The Iron Knight (The De Russe Legacy Book 3) (3 page)

Year of Our Lord 1410, the month of July

East of the village of Tisbury, Wiltshire, England

“W
ill we be
there soon, Mama?”

“By the setting of the sun. Continue with your sewing, sweetheart. It will make the time pass quicker.”

On a gloriously warm summer’s day, the fortified carriage rolled along the dusty road, escorted by four armed soldiers from the House of du Ponte. It was nearing noon and the day was in full bloom, with birds in the trees overhead and a cavalcade of insects hovering happily in the fields.

In fact, the season was almost too warm. Being this far south, there was the matter of the humidity along with the heat, and that combination tended to breed an unpleasant smell in both man and beast. Even now, the older woman in the carriage could smell that musty scent and she kept sniffing at her armpits and hands, discreetly of course, thinking that it might have been her. But she wasn’t the smelling sort, which led her to believe it was the carriage itself. It wasn’t
her
carriage.

It was the carriage of the man she was betrothed to.

It wasn’t exactly a betrothal, in truth. The man in whose carriage she was traveling was a man that her father hoped would agree to a marital contract. Having been widowed for six years, Lady Sophina Seavington de Gournay had been living in her father’s home in Andover for that length of time and her father, a practical man, was displeased with the fact that he found himself supporting his adult daughter and young granddaughter.

Sophina knew her father had been impatient with her burden. He’d never made it any secret, which was unfortunate because Sophina’s daughter, Emmaline, had grown up thinking no one wanted her or her mother.

Amory de Barenton, Lord Andover, had spent six years trying to find a husband for his widowed daughter, a widow without much of anything to induce a perspective husband other than a pretty face. A pity she is not well supplied, people would say as they clucked their tongues and shook their heads. Lady Sophina would make a fine wife were it not for her lack of fortune.

It was a fairly shameful way to exist. Sophina didn’t like feeling like a burden; a proud and intelligent woman, she ran her father’s house and hold, was smart with money, and was an excellent hostess to her father’s business associates and friends, but she really wasn’t needed any longer because her father had remarried himself two years ago and the new Lady Andover hated Sophina with a passion. Therefore, when a potential betrothal came up with St. Michael du Ponte, an extremely wealthy merchant with a prosperous import business, there was no question that Sophina should be sent to the man for his inspection.

It wasn’t as if she’d had a choice.

So now Sophina found herself in a well-appointed carriage that reeked of body odor and four armed soldiers who seemed to be eyeing her with some curiosity. One of them even winked at her and when she didn’t respond, he winked at her daughter. Sophina wasn’t the nervous type but she was nervous around these soldiers, men she didn’t know. She couldn’t believe her father had sent her along without so much as an escort from his house. He’d never made it plainer that he was glad to be rid of her. Like unwanted baggage, she had been happily – and hastily – shipped out.

Therefore, the journey itself, although blessed with lovely weather, wasn’t a particularly welcome one. It was wrought with anxiety. Sophina watched the countryside pass by, wondering what she was going to find at the end of the road. She’d never met the man who her father had suggested a marriage to and now she felt like she was to be a prize mare trotted out for a potential buyer.

“Oh!” Emmaline suddenly gasped. “Oswald, cease this moment!
Cease
!”

Diverted from her train of thought, Sophina looked at what had her daughter flustered and caught sight of a long, fluffy tail as it disappeared in the folds of her daughter’s dress. Emmaline was trying to grab the creature it was attached to and, suddenly, a long and furry body came into view as Oswald the Ferret made his presence know.

Oswald was a nibbler; that is, he liked to put his teeth on everything. Not hard enough to bite, but enough to chew. Now, he was chewing at her daughter’s fingers and the needlepoint the girl was trying to work on. He evidently wanted the bone needle she was working with and Emmaline was trying to push the beastie away.

“I thought he was sleeping,” Sophina said, a faint smile on her lips as she watched her daughter wrestle with the pesky pet. “Mayhap he is hungry now.”

Emmaline frowned as Oswald chewed on her finger. “Can you give him something to eat, Mama?” she half-asked, half-begged. “He is biting me!”

Sophina laughed softly as she dug around in the basket of food they had brought with them, pulling forth a small pork bone with meat still attached. She then pulled the ferret away from her daughter and held the bone up in the creature’s line of sight. The reaction was instantaneous; the ferret grabbed the bone and happily planted itself between the ladies as it noisily bit into it. Pieces of pork began to fly.

Sophina watched the ferret gnaw enthusiastically on the bone. “My furry child is now satisfied,” she said wryly, turning her attention back towards the basket. “Are you hungry, Em?”

Emmaline shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “Not now.”

Sophina glanced at her daughter, noting the girl’s gaze had moved to the green summer landscape beyond the window. “You should eat something,” she said. “You have not eaten since before dawn.”

Emmaline shrugged, her needlework ending up in her lap. “Mama, are you afraid?”

“Of what?”

“Of meeting your new husband.”

“He is not my husband, yet.”

Emmaline sighed. “Not yet,” she agreed quietly. “But he will be. Grandfather will see to that, no matter what you think of him. Even if you hate him or even if he is a terrible ogre, you will still have to marry him.”

Sophina was careful in her reply. At sixteen years of age, Emmaline was astute, brighter than most. She had fostered in her younger years, in a good house, but that ended when Sophina’s husband had died. The lord where Emmaline had been fostering tried to broker a contract between Emmaline and his son of the same age, a lad who had been born with the mind of an infant. Evidently, the lord thought Emmaline would have been a good match for the boy now that she was fatherless and the lord believed he could play upon Sophina’s fear for her daughter’s future now that her father was dead. But Sophina would not be bullied. She had her daughter sent home immediately and far away from the unscrupulous lord.

