Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (6 page)

Keir looked at him. “Perhaps, my
lord,” he agreed without remorse. “But Aysgarth can take care of herself.
Moreover, I doubt Ingilby would risk conflict with you. Your military might is
well known.”

Byron pulled back on the reins
when his feisty horse acted up. “Even so, her father is worried about her. This
entire siege was because of her. He wants her safety tucked away.”

“And she will be at Aysgarth.”

“She will be better protected at
Pendragon.”

Keir looked at the man as if he
had physically struck him.  The normally cool demeanor flared as he stiffened
in outrage. The first words on his lips were those of refusal but he knew that
he could not; Pendragon was Coverdale’s castle and he could do with it as he
pleased.  If Byron wanted the girl to go to Pendragon because he felt it was
safer for her, then Keir would have no say in the matter. The thought of Lady
Chloë within walls that had seen so much hell and happiness for Keir left the
man reeling with shock.

Byron looked at the knight,
seeing the fury on his normally emotionless face, and he merely shook his head.

“It is a perfect place to hide
the girl, and her sister as well,” he told him. “Moreover, you brought this
upon yourself when you volunteered to protect her. Her father demands you keep
your word. He is very worried for her.”

Keir was  close to exploding; his
granite jaw ticked furiously and he looked away, struggling not to open his
mouth and spill forth all of the refusal he was feeling with every fiber of his
body.

“I should not have said what I
did,” he hissed.

“Are you going back on your word?
I find that astonishing.”

Keir faltered. His word was
stronger than anyone else’s in the north of England and he had made damn sure
to cement that careful reputation.  He never said anything he did not mean and
a vow from St. Hèver was bankable. He had the trust of anyone he had ever met,
fought with or served.  It was perhaps the strongest part of a strong man,
something he did not wish to see damaged even in something as small as this. It
was his crutch, his curse, his pride.  After several long moments, he sighed
heavily.

“I only said that I should not
have said it,” he clarified. “I did not say that I did not mean it.  I said it
because the girl was terrified. She had just seen her castle ripped apart and
men killed all because a jilted suitor could not stomach her denial. I said it
to bring her comfort.”

Byron was not oblivious to the
things young men said in overwhelming situations.  He drew in a deep,
thoughtful breathe and tried to rein his excitable jennet close to Keir so that
he could speak and not be heard by others.

“The Lady Chloë de Geld is one of
the most sought-after women in all of England, a beauty without compare, but I
do not suppose you noticed that,” he glanced at Keir only to note the man
facing straight ahead, features like stone.  He continued. “Her father is
understandably worried about her and he knows you by reputation.  He has asked
that you hold true to your vow to protect his daughter and I have agreed.
Whatever feelings you have in this matter, Keir, put it aside and do the duty
you are bred to do.  Ingilby is a despicable, corrupt man with an earl for an
uncle. Should Ingilby call upon his uncle for support, I worry for my old
friend de Geld.  He would not be able to hold Ingilby off that being the case,
and we would be drawn into a nasty conflict. Do I make myself clear, Keir?”

Keir’s jaw ticked with
displeasure and his big body stiffened, all physical signs of his disapproval
the assignment, yet he kept his mouth shut. Coverdale was correct; he had
brought it upon himself when he had vowed to protect the woman. There was
nothing more he could say.

“You do, my lord,” he replied
steadily.

Byron smiled. “Good lad,” he
said. “Anton will be pleased. Who knows? Perhaps you will come to appreciate
the lady with time. She is quite a beauty and of marriageable age and you, my
friend, are in need of a wife.”

It was all Keir could do not to
take the man’s head off.  As Coverdale reined his skittish stallion around and
headed back along the column, Keir ground his teeth so hard in frustration that
he ended up biting his lip. 

CHAPTER
FIVE

“This place is desolation
personified,” Cassandra hissed. “Look at it – the castle is in the middle of
nowhere.  We may as well be on the moon!”

