Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (15 page)

CHAPTER NINE

It was raining heavily this night
as Alphonse and four of his men left Hellbeck Castle and made their way east,
following the narrow road that wound through the dark and cloudy Pennine dales
and on into North Yorkshire.  From there, they would cut south to Ripon.  
Truth was, Alphonse wasn’t so sure he wanted to reach Ripley any time soon, at
least until he figured out what he was going to tell Ingilby. At the moment, he
was at a loss what to tell the man and his apprehension was growing. Stain did
not have the boy.

Alphonse had spent three days at
Hellbeck, trying to negotiate the sale of the boy with a truly insane man, one
who would talk to the moldy green walls and try to burn his fingers in the
great yellow licks of a blazing fire. Everyone at Hellbeck was mad as far as he
was concerned and Stain would never give him a direct answer as to where St.
Hèver’s boy was.  It had made for an odd and somewhat harrowing visit.

Alphonse had therefore sent his
men searching as he kept the crazy old fool occupied and his men had come back
empty handed.  It was only by chance, and a greedy servant who demanded payment
in exchange for information, that Alphonse learned Stain did not have the boy.
He never did.  And with that, Alphonse and his men gladly left the dark,
turbulent castle of Hellbeck.

Now it was a matter of dealing
with Ingilby.  The man would consider Alphonse’s trip to Hellbeck a failure if
a boy was not produced and he was less than eager to return to Ripley. It was
then that Alphonse began to realize that he needed to find a replacement child,
something that Ingilby could present as St. Hèver’s son.  It didn’t matter if
it was not the correct child – all that mattered was that they had a child, any
child. St. Hèver and Coverdale would not know the child was not St. Hèver’s son
until everything was said and done with, and Ingilby had Lady Chloë .  So
Alphonse went on the hunt for his mission objective.

They traveled by night through
the pass and emerged into North Yorkshire by morning.  It was still raining
heavily when the rode into the small village of Bowes on the edge of the
mountains and took shelter in the only tavern in town.

Alphonse had discussed his idea
with his men, all Spaniards who were loyal to him, and the five of them set out
to capture a boy under the age of five years.  All they knew was that St.
Hèver’s son had been very young when he had been captured so it was the best
they could do.  But the boy came in the gift of the tavern keeper’s son, a five
year old with white hair and big brown eyes. He helped his father tend the
tavern and when Alphonse caught sight of the child sweeping the floor, he knew
he had his target.

The operation worked well enough.
As morning dawned, three of Alphonse’s men got the horses ready while Alphonse
and another man lay in wait for the child.  Around the nooning hour when the
clouds began to clear and the sun emerged to dry up the oversaturated earth,
the little boy went to the well to gather water and was set upon by Alphonse. 
Hand over the child’s mouth, he slipped to the waiting horses and tore off into
the town with his stolen property.  The tavern keeper and his wife would never
know what happened to their bright, helpful son.

The child showed a good deal of
strength and kicked and screamed over the thundering miles of road as Alphonse
and his men sped southward.  Alphonse finally had enough of the boy and tied
him up, throwing him into a sack and tying that sack onto his saddle.  When the
horse raced off again, the sack bounced against the side of the horse and the
child eventually quieted.  Alphonse didn’t stop to check on the boy’s welfare
until they were well clear of Bowes.  The boy was bruised and scared, and a
little sick, but unharmed.

The sight of the child fed
Alphonse’s courage.  Giving the boy a piece of hard bread crust, he tied him
back up in the sack again, listened to him cry, and continued his trek to
Ripley Castle.

***

Seven days later

Pendragon Castle

The rain that had saturated the
countryside for the better part of the last two months had subsided over the
past several days and the sun had emerged, gaining strength as the wet spring
months morphed into drying summer months.

The land was still vibrantly
green with a gentle breeze caressing the fields.  The bailey of Pendragon had
dried up and Keir had his soldiers fill in the great holes created by the rain
so that the bailey was now a smoother crossing. The ward covered a relatively
small area and he didn’t need men falling in holes and breaking legs, so it was
more of a necessity than an aesthetic repair.

Since the weather had been so
agreeable for the past few days, Chloë and Cassandra had made it a daily ritual
to break their fast and then go outside to walk among the enormous earthworks
and causeways of Pendragon’s layout.  They would walk and talk until finally
finding a place to sit.  The two old and ugly female servants followed them
around carrying small stools and sewing.  When Chloë and Cassandra would find
just the right spot, the serving women would layout a blanket and the stools.

Today was no exception.  The
temperature was warm enough that Cassandra actually fanned herself as she sat
in the sun, working on a small piece of embroidery.  They had picked up the
thread and fabric when they had visited town earlier in the week, a little kit
containing colored silk thread, needles and thimbles.  Chloë had her hands on
an enormous ball of yarn of very fine lamb’s wool, gold in color, and she was
knitting furiously with two small ivory knitting needles.  She had a talent at
knitting, something she had learned when she was young, and the long robe she
was making was already taking shape.

The knitting kept her mind off of
Keir.  Since their admission to each other nearly a week before, she had kept a
distance from him.  Her feelings for the man were growing stronger by the day
and she was terrified that he was going to break her heart with his fear and
confusion, so she thought it best to stay away from him. She could see the
disappointment in his face when they took their evening meals with everyone in
the great hall but he made no move to get closer to her.  It was as if he
understood her distance, protecting herself, just as he was protecting
himself.   It had made for long and painful days and nights for them both.

On this lovely day, Chloë sat on
her little stool in the sun, focusing on her fingers and trying not to think of
the massive knight with the piercing blue eyes. Cassandra lay on her belly on
the blanket, carefully stitching a hummingbird.  No less than four soldiers
were assigned to watch over them, standing a respectful distance away even as
the Michael watched them from the gatehouse and Keir watched them from the
castle.   Cassandra was rattling on about something but Chloë wasn’t paying
attention.  Finally, she heard her sister sigh.

