Darkest Knight (3 page)

The light on the phone illuminated the object. She bent down and picked it up, wiping the grime off on her jeans. They were dark blue so it shouldn’t show, and by this point she was already covered in dust and spider webs.

It was a locket. She turned the piece over in her hand; it felt heavy. She pried it open to see one side was empty and the other side contained an image. The grime rubbed away, she could make out a portrait. Or rather half a portrait of a man. He wore a black shirt over a muscular torso. If only she could see the face. Over and over, she ran her thumb over the ragged edge of the portrait where the top piece of the miniature had been ripped away.

She turned it over and rubbed the back. There was some type of inscription. Holding it close to the light, she tried to make it out, but it was mostly worn away. There seemed to be a word. She squinted, pushed the button on her phone, and groaned. No more battery. There might be enough light coming in from the window. Mesmerized by the locket, she tripped over an uneven section of the floor and went down hard on her knees, skinning her palms on the rough stone.

“Ouch.” She held up a palm. There was blood on her hand and on the locket. Would it ruin what was left of the artwork? A loud ringing noise filled her head, and Anna pressed her palms over her ears, heedless of the blood. It sounded like she was in the middle of the storm. Thunder boomed around her and lightning flashed inside the small cell. Which should have been impossible, given she was inside the stone walls. But blue light arced all around her.

The noise reached a crescendo and Anna wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth in the corner, wishing it would stop. She closed her eyes tight and repeated over and over, “Please make it go away, please make it go away, please make it go away.”

It rained the entire bloody way to London. For a full fortnight. John swore he felt every rut in the path along the way. Several days into the journey, he managed to dispatch one of the guards and almost escape before he was clouted on the back of the head and fell unconscious.

When he woke, he found himself chained in the cage.
 

“Won’t be making the same mistake again,” the guard sneered.

After that, the men were much more wary around him. Truth be told, John was rather vexed. Had his reputation not preceded him? These men should be shaking in their boots to have captured the infamous bandit of the wood.

Movement woke him. The horses, sensing home, had picked up the pace. He rubbed his eyes. There in the distance stood the tower, the stone harsh against the clear blue sky. Given his circumstances, John thought it would have been more appropriate for it to be raining and thundering, with great clouds set against the forbidding structure, but instead it was a day to be outside enjoying life.

He was roughly hauled out of the cage, and John’s knees buckled. The cage hadn’t been tall enough for him to stand up straight.

“Get up with ye,” one of the guards snarled.

There were two guards in front of him, one on either side, and two behind him. This was more like it. He deserved to make his entrance in style.

“Bloody hell, the stench in could here fell a horse.”

“Aren’t we proud,
my lord
.”

Two of the guards snickered. As unbearable as the stench was, it was the screams and moaning of broken men that made him feel the first shiver of unease. Most highborn prisoners were provided decent cells. But John Thornton hadn’t been Lord Blackmoor in a very long time. And it seemed he wouldn’t be Lord Blackmoor again, if the new king had his way. Why did the king care what he had done? It wasn’t his mistress John had been caught with.

As they dragged him into the dark, dank bowels of the tower, he wondered if Blackmoor Castle still stood. Were any of his men still there, waiting? Mayhap one of his brothers had taken over his home. Pushing the vexing thoughts aside, John peered into the cells as they led him through the corridors.

If he were still considered high rank, he would be beheaded. As the bandit of the wood, likely he would be hanged, drawn, and quartered. He spent a moment surveying his chances of a quick death.

The constable of the tower stood waiting beside the entrance to the cell. The man held John’s pouch in his hand. The tingle of coins could be heard as he threw the pouch up in the air and caught it.

“This will likely do for a while. ’Tis ten pounds for the pleasure of staying here. The rest will cover your food and accommodations.”

“Who’s the bandit now?”

The constable chuckled, his belly jiggling over his hose. His tunic was stained and dirty, his whiskers unkempt. You would think for the exorbitant fees the man charged he would be better dressed.

“Throw ’em in.”

The guards shoved him into the cell, and John looked around his new accommodations.

Anger coursed through him as John realized this had been planned for a while. For there was already a bed with linens and blankets, table and bench, eating utensils and dishes, and a ewer and basin to wash. They had plenty of time to prepare for his arrival.

The anger dissipated as worry took its place. Had Archie also betrayed the location of their camp? The king’s soldiers would kill everyone under his care. It annoyed him to ask this man for anything, but he needs know.

“Will any of my men be joining me?”

The constable turned around, and the grin on his face made John clench his fists.

“Archie was verra talkative. By now the king’s men will have destroyed your wicked camp in the wood. Orders were clear. Kill them all.”

Eyes blazing, the rage in his belly warming him, John swore viciously. “I will see every one of them dead.”

