Lord of the Blade (24 page)

The amount of salted wild boar and venison
he found hidden in the deserted mews was uncommon for so late in
the winter and for such a small estate. The full wine vats and
numerous barrels of rye, wheat, and oats, were far beyond what his
small garrison and other household could consume in the scarce
winter months.

Somebody was obviously supplying him with
the goods. And he had no doubt Boltoff and his men were probably
pouching in his own forests. It made sense now. His own supply of
meat was scarce and he didn't know why. His own wine and grain
seemed to be dwindling too quickly. He cursed under his breath
knowing he should have seen to his tallies himself. Brother Ruford
was doing the best he could but he wasn't Duncan. Duncan was a
steward who'd have caught one missing barrel of apples from the
undercroft.

Something wasn't right here. Boltoff seemed
overly friendly and Corbett had never really felt at ease with the
man in all his years. Boltoff had mercenaries lining the
battlements of his small tower house. Mercenaries were hired to
kill. Mercenaries always meant trouble.

"Delwynn!" Corbett called as he entered the
stables.

One of Boltoff's mercenaries looked up from
the sword he was sharpening in the stall. He eyed Corbett and
quickly put the sword down, grabbing for his leather gauntlets. He
tried to turn his back but Corbett noticed the man was missing
several fingers on his right hand.

"Your squire's out back," the mercenary
answered. "Perhaps there's something I could help you with, Lord
Corbett?" He grabbed his sword in a defensive manner and came
closer.

Corbett wondered how he knew him. He hadn't
remembered seeing the mercenary before, but yet there was a glint
in his eye that seemed familiar.

"What is your name, soldier?"

"His name is Rock." Lord Boltoff answered,
walking into the stables. "He's my right hand."

Corbett didn't take his eyes off the
mercenary. "Since when did you stoop so low as to take a mercenary
on as your right hand?"

Boltoff hesitated, and with a nod of his
head Rock left the stables.

"Times are hard, Lord Corbett. I take what I
can get."

"I've noticed. I seem to have found some of
what you've taken. And I'll bet some of it came from Blake
Castle."

Corbett noticed the vengeance in the man's
eyes. He almost expected Boltoff to challenge him and was surprised
when he didn't.

"I assure you I've earned every morsel of
food and every extra blade."

"Extra blades? I guess I've overlooked that
or mayhap you've hidden them better than the meat."

"Lord Corbett," interrupted Delwynn,
scurrying through the stables with Corbett's polished helm under
one arm. "Did you call for me?"

"Get our horses, Delwynn. We're
leaving."

"Leaving so soon?" Boltoff forced a smile.
"I'd hope you'd spend the night."

"’Tis getting late, Lord Corbett and I could
do with a bite to eat," added Delwynn.

"I said we're leaving, Delwynn. Now!"

"Yes, my lord." Delwynn raced through the
stables toward their horses.

"Well, I'll be looking forward to seeing you
again at the tournament," Boltoff said with a smile.

Corbett knew there was no way he could keep
Boltoff from the tournament. He was the baron's brother, plus the
castle gates would be open to everyone. He had a bad feeling about
this and needed to get back to Steepleton so he could think things
through.

Chapter
16

"Thank you." Devon acknowledged Brother
Ruford, taking hold of the large book he handed her. He turned in
silence and walked from the writing room. Several monks looked up
in surprise, as conversation had never been allowed in this room
and the monks only used sign language if needed. Devon wasn't sure
if the new rule of speaking went for the scriptorium as well, but
decided not to ask.

She felt their eyes staring through her as
she carefully placed the book on an empty work table. No one but
the scribes were allowed to enter this room, and she was sure they
were curious as to why Brother Ruford would allow a woman to touch
the parchments. But Brother Ruford trusted her. It felt good to be
trusted.

She ran her hand over the soft leather hide
that bounded the Chronicle of the year she was born - 1333.
Anxious, yet careful, she opened the cover feeling like Pandora
opening her box. She stopped for a moment when she looked within,
to take in the beauty of the script. Some monk, years ago, had
taken pride in the work of art. The enlarged first letter of the
sentence was gilded in gold leaf, and delicate tendrils swirled
down the side of the page. A menagerie of birds, butterflies,
dragonflies and small animals made their home among the wild
flowers and herbs that wove in and out among the words and danced
over to the following page.