Now, as Sophina looked at her child, she was coming to think that Emmaline had seen a good deal of strife in her young age – her father’s death, devious lords, and a grandfather who barely acknowledged her. Now the girl was facing the prospect of her mother marrying a man neither of them knew and the good Lord only knew what kind of man St. Michael du Ponte was. This wasn’t the type of life Sophina had wished for her lovely, smart daughter. She wanted something so much better for the lass.

It was difficult not to fear the future for them both.

“I am sure Grandfather would not have sent us to the house of an ogre,” Sophina said evenly. “I am sure he is hoping for a satisfactory marriage.”

Emmaline wasn’t so sure. Her mother had a way of glossing over things and Emmaline knew that it was because her mother was trying to protect her. But she was a young woman now and she was not afraid of the truth – the truth that women were pawns in the world. Sometimes they were welcome, sometimes they were not. They had no rights and no say in their lives. She thought that was a rather terrible existence.

“Mayhap,” Emmaline said, glancing at her mother for a moment before looking away. “I suppose anywhere we go will be better than where we were.”

She sounded depressed and defeated. Sophina hated hearing that tone in her daughter’s voice. She was too young to sound as if life held no joy for her. But the truth was that it didn’t; it hadn’t for a while. Reaching out, Sophina patted her daughter’s hand, squeezing her fingers, giving her silent encouragement that all would be well. They would find a place where they were wanted. She was about to tell her daughter so when a loud clamoring sounded against the side of the carriage.

The entire vehicle rocked sideways and the women could hear the soldiers yelling to one another, shouting about something the ladies couldn’t quite make out. By the tone of their voices, however, they were agitated. Something had happened and as the women looked at each other in apprehension and confusion, something, once again, hit the side of the carriage. It sounded like pebbles being thrown until an arrowhead pierced the wooden side. Emmaline saw the sharp tip about six inches from her head and she let out a scream.

“Get down!” Sophina yanked on her daughter’s hand, pulling the girl to the floor of the carriage. “Get down and put your hands over your head!”

Gasping with fright, Emmaline clumsily threw herself onto her belly on the floor of the carriage, putting her hands up to cover her strawberry-blonde head as her mother came down on top of her. Emmaline grunted with the force of her mother’s weight, which was fairly insignificant, in truth. It was simply that Sophina had come down right on top of her, trying to protect her. As more projectiles hit the side of the carriage, Sophina had the good sense to grab Oswald and shove the beast inside of the food basket to protect him. Outside of the carriage, a full-scale war took place.

Men were yelling and horses were nervously yelping. In fact, the four horses that pulled the carriage were dancing about so that the carriage was jerking around, tossing Sophina and Emmaline around carelessly. Sophina ended up being bounced off of her daughter as the carriage threw them about, slamming into the side of the carriage and hitting her elbow.

Darts of pain shot up through Sophina’s arm as she struggled to get back to her daughter, but just as she reached Emmaline and grabbed the lass by the sleeve, the entire carriage suddenly tipped over, spilling them about like rag dolls. As the women screamed, the men fought around them. There was chaos and pandemonium everywhere.

The carriage was still being dragged by panicked horses tethered to harnesses that were still attached to the cab and it was now imperative that the women keep their arms and clothing away from the open side of the carriage that was now on the ground. If anything got caught up in that opening, the carriage would have been dragged over it, possibly breaking limbs or even strangling them. Sophina pushed her daughter onto one of the benches, now sideways, and she leapt onto the other one, trying to stay away from the dragging ground.

“Mama!” Emmaline screamed.

Sophina held out a hand to her daughter to stop her from moving. “Stay where you are,” she commanded. “Hold on to something until this carriage comes to a halt!”

But that wasn’t to be. The soldiers driving the carriage team were fighting for their lives as the terrified horses plowed down the side of the road and towards a lake that was at the bottom of it. Usually an idyllic lake, one with reeds and fish and small birds that would hunt for their meals beneath the lilies, now was looming ahead like a death trap.

And neither Sophina nor Emmaline could see it coming.

*

Spelthorne Castle, Dorset

Seat of the Tytherington Barony

“
Where
are you
going?”

A young knight asked the question with concern and puzzlement, but Lucien didn’t reply right away. He simply pushed past him, quickly, as if he had some place to be.

“Away,” he finally said. “
Out
. I am going out to clear my head.”

The young knight, Sir Colton de Royans, was nearly bowled over by his liege, no easy feat considering the size of Colton. A very big man with enormous shoulders and hands, he was a blindingly brilliant young warrior of twenty years and had been with Lucien since eleven years of age when his father, Weston, had personally delivered his eldest son to his friend and comrade to foster.

Weston de Royans, Baron Cononley and Constable of the North Yorkshire Dales, had been very emotional trusting his beloved son to The Iron Knight, but it had been necessary. Colton had been a spoilt, outspoken, gifted, and humorous youth who had been vastly overindulged by his adoring father. It had been up to Lucien to remove the spoilt edges and help mold the boy into one of the best young knights of his generation.

It had worked, but it hadn’t been without a struggle. Colton had been headstrong and stubborn, but Lucien had been patient. Patience, and a few fatherly beatings, had helped turn the unruly boy into a confident man. Colten grew to adore Lucien, which had turned their relationship into a fond one. They adored each other, to be truthful.

Colton was the son that Lucien had always wanted.

But Colton also interacted with Lucien in a way that Lucien’s other knights wouldn’t dare. He told the man what he thought and, most often, he didn’t hold back. He was quite bold and had the fighting skill to back up that boldness. Like now; he grasped Lucien by the arm before he could completely get away.