Haunted Knights (Montbryce~The Next Generation Historical Romance) (19 page)

Adam and Denis camped on Burgh Heath, before continuing their journey at dawn the next day. They were ferried across the River Thames and rode into Westminster Palace in the early afternoon.

They sought out the King’s chamberlain, requesting an audience with the Queen. He eyed them sceptically, until Denis produced the ring.

To their consternation, he summoned two guards. “Take them to the Tower.”

Adam protested. “We have an urgent message from the King. Every moment you delay puts this kingdom in jeopardy.”

The portly official guffawed. “You wave a ring in front of me which you purport to belong to His Majesty, yet you bear no document to prove what you state.”

Denis persisted. “His Majesty did not want the message committed to parchment. It concerns his brother, Curthose.”

Adam glared, jutting out his chin and digging his forefinger into his chest. “And my cousin, the
Comte
de Montbryce in Normandie. If something should happen to him—”

The chamberlain arched his brows, eyeing the ring once more. “If what you say proves to be true, you will be released from the Tower and brought before her Majesty.”

Adam’s hopes for a quick return to Arundel went up in smoke. He had thought long and hard on what Denis had said and come to the conclusion he should not have assumed Rosamunda was the guilty one. What future was there together without trust?

Denis shrugged out of the guard’s grasp, straightening his doublet. “You do not need to manhandle me. I am not a criminal. We must return with haste to Arundel. Henry awaits confirmation of our success.”

Adam looked straight at the chamberlain. “It’s on your head.”

The man stared at him, but then averted his eyes. “Remain here.”

With that he was gone.

~~~

Darkness had fallen and Paulina had not returned. There was no sign of Topaz. Rosamunda was frantic, not knowing what to do, where to turn for help. Raucous laughter and the insistent beat of a bodhran filled the night air. She knew no one in the encampment, save for the King and Letyce Revandel. She had no intention of seeking the
hore’s
help.

But how to gain admittance to the royal pavilion, especially without a voice? It would be better to wait until daylight, but she could not lay awake all night wondering what had happened to her sister.

She cursed Adam and Denis for leaving them alone. Her heart ached for Adam’s lack of trust in her.

It was the King’s fault they were alone. He had sent Adam and Denis on this errand, whatever it was.

If only Vincent and Lucien had not gone off to Kingston Gorse.

She paced, until a chilling truth kicked her in the belly. The only thing stopping her from seeking the king’s help was her muteness. If she was a woman with a voice she would be running across the bailey, screeching loudly.

She must draw as much attention as possible instead of hiding in the shadows. Taking a deep breath, she peeled open the flap of the pavilion and ran into the night, flailing her arms wildly in the air, screaming a silent plea for help.

~~~

Lounging on a chaise near the food laden trestles, Henry Beauclerc held a half eaten chicken leg in mid air, listening. The music and laughter had stopped. Unease skittered up his spine. Was some dire plot afoot, orchestrated by his brother?

He followed the gazes of several people nearby who seemed to have been struck dumb. They stared at a woman, running across the bailey, waving her arms in the air. Her mouth was open but no sound emerged.

What the devil?

She was coming straight at him. Was he to be assassinated by a madwoman? His guards apparently thought the same thing. They encircled him, pikestaffs at the ready.

It struck him as somewhat amusing. A squadron of armed men to ward off one shrieking woman! But she wasn’t shrieking. There was no sound.

No sound.

Of course! The Lallement child. “Hold. I know this woman. She is in distress.”

The guards moved aside. The woman fell at his feet, looking up at him with imploring eyes. “Speak, child. Oh, no, you cannot speak.”

This was frustrating. What had upset her? He had sent Guillaume de Terrence to watch over the two women in the absence of their betrotheds. He needed the smaller woman to help him understand the
muette
. “Where is your sister?”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

“Is she missing?”

She nodded so vigorously he feared her head might fall off.

“Where is Sir Guillaume?”

She frowned.

The dread returned. There was mischief here. Henry abhorred mischief, especially at his favourite castle. Surely the strapping Guillaume had not made off with the tiny woman?

