Lord of the Blade (2 page)

She’d heard descriptions of him from the old
mid-wife Heartha, and some of the monks, but their words did no
justice to his image. The wind blew strands of his long black hair
up into the air, and around his chiseled face. His jaw was set and
his lips firm and sensual. His back straight, he rode with his head
held high. Just as she’d expected a lord to ride.

As he moved closer, she couldn’t help but
notice his brilliant blue eyes shining in the sun. Though they had
a faraway look about them, she couldn’t help but see mystery
beckoning to her as well. His lashes, black as the night, matched
the dark bushy brows dipping slightly as if he were concentrating,
or perhaps thinking of his destination.

She stifled a gasp as he passed by, so close
she could have reached out from the vines that hid her, and touched
him. Her pulse raced at the excitement of being so close to him.
The muscles of his arm rippled beneath his perched raven, and she
could only wonder about the muscles hidden beneath his dark tunic.
She couldn’t help but drink in his physique and the way he filled
out his tight hose as she let her eyes run the length of his long,
sturdy legs. A long black cloak trailed down his back and over his
mount majestically, the hilt of a shining sword at his waist
clearly visible beneath.

Her head filled with a fantasy, one of her
many that kept her sane throughout her sheltered life. She imagined
herself sitting atop the battlements - nay, in the tower of a
castle - her knight in shining armor approaching to ask for her
hand in marriage.

The raucous laughter of the raven brought
her back to her senses. Though the lord of Blake Castle was
handsome and wealthy, he was said to be heartless and cruel. His
bird turned its dark eyes toward her, its silken black feathers
taking on a purplish glow. Then with a flap of its wings it left
its master's arm and headed right for her.

Devon released her grip on the wall and fell
to the soft earth below just as the raven skimmed the top of the
trellis and flew up into the morning sky. It shrieked a guttural
call, then disappeared from sight somewhere over the vast sea.

"Old woman!" The deep timbre of his voice
rang out in command from the other side of the wall.

The door to the hut slammed open, and Devon
watched in amazement at how quickly Heartha moved toward her. The
old midwife was the only family Devon had ever known, ever since
the sorcerer, Orrick, brought her as a baby to Heartha.

"Stay hidden," Heartha commanded.

"Please,” begged Devon. “Let me meet the
lord of Blake Castle."

"Nay, child. Ye'll stay here until I
discover his intent.”

"Midwife, show your face or I'll be forced
to knock down your door and enter!"

Heartha turned to go but Devon grabbed the
woman's feeble old shoulder. "Let him enter, Heartha. Let me
finally meet someone besides monks."

"Nay, child, I cannot. I promised Orrick to
keep ye hidden until his return."

"Eight and ten years is a long time to be
locked away from the rest of the world.”

"I don't know what th’ sorcerer’s reasons,
but I promised ta keep ye safe." Heartha put her hands on her hips
as she spoke. "I've raised ye from a squalling babe ta th’ woman ye
now are. I've managed ta bring ye this far, and I'll not lose ye
the way I lost my only daughter, Wilona."

"You're not going to lose me, Heartha.
Besides, you said Wilona fell down a set of stairs. There are no
stairs in our courtyard, so you needn't worry."

Heartha secured her wimple which had
loosened in the breeze. "Ye have sanctuary here child because of a
boon granted to me by the arch-bishop when I saved him from his
illness. Be grateful for that and do not question God's ways."

Devon followed Heartha to the garden gate,
but stayed hidden as the old woman disappeared behind it. She dug
into the pocket of her worn cotehardie and pulled out the old metal
amulet that Heartha had found in her swaddling as a baby. She
pressed it to her heart and made a wish. The same wish that she'd
made nearly every day of her life. To find out who her parents were
and where she truly belonged.

She wasn't meant to live as a peasant in
seclusion, and surely the sorcerer’s words proved it. She’d often
asked Heartha to tell her time and again how Orrick stressed she
was of noble birth. But he’d also stressed she’d be in grave danger
if anyone ever found out. If only Orrick hadn’t disappeared, she
would have the answer as to whom begot her.

