The Dark Lady (3 page)

Peter leaned to the side to get a better view, but it was useless.

“
As to my head—” The boy tapped himself on the top of the head for emphasis. “Well, I gave my loyalty to the king, and if he wants my head he c
a
n have it. I have risked my neck for this man once already and once more should not be too much to ask.” The sword never faltered, never trembled, just pointed accusingly at the doctor’s wide chest. “I did not risk my life and that of my good friend to have you bleed him to death.”

Jonas stopped shifting and stood straight and tall, looking down at the arrogant boy. Peter watched his face tightened in resolve. “You cannot stop me. You will be responsible for his death, then I will see to it the king has your head for it.” He leaned forward slightly, preparing to attack.

“
We shall see.” Every head turned at the sound of Peter’s weak, trembling voice. Clearing his throat he attempted to sound more in charge and less like the invalid he felt like. “As I see it, he is responsible not for my death, but for my life.” His throat was dry and raw and speaking was difficult. He coughed gently, but water would have to wait. “I will not be bled. Not now, not ever.”

The sword arm dropped as the boy turned. He handed the weapon back to Richard without even a glance. His gaze remained locked on Peter’s face.

The three men and the boy surrounded the mat where Peter lay. The fearless lad stood at Peter’s feet, his face motionless. Peter shook his head in wonder. “Have you really been here with me all night? You have not left me?”

“
I have been with you all night, all day, and the night again. It is now working on the mid meal of the day, my lord.” The anger was gone from his voice, but the deep gravel was still present. “You must be famished.” Without waiting for an answer the young man motioned to Telpher, who immediately rushed from the tent. To Peter’s amazement, he did so without even looking to Peter for approval.

“
You will stay for a while longer yet?” Peter asked the boy.

“
If you wish it, my lord.” There was a softness hidden beneath the boy’s gruff mannerisms. A softness that brought fleeting images of the phantom woman from the night before.

Peter took a shaky breath and turned his attention to the doctor. Cobb stood stiffly, still red faced in anger, but no longer looking like he was ready to pounce. “I feel weak, due to loss of blood and hunger,” Peter said. He swallowed what felt like sawdust for air and continued. “I feel a terrible thirst, but other than that I feel...alive. My shoulder hurts like the Devil. If you need to examine me, you may.”

Cobb raised his dark brows and pursed his lips, making him look somewhat like a fish. He grunted and folded his arms across his chest but made no attempt to approach. “I need not see you now that you are awake. I will send something for the pain.” With a small jerky bow, he stomped loudly out of the tent.

Peter looked at the ring of worried faces that gazed down upon him. A feeling of contentment flowed through his heart. He took a deep breath and flinched at the pain that splintered through his wound and down his side. He laid his head back and closed his eyes.

Opening them to see the billowing tent above him made it apparent that the rain had stopped. “I was moved?” The sun looked to have found its way out once again and he could feel the warmth radiating through the tent and lifting his spirits.

“
Nay, the boy here refused to allow you to be moved, so the tent was built around you.”

Peter turned to Hestlay. The tall red headed man, who had been by Peter’s side for twelve years, spoke with respect.

“
You looked surprised when Telpher took orders from the boy.”

Peter nodded, looking toward the lad. The boy stood at attention but held a bemused grin on his face. He looked from Peter to Hestlay without saying a word.

Hestlay gave an amused snort, drawing Peter’s attention back to him. “The upstart has been giving orders since you were hurt. Only one man argued, and he got a broken nose for it.”

Peter turned to scowl at the lad. The grin only widened on the boy’s face. He looked proud of what he had done. Peter took a deep breath and cocked his head, looking closely at the boy.

Was he familiar? Peter had to know him since he was a squire in his army, but he had seen so many young faces come and go over the years. He tried to spend time with each and every one of them, but they came and went so quickly that some of the faces blurred and faded. It saddened Peter, but there were too many young recruits and not enough time.

“
You really don’t know who I am? I could just be a lowly warrior?”

Indignation swam through the boy’s dark eyes. He puffed out his chest and jerked his shoulders back. His spine was so stiff Peter thought he could hear it creaking. He clenched his fists. “I, sir, am a lowly warrior. All of the men I have fought beside for the last three years, and all the ones I have served under for the four years before that were the same.” His voice, thick with anger, resounded throughout the tent. Peter watched his face and movements trying to remember where he had seen him before. “These were men that I greatly respected,” the boy continued. “Men I would have risked all for, just as I did for you.” He took a jerky step toward Peter.

Peter held up his good arm. “Easy. I meant no offense.”

The boy had honor in his heart. Respect for this rash and arrogant boy nudged at him.

The young boy shifted on his feet, fists held tight at his sides, but he held his ground. Peter could sense the anger still alive within him. “Tell me this then, boy.” Peter looked at the lad. Arrogance and pride dripped from him as he stood unafraid.

Overconfidence would get him, Peter knew. He had been the same way when he was fifteen. “You put yourself in danger. You risked your life and it didn’t matter if I was king or foot soldier. Why would you do it? Do you not believe your life as important as theirs, or as mine?”

The boy’s face relaxed into an easy grin. He shook his head and gave a short bark of laughter that sounded nothing like the soft, comforting laugh from the angel of Peter’s pain induced delusion. Nonetheless he had to push away the insistent images that plagued him.

With a lop-sided, devil-may-care half-grin the boy said, “Nay, ‘tis not like that. When I saw you, or see any situation where someone is in trouble, something I feel needs to be changed, I act. It is my body that takes action.” The boy’s dark eyes glimmered with amusement. “I don’t think of myself, not until after I have acted. Until I have already done something stupid. Devenroe here—” The boy jerked his head toward Richard. His face wrinkled and he winced in apparent pain, opening his mouth slightly and working his jaw back and forth. Then with a grin, he opened his eyes and continued as if nothing had happened. “The fact that Devenroe will not allow me to forget that I did something stupid, for days afterwards does not help any either.”