The man sneered at him. “No, you’ll be dead. Seems you won’t be staying with us long. Lord Denby has the ear of the king, and you will die three days from now.”

John swore in every language he knew. He cared not for his own life, but with the knowledge he was responsible for so many deaths, he would never forgive himself.

This morn, like every one since John arrived at the tower, he woke to the sound of metal scraping against metal. The guards banging on the bars with a metal cup as if they were all animals in a cage. At least his gold provided a warm meal. The routine was monotonous, and John took to marking a line on the wall each day. The constable was misinformed. For he did not die in three days. No, he bided his time, waiting for the king’s pleasure to give the order. More likely Denby was the cause.

After a se’nnight, John was weary of the dull days. When the heard the keys, he stood waiting, pulling his cloak around him. He would not grant Denby the satisfaction of hearing he had taken ill with fever.

“Rabbie. What are you doing here?”

The boy waited until the guard retreated down the corridor before he spoke. The lad tried to be brave, but his eyes leaked, the anguish on his face warning John of terrible news.

“Gone. They are gone.”

Fear dug its claws into his heart. “Who is gone?”

“Soldiers came. So many. They burned our home.” He hiccupped. “They killed everyone. Even the babes.”

The boy met his gaze, and John had the feeling he was looking into the eyes of an old man.
 

Rabbie whispered, more to himself than to John, “They killed Magda. She was tending the sick. Soldiers chained the door and fired the hut.” He dried his face on a dirty, torn sleeve.

“I’ve never heard such screams. ’Twas awful.”

A blade sliced through John’s battered heart. Magda had been with him from the beginning. ’Twas she who found him wandering in the wood, half-dead after being attacked by a group of bandits. He could no more imagine a world in which she did not take breath as he could believe the sky green and the grass blue. Silently, John vowed he would avenge her. In this life or the next. He handed the boy a cup of ale.

“They will be missed. Tell me how you escaped?”

Rabbie sniffled. “I’d gone fishing for supper. I heard the screams and smelled the fire. I hid like you taught us.”

The wretched look on the boy’s face must look like his own, John thought. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“’Twas the right course. The soldiers would have cut you down. Know I will avenge our people.”

Rabbie looked at him with hope in his eyes. “Do ye have a plan to escape? I can help.”

The boy looked around to make sure they were unobserved. Then he reached behind him down the back of his breeches. He grunted and pulled out a cloth-covered bundle. When he opened it, John saw the pouch within. He stifled a chuckle.

“Nasty guards searched me but didn’t find it.”
 

John opened the bag, the gold gleaming in the candlelight.

“You did well.” John placed the bundle within his cloak. He could use it to bribe one of the guards. At eight years old, the boy had seen a lifetime of tragedy, and yet he was as brave as a warrior.

“I would have died if you hadn’t saved me when I was a babe. There must be a way to rescue you from the tower. To repay you for all you have done.”

“No. You cannot. You will leave and you will live. That will be repayment.”

The small boy had shown such courage that John had to do something for him. What he was about to say might set into motion events he wasn’t ready to face. But John would do what needs be done.

“What I am about to tell you, you must swear not to tell another soul.”

The boy’s eyes were huge as he nodded.

“I have a brother. His name is Robert Thornton. Lord Highworth. Highworth Castle is near Sutton on the Celtic Sea.” John thought for a moment. “You will be safe there from the fighting. Robert will take you in. You can work in the stables. You are good with the horses.”

The boy hopped back and forth from one foot to the other.

“You are a Thornton? Your brothers are very powerful. They will come for you. I will take a message to Lord Highworth.”

“No.” The reply came out sharper than he intended. John took a deep breath and tried again. “Nay, Rabbie. My brothers will lose all if they aid me. You gave your word. Swear you will not speak a word of this to anyone. You will live with Robert and be safe. You will forget me.”

Tears ran down Rabbie’s face, making tracks in the dirt staining his cheeks. His shoulders slumped. Yet he raised his head and looked John in the eye.

“As you wish, my lord. I will not utter a word to anyone. I swear I will carry your secret to my grave.”

“There’s no need to call me
my lord
,” John said gently. “My title was stripped from me long ago, lad.”

John roughly pulled the boy to him, ruffling his hair.

“Live, Rabbie. Make the most of life. You deserve better than the life of a bandit.”

The boy clung to him, his tears wetting John’s tunic.

“I will never forget you. Never forget all you have done for me.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “And I will light a candle for those we have lost.”

John banged on the bars and listened to footsteps approach. The guard opened the door and Rabbie walked through it. He turned to look at John, nodded once, and disappeared down the corridor. The key turning in the lock sounded final.

If only he could have moved his people sooner. Saved them. Drowning in a sea of grief, John hung his head, the tears silently hitting the stone floor.