Eliza Knight - The Rules of Chivalry (9 page)

“Well done, Devereux, well done.”

Michael nodded, still stunned by the man’s odd behavior.

“Now, see to it you complete your mission.” With that he hopped to his feet and raised Michael’s arm in the air. “Huzzah! Huzzah! Black Knight! Huzzah!”

*****

“Think you I don’t know what you’re about? I remember how you fawned over the lady nigh on a dozen years, saw the two of you handfasted in the wood, and then lay witness to the way you’ve brooded your loss the last few.” Fletch paced the inside of Michael’s tent, cracked his knuckles. “I may well be your man, but surely I’m not the only one noticing how you’re behaving now.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Michael sat on his cot wrapping his forearm from where the blade of Warwick’s broadsword had sliced his skin. The cut was not too deep, didn’t warrant any stitching, but it stung like the devil. He still had no idea what Thomas
meant,
only now he was worried.
Was it possible Thomas was the one who sent the missive? Just how many were aware of Elena’s petition?

None of it made any sense.

“Devereux!” Fletch snapped.

Michael narrowed his gaze. The man might be his friend, but it didn’t bode well for him to shout. The thin thread holding his temper in placed unraveled another bit.

“My apologies, sir, but the trick with Jon… Last night… I fear someone may take notice.”

“Last night?”

“Aye, I saw the lady come to your tent. I stayed outside to make sure no one else did.”

“And?”

“No one saw you.”

Michael sighed. “Thomas knows something.”

“Warwick?”

“Aye.”
Michael told him about what happened on the field.

“Would you like me to find out more?”

“No. I’ll talk to the man. No need to worry yourself. I’ll not allow yours or anyone else’s head to touch the block.”

Fletch nodded. “Just be careful,
’
tis all. These are dangerous times we live in, sir.”

Michael’s gaze came up to meet with
Fletch’s
. The man knew him better than anyone.
Never steered him in the wrong direction before.
Best he
heed
his man’s words. It was time to take control of the situation.

“Noted.”

Chapter
Seven

“P
lease, my lady, drink this. It’ll calm your nerves.”

Elena stopped her pacing long enough for
Raelyn
to thrust a cup of spiced wine into her hands.

Her other ladies sat about the tent, pretending to read or sew, but every few minutes, one of them had their eyes on her, studying her. They tried to erect a calm space, a feeling of normalcy, but nothing was normal. Nothing would ever be the same again. Michael had won—but he’d also suffered an injury, and it was all her fault
. Although part of her felt
he deserved a little pain after the way he’d treated his squire
,
he didn’t deserve bodily harm.

She gulped the contents of the cup, feeling the warmth of the wine soothe her nerves somewhat. Was Michael all right? Had the cut been deep? Would Kent still honor the agreement now that the knight had been injured?

“He won, my lady. Sir Devereux won.” Mary’s Irish lilt caressed her ears.

She’d feigned a headache when the first stream of blood had seeped from his arm. Her husband immediately approved of her removal, muttering of her insipid idiocy.

“The injury was none too bad, my lady. Just a scratch,” Beth offered.

“Aye, he’s a fine, strong, powerful, handsome man.” Her maid Nicole sent the other ladies into a fit of titters over this and began discussing his other fine attributes.

She knew just how strong he was, just how muscular and handsome he was, too. And he’d won. He was the new Captain of the Guard. There would be a huge feast in his honor tonight, and on the morrow they would head back to Kent Castle where he would begin his new position.

“What did my lord husband say?” She turned nervous
eyes on
Raelyn
.

Her maid led her to her cot and sat her down. She began to unbraid Elena’s hair and comb it through with her fingers, gently massaging her temples as she went. Elena leaned into her maid’s gentle ministrations, closed her eyes and let the tension ease away.

“He pronounced him the winner.
The new Captain of the Guard.
It was all very spectacular.” She leaned down and whispered in Elena’s ear, “Sir Devereux had eyes only for your empty seat.”

“No!” she gasped. “Did Kent notice?”

