Hearts Across Time (The Knights of Berwyck: A Quest Through Time Novel ~ Books 1 & 2) (2 page)

“No way,” Brianna shouted out.

“Hush up, Brie,” Emily interjected giving the girl a poke in the arm.

“Ouch! Cut it out, Em” Brianna grumbled with a none-too gentle shove of her own.

Juliana held up her hand to silence the two women. “Both of you behave. Go on, Katie.”

“One knight, in particular, came toward me with a confident stride, his dark blue cloak billowing behind him in the ocean breeze. As he came closer, I saw the imprint of a black lion’s head on his tabard, and I wondered at its meaning. With his helmet held under one arm, he reached up with his free hand and removed the chainmail helm from his head. It was at that precise moment that I knew him. He was so very tall that when he came to stand in front of me, I had to lean my head back just to look at him. His black hair fell in a wave to his broad shoulders, but it was his piercing blue eyes, as he gazed at me, that left me feeling completely stunned. He took my breath away with just one look, especially when he held out his hand for me to take. I remember reaching out to feel its warmth.

“Then a car horn sounded out on the street and brought me back to my senses. I know this may seem odd, but I never felt at such a loss as when I found myself sitting back at my desk,” Katherine said with a trace of sadness to her voice. She finished in a hushed whisper. “I still can almost feel the heat of his touch.”

Brianna and Emily could only stare at her, their mouths open yet silent. Juliana gave a small smile and drank her coffee, having already heard the story more than once.

Before anyone could speak, Katherine continued. “I suppose it explains much of why I can’t fall in love with a modern man, when none of them can even begin to measure up to what I experienced then, if only for an instant.”

“It’s almost too much to believe,” Emily said, the first to recover from Katherine’s story. “I know you would never lie to us. I just wish something like that would happen to me.”

“No wonder you’re always saying you were born in the wrong century, Katie, if you have these kinds of visions,” sighed Brianna. “I mean, you should have seen your face while you were talking about him. It completely transformed to show so much longing while your words poured out from your heart. If only time travel were possible. You could go back and find him.”

“Wouldn’t that be somewhat messing with the whole fabric-of-time issue?” Emily replied sarcastically.

“Not if she was really meant to go back, it wouldn’t!” Brianna retaliated.

“Ladies, let’s get a grip on the conversation shall we? Since we can’t obviously go back in time, and our knights have all turned a little rusty, I say there is only one conclusion for our vacation together,” Juliana said, as if the decision, in all their minds, had already been made.

“Bamburgh!” The four women replied in unison and raised their cups in a unified salute of agreement.

Katherine looked at her best friends with hopeful eyes. To Bamburgh they would go, and at long last, she would have a stamp in her otherwise empty passport. She could at the very least then say she had been somewhere in her life where medieval English history had once been made. It was more than she could ever hope for, and a slow smile lit Katherine’s face. For what her friends didn’t know, since she had kept the secret to herself, was that the handsome knight she had envisioned at Bamburgh…well…he was the very same knight from her dreams.

R
iorden de Deveraux
strode
sure-footed in his steps along the narrow parapet walkway. He nodded to the guards he passed, who stood at their posts as lookout for any who approached the castle grounds. Yet, no enemy came near, and none had for several years. Berwyck’s people had known only peace and prosperity while under the careful watch of the first Earl of Berwyck. One with any sense would think twice afore attempting to take any lands claimed by the Devil’s Dragon.

Riorden chuckled at the thought of his lifelong friend. At the prime of his career as champion for King Henry II, he had been called the Devil’s Dragon of Blackmore and had quite the reputation of instilling fear into those around him. Dristan still held such a reputation in some of those same circles, but if the truth were to be told, his lord had become a bit domesticated of late.
Such is the fate of a married man
, Riorden supposed. Yes, the cause could almost certainly be laid at the feet of Dristan’s beautiful wife, Amiria, or mayhap, even fatherhood. Still, Riorden would never underestimate Dristan in the lists, for that is when one ended up on one’s backside in the dirt. Dristan radiated sheer power and a fierceness with which few could contend. ’Twas considered a privilege to train with the man, and more so to call him a friend, although not many could claim such a kinship.

With a shake of his head, he turned his gaze south and watched as the ocean waves crashed loudly onto the sandy beach below. ’Twas a favorite location of the Lady Amiria, and he would often catch her unaware in this very place. Riorden laughed aloud, thinking of the few times he was actually able to take said lady off guard. ’Twas a rare occasion to be sure, and usually included having a sword or dirk to one’s throat, if one was not too careful.

The woman was a bit of a spitfire, which seemed somewhat fitting, given the length of her glorious red hair. She was the perfect companion for his lord. However, he was glad he was not tied to a woman of such determination to always have her way or give aid when the need arose. Dristan had told him, on numerous occasions, he would never change a thing about his lovely wife, and he loved her just as she was. Amiria could wield a sword as no other woman of Riorden’s acquaintance. When it became time, he had no issue pledging his life in her service just as fully as he served Dristan as captain of his guard.

