Lord of the Blade (6 page)

"'Tis strange that the plague has not
consumed Kenric by now," commented Boltoff greedily gulping his
ale. “And you as well, my dear Gilda. But then, I fear you are too
wretched to be consumed by illness.”

Corbett didn't know Boltoff well, only
having met him a half dozen times while growing up at Kenric's
side. The baron Kenric had divided up his lands between his brother
Cedric who resided in Cornwall, and Corbett who held a goodly
amount of land in Devonshire. The baron himself held the rest of
the lands south of Steepleton. Only by the baroness's insistence
had Kenric given his unfavored brother, Lord Boltoff, the manor of
Deofol - a small castle in the east in disrepair. Its name meant
‘the devil,’ and fit him well. Though of the same ilk, Kenric and
Boltoff had nothing in common.

When Gilda didn't respond to his question,
Lord Boltoff slammed down the heavy metal tankard and let out a
loud belch. Never taking his eyes from the woman, he used the back
of his hand to wipe the foam from his upper lip.

"That is," he started slowly, as he made
himself a little too comfortable by resting his feet atop the
table, "if 'tis truly the plague that has befallen him?"

Malcomn looked up in surprise at this
statement, but remained quiet. Corbett knew Malcomn was intimidated
by his boisterous uncle and he couldn't blame him. He was sure no
one in all of Christendom actually liked the man.

Gilda met Boltoff’s challenge with a
menacing stare. “It seems ’tis not the plague after all, but ’tis
madness which consumes him.”

Relief washed over Corbett, not only for
Kenic’s sake, but Devon’s as well. But still, the baron’s condition
hadn’t improved immensely. Madness would consume not only his mind,
but in time his title and lands as well.

"This can't be!" Malcomn rushed over,
obviously just as shocked as Corbett.

A shadow lurking in the corridor caught
Corbett’s attention. He wandered over nonchalantly, wondering who
would be hiding when all were invited inside the great hall.

Not wanting to draw attention by unsheathing
his sword, he lashed out his hand and grabbed for the intruder. He
pulled the body out into the light, the small form crashing into
his chest. Devon looked up with wide eyes.

“I thought I instructed you to bed down in
the great hall,” he grumbled.

“Yes, my lord,” she answered, looking at his
chest rather than his eyes. “I…was just on my way to the garderobe
first.”

Corbett noticed eyes wandering his way. He
hurried Devon back into the shadows, not wanting to make a scene.
“Make a quick return,” he warned, sending her on her way. The
thought of Devon wandering around the corridors wasn’t comforting,
especially with Boltoff and his men about. Corbett rejoined the
group in the great hall.

"My husband has hallucinations constantly,"
the baroness explained. "He speaks nonsense from morning to night
and is unable to make a decision in his weakened state of mind. I
am sorry to say he can no longer rule the barony."

Corbett's spine stiffened. This was not what
he wanted to hear. If Kenric was unable to hold his position there
was no guarantee what may happen. He knew Gilda would try to take
control, but a woman could never rule a barony. It was already
blasphemy the way she controlled her son and lately the way she
seemed to control the baron. He would tell King Edward about this,
but Corbett didn't like that idea either. The king may decide to
let Malcomn rule now that he had come of age. And if Malcomn ruled
in his father's place, it meant Gilda controlled the whole barony
after all.

Boltoff made his way around the table and
stood next to the baroness. He leaned close to her as he spoke. "I
am sure you have pondered the idea that when Kenric is laid to
rest, your precious Malcomn will rule?"

Gilda’s eyebrow raised slightly. "You need
not remind me, Lord Boltoff, for I am well aware."

"Aye, and I am sure you are also aware that
once the baron is dead his heir will inherit all his land; meaning
not only Corbett and Cedric's manors, but my own fief as well?"

“You insult me with your insolence.”

"You remember Orrick's prophecy as well as I
do, my dear sister by marriage," he spat. "The baron's true heir
bears the mark of the royal dagger. And unless you are blind or
pathetically naive you must have realized by now that Malcomn
carries it not."

Malcomn looked up, his mouth hanging open in
surprise. Corbett had known the prophecy as a child, learning it
from the old sorcerer years ago. But he'd never spoken of it to
anyone as the subject was taboo.