He turned to the Captain of his guard. “Escort this woman to my pavilion. Extend her every courtesy. Do not leave her unprotected. Then take men and search for Guillaume de Terrence and the other Lallement girl.”

He did not recall her name, and her sister could not tell him, so he added, “The dwarf.”

~~~

Denis paced in one direction, Adam in the other. Each time their paths crossed they scowled, or shook their heads, or made some other exclamation.

A strange foreboding had crept into Denis’ heart. He put a hand on Adam’s arm. “Something is wrong.”

Adam snorted. “Indeed! Henry’s kingdom is at the mercy of a pompous official who—”

“I don’t mean that. Something has happened. I sense Paulina and Rosamunda are in danger.”

Adam frowned. “But Henry has provided a champion.”

Denis scratched the stubble on his jaw, longing for a shave. “You are right. Yet still I am concerned.”

The chamber doors were thrust open abruptly and the chamberlain flounced in. Denis rolled his eyes. “Well?”

The fool held out the ring. “I have verified this as the King’s ring, and I am prepared to believe you have an important message for the Queen—”

Relief had Denis’ heart racing.

“—but Her Majesty is not here.”

His heart stopped. “Where is she?”

“She has gone on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint Alban.”

“How far is that?”

The chamberlain tapped his chin. “Half a day’s ride to the north. She will be back in—”

Denis grabbed the ring and turned to his brother. “Come along. Saint Albans it is.”

Denis and Adam rode north, following directions given them by an ostler in the royal stables. The indignant chamberlain had hastily assigned them two guards who followed close behind.

Nox and Brevis had not fully rested from the journey to Westminster, thus preventing an all out gallop. Even at the slower pace conversation was difficult for Adam, and it was not until they were watering their horses in the Cyebourne at Kilburn that they had a chance to talk.

“Who is this saint whose shrine we journey to?” Denis asked.

Denis’ earlier warnings of danger had unsettled Adam. A lead weight lay in the pit of his belly, and something else, something that made him sweat. A faint tingling he had not felt for many a month tugged at the base of his spine. It would be foolhardy to get his hopes up. It was mayhap the urgency of his mission causing the feelings. He shrugged. “Alban. First English martyr.”

“Martyr?”

Adam was hungry. He broke apart the meager loaf the ostler had given them. “Hundreds of years ago. Executed by the Romans.”

Denis accepted part of the loaf. “Why would the Queen go there on pilgrimage?”

Adam chewed on the stale bread. “When Alban was beheaded, a miracle was reported. Can’t remember what it was. He supposedly parted the waters on his way to execution, and the executioner refused to behead him. Another man was ordered to do the deed. His eyes fell out at the moment he chopped off Alban’s head. Probably superstitious nonsense.

“Anyway, rumour spread that miracles had happened there, and men and women have journeyed on pilgrimage since then. There’s been a monastery there for hundreds of years, and now there’s an abbey, begun ten years after the Conqueror’s victory at Hastings.”

Denis eyed the remains of his portion of the loaf with distaste. “Mayhap we should pray for a miracle while we are there.”

Adam’s buttocks tightened. There it was again, a faint stirring in his loins. Sweat broke out on his brow. “Mayhap we should.”

~~~

King Henry was furious. Before him knelt the knight he had sent to guard the Lallement women. One eye was swollen shut, his lip split. A large goose egg on his forehead seemed to grow larger by the minute.

Rosamunda Lallement hovered nearby, twitching like a nervous cat, her hair a wild mess of straw.

“What have you to say for yourself?” Henry asked Guillaume de Terrence.

“I was attacked,” he replied sullenly.

Henry came to his feet. “I can see that. By whom? And where is
Demoiselle
Lallement?”

Guillaume squirmed. “There were too many of them. Someone bashed me on the head while I was in—”

He glanced up nervously from studying the floor.

“Well?” Henry insisted.

“—the latrines, Sire.”

A murmured titter rose from the assembled courtiers. Henry glared at them and they fell silent. “What were you doing in—never mind. Did you ever get to the pavilion occupied by the Lallement sisters?”

