Page 42 of A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight’s Tale #3)

R upert abruptly turned and walked away from the altar, heading for the group of men gathered in the doorway.

Some moved forward, some back in their rush to let him through and he walked past them into the rain.

This was her chance. “Let me just talk to him,” Cara said, in a concerned tone. She tried to hide her elation as she hurried after the man.

Lord Dinsdale grabbed her forearm and squeezed tight. “Talk him into this, or I will give you to my men.”

“Ew.” She jerked away. The guy really was a sicko.

She ran after Rupert.

“Rupert, wait! Come here for a moment and talk to me!”

And just like that, she was through the men, even Gargantuan stepped aside, and she was running out into the rain, after Rupert, until she wasn’t.

The cold rain made her flinch, but it didn’t dampen her elation and she veered for the rock until she stood beside it. Quicker than thought, she reached down and grabbed a sharp rock near the base and pressed it to her clavicle, ready to scratch herself and go home.

More lightning flared.

Smiling, triumphant, she turned and met Lord Dinsdale’s gaze where he now stood in the doorway of the chapel.

He suddenly lifted his head, and she couldn’t help but turn to see what he was looking at.

Lightning jagged across the sky to reveal a Wallace, a line of men at his back, riding toward them.

Her mouth parted as cold rain pelted against her face.

He looked like evil incarnate, riding a warhorse, thunder announcing his presence, his overall demeanor grim.

The skies opened up, rain poured down, winds gusted, buffeting the trees, and she was soaked through in an instant.

She glanced back to see Lord Dinsdale lift his dagger and start toward her.

He’d rather see her dead than let Wallace have her. She knew it had nothing to do with her, that he just wanted to thwart the other man, but it felt pretty personal.

Rupert was about the same distance away, saw what his father was doing, pulled his sword, and followed.

She pressed back against the stone monolith, sharp rock still at her throat, and froze like a nitwit.

Thundering hooves sounded behind her and she doubted Wallace could see her, but he probably saw the men coming at her, weapons drawn.

She suddenly couldn’t catch her breath.

“Dinsdale!” Wallace roared.

Father and son ran at her and as Lord Dinsdale lifted his knife, he let out a yell, and lunged.

Rupert slid between them, the hilt of his sword catching his father’s weapon, the two of them wrestling for supremacy even as the pounding of hooves sounded behind them.

Rupert and his father screamed into each other’s faces as they landed hard against her.

She slammed against the rock at her back and joined in the screaming as the rock in her hand, trapped against her chest, bit into her.

The three of them rolled hard upon the stone, chaos erupted into light and noise, and with a mighty shove, Rupert threw his father off and he was hit, dead on, by a black SUV.

The thunk, the sound of screeching breaks, was horrendous.

* * *

Cara looked around in shock.

Rupert, breathing hard, slowly stood, the tip of his sword falling to hit the concrete sidewalk, shock and horror expanding on his face.

He glanced first to the right, and then down at her, his gaze taking everything in.

“Are you a witch, then?” he asked, his sword scraping a bit as he tightened his grip on the hilt.

“No,” her back hurt, her chest, and she’d scraped her arm on the rock or the warm concrete sidewalk beneath her. “I’m definitely not a witch,” she said, hoping he wasn’t planning to stab her.

She slowly stood, not trusting him to assist, and summer night air caressed her chilled skin.

People from the SUV, and from several other cars, rushed to try and help Lord Dinsdale.

There was no helping Lord Dinsdale. He’d been hit hard. And it was horrible, it was, but they couldn’t stay here any longer, they had to get out of there before they were noticed.

She squinted against the light, and her hands lifted to protect her ears. The noise! She hadn’t expected it, didn’t remember it, and it rattled her, pounding at her like it did.

She lifted her head, to gape at the exact same chapel, only now, surrounded by other buildings, landscaping, a sign on the front proclaiming the time of Sunday services.

A priest stood in the doorway, watching her. He was a short, white-haired gentleman, wearing a brown wool gown, and a crucifix around his neck.

He looked more medieval than modern, but this was England so what did she know?

He smiled widely, his eyes seeming to twinkle with happiness as he rubbed his hands together. “’Tis working out quite nicely, is it not?” he called out.

She really didn’t want anything to do with another priest at the moment. “Come on, Rupert, follow me,” she said, as she staggered and headed for the alley at the side of the chapel.

Limping away, loosening as she walked, she quickly hightailed it out of there.

* * *

Wallace arrived in time to see Cara, Sir Rupert, and Lord Dinsdale disappear.

At least, that’s what he thought he saw. As the rain poured he jumped off his horse and slammed into the stone repeatedly and from different angles.

He searched the ground.

Lady Helena caught up. “What are you doing?” she yelled, trying to be heard.

Wallace paced back and forth, water dripping off his hair and face. “How do I get to her?” He grabbed his mother by the shoulders. “This is what you spoke of. This church, this stone, where did you go from here? How?”

“Wallace … the … the priest helped me.”

The priest approached, his hand blocking the driving rain, and Wallace released his mother and pulled the man the rest of the way to the stone.

The priest released a muffled yell.

“What know you of this?” Wallace demanded.

“I … I have no idea what you speak of.”

Thunder and lightning flashed.

“You saw them disappear! Do not deny it! Where did they go?”

“This is the resting place of Saint Cuthbert,” he yelled, rain pelting his face. “This healing stone is curative, blessed by our Saint many years ago!” The priest looked about, eyes narrowed against the rain, an expression of bafflement upon his face. “If he took them, I do not know where.”

Wallace released the man, pacing away to grab his head, releasing a roar! “Where is she?”

He turned back to the priest. “Did she wear a necklace?”

“She did. Given to her by Lord Dinsdale upon her wedding.”

Horror engulfed him. “She is married? To whom?”

The priest was shaking his head. “Sir Rupert refused her. Denounced her as she was with Lord Wolfsbane’s child.”

Wallace’s mouth dropped as yet more emotion shook him. “What say you?”

The priest shrank back, shaking his head.

Wallace turned to his mother. “Did you wear a necklace, like Cara’s?”

Lady Helena lifted her arm, revealing her wrist. “The bracelet! I wore this bracelet, given to me that night. But it never comes off. It has never come off since …”

Realization hit her face. “Since last I was here.” She turned her head to the stone, her mouth parting. “The priest … he …” his mother reached out to the stone, her hand brushing along the rough exterior, then tugged at her bracelet.

It did not come off.

Rain plastered her hair against her face. “Your dagger.”

He gave it to her without question and with the sharp tip, she nicked her wrist.

The bracelet unclasped at her touch, the chain, wrapped twice around her, fell away.

Pale and shocked, her expression slightly bereft, she gave it to Wallace who quickly bent over to protect it from the rain, and clasped it once around his own wrist.

Following his mother’s example, he cut himself, leaned forward and touched the stone.

The world fell away.