Warrior's Moon A Love Story (20 page)

She sighed and wearily slid from the tired horse’s back.  “It’s me, Sir Mordecai.  Chantaya.  Chantaya Kincraig.  I need you to get word to Peyton of an attack on the King’s Treasury.  In two nights hence.  They’re going to storm the east gate with battering rams.”

As her feet hit the ground, she all but fell under the horse’s belly as her legs buckled with cold and fatigue and Mordecai fair leaped to catch her and help her into his house, exclaiming as he did so, “Miss Chantaya!  You’ve come all the way from Rosskeene Manor by yourself in the dark of night?  Were you harmed?  Are you well?”

She collapsed onto a chair before the few coals that were left of Mordecai’s fire.  “I’m well.  Weary.  And cold.  A trifle frightened.”  She gave him a tired, sheepish smile.  “Well, in truth, ridiculously frightened.  But I made it.  That’s all that counts.  Could I trouble you for a drink of water?  I brought a small water skin, but it’s pure hard to drink as you’re trotting.  And would you be so kind as to get word to Peyton and the others?  I have to turn right back around and return or they’ll know I’ve told on them.”

Mordecai nodded as he put wood on the fire and brought her water.  “I’ll get word to them.  But not before I see you safely back to your mother.  ‘‘Tisn’t safe for you to ride through the night like this, but
then, 'tis that you know that.  And you came anyway.”  He dropped an arthritic hand to her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  “These are extraordinary times.  And you’re an extraordinary maid. ‘Tis grateful the king will be for loyal subjects such as you, Chantaya Kincraig.  You are a worthy match for a valiant knight of the kingdom.  Eat a bite now, and quench your thirst and let’s get you back safely to your stable and then I’ll go to Valais with your information.”

While she rested for a moment and ate, she told him the details of what she’d heard and he puttered around his house much the same as she had earlier at her room, packing a bit of this and that.  After a moment, he came to her with a small, narrow bladed dagger in a brown leather sheath.  He set it on the table next to her and said, “Put it in your boot.” 

He walked into his other room and returned a few minutes later wearing his breastplate and the portion of his armor that protected his forearms, strapping on his sword as he walked.  Moving to his fireplace, he reached to the top of the mantle and came away with a much smaller sword that he brought back to the table to Chantaya. 

He stood holding it for a moment, then set it next to her tankard of water and said softly, “‘Twas my wife’s.  She was a gentle soul to the bone, but still, she asked me to teach her the rudiments of fencing.
I used to like to think ‘twas an excuse to be with me, but . . .  I would like you to have it.  I pray you will never have need of it, but you might with times as they are.  You know how to use it.  And it will make the ruse of you being a lad that much more believable.  Just promise me you will do everything in your power to avoid battle, rather than engage in it.  Otherwise, there’s a knight in Valais who will slay me in the morning.”

Rising from her chair, Chantaya shook her head.  “I can’t take your wife’s blade, Sir Mordecai.  ‘Twouldn’t be right.”

He merely shook his head, put on his cloak and said, “She would wish it.  Come.  We must ride hard to get you home in time for the Lord’s breakfast.”

She had no idea how long they’d been traveling when Mordecai pulled up and said, “Come up behind me on Bartok.  Your mount is all in, as are you.  Ride behind me and lean on me to rest as much as possible.  I’ll lead your horse.”

Nodding, she dismounted and climbed on behind him.  Even with the tension of the ride, she was in danger of falling from her horse with fatigue.  Twice while she rode behind him, he pulled off the road to conceal them in the woods as other travelers came by and she was amazed at how much less frightening it was to have him there with her. 

In the past, she had imagined the life of a soldier to be exciting and it was.  Too much so.  She was doing what she felt like she had to, but tonight’s ride had made it surprisingly clear that she would much prefer to leave all things heroic to the likes of Mordecai and Peyton.  She was much happier in a dress and in a home. 
Far and away happier.

