Warrior's Moon A Love Story (19 page)

Living where a body had to go past Conrad’s lodgings to get to the Kincraigs’ had been a definite benefit to Chantaya and Isabella as far as the Rosskeene men were concerned, but getting back out to meet Peyton after telling her mother he was here was a different proposition.  They didn’t want Conrad to know Peyton had been there in case Damian was more than just knocked cold in the garden.  To that end, she was back to sneaking out the window, but this time, with
Isabella’s assistance, and the window was all but too little to fit even Chantaya through.  ‘Twould be that Peyton would indeed have to boost her back into the small opening when the time came.

She had to stand on the chair and then on her mother’s hands and it was such a tight squeeze that as they tried to fit her voluminous petticoats through, Chantaya sighed and then laughed and soon the two women were fighting the giggles.  Then, on the outside, Chantaya fair plopped off the sill and landed on the grass and twigs below with an unceremonious groan and Isabella peeked her head out to inquire in a whisper, “Are you all right?”

With another groan, Chantaya stood and brushed off her dress as she whispered back, “Fine.  Absolutely well.  I’ve just become intimately acquainted with a number of pine cones is all.  They make pitiful padding, I can tell you, Mum.”  

Isabella chuckled quietly again.  “I imagine so.  Do be careful, daughter.  And behave yourself, young lady. ‘Tis questionable enough that your own Mum is pushing you out a window in the dark of night to go and meet a man.”

“Ah, but of all the men in the whole of the world, Sir Peyton is truly the most honorable. ‘Tis certain.  You needn’t worry.”

“If I was worried, I’d not help you out, silly.  Give him my love and do hurry. ‘Tis far he must travel and tomorrow might be a long day at the manor if Master Damian was damaged by the mythical gourd of battle.”

Chantaya giggled again and slipped into the dark.  Damaged.  She ought to be praying that Master Damian hadn’t been truly harmed, but, in truth, having him out of commission, even for a time, would be such a blessed holiday. 

She stepped quietly along the wall of the stable and then slipped through the rails of the paddock to move silently among the horses Conrad kept there.  One spooked slightly as she appeared out of the darkness but quieted at her touch and she was incredibly grateful they had come to know and trust her in her time here.  Speaking softly to them, she could move among them much as Conrad himself would have been able to.

At the far side of the stable, she slipped back through the rails and moved to the deepest shadow under the trees, wondering what had happened in the garden after she had gone back into the kitchen. 

Peyton was suddenly there in front of her.  He made no more sound than a ghost as he materialized out of the gloom and once again, she moved into his arms.  She tried to tell herself it was because of the urgency to be quiet that she needed to be that close to him, but silence had little to do with the fact that it was heaven to be back within his strong arms after so many weeks without him.  His gentle hug was the substance of dreams come true.

At length, even though she was the more familiar with the grounds, he took her hand and confidently led her through the moonless darkness into the thickest of the woods some distance from the outbuildings before turning to hold her to him once again.  Reveling in both his strength and the incredibly comforting sense of safety his arms brought, she breathed in his scent and felt the tension melt from her bones as he kissed her hair.  Goodness, but she had missed him.

Wishing she could simply bask in his arms without having to face the conversation she knew they needed to have, she resolutely looked up at him when he leaned back a measure.  Knowing he was going to want her safely away, yet
having no means to that end, and now, with the whisperings of insurrection, and believing she needed to stay regardless, made her hesitant to speak. 

She would have dearly loved to be safely away and back in Navarre, or nearer him in Valais.  He had to know that.  And in truth, she sensed he did.  Still, she knew in her heart he was going to do all in his power to see her safely away from Rosskeene Manor, even if that meant fleeing.  But she also knew that, at the moment, leaving was a near impossibility, what with Peyton gone to serve the king. 

Two women alone, one of whom was not physically strong, and with only minimal funds, was a recipe for misery, were they to try to escape Rosskeene’s grasp, and both she and Peyton knew it.  Moreover, she now firmly believed she needed to stay here.  Indeed, felt as if God himself had had a hand in them being here.  But how to convey that conviction to Peyton in the face of what they both knew were the Rosskeene men’s intentions toward her and her mother?  And how strangely incongruent with the basic need to seek protection against men of their ilk.

Looking into Peyton’s warm, dark eyes, she knew he too sensed all of this as he returned her gaze with his own troubled one.  Finally, he simply asked, “What do you wish of me, Chantaya Kincraig?”  He gently touched her face with calloused fingers.  “I will resign my knighthood and find a way to take the both of you away.  Or I will go personally to the magistrate.  I will petition the king himself to secure a settlement.  What do you wish me to do for you?”        

