Knight Defender (Knight Chronicles) (21 page)

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Everyone needs family. Do you know who I am?”

“I heard the other stable lads sayin’ that ye was Lady Jassa … Jersa … Jessamyn Du Grace.”

How sad. The boy not only had no family but was not included in the circle of his fellow grooms. She couldn’t give him a family, but she could give him a friend.

“That’s right.” She took a small, engraved silver ring from her right little finger and placed it in Gillam’s hand. “Put this on a string, tie it ’round your neck, and hide it beneath your shirt so the bigger boys don’t take it from you.”

He stared at the circlet in his palm then lifted his gaze to hers. “I will, my lady, er Lady Jessamyn. I’ll take good care of it for ye.”

She shook her head. “It’s not for me. I want you to keep it always.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Now listen carefully. If you ever have need of a friend—someone to help when you are in trouble—bring that ring to Castle Blancmer in Lancastershire with a message that Lady Jessamyn’s friend Gillam has need of her. The markings on the ring are the oath of the house and guarantee that my family will help you.”

“Are ye sure ye want to give this to a stable boy?”

“No, I am giving it to a friend.”

“But I’ve done nothing to be your friend.”

“You’ve taken better care of Persia than any other lad I know. And if you want to do more, I could use some help tonight.”

“Anything, Lady Jessamyn, anything.”

Guilt pinched her conscience at his eagerness so easily won. She told him what she needed, asking if he thought anyone would try to stop him.

“Nah. Once supper starts no one comes to the stables unless a rider arrives, and since I sleep here I’m most like t’ be the one t’ take care of any new horses. The other lads want t’ drink and listen t’ the men-at-arms talk about battles and killing. I don’t care about that, so I stay here, and they leave me alone most of the time.”

“Very well.” No need to dwell on the fact that her plan hinged on an untried boy and her own courage. “If something goes wrong and I don’t come tonight, I’ll find a way to tell you when next to be ready.”

“I understand, Lady Jessamyn.”

“The last thing I want is for you to be hurt. So please make sure if anyone asks to say you know nothing about what I want you to do.”

“I’ll keep mum. I promise.”

“Excellent.”

In the distance bells rang. She had to get back to her chamber before anyone noticed she was missing.

With a quick stop in the kitchen to request the strong ale and sneak away with mortar and pestle, she arrived at her room to put everything in readiness for her private supper with Sir Dawson. When he knocked, she bade him enter and filled a goblet with the heavy ale.

“You must be thirsty after all your hard work today. Come sit and warm yourself with some ale.”

“Thank you, Lady Jessamyn.” He took the proffered goblet and drank deeply but did not sit.

He drained the cup and set it on the table, eyed the bed, then tilted his head toward it. “I’m right hungry for something other than food.”

Jessamyn lowered her gaze. How long would it take for the soapwort to do its work? “Oh, I must sup before we indulge in any sort of dalliance. And, please you, send these messages before we eat.” She handed him the two rolled and sealed sheets of vellum.

Dawson frowned. “I thought you wished to consult me on the wording of your missive to Baron Ravensmere?”

“Yes.” She toyed with the clasp at the neck of her gown. “However, I changed my mind. I feel that getting these messages to the baron with all possible speed is most important.”

“Hmph. And you say you must eat before … ” He let the sentence lapse with another nod toward the bed.

“Ah, yes. ’Tis most important to me. Here, have some more ale.”

She filled his goblet again, handing it to him before she bent taking a poker to stir the coals in the braiser, presenting him with her backside.

He sighed, and she heard him drop into the chair nearby.

A sharp pain twinged in her left buttock. “Ow!”

She bolted upright and, still holding the poker, turned, rubbing one hand over the abused flesh to soothe it. “Sir Dawson! Did you just pinch me?”

He shrugged and sipped his ale. “I am here at your request, my lady. I’m a busy man, and you can’t expect me to wait all night.”

She drew herself up and spoke coldly. “I invited you to sup with me. Nothing more.”

“Now, now, Lady Jessamyn, don’t get yourself in a lather. We both know that you wanted a little slap and tickle, or you’d not have invited me at all.”

“Hmph.” She stuck her nose in the air. “I am sorry if you misunderstood me, but I’m not in the habit of fornicating with every man I meet.”

