[The deBurghs 07] - Reynold De Burgh: The Dark Knight (12 page)

‘And what business might that be?’ Reynold asked, tempted to show the scrawny fellow just how much power he wielded with his sword arm.

‘I have already told you.’

‘Ah, yes, the hunt for moles,’ Reynold said, his voice laden with disdain. But he had no desire to linger here upon the slope that housed the dead, especially when it was cloaked with a mist that sent sounds awry and made even a grown man lose his bearings.

‘Very well, let us have Mistress Sexton’s opinion,’ Reynold finally said. For a long moment, he thought
Urban might even refuse to accompany him back to the manor, but at last they made their way to the hall.

The noise of their entrance brought Alec and a wary Adele up from the cellar. Leaving the indignant Urban there with them and Peregrine, Reynold marched up to Mistress Sexton’s bedchamber. He knew which one it was, of course, for he had been guarding her for some time. But he had never begged entrance before, and, as he faced the portal, he wondered why he had not sent his squire on this errand.

It was too late now, so Reynold knocked upon the worn wood. He heard Ursula’s nervous query and announced himself upon an urgent errand. He could have left then, but something held him at the door even as Ursula opened it.

‘I need to speak with your mistress,’ Reynold said, his voice suddenly low and hoarse. He had said little to Mistress Sexton since his rude behaviour earlier in the day, and he wondered, wildly, whether he should take the opportunity to apologise. But then he remembered Peregrine’s tirade that had followed. Had Urban listened and reported all to his mistress? Reynold’s lips tightened into a thin line as he recalled his purpose here involved nothing personal.

But Ursula obviously thought otherwise, for she slipped away, as though to give him privacy. Reynold would have called her back, but the door swung open, and Mistress Sexton stood in the entrance.

She had thrown some sort of heavy robe over her nightclothes, and behind her lay a bed, its linens disor
dered, from which she had so recently risen. Reynold quickly glanced away from the sight that made his heart pound. But ’twas no easier to look at Mistress Sexton herself, for the moonlight glowed on her golden hair, giving her an ethereal look, as though she was not of this earth. But hadn’t she always been too beautiful, too perfect, for mere mortals, for Reynold de Burgh?

‘What is it, my lord?’ she asked, her lovely features tense with anxiety.

Reynold cleared his suddenly thick throat. ‘There is no danger,’ he assured her. And he had to stop himself from stepping over the threshold to take her into his arms, intending comfort, but seeking more…

‘’Tis Urban,’ he said.

Mistress Sexton’s gaze flew to his. ‘Is he hurt?’

Reynold shook his head, jealous of her concern for the man. ‘Not yet,’ he muttered. He drew a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the matter at hand, rather than the sweet scent of her, stronger here in the darkness, in the closeness…

‘I found him sneaking out of the manor long after the rest of you were abed,’ Reynold said. ‘I followed him into the mist and found him digging a hole at the edge of the hill where you claim the dragon is buried.’

Mistress Sexton’s eyes grew so wide in her pale face that Reynold feared she might faint, though he had never seen her show any signs of weakness. Still, it was the middle of the night and she recently roused from bed, so he reached for her, simply to steady her upon her feet. But she stepped back, away from him, shaking her head vehemently.

And before Reynold knew what she was about, he was staring at the door, shut firmly in his face.

At first light, Reynold looked down at the hole in the ground, unseeing. He flexed his hands, trying to deny the urge to hit something with his fists. What was the matter with him? That was the sort of thing his brother Simon would do—punch away angrily at anything. It was Simon who had the temper, not Reynold, who had learned long ago to keep everything to himself. So why was he suddenly boiling over with rage and frustration that he had thought well tamed?

He blamed a sleepless night, as well as Mistress Sexton. If she hadn’t waylaid him, begged him to do her bidding, and then dismissed him like the basest villein…If she weren’t so beautiful. And if she hadn’t made him believe, hope, want…

‘My lord?’ Peregrine’s voice pierced the darkness of his mood, recalling him to the matter at hand, a pile of soil and the place where it had once been. Reynold already had searched the slope for signs of other disturbances, but found nothing.

