Lord of the Blade (22 page)

She rolled over closer to him, and he pulled
her into his embrace, using a gentle touch to smooth back her hair.
It felt so good to have her in his bed, in his arms. It felt
invigorating and alive to open himself to a woman who cared and was
willing to teach him about love. Too bad it would all have to end
soon.

Chapter
14

"Malcomn, my friend." Cedric, the baron’s
brother from Cornwall, placed his hand on the Malcomn’s shoulder.
"I am only sorry I have never taken the time to know you
better."

"As am I." Malcomn refilled Cedric's goblet
as he had done throughout the night. Cedric was a large man with a
large stomach to match. Everything about him was big, including his
voice, his personality and even his smile. His bright red hair and
beard made it hard not to see him coming.

Both men lounged by the dying fire, the
bodies of sleeping servants and drunken men-at-arms lay scattered
throughout the great hall. The evening's merriments were well
appreciated. And with Cedric's household now in the manor, there
was just reason to celebrate.

"I only wish the baroness would not seem so
shy whenever I am around. In all the years she has been married to
my brother, I swear she has only spoken to me a dozen words."

"Shy?" Malcomn almost choked on his wine.
"My mother is far from shy. If I didn't know she was from
Gloucester, I would swear she had the temper of an Irish
woman."

"Really," commented Cedric, stifling a yawn.
"And that would give more credibility to your flaming red
hair."

"Well, I guess I must have been a child of
the wood nymphs," teased Malcomn, "for my mother's hair is darker
than a starless sky, and the newfound silver of my father's only
hides the dark walnut tint."

"I had never met Gilda before she came to
your father's castle, but yet something about her seems hauntingly
familiar."

Malcomn stretched his legs toward the
embers, trying to reach for the small warmth that was left without
having to tend to the task of stoking the fire himself.

"Have you ever heard of Orrick's prophecy?"
he asked.

"Well, Kenric mentioned it once, but why
does this concern you?"

"I have been wondering." Malcomn lowered his
voice, eyeing the room though not a sleeping body stirred. "If I
have not the mark of the royal dagger upon my neck, than mayhap
there is another man who walks the land as my father's true
heir."

"You cannot really believe this.”

"I do not know what to believe. I only know
my father never treated me half as good as he treated Corbett."

"What does it matter?" the large man asked.
"Your father has requested you be dubbed a knight, that must surely
show you he cares."

"Aye," commented Malcomn, pushing his toe
beneath a snoring guard to make him roll over and stop his
obnoxious noise. "I look forward to the ritual, as I am awaiting
the honor and respect of being a knight."

Cedric carefully put down his goblet, and
leaned on one elbow closer to Malcomn.

"'Tis an honor, indeed," he agreed, "but
'tis more than show. You must be loyal, and live by the rules of
chivalry."

"I well understand the rites and rituals
that will be required of me."

Malcomn was reminded by Cedric anyway.

"The two edges of your sword will prove you
serve not only the people, but God as well. And your straight spear
is your truth, its iron head your strength."

"Aye, my lord," interrupted Malcomn, "my
helm denotes my modesty and my spurs my diligence."

"And," continued Cedric, "will you use your
shield to save your own body, only so you will be able to protect
your lord?"

"My fealty lies with my father, not Lord
Corbett."

"A knight's heart must be pure, not holding
vengeance toward another knight the way you do."

Malcomn sat upright, not wanting to hear
what this man suggested. "Have I not proven my worth, as I've
already saved Lord Corbett's life against the villains in the
forest?"

"That you have," insisted Cedric, "and I
only hope your intentions were for his benefit alone."

The silence was broken as Corbett's raven
landed on the table, pecking at the leftovers of last night's
feast.

"There is also the matter of respect to the
ladies." Cedric threw bits of stale trencher to the inquisitive
bird.

"Well," mumbled Malcomn under his breath, "I
have more women than I want, but not the one I desire."

Cedric chuckled lowly, his large belly
jiggling. "I was once like you, always drinking and bedding women
whom I could not even remember the next morn."