'Twas no wonder books were so valuable, she
thought. With the amount of time invested by the scribe and
illuminator, this was something that could never be replaced.

She turned the pages carefully, quickly
skimming the contents for words she could decipher. She read of the
many boarder skirmishes among the Scots, the English, and the
rebellious Welsh. She found records of the many births, weddings
and deaths of the nobles, but none that she really cared to peruse.
Then she came across the name Blake and the names of Corbett’s
parents.

Devon put her hand over her mouth when she
read on of Lord Boltoff and the sentences he had delivered. Some of
the guilty were quartered or hanged for selling shoddy goods or
allowing their sheep to graze on the lord’s land. She felt a shiver
creep up her spine, wondering what sort of torture Corbett would
have in mind for her. After all, her accused crime was much larger
than stealing pennies. She turned the page.

Orrick!
The name stood before her
like an ancient god. Finally, she would find her answers. Her
finger ran down the page until it almost seemed to be drawn to a
certain word.
Amulet!
Her heart almost stopped as she read
how the sorcerer put a spell on it, that would protect the baron’s
heir.

Surely, this couldn't be the amulet that now
lie dormant in the worn pocket of her cotehardie? She slowly
reached for it, and reverently brought it into her view. This was
pure nonsense. How would she end up with an amulet that was meant
for Malcomn? Quickly, she turned a few more pages. Coming next
across Gilda's name, she read of Malcomn’s birth and also the birth
of a maidservant named Yetta. Pressing her hand to her mouth to
muffle a gasp, her eyes widened as she understood it all too
clearly. The baron must have been the father to Yetta's baby. Aye,
the baron had sired a bastard!

The monks at the other end of the
scriptorium stirred slightly, and she noticed they had already put
away their books and quills. They motioned without words for Devon
to do the same with the Chronicle. The several hours had gone by
quickly, and now to her dismay she knew she must leave.

Holding her good luck charm in one hand, she
carefully brought the covers of the book together. The amulet
slipped from her palm and lodged within the pages. When she opened
the book to retrieve her charm, her action was halted as the word
prophecy
caught her eye. She once again buried her nose in
the Chronicle to read of a prophecy given by Orrick concerning the
baron's true heir. Her eyebrows slanted, as she read that the babe
would bear the mark of the royal dagger upon the back of its neck.
This puzzled her, as Malcomn had short hair and she had never
noticed such a mark upon his neck before. With no time left, she
quickly replaced the leather-bound book upon a shelf.

Replacing the amulet into her pocket, she
smoothed down her hair. Her fingers magically stopped on her own
neck as she pondered the prophecy and what it could possibly mean.
Feeling the slightly raised birthmark upon the back of her neck,
she froze. Her heart raced wildly as she thought of the ugly mark
she had always tried to hide by wearing her hair free and long. Her
fingers ran the length of it as she remembered. Heartha had once
commented that the mark reminded her of a dagger.

A strange tingling sensation ran the length
of her body
. By the saints! Could she possibly be the baron's
true heir?

Chapter
17

Devon followed Ruford closely through the
corridor on her way to Corbett's chamber. They paused for a minute
when he stopped to talk to Father Chapman who was accompanying
Malcomn and Delwynn to the chapel. Tomorrow they would be knighted
at the tournament, and tonight they were required to pray in the
chapel until sunup.

She shifted her weight uncomfortably as
Malcomn approached her side.

"Well, if it isn't the traitor."

She felt his breath on her cheek. The
wetness of his hair and the smell of harsh soap led her to believe
he had come from a bath. The simple white robes Malcomn and Delwynn
wore were that of a monk.

"A pleasure to see you, too," she replied
coolly. "And I must compliment your new choice of apparel. 'Tis
certainly an improvement from the outlandish attire you normally
wear."