Chantaya leaned back into his chest and closed her eyes to inhale the very essence of his strength against her cheek  as the moon rose over the hills to the east, bathing the woodland around them pale silver.  She shook her head against him.  “No…  Thank you, Sir Peyton.  You would do all of that and more and I know that, but what I want of you, even what you want of me…  No, my love, this time and place.  This whole situation. ‘Tis bigger than what we want.  The question we must ask ourselves and each other isn’t what we want.  Is it?”

She heard him release a long breath before he asked softly, “What then?”  After another moment, almost bitterly, he followed with, “Why?”

Wrapping her arms round his waist and holding tight, she said, “Because, there is that in you which is unable to settle for less than your best.  You have that in your soul which seeks for greater heights.  We both do.  Indeed, I would wager you’ve been one of the great ones since the very beginning of time.  Long before we even were born here to this earthly life.  It’s who you are.  To the soul.  A guardian.  A hero.” 

She reached to gently kiss him and then continued almost apologetically, “A hero’s way isn’t an easy way, Peyton.  And yours is the character of a hero.”

Pulling her tighter to him, he said bitterly, “Hero be damned.”

She shook her head again.  “No.  Heroes get cold and tired and hurt.  Lonely.  Sometimes they’re even killed, but damned?  No.  ‘Tis the one thing the adversary who rules the hearts of the wicked the world over can’t do.  He can never take away your honor, no matter what other price he extracts.”

Peyton was silent for several long moments.  Finally, he said, “It’s one thing for big, foolish, brute men to play hero, Chantaya.  It’s wholly another for a sweet, innocent, young woman.  There are worse things that can happen than dying.”

Nodding, she asked quietly, “How many more young women would be at risk were Rosskeene to become king?”

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Let someone else live in danger for the kingdom, girl.”

“You would never even consider turning away from this, were you the one who could aid the crown.”

“I am a knight!”

At that, she raised her head to look at him and said, “And I am your mate.”

             
                                         
Chapter 12

All the way back to Mordecai’s, Peyton thought back over that conversation with Chantaya.  She was sweet, and smart, and beautiful, and frustratingly strong.  And how he loved her for it!  But it troubled him deeply. 

The thought of her there at mercy of such men made his stomach clench in fury, but in the end, she had been right about being willing to take risks for the good of the whole kingdom.  Still, he hated every bit of it.  Hated it with a passion that threatened to burn a hole in his very belly if he let it eat at him. 

He let his horse have its head at a fast trot on the moonlit trail as he thought back over the things they had spoken of.  For hours they had spoken there in the shadows of the trees, sharing information, and sweet kisses, before he’d helped her back into her small window, feeling as if his heart was slamming shut to leave her there like that.  It had been awful leaving her in Navarre to go into training.  But that had been nothing to the hell of knowing he was leaving her at such risk at Rosskeene Manor. 

Her and Isabella both.  It made him feel less than the shadow of an honorable man.  What manner of hero was he to ride away from her there?  And yet, what manner of man would he have been to go against what he knew the both of them were to do?  ‘Twas God’s will.  He knew it was.  Still, he hated it.  It was going to take every bit of faith he had to trust in God to keep her safe in such a situation.

Deep in the night, as the pale moon settled into the crags of the mountains to the west, he approached Mordecai’s cottage to find the old man sitting on his porch waiting for him.  Together they turned Peyton’s charger in with Mordecai’s piebald horse and then walked side by side into the little stone house.  Surprisingly, Mordecai knew exactly what had happened.  The conversation as Mordecai set out bread and cheese and cider wasn’t on simply bringing them home, but on the logistics of how best to aid the two Kincraig women and resolve the rumblings of insurrection.

As Peyton went to settle onto a pallet spread before the fire for a few hours rest, Mordecai’s big hand gripped his shoulder.  Peyton met his eyes, knowing the old knight understood just what he was up against, as no one else ever could have.  Mordecai had the soul and character of a hero as well.  It was unbelievably comforting to know Mordecai was there at his back, fighting for the same things he was. 

Late the next morning, when Peyton was admitted to see the prince, the teasing grin that lit up the young royal’s face upon seeing Peyton faded as he took in Peyton’s exhausted countenance and then heard the details that Chantaya had documented and given to him there in the woods of Rosskeene Manor.  The prince questioned him at length about the entire situation and then Peyton had to appreciate this honorable man even more than he already did when, instead of exclaiming over the threat to the crown, Prince Laird asked after Chantaya, understanding the risk that she was taking in
being willing to stay there at the manor to intercept information.