"I am sure there is a lesson involved,"
replied Malcomn trying to shoo away the raven. The bird stood
cocking its head, staring him in the eye.

"You really don't like that bird, do
you?"

"I like naught of Corbett's," explained
Malcomn. "Except for his maidservant."

“Well, just remember, the true love of one
woman is better than the meaningless caress of ten."

As the two men toasted to being single, they
noticed the faint glow of the near morning sky through the
partially opened window.

"God's eyes!" exclaimed Malcomn. "Dawn
breaks, and I have yet to see to my well needed rest."

A slight movement from the corridor leading
to the solar caught Malcomn's attention. Devon, fully dressed,
slipped quietly through the shadows and up the stairs.

"I don't believe she knows we have spotted
her escape," commented Cedric.

"And I don't believe," added Malcomn, "that
the mighty Lord Corbett has let her slip through his fingers
without even awakening."

The raven flew in the direction Devon had
taken.

"I will awaken him at once." Cedric started
for the solar.

"Nay," Malcomn stopped him. "Let it be his
loss, and hopefully my gain." With that, he swiftly followed Devon
like a bloodhound hot on the trail of a plump hare.

"Where have you been?" Leahla looked down
the corridor at the sleeping guard, and quickly whisked Devon
through the chamber door. "'Tis nearly morning, and everyone will
be arising soon." She kept her voice to a whisper.

"I…was unable to get away sooner." She
wondered if Leahla could see her blush though the room was dimly
lit by a single nighttime candle.

"Well, hurry up!" exclaimed the blond maid
servant, pulling Devon toward the wardrobe. "Malcomn has been away
all night, and is sure to come back at any moment."

"I will hurry," replied Devon. "I just hope
the baron will want to see me."

Devon slipped through the door and into the
adjoining wardrobe. She accustomed her eyes to the darkness before
trying to wander through the room. She could see Mercia's outline
sleeping on the pallet, and tiptoed past into the baron's
chamber.

The night candle flickered next to the bed,
threatening to be extinguished soon. The embers on the hearth
glowed red. Devon crept to the bed, intending to gently wake the
man, but as she reached out her hand her attention was halted by a
misty vision of a man standing at the foot of the baron's bed.

She froze, staring in wonder at this
dreamlike illusion. The old man seemed to be looking at her instead
of the baron, and she wondered if this was the vision of Orrick
that Kenric had seen. Though she had never seen the sorcerer
before, he was everything she had always imagined. Tall, lean and
frail, his long white hair hung to his waist. A traveling staff was
held tightly in his long, bony fingers. He wore a flowing,
bluish-white cloak, but everything else wisped into nothingness.
Everything, except for his amethyst eyes which stared straight
through her.

"Do not be afraid," he spoke in a soft
whisper.

"Are you who you seem to be?" she managed to
force the words from her mouth.

"Are you?" he echoed. He spoke in riddles
and this already confused her. "Do you have the amulet?" he
asked.

Her hand went automatically to her good luck
charm, and she brought it forth.

"Is this of which you speak?" She held up
her hand for him to see. The previously dull gray tones suddenly
seemed to shine like pure silver. She stared at the round coin that
took up a good part of her palm, and felt as if she held a hidden
treasure.

"You must find the empty space that longs
for it to come home. When it is replaced, we will both be set free,
and the truth will prevail to conquer the lie."

What was he saying? She was no wizard, and
needed an explanation if she were to carry out some sort of
plan.

"Where does it go?" she asked. "And to whom
does it belong?"

"Follow your heart," was all he said before
he disappeared.

The room was dark and silent, and she
wondered if she’d really seen him at all. It all happened so fast
that she didn’t even have a chance to ask about her parents. She
gripped the amulet in her palm, wondering where it belonged. Then a
small sparkle from the wall caught her eye as if calling to her.
She walked over to the spot, to find the baron’s sword hanging on
the wall. Her eyes focused on the empty round indention in the
pommel of the sword, and her heart told her her amulet was the
missing relic.