She’d actually fallen asleep and found as she awoke that Mordecai had hold of her arm to keep her from sliding off the horse behind him.  They had pulled up in the woods and upon looking around; she realized they were in the trees beyond Lord Rosskeene’s stable near where Mordecai had met her those days ago.  She hugged him gently and whispered, “Thank you, Sir Mordecai.  God bless and keep you.”

With that, she slid off Bartok and took the reins of her own horse that was too tired to even whinny at the other horses in the stable.  With a last wave at Mordecai, she led the horse back to the paddock, unsaddled it and turned it loose with a grateful sigh.  She literally dragged herself and the saddle as silently as possible back into the stable, returned the saddle to its rack and crept past Conrad’s room into her own.

She carefully shut the door, listened for a moment to hear her mother’s steady, even breathing and then stripped her boy’s clothing and weapons and thrust them far under t
he bed.  She took the note she’d written to her mother, wadded it and put it inside her discarded boot and then gratefully sank into the softness of the straw ticking.  She may only have an hour until she had to be back in the kitchen, but she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

                                                      
 
SSSS

Peyton knew as soon as he saw Mordecai sitting Bartok at the edge of the road beside the encampment that something was wrong.  The fatigue fair rolled off of the old knight and his countenance and even the resolute set of his aging shoulders spoke of tension as well, not to mention the fact that he wore the breastplate of his armor under his cloak.

Leaving the others, Peyton rode toward his aging friend and with a flick of his gaze, the both of them headed for the garrison where Peyton lived.  As soon as Peyton found why he was here, he was going to send Mordecai in to borrow his own bed.  The man looked exhausted.

Once in the privacy of Peyton’s room, Mordecai told him of Chantaya’s ride and the information she brought.  The old knight met his eyes, but neither of them spoke of the danger that weighed on them like the sacks of the king’s gold she had ridden to protect.  If they did, it would be Peyton’s undoing.  Instead, he set his own shoulders with a determination to bring a swift and sure finish to the threats of Lord Rosskeene.  That was the solution to best protecting her.

Leaving Mordecai to rest, Peyton rode to the castle to speak to the prince.  They had only just over a day to handle this particular threat and in order to successfully negate it; they needed to handle it with secrecy.

Prince Laird never asked where the information Mordecai brought came from and Peyton was glad.  To have had to voice aloud again to this royal that he was leaving his love in such risky circumstances would have tempted him to take her from Rosskeene Manor, which he knew wasn’t what was needed.  The delivery of this plot only illustrated that.  She truly was in a singular situation to intercept information.  ‘Twas increasingly valuable for the crown, yet still, how Peyton wished it wasn’t an innocent young woman.  And certainly not his innocent young woman.

                                                      
 
SSSS

When Chantaya went back out to their rooms after clearing away the luncheon, she had been going to simply take a moment to refresh herself and pull her rebellious curls back away from her face, but her mother rose upon her entrance with a concerned look on her face. 

She put a gentle hand to Chantaya’s cheek and asked, “Are you well, daughter?”  Isabella’s forehead creased with worry as she mused, “You don’t feel overly warm.  Yet you don’t look so good.  Perhaps you should lie down for a time.  I’ll go and help Cook with the supper this even.  I fear you’re coming down with something.” 

Chantaya yawned but smiled at her.  “Oh, no.  Were I to stay here, you’d dose me with that nasty concoction of yours that threatens to kill a body.  I learned long ago ’tis better to die of disease than to be near dead of the cure.  I’m fine.  Just a trifle weary.  I must not have slept well last night.”    

Isabella laughed, but then said, “Well, then, I will come and help you with the supper.  ‘Twill make the time fly faster and then we’ll go down to bed early.”

Nodding, Chantaya said, “Thank you, Mother.  I truly would appreciate that.  Although, hadn’t you better work with Conrad on his letters again this even?  ‘Twould not be prudent to let the time pass and have him forget his lessons.  I’ll rest, and you can help him.  Or are you overly tired as well?”

