The Iron Knight (The De Russe Legacy Book 3) (5 page)

God only knew, once he returned, he would probably never be allowed to leave alone ever again.

Using pressure from his thighs, he turned Storm through the thicket and towards the lake. Just as the horse moved off of the road, however, he began to hear screaming. Puzzled, he thought he heard it coming from the direction of the lake and he pushed the horse through the brush, his eagle-eyed gaze moving across the water, the shore, and the surrounding area. It didn’t take him long to see a carriage sliding down the shoreline towards the lake and landing in the water with a jarring splash.

More than that, he could see panicked horses attached to the carriage and a gang of men fighting all around it. The screams were coming from inside the carriage. As he watched the carriage settle into the water and begin to slowly sink, he swung into action.

Storm bolted across the shoreline, thundering towards the fight and the sinking carriage. Lucien was fully aware that he didn’t have his broadsword, but that didn’t matter at the moment. He had two daggers on his person as well as fists that could drop a grown man in one punch. He didn’t much fear what he was getting himself in to but the frightened female screams had his attention. The carriage was sinking, taking on more water now, and an auburn head suddenly popped up from one of the carriage windows as the vehicle lay on its side.

Lucien didn’t wait. He ran Storm right into the water and dove off of the saddle, straight into the lake. He came up, swimming furiously towards the carriage as the auburn-haired woman struggled to pull another woman out of the carriage behind her.

Lucien was a good swimmer and he made it to the carriage in little time, heaving himself up onto the axel and climbing up onto the side of the carriage where the auburn-haired woman was. The moment he moved next to her, however, she shrieked and lashed out at him, knocking him in the face. Off-balance, Lucien fell back into the water below.

Shaking the stars from his eyes, he surfaced on the water and climbed up onto the axel again. This time, he made no move to climb up next to the panicked woman.

“Lady,” he said, wiping blood and water from his nose. “I mean you no harm, I swear it. Let me help you away from here before you drown.”

The woman was terrified; he could see it in her face. A rather exquisite face, in fact. “Stay away,” she cried. “I have nothing of value for you to rob me of! Stay away or I will kick you before you can get near me again!”

Lucien looked around, seeing the fighting going on. There were six soldiers bearing blue and yellow tunics and then host of very poorly dressed men, fighting the soldiers. One of the soldiers was down and another was struggling with the carriage horses, cutting their harnesses free from the weight of the carriage. That left four to fight off at least ten poorly-dressed men and, in that state, they were sorely outnumbered. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. Lucien turned back to the woman, who was now pulling a young girl from the window.

“I assure you, lady, that I am not an outlaw,” he said. “I do not know who attacked you but I am not part of it. I was riding by and heard your screams. Please allow me to help you and your friend before you both drown.”

The auburn-haired woman was still very wary. She clutched at the younger woman, who was now out of the carriage and weeping. It was evident that they were both terrified. Before the woman could threaten him again, Lucien extended a hand.

“Please,” he said, softly and gently. He had that ability to be tender when he wanted to. “Let me help you. I swear to you that my intentions are noble.”

The auburn-haired woman eyed him, her expression quite torn. Given the carriage had sunk substantially into the lake, however, she had little choice. It continued to sink as she pondered Lucien’s offer.

“We cannot swim,” she finally said. Suddenly, she thrust the young girl at him. “Take my daughter. Save her, please.”

Lucien still had his hand extended to her. “I can save you both,” he said calmly. “Come down her with me. Climb down carefully and I will take you to safety.”

With a moment’s further hesitation, the auburn-haired woman relented and helped her daughter towards Lucien, who took the girl carefully, helping her to climb down the axel and into the water. Lucien couldn’t quite stand in the depth so he held on to the carriage as the girl climbed down, weeping softly as she lowered herself into the water. Lucien took hold of her.

“Come over here, love,” he said gently, coaxing her over to him. “Come and hold on to my neck. Grab me from behind; that’s it. You are doing very well.”

The young girl was barely a feather’s weight holding on to him. Her small hands were cold and wet around his neck. Looking up, Lucien could see the mother beginning to descend.