"Orrick knew naught,” said the baroness with
a false calm to her voice. “He was as crazed as is my husband. You
would leave the castle at once.”

"I would see Kenric before I go,” Boltoff
challenged her.

Several of the men by the fire turned their
eyes from their tankards of ale to watch the trouble unfold.
Corbett's scant amount of knights were on their feet and at the
ready from just a mere nod of Corbett's head. God's eyes, he didn't
want trouble tonight. He was damned tired and only wanted a good
night's rest.

Corbett stayed quiet, laying his hand on the
hilt of his sword, finding it interesting that Gilda was being
challenged by someone other than himself. The minstrel stopped his
lyre in mid-song, and the small crowd of his followers gave their
full attention to this new form of entertainment.

"The baron is a sick man and needn't be
disturbed," snapped Gilda. "No, Lord Boltoff, you would not be
seeing Kenric on this visit!" She called a page to her side. "See
to the chambermaid, page. Inform her that our guests will be
leaving at dawn."

"Aye, m'lady," the page answered.

"Never mind," Boltoff stopped the boy. "I
will not stay here knowing the dragon breathes her fire hoping to
singe me while I slumber. Boltoff turned to address his own men.
"We will camp outside the castle walls tonight, for I believe I
will feel well protected knowing the baroness is locked tightly
inside."

With a motion of his hand, he retreated with
his men, leaving the stunned woman without the opportunity to
counterattack. Gilda stormed across the room toward the exit with
Malcomn hurrying after her.

"Mother, I demand an explanation!" said
Malcomn.

She continued towards the corridor never
turning to acknowledge him.

"Mother." He grabbed her arm to stop
her.

Coolly peering from the corner of her eye,
she spoke to Malcomn in a quiet but firm voice. "There's naught to
explain. Orrick was an old fool and you're best off forgetting
Boltoff’s accusations." She turned and stormed up the stairs to her
chamber.

"Is there something of which you would like
to speak?" Corbett leaned in the doorway with a tankard of ale
cradled in his hands. He'd overheard every word between Malcomn and
the baroness.

"Corbett." Malcomn jumped in surprise.

Corbett took a swig of ale, never letting
his eyes leave the fidgeting man.

Malcomn collected his composure and raised
himself up to his normal pompous height, strutting past Corbett as
if nothing were wrong.

Smiling inwardly, Corbett made his way
toward the kitchen and found himself remembering the first decision
he had made upon becoming lord of Blake Castle. He despised cold
meals and therefore went to great extremes to have the kitchen
moved from across the courtyard to join with the great hall in
hopes of having a hot meal. 'Twas a waste of time and coin. Even
though the kitchen was now a stone's throw away and the servants
never had to venture through the winter breeze with a serving tray,
they still couldn't seem to bring him a hot meal.

He made his way further through the long
thin passageway, making his normal routine check of the castle
before retiring to his solar for much needed sleep. The hour was
quite late and the corridor was only lit occasionally by a
flickering torch that hadn't quite extinguished itself.

He strolled past the kitchen, glancing at
its total darkness, knowing most his servants were already retired
for the night. A slight rustling caught his attention and from the
corner of his eye he was sure he saw a figure scuttle through the
far end of the darkened room. Following, it took his eyes a minute
to adjust to the blackness. The room's only light came from the
soft glow of the dying cook fire. A large cauldron hung over it
waiting for some night-owl to use the last bit of lukewarm water
for washing up.

The smell of boar's head with brawn pudding
and hot fruit pastries still clung possessively to the air from the
evening's meal. The embers crackled at the hearth as Corbett slowly
moved past the stone ovens stacked with logs drying on the still
warm bricks. Bunches of herbs hung from the high rafters, the
strong smell of sage sharpening his senses.

A small noise from the far end of the
kitchen caught his attention. Perhaps a thief trying to rob his
already near empty larder. The dripping of a wine barrel broke the
stillness in the vast deserted room as he quietly moved forward.
Unable to move his feet freely, he looked down to find his boots
literally stuck to the floor. He cursed under his breath at
whatever lazy serf neglected to clean up the broken jar of honey. A
string of dried garlic brushed against his shoulder at the same
time a mortar and pestle crashed to the ground behind him.

