A Knight in Tarnished Armor (3 page)

In that one instant, she understood him and her fear waned away. She placed her hand in his and slowly raised her head to look him in the eyes.

His face was unreadable as he led her through the crowd toward the opposite side of the tavern. She was aware of little but the feel of his hand about hers. He held her hand with a gentle firmness. She could feel the hard calluses of his palm against hers and she could feel his warmth. Somehow that, too, made him seem more human.

He stopped in front of a thick oaken door near the rear of the tavern. She hesitated for a heartbeat. He looked back at her before he gave a short bark of wry laughter as he opened the door. "I assure you, my lady, this is not the door to hell."

She looked into his face and read the challenge there. She took a deep breath and a step. "I know your words are meant to amuse, sir, but," she raised her chin as she passed him, "there is some element of truth in every jest."

He said nothing as he followed her inside, but hung her cloak on a peg and gestured for her to sit in one of the large chairs that flanked another smaller fireplace. She sat and arranged her skirts in the silence, then looked around the room, trying to choose her words more carefully than she had earlier.

He sank into the other chair and watched her through narrowed eyes, his jaw tense, his hands stiffer than before.

"I am Lady Linnet of Ardenwood, and I need safe conduct to the convent at Saint Lawrence of the Martyrs. Tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow?" He wasn't looking at her. But instead, he sat rubbing a finger over his lips and staring at the opposite wall.

"Tomorrow my grandfather will leave for a week. ‘Twill be the only chance I shall have to leave."

"The convent is near the north borders."

"Yes."

"The journey will take at least six days "

She stared at her folded hands. "I know."

He was silent for what seemed like a very long time, then he leaned back in the chair and pinned her with a hard stare. "Why?"

She looked at him then and said, "Why? Because I asked."

He frowned. "Asked what?"

"How long the journey was."

He eyed her for the longest time, strangely, as if she had two heads. He looked away and cleared his throat. When he looked back he seemed to be chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "I'll try this again. Why, my lady, do you wish to go to the convent?"

"Because I'm being forced to wed," she paused, then sigh
ed and hung her head miserably,
"to the horrid Baron Warbrooke."

He said nothing.

She looked up and added, "He kills women."

Silence.

"With his bare hands. His hairy hands."

Still he said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

She gripped the arms of the chair and leaned closer "He has cloven feet. Can you imagine?"

"Not quite," he answered through a tight jaw.

"I imagine ‘twould be like being wed to the devil himself."

He stood up and slowly walked over to the fireplace, where he leaned against its stone face, rested a boot on the andiron, and looked at her without emotion.

"He's killed so very many men."

"Men are killed in war," he said without emotion.

"Thousands of men." She looked him directly in the eye and whispered painfully, "He'll murder my animals."

He no longer stood casually, as if her words didn't matter to him. He stared into the fire. Everything about de Ros exuded anger—his tight jaw, the tick in his angled cheek, his narrowed eyes, and the fist he made with his sword hand. Even he, a mercenary knight paid to wage war, was shocked by Warbrooke's reputation, she thought.

After a moment he said, "I suppose he breathes fire and eats babies too."

"You've heard of him," she said knowingly.

He took a long, deep breath and watched her intensely.

She leaned forward a bit more, hoping he would agree. "I must get away and quickly. Surely you can understand why."

"Now I understand a wealth of things."

"Then you will help me?"

His expression was hard and he seemed to be trying to control some strong emotion.

"I gave you all the gold I had."

"Six days," he said so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

She stood and walked over to where he was. "'Tis not terribly long."

He gave a wry laugh and looked at her, his expression softer. "No. ‘Tis not very long at all."

"I have nothing else to give you."

He grumbled something.

She smiled then, for she saw his answer without his speaking a word. By the time he murmured, "Aye,” she had placed her hand on his chest, where legend claimed he had no heart.
Yet there, beneath her palm, was a soft beat. The mercenary did have a heart.

William de Ros sat slumped in a chair and drank deeply from a tankard of strong beer. She had been gone from the tavern for a few minutes, long enough for him to watch her leave, then roar at the barkeep to bring four more tankards—three for himself and one for the older man who was just stepping through a door hidden in the wooden panel of the wall. William stared into his ale, then finally pinned the old man with a hard look. "It's done."

The earl of Arden didn't blink. He just calmly sat in the other chair. "So I heard."

"Is your granddaughter always so easily manipulated?"

The old earl laughed loud and long. "Hardly. It has taken me years to figure out how she thinks." He paused before he added something about it still being a game of hit or miss.

The two men sat in awkward silence.

Arden sat up and said, "Our agreement still stands, Warbrooke. You have one week to woo her."

William de Ros, the new Baron Warbrooke, returned the man's meaningful stare. "One week to convince her I'm not the ogre she thinks? One week to court her? I suppose I will manage to find the time . . . before I go out to murder more women and roast children."

The old earl said nothing, but he didn't look chagrined either. He rested his elbows on his knees. His gaze was fixed on his hands clasped between his legs. After a moment he admitted quietly, "I had thought to keep Linnet at Ardenwood
with me. She is . . . unique, and a
very special part of my life. I had never thought of marriage for her. Her sisters are all wed, and wed well. I needn't barter her for another powerful man with forces and the means to aid me. I've plenty of blood bonds."

