Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (38 page)

Keir seemed to be drinking much more than he was
eating, already well into his second cup of wine. “Tell me more about the
missive,” he said. “Who delivered it?”

Michael started in on the carrots. “One of Ingilby’s
men, who we promptly threw in the vault,” he replied. “The missive was read in
the presence of Coverdale, Lord de Geld, Chloë, Cassandra, Kurtis and myself.  Ingilby
was clear in his demands.  Chloë made her decision to comply but everyone
fought her on it, including her father.  But your betrothed would not be
convinced.  Even now, I am positive your brother is sitting on the woman to
prevent her from doing anything foolish until you arrive. He is probably
counting the minutes.”

“Does Chloë know I am coming?”

“Aye.”

Keir sighed heavily again, drained his cup, and
poured himself another.  Michael watched him take big swallows from his third
cup of wine.

“Eat something,” he shoved the trencher at him. “You
will be useless if you drink too much and we still have many miles to go yet
before we are at Aysgarth.”

Keir lifted an eyebrow at him but refrained from a
snappish retort, knowing he was right.  He set the cup down and stabbed his
knife into the mutton, bringing it to his mouth.

“It was bad enough being separated from her,” he
muttered, his mouth full. “Now with this… how in the hell would Ingilby simply
come across my son? I am so confused that my brain is threatening to burst in
all directions. But I do know one thing; it seems all too damn convenient for
my taste.”

Michael shrugged. “I asked Ingilby’s messenger about
that.”

“
Asked
him?”

Michael gave him a knowing look. “Well, perhaps a
bit more than ask. Kurtis beat him soundly and then I asked.”

“What did he say?”

“Very little, I am afraid. He simply said that Ingilby
found the boy but would not elaborate.  I took him to the vault before your
brother could pound him again.  A dead man can tell us nothing.”

Keir was still chewing on the tough mutton. “So we
are led to believe that Ingilby, a man who has ravenously pursued Chloë for two
years, finds out she is betrothed to me and now, suddenly, he has my son and
wants to use him in a trade? Chloë for the boy?  How did he know about Merritt
in the first place?”

Michael shook his head. “As I told you before, I do
not know,” he said. “Ingilby’s messenger was not forthcoming with information.”

“Is he still in the vault at Aysgarth?”

“Indeed.”

“Then I will see this man when I arrive and find out
what he knows. He will be very sorry he did not speak with you or Kurtis. It
would have been much better for him if he had.”

Michael knew that. “He cannot tell us anything if he
is dead,” he reminded him quietly.

Keir ignored him, sopping up gravy with his bread.
“Damn Lady de Geld for sending out those wedding announcements,” he mumbled.
“This is her fault. What did she think was going to happen when Ingilby found
out that Chloë was betrothed? Did she think he was simply going to bow out like
a chivalrous man? God’s Beard, the man was willing to raze a castle to get to
Chloë.  How did she think that madman was going to react?”

The wine that Keir had so quickly imbibed was going
to his head, making his manner loud and agitated.  Michael shoved more carrots
in his mouth.

“We shall be at Aysgarth in four days, God willing,”
he replied. “Hopefully we will have more answers at that time.”

Keir continued with his food while Michael slowed
down and focused on his drink.  As they ate and drank, lost to their own
thoughts, the door to the tavern opened to admit a big, older knight and a
lovely young woman with long dark hair.  Michael’s attention was drawn to the
young woman as the knight perused the room for a quiet table. 

“My, my,” Michael murmured. “What have we here?”

Keir glanced up, seeing the big knight before ever
noticing the young woman.  He perked up.

“That is de Moray,” he said. “I have not seen him
quite some time.”

“De Moray?” Michael cocked his head thoughtfully. “I
have heard that name but I cannot place it. Who is he?”

Keir was already on his feet. “Baron Ashington,” he
replied. “His seat is Ravendark Castle far to the south in Dorset.  They used
to call his father The Gorgon. Have you not heard of the de Moray family? The
whole clan has built a reputation on the tournament fields. They are related to
Baron Lulworth of Chaldon Castle.”

