[The deBurghs 07] - Reynold De Burgh: The Dark Knight (3 page)

‘I cannot wait,’ Sabina said heatedly, though she kept her voice to a whisper. ‘If we dally, these two will be gone, and our last chances for aid gone with them.’

Ursula started wringing her hands. ‘Mistress, please, we can leave ourselves. We have but to—’

Sabina cut her off with a sharp shake of her head. The argument was a familiar one, which she did not intend to resume here and now. Quickly, she glanced out the window to see that the boy had dismounted as well, but it was the man who held her interest.
Large, muscular and formidable, he seemed the answer to her prayers. Drawing a moaning Ursula to her side, Sabina stepped back into the shadows, her hand on a small dagger that was hardly more than an eating utensil.

It would be little use against the strength of the stranger, but Sabina did not fear for her safety. Instead, despite Ursula’s warnings and the man’s grim expression, for the first time in months she felt a glimmer of hope.

Motioning the pale-faced Peregrine towards the door of the building, Reynold drew his sword. He had never stepped so armed into a place of worship, but this was no ordinary church. Those bells had not rung themselves, and he did not wish to be cut down by robbers intent upon luring their victims inside. At his nod, Peregrine pulled open the door, and Reynold peered into the darkness. But he saw no movement within.

‘Maybe the wind struck the bells,’ Peregrine whispered.

Holding up a hand for silence, Reynold slipped into the building, but the shadowed interior appeared empty, and he heard nothing except what sounded suspiciously like a whimper from Peregrine.

‘Who is there? Show yourself.’

‘Don’t kill us! Have mercy!’ a female voice rang out, and an older woman fell before him, quaking with fear.

Reynold stepped back, startled, for she was no beggar, dressed in rags. Nor did she appear to be ill or hurt, a victim abandoned by her fellows. But she could be in league with robbers, who, as he had already discovered, went to great lengths for any spoils.

‘Who else is here?’ Reynold called, refusing to let down his guard.

‘Only I.’ It was a woman’s voice, but unlike the shrill screech of the other’s, this one was low and smooth and made Reynold think of honey. The figure that emerged from the shadows was different, too. Definitely not a cutpurse or any sort of mean female, she was dressed in the finer clothes of a lady and held herself thusly, with grace and composure.

And she was beautiful, like an image from a book or a tapestry. Golden hair fell about her shoulders, and her skin was flawless and pale. Although she was slender, her dark green gown revealed a woman’s form, and Reynold had never seen any who so approached the romantic ideal. For a long moment he simply stared, wondering whether she was some sort of vision. But Peregrine’s gasp told Reynold that he had seen her, too.

‘I am Sabina Sexton of Sexton Hall here in Grim’s End, and this is Ursula,’ she said, helping the older woman, who was still shaking, to her feet.

‘Grim’s End?’
Peregrine’s voice was little more than a squeak.

‘Yes. May I not know your name?’

‘Peregrine,’ he answered. Then he stepped into the light, so as to make a better target of himself. But before Reynold could reprimand him, he spoke again. ‘And this is Lord Reynold de Burgh.’

Reynold frowned. Had the boy not learned to keep his confidences? If they were outnumbered, they might well be held for ransom and Reynold would wring the cost out of his squire’s hide. But a few strides around
the inside of the church revealed no one else. Yet why would these two be here, alone in a deserted village? Had they survived some illness that had killed the other inhabitants?

‘We are pilgrims, on our way to Bury St Edmunds,’ Peregrine said, and Reynold shot him a quelling look. But the boy appeared to be totally enthralled by the woman, and who could blame him? Fleetingly, Reynold wondered whether she was some kind of siren, luring travellers to their death in this empty place called, fittingly, Grim’s End.

‘My Lord de Burgh.’ If she was intent upon mischief or murder, it was not apparent, for Mistress Sexton called his name with a mixture of urgency and entreaty. She even moved towards him, only to step back, away from his outstretched sword. With a frown, he sheathed it, though he remained alert.

‘Obviously, you are no simple pilgrim, but a lord, and a knight as well?’

‘All the de Burghs are knights,’ Peregrine piped up, with a giddy smile that Reynold longed to wipe from his face.

