold killer, I just realized my boyfriend is a stone-cold killer.” She crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, but I’m sort of freaking out right now!”

Boy? Friend? He liked neither description, but at least she claimed him as her own.

He gently cupped her arms and pulled her close, gratified when, after only a slight hesitation, she opened her arms and clung. In fact, he reveled in it, something within him seeming to fill with elation whenever she did so.

“A gentle lady of your delicate disposition should never have been subjected to such a display.”

“I heard your order to bury them. Shouldn’t the authorities be involved? I don’t want you to get into trouble, but there were a lot of witnesses who saw him try and ride you down.”

Her brows knit with worry. “Though you did hit him in the face.”

Her concern warmed him, and he pulled her closer. “Dearest.” The word slipped out easily, though he’d never said it to another soul in his lifetime.

He glanced around to see every eye upon them, and he tucked her under his arm, walking away from the crowd, toward the side of the manor to find privacy.

She didn’t weep this time, though she did stumble a bit, and he easily kept her upright.

There were several trees, and a bench he remembered from his childhood. Of late, he’d been too busy to notice such niceties.

He tugged her toward the bench, sat, and pulled her onto his lap. He tilted her chin, so their gazes met, and began again.

“Dearest,” he said once more, enjoying the endearment. As he’d proposed marriage, he felt it was not wrong to use the appellation. “I fear you think me a heathen, unable to tell right from wrong. Those men the other day, deserved to die for attacking you thus.”

He watched her eyes flicker, and wished to make sure she understood him, held him blameless. “Today? Those men were sent to cause trouble, and perhaps to kill me and mine. ’Tis two years since Lord Dinsdale took Wolfsbane Castle. Tis but days since I almost won it back. He knows, if I can bring the king to agree once, I can win approval for yet another match. Unless I am dead.”

She nodded and he ran a thumb across her lips, once, twice, fascinated by the softness.

“The man’s insult was meant to start a fight, and I granted him the chance. After that, I but defended myself.”

She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “What about the man running away?”

“He would have returned to his master, and incited fighters to come back with enough men to kill many, if not all in my care.”

Her face shifted into lines of horror. “They can’t do that! Aren’t there any local authorities? Your king … or … or … the queen! Surely someone could stop them?”

Wallace was already shaking his head. “I am the authority here. Were I dead, the king would be told I incited a war after losing the joust.”

She studied his face for a long moment, and he felt her unbend, the slightest relaxing of her body, her face softening with acceptance.

“This just seems so crazy to me. In the states the police would deal with this.”

“’Tis my job to protect my people. I do not take the responsibility lightly.”

She scoffed, a light but humorless sound. “I guess not.”

He had work to do, but enjoyed the feel of his lady, warm and accepting, for one long, last moment.

Unable to resist, he ran a thumb over her lips again, “Is ought amiss?”

“I’m fine. Just ... you know, where I’m from, people die too, all the time in the news, in fact. But the only time I’ve seen death, is at a viewing a few times in my life.”

“Then I’m sorry for what you’ve witnessed the last few days.”

He still did not wish to move her, but she finally slid off his lap, standing above him. She looked at her hands, and rubbed at a smudge until it faded away.

She chuckled, again a humorless sound. “Trust me when I tell you this has been a strange couple of days.”

A smile curled his lips, something he’d not have believed possible just a few, short days ago. “I understand.”

“I’d like to call my parents. I realize you’re minimalists, or something like that, and trust me, my father would definitely approve.” She flashed a glance at him. “Do you think you could take me to the closest phone where I can make a collect phone call?”

“Phone?”

“Yes, you know,” she chuckled. “A device that lets you speak to someone in another location?”

He did not wish to appear uneducated, but he truly did not know what she asked for.

And there wasn’t much he was not willing to gift her to make her more comfortable, and perhaps influence her decision to become his bride.

He stood. What was a phone and where could he find one? He finally just asked. “Where would we find such an item?” Heat crept up his neck. If she was to be his, he wished to lead, provide, become the steadfastness in her life, and he did not enjoy feeling the dolt.

“Well,” she glanced around as if suspecting this phone to appear. “To tell the truth, I’m not even sure where we’re at. Northern England, correct?”

“Aye.”

“So where is the nearest town?”

They were even now expanding the village near the manor, though he suspected that was not what she asked for. “There is a large village but a morning’s ride from here.”

She brightened. “Oh, good! When do you think we could go?”

The thought of holding her close again, for hours at a time, was tempting.

But there was much to do before they left for Newcastle to make further demands upon the king. Shelters to build, fortifications to make, late summer harvesting to tend to. There would be many mouths to feed come winter.

And the king would also demand his due.

He had thought to have his rightful wealth and properties back under his control by this time.

And the very reason it had not worked out, stood before him, distracting him from responsibilities, confusing him with words.

He did not wish to feel the irritation burgeoning within him, so he turned away. “That is not possible at this time.”

He headed back toward work and responsibility, and away from the temptation of his future bride.

“Wait!” She caught up to him. “That’s fine, but when can we go?”

“When I say so.” As far as he was concerned that was the end of the subject.