[The deBurghs 07] - Reynold De Burgh: The Dark Knight (8 page)

‘As you say, mistress,’ Ursula said, ducking in her
head. ‘But you are no longer young, and Julian Fabre has been gone for a long time.’

Sabina drew in a sharp breath at the mention of the name she had forbidden her attendant to speak. ‘He is dead,’ she said, unwilling to continue the discussion.

‘Either way, it is time you took an interest in someone else,’ Ursula said.

With a fierce glance, Sabina effectively silenced her attendant, but her thoughts were not so easily stilled. In truth, though Sabina was not about to admit it to Ursula, she had never taken an interest in anyone…until Lord de Burgh arrived.

Reynold did not like the errand that was upon him this morn. Yesterday, they had gone to the blacksmith’s to find the forge still in place, but no iron to work. And Reynold knew the size of the task required someone with skill, else it would take too long to make and might not hold when the time came.

He had no choice but to commission a chain from a blacksmith, which meant leaving Grim’s End, a mission he was loathe to undertake. How could he guard Mistress Sexton when she was not with him? Yet it made no sense for her to accompany him, especially since he did not have the men to protect her on the road.

For an instant, Reynold had considered taking them
all
with him, but he had dismissed the notion as unfeasible and risky. It would be just his luck to return to find the village burned to the ground while they were away.

He could send Peregrine, but even if able to bargain with the smith, the brave lad could easily be waylaid, his
purse stolen, or worse. Unpalatable as it might be, Reynold could see only one solution: he must go alone, leaving Peregrine to act in his stead. And he would go now, at dawn, in order to avoid any arguments and goodbyes.

Shaking Peregrine awake, he spoke softly of his intentions to the wide-eyed boy, who rose up from his pallet, protesting valiantly. ‘But my vow! I swore to the l’Estranges that I would accompany you always.’

‘And you shall, my squire, but not today,’ Reynold said. ‘I need someone trustworthy to watch over Mistress Sexton, should the dragon appear in my absence.’

That silenced the boy, who nodded gravely.

‘There is no need to reveal my whereabouts immediately, lest you worry the women,’ Reynold added. ‘However, do not let them search the village for me either. Your concern is with them.’

Peregrine nodded again, and Reynold slipped out the door and through the silent manor far easier than he had Campion. For here there were no servants stirring in the hall, nor stablemen to notice him taking his horse.

He had thought to return to Sandborn since he had become familiar with the small village, but the attack along the road made him hesitate. No doubt the brigand had moved on, but Reynold had no time to waste with a petty villain. Not when he had something far more dangerous to fight.

Heading south instead, he reached Baderton more quickly than Sandborn and easily found the blacksmith’s. There he was able to purchase a helmet and a shield, though smaller than he liked, from the man’s meagre stock, along with some items for his squire. He
commissioned another, larger shield, in addition to the chain, which required some haggling.

The blacksmith, a quiet sort who was well pleased with Reynold’s coin, did not question the intended use of so large a shackle, though he did advise Reynold to have a strong cart ready when he came to pick it up. And who would lift it? That question lay between them both, unspoken. Although Reynold knew one possible answer, he was not sure whether he wanted to pursue it.

Loading Sirius up with his goods, Reynold stood in the roadway, uncertain. No one here knew that he was from Grim’s End, so he received no suspicious or fearful looks. And as a de Burgh, he could inquire at the manor house, talk with the master of the hall, and find out about the politics of the area, including why the liege lord was not doing his duty by the people of Grim’s End. He might even be able to garner support from the local leader. And perhaps someone in that household would take a message home…to Campion.

He could ask for help.

Reynold had thought long and hard about whether he should contact his family. And if so, what he should say—that his pilgrimage had been interrupted by a dragon? His lips curved at the thought of the reaction that might bring. While some might think he had lost his mind, Simon would be here in an instant, hoping to fight it himself. Indeed, Reynold would do better to contact Robin or Stephen, those brothers least likely to come haring after him.

Reynold followed the track to the manor house, squinting at the old-fashioned stone building until Sirius
grew restless beneath him, and still he had not made a decision. Here in this strange village, he felt a sharp yearning for his brothers, for their company, their wisdom and their aid. And there was no doubt in his mind that with the might of the de Burghs behind him, he could slay any beast, accomplish anything. None had yet bested them.