‘Quiet, you,’ Reynold admonished. Although the women appeared to present no threat, the situation was hardly normal.

‘I am not familiar with these de Burghs of whom you speak, yet I am in most dire need of a knight,’ Mistress Sexton said.

Reynold slanted her a glance of surprise. Although he did not expect everyone in the country to know of Campion and his seven sons, still her reaction made him uneasy, as if she were not of this world. Dismiss
ing such a fancy, Reynold turned towards the other woman, who looked ordinary enough, if frightened. ‘What happened here? Where are the rest of the villagers? Did some sickness kill them all?’

‘Nay, my lord,’ the one called Ursula said. She drew in a shaky breath and began ringing her hands in agitation. ‘’Tis worse than that, more horrifying and deadly than any illness.’

Again, Reynold felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

‘But no challenge to a man such as this! Knights fear nothing,’ Mistress Sexton said, with a certainty that Reynold could not share.

He feared plenty, but he was not about to go into the details with these two. Were they being menaced by outlaws or brigands? Had there been a kidnapping? Murder?

‘Perhaps you should explain the situation more fully,’ Reynold said, returning his attention to Mistress Sexton. She appeared the more lucid of the two, though neither made much sense. ‘Are you and this woman all who live in the village?’

‘Nearly,’ Mistress Sexton said. ‘There are a few stalwarts who remain with us.’

Reynold frowned. Had he and Peregrine stumbled into some kind of local conflict, a battle between neigh-bouring landowners? He walked towards the window and glanced out, but all was still and quiet. ‘Where are the others now?’

‘Hiding! We are always hiding!’ Ursula wailed. ‘I beg you, my lord, take us away from this place.’

Reynold glanced sharply at Mistress Sexton, but she shook her head in disagreement. Still, if only a few people were here, they could hardly survive for long. Maybe the older woman
was
the more lucid of the two.

‘What are you hiding from?’ Peregrine asked, wide-eyed.

‘Yes, if sickness didn’t kill the others, what did?’ Reynold asked.

‘Nothing! They fled like cowards, rather than face our foe,’ Mistress Sexton said, with obvious contempt.

‘What of your family? Your father? Your liege lord? Surely he would send soldiers to aid you,’ Reynold said.

‘My parents are dead,’ Mistress Sexton said. ‘And our lord’s only concern is greed. It matters little to him where he gets his labour, whether here or Sandborn or elsewhere.’

‘Yea, let us all be eaten, for he cares not!’ Ursula wailed.

‘
Eaten
?’ Peregrine’s question was little more than a whisper, but it echoed Reynold’s thoughts. Was some kind of wild beast attacking the villagers?

‘Yes, eaten!’ Ursula said. ‘Swallowed whole, roasted on a spit of fiery breath!’

‘You cannot be certain of that.’ Mistress Sexton turned to reprove her companion, as though their discussion was not one bit peculiar. ‘And ’tis no matter because a knight does not fear such things. Nor can he refuse a plea for help.’

‘Swallowed whole?
’ Peregrine’s voice rose, and Reynold wondered if
either
of the women was lucid. Perhaps they had been left here to wander witless, abandoned by those who feared the insane.

For the first time since leaving Campion, Reynold wished that one of his brothers were with him. Surely Geoffrey, who had handled his lunatic of a wife, would know what to do with these two. Simon would probably have taken them to the nearest convent, but Reynold was reluctant to remove them against their will, though the older one seemed eager for an escape. Perhaps she was held in the thrall of Mistress Sexton.

Reynold could certainly understand that, for when she turned toward him, it was hard for him to focus on anything except her beauty, which was enough to seize one’s breath.

‘I am a damsel much distressed, my lord,’ she said in an earnest tone. ‘And I charge you to honour your vow to aid any such as me, to rescue me and my people by slaying the great beast that is menacing this village.’

Reynold heard Peregrine’s gasp, but he ignored it to study Mistress Sexton with a more jaundiced eye. Although her entreaty seemed serious enough, her words sounded far too familiar for his comfort. ‘And just what great beast am I supposed to slay?’ he asked.

Mistress Sexton lifted her delicate blonde brows as though surprised by the question. But her lovely face wore a serious expression when she gave him the answer he both dreaded and expected.

‘’Tis a dragon, my lord.’