‘Unless Urban filled in any previous area, replacing even the grasses, this is the only spot,’ Reynold said. He wished now that he had thought to follow Urban before, that he had trusted none of them, not even Mistress Sexton.

Peregrine studied the hole, then glanced beyond it to where the ground gently sloped upwards. ‘And this is where the dragon is buried?’ he asked quietly.

‘According to Mistress Sexton,’ Reynold said, though he was beginning to wonder what—and who—to be
lieve. Yet, as Peregrine pointed out, Urban’s hole was close to the mound, and Reynold felt a nagging at the back of his mind. He searched his memory again, for something that would explain Urban’s actions. And the answer came to him so swiftly that he wondered why he had not considered it earlier. Startled, he glanced at his squire, only to see the same enlightenment reflected on the boy’s face.

‘Wasn’t Beowulf’s dragon guarding a treasure?’ Peregrine asked, softly.

‘Exactly,’ Reynold said. There were other tales, too, in which a frightening creature, such as a worm, guarded a grave that held precious burial goods. ‘The dragon shall be on the mound, old, exultant in treasure,’ he said, quoting an old proverb.

‘But I thought there was no dragon,’ Peregrine said.

‘There isn’t a beast with wings, but there’s something, or, more likely, someone,’ Reynold said. He squinted into the distance, cursing himself for his slow wit. ‘It’s so obvious, why didn’t I think of it before?’

‘But no one said anything about a treasure.’

‘Oh, yes, they did,’ Reynold muttered, frowning. ‘Didn’t Mistress Sexton mention a hoard of coins?’

Peregrine’s brow furrowed. ‘Yes, but that didn’t have anything to do with the dragon,’ he said. ‘And, anyway, I thought that was just a story.’

Like so many that whirled around Grim’s End, weaving in and out of its past and present, Reynold thought
. And who could tell which were authentic? Geoff claimed that even the most outlandish tale was based upon a small grain of truth. So where was Reynold to find that nugget?

‘Weren’t there a couple of accounts of a human turning into a dragon because of a curse or his own lust for the worm’s treasure?’ Peregrine asked. His eyes grew wide. ‘You don’t think Urban can turn into a dragon, do you?’

Reynold snorted. ‘No. I think he’s barely a man, let alone a beast.’

Peregrine appeared relieved, but then he lowered his voice. ‘Besides beasts, there are stories of ghosts appearing at the mounds that hide valuables. You didn’t see any, did you?’ he asked, warily.

Reynold shook his head. If there were any ghosts, last night would have been the time for them to appear, for he’d never faced an eerier evening. But now, without the darkness and the mists and the strange sounds, the area appeared benign, simply a formation of the earth, where tall grasses swayed gently.

Reynold poked thoughtfully at the soil with the tip of his boot. ‘Perhaps we should see if there is anything buried here.’

Peregrine gasped. ‘Dig up something’s grave?’

Reynold shrugged. Was this really a tomb or only a peculiar hill? Reynold knew of only one way to find out. ‘I would like to know what Urban is seeking.’

‘But look at what happened to Beowulf,’ Peregrine protested, obviously appalled by the suggestion. ‘Isn’t that sort of treasure cursed?’

Reynold shook his head. Unlike his squire, he feared no such blights, perhaps because, deep down inside, he felt cursed already.

S
abina was surprised to find the hall empty, despite the early hour, and as she walked towards her chair, she tried not to think the worst. She had slept little, tossing and turning and wondering whether she had dreamed of Lord de Burgh’s visit to her room. But his absence this morning was telling, and she feared that he had gone, even though she could not blame him. Resting her hands upon the back of her chair, she took a deep breath in an effort to steady herself for whatever lay ahead.

And then the doors were thrown open, and his tall, dark figure strode across the threshold. He looked a lord, master of this hall and any other, Sabina thought, and she gripped the hard wood, lest she run across the room to throw herself into his arms. The action would not be welcome, she guessed, and one glance at his cold expression only confirmed her suspicions.

