Serpent (58 page)

Quietly, Lucan helped the old woman to stand, even helped her with her sewing, which he found a rather ridiculous hobby in the midst of a battle, and followed Pembury from the chamber. He even smacked the man in the back of the head when no one was looking.

With everyone gone and the noise from the fighting faded into nothingness, the chamber was suddenly very still.  Chloë was still leaning against the wall, feeling weak and weary as
Keir moved to the door, adjusting the helm on his head that she had so furiously smacked. As he fumbled with the hauberk beneath it, adjusting it, he turned to Chloë.

“Come along, my lady,” he said quietly.

She looked up from where she had been staring the floor. “Where are you taking us?”

“That is for Lord Coverdale and your father to decide.”

She sighed faintly and pushed herself up off the wall, looking around the room as if searching for something. “My father was in Darlington when all of this started,” she murmured. “Is the castle badly damaged?”

Keir finished fiddling with his mail. “Badly enough,” he told her. “It is not safe as it stands.”

She looked at him and he noted the sad brown eyes.  They were such lovely eyes, he thought, but just as quickly jolted himself from that line of thought. He’d thought it once before and that was forgivable, a natural reaction. But to think it twice was unnerving. It was too shocking and painful to even consider. He hadn’t thought on a lovely woman since….

“Who attacked us?” Chloë asked.

Keir realized he was struggling not to feel something soft or compassionate for the woman. It was purely based on her beauty, he knew that, but he was feeling something warm nonetheless. He was furious at himself, sick to his stomach, realizing he was weak and foolish to think such things. It was ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, he labored to shake off both the foolishness and fatigue.

“They came from Sandhutton,” he told her. “We believe Ingilby is involved.”

Chloë’s big brown eyes widened. “Baron Ingilby from Ripon?”

“The same.”

Her pretty, shapely mouth popped open in both outrage and surprise.  Then she closed her mouth and turned away, returning with distraction to her search of the room.  Keir stood by the door, watching her, as she came across what she had apparently been searching for. 

She shook out the cloak that had been wedged in behind her mother’s sewing chair, silently moving for the door as she swung it around her slender shoulders.  Keir didn’t touch her as he preceded her from the room; not an elbow to take or an arm to hold. He was afraid of what would happen to his exhaustion-fed thoughts if he touched her again.

Just as they were passing through the doorway, past the twisted charred wreckage of the chamber door, Chloë suddenly came to a halt and looked at him.

“Did I hurt your fingers?” she asked.

She seemed rather dull and somber, not at all like the firebrand who had given him a fight moments before.  He gazed steadily at her.

“Nay, lady, you did not.”

She simply nodded, looking rather contrite. “I am sorry… well, if I hurt you,” she turned around and headed towards the stairs. “You must understand that strange and violent men have been attempting to get into the chamber for the better part of two days.”

He watched her luscious red head as it began to descend the stairs. “I would imagine you would not have made it easy for them if they had managed to breach the door.”

In spite of her fatigue, Chloë smiled faintly. “A piece of wood is no match for a man with a sword.”

Keir grunted in disagreement. “You under estimate yourself, lady,” he said as they came to the landing on the third floor. “You are a formidable foe.  My fingers can attest to that.”

Her grin broadened and she turned to look at him. “You still managed to capture me.”

Keir’s heart beat strangely at the sight of her smile, as beautiful and shapely as the rest of her. He shrugged, fighting down the confusing feelings brewing. “Perhaps,” he muttered. “But I almost lost an eye doing it.”

That comment made her peer more closely at him, noting his ice blue eyes, so pale they were nearly white. “One of them is rather red,” she admitted. “I am sorry if I injured your eyes.”

Keir almost took a step back as she leaned in to get a better look at his eyes, a natural reaction when something perfect and awe-inspiring makes its presence known.  Already, he was fearful of the woman, one who could stir feelings in his chest without even trying.  He didn’t want to have anything to do with her but on the other hand, in the few minutes he had known her, she had captured his attention no matter how resistant he was.  It was an odd amalgamation of curiosity and fear.

“I am fine,” he reiterated.

He directed her towards the next flight of stone spiral stairs, this one leading down to the entry level of the dark and smoky keep.  Chloë took the lead once again, followed by Keir who was trying very hard not to look at her or touch her in any way.

“I have not seen you before,” she made conversation with him, perhaps out of guilt for having nearly blinded the man. “My father and Lord Coverdale have been allies for years. Lord Coverdale visits often and I thought I had seen all of his knights.”

Keir had to pick up the hem of her cloak so he wouldn’t step on it. “I am a garrison commander for Coverdale,” he told her. “Usually, I am at my post. I do not make Aysgarth Castle my home.”

“Where is your post?” she looked at him, an innocent question.

He held up the edge of her cloak as he took the stairs. “Coverdale’s garrison in Cumbria.”

She nodded in understanding. “I see,” she said as they reached the entry level. “Did he recall you to help regain my father’s castle?”

Keir let go of the cloak, allowing himself to look her in the face.  He could feel his palms start to sweat and his heart beat pick up again at the sight.

“I was at Aysgarth already when one of your father’s men came with the request to bear arms,” he told her. “My presence here is purely by chance.”

Chloë smiled. “Then we are most fortunate for your assistance, Sir Keir,” she said. “I am sorry we had to meet under such strenuous circumstances but it was very nice to make your acquaintance. I hope that you do not hold the first few violent moments of our association against me.”

Keir stared at her. She was sweet, intelligent and well spoken, something he found deeply attractive.  She had such a sweet little voice, like the tinkle of tiny silver bells, and he swore he could have listened to that voice forever.  As he opened his mouth to reply, he heard a roar off to his left and he turned to see a soldier he did not recognize charge from a shadowed alcove, a heavy broadsword leveled. 

Keir grabbed Chloë and pulled her away from the door, shoving her back behind him as he unsheathed his sword.  He brought the weapon up just as the soldier brought his blade down, and sparks flew as metal upon metal met in the darkness of the entry hall. 

He was at a disadvantage with a lady to protect in a small space, but he made the best of it. Lashing out a massive boot, he kicked the man in the legs, sending him backwards, and went on the attack. Keir brought his blade down twice in heavy succession, eventually knocking the weapon from the hands of his weaker opponent.  Then he grabbed the man by the head, pointing the tip of his razor-sharp blade at the man’s neck.

“Mercy, milord, mercy,” the soldier threw up his hands, begging. “Don’t kill me!”

Keir was emotionless and professional.  Simply from the man’s rough pattern of speech, he realized that he wasn’t an educated or particularly intelligent warrior.  He was simply a servant, doing as he was told. A more experienced man would have given him a better fight. Keir tossed him to the floor and put an enormous boot on the man’s neck.

“Who do you serve?” he asked.

The man could barely breathe. “I… I….”

The boot pressure grew stronger. “Answer me or I will end your life now.”

The man was struggling. “In…gilby….”

Although they already knew as much, it was confirmation.  Keir never took his eyes off his captive.

“What were your orders?”

The man was squirming, his face turning shades of red. “I…. don’t….”

Keir put more pressure on the man’s neck.  “Your orders or you die.”

“The…
goddess!
” the man croaked.

Keir cocked his head. “The goddess?” he repeated, confused. “Who is the goddess?”

Out of the shadows, they both heard the response.

“The goddess is me.”

₰

Read the rest of FRAGMENTS OF GRACE and THE WOLFE on Amazon in Kindle format and
in paperback.