Michael nodded at his faint recollections. “I seem
to remember my father speaking of The Gorgon when I was young,” he said. “I
think he said that the man was invincible on the tournament field.”

“So is his son,” Keir held up a hand to the man and
his daughter. “De Moray!”

The big knight turned around and all Michael could
see was black eyes set within a tired, weathered face.  But the features warmed
in recognition to Keir and the man smiled faintly as he collected the young
woman next to him and made his way to Keir’s table.  He was a very big knight
with very big hands, evidenced as they rested on the lady’s slender shoulder.

“St. Hèver,” Garran de Moray greeted Keir amiably.
“I thought you would be dead or in jail somewhere by now. How is it I find you
here on the Welsh borders?”

Keir grinned. “I have just come from Wales,” he told
him. “There is nasty business afoot there. Edward had need of me.”

Garran lifted a dark eyebrow; he was an older man
with black hair streaked with gray. “It is the one time I thank God that I am
too old to fight any longer,” he said. “The king has seen enough of my sorry
hide. Now he has younger, stronger men like you to do his fighting for him.”

Keir simply smiled, nodding, his attention
inevitably turning to the young woman in Garran’s grasp.  De Moray looked at
her as well.

“I do not believe you have met my youngest
daughter,” he said. “This is the Lady Summer de Moray.  Summer, this is my old
friend, Keir St. Hèver.”

The Lady Summer was a slender girl with dark hair
and big green eyes.  She was quite pretty as she smiled modestly and curtsied
crisply.

“My lord,” she said. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Keir smiled in return. “And you, my lady,” he
replied, indicating Michael to his right. “This is Sir Michael of Pembury.”

Lady Summer turned her gaze to Michael and went
through her practiced curtsy again. “My lord.”

Michael was gallant. “My lady,” he greeted. “Your
name is quite lovely and quite unique.”

Summer presented the very picture of a proper young
woman, very graceful and practiced in her speech. “I am named for my
grandmother,” she replied. “Her name is Summer also.”

Michael’s interest in the young lady was evident.
“Lovely,” he said, meaning both her and the name. Keir shot him a rather
quelling glance and Michael took the hint.  He indicated the table. “Will you
both sit? Keir and I were just finishing our meal but we would welcome your
company.”

Garran pulled out a chair for his daughter, seating
her before accepting the chair that Keir handed him over his head.  Garran set
the chair down next to Summer and plopped his bulk upon it.

“So,” he wearily removed his helm. “Where have you
been keeping yourself, Keir? The last time I saw you was in Chippenham, about a
year ago. Do you recall?”

Keir nodded, returning to his drink. “I do,” he
replied. “At the tournament they held celebrating the fall harvest.”

Garran didn’t stand on formalities; he helped
himself to the bread and handed some to his daughter.

“You did not compete,” he cocked his head
thoughtfully. “You were with Coverdale’s men.”

Keir nodded faintly, thinking on that particular
time. “I did not,” he agreed. “I had not held a lance or sword in a couple of
years and did not want to injure myself or someone else. I attended to give
support to my comrades.”

Garran’s dark eyes appraised Keir, remembering something
he had heard at the tournament, whispers from the knights about Keir St.
Hèver’s misfortune with his family and the true reason behind his refusal to
compete.  Tournaments, if nothing else, were ripe fields for gossip.

“I seem to remembering hearing of the loss of your
wife,” he said, his deep voice somewhat softer. “I did not have the opportunity
to convey my sympathies. I have lost a wife, Keir. I know what it feels like.”

Keir didn’t want to get sucked into the grief that
had so keenly healed since the introduction of Chloë.  At the mention of
Madeleine, he felt the sorrow, certainly, but not the stabbing pain normally
associated with the subject. Now, it seemed more like a dull ache, the remnants
of an unpleasant memory.  He realized that it did not crush him to speak of it,
a shocking realization indeed.