With her hand on the gate, she prepared to
throw it open and announce her presence to the lord of Blake
Castle. Mayhap he could help her find her true identity. She
grabbed the iron handle and pushed in the latch, but her action was
halted by Lord Corbett's harsh words.

"You'll come to serve as my head cook."

Devon peeked around the gate and
watched.

"Milord," answered Heartha. "Ye know I've
always come ta yer aid, but I'm a mid-wife and healer, not a
kitchen maid."

"Brother Ruford tells me you can cook."

"Brother Ruford should respect his vows of
silence, my lord."

"He has been serving as my steward since
Duncan died last year. If he sees fit to come to my aid, so should
you. You'll take over the kitchens immediately."

"So I'm now to be your servant?" she asked
boldly.

"Head cook is a respectful position. Pack
your valuables and be at the castle before sun-up."

"I have no valuables, milord besides my
herbs. I live a life of poverty as do all the inhabitants of this
monastery."

"I wasn't speaking of coin or jewelry."

"M'lord?" Heartha stood with her arms
crossed over her bosom.

With a jerk of his head he motioned toward
the small hut. "The girl," he answered.

"What girl?" Heartha's voice quavered.

"Don't jest with me, old woman."

"So Brother Ruford has not only broken his
vow of silence but his promise to keep my secret as well."

The corners of his lips turned up in a
slight smile and he chuckled. "You've spilled your own secret,
midwife. Brother Ruford mentioned naught of a girl, but now I see
'tis true. I'll give you 'til the morrow to gather what you need.
Be in the kitchens before dawn to prepare a meal to break the
fast."

"Forgive me milord, but - "

"I've got the visiting baron of Torquey
housed in my castle and he's very ill."

"Then ye'll want an herbal remedy."

"Nay. The baroness is with him and has taken
his care into her own hands."

"Forgive me for sayin' that the baroness is
no healer, milord."

"You dare speak about the baroness with such
disrespect?"

Devon watched Heartha, fists clenched at her
sides slowly lower her eyes to the ground. Her answer was not above
a whisper.

"Nay, milord. I meant no disrespect."

"Then I'll expect you in my service before
the break of dawn."

"Aye, milord."

Devon watched the man toss back his long
black mane and flick a speck of dust from his mantle. "I'll be gone
for several days, but 'twill expect a
hot
meal when I
return. Something with meat, as I want the baron to have only the
best."

"Aye, milord."

Devon leaned against the gate and its rusty
hinges squeaked. His gaze darted in her direction and she held her
breath as his icy blue eyes looked in her direction. She wasn't
sure if he actually saw her, but she now had lost her nerve of
presenting herself to him. She silently stepped behind the gate and
pushed it closed.

"Shall I bring my granddaughter with me,
milord?"

"You shall." The shod hooves of his horse
echoed on the cobblestone as his started away.

"And she'll be treated well?" Heartha asked
a bit louder.

"She will."

Devon always felt apprehensive when Heartha
referred to her as her granddaughter, but knew the old woman almost
believed it after all these years. A slight sigh of relief parted
her lips at the lord’s answer. Her dream was about to come true.
She’d be a visitor at the castle, sleep on fine linens and eat rich
foods. Perhaps the lord of Steepleton wasn’t so black-hearted after
all.

"Thank ye, milord." Heartha's voice seemed
cheerier. "I'm sure my granddaughter will appreciate the
hospitality."

"She'll be in the kitchens with you, old
woman."

"She's been raised by the gentlest of monks,
milord! Surely ye don't mean to have her mingling with the serfs
that come to your kitchens to bake their bread?"

"Serfs?" Devon heard the man's low chuckle.
"I'd expect nothing of the kind from the girl. The girl will bunk
with you in the great hall and work at your side preparing and
serving food."

Devon raised a hand to her mouth in horror.
She wasn’t to be a visitor at the castle, but a permanent resident
- as his servant!

Chapter 2

Devon stood with her feet firmly planted - atop the
trestle table in the great hall. The castle's occupants had already
finished their main meal and gone about their business of the day.
A circle of kitchen maids, serving wenches and male servants
crowded around the table to hear her latest story.