“Yes, ‘twould be good to keep him going.  Like one of the young horses he’s starting.  And no, I’m not overly tired.  Rest now, and I’ll wake you when it’s time to go back in.”

Chantaya sighed and lay on the bed, but said, “Actually, I need to go in a trifle earlier than usual.  There’s more silver that needs seen to.”

Her mother looked at her pointedly and then nodded, knowing exactly what Chantaya was saying and appearing in agreement.  There certainly had been an inordinate number of strange and not necessarily respectable seeming visitors this day.  Perhaps the transom off the butler’s pantry would be of import this afternoon.  Although Chantaya dearly hoped not to hear something else that needed to be taken to Peyton.  She was truly weary enough this day without that.

             
                                         
Chapter 13

All day, trusted men of the King’s First Guard had been unobtrusively trickling into the walled treasury building and the area around it.  They’d come in ones and twos and from different directions and unless you were counting, you’d not know that a goodly number of the crown’s most valiant soldiers had gathered in and near the King’s Treasury.  There were also scores of troops held at the ready in areas of the city nearby.  Chantaya hadn’t been able to ascertain exactly how many men would be in on the attack, but there were many more soldiers waiting at attention than there normally would have been on a sleepy Thursday in early September.

Sir Peyton wasn’t at the Treasury on the east side of the wall, but nearer the castle with the prince himself and several others of the King’s First Guard.  Peyton was by far the youngest of the King’s First Guard, but since the evening of his knighthood ceremony when he’d refused to kiss the princess, he’d been consistently included with those guarding the royal family.  He’d wondered about that at first, but there had been hints from Sir Kendall and others that somehow he had been found to be worthy of the utmost trust from someone in the royal family.  Peyton wasn’t sure who it was that had deemed him so worthy, but he was infinitely
honored and glad of it, especially at times like tonight when the family needed to be secure at all costs.  This was why Peyton had come here to this place at this time.

At dusk, the King’s First Guard took the prince, went into the castle proper and closed both the gates and drawbridges in the wall, and in truth, the waiting was thoroughly frustrating.  The attack, when it came at just past midnight, was almost anticlimactic from that distance from the Treasury.  In reality, it was only about an hour before word came that there had indeed been a vicious attack intended for the king’s gold, but because of the intensified guard, the would-be thieves had been easily surprised and over powered and some sixty of them had been captured alive and taken to the dungeons to be questioned by the Chief Captain.  It had been an unprecedented success for the king’s army and they hoped to be able to get enough information from the prisoners to be able to punish Lord Rosskeene.

This news, although proof enough that there was indeed a plot underway to weaken the crown, was also proof that the information Chantaya had brought was valid.  That was both reassuring and incredibly frightening.  She was right and had been a huge help to those keeping the kingdom of Monciere secure, but she was also fair in the center of a veritable military tussle.  Much as Peyton was grateful that they’d been able to stop the attack, he would much rather have found that it had all been a false alarm and that, in truth, Chantaya was safe and secure in her new employment.  Alas, she wasn’t secure at all.

             
                                        
 
SSSS

Lord Rosskeene, far away in the security of his manor, was furious when he heard the news of the failure to steal the king’s gold.  He slammed the riding crop he was holding against the nearby table and stalked across the room, swearing bitterly as he went.  He turned back and lashed out, “Fools could have taken the gold!  How were you defeated?  There was nigh two hundred of you!”

The shaggy mercenary who had been the only one to make it out and return, who knew Lord Rosskeene was involved, shook his head.  “Somehow, they knew we were coming, m’lord.  There were soldiers everywhere, I tell you.  We hadn’t a chance.”

Rosskeene shook his own head and closed in on the man to snarl through gritted teeth, “
No one knew. 
No one knew but me and a handful of others who never left here until last night.  I kept them here just for that reason! They couldn’t have known!  You’re all just imbeciles.”  He threw the crop this time and spat, “Get out of my house.  Go and find me more men who are capable this time!”

The blood of anger darkened the man’s face and as he turned to go, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll find more men, but you keep your plans hidden.  ‘Twas they knew we were coming.”