Wrapped in the heavy, dusty brown
cloak that had been her companion for three long and weary days, Chloë could see
the dark stoned edifice of Pendragon Castle in the distance.   It had been
raining off and all night and now, a few hours past dawn, the skies were
clearing somewhat.  The landscape of Cumbria was very green and very wet, and
great pools of muddy water dotted the rutted road that led from Aysgarth Castle
to Pendragon and points north.  Astride a little gray mare, Chloë directed the
horse around the puddles, following the enormous chargers up ahead and being
followed by about one hundred men at arms to the rear.

“You could have stayed with
Father and Mother,” she told her sister. “You did not have to come with me to
the ends of the earth. It is me they are trying to distance from Exelby, not
you.”

Cassandra lifted an eyebrow at
her sister, younger by just over one year. “As if they would send you to a
remote castle without a chaperone,” she replied, her brown eyes drifting to the
trio of knights at the head of their party.  “I would not leave you alone with
three handsome knights. They will be challenging each other for your affections
by tomorrow.”

Chloë knew her sister was jesting
but she was in no mood for it.  Morose, she looked away just as a big black
charger whirled around and headed in their direction.  The horse kicked up
rocks and mud, spraying the women as he came to a halt.  The knight flipped up
his visor.

“My ladies,” Michael’s voice was
soft, deep. “We will be arriving at Pendragon shortly.”

Cassandra lifted a mocking
eyebrow at the handsome knight with the cornflower blue eyes. “We can see that.”

He ignored the sharp tongue.  “Do
you have any questions or concerns I might address at this time?” he asked
politely.

“Indeed we do,” she said almost
immediately.  “We have no clothing or personal items to speak of, as most of
them were confiscated from Exelby and we were not permitted to return to gather
what was left. We have been traveling and sleeping in the clothing on our backs
for two days. This is a serious problem.”

Chloë interrupted her snappish
sister. “Cassie, please,” she begged softly, turning her radiant beauty to the
blue-eyed knight. “You are doing all you can to make us safe and comfortable,
and we appreciate your effort. But Father has given us some coinage and, at
some point very soon, we should request escort to the nearest town of merchants
where we may purchase some basic necessities that were lost in the siege. 
Would that be possible, my lord?”

Michael had only wanted to speak
with the blond sister again, as he’d had little opportunity since their flight
from Exelby, but he could see she was in no mood for his company.   Her sister,
however, was tactful and sweet, not to mention outrageously beautiful.  He
found himself focused on the redhead.

“That will be Sir Keir’s
decision, my lady, but I am sure he would graciously comply,” he told her,
eyeing the blond to see that she was deliberately looking away from him. “I
will take the matter up with him.”

“If it would not be too much to
ask, my lord,” Chloë said politely.

Michael shook his head and gave
her a weak smile.  His gaze kept returning to Cassandra but she refused to look
at him. Chloë could see his interest, and her sister’s stubbornness, and she
fought off a smile.  She didn’t feel so moody any longer with the delicious
opportunity to tease her sister.

“I do not know your name, my
lord,” she said. “You helped rescue us from our compromised chamber at Exelby.”

Michael nodded. “I am Sir Michael
of Pembury,” he replied. “And you, dear lady, smashed my fingers.”

Chloë laughed, a beautiful and
captivating gesture. “Only in self-protection, I assure you,” she said. “I do
hope I did not break anything.”

Michael shook his head. “You did
not.”

“But it bloody well hurt,” Chloë
put in, repeating his words.

Michael broke out in a smile.  He
was a very handsome man with his dark hair and bright blue eyes, a rugged and
strong beauty about him.  He was also the tallest man that Chloë had ever seen;
she well remembered the man’s sheer size.

“It did,” he admitted, “but I
have since recovered. You did worse to Keir.”