His fast reflexes pulled his feet loose from
their prison as he turned abruptly and unsheathed his sword. A
large rat went scurrying across the butcher block table and Corbett
lowered his sword realizing the intruder was only a vermin. He
continued toward the larder that stored the salted meat for the
winter.

He looked within, seeing the flickering
light of a lonely candle casting shadows on the walls. A salted
carcass of a pig hung from the ceiling twirling slightly in the dim
light. Not sure what or who he'd find inside, he raised his sword
and quickly stepped through the portal.

"Who goes there?" he commanded, his deep
voice breaking the silence.

Devon screamed and jumped to her feet,
sending the smoked pork and stale crusts of bread tumbling from her
lap to the floor. A short candle danced on a barrel of salted
herring beside her, its jumping flame eating up what little was
left of its tallow.

Devon squinted her eyes, peering into the
darkness wondering whose body inhabited the voice. She found it
hard to make out the dark form readily hidden in the shadows.

"It…‘tis I, Devon," she stammered, her body
shaking slightly.

The man replaced his sword into his
scabbard. Then he took a step forward which allowed the dim
candlelight to hit his face. Devon gasped as she recognized Lord
Corbett. "Devon." He spoke her name softly and Corbett stepped from
the shadows. "You cannot seem to follow my orders.”

"My lord. I…I…" she lowered her eyes to her
dinner sprawled at her feet and wondered what she could possibly
say to remedy this situation. She'd defied the man thrice now and
he was sure not to take a liking to her.

"Servants eat the scraps left over from the
meal. They don't break into my larder and feast on the morrow's
main meal."

"I was hungry," she stammered. "I know I
shouldn't have entered but - " She bit her lip, almost hoping
Corbett would stop her by interrupting.

"But what?" He waited for her answer.

She knew she should apologize, but she just
couldn't bring herself to do it. Life at the castle was not at all
what she'd thought it would be. The harder she tried to understand
it, the worse it got. She liked not this life of a servant. She
knelt to clean up the food, hoping he wouldn't notice the slight
tear in her eye.

Corbett's hand rested upon hers and she
found him kneeling across from her once again. The warmth of his
touch penetrated her skin.

"Devon," he said with great care, and her
heart skipped a beat just hearing her own name on his tongue.
"Devon, why are you here?"

What did he mean? She’d just told him she’d
been hungry, but still he asked. Somehow she didn’t think he
queried about her presence in the larder, but mayhap her presence
in his life.

With the edge of his thumb he traced the
outline of her lips. She froze in midsentence unable to speak.

"Look at me," he whispered. The musky
essence of his body filled her nostrils. Woodsmoke clung to his
clothes and hair. She found herself obeying, and looked into his
eyes. At once she was lost in the blue swirling depths. She saw
within them a need so strong it pained her. They seemed caring,
daring and if she didn't know better, loving. But this couldn’t be
possible.

He brushed the back of his hand against her
cheek and a tingle climbed her spine. Her eyes closed involuntarily
as his hand caressed her hair between his fingers. He tilted her
chin up slightly, his eyes fastened on her lips. Years of
anticipating and fantasizing about her first kiss could never
compare to this. His lips were soft for a man with hard words,
their warmth and sensuality intoxicating. His touch was so gentle
for a warrior who'd taken enemies down with a mere swipe of his
sword. He pulled back slightly, hand still on her chin. Their eyes
met once again, and she felt like the luckiest, most special girl
in the world.

"Why do you kiss me?" she asked, finding it
curious that a man who could have any woman he wanted would want to
kiss her.

"He didn’t answer, but instead pressed his
lips more firmly over hers this time, making a delightful shiver
run through her. This kiss was powerful, a reminder of his status.
His gentle lips were now filled with strength and power. It was an
action that both frightened her yet made her crave him more.

The kiss lingered and she found her body
responding to his advances though her mind was telling her to
retreat. His tongue shot out and parted her lips and then thrust
deep into her mouth. She was filled with a strange inner
excitement, knowing part of him had entered her body. Her fingers
ached to touch him, and she boldly slid her hands past his wide
shoulders and around his neck.