‘My lord,’ she said, bowing her head.

‘Mistress Sexton.’ His tone was clipped, his expression forbidding as he took his usual seat. The other resi
dents of Grim’s End, alerted by the sound of the doors, began appearing, and Sabina knew she had little time for private speech.

‘I would beg your pardon for my abruptness last night,’ she said. ‘It was late, and I was indisposed.’

Although he nodded, the brusque movement held no forgiveness, and Sabina sank into her chair, her body tense. She would have said more, but the sound of Urban’s hail echoed across the hall.

‘Mistress Sexton!’ The steward headed directly towards her, and he looked no more pleased than Lord de Burgh.

‘Yes, Urban, what is it?’ Sabina asked, though she had little patience for the man. Obviously, she had not imagined Lord de Burgh’s visit to her room. Had she recalled his words correctly, as well?

‘I told you when you invited this man into your home that he was dangerous,’ Urban said, pointing to Lord de Burgh. ‘Now he is accosting those who live here, though he has no right. I am the Sexton steward, and this man holds no sway over me.’ He looked to Sabina as though expecting her to confirm his words, but she said nothing. She still wasn’t sure what had happened last night.

‘I am doing as you bid, trying to find out what is menacing Grim’s End and put a stop to it. Since we know there is no dragon, we must look to other causes,’ Lord de Burgh said, with a pointed look at Urban.

Sabina blinked in confusion. ‘You think Urban is responsible?’ she asked. The very notion was laughable, and she could see why such a claim would have raised the steward’s hackles, for he had proven his worth many times over in the past months.

‘Obviously, he cannot send fire through the air when he is here in the village,’ Lord de Burgh said. ‘But I would know why he is sneaking out in the dead of night to dig holes in the mound. Is he trying to poke the dragon to life?’

Sabina sucked in a sharp breath at the words, for they too closely echoed her own fears. But if there was no dragon, how had anyone reawakened it?

‘Or is there something you haven’t told me about the legends of Grim’s End?’ Lord de Burgh asked, fixing her with a hard look.

There were things she hadn’t told him, but they didn’t really pertain to any legends, Sabina thought. Still, she flushed and glanced away to where Urban stood, his stance not quite as righteous. Indeed, he appeared uncomfortable now, as though Lord de Burgh’s taunt had struck home.

‘What were you doing?’ Sabina asked the steward, for she could find no reasonable explanations for his actions, nothing that made sense to her anyway.

Urban drew himself up. ‘You would listen to this stranger when I have served the Sextons faithfully? You charged him to slay the dragon, and yet he has not done so, but continues to exert more and more influence over you and explain his lack by denying there is such a beast.’

‘There is no such beast,’ Lord de Burgh confirmed. ‘There are people—or perhaps only one man—responsible for killing your animals, scaring your residents and setting fire to your fields and your buildings. He’s learned how to send flames through the sky, probably because of a visit to the east, maybe a crusade, or contact with some foreign traveler—’

His speech was cut off by the clatter of something crashing to the floor. The distraction allowed Sabina to draw in the breath that had caught in her throat as Ursula bent to pick up the cup she had dropped on her way in from the kitchens.

‘Excuse me, my lord,’ the older woman muttered, her face ashen. But Lord de Burgh paid Ursula no heed. He was glaring at Urban, and Sabina gripped the arms of her chair, struggling against the panic that threatened.
It was a coincidence, nothing more
, Sabina told herself.

She looked to Ursula, but the woman had ducked her head. Surely her attendant could not believe…? And yet, Ursula did not know all, Sabina realised. Still, she shook her head, unable to take such a leap of logic.

‘’Tis nonsense!’ Urban said. He looked pale, as well, but he didn’t know, couldn’t know…He whirled towards Sabina. ‘Mistress, you can vouch that I have done none of those things, but have always served you well.’

Sabina nodded, for, in truth, how could Urban had done anything when he was with them most of the time?