In a way, Peyton was proud of Chantaya, but in a way, it galled him to have to admit that he’d left her there.  He had no way to explain to the prince just why he’d finally given in and ridden away from her, but the prince seemed to be able to grasp what had transpired. 

In the end, he too had gripped Peyton’s shoulder and said, “Let us pray that the good Lord will assist us, and then let us fight to bring an end to the situation quickly and get her out of there.  I thank you for your willingness to seek this information for me.  I thank her for hers as well.  She must be an extraordinary maid indeed.  Come to me anytime in the future that you feel you have information I am in need of.  I’m sorry that for once, seeing her didn’t bring that light to your eyes. Go ye now to your quarters and rest, for there will soon enough be more need for your reconnaissance.  God bless you, Sir Peyton.”  

             
                                        
 
SSSS

Chantaya was more tired than usual the morning after Peyton was there, but she was still the first one into the kitchen and set about starting the cook fire, wondering whatever had happened to Damian the night before.  She’d glanced toward the garden as Conrad had seen her in, but could see nothing in the dark of the predawn. 

Cook came in just several minutes later, looking even more tired than Chantaya and her first comments set Chantaya’s mind somewhat at ease.   After an exhausted yawn, Cook said, “Strange doin's going on round here in the night.  Stranger than usual, I mean.  Seems that Master Damian went missing last even and was finally found, out colder than the ice of winter on the stoop near the side door.  The physician’s been here near most all night.  Damian finally came to in the wee hours, but doesn’t seem to have an idea of what happened to him.  Says the last thing ‘e remembers was coming into the kitchen for a morsel after supper, ‘e says.” 

Cook gave another yawn and grumbled, “It’s more than a morsel of food ‘e wants when he comes snooping around in this kitchen after a fine meal, I’d wager.  Seems for once, he was on the receiving end of the roughness.  Still, it’s what’s to be expected from the company they keep round here lately.  I can’t abide the type of blokes what idles around here in the shadows.  Sometimes the Master ‘imself sees them right inside the house ‘ere, ‘e does.  I have to fair choke to death for lack of air for closing all the transoms to block what I’m ‘earin’.  And now wi’ fall coming on, we’ll pure freeze for lack of warmth what wi’ the transoms shut up tight.  What’s to become of us all, Miss Chantaya?”

Spreading her own hands toward the cook fire, Chantaya answered, “We’ll be fine, we will, Cook.  We’ll open the transoms and have the heat and air, even if we have to listen to the evil of it all.  It’s strong enough we are to withstand mere talk.”  With that, she gave Cook a one armed hug and went to open the two transoms in the room as if to make a point.

Cook only shook her head and said, “In ‘ere it’s not so bad, but off the butler’s pantry, when I’m polishing the sterling, my goodness the things a body ‘ears. ‘Tis right through the wall from the young Lord’s study, it is and you can’t imagine the things I ‘ear there. ‘Tis pure frightening!”

Shaking her head in commiseration, Chantaya soothed, “Then 'twill be me who polishes the silver from now on if that bothers you, love.  The skin of the young is much thicker these days.  I’ll do the silver and you can see to something else when there’s mischief about the house.”

Chantaya gave her another hug and a smile as she began to start mixing
the dough for the breakfast. Cook patted her back in return and said, “You’re good and true, you are, Chantaya.  Makes an old woman believe there’s hope to be had in the future with a new generation as solid as yourself.  God bless you my dear.  God bless you.  We’d best make up a goodly amount what with the physician not appearing to be leaving anytime soon.  Hopefully, you’ll have some peace here without any treacherous visitors for a time.  Seems Master Damian is still addlebrained from whatever ‘twas that accosted him in the night.”

Glancing down, Chantaya noticed some squash seeds on the stone floor of the kitchen.  She subtly pushed them under a low shelf with the toe of her boot.  She made a note in her head to inspect the garden in the light of day for incriminating zucchini innards, as she answered, “Whatever indeed.  Must have been a pure frightening weapon to have addled a head as hard as Damian’s.  What do you wish of me to work on for luncheon?”

Master Damian was truly indisposed for a few days from the mythical gourd of battle, but that didn’t impede his father’s devious dealings, by any means. 

Chantaya had hoped when she’d offered to polish silver to be able to gain valuable information from listening through the transom into Lord Rosskeene’s study and that’s exactly what happened a mere fortnight later.  What she learned made her realize that her corrupt employer was planning to move against the crown much sooner than she had believed heretofore. 

