Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (4 page)

The soldier slid down, fell down,
the remainder of the stairs and took off running.  Keir watched the man go,
noticing that Coverdale had control of the bailey now and there were pockets of
prisoners being rounded up by Coverdale men.  The bailey was a mess and piles
of the dead were already being accumulated.  It was still raining so it would
be difficult to burn the dead. For now, all they could do was clean up and wait
for the weather to clear.

Keir turned away from the savage
bailey scene only to find Chloë standing directly behind him.  She was so close
that he had nearly walked into her.  She had pulled the hood of the cloak over
her luscious red hair, her big brown eyes moving over the horrific scene below.

The castle was upended, the
entire place a mess of men, blood and war. It was a sobering sight.  Keir
watched her face a moment before reaching out to take her elbow.  So much for
resolving not to touch her – considering he had just appointed himself her
personal protector, there wasn’t much point in maintaining a distance from her.

“Come along, my lady,” he said
quietly.

She planted her feet and grabbed
his enormous hand with both of her soft, small ones.  Her expression was open
and pleading.

“What you told that soldier,” she
said, lifting her shoulders as if searching for the correct words. “Thank you
for your sense of chivalry and duty, but it will more than likely do no good.
He has been threatened before.”

Keir smiled faintly, wearily.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But he has not been threatened by me. If the man makes
another move against you, I will show up on his doorstep and it will not be
pleasant.”

Her lovely brow furrowed and she
grinned simply because he was. “Although I appreciate your gallantry, you do
not need to do that,” she told him. “My father has his own men to protect me.”

He cocked an eyebrow, his smile
fading. “A lot of good they did,” he jabbed a finger at the broken bailey. “If Ingilby
is truly intent to abduct you, we have seen what the man is capable of. He does
not fear your father or those who would provide you with protection.”

Chloë looked around the yard,
seeing her father’s soldiers mingled among the dead.  She lowered her gaze,
shutting her eyes against the ghastly sight.

“So much waste,” she muttered
with guilt, letting go of his hand. “Ingilby is bold and arrogant but I did not
believe him capable of this. He waited until my father left Exelby with a
contingent of men before moving to attack. He waited until we were weak.”

Keir didn’t say anymore, fearful
that he might sound too interested in assuming the lady’s protection. He’d
already said far too much already. Part of him was the gallant man who would
protect the weaker sex, but part of him wanted to return to Pendragon Castle
and away from this beautiful woman who seemed so capable of effortlessly
captivating him.

 In silence, he continued down
the stairs, his arm held out in Chloë’s direction as she followed so she could
grab hold of something should she slip.  The old wooden stairs were soaked with
rain, slippery and unsteady.

Keir reached the bottom of the
steps and plunged into several inches of deep, dark mud. In his heavy boots, he
was well protected, but Chloë stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking at
all of the mud with some chagrin.  Keir started to walk away, thinking she
would follow, but quickly realizing she had not.  He retraced his few steps
back to her.

“Is something wrong, my lady?” he
asked politely.

Chloë didn’t want to be a bother
but she also wasn’t equipped to walk through the heavy mud.  With great
reluctance, she lifted up her cloak and stuck out a dainty foot.

“I only have my slippers on,” she
told him, showing him a small leather shoe. “If you will permit me, I will
return to my chamber in the keep to see if my boots are still there. I will….”

He was already moving towards
her, bending down to scoop her up into his arms. “The keep is cleaned out of
most things,” he told her, lifting her slight weight into his powerful arms.
“We saw the looting when we fought our way in. I doubt your boots, or any of
your other possessions, remain untouched.”

Swept into his enormous grasp,
Chloë wrapped her arms around his neck for support, gazing into his
square-jawed, handsome face.  Her heart sank at his words.

“Looting?” she repeated,
disheartened. “But everything we own is in the keep – my clothes, my sister’s
clothes, our plate, our….”

“No longer,” he interrupted her
quietly. “I suspect Ingilby will take it in punishment for not having obtained
a betrothal. He will consider it compensation.”

“But I was never, at any time,
pledged to the man. Why would he steal from us?”

“This I would not know. But he
has.”

With nothing more to say to that,
Chloë remained silent as Keir carried her off across the great muddy bailey,
past the mounds of dead men and the scores of wounded lined up against the wall
to provide some protection against the rain.

Keir was passing through the
gatehouse, crowded with wounded, when he realized that Chloë had buried her
face in the crook of his neck, blocking her sight of the devastation a rejected
suitor had caused.  He could feel her hot breath against his jaw, her warmth
against his chest.  It had been years since he’d felt such a thing and he was
repulsed and thrilled all at once. The last woman he had held like this had
been brutally murdered. Keir still hadn’t recovered from it. But Lady Chloë was
awakening dormant emotions and it scared him to death.

Against his better judgment, he
pulled her tighter.

***

He had a squarest jaw she had
ever seen, set like granite.  When he smiled, which had only been once, she’d
caught a glimpse of a handsome smile only dreamt of in fantasies of foolish
girls with too many thoughts of men on their minds.  His lips peeled away in a
smile to reveal straight white teeth and big dimples in each cheek.  His nose
was straight enough, unmarred, and his pale blue eyes were both icy and
smoldering at the same time.  It was a devastating and captivating combination
for the feminine appetite.

As Chloë sat in a large tent with
her mother and sister, she could see outside to where her father, the fat
graying figure of Lord Coverdale, and several knights, including St. Hèver,
were gathered.   The women had been given as much comfort as possible in a dry
place with a scorching stove that burned smoky peat, and big cups of warmed
wine.  As Chloë sat with her sister and sipped wine, her mother resumed her
sewing as if nothing in the world was amiss.