Still, he hesitated. He had left Campion for a reason. If he called upon them now, he would not so easily escape a second time. And he did not want them to leave their families in order to take on a dangerous task that was solely his responsibility. The l’Estranges had deemed this his quest, and though Reynold would not term it such, he was loathe to involve others.

In the end it did not matter, for he was turned away from the manor, one of several owned by a Lord Cyppe, a baron who could not be bothered with the petty concerns of the villagers. And, as Reynold headed toward Grim’s End, he felt a sense of relief that he would continue this undertaking himself.

Still, he missed Peregrine’s cheering presence, for this track, too, was deserted, especially when he neared the empty village. Perhaps Peregrine was not as versed in battle as Will, his former squire, but Reynold appreciated the boy far more. Had Reynold once thought him mute? More often than not, Peregrine chattered like a magpie, full of questions and opinions that Reynold’s former squire would never have voiced.

As Reynold reached the outskirts of the village, a deathly quiet seemed to descend, as though the
dragon drove away all other birds and beasts. But Reynold knew that wasn’t true, especially when a hare skittered from beneath some bushes to cross his path. Still, there was no denying the eeriness, and Reynold knew the familiar feeling of being watched. This time, instead of shaking it off, he looked carefully about.

Behind him the road was empty, and ahead lay Grim’s End. To the right he could glimpse the sea in the distance, and meadows rose to his left. Searching out the source of the sensation, Reynold abandoned the pathway, moving around the village and the tall grasses that marked the pond, keeping alert for any movement. But he saw no sign of man or beast. He even squinted into the sky lest the worm be watching him from above. But all he saw was the clear blue of Mistress Sexton’s eyes, and he urged his mount towards the stables, back to her.

Leaving Sirius to wait for Peregrine’s grooming, Reynold strode towards the manor. At first glance, nothing appeared to be amiss, for he heard no roars, saw no fires and smelled no smoke. Yet he realised he would not be at ease until he saw her, whole and well. He slipped through the kitchens silently, pausing before the hall, relaxing only when he saw the glimmer of her golden hair.

They were all gathered together in the eerie quiet of the hall. Urban was standing at the window, looking out, the boys were huddled in a corner, in conversation, and the women were seated near the table.

‘He’s back!’ Alec’s voice rang out. But as Reynold
stepped into the room, his attention was focused solely on the mistress of the household. Upon seeing him, she half-rose from her chair, a cry upon her lips. Then, as though collecting herself, she sank back into her seat.

Reynold’s pleasure at finding her safe was tempered by her greeting, far different from the one he had received upon his last return to Grim’s End. But what did he expect? That she would throw herself into his arms again? That night she had been besieged. Now all was quiet, and she could see clearly in the light of day who—and what—he was.

Although Reynold wanted nothing more than to hold out his arms for a more welcome greeting, he did not. While Urban and Alec pelted him with questions, Mistress Sexton said nothing, only watched him with huge eyes, her hands clasped in her lap. And Reynold could not complain, for this was what he expected, what he knew, and far preferable to some unusual favour that meant nothing. Yet his heart felt heavy. Answering little, he signalled for Peregrine to join him as he headed back towards the kitchens.

‘Where are you going?’ Mistress Sexton finally spoke, though it was a whisper.

‘To the stables to tend to my horse,’ Reynold said. He did not wait for further comment, but turned on his heel to stride back the way he had come. All this long day he had been eager to return, yet now he wanted only to escape the eerie atmosphere of the hall and its few inhabitants.

‘What is it?’ Peregrine asked, hurrying to keep up with Reynold’s long strides. ‘Were you attacked again?’

‘No, I went to Baderton, and the journey was uneventful. I commissioned the chain and picked up a few other items that you may help me unload.’

Peregrine nodded, though he still gave Reynold a questioning glance. Indeed, the squire might have said more, but his thoughts were soon diverted by what Reynold withdrew from his pack.

‘For you,’ Reynold said. ‘It is high time you learned how to handle yourself.’

‘But, my lord,’ Peregrine protested, his voice full of wonder, ‘this is a fine sword, fit for a knight.’ He looked up at Reynold, his dark eyes filling, and Reynold felt his own throat tighten.

