One True Knight (The Knights of Honor Trilogy) (17 page)

Jonathan heaved a weary sigh. “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he said. He gestured for Gareth to join him at the table. “Perhaps I couldn’t have prevented Amelia’s death but at least your brother’s life would have been spared.” He balled his hand into a fist, and hit the wooden table. “And all those poor messengers, those innocent people …”

Gareth sat down on the bench, and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Perhaps,” he said blandly, not able to look at Jonathan. “However we cannot change the past.” He picked up the goblet, and drained its contents.

Jonathan glanced down at the scroll still in Gareth’s hand. “What do you have there?”

Gareth looked down as if he had forgotten that he was holding something. “Another message I suppose.” He handed it to Jonathan. “I intercepted it from a servant just now. I believe ‘tis from your cousin.”

Jonathan turned the scroll over, feeling the heavy weight of it in his hand. It was an official invitation to Ravenhearth — that much was obvious. Jonathan allowed a trace of a smile. Lorena was once again trying to interfere in his life. She likely wanted to lure him back to the castle and tempt him with a certain black haired beauty.

For a moment, he gave into an indulgence, allowing his thoughts to drift to Rowena’s lovely face. Her visage floated in front of him so vividly that he could almost touch her, could almost feel the velvety softness of her skin. And her lips. How could he ever forget her luscious lips, or how sweet she tasted?

He fought down the faint stirring of desire that was starting to awaken in him. He couldn’t have her, not while the Grey Knight was free to kill and maim everyone connected to him. He made his vow to Amelia, and it was his duty as a knight, as a man of honor, to apprehend the murderer before more people got hurt. He frowned when a new thought occurred to him. Lorena knew about this danger. Why didn’t she stop her new husband from cornering him after their marriage ceremony?

Instead, Lorena had stood beside her husband, beaming at Jonathan as if she found the perfect solution to his troubles.

“You have my permission to woo my daughter,” Philip said.

Jonathan was rendered speechless, and looked at his cousin for help. But there was no help from her. “You can blame me, if you like,” she said. “I do believe that you would be a most suitable match for Lady Rowena.” She patted him on the arm. “Do not look so alarmed, dear cousin. You have been in pursuit of a phantom for so long that he may not even exist any longer. I fear that if you do not marry soon, you will grow old and lonely.”

“I have not thought much about marriage,” Jonathan said, his tone evasive.

“What is there to think about?” Philip asked, slapping him on his back, his expression jovial.

Jonathan began to shake his head, but Philip laid a heavy hand on his shoulder to stop him from protesting. “Think on it, Sir Jonathan. I have put you and a handful of other eligible knights on a list for Rowena to choose. If you succeed in claiming her attention and her heart, you will be most satisfied with the dowry that accompanies her. From what I’ve seen of you, and from what Lorena tells me, I would be honored to have you in the family.”

He had no desire to woo Philip’s daughter however lovely, or to put her into needless danger. He was comfortable in taking care of himself, in wielding his sword, of slashing down his enemies — at least those enemies that showed their faces. He didn’t need the complication of acting as protector to a wife that he didn’t want or need.

Let some other man win her attention and her heart. And with that, he had fully intended to say no, to refuse Philip’s generous offer, yet when he spoke, the words that came out were: “You do me great honor, sire.”

Philip smiled with approval when he heard Jonathan’s answer. The man acted as if he was the first man to discover happiness and wanted the entire world to share in it. Lorena too found happiness. It was there for all to see. But deep inside Jonathan knew he could not even think of finding such happiness, especially when his own heart was filled with a heavy sense of guilt and pain. And he decided not make any efforts to woo Rowena, believing that his lack of attention made it clear enough that he had no interest in marriage.

He swirled the wine in his goblet, and lifted it to his lips.

“Well? What news does your cousin send?” Gareth asked.

Jonathan glanced at him, suddenly remembering where he was. He unraveled the scroll, and scanned it. “A tournament,” he said with disinterest, and set it aside. “She has invited us all to a tournament. ‘Tis unlikely we can go. The Grey Knight said he will come. I cannot risk being away and miss the opportunity in facing him should the day arrive. Besides, there is much work to do at Blackburn.”

