The Quest (The Sons of Camelot Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter Four

Their disagreement on the road to Penrith was as short lived as every other one that they’d had since they had first become friends. Though their arguments could, on occasion, become intense, once they were settled, they remained settled and set aside. By the time they reached Penrith, the discussion was about who was going to be guest of the other at the table that evening; their generosity matching their earlier stubbornness.

The two knights had stepped through the door of the inn, eagerly engaged in their more playful discussion when John drew up short, just inside, drew a deep breath and held it in. The subject of that drawn breath had fiery red hair to match the paleness of her skin, but it wasn’t until she turned to face him that the greater damage was done. Blue eyes the color of crystalline ice shot right through him and he felt warmth spread up over his cheeks as he noticed a darker tone of pink growing on hers as well.

John gained control of himself, mostly due to the sharp tug on his tunic as Thomas called out, “Two tankards for my brother and me, Innkeeper. Be certain that you have plenty ready to follow!”

Though he tried not to stare, John couldn’t keep from following the shapely form of the woman who tended to them as she moved around the room. Whenever she came to them with full tankards or when she brought them their supper, he shifted uncomfortably and tried to avoid looking directly at her; something that he’d never experienced before. He’d no doubt already made a complete fool of himself with merely a glance. In his mind, up until that point, an honest man was one who looked those who spoke and tended to him in the eyes. Only those who had something to hide would turn their face away. He fought to regain his perspective. He certainly didn’t want her to think that he was dishonest.

His mind was quickly pulled away from his embarrassment as Thomas turned the subject toward the administering of their aid to Cumbria and a laying out of formal plans for its being carried out. Drawn into Thomas’ penchant for detail, John began to relax a bit more; the tankards of mead having lent their support to his state as well.

In fact, the tankard that followed their supper had loosened him up considerably.

“I’ve got to track down our two squires,” Thomas announced after some time. He rose from his chair a little less steady on his feet than when he’d sat down. “They were to have a list of details to add to our presentation.”

“Yes, by all means,” John replied. “Without their reports, we’re a shilling short, indeed.”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Thomas said, leaning on the back of the chair and winking at John.

It wasn’t until Thomas had taken his leave that John understood the purpose behind the wink. No sooner than he’d left, the shapely, young woman who had been tending to them approached.

“Enjoying a bit of a lark or are you on urgent business?” she said, approaching the table. The thickness of her speech was testimony to the possibility that her heritage lay much further to the north.

“A quest of sorts,” he responded with a smile, looking up into her eyes and immediately wishing that he hadn’t. All of his composure seemed to have flitted away on the wings of a sparrow.

“A quest?” she whispered, looking about her as though some grave secret was being shared. She slipped into the empty chair across from him; a rather bold move for one of her station when in the presence of a knight. John ignored it and continued speaking.

“My father has been kidnapped or injured along the road from Inverness to Yorkshire and I am going in the direction of his last position to learn what has become of him,” he responded.

“You are the son of Jofrit?” she asked.

“I am John of Leeds, yes,” he replied.

“I had heard that you were coming,” she responded. “But I’m afraid that I am quite surprised. The stories all have you as being something of a giant, not unlike your father.”

John wasn’t sure if the statement was an insult, but he didn’t care. Having her near him didn’t seem so bad, so he let the comment slide. He did need to recover some of his pride, however, so he narrowed his eyes and looked directly into hers with all of the courage that he could muster. “Don’t let the size and the genteel appearance of my physique fool you. I am up to whatever task lies ahead of me.”

“Indeed, you are. That much is well known around these parts,” she beamed. “You rode in under the banner of Arthur Pendragon with your friend Thomas and have done nothing but discussed how generous the two of you are going to be toward the people of Cumbria. It’s a good deal like you royals to try to impress those around you.”

There was no missing the insult that was delivered like a sharp blow in that statement, though the smile from behind which it was delivered made it like the brush of a velvet glove on John’s cheek. “You’re a bit fresh with your tongue for someone of your station,” he smiled.

“Someone of my station?” She drew back and frowned at him. “What, exactly, might I ask do you presume to be my station?”

“You’re a barmaid in an inn and certainly not the owner of it, or his wife for that matter either,” he retorted, unable to change the expression on his face. Though it ought to have changed to one of disdain, it still held a stupid, half- dazed grin.