“You have not heard a word I have
said, have you?” Cassandra sat up and looked at her sister. “What is wrong with
you? You have been like this all week.”

Chloë looked up from her
knitting. “Like what?”

Cassandra wriggled her arched
eyebrows. “Quiet and morose,” she said. “What is the matter with you?”

Chloë shook her head. “I do not
know what you mean,” she said, refocusing on her knitting. “There is nothing
wrong with me.”

Cassandra gazed at her sister,
not believing her for a moment. After a moment, she sighed sympathetically.
“Sweetheart, have you spoken with him since…?”

“Nay,” Chloë cut her off. “I do
not want to speak to him and you are forbidden to speak his name. Please,
Cassie. I cannot bear it.”

“But you….”

“Cassie,” Chloë snapped softly, her
brown eyes sad and irritated as she looked at her sister. “You know what my
issue is so why do you ask such foolish questions? Do not ask me again, please.
I am not so fortunate that I have two men vying for my hand.”

Cassandra fought off a smile, the
same smile that came about every time she thought of Michael of Pembury and
Kurtis St. Hèver.  Not to diminish her sister’s misery, but she was quite happy
at the moment, happier than she had ever been. She had the attention of two
fine knights and was enjoying it immensely.  She gazed off towards the
gatehouse where she knew Michael was watching her.

“Michael is a sweet and
considerate man,” she said dreamily, rolling on to her stomach again, “but
there is something about Kurtis that I find very attractive.”

Chloë was focused on her task.
“Kurtis barely speaks,” she said. “What on earth to you find attractive about
him?”

Cassandra’s smile grew. “It is
not how much he speaks but what he says when he does,” she said. “He is very
intelligent and he has a very funny sense of humor. He makes me laugh with his
dry comments. You should see the way he baits Michael.”

Chloë looked up at her, then. “I
have
seen it,” she said, a reluctant smile playing on her lips. “I was in the hall
when Michael drank from the cup that had the rim lined with soot.  The man
walked around with a foolish black smile drawn on his face for nearly an hour
before Keir took pity on him and told him why everyone was laughing at him. I
thought he was going to kill Kurtis.”

Cassandra rolled onto her back,
giggling as she gazed up at the blue sky above. “It
was
rather funny.”

“It was dastardly.”

“You laughed.”

“I did not say that it was not
funny – it was. But it was also dastardly.”

Cassandra continued to giggle and
Chloë finally broke down into soft laughter.  Over the past several days,
Michael and Kurtis had entered into a contest for Cassandra’s attention and it
was quite hilarious at times. Kurtis would put soot on the rim of Michael’s cup
and Michael would put saffron in the water Kurtis shaved with, turning the
man’s face yellow.  Michael was extremely tall and extremely big, but Kurtis
was built of pure muscle, making a physical confrontation at some point both a
frightful and interesting prospect.  Keir had managed to head the two off of each
other but they all knew, at some point, an explosion was inevitable.

Cassandra was the only one who
delighted in the possibility. She rolled on to her side, propping her head up
on her hand, her gaze now on the castle looming behind them. The tall gray walls
were foreboding as she looked at the battlements, seeing men moving along the
parapets.  One man in particular seemed rooted to one spot, right at the corner
of the walls with the best view of where the ladies were. 

Cassandra didn’t have to see the details
of the man’s face to know it was Keir.  She had seen the way Keir looked at her
sister and she knew the man felt for Chloë as Chloë felt for him.  She also
suspected he was hurting just as her sister was, if not worse.  The expression
on his face every night at sup when Chloë would not speak to him told the tale.

“If Keir were to pledge for your
hand, would you accept?” Cassandra asked softly.

Chloë faltered in her knitting.
“Cassie….,” she groaned.

“It is a reasonable question,
sweetheart,” Cassandra insisted. “Is he simply an infatuation with you or do
you believe you could happily spend your life with the man?”

Chloë missed another stitch and,
frustrated, she plopped her hands and the knitting into her lap. “Have you ever
known me to have an infatuation?”

“Nay.”

“Then you ask a foolish
question.”

“Are you in love with him?”

Chloë had enough. Bolting from
her stool, she set her knitting down and began to walk away from her sister,
across the rolling green earthworks with the rows and rows of spikes hammered
into the sides to repel invaders.  Cassandra called to her sister as she walked
away.

“Where are you going?” she
demanded.

Chloë waved an irritated hand at
her. “Nowhere,” she snapped. “Just…leave me alone. I do not want to speak right
now.”

Cassandra kept her mouth shut and
Chloë kept walking. She wandered across the enormous earthworks, looking over
the surrounding landscape from her elevated position.  It was a beautiful view
and she struggled to clear her mind. Above her, clouds skittered across the sky
as the gentle breeze blew and it would have been a lovely day entirely had she
not been so saddened.  It began to occur to her that she would remain saddened
as long as she remained at Pendragon, caged with a man who could not decide
whether or not he wanted her. More and more, she knew she had to leave for her
own sanity.  She had to leave and forget about Keir St. Hèver entirely.

As she wandered to the north
eastern portion of the earthwork ring surrounding Pendragon, she began to hear
great activity at the gatehouse.  She could hear men shouting and a flurry of
movement on the wall walk that flanked the gatehouse.  Shielding her eyes from
the sun, she could see a man on a horse in the distance and Keir’s soldiers
surrounding the man as he entered the gatehouse.  It meant nothing to her, as
riders came and went from Pendragon on a regular basis, so she returned her
attention to the River Eden which ran directly to the east of the castle.