‘And how am I to fend off all manner of attack upon Grim’s End by myself?’ Reynold asked. ‘I trust not to Master Urban and his pitchfork.’

Peregrine laughed, but the sound was shaky, and Reynold slapped him on the back. ‘Now put on your new helm, and you shall learn a thing or two.’

Blinking, Peregrine nodded, apparently struck speechless for the first time in weeks. And as he taught the boy how to hold the weapon, Reynold remembered his own tutoring from his brothers, often couched in goading and taunts, but treasured none the less. How old had Nick, the last of them, been when he’d handled his first sword? They had all been young, getting an early start and benefiting from the skills of the older de Burghs.

Now Reynold welcomed the familiar heft in his hand of a weapon that was nearly an extension of himself. And as he wielded it with expertise, slicing through the
gathering twilight with precision, all thoughts of Mistress Sexton and even food were forgotten.

For this was what he knew. This was his life.

R
eynold knelt beside Mistress Sexton, trying not to breathe in her sweet perfume above the scents of the garden, and wondered how he had ended up alone with her here in a leafy bower hidden by tall plants. But he knew there was no help for it.

Ursula and Adele were tending the garden behind the hall, the boys were setting a fish trap in the pond, and he had not seen Urban for some time. Had the man grown annoyed with Reynold’s constant presence? Although Reynold was weary of Urban’s biting remarks, they served a purpose, often preventing private conversation with Mistress Sexton.

Now Reynold had that in abundance. But when she wanted to work another small patch of garden among the abandoned homes of the village, Reynold could hardly let her go alone. And so he listened as she spoke of the villagers she had held dear, her childhood and the father she had loved. And he found himself wishing to be a part of that group, someone who caused her voice
to dip lower and softer with affection. Then, realising his foolishness, he wanted to block out the very sound of her, to prevent himself from learning any more about Mistress Sexton.

For this kind of closeness was dangerous. It fostered hopes and wishes that he had no business dwelling upon, dreams he had long abandoned, desires he had long denied. When she was so near, speaking to him easily, Reynold found himself relaxing, weakening, succumbing to her charms. Having no wish to join his squire and her man in languishing after Mistress Sexton, Reynold tried to harden himself against her. But the cool façade he had cultivated in order to keep his distance from others seemed to crumble in her presence.

Although Reynold turned his attention to the task she had set him to, that was no easier. First, she had showed him how to tell the difference between the shoots of plants and the weeds that must be removed, then how to tell what was ripe and ready to be picked. She had demonstrated gently, with her own pale hands, which drew Reynold’s gaze like honey a bee.

Leaning back on his heels, Reynold squinted up at the sky, but it only reminded him of the blue of her eyes, and he grunted in annoyance. If only she would do something to prove his theory, by shouting at her servants, wasting food, telling lies…But she did not. Still, Reynold refused to reconsider his life lesson that all beautiful women were spoiled, selfish and deceitful. Mistress Sexton might appear to be none of those things, yet why was she here alone, with none to defend her except a passing knight?

Suddenly, he turned toward her. ‘How is it that as an unmarried female, you serve as head of your household and the village?’

Obviously startled by his bold question, Mistress Sexton flushed. ‘The Sextons have held the manor for a long time, my father receiving it from his father. But my father had no siblings who lived beyond infancy, and he took as wife a gently born woman who was orphaned. I was their only child.’

‘But surely your father made some provisions for you?’
To be married
, Reynold did not add,
to be under the protection of a man with the power to provide for you and to keep you safe
.

‘I am his heir, yes, though I’m sure he expected, and deserved, to live much longer. But the dragon had other plans,’ Mistress Sexton said, frowning fiercely at the soil beneath her hands.

‘The dragon? The dragon killed him?’ Reynold asked, with sudden interest. How was it that he had never been told this?

‘The dragon struck him down,’ Mistress Sexton said. ‘We heard the roar, and Urban advised everyone to go below, but Father would not. He ran out of the hall, shaking his fist at the sky, and then he fell. I was inside, so I don’t know exactly what happened, whether he saw the beast or it breathed upon him, but when I went to him, he was clutching his chest, barely alive. He spoke some words before he died, but nothing that made sense. Perhaps he died of fright.’