His eyes narrowed and he stood, stalking her. “Oh, I understood you right enough. However, you only have to fornicate with me. I’m not in the mood to share.”

He’d placed himself between her and the door. Holding his gaze, she backed toward the bed, lifting the poker to threaten him. “And I am not in the mood to be your leman.”

She couldn’t let this happen, but she had to get those keys. She glanced toward his belt to be certain they were there.

He moved as if to leap at her but crumpled to the floor instead, arms clasping his gut. “Oooohh. What have you done to me, you bitch?”

A rank odor assailed her as the soapwort did its worst and he soiled his breeches.

Nose wrinkled, she looked down at him with disgust. “Nothing that you don’t deserve. Although I’m sorry, you probably don’t deserve this.”

She brought the poker down on his head, trying to hit him only so hard as to knock him out. She needed him to be incapable of raising the alarm. She didn’t need him dead.

He went limp, and she could only pray that she’d succeeded in not killing him. Quickly she removed the keys from his belt, then gathering the pitcher of ale, she headed for the dungeons. As she left the building, she saw Gillam nod at her from a corner then race away when she nodded back.

• • •

Raeb rolled his shoulders, giving temporary ease to the ache from having his hands manacled above his head for he knew not how long. He wished he could ease the pain in his head too.

Dawson had beaten him senseless, just for being a Scot. Of course when Raeb had tried to explain that he was a friend of Baron Ravensmere, Dawson had laughed.

“The idea that the Clarwyn family would befriend a dirty Scot is absurd. You’re a Scottish spy, and you’ll tell me everything about what you’re doing on Ravensmere lands.”

Then the beating had commenced. When the knight got bored with Raeb’s refusal to talk, he’d ordered his men to continue two at a time, proving that even if one of them might believe Raeb, they’d not go against their captain. Eventually, Raeb had lost consciousness, and his hosts must have abandoned him, for he came to his senses alone.

He’d done his best to check his body for broken bones and was pleased to find none. Then he’d shouted himself hoarse, asking for water to break his thirst.

No one came down the stairs that spiraled up the side of the circular dungeon as light faded from the single opening high in the wall. So he sat in the dark, plotting how best to escape and serve Dawson with equal courtesy.

He must have dozed; the sound of footsteps on the stairs woke him.

“Have you come to beat me some more, you cowards? For only cowards attack a chained man.”

“Shh.”

He lifted his head, studying the dark for any indication of motion. “I’ll no sush t’ please a filthy English bugger.”

Above on the stair, a glow grew in brightness. Eventually a skirt came in to view.

“If you think to tempt me with whores, I’ll tell you again that I’m no a spy.”

The feminine form that emerged from the stairwell was slim and tall. Almost as tall as … He shook his head and wished he hadn’t when the ache in his skull became a multitude of pains.

“I should turn around right now and leave you here. I am no whore, sirrah.”

“Jessamyn?”

“Shh.” She placed the torch in the sconce nearest the bottom of the stairs.

He lowered his voice. “How? What? Where did you … ?”

She was on the floor now approaching him with a ring of keys in her hand. “Hush, we don’t want to draw any attention. I’ll explain everything, but we’ve got to get away first.”

“I agree with that. Do you have horses ready?” He kept his voice low.

“Yes. Persia and the brute you were carried in on await us in the stables, and the postern gate has been left open for us.”

She unlocked the manacles then helped him stand and restore feeling to his arms.

“Are you ready?”

“Aye, but tell me why I should trust you. You’ve betrayed me more than once.”

“Because I just released you and am about to place a sword and dirk in your hands and leave myself weaponless.”

She wasn’t weaponless, but he knew that speaking eyes and a luring smile were of as little use in a pitched battle as knives of betrayal and darts of falsehood.

“Where did you get these?”

“I pilfered them from the armory.”

“And the keys?”

“Later. We’ve got to leave.”

“No, I do not think you will.” The familiar voice came from the foot of the stairs.

“Let me handle this,” Jessamyn said. She placed herself between him and the man holding a sword on them.

Foolish woman, does she think to protect me, or is it a ruse
?

Raeb grasped her shoulder and moved her aside. “Robert Clarwyn, ’tis Raeb MacKai.”