Peter looked to Richard. Devenroe stood by Peter’s side, arms crossed and a grin on his face as he watched the boy speak. “My brain usually doesn’t make an appearance until I have modified the problem,” the boy continued. “I have always been mocked that I believe myself the master of every situation. I received several good beatings, while still a page, for giving orders to those above me.”

Peter jerked his gaze back to the boy.
Beatings
? He remembered him now, and realized he did indeed know him. Peter had had several run-ins with him while the boy was still a page at his father’s castle. As he remembered the boy was always arrogant.

Van? He thought the name was right. He had been Richard’s squire for the last three years. Squires and pages were kept separate from the men, so it wasn’t surprising that Peter hadn’t seen him.

As to the boy’s beatings, he himself had administered one of them. He had saved Van from some bullies, turned to leave and Van had attacked him. Peter had tried to just hold him off at first, but the boy would not stop. Van had taken the beating well and if Peter remembered correctly had been happier, almost satisfied, after it had happened. Peter could only assume it had been Van’s wounded pride that had caused him to act. Perhaps it had been embarrassment that someone had stepped in to save him. He knew there was a lot of competition among the pages at the castle.

Van should know him. He may not have recognized him in the dark and the rain, but he should remember him now. Peter thought he was hiding that knowledge on purpose. To make a point and to show that it didn’t matter what station or ranking you had, everyone was important. Peter fought a grin, knowing he would have done the same thing in Van’s place.

Peter tried to pull himself up on the makeshift pallet, keeping his good arm under him and his injured one close to his side. Instantly Grant Hestlay and Van were assisting him. Once sitting he continued. “I think it is about time for introductions—”

A blare of a horn cut Peter off. The king glided through the flap of the tent. Peter struggled to rise as the others took their knee. “Nay, there will be none of that in here. Rise, except for you, Sir Lawston. You stay where you are. Rest, you will need your strength.” The king looked down at Peter, causing him to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. Injured or not, Peter felt he should be on his feet.

“
I do not want to interrupt. Did I hear something of introductions? Pray let us continue.” The king gestured to the kneeling squire.

The boy rose shakily to his feet and the others followed suit. With a slight tremble in his voice he turned and gestured to Richard. “Your Majesty, it is my honor to present to you Sir Richard Devenroe, a great knight, a man of honor and duty.” Peter heard the loyalty and respect in the boy’s speech as he spoke of Richard.

King Henry smiled at Devenroe. “My pleasure.” The king cocked his head slightly and raised his brow at the boy. “And you?”

He took several deep breaths that trembled through his frame. His hands were shaking slightly. “I am Van Burgess, your majesty.”

“
No great praise for yourself, yet you are the one who saved Lord Peter, my champion, the Dragon Knight, are you not?”

The king’s voice held great esteem as he spoke of Peter. Pride swelled within Peter’s heart and warmed his weary spirit.

Around the crowded tent the men stood at attention as the King spoke to the young man.

“
Aye, but I did not act alone.” The boy shifted, head bowed slightly. He seemed uncomfortable with the praise and attention. “I could not have accomplished it without Richard’s help.” He pointed to Richard and shifted once again.

“
From the stories that I have heard you do not do yourself justice. I have also heard that you were unaware of who he was when you rescued him.” Peter watched as the king’s gaze slid over Van Burgess. Peter could almost feel the king sizing the nervous boy up. Henry’s forehead wrinkled as he closely watched the lad’s reaction.

“
Not at the time, Your Majesty. I had seen one of our warriors fall to the enemy and I just reacted. I did not realize who it was until I had him in the tent and was putting pressure on his wound.”

The king and lad both shifted their gazes to Peter. Peter then glanced beside him and caught the eye of Grant Hestlay. He decided that he didn’t like being the center of attention any more than Van appeared to.

Van turned his gaze back to the King. “It was then I was close enough to see through the mud on his face, sire.”

“
So you knew who he was when you argued with the doctor?”

The boy nodded his head and said that he did.

Henry smiled at Peter before returning his attention to Van. “Even knowing who he was, you were willing to argue with the doctor as to his care? What if he would have died?”

Peter watched Van’s face closely. This was the question he had been wondering about since the boy had first flown out of the shadows to save him.

“
Most would not face adversity for someone else,” the king continued.

“
If he would have died, I would have willingly lost my head, knowing I had done the right thing. As to facing adversity...” He shrugged his shoulders. “He had done the same for me. I could do no less.” With that he turned to Peter. “I cry your pardon if I have spoken out of place, my lord. I also want to thank you for allowing me to be a squire under your man. I am forever indebted to you, my lord, for all you have done for me.”

Peter listened as Van spoke softly and respectfully, straining each word to accent it with quiet dignity. The part of the obedient and acquiescent subject was so out of place for the boy that Peter could not control the laugh that erupted.

He grabbed his bandaged shoulder as pain rippled through his freshly stitched-up wound. He swallowed hard, his raw throat screaming for water and relief. Getting quick control of the laughter, he took a deep breath to relax his muscles and to allow the cool air to sooth his angry throat.

Van Burgess, foregoing all his respectful talk, yelled for the young man who had just poked his head through the opening of the tent. “Did that doctor give you his potion?” At his nod Van impatiently waved him in. Telpher Constaire kept his head down as he entered with his tray of food and medicine. The king smiled and shook his head softly as he watched Van giving orders.

Van dropped to his knees, pushing away Peter’s hand that still held the injured shoulder muscle, as he spoke over his shoulder to Telpher. “Go see to more food, His Majesty has traveled some distance. Hurry.”