When the man was gone, Rosskeene turned to the decanter at the table and, filling a glass, took three long swallows and then dashed the glass and remaining contents to the flagstone floor. 
Had they known?  Two hundred men should have been enough!  How could they have known?

His wife rushed in at the sound of the shattering glass.  She took one look and jumped right into haranguing him and he angrily glared at her and stalked from the room. 
What had ever possessed him to marry her? 
For the thousandth time, his thoughts turned to Isabella, out there living in his stable. 

‘Twas
time he brought the Kincraig women into the house where he’d have the access he’d intended to have to them.  Conrad was the finest horse handler in the land, but there was something about him that kept one from all out challenging him.  Not that he was afraid of the man.  He, Lord Rosskeene, was Lord of nearly the largest holdings in the whole of the kingdom.  He simply had more important things to do than worry about having Isabella, but there were times, like tonight . . .  He again heard the high pitched rasp of his wife’s voice ranting and swore once more.  Once he was king . . .  How had the knights known?

                                                      
 
SSSS

The second week in September, it rained most of three days, so it was a surprise to Chantaya when, on the first clear evening, as she and Conrad were working the young horses in the meadow, she heard a horse whinny from the nearby wood and looked up to see Mordecai appear momentarily from the trees.  Later that night, he left her a wooden cage full of six pigeons that she was to conceal in the rafters of the stable loft.  He told her in case of another emergency the likes of the last; she could simply carefully tie a small message to one of the bird’s feet and turn it loose.  That the bird would fly back to Mordecai’s home where they lived in Bartok’s shelter.  He would watch for the birds’ return and pass on the messages without Chantaya having to take such a dangerous journey.  They were a wonderfully comforting gift.

As fate would have it, only two days after Mordecai brought the birds, while working the afternoon in the butler’s pantry, Chantaya was brought up short when she heard Lord Rosskeene and the man he was with speak of the gathering of
the Great Council that was to convene at the castle the next day.  Chantaya had known the king had called a meeting of the nobles two days hence that Rosskeene would attend, but she hadn’t known the Great Council was to meet a day earlier.

As she polished, she was brought up even more sharply to realize Rosskeene was speaking of an attack on the Great Council while they met.  She shook her head.  She must have heard wrong.  Who would attack the greatest of the knights when all twenty were gathered in one spot?  They were the very best and bravest, the mightiest soldiers and the most loyal to the crown.  To attack them would be suicide.

She paused in her work.  It would either be suicide or brilliant!  The knights wouldn’t have their battle armor or weapons while meeting in the great hall of the castle.  And they probably wouldn’t be expecting an attack while they were gathered in the strength of their numbers.  But if one was able to successfully slay both the council knights and the entirety of the royal family at the same time, the kingdom would be completely vulnerable to the overthrow of the mightiest nobleman.  It would be a thoroughly decisive military victory, were it to succeed.

The thought made her stomach churn and then the next thought, when she realized that Peyton would be among the first line of those guarding the king and Great Council, made her veritably ill.  He would be in the most heated of battles.

Waiting to hear the rest of what Rosskeene was planning, she then returned the silver to its proper place and went back through the kitchen and toward the stables, indescribably grateful for Mordecai’s delivery of the pigeons.  She wondered how long it would take a bird to fly home and then for Mordecai to discover it.  The meeting was the very next day.  She needed to send the message immediately.

In her room, being quiet so as not to wake her napping mother, she penned the message, folded and rolled it into a tiny scroll, then procured thread with which to secure it to the bird and went back through the gathering gray dusk out into the stable.  Conrad was no where to be seen, and she quickly climbed the loft ladder.  Kneeling in the hay beside the small wooden cage, she took one of the pigeons from it and then struggled to tie the miniature scroll to the wiggly leg of the frightened creature.

After the third attempt, she finally figured out how to hang on to the thing and tie the message.  She let out a sigh of relief and up ended the flustered pigeon only to have the message slip out of the thread she’d secured it with. 