‘I am sorry,’ Reynold whispered, wishing that there was some way he could take away that horror, that pain.
He had been so young when his mother passed away that he had never really felt the loss, though he had been aware of the lack of a nurturing female as he grew older. Sometimes he wished that his father had married again, not now, when he was grown, but when a woman like Joy might have made a difference in his life.

Mistress Sexton acknowledged his words with a nod, and for a long time they both were silent, until Reynold realised she had never really answered his question. Was there no one in the area deemed worthy, or had her father valued her too much to part with her? ‘Did he not wish you to marry?’

Mistress Sexton started, as though surprised by the question, and for a moment Reynold thought she would not answer. ‘There was talk of an alliance, but he is…dead,’ she said.

‘Again, I am sorry for your loss.’

‘Don’t be,’ she said, in a tone of dismissal. ‘It was long ago.’

And that, Reynold decided, was another reason why he hadn’t wanted to know more about Mistress Sexton. For now he was racked with curiosity about this proposed alliance and what it had meant to her. But even had he dared ask her more, Mistress Sexton effectively put an end to the conversation.

‘I think that’s enough for now,’ she said. Rising to her feet, she brushed the dirt off her hands, still pale and beautiful, despite the use she put them to. Were her fingers trembling? Reynold nearly took them in his own, but she leaned down to retrieve her basket, and he could only do the same. Had the mere mention of the dead man so upset her?

Reynold frowned as he followed her from the garden, but the gentle sway of the hips in front of him and the warmth of the day soon chased such thoughts from his mind. The breeze was fresh with the tang of salt air from the sea, and a bright sun shone upon them as they wove their way toward the manor.

When they reached the pond, Mistress Sexton called to the boys, and they stopped to admire the morning’s catch. It was a far cry from the bounty Reynold had once taken for granted, and yet he found himself enjoying these simple pleasures far more than others he had known. Glancing at the woman who laughed and teased with Alec and Peregrine, Reynold realised that he did not want these days to end.

But end they would once he accomplished his task here. Reynold wondered, suddenly, if his brothers had shared this feeling. Simon had taken it upon himself to undermine his future wife’s manor. Stephen had been given the task of escorting Bridgid to her family home. Dunstan had been assigned to deliver Marion to her home, as well. When had they decided to linger, to wed?

Startled by the direction of his thoughts, Reynold told himself it did not matter what they had felt or done. For the first time in his life, he was so at ease with a woman that he could almost pretend that he was one of his brothers. But he was not.

Although some of their adventures might have ended in marriage, his own set of circumstances prevented any such romantic ending. He was to slay the dragon, that was all. And if he survived, there would be no reward and no damsel to wed.

As Reynold squinted into the sky, he decided there was no comparison. Even on a day like this, without a cloud within view, Mistress Sexton’s eyes were bluer. And he could tell. He had only to glance over to her, perched upon Peregrine’s black, alongside Sirius, to see for himself.

This morning, he had intended to ride the perimeter of the village, as he often did, while Mistress Sexton was still abed, but she had caught him in the hall and begged to join him. Her eagerness for the exercise had been difficult to resist, and Reynold could guard her nearly as well horsed as not. But somehow his familiar task of searching for anything unusual on the outskirts of Grim’s End had turned into a pleasure ride.

His first.

Reynold had seen his father and Joy out surveying their lands, laughing and smiling as they did so. And sometimes, they returned with their garments awry, as though they had ridden more than their mounts. His brothers and their wives, too, would go off together, sometimes leisurely seeking out the banks of the pond, sometimes racing full out upon a stretch of level ground. And although they had often invited Reynold to join them, he had seen no point in riding for leisure.

Until today.

It was his companion who made the difference, for Mistress Sexton took a simple pleasure in the boundaries of her world, in pointing out to him her favourite spots, where flowers grew and birds nested and the
ocean could be seen between the trees, where broom and heather stretched off into the distance and the cries of gull and heron could be heard.

And in that moment, Reynold wished that they could go on for ever like this, even though he knew they could not. When the chain was finished, he would set his trap, and even if he caught nothing, they could not survive the winter without meat and other provisions. Nor was there much sense in buying supplies. A community had to be self-sustaining to survive, and soon his own coin would run out.