“Oh no, he mumbled his congratulations and was off with his men before Black Knight
” —
she giggled at using his nickname
—
“could even say his thanks. If you don’t mind me being too bold to say so, my lady, I do believe the man—your husband—favors cock.”

Elena gasped in shock, and whirled to face her maid, wincing when one of her
maid’s
rings caught in her hair.
“
Raelyn
!”

Raelyn
laughed. “Well, I daren’t say it to anyone else but you, my lady.”

The maid had a point. How many times had he forced himself on her with his valet, Larry in the room
…
The
two
did spend a lot of time together.

“He would kill you for less, do be careful,” Elena pleaded. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have thrown myself into the moat by now.”

Raelyn
twisted Elena’s
hair up and pin
ned
it into place, letting a few loose curls fall around her face and shoulders. A peaceful silence hung about the room.

“I know.
’
Tis the only reason I haven’t yet accepted a proposal.”

“Proposal?
Has one been asked?” Elena turned around, grasped
Raelyn’s
hands. Her eyes were wide and she smiled with joy for her dear friend.

A gleeful smile filled her maid’s heart shaped face. The slight blush covering her cheeks brought out the red in her chestnut hair.
“Aye, my lady.”

“
Is it w
ho
I think
? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Raelyn
sat down beside her. “I didn’t want to say anything. I won’t accept it, not until I know you’re no longer in harm’s way. You’ve been like a sister to me these past years, I could never leave you.”

Guilt clouded over Elena. She’d been so selfish, keeping these women with her. She would see to it that
Raelyn
had a happy life. She’d once wondered what she could do to thank her ladies for seeing to her safety and sanity and now she knew. She would see them married to men who loved them, cared for them.

“Tell me, please
Raelyn
.”

“It was none other than the man your Devereux fought against at the very end. Sir Thomas Devlin.” The wistful sigh from her lady’s lips said it all.
Raelyn
was in love.

“
’Tis as I suspected.” Elena smiled. “
We shall see to it that you accept his proposal.”

Raelyn
bowed her head. “I haven’t been altogether truthful with you, my lady.”

“What do you mean?”

“Thomas knows of
your past with
Devereux.”

Fear penetrated Elena’s soul like an icy spike. Her death warrant was surely being signed at that very moment.

“Why?”

“When I asked him to deliver the missive for you, I wanted to be sure he knew what was at stake.”

Elena swallowed hard, the color draining from her face. “Can he be trusted?”

Raelyn
nodded emphatically.
“Aye, my lady.
And,
I told Thomas I wouldn’t marry him until you were safe.”
Raelyn’s
voice turned desperate. “Please don’t be angry, my lady.”

Elena felt light-headed, dizzy. Too many people knew of her cry for help. Should
Raelyn
and Thomas get into a lover’s quarrel, she was done for.
And Michael, too.
If Kent knew there was a traitor in his mist, he’d bring Hell upon them all.

Her hands shook. Sweat trick
l
ed from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine. She shivered.

“What have you done,
Raelyn
? What have you done?”

*****

The crisp cool waters of the nearby lake had done Michael good. His arm still throbbed a little, but at least he
was
no longer sweat
ing
and could think a little clearer. He was glad to have another hour or so before he needed to prepare for the evening’s festivities. Fletch, Colin and Jon had all gone off to do whatever it was squ
ires in their free time
.

He drew back the flap on his tent, and
stiffened
,
his guard
immediately up. Someone was in his tent.

He sniffed once, and recoiled. No lofty feminine scent enveloped
him,
instead it was
the scent of an unwashed, filth-
coated body. Something smelled of rotten flesh, and dead fish.

“Who goes there?”

A rail thin boy stepped from the shadows.

“Black Knight
.
”
His voice was
a
high-pitched, nervous squeak.

Small brown eyes
stared at him, wide and unblinking
. They reminded him of a mouse’s eyes, timid, sneaky. A smirk covered the boy’s lips like he’d evaded the trap and stolen the cheese. As if on cue the boy picked up an orange from the bowl on the table. He bit into the fruit, skin and all.