Sir Guillaume hung his head. “
Non, Majesté
. They dragged me off into the woods and beat on me. I regained my wits only a short while ago, a moment or two before the guards came upon me.”

Henry pointed to Rosamunda Lallement. “This young woman’s sister has been abducted. The blame lies with you, Sir Guillaume. You had better hope we find her soon. I will not have my loyal subjects kidnapped from under my nose. Do you recall nothing?”

Sir Guillaume rubbed his damaged eye, then winced. “I was strolling with Letyce Revandel. She had a cat. I excused myself to go to—”

Rosamunda lunged forward with a grunt.

Henry narrowed his eyes. “You have something to say concerning Mistress Revandel?”

The mute took a deep breath, her face red with anger, and mouthed what he was sure was the word
hore
.

Henry chuckled inwardly. The girl might be mute but she was not dumb. “Letyce Revandel is to be sought out and brought here to me forthwith.”

~~~

Blindfolded, her hands bound before her, Paulina had clung to the doublet of the unknown rider with her fingertips during the terrifying ride in the dark, sure with every twist and turn of the road she was about to tumble under the hooves.

She had no notion of how long they rode, exhausted by the time she was hauled off the horse, shoved up against a tree and given a blanket. She had soiled herself for the first time in her life. Sore, ashamed, and terrified, she soon fell into oblivion.

The raucous call of a seagull woke her. She smelled the sea, and her own body. She flexed her numbed fingers and wiggled her toes. Men shouted to one another. She thought she recognised one voice, but who was it?

Bread was thrust into her hands. “Eat. We depart soon.”

She gathered up her courage. “Where are you taking me?”

No-one replied, though she heard movement. “My betrothed will search for me. He will come after you.”

The man chuckled. “I sincerely hope so. I left enough clues.”

She had heard the voice before.

“I have need of a place to bathe and see to my needs.”

A woman giggled.

The cool air assaulted Paulina as the blanket was torn from her grasp. “Time enough to bathe once we reach Normandie. On your feet.”

Normandie? They were taking her across the Narrow Sea? She had never known her grandfather, Sir Stephen, but she prayed to his spirit now as she faced a perilous journey to the land of her forefathers.

~~~

Denis’ heart was in turmoil as he and Adam bowed before the Queen in the royal chapel of Saint Alban’s abbey. He felt uncomfortable under what must be the enormous weight of the soaring abbey tower they had seen on their approach. He stared at the icons of Alban holding his head in his hands and dread filled his gut. He barely recalled the details of the message he was to deliver.

Relieved when Adam began the narrative, he set his mind on Paulina, for he had no doubt she was in trouble. He felt her fear and pain keenly. He was a pot left on the fire to simmer slowly.

Matilda listened carefully to her husband’s message, then uttered a curt, “Thank you. I will see to it. Your loyalty will be rewarded.”

She eased a signet ring off her little finger, replacing it with the ring they had brought. “Take this to His Majesty.”

They bowed and were dismissed.

Denis gazed at the tiny ring, but did not see it. “We need divine help, Adam. Come, let’s pray to this martyred saint. Then we must return quickly. Something is wrong. I feel it in my twisted bones.”

~~~

Adam knelt, wondering at the sacrifice of a man hundreds of years ago. What had convinced this Roman Briton to provide refuge for a Christian priest, assume his clothing, and go willingly to his death rather than denounce the fugitive from Roman justice?

Stranger still was the tale of the reluctant executioner who had also gone to his death rather than behead Alban.

And eyes popping out? People believed anything in those days.

Yet, miracles had taken place here. Discarded crutches hanging from the groin vaults bore mute testimony. Dare he hope for one? Was he worthy? Perhaps it was the will of God he remain impotent, and deaf.

Denis rose from where he had been praying and made hurriedly for the door. Adam looked up at the altar. “The deafness I can bear. I love Rosamunda. She would be a wonderful mother. I want to give her children. If it’s your will.”

He waited, aware of the impatient echo of Denis’ boots on the flagstones of the entryway. He bowed his head, crossed himself and rose, his gut in knots.