A Knight With Grace: Book 1 of the Assassin Knights Series (18 page)

He reached the top floor and saw Grace through a long tunnel in the far distance as she entered a room at the end of the hall. He stumbled forward, sweating profusely now. He leaned on the wall, looking down the corridor at the door. If he could only make it there. Only see her one more time. One more time. The fires that waited for him would mean nothing next to her beauty and her love. If only...

He tried to take another step, but stumbled and fell to one knee. It took all of his strength to rise. His entire body shook. He looked down at the cut on his arm. The red slice looked innocent enough. But William knew it wasn't.

He looked up again at the door. The hallway seemed to lengthen and waver before his eyes.

Someone said something. He looked over his shoulder and saw the servant girl who had knocked on the door. She looked at him with fear and apprehension. “Help me reach Grace,” he said softly.

She replied but her voice was garbled and unintelligible.

He reached out to grab her arm and she pulled away. He toppled to the floor like a felled tree. He wasn’t going to make it. Darkness ate away at the borders of his sight. He wasn’t going to make it. The darkness was tinged with the fires of Hell.

CHAPTER 20

G
race entered the room
. Her concern for her father overrode all other emotions. She knew no fear. She knew no hate. The room was silent and dark. She stepped around the massive four-post bed and spotted him on the floor. Father! She raced up to him, falling to her knees at his side. The image of her mother came to her mind. Her father lay much the same as her mother, on his side, unmoving. “Father,” she whispered. When he groaned, she eased him over onto his back.

He coughed and droplets of red sprayed across her dress. He tried to push her hands away, but he was so weak he was barely able to lift them from his sides. He shook his head, still fighting her.

As Grace stared down at him, she saw him as if for the first time. Powerless. Loveless. Afraid and alone. “It’s all right, Father,” she said softly and stroked his forehead to soothe him. “It’s all right.”

He shook his head angrily, but there were tears in his eyes.

“I’m here,” she said and gently kissed the top of his head.

He choked and wheezed, unable to talk.

She gently lifted his head and placed it in her lap. She stroked his hair, trying to calm him. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “Mother made a mistake. And I was born of that mistake. But I have always been your daughter.” His shoulders shook and she wasn’t sure if he was sobbing or if he was groaning angrily.

Suddenly, a scream rent the air. She looked toward the sound. She eased her father’s head to the floor and raced to the doorway. The servant woman stopped before her and clasped Grace’s hands. She glanced over her shoulder, down the hallway. Grace stepped from the room to find William on the floor. She looked at the servant. “Get someone to tend my father.” Her heart twisted painfully in her chest and she rushed to William, dropping to her knees at his side. “William,” she called.

His eyes opened to mere twin slits. His lips moved.

She bent closer. “I can’t hear you, love.”

“Poison,” he repeated.

Horrified, Grace looked at the terrified servant who hadn't moved from the doorway and commanded, “Get the herbalist. Now! Go!” The woman raced away. No, no, no. Her mind repeated over and over. They can’t have made it all this way for nothing. “William,” she said, wiping his brow, his cheeks. He looked so pale. His usually tanned skin was almost white. She couldn’t stop touching him, didn’t want to stop touching him. “You saved me.” Her throat closed around her words; her eyes filled with tears. This can’t be happening. She kissed his lips, his cheeks. “I love you.”

He lifted a hand to cup her cheek. “You saved me.”

Startled, she looked into his eyes. There was a grin on his lips, a twinkle in his blue eyes. She hugged him, sobbing. “No,” she gasped. She wouldn’t lose him. She couldn’t lose him. He was her strength. He was her safety. He was her love. “I’m so sorry, William. I’m so sorry.” She had been wrong about him. She had misjudged him in all ways possible.

“Don’t,” he grumbled. “Not sorry.”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Save your strength.” She swiped at her eyes, trying to clear the tears blocking her view of him. “The herbalist will be here any moment.”

He caught her hand. “Grace.”

She saw the agony in his blue eyes, in the fire behind his orbs. “Don’t leave me,” she begged.

He closed his eyes.

There is a reason for everything, she told herself as the tears dripped from her eyes. But she couldn’t figure out what the reason behind taking William from her was.

Grace stayed with William through the night. The herbalist told her there was not much hope. He advised calling a priest. Grace refused and closed the door. She knelt at his side, praying. Praying for his soul, praying for his recovery, praying for forgiveness. She had just found him, just realized she loved him. Why? She picked up his hand and kissed it. It was limp and hot in her hold. He had always been so confident, so strong.

Why save her just to take him away? Why take the man she loved? She remained on her knees, holding his hand. Begging the Lord not to take him.

Could this be William’s punishment for losing faith? No. “Please,” she whispered. “Please just give him another chance to redeem himself.”

Darkness circled about her head, and she ran. Ran from something. Or to something, she didn’t know. She only knew she had to reach it. Not it. Him. She saw William lying on the ground. She knelt beside him, but there was something heavy on her head. She tried to brush it away, but it refused to move and she couldn’t see what it was. She didn’t care. William was all that was important. She reached out to him, but he was suddenly swallowed by the darkness.

“No!” Grace sat up straight. She looked around the room in disorientation. It took her a moment to realize she was in her old room at Willoughby Castle...