"It can’t be," she whispered to herself in
awe. Slipping the amulet back into her pocket, she used both hands
to take the heavy sword from the wall. Unsheathing it, she almost
felt she was releasing a captor from its long, lengthy time inside
its prison. The fire was now mere embers as Devon all but dragged
the heavy sword to the baron's bed where she could use the last
light of the night candle to inspect it closer.

"I must see if it fits," she softly told
herself. Raising the pommel to the light, Devon rested the tip of
the sword on the sleeping baron's bed. Fumbling in her pocket for
the amulet, she held it next to the sword, preparing to place it
into the empty hole.

"What are you doing!"

The loud sound of the bellowing male voice
startled Devon, and the crash of the sword's metal hitting the
floor brought the guards outside the baron's room rushing in. She
saw the shadow of a man in the wardrobe, realizing the shouting
voice belonged to Malcomn. He hurried to the window and threw open
the wooden shutters to let the first rays of sun flood the room. By
now, Leahla and Mercia were standing just inside the wardrobe,
poking their heads out to see what was happening. The baron sat up
in bed, dazed and confused.

"Who goes there?" he asked, surveying the
large group of people that now crowded his room.

Malcomn rushed over, picked up the sword
from the ground, and showed it to the baron.

"I walked in to find her with your own sword
pointed straight toward your heart."

Devon tensed at his exaggeration. Thorpe,
the baroness’s henchman, now stood next to her, close enough that
she could feel his breath upon her. The other guard pointed at the
empty spot on the sword's pommel.

"Look," he pointed out, "something has been
taken from the baron's sword."

She slipped the amulet back into her pocket
before anyone noticed.

"Well," sneered Thorpe coming uncomfortably
close to her, "maybe I should search her to see if she hides
anything from us."

Devon quickly backed away, but Thorpe
grabbed her arm and pulled her forward.

"Let go of the girl," the baron commanded,
"that relic has been gone for years."

"Lost in battle?" questioned the second
guard curiously.

"No," replied Kenric sadly. "Actually, it
was never put in place to begin with. 'Twas in the old sorcerer's
care when he mysteriously vanished."

So Orrick had given her the amulet. Somehow
this was all connected, but how?

Malcomn leaned forward. "You were trying to
kill him, weren't you?"

"Nay!" shouted Devon, "I was - " How could
she tell them what had transpired and have them believe her? They
would probably think she had gotten it from another servant who
stole it. They may possibly accuse Heartha. No, she could not let
another take blame for her foolish actions.

"You were what?" came a voice from the
door.

Devon turned to see Corbett, fully dressed,
raven on his shoulder, walking toward her. The baroness rushed in
right behind him, still in her night robe, but with a wimple over
her hair. At first Devon had been relieved to think Corbett came to
her rescue. But now, as his angry eyes drilled into her, she knew
he meant to do nothing of the sort.

"What is this girl doing in here?" demanded
the baroness. "I gave specific orders she was not to return."

"I found her with this." Malcomn held up the
baron's sword. "She had it pointed straight for the baron's
heart."

The baroness gasped. “Again, she tries to
kill my husband.”

"Is this true?" Corbett stood like a rock
pillar demanding an answer from Devon.

"Nay," she answered softly, dropping her
eyes to the ground.

"Look at her," piped in the baroness, "she
is surely lying or she’d be able to look at you."

"How did she get in here?" asked the baron
from his bed. "Surely the guards would have seen her pass?"

"I can answer that," said Malcomn, laying
the sword on the bed and glancing toward the two maidservants in
the wardrobe door. "She came in through my chamber, and I would
venture to say, she had a little help."

"No!" cried Devon before Leahla could say
anything. "I entered by myself, everyone else was asleep."

"Go back to your chambers," Corbett
interrupted, talking to the girls in the wardrobe. “And go back to
your posts," he ordered the guards.

"How is it, Lord Corbett,” asked Malcomn,
“that you were not able to keep such a frail servant confined to
your chambers? Maybe you should let me take charge of her, for I
know where my women are night and day."