“Come along, my lady,” he said. “Watch your step; do not slip on the grease. That’s right; carefully, now.”

The auburn-haired woman was moving very slowly, very timidly. It was clear that she was terrified of the water, as she kept looking at it thinking she was descending into a pit of fire. Lucien put his hand up when she drew close, helping guide her as she lowered herself into the water. Once she was in, she looked at Lucien with such terror that he was struck with pity. The woman was nearly panicking but managed to keep herself under control. He took her hand, pulling her towards him.

“Hold on to my neck, just as your daughter is doing,” he said steadily. “Hold fast and I shall remove you from this water with all due haste. It will take no time at all, I promise.”

The woman gripped his hand tightly enough to break bones but Lucien managed to steer her towards his neck. She threw one arm around his neck and shoulders while the other held on to her softly-sobbing child. It was then that Lucien let go of the carriage and began to swim for his life, away from the shore where the fighting was and over to the shore where Storm was ripping up soft, green grass.

The water was cold as Lucien plowed through it, swimming with all of his strength, dragging the women behind him. They were holding on to him with a death-grip but at least the young girl had stopped weeping. She was still sniffling; he could hear it, but he could also hear the auburn-haired woman speaking sweetly to her, comforting her.

“ ’Twill be all right, sweetheart
, she said.
We are almost to the shore. See how close it is? We are almost there. You are being very brave.”

Such sweet and gentle words in a voice that was liquid and soft, like flowing honey. God, he could have listened to that voice all day. He could feel the woman’s arm around his right shoulder, her hand on his neck. Her flesh was cold but there was something different in her touch, something electric and intense. It was like being branded without the searing heat. He couldn’t explain it any better than that.

Soon enough, his feet hit the soft bottom of the lake and he began to walk, trudging up to the shoreline to the point where the women could also put their feet down. They let go of him but
he
didn’t let go of them. He kept a grip on them both, helping them out of the water and onto dry ground. Only when he was certain they were clear of the lake did he finally let go. Exhausted and feeling quite weak now that the crisis was over, he sank down to his knees, breathing heavily, coughing to clear his lungs.

Next to him, the auburn-haired woman and her daughter also sank into the grass, holding on to one another, grateful to be alive. The young girl clung to her mother as the woman sat and rocked her, her hand gently stroking the young girl’s head. Lucien, who had been looking over at the fighting on the opposite shore, heard a soft voice beside him.

“We owe you a great debt, my lord,” the auburn-haired woman said. “I do not know if we can ever fully repay you for risking your life for us. You have my unending gratitude.”

Lucien looked at her. Her long auburn hair was wet from the shoulders down, a dark and rich shade of red that glistened in the sunlight. The woman had skin of porcelain, a sweetly oval face, and eyes that were the color of red brick. Such incredibly beautiful eyes. For a moment, he was actually struck speechless by her beauty as he looked at her but, realizing she had spoken to him, he cleared his throat softly to reply.

“I am happy to have been of service, my lady,” he said. Then, he threw a thumb in the direction of the fight, which was dwindling. Men were mostly running away at that point. “Is your husband in that battle? Do you wish for me to assist him?”

The woman shook her head. “My husband is long-dead, my lord,” she said. “You have done quite enough. I would not trouble you further.”

As they watched the fighting, the last of the blue-garbed soldiers ran up the embankment, evidently chasing the outlaws, and grabbed their horses. They could hear shouting and the rumble of horses’ hooves as the animals began to run off. It was a commotion, with everyone scattering, and abruptly, they were all alone. The soldiers, the outlaws, and all of the horses, including the carriage horses, suddenly vanished. Everything was very quiet now. The young girl, still in her mother’s arms, suddenly let out a shriek.

“Oswald!” she cried, lurching to her feet and running towards the water. “Mother, it’s Oswald!”

Lucien had no idea what she was talking about until he saw a furry head above the water, swimming frantically for shore. Curious, he watched as the head came closer and closer, and the young girl dared to take a couple of steps in to the water. She reached out and grabbed the head, which was attached to a long and wet furry body. The girl scampered out of the water, the ferret clutched to her chest.