‘I
t’s just as the l’Estranges said!’ Peregrine’s voice, laced with awe, rang out in the silence, but Reynold was not so gullible.

‘Yes, it does seem very familiar, doesn’t it?’ he asked, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. Stepping closer to Mistress Sexton, he bearded her with a pointed look. ‘And I’m curious as to who is responsible.’

To her credit, the woman appeared bewildered by his attitude. No doubt she had been chosen with an eye towards her charms, which were intended to dazzle him into witlessness, and he felt the sharp sting of insult. ‘Was it Stephen? Or Robin? Whoever it was went to some trouble to involve you, considering how far you are from Campion.’

He turned to Peregrine. ‘Is that why you led me here?’

‘I—I? I did not lead you here!’ Peregrine stammered. ‘You chose the roadways, my lord.’

‘Yet I recall you suggesting Bury St Edmunds.’

‘But that’s just because you were heading east, my
lord.’ The boy’s face flamed, and he acted indignant, yet Reynold had seen mummers and such who could appear convincing in some sham. And there was no denying that Peregrine was allied with the l’Estranges, a family that both Stephen and Robin had married into.

Reynold opened his mouth to demand some answers, but everyone started talking at once, and it was all he could do to sort them all out. As far as he could tell, Peregrine was denying any involvement in the so-called quest, Mistress Sexton claimed to know nothing of the boy or Campion, and Ursula wailed unintelligibly.

‘Silence!’ he said.

Everyone looked to him, even Ursula, who finally ceased her moaning. And in the ensuing quiet, Reynold heard something, an odd roar that was faint yet discernible in the stillness of the deserted village. Curious, he cocked his head to listen, but the noise was replaced by that of footsteps. Just how deserted was this village? Reynold put his hand on his sword as a man ran into the church carrying a pitchfork.

‘Get below!’ the fellow said, rushing toward the rear of the room, and the women, white-faced, turned to follow.

‘Hurry,’ Mistress Sexton said, putting a hand out as if to take Reynold’s arm just as something shot past him.

‘Alec! I told you to return to your mother,’ Mistress Sexton said to the blur that revealed itself to be a young boy. ‘Where is she?’

‘At the manor, mistress. I can run there.’

‘No, you cannot!’ Reaching for his arm, Mistress Sexton dragged the youth towards the back of the building, where shadows hid a narrow door and a spiral
stair that led into a small cellar. Although Reynold did not share his brother Simon’s abhorrence for underground spaces, he was reluctant to join these strangers, especially if it was part of some prank being played upon him.

But he had been raised to respect women, no matter what their manner, and the urgency of these people made him follow, if more slowly than Peregrine. He did not shut the door completely and halted on the steps, where he could keep both the area below and the door in view. He could probably kick it in, if necessary, but would rather prevent it being shut—or locked—against him.

The two women huddled together, Ursula whimpering softly, and the man took up a stance next to Mistress Sexton. Although his pitchfork pointed toward the ceiling, there was no mistaking his defensive posture. Surely he was not her husband? Reynold tensed at the thought. He had assumed she was unmarried because she wore her hair down and, well, she was so beautiful…Reynold frowned at such reasoning. But hadn’t she called herself a damsel? Reynold felt a certain tautness in his chest ease.

Besides, the man’s clothes were not as fine as hers, nor was his manner, for he said nothing, only looked frightened. Indeed, everyone was still and silent, as though awaiting something, though Reynold had no idea what. Perhaps Stephen was arriving to personally witness the havoc wrought by his jest.

The thought annoyed him. ‘All right, I have followed you here like a trained monkey. Now what?’ he asked.

‘Shh! He’ll hear you,’ the boy Alec said, his face ashen.

‘Who?’

‘The dragon,’ the man whispered in a fierce tone.

Reynold snorted. ‘So it is here now? I admit I’d like to see the creature for myself.’ He turned to go up the stair, but a squeak from Alec stopped him. The stark terror on the boy’s face made him hesitate.

‘He can hear really well,’ Alec whispered. ‘Or else he sniffs us out.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because sometimes he’ll burn the places where people are hiding with his fiery breath.’