Riorden leaned his gloved hands on the battlement wall and sighed. There was not much of a chance of him finding a lady of his own here at Berwyck, and the village whores only offered satisfaction to his baser needs. Not that he was truly looking for a wife since years afore he had been soured by a lying, deceitful lady. He did not feel love truly existed for him.

Life was what one made of it although serving another lord with no castle walls of one’s own to call home was not much of a life in which to raise one’s family. It did not hold much merit for most women he had ever encountered. Each had wanted to be the lady of her own hall, with servants aplenty. Love had seemingly passed him by, and good riddance! At the age of a score and thirteen, he decided a solitary life was how the remainder of his days would be spent. Some days, he cared not that he would have no lady by his side, and yet there were times he felt the bitter stab of jealousy. When he heard the childish laughter of Dristan’s son, sadness would overcome him, knowing he would never have a child to follow in his footsteps.

He heard his name called and stood upright, trying to shake off his sudden melancholy mood. Women! They either drove one mad from wanting them or with their demands for one’s attention. Either was just as bad as the other and a distraction Riorden did not need wreaking havoc with his mind.

Turning, he saw Fletcher making his way up the stairs to stand beside him on the parapet. Fletcher bore the same uncanny resemblance to all of the other men personally chosen over the years for Dristan’s personal guard. He, too, had black hair as dark as night, but where Riorden’s eyes were a deep blue, Fletcher’s were an amber colored brown with golden flecks residing in their irises. ’Twas a striking combination that only enhanced his good looks and had many a maid beckoning to him over the years. Fletcher felt ’twas his duty in life to never leave a maid saying he did not pleasure her to her fullest potential. So far, he bragged, he had succeeded in his quest.

“Is there aught amiss?” Riorden questioned, as they both now stared out to the sea’s distant horizon.

“Depends on how you look at it, I suppose, Riorden,” Fletcher answered. “A messenger has arrived from the king. Dristan requests we join him in his solar, posthaste.”

They began to carefully make their way off the narrow walkway and down the steps heading to one of the towers housing a set of circular stairways leading to the lower floors, one of which housed the keep’s family. The sound of their armor clanking against the stones echoed and ricocheted off the walls as they made their way below. When they reached the third floor landing, they turned left and continued on down the passageway ’til they reached Dristan’s solar door. Riorden knocked and heard the call to enter.

Opening the door, Riorden was not surprised to witness the entire family gathered within the chamber. There was only one exception, for one of the daughters, Sabina, had desired a life at a nearby abbey. Dristan sat at his desk, perusing various parchments demanding his attention. Berwyck Castle was but one of his many estates, both in England and abroad in France. If he was not in the lists, keeping his form fit and pursuing the continual training of his knights, Dristan would be found here in this room, attending to business with his steward; ensuring the rents were collected, petitions were addressed, and justice was dispensed.

Amiria sat comfortably in a chair close to the warmth of the fire. She continued to fidget and reposition herself. Perhaps, given she was heavy with child, she was not as comfortable as she wished to be. Riorden watched in amusement as the lady continually reached to finger the hilt of the sword her husband had gifted to her afore their marriage. ’Twas kept at her side, although Dristan had forbidden her to lift it lest she wished to endure his wrath. Her son Royce, who was aged three summers, was toddling around his father’s desk ’til his sire made a grab for the lad and threw him up in the air, much to the delight of the boy. He squealed with laughter as Dristan began to tickle him.

Amiria’s twin brother Aiden sat on the floor at his sister’s feet, sharpening a dirk. Their resemblance was a bit uncanny although whereas Amiria’s form was petite, given her womanly stature, the same could not be said of her brother. At a score and four, ’twas clear Aiden had been spending much of his time in the lists, training with Dristan. ’Twas the only place he ever wanted to be, since he felt ’twas his irresponsibility the castle had fallen to the English.

Still, after four years, he felt no ill will towards Dristan. Anyone could see for themselves, Amiria’s marriage was a happy one, and Aiden had made it known he was pleased for his sister and her husband. Unfortunately, since Aiden had one day hoped to be lord of Berwyck, he felt restless with the need to prove himself in the world and make a name for himself. Riorden did not think Aiden would remain much longer at Berwyck.

The youngest daughter of the old laird Douglas MacLaren was Lynet, who sat on a stool on the other side of her sister with a bit of stitchery in her nimble fingers. She was a rare beauty with hair the color of golden honey and eyes as blue as a clear sky above. In the past five years, Lynet had become a bit defiant, much like her sister had been at the same age of ten and nine. She was not as yet wed as most girls her age. Unfortunate for those lads brave enough to enter the Devil’s Dragon’s lair, she refused all offers brought forward and made clear to all who cared to listen, she would wed only for love. Amiria had sworn to ensure this would come to pass. Riorden could only begin to imagine the pains Dristan must bear, dealing with two headstrong women under his care. Many a night had Dristan and Riorden shared a drink or two to ponder the fools who only sought the gold a union with Lynet would bring. The true treasure that would be brought to a marriage with the Lady Lynet was the lady herself.