“What the hell are you doing in my tent?” Michael crossed his arms over his chest. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze bearing down on the boy. He didn’t trust the weasel, not an ounce. “Did you come to steal from me? I could have your hand cut off for taking that orange.”

The boy laughed. Michael was surprised at how
sinister it sounded in a bo
dy so thin, and someone so obviously lacking
.

“Think you, that I need to steal?” His words were forced, like he was trying too hard.

“You just did. Now tell me what you want before I whip you myself.”

“I’m your new kipper.”

“I don’t need a kipper.” Arrogant son-of-a—

“Servant then.”

“I have enough s
ervants
.” Michael
grew
tired of the lad.

“I think
ye
—” The boy took a deep breath, the hand holding the orange shook. “You can do with one more.”

“Why would I hire a sneaky thief like you? I might turn my back and find my tent has disappeared.”

“Because I saw you.”

“Saw me?”

“I saw you with the lady.”

A chill raced up Michael’s spine.
The boy need say no more. He thought he’d been careful the night before, but now he knew. There had been one person who’d seen them, would exploit them. But he wasn’t going down that easily. How much could the little rat have seen?
The boy
could easily twist any situation to his own fortune. Michael took a step closer and cracked his neck, hoping to intimidate the lad.

“There are many ladies about, boy. This is a tourney.
Plenty of skirts to be played with.”

“I don’t think his lordship would take kindly to you calling his wife a skirt to be played with.”

Damn!
So the boy knew it was Elena.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Best mind your tongue before I cut it out.”

“You won’t be
cuttin
’ out my tongue, Black Knight. And your secret will be safe with me.
Alls
you have to do is give me some work. I’m hungry and I need a soft bed.”

Michael took a deep breath, grimaced and tried not to put his fist through the
skelp’s
face.
Extorted.
And by a whelp of a boy
,
too.

“What is your name?” Michael uncrossed his arms and lit a candle.

“Arthur.”

“How old are you?” He set the candle down and turned his gaze on the boy.

“Eighteen summers, sir.”

“Where are you from?” He pulled the dirk from his sleeve and began cleaning his nails, hoping to put fear in the boy’s mind.

“York—
Yorksmith
… Uh, I mean Yorkshire, sir.”

Liar.
Probably one of Kent’s own peasants.
The boy couldn’t keep the lies from his eyes. He looked desperate. Michael walked toward him slowly, letting his sheer size intimidate
Arthur
,
then
he locked gazes, sending the boy a message. Liquid pooled at his feet and the pungent smell of urine rose like a cloud. He actually felt a little sorry for the scamp. He must be mighty hungry,
then
most peasants were. Kent’s peasants probably had it worse off than any others. Even still, he didn’t feel bad enough to
lose
the upper hand. He couldn’t have this young man attempting to intimidate him.

“Are you threatening me
,
Arthur of Yorkshire?”

Arthur dropped the orange. His eyes were wide as saucers. Tears collected in their depths.

“N-No sir,” he stuttered.

“Sounds like you are.”

Arthur glanced from side to side, as if trying to assess an escape route.

“You aren’t leaving this tent,” Michael growled. “You don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here.” He pointed his blade at Arthur’s throat. “I could dispatch you with the flick of my wrist. Want to die tonight?”

Arthur burst into tears. His whole life story fell from his lips in a torrent to rival the river falling from his eyes. His shoulders shook and the smell of him
and urine
made Michael want to vomit.

His heart softened slightly for the lad.

“I’ll hire you on as a water boy, Arthur, but if I ever hear one more word of what you came here tonight to say I will gut you like the coward you are.”

Arthur nodded.

“Go clean your sorry arse up.”

Arthur hurried from the tent. Michael would have to keep a close eye on the boy. What better way than to immerse him in his household.
A hungry, desperate
boy with no connections could be dangerous. He took a bowl of wash water and dumped it on the spot where
Arthur
had been standing. The tent still reeked.

What had his father always told him? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Perhaps now was as good a time as any to go and speak with Thomas Devlin.