She'd been at the castle for only a couple
of days now, and though she hated her work she loved the amount of
new friends she'd made. She held her eating knife high in the air
and waved it wildly as she continued her story.

"Surrender thyself I bid you or 'twill be
the last time you see the sun!"
Devon fell to her knees
dramatically as she talked.
"The huge warrior's shadow covered
the maiden as she lay where he had thrown her among the rushes of a
small bubbling brook."

"Did he kill her?" came a voice from the
crowd.

"Nay, he didn't kill her for she was too
brave to feel defeat." Devon grabbed the tunic of a young boy and
pulled him up onto the table with her. She shoved a second knife in
the boy's hand and pretended to duel with him in battle.

"As metal clashed against metal, the maiden
dueled with the castle's best, managing to hold him at bay until
she was faced with a dilemma."

"She had to use the garderobe?" grinned a
young boy. The crowd laughed.

"Nay," answered Devon as she playfully
parried the knife of the young servant. "Her dilemma was that
another two rogues stepped out of the shadows."

Two more servants jumped atop the table and
pulled their eating daggers from their waistbands to add to the
duel.

"But she was saved by a knight atop a mighty
thundering stallion as he approached the scene and shouted to the
rogues . . ."

"Hellfire and damnation, what is going on?"
The room went suddenly silent at the sound of a low bellowing voice
from the other end of the hall. The servants with their eating
daggers in hand jumped to the floor and pulled the young boy along
with them.

Devon didn't need to look to know that
voice. It was a voice she hadn't heard since the day she was
brought from the monastery.

Lord Corbett Blake stood silhouetted in the
open doorway, bright sun streaking in around him, his raven
watching from atop his shoulder. His squire rushed in behind him
carrying something in his arms. No one dared breathe let alone give
an answer to the lord's question. The raven's cry split the
air.

"I leave for a mere few days and upon my
return I'm greeted by the merrymaking of my servants when they
should be tending to their chores?"

He stepped forward, the crowd parting like
the Red Sea as he made his way toward the table. His squire trailed
behind him struggling with what looked like a helm and huge
shield.

"Get down from there at once," Corbett
ordered. Devon froze. She wasn't accustomed to jumping on command
and found herself questioning what action she should take.

"Look at me - at my eyes, when I speak to
you.”

Would that she could do as he asked, but the
man was much too handsome and she was sure her face would color.
Never before had she been so close to a noble. The idea thrilled
her yet frightened her at the same time.

Lord Corbett's stone face turned to the
servants and he spoke in a low tone.

"I'd suggest you all get back to work,
unless you're waiting for me to live up to my horrid reputation and
hand out the punishments you truly deserve."

The room cleared faster than a bread basket
at the hands of hungry soldiers. When Lord Corbett turned to give
his squire an order, she decided to quit the room as well. She took
a step toward the edge of the trestle table, but his voice halted
her action.

"Not you! Stay here, as I would have a word
with you.”

The squire opened the door to leave, the
bright beacon of sun shining directly on her. She was blinded
momentarily, and when the door squeaked closed and the beam of
light subsided, Corbett was gone.

"Looking for me?"

Her head snapped around at hearing his deep voice.
Her hand flew to her chest to still her heartbeat. He sat on the
only wooden chair behind the dais, tilting back on its legs as he
crossed his feet atop the board that served as a table. His blue
eyes pierced the distance between them. One glance at his
mesmerizing eyes and her body burned from within. Sensuality
painted his face though he most likely was not aware of the essence
of manly beauty that encompassed his entire being. Devon couldn’t
help but fantasize that he was lounging back upon a bed, beckoning
her to his side. She wondered how it would feel to press her lips
against his, or how his battle-scarred hands would feel caressing
her body. She chastised herself for her foolish thoughts, looking
down to his raven hopping around the table pecking at leftover
crumbs. She was unable to face him, and unable to turn away.

He pulled off his leather gauntlets one
finger at a time, as if teasing her by undressing, and threw them
down with a snap upon the table. She felt her cheeks burn and knew
her face was reddening, giving away her thoughts. Would that she
had left the room with the others.