Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (5 page)

Anton nodded slowly. “It was.”

Chloë’s gaze returned to the distant
cluster of knights, her hand to her mouth in a shocked gesture. “God be
merciful,” she murmured. “The poor man. “

Anton remembered the dark stories
he had heard of that time from Coverdale. “He was so distraught that he could
not even attend their burial,” his voice grew quiet. “He was locked in the
vault to keep him from killing himself. Then, when he recovered the shards of
his sanity, he was useless for months. It was a full year before he could
return to Pendragon. Coverdale told him he did not have to resume his post but
St. Hèver insisted.”

Chloë was feeling a good deal of
grief for the enormous knight. “I wonder why? I would have never returned to
the place, not ever.”

Anton’s gaze lingered on St.
Hèver in the distance for a moment longer before turning away. “He would not
leave because his young son was missing after the siege and presumably abducted
by Stain’s men, although they have denied it,” Anton said as he reached the
stool and sat wearily. “Perhaps he hopes that the lad will find his way home
someday.”

Chloë pondered that information
for a moment before returning her attention to the knights in the distance. St.
Hèver’s was a sad and tragic tale. By the time she turned around, however, the
warriors had disbanded and the rain had stopped, the clouds parting to reveal a
bright and colorful sunset.

Chloë stood in the open tent
flap, watching the activity of the encampment before her gaze moved to the wet,
smoldering structure of Exelby.  Her family had survived the siege and they had
been fortunate.  It would have been bad enough to lose her sister or mother,
but to have lost her husband or children… nay; she could not imagine what pain
St. Hèver must have experienced.  

Chloë turned away from the tent
flap, returning to her family as a servant brought bread and more wine.  Even
as she sat at her father’s feet, listening to his version on how brave he was
in the recapture of his castle, he mind kept wandering to the handsome knight
with the ice blue eyes.  She was coming to feel truly sorry for having bashed
his fingers and gouged at his eyes when he had tried to rescue her from the
chamber in the keep, but in fairness, she truly hadn’t known the man or his
intentions.  The name hadn’t meant anything to her, not until her father
mentioned the story behind it. Now, she wished she hadn’t been so brutal to the
man.

A man who had been struck by the
devils from hell.  

CHAPTER FOUR

“Who told you such things?” Baron
Ingilby was screaming. “Who has dared to threaten me?”

The dirty, bloody and exhausted
soldier cowered in the great hall of Ripley Castle, a tall and proud bastion
nestled in the Ripon dale of Yorkshire.  The baron’s army was returning from
the siege of Exelby Castle, empty-handed and defeated, exhausted like the walking
dead, and their liege was not a happy man.  He was not a warrior and did not
attend battles personally. He had a fairly strong army to do that.  But their
defeat at Exelby had him raging, and the message returned to him by a cringing
soldier had sent him over the edge of fury.

“Keir St. Hèver, my lord,” the
soldier told him, spittle dripping from his lips as he trembled in fear. “He
said that you will not have any part of Lady Chloë or you shall answer to him
personally.”

The veins on Ingilby’s temples
throbbed.  He was an older man with blond hair, graying at the temples, and not
unhandsome. He was a man of leisure, pursuing women, fine wines, and high
stakes gambling games. In fact, he had met Chloë de Geld quite by chance, on
the road traveling south from one of his gambling games while Chloë and her
family were traveling north, and was immediately taken with the luscious red
head.  He had spent two years trying to negotiate for her hand always to end in
refusal. His patience ran thin a week ago and he sent his army to take his
bride by force, a plan that was not successful.

To be honest, he didn’t think it
would be. Exelby was well fortified but he had hoped it would convey the
seriousness of his intentions to Anton de Geld.  To hear that his army had not
been successful did not particularly surprise him but to hear that a threat had
been sent his way was.

“Who is Keir St. Hèver?” he
demanded. “I have not heard of this lord. Is he an ally of de Geld?”

The soldier wiped at his nose
with a dirty hand. “A commander for Lord Coverdale, my lord,” the man said.
“Lord de Geld called upon his ally to aid in siege.”

Ingilby cocked an eyebrow.
“Coverdale was there?”

The soldier nodded. “He was, my
lord.”

“How do you know it was him?”

“He was not shy in announcing his
presence,” the soldier replied. “He spent two days evacuating your army from
Exelby. St. Hèver retook the keep and issued you a warning.”

Ingilby was calming after his
initial outburst, curiosity over a threat from the mysterious knight catching
his attention.  The addition of Coverdale also had his attention, for Coverdale
was a powerful warlord with three major castles from Cumbria into North
Yorkshire. Ingilby had never had dealing with the man before but he knew of his
reputation. Everyone in North England did. He was heavily allied with the Earl
of Carlisle and the Earl of Cumbria. Something about Coverdale’s save of Exelby
Castle simply didn’t sit right.

“Tell me exactly what St. Hèver
said to you,” Ingilby commanded his soldier.  “Word for word, I would hear it
again.”

The soldier, weary, took a deep
breath as he thought on the big knight’s words. “He told me his name, my lord,”
he said. “He told me that he was a former captain to King Edward and now
Guardian of the Coverdale Barony. He said he was the man that all men fear. He
told me to tell you that any further attempts against the Lady Chloë and her
family and he will come for you personally with the king’s blessing.”

Ingilby digested the statement.
He rubbed at the stubble on his chin and began to pace thoughtfully. “Where was
the lady when he told you this?”

“She was under his protection, my
lord.”

Ingilby lifted an eyebrow,
“Hmpf,” he snorted. “I would suspect that more than likely, he said it simply
to impress her.  Perhaps he wants her for himself.”

“It is a possibility, my lord.
She is a beautiful woman.”