Gareth picked up the scroll from the table and carefully read it before putting it down again. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t attend,” he said. “There is little point in staying at Blackburn, sitting by the fireside and twiddling our thumbs while we wait for the Grey Knight to arrive.” He took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “If the tournament is as big as Lady Lorena says, the Grey Knight will surely attend. And if there’s a chance that he doesn’t show up, he will make it a point to be there if his spies give him word of our plans. Think on it, sire. When he shows up, we will not have to wait to learn his identity. We can capture him on our own terms, and end this infernal quest!”

Jonathan allowed his commander’s heated words to sink in. Gareth was right. He needed to be out in the open with weapon in hand and horse underneath, actively, boldly seeking his enemy. He should not be waiting by the wayside for the enemy to come to him. The dealings with Raulf and the outlaws had distracted him from his main pursuit.

“Aye,” Jonathan said at last. “What you say is true. Perhaps we should attend the tournament after all. Much improvement has already been done at Blackburn and the steward will be able to man the castle while we’re away.” He set his goblet aside, and folded his hands on the trestle table before giving his friend a considering look. “I know that something else is on your mind. Come, tell me what ‘tis. I don’t think you sought me out just to deliver a message and advise me on the merits of attending a tournament.”

Gareth didn’t need further prompting. “We have good information about the outlaws,” he said, leaning closer, a glint in his eyes. “The tournament is a few days off. In the meantime we can at least put an end to the raids in the village.”

“‘Tis good news then,” Jonathan said.

Gareth nodded. “The outlaws were able to evade us each time we searched for them, but this time we caught one.” He chuckled. “Obviously this one just didn’t run as fast as his thieving companions. We should be able to extract information from him and learn who is behind the raids.”

Jonathan gave a grim smile. “If only all criminals were so easy to catch,” he said, getting up. “Take me to the prisoner.”

A few minutes later, they made their way into the dank dungeon that Richard had made quite the use of during his time. At the sound of their footfall, Jonathan could hear the rats scurrying to the darkened corners, diving into the rotted hay that covered the dirt floor. Gareth held up the torch light higher, illuminating the small figure in the damp room.

The small figure, it turned out, was a scrawny boy of about eleven. Streaks of dirt covered his long hair, obscuring its natural straw color. He sat hunched along the slimy wall, his thin wrists and ankles shackled in thick chains.

At the unexpected visitors, the boy lifted his head, and brought up his arm to shield his eyes from the bright light. Then trying to make himself appear more assertive, he raised himself up off the ground, the chains clinking as he moved. But when he caught sight of the fierce hawk on their surcoats, he shrank back, his eyes darting from Jonathan to Gareth. “Ye wear the standard of the Iron Hawk,” he said, unable to keep his voice from trembling.

“He seems quite observant, doesn’t he, Sir Jonathan?” Gareth said sardonically. “Although he might not be sharpest dagger ever forged in the armory.”

The boy continued to look at them wide-eyed with fear.

“So I’m told that you’re a thief,” Jonathan said.

The boy swallowed. “Ye are mistaken, sire. I’m no thief.”

Jonathan quirked an eyebrow. “Then how do you explain your presence in a band of outlaws and thieves?”

“I swear, I haven’t stolen a thing in my life! I tended to the horses — the others, they did the thieving.”

“Then you are an accessory to the crimes,” Jonathan said mildly. “King Edward has given me special permission to hang those who commit crime.”

The boy’s face paled. He tried to put on a brave face, but his eyes shimmered in the torch light, the tears threatening to spill and shame him at any moment. He put out both palms, pleading. “Have mercy on me, sire. I don’t want to die,” he whispered hoarsely. “I took this job to survive. My parents are dead, and I have to support me and my little sister. They never told me that I could die because of my work.”

Who are these people that you work for?” Jonathan asked. His voice had gone soft, but there was no denying the dangerous edge underneath it.

“They say they’re knights,” the boy said. “I don’t know the name of the leader, but they say he’s the rightful heir to Blackburn.”

Jonathan and Gareth exchanged glances. There was one other person who would dare make such a claim.

“Take me to this man you speak of, and I may spare you your life.”