Reynold tried to remember if he had seen any charred areas when riding through the village, but thatched roofs were prone to fire, as were the flimsy structures of most village homes. What would make these people think a dragon was responsible? Reynold’s eyes narrowed and then he shook his head as if to clear it. This was only a jest, some nonsense concocted by his brothers, and though the players were convincing, he would not be mocked as a fool. He turned once more to go.

‘Don’t move.’ The man spoke in a nervous high-pitched voice, but his words made Reynold swing toward him. Although the fellow still appeared frightened, he was holding the pitchfork in front of him, as if intending to run Reynold through with it.
Let him try
, Reynold thought, his hand on his sword hilt.

‘No, Urban, stop!’ Mistress Sexton said, grabbing at the man’s arm. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I am protecting us all from this stranger and his actions,’ the man said, though he seemed to possess more bravado than bravery.

‘This stranger is a lord and a knight who is here to
save us,’ Mistress Sexton said, and the pitchfork dipped, as though its owner faltered in surprise.

‘Perhaps your weapon might be better used against the dragon,’ Reynold said, wryly. ‘You are welcome to join me above.’

Without waiting for a reply, Reynold was up the stair and through the narrow door in a moment and heard no sound of pursuit. Indeed, he heard no sound at all. Whatever had driven the group to the cellar had stopped, and the building was eerily quiet once more. Reynold moved to the exterior door and scanned the area outside, but nothing stirred. Thankfully, his destrier and Peregrine’s mount remained where they were tied, Sirius idly flicking his tail at a fly, with no sign of distress.

Reynold glanced upwards, but the only thing in the sky was a bird or two. Leaning against the doorframe, looking out over the oddly empty village, he tried not to wonder why his brothers had concocted this elaborate scheme. In their younger days, boredom, restlessness and a competitive streak might have driven them, but to these lengths? And now they all were occupied with new responsibilities, except for Nicholas, who usually was not one for such silliness. Had Reynold once expressed some yearning to Geoff over a romantic tale long forgotten? To slay a dragon? His wish for a damsel, or a lady of his own, he hoped he had kept well to himself.

Reynold shook his head. There would be time for such musings later. Now he just wanted to get away from a place that, fraud or not, was too strange for his taste. And then what? And then where? Again, Reynold
pushed such thoughts aside, focusing solely on Bury St Edmunds. Hearing footsteps behind him, he straightened, but it was only a rather shame-faced Peregrine who approached.

‘You would think that a hungry beast such as a dragon would make short work of such tasty morsels, wouldn’t you?’ Reynold asked, inclining his head toward the horses.

‘My lord, I swear I had no hand in this,’ Peregrine said. ‘All I know is what the l’Estranges told me about your quest.’

‘The seers,’ Reynold said, with a low sound of dismissal.

‘’Tis true! They can foretell the future, my lord! Why, I’ve heard that—’

Reynold cut the boy off with a raised hand. ‘Do you see a dragon?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Then let us cease this nonsense and be gone.’

‘My lord, I…’ Peregrine’s words trailed off as though reluctant to voice his opinion.
That had to be a first
, Reynold thought wryly.

‘Well, what is it?’

Wearing a worried expression, Peregrine faced Reynold directly. ‘I think they are serious.’

‘What?’

‘About the beast, my lord. I know you believe the l’Estranges had something to do with it, but I don’t see how. And those people seem really frightened.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I didn’t follow you up the stairs right away, a
cowardly act that I’m sorry for, but the man with the pitchfork was right by me,’ Peregrine explained in a rush. ‘And after you left, they were arguing.’

‘Who?’

‘That man Urban and Mistress Sexton. I think he’s her servant or inferior, but he still tries to tell her what to do.’ Peregrine glanced behind him and lowered his voice. ‘I fear he’s a bully.’

Reynold almost laughed aloud. They were standing among empty buildings in an abandoned village inhabited only by a couple of people who were raving about a dragon. And Pergrine was concerned that one of them, a fellow who looked ill at ease wielding even a pitchfork, might act the petty tyrant? It didn’t take his brother Geoff’s intelligence to figure out just why the boy was concerned. Mistress Sexton had made at least one conquest, though not, perhaps, the one intended.

‘I don’t think we should leave her here with him,’ Peregrine said.