“How do you know that I’m not a lady?” she countered, rejoining her own smile. “Perhaps not like those who attend court in Yorkshire, but a lady nonetheless by other standards.”

“By what standards are those?”

“By those of Auchavan,” she replied.

“You’ve only just made that up,” he chuckled.

“Have I, now?” she laughed. Her brogue was particularly well pronounced as she continued. “I am, indeed, from Auchavan and a proud daughter of my late father and mother who raised me to be a lady and yet work like a dog to boot.”

“Our ladies in York don’t work like dogs, nor even a less industrious beast.”

“It is a pity,” she replied. “There is no disdain in hard work. In fact, the work that I do only enhances the lady inside of me.”

“A philosophic Pict,” he laughed. “Perhaps the mead served here is a bit too strong. I have begun to hallucinate.”

“It is not the mead,” she retorted as she rose up from the chair and began to return to her work. “It is a distortion in the mind of the self-important.”

John had little time to ponder her words. No sooner had she left the table than Thomas and the two squires entered. The discussion quickly turned toward the business at hand, but John’s mind was no longer involved in it. His eyes continued to wander toward the shapely form that moved gracefully about the room. He took note of the fact that each time that she caught him looking; she smiled and quickly turned away. He’d caught her in a similar manner and was beginning to take some enjoyment in the subtle game that the two were playing.

John had had plenty of admirers in Yorkshire and in other parts of England. He was the son of one of the Knights of the Round Table; that quickly drew the attention of others, especially in the south of England, but this young lady from the northern parts of the realm, either knew little about who he was or was not particularly concerned with it. Whichever the case might be, it was refreshing.

Chapter Five

“What, in the name of our good king, are you doing?” John asked as he looked up from the preparations he was making to his horse and saw the pale complexion and fiery red hair of the barmaid approaching them upon a prancing black mare. Though the sight of her sent a thrill rushing through him, he couldn’t help but think that she meant to go with them.

“I’m riding north if the four of you would like to follow along,” she responded.

“We’ll not have a woman traveling with us,” John answered. “Where we’re going is savage, barbaric and dangerous. We have no idea what sort of dangers we might run into.”

“It will be far more dangerous for you if I’m not along for the ride,” she snapped.

“I forbid it!” John responded with some force.

“Forbid all you like, but I’m of a mind to go and since I’m not a ward of your household or a servant in it, there is little that you can do to stop me,” she retorted. “Besides, have you forgotten that you are riding straight into the highlands where I was born?”

“You said you were from Auchavan,” John replied. “A place that you made up, no doubt.”

“Some great quest you’ll be making of this trip, lad,” she mocked. “You don’t even know the names of the places you’re going.”

“Perhaps she knows a bit more than you might think, John,” Thomas interrupted. “If she’s a fraud, then Merlin will certainly sniff her out.”

“Your companion seems to be exhibiting a bit more sense on the matter,” she smiled.

“Fine,” John answered. He was actually relieved that Thomas had stepped in. In truth, he wouldn’t mind her company. He placed a condition on her, however. “You can ride along as far as Gretna Green. I’ll let Merlin deal with you.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she mocked, bowing as deeply as she was able from the back of the mare. “It is certainly an honor and a privilege to be accepted into your little band.” She reseated herself properly in the saddle, then added, “Now, if you’d mount up, we could all be on our way.”

The fact that she had taken a sort of lead over the group irritated John and he started to protest but stopped when Thomas patted him on the chest, frowned at him and shook his head.

“I am Alpina of Auchavan,” she added, as though it was an afterthought. “It might interest you to know that Auchavan is a village in the Cairngorms. I know those mountains down to the pebble.” With that, she urged her mare into a brisk trot.

Seeing her start off toward the gates without them, John and Thomas quickly got on their horses and followed suit.

“Look at us,” Thomas chuckled. “We’re not yet out of England and we’ve already lost our first battle; you much more so than I.”

John, neither wishing to admit defeat, nor engage in a belabored discussion about Alpina of Auchavan, put spurs to Ganador and put him to a pace that would quickly overtake the leadership of the group. As he drew even with Alpina, however, she increased her pace to better his, which, of course, only urged him and his mount to reach a new limit.