At the boy’s eager nod, Gareth bellowed for the goaler to release him from his chains.

***

The boy led them deep into the dark forest that was far beyond the village. The smell of damp leaves and dirt filled Jonathan’s senses. It rained earlier, and while the tree cover blocked out most of it, some rain still managed to leak through, leaving the ground wet and slippery. They left the horses partway through with one of his men and made the rest of the journey by foot. The boy picked through the foliage as if he made the trek a thousand times before, and soon Jonathan and a dozen of his men found themselves at the camp site.

The fire in the middle of the camp had burned out by the light rain, and the men there had abandoned their spot near the pit, seeking shelter under the trees and bushes that surrounded the camp site. The man who acted as the sentry slept huddled underneath a tree, his sword lying at his side, his head bent at an uncomfortable angle.

The boy beckoned Jonathan to come closer. “He sleeps over there,” he whispered, lifting a dirty finger and pointing toward the middle of the camp where a small tent was erected.

Jonathan motioned for his men to move into position. His men dispersed and quickly secured the camp with practiced efficiency. They gagged the sentry, and tied him up before he even realized what happened. And those who woke were silenced. In a matter of seconds, Gareth gave Jonathan the signal to move forward.

Jonathan blended in with the inky darkness of the forest, making his way into the canvas structure, his ears attuned to the slightest sounds. He could hear the man’s rhythmic snore that progressively became louder, and then when it reached its peak, the snore abruptly stopped, only to start up again.

Jonathan inched closer to the sleeping man.

It was surprising to see that the leader of such an elusive gang of thieves sleeping like the dead. A knight, if indeed he was a knight, would never leave himself so unprotected, so vulnerable. He kicked aside the sword that lay next to the pallet, and then crouched behind the prone man. In an instant, Jonathan grabbed the man’s head with one hand, dragging him close to his chest, and with the other hand he held a dagger against his throat.

The man awoke, sputtering and clawing at Jonathan’s arm, all the while searching blindly, frantically for his sword.

For a fraction of a second, Jonathan realized that the man he gripped in a headlock wasn’t Raulf.

“Don’t move,” Jonathan said in a low, lethal voice.

The man’s body went still as if the sound of Jonathan’s voice paralyzed him.

“I have done nothing wrong,” he said in a voice tense with fear.

“According to whom? The villagers? Because I don’t think they would agree with you,” Jonathan said. “You’re the one leading the raids, aren’t you?” He pressed the dagger closer to the man’s throat.

The man raised his chin higher to avoid the blade. “I swear, I’m not the leader! I’m just a guard. Please don’t kill me!” he pleaded. The fear in his voice was too real for Jonathan not to believe him. “I was only following what I was told to do.”

“By sleeping in this shelter?” Jonathan asked sarcastically.

“Aye!” the man said. “I was told to sleep here tonight,” he continued, his large body trembling as if he realized how precarious his position was. “I didn’t ask why.”

Jonathan tightened his hold on the dagger. “Then who is behind the raids?”

“‘Tis the Grey Knight!” he said, his voice becoming high pitched and frantic. “We know him only as the Grey Knight. We’re told he’s the rightful heir to Blackburn.”

Jonathan’s heart began to beat faster at the new information. Why would the Grey Knight claim Blackburn as his birthright? And how did Raulf fit into this picture? “If you value your life, you will tell me where this Grey Knight has gone,” he said.

“I don’t know!” the guard cried miserably. “He never told us.”

Jonathan let out a sigh of angry frustration. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to get any more information from guard at the moment. “Bring the boy here,” he called to Gareth over his shoulder.

Gareth was in conference with one of his men, and when he heard Jonathan’s voice, he walked over to where he was. “He’s escaped, sire,” he said, his tone grim.

Jonathan closed his eyes. Everything became glaringly clear. The boy was a decoy. The Grey Knight was once again leading him on a merry chase, and somewhere he was laughing at Jonathan’s stupidity.

“Tie him up,” he said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. “And take him and the others back to Blackburn for questioning.”

CHAPTER 17

“They’re here!” Ava clapped her hands, and squealed. She drew Rowena to the narrow window in the chamber, and pointed beyond the battlements. “The knights have arrived!”