Reynold shrugged. ‘She is welcome to go with us to Bury St Edmunds.’
Or wherever she makes her true home
.

Peregrine shook his head. ‘She won’t go. I think she’s pretty stubborn since she wouldn’t listen to that man.’ The boy gazed up at Reynold with a look of expectation, as if waiting for him to fix everything with a wave of his sword.

Reynold frowned. As the runt of the de Burgh litter, he was used to seeing such blind faith directed at his brothers, not himself. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘Listen to me.’ Mistress Sexton’s voice rang out behind him with a strength and determination not
evident before, and Reynold turned towards her. She stood alone, lovelier than ever in a shaft of light from the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, and he could see why his young squire was so taken with her. But Reynold told himself he was older and wiser—and far more cynical.

‘You cannot abandon us,’ she said, with a fierce expression that did not lessen her beauty. ‘I charge you upon your vow as a knight to hear me out. Let us go to my home, where you can eat, and we can talk.’

‘Why should we open our pitiful stores to those who may rob us?’ Urban asked, appearing behind her.

‘There is precious little to steal, should they be so inclined,’ Mistress Sexton said, without even turning towards the man. She kept her attention upon Reynold, and such was the force of it that his own will wavered. What if she wasn’t lying? He could almost hear his father’s admonition not to turn his back on a woman in trouble.

‘You don’t know this stranger,’ Urban protested. ‘And you have only their word that he is a lord or a knight.’

Reynold gave Urban a long, assessing look, trying to determine what part he played in the scheme. The fellow appeared both frightened and belligerent, but one thing was clear: Peregrine wasn’t the only one taken with Mistress Sexton. Was Urban simply covetous of the damsel, or was he the bully Peregrine thought? Reynold had an obligation to aid those in need, as Mistress Sexton liked to point out. But was there a need, and, if so, just what was it?

If he could get her alone, Reynold thought he might be able to discover the truth, but that idea led his mind
in another, more tantalising direction until he put a stop to it. He needed to keep a clear head, lest he become just another addled admirer of Mistress Sexton. Even if she wasn’t a liar, experience had taught him to be wary of women, especially beautiful ones, for they had no interest in a man like him.

‘Very well,’ Reynold said. ‘I shall hear you out.’

The look of relief on her face made Reynold uncomfortable, and he stayed well back when she led the way out of the church. From that position, he could keep a wary eye on the pitchfork, lest it find its way into his back.

Gathering the reins of their horses, Reynold and Peregrine retraced their route round the curve in the road, then followed a short track to the small manor. It looked like any to be found in a little village, solidly built of stone and slate, except for the forlorn aspect and the grass that was growing too tall around, proclaiming its neglect.

Inside, the hairs on the back of Reynold’s neck stood up again, for he had never seen a hall such as this: empty, lifeless and silent except for their own footsteps. Mistress Sexton’s voice, when it rang out, nearly made him flinch.

‘Adele,’ she called. ‘Come out, for it is safe now. And we have guests.’ A woman hurried in from the kitchens, fright etched upon her worn features, but at the sight of the boy she cried out and ran forwards.

‘Alec!’

Throwing her arms around the lad, she wept with apparent relief, and for the first time this day, Reynold began to wonder whether he was in the wrong, for who
would pretend such fear and joy? The words of the l’Estrange sisters might be coincidence or otherwise, but these people did not seem capable of perpetrating so enormous a hoax. Indeed, Reynold felt a bit ashamed of his assumption that even here, so far from Campion, the de Burghs would hold sway.

With a glance, he took in the small band that appeared to be the only inhabitants of the village: one sullen fellow who looked unable to defend himself, let alone others; a boy younger than Peregrine; the boy’s mother, obviously a servant; and the two other women.

As if divining his thoughts, Mistress Sexton turned towards him. ‘This is all that is left of Grim’s End,’ she said, her bearing proud none the less. ‘Will you hear our story?’

Over a simple meal of cheese, dried apples, and some kind of egg dish, Mistress Sexton spoke. ‘It began even before spring, so that few proper crops were put in, and the winter seed was destroyed. Animals were killed and their owners were run off.’

‘People were afraid. They would rather start anew than face the beast,’ Urban said, and Reynold couldn’t tell whether he was disgusted with those who fled or wished he had joined them.