Chloë’s gaze moved to the head of
the column where Keir and another knight rode in strong silence. She realized
that it made her heart flutter simply to look at the man, even though he’d
hardly spoken a word to her since rescuing her from the chamber two days
before.  It seemed that when he came around her, he couldn’t get away fast
enough. It began to occur to her that he must have an aversion to her, more
than likely from the fact that she had nearly broken his fingers and gouged his
eyes out upon their initial acquaintance.  As realization dawned, her good mood
fled. 

“I did,” she sighed heavily.  “I
am sure he will never forgive me for it, for which I am truly sorry. In any
case, it is nice to make your acquaintance, Sir Michael.”

“And yours, my lady.”

With a lingering look at Cassandra,
who still refused to look at him, Michael spurred his charger back to the front
of the column.

The remainder of the trip was
uneventful.  They arrived at Pendragon, a great square bastion on a fortified
hill surrounded by earthworks, a series of tall walls, causeways and a great
moated ditch.

It wasn’t a particularly large
castle but it was very tall, well protected and well-fortified.  As they drew
upon it, Chloë gazed up at the dark gray stone, stained wet from the storms,
thinking of the wife and daughter that St. Hèver had lost within these massive
walls.  She couldn’t imagine any army penetrating walls such as these.

Since the castle was built on a
fortified mound with a series of earthworks and ditches, and they crossed great
elevated causeways between the moats once they were within the enormous
circular wall that surrounded the place.  They had to pass between series of
mounds, all designed to make an incoming enemy vulnerable to those protecting
the castle. 

Finally passing through the
porcullised entry, they entered a very small bailey. Living quarters and towers
were built into the tall exterior walls, including a very tall box-shaped keep
that was built into the southwest corner of the structure.  There were wooden
stairs everywhere, leading up into the towers as well as leading up into the
keep.  Narrow wooden walkways bordered the top of the walls. 

As Chloë gazed at the guts of the
towering structure, she began to notice scorch marks everywhere – around the
keep windows, upon the walls, near the portcullis.  Burn marks were heavy and
frequent, a reminder perhaps of the terrible siege three years prior.  She
didn’t dare ask St. Hèver, who had dismounted his charger and was shouting
orders to the men as he made his way back to where the women were still mounted
near the portcullis.  

As he approached, Chloë couldn’t
help but notice that he had not made eye contact with her, in any fashion.  It
convinced her more and more that the man wanted nothing to do with her as a
result of their rough beginning and her disappointment was growing.  She
watched him until he came to stand next to her, still snapping orders to the
men around him.  Without a word to her, and still speaking to his soldiers, he
reached down and pulled her foot from the stirrup.  Then he extended his
enormous arms and scooped her out of the saddle.

Heart beating loudly against her
ribs at his closeness, Chloë wrapped her arms around his big neck as he carried
her across the muddy bailey towards the keep. Over her shoulder, she could hear
Cassandra’s voice and she glanced back to see her sister arguing with Pembury. 
The big knight was apparently trying to offer his services to help the lady
across the foul bailey but Cassandra was being stubborn about it. Chloë suspect
it was all for show, for she’d never known her sister to show such attention,
good or bad, to any man. Perhaps there was something more going on than
Cassandra would admit.  Fighting off a grin, Chloë returned her attention to
St. Hèver and the approaching keep.

The man was so close that she
could see the stubble on his face and the pores of his skin.  He had thick,
dark blond eyelashes, the same dark blond color as his hair and eyebrows, and
unnaturally pale blue eyes.  He was focused on the keep ahead and still hadn’t
said a word to her.   Once they reached the steps, Keir set her to her feet.

“If you will go up the stairs,
there is an entry hall that should have a warm fire blazing,” he told her.

Chloë simply nodded and Keir
actually met her eye for the first time in two days.  When their gazes locked,
she felt a shock go through her, something that made her heart race even
faster.  She wasn’t sure if he felt it also but he lowered his gaze quickly,
too quickly, and turned back for the bailey.  Perhaps he felt it and didn’t
want to. Chloë reached out and stopped him.