In frustration, she carefully untied all she’d done and was just beginning to start all over, when she heard footsteps and whistling in the stable below her.  Knowing it would be only moments before someone climbed the loft ladder to begin feeding the horses, she hurriedly returned the bird to the cage. 

As she went to set the cage aside, she was horrified to find she hadn’t hooked the latch properly and in less than a second, all six of the birds flew out of the opening.  In a tight group, they all flew into the rafters above her and settled onto a beam where they proceeded to warble and coo at each other as they paced back and forth just a foot or two above her head.  Quickly, she closed the big loft door at the end of the stable to keep them from escaping.

At least they hadn’t flown completely away!  She tucked the tiny scroll into the pocket of her dress and hurried to descend the ladder.  Conrad had a wooden net on the wall
near his quarters he used for fishing.  Perhaps if she brought it up, she could recapture the birds.

Racing down the alleyway of the stable, she met one of the young grooms
who worked with Conrad.  Slowing to a more decorous pace, she nodded at the shy young man that she knew admired her and continued on.  She had to catch those birds and quickly!

With the net in tow, she once again climbed the ladder, only to realize that the groom was up there and had opened the door she had closed so he could feed the horses in the paddock below.  Just as she appeared through the opening in the floor, he tossed a forkful of hay and Chantaya was dismayed as the flying hay spooked five of the birds off the beam.  They took flight and this time, they did indeed fly straight out the door of the loft.  

‘Twas all she could do not to cry out.  Only one left! 

When the last bird paced a few more steps and then took flight as well and followed the other five out into the freedom of the gray evening sky, she did cry out.  They were gone!  Gone!  And without the neatly rolled little scroll that held the vital message.  She closed her eyes for a moment in complete frustration.  How had she been so clumsy?  What would Mordecai think when he saw the birds but no message?  She hoped and prayed he’d at least understand something was amiss and start this way to see what had happened.

The groom made a sound and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her hesitantly.  She glanced around and realized he thought she’d followed him up there.  Blushing crimson, she hurriedly mumbled something about watching the birds and headed back down the ladder.  He probably thought she was a complete dolt or worse.  And she was.

She put her hand to her head, sighed again and looked outside one more time at the heavy, leaden clouds that piled on the western horizon, obliterating the sinking of the sun.  There was nothing for it.  It didn’t matter if the sky itself fell.  She had to get word of Rosskeene’s plans to the castle.  She squared her shoulders as she silently uttered a prayer in her mind,
Lord, you’ve helped with everything else I’ve needed to do.  Please, help me one more time to accomplish this.

Hours later, deep in the night, as she rode the trail through the woods in the drenching rain, she indeed felt like the sky was falling with the downpour. 
‘Twas raining buckets.  She clenched her teeth against the chattering cold and pulled the hood of her cloak down over her hat and forehead a margin further.  At least with this nasty weather, she hadn’t encountered anyone on the road on this darkest of miserable, cold nights.  She rubbed a rivulet of rain from the tip of her nose and looked around to try and distinguish anything in the near blackness.  She had to be getting close, didn’t she?  She’d been unable to go much faster than a shambling trot because she couldn’t see, but she had been riding for what felt like years. 

Ten minutes later she realized she’d thought too soon that no one would be about on a night like this as her horse’s ears swiveled forward and back several times.  Something was out there.  Chantaya couldn’t see what it was, but the horse sensed it.  She pushed t
he hood of her cape back so she could see better, slowed the horse even further and rode with her hand resting on the hilt of the sword Sir Mordecai had given her. 

Bursts of wind drove the rain nearly sideways and the droplets that had gathered on the overhanging trees fell in a torrent with each gust.  She blinked to clear her eyes and
looked all around as her horse snorted into the blackness and sidestepped nervously.  Whatever was there was close.  She could feel it in the tautness of the horse’s muscles and the tenseness of the back of her neck.  Another prayer seemed to spring from her mind almost of its own volition.  Instinctively, she knew she needed a higher power to get her through this.