William eyed the old man. "But then I spotted her and used my influence with the king to my advantage."

The earl looked at him with accusation in his aged eyes. "He gave you your title."

William shrugged. "As I recall your own title was bestowed in the same manner. Only by his father."

"As were those of over half the realm."

"I foiled your plans to keep her to yourself."

"I cherish my granddaughter, Warbrooke." The earl of Arden pinned him with a hard stare that matched his own. "Aye, I had thought to keep her safe and with me."

"I will not cause her any harm. I will keep her safe, and she will want for nothing. I gave you my word when we met in London."

Arden's eyes grew icier. "And I told you my terms."

"Does
she know of my offers?"

"She does not.
"

"Who told her such drivel about me?"

The earl shrugged. "Servants talk.""Prompted by their lords with the right tales to tell?"

The old man said nothing."What were you trying to do? Weight the scale in your favor? Rather like a merchant who adds chalk to the salt, Arden."

The earl returned his direct look. "If you
don't care for the terms,
find yourself another woman to wed."

"I want Linnet."

"You have one week to convince her you aren't what she thinks."

"You filled her head with this nonsense."

"
‘Twas your idea that she not know who you are."

"I had thought to talk to her first, to ease the way before she heard of my offer of marriage. I'm not the monster you painted me."

"Your reasons for dealing with Linnet are your own, Warbrooke. I have my reasons too. I'll not force her to wed anyone. Not even a royal favorite. I gave her mother my word I would never do so. I will not break an oath to my dead daughter."

William eyed the older man, a knight who was still tall and lean but weathered by too many fights over too many years. And as angry as William was, he also couldn't blame Arden.

Until that moment, he had not heard of the old man's vow. It could be debated in Arden's favor that a blood oath to one's dying daughter superseded even a forced agreement. Royal or not.

William knew well that this was a time when men sold their brothers for power or for wealth. Yet here before him was a regal old knight who wouldn't betray his daughter or her memory.

And he couldn't fault the man for wanting to keep Linnet with him. Wasn't that exactly why he was wedding her himself? This strange need to have her in his life?

"At the end of that week she will wed you willingly, or she will not wed you at all."

William stood, his breadth almost twice that of the ear
l's, and he looked down at him.
"She will wed me. ‘Tis not a battle I intend to lose."

The earl regarded him for a time before he stood
so they were almost eye to eye.
"Perhaps. But my granddaughter has a special gift for getting one to agree with her ideas before one realizes they've been hoodwinked."

William handed the old earl the extra tankard, then raised his own. "I believe, Arden, that standing before me is the person from whom she inherited that trait."

There was only half a moon out the following night, when William stood near the eastern side of the outer walls of Ardenwood Castle. Yet there was enough moonlight for him to see once he had entered the inner bailey. He moved swiftly and silently, uncertain if the guards had been warned by Arden.

She had insisted he meet her by the chapel. He counted buildings and found the second story arched window she had described.

He whistled once.
Nothing.
He waited.
Still nothing.
Women.
He whistled again.
Nothing.
He counted to ten.
To fifty.
By the time—the long time—he'd reached one hundred he was not pleased. He looked around.

The bailey was quiet. Surely Arden would not be so foolish as to attack the king's man. He drew his dagger and flattened against the rough stones of the chapel wall. Slowly, silently, he eased along the stone wall. His instincts had never before failed him. He could always feel it when something was afoot. He sensed that nothing was amiss. Yet . . .

He rounded the corner.

A second later a screech rent the air.

William froze.

Like a demon from hell, a small shadow flew out of the darkness. Right at him. He raised his dagger and spun around. Sharp knife tip pricks dug into the back of his neck.
The claws of some kind of crude weapon. He dropped to a squat, lashing out with his dagger. With his other arm he reached around and grabbed his attacker by the fur.

Fur? He held a handful of squirming and screeching fur. Cat fur.

"Yeooow!" The cat bit him.

"God's teeth!" he spat, holding the animal by the scruff of its neck, ready to fling the cat to Kingdom Come if the cursed thing bit him again.

Lady Linnet came scurrying around the corner. She stopped abruptly. "Oh! You caught him!"

"Where the devil have you been?" he gritted.

"Poor Swithun got loose and I had to find him. But now you've found him for me." She sounded remarkably cheery.

At that moment, poor Swithun had turned his head around and wedged his sharp feline teeth into William's wrist. He held the cat out to her. "Here. Do something with it. I don't intend to stand here until dawn."

She took the cat and hugged it to her as if it were some holy relic, then she spun around. "I'll be back down in a moment," she called over a shoulder. "All I must do is fetch my things.
”

He grunted some response and stood there, his blood still racing from combat with a cat, something that didn't sit well with him or his warrior's pride.

But when she had turned a moment before, another image flooded his mind—Linnet spinning on one bare foot as she sang in the woods. And his pride didn't matter quite as much as it had just a moment before.

A few seconds later, around the corner of the chapel, there was a loud thud.
If she were truly trying to covertly escape, the whole castle would have known it. He shook his head and walked around the corner.

Thud!

Several large satchels lay like lumps on the ground. He looked up at the window just as another even larger cloth sack flew out the window and hit the pile below. He stared at the bundles. There was a commotion before another sack hit the ground.