“My thanks,” Keir said softly. “As with all things,
life goes on. I am betrothed and anticipating marriage once again. I am quite
happy for it.”

Garran’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Congratulations, my
friend,” he said. “Who is this fortunate young woman?”

Keir smiled. “The Lady Chloë de Geld,” he replied.
“Her father is Anton de Geld of Exelby Castle.  My brother has married her
sister.”

Garran smiled as well. “May God bless you, my
friend,” he said. “May you have many fine sons to carry on your name.”

“And daughters,” Summer piped up, laughing softly
when the men snickered at her. “There is nothing wrong with having girls as
well.”

Garran hugged her gently. “Of course not,
sweetling,” he glanced playfully at Keir as he spoke to her. “I learned that
the hard way.”

Summer scowled at her father. “What do you mean by
that?”

Garran was laughing her her expense. “As a man with
four sons, I was content to demand dowries for other men’s daughters,” he said.
“Then, my last child is a daughter and I find that I am on the wrong end of the
marital contract. Why do men demand such high prices for marriage?”

Keir and Michael chuckled as Summer simply shook her
head. “It is punishment for all of the one-sided contracts you negotiated for
my brothers,” she told him. “You will probably have to pay a fortune to be rid
of me.”

Garran nodded, still looking at Keir and Michael as
he spoke. “She is truthful,” he made a face. “My daughter is brilliant and
opinionated.  I will be made poor trying to marry her off because no man wants
a wife who is smarter than he is.”

Keir laughed, downing more wine, as Michael
countered the statement.

“Her beauty is a fine enough prize for any man,” he
said sincerely. “Any man would be honored to have her.”

Summer beamed modestly as Garran looked interested.
“And you, Pembury?” he was exaggerating his manner simply to be funny. “Are you
speaking for yourself?”

Caught, Michael grinned, glancing at Keir and trying
not to look embarrassed.

“I cannot confirm or deny your question,” he said,
locking eyes with the green-eyed beauty. “I am simply making a statement that
no man would dispute.”

Garran collected a cup to pour himself some wine.
“You and I will speak on this later, Pembury.”

Keir snickered into his cup as Michael’s gaze
lingered on the beautiful young woman, a smile playing on his lips. He wasn’t
quite sure what to say to the man that wouldn’t insult him or his daughter, so
he thought it best to keep his mouth shut.

 After the sting of losing Cassandra, Michale wasn’t
so sure he was ready for serious attention towards another woman, no matter how
pretty she was.  Normally, he saw women as a pursuit, but after the incident
with Cassandra, he wasn’t so sure any longer. Something inside of him had
changed. So he kept silent, drinking his wine as Garran and Keir changed the
subject to trivial things.  Still, Michael’s gaze kept drifting back to Lady
Summer.

As the night deepened and the conversation flowed as
freely as the wine, the door to the tavern jerked open and a huge gust of wind
hurled through.  Those near the door pulled their cloaks more tightly about
their shoulders to ward off the cold wind. On the heels of the gust came a
knight, bulky and heavily armed.  

Keir was deep in conversation with Garran but
Michael wasn’t; he casually glanced up to see who had entered, shock
registering on his features when he realized that he recognized the knight. He
thumped Keir on the shoulder as he rose to his feet.

“Kurtis!” he shouted.

CHAPTER TWENTY
FIVE

Keir was on his feet, moving for his brother before
he even realized he had stood up.   His arms were out, reaching for the man as
Kurtis turned in his direction. Before Keir could open his mouth to speak,
Kurtis grabbed him.

“You must come with me,” he commanded, his voice
hoarse with fatigue. “Chloë has had an accident.”

Keir must have swayed; he only knew that because
Kurtis grabbed him firmly to keep him from falling.  Michael was behind Keir,
his expression between shock and confusion.  It took both Kurtis and Michael to
keep Keir on his feet.