A great deal of distance was covered very rapidly by the pair. Each of the horses held stubbornly to its pace, not willing to yield to the other. Neither did their masters rein them in or hold them back. The distance between them and the rest of the group increased dramatically before Alpina began to laugh and rein in her mount.

John, curious to know the reason for her mirth, reined in Ganador as well. Grinning broadly, he waited for her to draw up beside him. “I see that you can ride a little.”

“It is nothing to ride on a well-worn path,” she responded. “The Cairngorms, however, are another matter altogether.”

Ignoring the barb, John let his eyes run over the lines of the mare upon which Alpina was mounted. “She is built for power, but she has surprising speed as well. Not many can match Ganador. What is her name?”

“Lon dubh,” she responded, “She has outdistanced many a fine steed in her day.”

“Lon dubh?” John asked.

“Blackbird,” Alpina replied. “Lon dubh is her Pict name.”

John and Thomas had raced their horses on a number of occasions and Ganador had always bested any mount that Thomas brought to challenge him. Of course, John’s boasting of the speed of his beloved horse had brought on a number of challenges beyond that of Thomas as well. Ganador had bested them all. As he considered the black mare beside his silver mount, he couldn’t help but admire her and even think of the two as a finely matched pair. “Your Blackbird is extraordinary.”

“It seems to be a surprise to you,” she laughed. “Cannot the extraordinary exist beyond the bounds of royal blood and selective breeding?”

Not certain whether she was referring to the horses or taking another jab at him, he did not respond right away. Instead, he considered exactly what he had done to have brought on the sort of disdain that he sensed in her; and that disdain seemed to be mixed with some interest in him. It was confusing.

“Ganador is not an English name,” Alpina said after some time.

“My father brought him from Spain as a weanling foal; he was a matched pair to the one that my father rode when he left for the Shetlands,” John replied. “The name means ‘victor’.”

“He is a suitable mount for a knight and certainly beautiful with his shimmering silver coat, but I prefer my Blackbird,” she replied.

John looked back over his shoulder and noted that Thomas and the two squires were keeping a steady pace behind them, but would be some time in catching up. He turned back and rode along beside Alpina without speaking. Mixed with the confusion of thoughts darting about inside his mind were the sounds of dawn in the surrounding fields and forests; among those sounds, the melodic song of the red-winged blackbird.

The sleepless night that John had passed had been full of all sorts of thoughts about the young lady who rode at his side. In sharp contrast to the reality which had already played out that morning, his thoughts had been upon how he might woo her. The thin barrier between fantasy and reality was certainly broad in the various ways that either might be played out.

“The Cairngorms are really not as savage and dangerous as you believe. They are majestic and beautiful,” Alpina said softly. She seemed to stir herself up after presenting that observation. “In fact, your perspective of things isn’t nearly as infallible as you would like to think that it is.”

John, feeling the sting of yet another of her barbs, decided to take a step that was certainly on shaky ground. “Why does every phrase that you utter have a sting in its tail?”

“You’ve felt a sting, have you?” she responded. Her tone was anything but sympathetic. “Perhaps you’re not used to being brought down to size.”

“I’ve hurled no javelin in your direction, so why are you so quick to release yours in mine?”

“Are you implying that it’s not you who cast the first stone?” she scoffed. “’Twas you, indeed, who started this feud.”

“If it was me,” John replied, confused by her accusation, “then I am unaware of it.”

“I believe that your exact words were these: ‘You are a bit fresh with your tongue for someone of your station.’” She lowered her voice to mock the tone with which the line was delivered.

“You were serving drinks and tending to us at an inn,” he replied. A person’s status and station was certainly known by the vocation that they applied themselves to. He saw nothing wrong with his observation.

“Do you like to be nourished and your thirsts sated?” she asked.

“I do,” he responded.

“Do you like to have a clean bed to sleep in away from the rats and the dirt of the street? And do you like having clean garments about your loins?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered.

“These necessities keep you alive and keep you healthy, do they not?”

“They do.”

“And you reckon these things to have been given to you by the gracious hand of Providence, do you not?”

“My thanksgiving is certainly raised to Providence.”

“Then.” Her eyes penetrated through him. “Perhaps you ought not to have such a low opinion of those whose hands do the bidding of Providence.”

John watched in speechless awe as she urged the mare forward once more. He was no longer interested in trying to outpace her.