Perhaps he should take her to Campion, where she would be safe, where they would all be safe, Reynold thought suddenly. But then what? Would he leave, or would he stand by and watch another take her hand? She could not be that much older than his brother Nicholas. Was that his fate, to provide the youngest de Burgh with a wife? Reynold shuddered. He did not know if he had the strength to do that, even if Mistress Sexton would be willing to go.

Slanting a glance at her lovely profile, he saw that her gaze was fixed on the lands she loved and Reynold knew that he could never convince her. And would she ever be happy elsewhere? Would her eyes light up when discussing some other patch of coastline, another copse of birch? Reynold shook his head.

‘We should be getting back,’ he said gruffly.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, though her expression fell. ‘We have dallied too long. Why, the others will be wondering where we are! And you have had nothing to break your fast.’ She babbled, as though apologising for her
brief happiness, and he felt churlish for cutting short a time when she seemed to have forgotten her woes.

She was quiet as they reached the stable, and Reynold wondered why he had even suggested they return. What awaited them here, but an empty hall, Urban with his biting tongue, and Ursula, who nattered incessantly about nothing? For an instant, he almost suggested that they ride away, but where? There was no avoiding the situation, no escaping himself no matter how far from Campion he might run.

Dismounting, he turned to see her eyeing him with concern. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

Reynold shook his head. It was nothing. It was everything. He felt a stranger to himself, assailed by too much when he had always made do with too little. And because he had no answer for what ailed him, he could only return to the one thing they had in common.

‘Where is it?’ he asked, squinting at the horizon once more. ‘Where is the worm? How can something so big hide itself so well? And why does it strike so infrequently?’

Mistress Sexton shook her head. ‘The pickings are slim here now. There are no animals, no villagers, little movement to attract its attention. Perhaps it has found better feeding elsewhere.’

Reynold had heard that refrain before, so put little faith in it as he stepped forwards to help her from the saddle. He moved automatically, but when his hands closed about her waist, he was seized by a yearning so strong that he shuddered with the force of it. His fingers tightened around her, and he glanced toward her face, only to see a startled expression on her lovely features.

Hurriedly, he set her on her feet, then turned and walked away, determined to fetch Peregrine, rub down the horses, and forget everything about this morning. Absently, he rubbed the leg that ached from his ride as he tried not to think of what else pained him: a body that he usually kept under tight control and a heart that he had thought long dead.

Reynold had not waited for her, so she was a few steps behind him when the deafening roar shook the air. Without conscious thought, he leapt towards her, taking her with him to the ground and covering her. For a long moment, he lay there, protecting her with himself even as he expected licks of fire upon his back. But when he felt nothing, he lifted his head and looked upwards.

The sky was just as clear and empty as before, perhaps more so, for this time, he did not even see the flash of a bird’s wing. Still, Reynold knew better than to linger when he should get Mistress Sexton inside and below as quickly as possible. He turned his face towards her to tell her just that, but found himself staring into eyes that put the heavens to shame. Her flawless skin was barely inches from his own, and her rosy lips were parted in surprise.

Although he had knocked her to the earth in haste, Mistress Sexton showed no sign of fear of the beast and made no move to rise. She simply gazed into his eyes, and then her attention dropped lower, to his mouth. And, once again, Reynold did not pause to consider his actions. Without thought, he dipped his head and took her mouth with his own, seizing what he could, for this moment, at least.

When he felt her start beneath him, he pulled back, shocked at his behaviour. Had he learned nothing these past days? But before he could loose her, Mistress Sexton’s arms slid around his neck and she lifted her mouth to his, kissing him just as boldly. And then he was lost, sinking into sensation, revelling in softness, warmed throughout. She tasted as heady as fine wine, not too tart and not too sweet.

A fine strand of her hair caught against his cheek, and Reynold welcomed it. Beneath him, her lithe form curved against his own, as if moulded to him, and he felt his body stir to life. He gasped, burying his face against the smoothness of her pale neck, where the delicate scent of her golden hair enveloped him, as though calling him home.

‘Mistress? Lord de Burgh?’

At the sound of Alec’s voice, Reynold jerked away, rolling to his feet as though roused by a weapon. Indeed, such was his state of mind that his hand went to the hilt of his sword. Thankfully, the boy was not yet upon them, but was approaching from the entrance to the kitchens. By the time he saw them, Reynold was already standing, and Mistress Sexton was rising to her feet.