Ingilby looked at him, annoyed.
“Too beautiful for a knight with a big mouth and bold threats,” he growled.
“Find out what you can about this knight, this Keir St. Hèver. We know he
serves Coverdale but he mentioned he used to serve the king. See if you can find
someone who knows about him. Find out why he left the king.  Find out why he
feels brave enough that he may issue a threat to me.”

“And then what, my lord?”

Ingilby shrugged lazily, his gaze
moving to the windows of his solar that overlooked the bailey. He could see his
weary and beaten men returning.

“I will know when I find out more
about him,” he muttered. “No man stands between me and my wants.  St. Hèver and
Coverdale will learn the hard way.”

The soldier fled, leaving Ingilby
to his twisted and delusional thoughts.  The more he thought on the mysterious
and audacious Keir St. Hèver, the more obsessed he became.

***

“I had not heard that the de Geld
daughters were such beauties,” Lucan said. “Had I know, I might have considered
courting the redhead. I still might.”

Dawn after the three straight
days of rain had dawned bright and spectacular.  The land was green, the hills
bright like emeralds glittering under the sun.  The army from Aysgarth Castle
was returning home along muddy roads and bright skies, bringing with them three
members of the de Geld family.

Keir was at the head of the
column, riding his big brown charger with the hairy white legs.  Mud splashed
up as the horses moved along the road, kicking up rocks and debris left behind
by the storm. 

Keir had been listening to Lucan
ramble on about Chloë and Cassandra de Geld, pitting the pretty blond against
the spectacular redhead.  When he realized that Pembury growled at him every
time he brought up the blond, his attention veered towards the redhead and
that’s where it had remained for the last half hour.  Keir had finally had
enough.

“Lucan,” he snapped. “Head to the
rear of the column and remain.  Although I do not believe Ingilby to be in any
shape to pursue our army, I will not take any chances. Stay back there and
ensure our retreat is clean.”

Lucan glanced over his shoulder,
along the sea of men behind him. “We saw no sign of them this morning or last
night,” he said casually. “I do not believe they would be stupid enough to
follow us.  They would only be beat down again.”

Keir’s normally fastidious
patience was in danger of wavering. He was edgy today and had been since they
had left Exelby.  He couldn’t explain why his belly was quivering other than he
had spent all night with thoughts of luxurious red hair on his mind. He’d even
dreamed about it and then had awoken to an angel in their midst. 

Whatever odd pangs of compassion
he had felt for Chloë de Geld yesterday had only grown stronger, stronger still
when he saw her that morning as she and her family prepared to ride to
Aysgarth.  He had therefore positioned himself far away from her at the front
of the column and Lucan’s questioning of an order had him snappish.

“Go,” he barked softly. “Remain
there until we reach Aysgarth.”

Lucan did as he was told without
further debate.  As he reined his destrier around, Pembury shouted at him.
“Stay away from the women,” he barked.

Lucan sneered at the man before
charging back along the column. That was as much as he dared do, running away
so that Pembury could not follow and clobber him.  Although he and Michael were
old and good friends, Pembury wasn’t beyond taking a swipe at him when his
temper had the better of him.  Sometimes the fun was in provoking him.

  Keir ignored the banter between
the knights, focused on the mucky road ahead and thinking that they would be
seeing the tall north tower of Aysgarth in the early afternoon if they
continued on their current pace.  Once arrived and Coverdale settled, Keir
intended to continue on to Pendragon and forget all about the Lady Chloë de
Geld and her supernatural hold on his thoughts.  But even as he fought to put
her from his mind, she would come back more strongly than before. It was an
effort not to turn around, casually, to inspect the column and find her
luscious red head somewhere back in the mix.  As he struggled with his
thoughts, a dark Spanish Jennet appeared next to him.

Keir glanced over at Lord Byron
as the man wrestled with the new stallion that was a bit too much horse for
him.  The man was exhausted from riding the animal over just the few miles they
had traveled, but he would never admit it. The baron’s ego was a fragile thing.

“Our pace is well,” Byron said,
two-handing the reins as the horse fought against him. “We should be home in a
few hours.”

Keir’s visor was up as his ice
blue gaze moved over the wet, green morning. “I will be leaving directly for
Pendragon,” he told his liege. “Is there any business you would have me attend
to before I go?”

Byron glanced at the knight, a
man he’d known since he had been newly knighted at twenty years of age.  Keir
was the most capable man he knew, strong, fearless and exceedingly wise, but
something in him had died that day Madeleine and little Frances had perished.
Keir just wasn’t the same man, as if all of the joy in life had left him. 
There was something vacant and hollow there. 

Byron swore the only thing that
kept the man going was the fact that his son’s body had never been found and he
presumed the boy had been captured.  He swore that Keir lived every day waiting
for news of his son, even after they had spent the full year after the siege of
Pendragon scouring the entire north of England looking for the boy.  No one had
seen him or even head about him. It was as if he had vanished into thin air.

Even now, as he gazed at Keir and
the question hung between them, there was still something dead and vacant in
Keir’s manner. It made Byron’s answer all the more interesting.

“There is, actually,” he replied
casually. “First, you will tell me why you sent word back to Ingilby that you
would personally confront the man if he tried to make contact again with the
Lady Chloë de Geld.”

Normally unflappable, Keir
struggled not to appear confused or defensive. “It was a threat made in the
heat of combat and nothing more,” he replied evenly. “I thought perhaps it
would force Ingilby to think twice before molesting the woman again or trying to
attack her family if he believed another knight was involved, someone of power
and rank.”

Byron wriggled his eyebrows in
agreement. “Perhaps,” he replied, “but I fear that all you have succeeded in
doing is informing Ingilby that Coverdale is now involved.  If he finds out
Lady Chloë is no longer at Exelby, he will assume she has gone to Aysgarth. It
would be the logical assumption.”