...and that William’s eyes were open. She gasped and moved to the bed. “William?” She touched his forehead. It wasn’t warm. It was sweaty and moist, but there was no fever. Her gaze moved over his handsome face, from his strong nose to his sensual lips. She brushed a kiss against them.

“Thirsty,” he whispered.

She jumped up and moved to the table to pour him a mug of ale. She returned, cradled his head in the crock of her arm and pressed the mug to his lips. He took a deep drink. She placed the mug on the table and knelt beside the bed, unable to stop touching him, his face, his hands, his chest. “How do you feel?”

“Weak.”

“I guess there will be no fighting off assassins for you.”

He chuckled softly. “Not today.”

“Oh, William. They said you wouldn’t make it. They said to call a priest. They said there was no hope.”

William’s lips twitched and he nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” He moved to sit up.

She gently pushed him down. “Rest. Please.” She had to get his mind off of getting out of bed. “You’ll need your strength for our wedding night.”

He scowled. “Your father agreed?”

She lifted her eyebrows and averted her gaze. “He can’t exactly disagree. His illness has made him too weak to move, too weak to even speak.”

“Lady Grace,” he said softly, “are you thinking of defying your father?”

“Not at all. He said to marry you and I shall.” She lifted her chin. “I shall be the perfect daughter and marry the man my father ordered me to marry.”

William smiled.

Grace felt her heart leap; she could barely control her answering grin. He was better. William was going to live!

“Yes,” he agreed. “Perfect.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand. The herbalist said there was no hope. That it was likely you wouldn’t make it through the night.”

He shifted his weight and turned his head to the side, away from her. “Well, if that is what you want.”

She grabbed his shoulder and cupped his chin, easing his gaze back to her. “There is nothing I want less.”

“It was nightshade, wasn’t it?”

“Nightshade?” she echoed.

“The poison.”

She scowled, hating the word. Poison. Nightshade. “Yes. I believe the herbalist mentioned something like that.”

“When I was in Jerusalem, there was an attempt on my life. They used nightshade. The same thing was said then. They had almost begun digging my grave.”

Alarmed, Grace clung to his hand. “You recovered.”

“Aye. As I did this time. I must have some sort of resistance to it. I suppose I should be grateful it was nightshade.”

“Perhaps someone was looking out for you.”

William reached for her. “My future wife.”

As his arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him, she knew he had been forgiven. And he was being given a second chance. She would make certain he took advantage of it.

CHAPTER 21

W
illiam watched with his arms
crossed over his chest as the last stone was placed at the top of the tower of the newly named St. Peter, St. Paul, and St. Thomas in Bovey. It was not enough penance, he knew. Not in the least, but it was a start. He was pleased the new church was close to being finished.

Father John emerged from the church door, shaking dust from his thin white hair. He brushed at his shoulders and more dust clouded off of him. Father John had been the only priest willing to marry him and Grace. Grace had made Father John promise he would not tell anyone he had married them. She didn’t want him to be excommunicated, and neither did William. His wife was very smart. It had been a small ceremony, held under the night stars in the clearing just south of Bovey.

It was perfect. He could not have asked for more.

Father John hobbled over to him. “Those incompetent...” His voice lowered to a mumble.

William smiled. “Careful, father. A man of the cloth has to set a good example for his people.”

“And how would you know, boy?” Father John grumbled. “You stand out here all day with that cursed grin on yer lips. As if you have it all figured out! I would like you to figure out how to get these masons to speed up construction!”

“Perfection cannot be rushed.”

“Perfection? I can build an entire cathedral in the time it’s taken them to build this one church.”

“They are taking their time because it amuses them to see you so ruffled.”

Father John sputtered, and his wrinkled face turned red.

William laughed.

“William!” a feminine voice called.

He turned to see his wife riding up on her new white mare; two mounted men rode behind her. She always took his breath away. Her beautiful blonde hair waved out behind her; a blush from the wind touched her cheeks. She was so lovely, and again he thanked the Lord for her. She dismounted by herself, throwing her leg over the side and sliding to the ground. “William, are you giving Father John a difficult time?” She set a calming hand on Father John’s arm. “There there, father. Pay him no heed.”

“I’ve tried, m’lady, truly I have. But this racket would drive me from my own church!”

William locked gazes with Grace. A sly grin touched the corners of her lips.

Without removing her gentle touch from Father John’s arm, she said, “William, we have visitors.”

William looked back at the men on horseback as they dismounted. Although their appearance was gruff and older, he recognized them immediately. He came forward. “Hugh! Richard!”

Hugh reached him first, wrapping him in a tight embrace. “It’s been too long,” Hugh greeted before giving him up to Richard.

Richard held his arm out for the customary warrior greeting.

William brushed aside his hand and grasped him tightly. They were brothers. And there was no other way to greet a brother. These were the men he had gone through hell with. Literally, although now each had their own personal hell to endure. “You look weary,” William said, slapping Richard on the shoulder.

“When we heard about Emily, we rode as quickly as we could,” Richard said.

William nodded and glanced toward the cemetery where his cousin was laid to rest.

“I’m sorry,” Hugh said sincerely.