The steward appeared relieved. ‘And I am always serving you, mistress. Even last night I was working on your behalf.’ He paused, as though still hesitant to explain himself, then hurried on. ‘If you must know, I was so desperate to rid ourselves of this interloper,’ he said, glaring at Lord de Burgh, ‘that I would find some way to pay a real dragon-slayer.’

Sabina eyed him curiously.

‘I refer to the legend, not of the dragon, but of the Sexton hoard,’ Urban explained. ‘After you mentioned
it, I began thinking about it and realised that it could be the answer to all our problems.’

Sabina could only shake her head at such folly.

But Urban licked his lips, as if in glee. ‘And I decided to begin looking for it at night, to avoid the prying eyes of those who might steal it from me.’

Sabina dared not look at Lord de Burgh, for she could not imagine him taking anything, even an imaginary hoard of coins.

‘But he spied upon me!’ Urban said. ‘Mistress, call him off, for I have a right to do all that I can for you and Grim’s End without his interference.’

Sabina frowned. She understood why Urban felt threatened, but the knight was only doing his duty, and Urban’s nocturnal doings were peculiar, at best. Sabina did not like the idea of anyone wandering about alone, especially at night, if only for their own protection.

‘Peregrine and I have come up with a solution,’ Lord de Burgh said, though a glance at his squire told Sabina the boy was not very enthusiastic. ‘We shall begin digging ourselves to see what can be found.’

‘What?’ Sabina asked, startled. And she was not alone, for all the residents of Grim’s End appeared dismayed by such a suggestion.

‘We will start where Urban was working,’ Lord de Burgh said, turning towards the steward.

Everyone looked at Urban, who was sputtering a protest, as if horrified, though perhaps not for the same reasons as the rest of them.

‘If your coins are there, then all to the good,’ Lord de Burgh said to Sabina. ‘If not, then there is no harm done.’

‘But I think there will be harm,’ Sabina protested. ‘That hill holds our history, and ’tis shameful to defile a grave, whether a dragon is buried there or not.’ The words rang in her ears, so similar to those she had spoken once before that she felt a sudden chill.

‘’Tis all nonsense!’ Sabina insisted. ‘Urban knows I have no hidden stash of gold, that the Sextons have always lived simply.’

‘And yet, he sneaks out at night to look for it,’ Lord de Burgh said. ‘Perhaps Urban is not the only one who believes the legend. Does anyone else know of it?’

‘’Tis hardly a legend, my lord, just an old rumour, rarely mentioned,’ Sabina said. ‘Urban, did you speak of this with anyone else?’

He shook his head, and Sabina chose to believe him, rather than give in to her growing sense of dread.

‘What of the rest of you?’ Lord de Burgh asked, glancing at the other faces in the hall. ‘What have you heard of this treasure?’

Sabina flinched at the word. ‘There is no treasure!’

‘Gamel told us lots of stories,’ Alec said. ‘I can’t remember any about the Sextons, though. Most involved his ancestors and some king, Cyneric the Grim, who was buried with riches.’

‘In the mound,’ Lord de Burgh said, smugly.

‘I, too, heard my kinsman’s accounts, and I might have repeated some of them to one of the villagers,’ Ursula admitted. ‘But he is dead.’

She looked at Sabina, her face bleak, and Sabina blanched. She told herself it was all a coincidence, random bits and pieces of old gossip and happenings
that were not connected. Yet her heart began to pound wildly as the old fears rushed back under a new guise. She had thought nothing more frightening than a dragon, attacking from the skies, but there were other evils, less deadly perhaps, but more personal and just as horrifying.

‘Will you join me, Mistress Sexton?’

Sabina was sunk so deeply in her own tortured thoughts that she started at the mention of her name. She looked up to see that Lord de Burgh had risen from his seat and was awaiting her reply. Although she would go nearly anywhere with this man and do almost anything for him, she shook her head. What he planned to do struck too close to home, to the very heart of Grim’s End.

Lord de Burgh showed not a flicker of reaction to her refusal, but turned towards Urban, his dark brows lifted in question. ‘And you?’

‘I might not be able to stop you, but I will not watch you steal from Sexton property,’ Urban said.