Chloë had been watching the
activity outside when St. Hèver had removed his helm and peeled back his
hauberk, scratching his close-cropped blond hair that was wet with perspiration
and rain.  She could see the kinky texture, even at a distance.  He was a tall
man, taller than Coverdale and her father but not as tall as either of his two
companions, the other knights that had escorted her mother and sister.

Still, the sheer size of the man
was something to behold.   The size of his arms, chest and hands were like
nothing she had ever seen before and when he had carried her to the encampment,
she had felt his power. The sensation had captured her curiosity and her
interest.

So she sipped her wine and
watched St. Hèver as he engaged in deep and sometimes animated discussion with
Coverdale and her father.  The Coverdale encampment was filling up with
soldiers returning from the cleanup of the castle and occasionally, groups of
men and prisoners would block her view as she watched St. Hèver in the
distance. Eventually, her father broke away from the group of men and made his
way to the tent where his wife and daughters were. 

Anton de Geld was the son of a
noble family, having achieved wealth through the breeding and sale of sheep. 
He wasn’t a healthy man but he was bright. He had moments of weakness and
foolery. As he entered the tent, Chloë rose from the small three legged stool
she had been sitting on and offered it to her father.  He took it gratefully.

“What will we do now, Father?”
she asked, glancing out into the encampment again and noting that St. Hèver was
still standing there, his head bare to the falling rain as he listened to
whatever Coverdale had to say.  Her eyes were riveted to the man. “It seems
that you had much to discuss with Lord Coverdale.”

Anton ran a hand across his
thinning gray hair. “Much indeed,” he said. “This was Ingilby’s work, Chloë. He
came for you.”

She could hear anger in her
father’s tone. “I know,” she replied softly.

“This was a bold move, even for
him.”

“What will we do?”

Anton shrugged as he accepted a
cup of warmed wine from Cassandra. “I will remain here to oversee the rebuild,”
he told her. “But I will send you and your sister and your mother with
Coverdale.  He has offered to house you and protect you until we can adequately
repair Exelby, which may take some time.”

Chloë wasn’t entirely sure she
wanted to leave her home but she understood her father’s concerns.  Looking at
all of the wounded men, traversing across the muddy encampment, fed her sense
of guilt. Everything had happened because of her, injury and death alike.  She
glanced up at the gray skies, feeling as sad and remorseful as the gloomy
above.

“Perhaps I should simply marry
him and be done with it,” she muttered. “I cannot stomach the men who have been
put in harm’s way because of me.”

“It was not because of you,”
Anton could hear the self-pity in her voice. “What Ingilby wants is greater
than you. He wants you, me, Exelby… everything. He is a greedy man that does
not like to be denied is wishes.”

Chloë gazed off across the
compound again, her gaze falling on St. Hèver once more.  The rain was starting
to let up and pieces of blue sky were starting to appear, sending beams of
sunlight onto the earth below.  One beam fell directly on St. Hèver as he stood
there with several of his men in continuing conversation.  The sun lit him up,
like God shining his holy light upon the man. Her thoughts lingered on him.

“What about Coverdale?” she
wanted to know. “Does he realize that if I go to Aysgarth Castle, then his
properties shall become Ingilby’s target?”

Anton drank deeply of the warmed
wine. “Ingilby will not find out where you have gone.”

She could see Keir as the man
broke out in the smile at something that had been said. In fact, all three of
the big knights were laughing.  But her eyes were only on Keir.

“Aye, he will,” she sighed after
a moment, shaking her head with regret. “One of Coverdale’s men sent a message
back to Ingilby and told the man that if he ever attempted to contact me again,
then this knight would personally challenge him.”

Anton looked up from his wine,
surprised.  “Who said this?”

Chloë’s eyes were riveted to
Keir. In fact, she realized even to think on his name gave her a warm feeling
deep in her belly. She’d never known that kind of sensation before and wasn’t
hard pressed to admit she liked it.

“Keir St. Hèver,” she murmured.

Her father stood up, moving to
where she was standing against the tent opening. “St. Hèver?” he repeated.  “I
was only just speaking with him. He did not mention such a thing to me.”

“Perhaps he has forgotten
already.”

Anton’s gaze moved across the
muddy compound as well, spying Coverdale’s knights still in a cluster where he
had left them.  His gaze settled on the enormous knight with the kinky blond
hair and a jaw so square it was as if it was hewn from solid marble.

“Do you not recognize his name,
Chloë?” he looked at his daughter.

Chloë shook her head. “Should I?”

Anton’s gaze moved back to the
busy, muddy encampment, lingering on the knights. “Keir St. Hèver is the garrison
commander for Pendragon Castle, the gateway from Cumbria to Yorkshire,” he told
her. “Pendragon guards the Mallerstang dale, a valuable and much coveted pass. 
Coverdale is wildly wealthy from the tribute he collects from those who use the
pass and it a wealth much envied, especially by the devils from Hell.”

Chloë’s brow furrowed. “
Devils
from hell?”

Anton nodded. “That is what those
from Hellbeck Castle are called,” he said softly. “Surely you know of them.”

Chloë was growing interested in
her father’s story. “I believe I do,” she said. “I have heard of them. If I
recall correctly, Lord Stain of Hellbeck Castle is akin to the Northumberland
Grays.”

Anton wriggled his eyebrows. “He
is a disgraced kin.  He confiscated Hellbeck Castle years ago through a siege
against old Baron Asby and killed the old man, stealing his castle.  Three
years ago, he tried to confiscate Pendragon in the same fashion but was
unsuccessful. St. Hèver’s wife and daughter were killed in the siege.”

Chloë’s expression shifted, morphing
in to one of sorrow as her eyes widened in realization. “I remember now,” she
breathed. “I heard about the siege of Pendragon and the death of the
commander’s wife.  That was St. Hèver?”