“Praise God,” the auburn-haired woman gasped, holding up her arms to both her daughter and the pet. “He survived; I was afraid he was trapped inside.”

The young girl was back to weeping. “Oh, Ozzie,” she sniffled, kissing the wet head. “I do not know what I would do without you. You are safe now.”

Lucien watched the exchange closely. He thought this reunion to be rather sweet and, now that everyone was safe, there was a huge sense of relief. But it didn’t change the fact that the lady’s escort had evidently run off. Stiffly, he rose to his feet.

“Who were the men you were with, my lady?” he asked, scanning the trees on the opposite shore to see if he saw any sign of them. “Where were you traveling?”

The auburn-haired woman could see that her escort had vacated, too. The half-sunk carriage was in the lake with no sign of any soldiers or outlaws. Leaving her daughter cuddling the pet, she stood up, trying to brush off her sopping gown, trying not to look so completely disheveled.

“I am sure they will return,” she said. “You need not trouble yourself further, my lord. You have already been a tremendous help today. We are eternally grateful.”

Lucien looked at her. “I will not leave you until I know the situation,” he said flatly. “
Who
were those men and where were you traveling?”

The auburn-haired woman seemed rather embarrassed to explain. “They… they serve a man whom my father hopes will become my husband,” she said. “I was traveling to meet him.”

“Where were you going?”

“Gillingham Castle, my lord.”

He stared at her a moment. “Gillingham?” he repeated. “That is St. Michael du Ponte’s home. Are you going to meet with him?”

The auburn-hair woman nodded. “I am, my lord,” she said. “Do you know him?”

Lucien eyed her; did he know St. Michael? Indeed, he did. He knew the prick of a man who was one of the more unscrupulous bastards around. Du Ponte was a lord by background, a gambler by trade, and a lowlife by reputation. Rumor had it that he funded outlaws in Dorset and Devon, taking a portion of their ill-gotten gains in exchange for protection.

Men had been trying to prove the accusations for years but, so far, no one had been able to levy charges against du Ponte because there were very few witnesses willing to testify against him. People weren’t apt to turn on a man who could make their lives truly miserable.

“Aye,” he finally said. “I know him. But you do not?”

“Nay, my lord. I have never met him.”

“How does your father know him?”

She shrugged. “They both travel in the same social circles,” she said. “They have met on many occasions.”

“Who is your father?”

“Amory de Barenton, Lord Andover.”

Lucien knew of the man. He’d heard the name and knew he was a staunch supporter of Henry but beyond that, he didn’t know much about him. He couldn’t imagine why the man would be associating with the likes of St. Michael du Ponte. But he didn’t say anything to that regard, or give way to what he was thinking, because the lady was looking up at him quite curiously with those spectacular eyes. He smiled thinly.

“I have heard of your father,” he said. “Forgive me for not introducing myself before this moment. My name is de Russe. I realize it is socially incorrect for us to be introduced without an intermediary, but it seems we find ourselves in rather extenuating circumstances.”

The auburn-haired woman grinned. “We do, indeed,” she said as she dropped into a practiced curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you, my lord. I am Lady Sophina de Gournay and this is my daughter, Lady Emmaline.”

Sophina.
Her name was as beautiful and unusual as she was. Lucien’s smile turned genuine. “You forgot to introduce the furry fish your daughter is holding.”

Sophina grinned, turning to look at her daughter, who was holding the ferret tightly. “That is Sir Oswald,” she said. “He is our entertainment on this journey.”

Lucien couldn’t take his eyes off Sophina; she had a smile that positively lit up the sky. It was bright and beautiful. As he looked at her, he realized that his heart was beating just a little faster, perhaps even fluttering, and he thought it quite an odd reaction to a woman. He’d never known anything like it in his life, at least not that he could remember. He seemed to recall a similar feeling with Laurabel, but that had been a very long time ago. He thought he was beyond any such excitement when it came to a woman. But seeing Sophina smile made him want to smile. It made him want to sigh with delight at the sheer beauty of the gesture.