His words surprised Sabina. ‘How do you know ’tis Sexton property?’ she asked.

Urban appeared stunned by her question. ‘Why, I just assumed…’ he began, then he frowned. ‘’Tis Sexton land from the Marking Stone to the church.’

‘The old church,’ Sabina said.

Urban licked his lips. ‘But I thought…The Sextons have always tended the mound.’

‘I don’t think anyone could actually own it, for ’tis a landmark that stands for the beginning of Grim’s End, its very founding,’ Sabina said. As she spoke, she
glanced towards Lord de Burgh, but he was already turning away, ignoring her protests.

‘I’ll come,’ Alex said, but Adele shushed him.

So Lord de Burgh went alone, while the rest of the villagers remained in the hall, with Peregrine awkwardly keeping them company—or ‘spying’ upon them, as Urban claimed. It was just the first of his many rants.

‘Your father would be horrified to see you relinquish your authority to a stranger, handing over Grim’s End as though ’tis but a trifle,’ the steward said, nearly as soon as the doors had shut.

Sabina did not comment, for she suspected that her father would have approved very much of Lord de Burgh and might have ceded more to the knight, perhaps even his daughter. But that was before, Sabina thought, frowning. Now she would make no man a wife.

‘You cannot let him take away our very liberty,’ Urban continued. ‘You must make a stand and tell him that he has no authority over us.’

Sabina shook her head. ‘I begged this man to help us, and that is what he is doing.’

Urban scoffed. ‘Helping himself is more likely,’ he muttered.

‘The de Burghs have more wealth than you can imagine,’ Peregrine said, glaring at the steward. ‘Lord Reynold has no need of the dragon’s treasure!’

Stunned by his words, Sabina sucked in a sharp breath and glanced at the boy, who coloured and turned away.
The dragon’s treasure
? How had an old rumour of coins become something else entirely? Sabina wondered, her dread returning.

Urban, too, appeared dismayed. But then his expression turned sour once more. ‘Well, I, for one, won’t stand for it.’

Sabina eyed him scornfully. She didn’t know how the older man expected to hold sway over Lord de Burgh, and she grew weary of his constant complaints. He had brought all this upon himself. Indeed, there had been no talk of treasure until his ill-fated venture under the moon. ‘Perhaps if you would stay in at night, you could go about as you pleased.’

‘I will not be dictated to!’

Astonished, Sabina turned to face him. Urban had always been dictated to, by her or her father or others as he achieved each new position. It was only after the population of Grim’s End dwindled that he began to act as though he
was
her father, owner of the manor and most of the village, as well.

‘I will tell you what I’ve told everyone here often enough,’ Sabina said, meeting his gaze directly. ‘You are free to go at any time.’

An expression of shock crossed his face, to be replaced quickly by entreaty. ‘Let us all go, at last,’ he said. ‘Then that petty lord will have no reason to stay, either.’

Sabina shook her head. She was not going to abandon Lord de Burgh when he was here at her behest, doing what she had begged him to do. And it would be hard enough to part with him eventually; she would not hasten that pain. And for what? There was nothing waiting for her elsewhere.

Sabina didn’t know what Urban saw when he looked at her, but he backed away, shaking his head angrily. Then
he turned and headed towards the cellar, sending a sharp glance at Peregrine, as though daring the boy to follow.

Sabina watched the steward with a heavy heart, for he had served the Sextons well, and at one time he was all that had held their small band together. But now it seemed that their world was falling apart, unravelling like a fallen skein of thread upon the hard tiles.

Reynold paused to lean upon his shovel. Wearily, he stretched his aching leg and wondered whether to abandon his work. At first the labour had been a welcome way to ease his frustrations, and he had thrust the implement into the ground with increasing force. Alone with his thoughts, he had kept at it, not even returning to the manor for dinner.

But as the day dragged and the soil did not yield up anything, Reynold had begun to tire of the chore. His leg pained him, his other muscles protested, and he questioned his purpose. As with the dragon itself, what had seemed so sensible earlier now appeared fanciful, with about as much substance as a pair of fur breeches soaked in tar.