She could actually hear remarkable well there as she polished and she was horrified to realize that in only two day’s time Rosskeene had plans in place for a fair mob of miscreants to rob the King’s Treasury right in the city of Valais.  Not only would taking the king’s gold enable Rosskeene to fund a larger and stronger army of the war loving mercenaries he had been sending for, but it would cripple the king’s ability to provide for his own armies and people.

It was only early afternoon that she understood what was being planned there on the other side of the manor’s wall, but she had no idea what to do about that information and stewed about it for the remainder of her work day.  By the time she returned that evening to their little room off the stable, she had made a decision, but then truly wondered if she could indeed see it to fruition.  She needed to get word to Peyton, who was nearer to where the robbery would take place, but she had no idea of the route to Valais.  Truth be told, she hardly had any knowledge of the way back to Navarre except that she believed it to be a relatively straight shot back down the road to the south. 

She would have to simply get word to Mordecai, but she also needed to do it without letting anyone there at the manor realize that she’d done it.  She was going to try to not even tell her mother, knowing she would only be terrified for her daughter’s safety during the long night ride through woods and trails that were much more dangerous than they would have been during the light of day.

As she let herself into their tiny home, she was pleased and surprised to see her mother sitting just outside the door with Conrad at a table they’d set up, their heads bent over a small slate.  Both of them were so engrossed in what Isabella
was showing him that, for a time, neither even realized she was there.  She went back out to the stable and hid her saddle outside in the paddock and had to smile to herself.  ‘Twas so like her mother to want to teach another to read, especially another as good and kind as Conrad.  The idea of the two of them finding more than a mere working friendship had crossed Chantaya’s mind on more than one occasion.  ‘Twould be perfect for the two gentle, lonely adults to find companionship in each other.       

Chantaya used their lack of attention to gather a small packet of supplies to take with her and then readied what she could and went back out into the stable to make ready there as well.  How she would be able to get past Conrad would remain to be seen, but she knew it had to be done.

Later, when her mother had dropped off to sleep, Chantaya pulled out the clothing she had pilfered earlier and began to dress.  Remembering what Conrad had said about disguising her figure, and knowing that she had far to go and would have to go fast, she took a length of cheesecloth that she’d brought from the kitchen, and after undressing, she began to wrap the length around her chest, trussing it down as tightly as she could.  It would both somewhat hide the fact she was female, as well as protecting her from the constant gait of the horse running for hours.

She wore the long coat, and tied a large handkerchief around her neck and chin, and then pushed her hair up under a hat she tied down to keep in place.  With that done, she left her mother a short note, hoping she’d be back long before her mother woke to read it, and then, as silently as possible, she let herself out the door into the stable, praying she wouldn’t wake Conrad.

She’d been on the road for more than two hours, alternately trotting and then galloping, before hearing the first indication of someone else approaching.  At the first sound of hoof beats, she pulled the horse off the road and into the woods alongside and halted him, once again praying they wouldn’t be detected, in spite of the frantic beating of her heart.  Chances were, anyone she would meet here in the woods, far from any town or village in the depth of the night, would not be a model citizen.  Especially not if they found she was female.

When the group of three riders went off down the road in the direction she had come, she breathed a huge sigh of relief and returned to the road and the distanc
e eating gallop.  She knew her horse was getting winded, but this was more vital than saving the horse’s wind, or even his life.  She needed to get word to Mordecai at all costs.

Twice more, she moved off the road to avoid riders.  Once a lone horseman and once a pair of wal
king horses carrying riders who were singing and carrying on as if they’d spent the hours drinking in the village pub before traveling.  Her horse actually nickered at their horses as they passed her by, but thank goodness they were too caught up in their rousing song about ale to notice.  As they finally went on their inebriated way, she resumed her journey, not sure whether to be grateful for the waxing moon that had appeared to bath the woods in light, or be frightened by how bright the deserted roadway had become.

After what seemed like a never ending foray through the forbidding night, she ultimately recognized the countryside and turned off into the woods toward Mordecai’s cottage.  Somehow, just turning off the road, and knowing he was close was incredibly reassuring, even if the forest around her
was much darker than the road had been.  At least here there weren’t likely to be any highwaymen who would attack or harm her.

Mordecai was standing at his door in a robe, but carrying a sword as she approached his home and she was gratified to realize she truly wasn’t recognizable as he held the sword up and asked, “Who goes there?”