“Raeb?”

The sword was sheathed in an instant, and the man crossed the floor to clasp him by the arms.

“Aye. Your man, Dawson, said you were away with your wife on Longshanks’ business. What brought you home at this time?”

“Several of my men were supposed to bring a small gift I had made for the king; it is necessary now and then to keep Edward believing I still love him. When my men didn’t arrive, I came to discover what delayed them. Now tell me what are you doing here in my dungeon and with such a lovely damsel?” Ravensmere turned assessing blue eyes on Jessamyn.

“Dawson thought I was a spy, and the lady is my betrothed. So hands off,” Raeb warned.

“Betrothed? Don’t tell me this is the beautiful Lady Jessamyn Du Grace, whom Edward sent to lure you into his trap.”

“Trap? What trap?”

“That’s right, I didn’t make this latest discovery until after your man Dougal began his journey north. Our good King Edward I is sending twice the number of men and ships as originally stated. Since his plans to take over Strathnaver failed, he intends to have his men subdue Dungarob keep so he can use it as a base of operations for conquering Scotland as he did Wales. You are to be imprisoned or put to the sword, if you do not die in battle, and Lady Jessamyn is to be returned to her father with a vastly increased dowry from her godfather, the king.”

Raeb clenched his teeth hard enough to nearly break his jaw.

“But how is this possible?” Jessamyn asked. “Surely my maid has not been able to deliver my message to Edward yet?”

“As a matter of fact, she did. The ship she took met with very fair winds. She arrived several days ago. Edward had a good laugh when he read your missive.”

“A good laugh?”

“Missive?” Raeb swung his head toward Jessamyn, and his eyes narrowed.

She pointed her chin in the air. “I overheard you plotting with Dougal and wrote a note telling all to my godfather.”

If she’d sent a note to Edward, why was she here? She was safe enough at Dungarob, especially if she knew her godfather sent troops to rescue her.

“Taking over Dungarob keep has been Edward’s plan all along,” Clarwyn said. “Though he did not reveal it to most of his inner circle until that message arrived and he explained the cause of his laughter.”

“You’re a spy,” she sneered.

“Not precisely. I simply see things differently than my king at the moment.”

“Aye.” Raeb wanted to throttle her and kiss her at the same time. She’d hurt him, yet he could not seem to act with any sense when she was near. And she still kept something from him. Her presence here made no sense. Regardless, he’d be better off without her. Striding to her, he grasped both her wrists in one hand, taking the keys as he did. “Clarwyn has reason to dislike Edward, though we’ve been careful to cause England’s king to believe otherwise. But unlike my friend, you, Lady Du Grace, have made your last betrayal.”

“What are you going to do?” Her voice wavered, and she looked at him with sorrow in her eyes.

“Yes, Raeb, exactly what do you plan?” Ravensmere asked.

“I thought I’d leave the lying lady here, manacled in your dungeon where she can do nae more harm.” He turned his head to look at his friend since he could no longer bear Jessamyn’s anguish.

Clarwyn rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t think you should do that.”

“Why?”

“Because my guards obviously think you are a spy, and if they even suspect that I let you go without a fight, I risk exposing my activities to Edward. What’s happened to my guard, by the way?”

Raeb watched a flush color Jess’s cheeks.

“I’m to blame for that.” She hung her head. “I, ah, had to distract your captain from his duties long enough to release Raeb and get him away from here.”

Raeb blinked. That made even less sense than her leaving Dungarob. Why rescue him when his keep was more vulnerable without its baron?

“Ah,” Clarwyn said, smiling. “And just how did you distract Sir Dawson?”

“Um, I put soapwort in his ale. I also made certain that the other guards had the same ale. They should all be discommoded for quite some time.”

Clarwyn tossed his head back and laughed. “So you are in the midst of engineering Raeb’s release. ’Tis best if he continue his escape, and you must go with him, Lady Du Grace.”

“Before I go anywhere, I must assure myself of my maid’s safety.” Given that Raeb still manacled Jess’s wrists with an iron grip, her bravado should have surprised him. It didn’t; she had always spoken her mind and acted as if the world were hers to order to her liking. She might be kind and generous, but she was also willful and imperious. ’Twas that, he supposed, which allowed her to break her vow on a whim.