His lip curled in disgust as he put his hand
on her shoulder. Her blood ran cold just from his touch, thinking
it was his accusations along with his mother's that were sending
her to trial.

“You realize, tomorrow I will be a knight.
Then you will look at me the same way you look at Lord
Corbett.”

"You will never have the dignity of Lord
Corbett, no matter what title is attached to your name."

Malcomn laughed. "You don’t really think he
actually cares for you, do you?”

This brought a rise of emotion from Devon.
She’d been pondering this exact thought, since he saw fit to leave
her stranded at the monastery upon his earlier arrival. It took
much convincing to have Brother Ruford bring her here, but she was
excited to tell Corbett her secret of being of noble birth.

"What makes you so certain that he doesn't?"
She raised her chin in defiance, trying to convince herself as well
as Malcomn.

The lust leaked from his green eyes of envy
as he let his gaze penetrate right through her clothes. She
desperately wanted to cross her arms in front of her breasts, but
kept her composure instead.

"He lusts after you like all the rest of
us," he convincingly relayed. "Only Corbett has a conniving way
with woman that I would never lower myself to use."

A surge of insecurity mixed with curiosity
washed over her. "What do you mean by that?"

"He makes girls fall in love with him," he
relayed. "Once he has them under his spell, he gets anything he
wants
,
very willingly."

"I don’t believe you."

"Oh, don't you? Well, pay attention and you
will soon see." He backed away slightly as Father Chapman
approached. "Just remember,” he continued, “I am up front with my
women. I don’t need to use seduction like your all mighty Lord
Corbett."

Devon was glad to see him go. She followed
the monk until they approached the solar. Brother Ruford rapped his
knuckles swiftly upon the door.

"Enter!" a voice commanded from inside.

'Twas a voice Devon had been longing to hear
for the last week, but now she wasn’t so sure. Malcomn's words rang
in her ears, and her confidence was suddenly shaken. If Corbett
didn’t love her when he thought her only a servant, than how could
she be certain he wouldn’t only want her title as an answer to his
problem?

Entering, she saw Corbett giving orders to
half a dozen foot-soldiers. She stood with the monk near the door,
waiting to be acknowledged. It took several minutes, as Corbett
seemed disturbed and Devon felt he instructed his men like a
captain drilling his soldiers on an inspection. Finally, he looked
their way, and a scowl came to his face.

"What is
she
doing here?" he snapped at
Ruford.

Suddenly, Devon was questioning if she
should have come at all.

"I am sorry, my lord,” said Ruford, “but I
thought you would want her returned upon your arrival."

"I don't have time to be watching her,
should she try to escape. I have many preparations to make for
tomorrow's festivities. I have my men to ready for the tournament
and a dozen prospective brides waiting for me in the great hall,
from which I would choose on the morrow.”

"I understand," replied Ruford. "I will
return her to the monastery at once."

Devon fought back the tears that clouded her
eyes. So it was true. He never really cared for her at all. Now,
the whole reason she’d been eager to see him no longer mattered.
She wouldn’t tell him her secret only to have him make her a token
wife.

Corbett's eye caught hers and their gazes
interlocked. She watched the play of emotions cross his face, but
couldn’t determine a one. She didn’t want to stay here any longer.
She wanted to go back to her hovel, back to seclusion. Far away
from Corbett and her memories of their time together. She turned to
go.

"Nay, wait." Corbett’s command stopped her.
He dismissed his men abruptly, not speaking again until they'd all
gone. "You may leave her in my care, Brother Ruford. I am already
in debt to you for the service you administered while I was away
and I will burden you no longer."

'Twas almost more than she could bear. Being
referred to as a burden, and a service. Never had she even heard
the hunting dogs referred to in such a manner.

"As you would, my lord," replied Ruford
turning away. Then he stopped abruptly, holding up a finger in
thought. "Might the maidservant attend the tournament on the
morrow?"

Devon had begged the monk to ask this, but
now she wished she hadn’t.

Corbett looked at her, but his stare went
right through her. He seemed to be a million leagues away.
"Tournament?" he asked haphazardly. "Aye."