The last family member present was young Patrick, who stood behind Dristan staring out the small window, looking towards the inner and outer baileys. Black hair with brown eyes, he was now aged ten and three summers and had taken his previous duties as Dristan’s page most seriously, along with his studies. For reasons only Dristan knew for certain, the boy had not been sent off to foster with another lord so he could begin the proper duties of squire. ’Twas the next logical step in order to one day earn his spurs and claim a knighthood.

“My lord,” Riorden said as he came to stand before Dristan with a bow. “You called for me?”

Dristan tossed Royce up into the air one last time before placing him on the floor and rumpling his hair. Amiria called to the boy, and he went to sit on the floor next to his Uncle and began to play with a bit of wool, which was left near Lynet’s feet. He seemed content to sit there, but for how long was anyone’s guess. He was a most curious boy and not one to sit for any length of time in one place.

Dristan came and leaned against the edge of his desk, leisurely perusing Riorden. As Dristan’s captain, he waited patiently for his orders and tucked his gloves into the belt at his waist. Although Riorden thought of Dristan as his liege lord, they were, in truth, more than that. They were even more than just friends and comrades-in-arms.

They had grown up together since Riorden had come to Dristan’s father’s estate to serve as a page, and they had gotten into more mischief than two lads should at such a young age. At least, that was the tale Dristan’s mother had proclaimed on numerous occasions in their youth. So alike, they could have been brothers. Same black hair down to their shoulders; same broad shoulders with chiseled features on their visage; same physical form of rippling, lean muscle from years of training or fighting to stay alive; same ability to train, no matter the weather conditions, and preferring a challenge rather than an easy win in the lists; same ability to kill when the need arose; and same sense of honor and chivalry, despite their perceived reputations of severing heads of any left in their wake.

The only difference between the two men was the color of their eyes. Whereas Dristan’s eyes were the hue of cold grey steel, Riorden’s were an unusual shade of the deepest blue. Amiria had often mentioned that perchance the angels rejoiced when they saw the extent of color God had graced in his eyes. Surely, many a maid could easily fall under his spell and never want to leave if he were to but gaze upon them, she had teased. Though he had never met one to go so far as to ask her to be his lady wife.

Their apparent silence at an end, Dristan reached back onto his desk, retrieved a piece of parchment, and handed the document to his lifelong friend. Riorden read the missive, but he had to read it a second time in order for the words to take meaning inside his head. Even a third reading did not, unfortunately, change its wording.

Dristan raked his hands through his hair, although regret remained on his features. “You are to leave us, it appears. You have been summoned to Bamburgh Castle where the king will soon be in residence.”

“Why would King Henry wish to have me at hand at Bamburgh?” Riorden asked as he too ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

“You would refuse his command?” Dristan queried, raising a brow at his friend.

“I may question his motives and reasoning, but I would never be so foolish as to decline such a request,” Riorden declared as he began to pace to and fro within the chamber. He bumped into Fletcher, who grumbled about the state of his toes, afore he once more stood in one place.

“You will be missed, Riorden,” Amiria and Aiden said together, exchanging a silent look, which only twins could possibly share or interpret.

Riorden stared silently at those souls within the chamber who, for the most part, were the closest thing he could call his family. They all began to stand, although they, too, were seemingly at a loss of words.

Dristan came to him and clasped his hand on his shoulder. “It appears there is not much else for me to say after the two of us have traveled and fought beside one another for as long as I can remember. So...since you do not care to have ownership to the title and lands that are rightfully yours from your sire, which I will never understand, you leave me no choice than to see to matters myself. I will have no knight of mine and from my household going to the king lacking,” Dristan announced, breaking the silence of the room. “Patrick,” he called and watched as the boy turned his gaze as if seeing the room for the first time.

“Aye, my Lord Dristan,” Patrick answered when he came to stand before his liege with a bow.

“You have served me well these many years, Patrick, but it seems fate has other plans for us, for she is a fickle mistress,” Dristan proclaimed and turned the boy to face Riorden. “As you have served me, now go and serve your new master as his squire. He will need you more than I during his days at court, I think.”

“Dristan, really, I cannot−” Riorden began.

“As you wish, my lord,” Patrick answered promptly, ignoring Riorden’s protests.

Patrick knelt, bowing his head and holding out his hands towards his new liege as if in prayer and complete submission. He patiently waited ’til Riorden at last came to his senses and clasped the boy’s outstretched hands in his own.

It seemed as if Patrick’s oath of fealty to Riorden came easily to his lips, almost as though he had waited a lifetime to make such a commitment and sacrifice. “I, Patrick of Berwyck and of Clan MacLaren, do so swear on my faith in God the Almighty, to serve thee as my liege lord, Riorden de Deveraux. I promise in the future to be faithful to my lord, never causing you harm, and will observe my homage to you completely; against all persons, in good faith, and without deceit.”