Warrior's Moon A Love Story (22 page)

Once they were alone, after wiping away the rain and dirt and blood, and then draping a quilt around her, her mother silently stitched at the wounds on her ribs and shoulder as Chantaya did her level best not to do more than gasp in pain at each sweep of the needle.  At least the cold that still had her teeth chattering had partially numbed her.  When she was through, Isabella wiped at her own tears as she smeared a harsh smelling salve on the stitches and then covered them with clean bandages.

At length, when she was all of a piece again, Chantaya took a deep breath and began to clean up the mess.  As she set aside the small sword, Isabella grimaced, and when she pulled the dagger from her boot, Isabella put both hands on her hips and finally said, “All right, young lady.  How long have you been doing this and why in the world haven’t you told me what you were doing?  What if you had died out there tonight?”

Turning back to her mother, as she rummaged for dry, warm clothing to wear in to begin making breakfast, Chantaya tried to smile past her chattering teeth.  “I didn’t want you to worry, Mum.  I only did what I had to do.  Nothing more, nothing less.  This was only the second time.  I swear it.”  Her mother still looked doubtful and Chantaya added gently, “‘Twasn’t as if I wanted to go about like I did.  And I didn’t die.  The good Lord sent Mordecai.”

Chapter 14

Peyton was up early after a strangely restless night, but had yet to leave his room when there came a quiet knock upon his door.  He glanced out the tiny window to see it wasn’t even light out and went to the door to see who un
der heaven would be knocking at this hour.  When Mordecai stepped inside wearing his armor, soaked to the bone, and obviously drawn with fatigue, Peyton’s heart began to pound within his chest as he instantly suspected something was terribly amiss and Chantaya was probably involved somehow. 

Peyton went to help Mordecai with his dripping cloak, but the old knight shook his head.  “No.  I must see to Bartok.  There’s trouble brewing.  I need you to come with me to the castle.  Get your things.”  He gave Peyton a tired smile and added, “And wear your oilskin.  It’s damp out.”  The old man’s touch of humor helped to ease the worry and Peyton gave him a hesitant smil
e in return as he realized Mordecai had learned over the years to roll with whatever came his way in just this manner.

Mordecai went to go back out the door, but Peyton stopped him with a hand on his arm.  The two looked
steadily at each other for several seconds and then Peyton only shook his head and let the older man’s arm go.  If Mordecai had known for sure that Chantaya was all right, he’d have already mentioned it.  Peyton turned back to his room, hurriedly pulled up his bedding and stomped into his boots, muttering a prayer as he did so.  What had she gotten herself into this time?

Peyton strode into the stable to assist the older man and when he saw that the horse was lathered and fair exhausted, his concern increased even further and he edged closer to hear what Mordecai had to tell him.  As they spoke quietly, Peyton hurriedly saddled his charger and then switched Mordecai’s saddle to his squire Shaun’s horse.  The two of them mounted and headed out into the rain for the ride to the castle. 

At the gates the guards there stepped close to peer into their faces, but upon recognizing Peyton, they opened the gate and let them through without question.  Mordecai looked up at him for a moment as they hurried through to the servant’s entrance of the castle.  There, they pounded on the door.  When a tired cook opened it, they stepped inside and Peyton quietly said, “We need to see Prince Laird, straight away.  Please, go and tell him.  We’re Sir Peyton and Sir Mordecai.”

The still sleepy cook was surprised as she looked up at the two of them standing there in their dripping armor.  She started to say something, then looked them up and down and decided against it.  Instead, she simply nodded and turned into the interior of the castle.  A few moments later, she returned and seemed even more surprised as she said, “He said he’ll meet you in the salon.  Follow me please.”

When the prince walked in mere minutes later, he was fully dressed, in spite of looking as if he’d just been hauled out of bed in the dark by a servant.  He met the two’s grave looks, shut the heavy door, and asked, “What is it?”

Peyton looked to Mordecai to speak, but the older man gave a miniscule head shake and Peyton started in.  The prince listened quietly until he finished, and then only asked, “Same source as the attack on the treasury?”

Both knights nodded and Peyton confirmed, “The same.”

Prince Laird gave Peyton a long look as he considered this and then said, “I’ll go get my father.  Have a seat.”

Mordecai looked at the puddle of water the two of them were standing in, but the prince only waved a hand as he walked to the door.  “’Twill dry.”

The king took longer to appear, but he was fully dressed as well when he accompanied the prince into the room and walked straight across to embrace Mordecai.  Stepping back, he looked the sodden old knight up and down and said, “Do they not allow you a moment of peaceful respite from your life of military greatness?  You look well, Sir Mordecai.  A trifle tired perhaps, but fit as a bull.  Thank you for coming to me this wet mornin
g.  I want you to know I truly appreciate it.”  He turned and shook Peyton’s hand and added, “And thanks to you as well, Sir Peyton.  Let us retire to the breakfast room and acquire a strategy as we eat, shall we?”

                                                      
 
SSSS

The streets of Valais didn’t appear to be expecting a major military attack that morning, and, in fact, it was only a matter of an hour or two after the attempted coup before the streets were back to their normal daily pace of people going about their own business.  The reality was that few of the townspeople even realized the Great Council had had a meeting, let alone that an attempt to overthrow the king had taken place. 

True, there had been an inordinate number of strangers moving about, as well as battalions of troops quietly coming and going, but strangers weren’t unheard of.  And the troops moved about occasionally on military business, and were more unobtrusive this morning than they’d ever been.

As quietly as it all came about, the fact of the matter was that there had indeed been an organized attempt to harm both the Great Council and the crown, and the state of the castle dungeons was another matter entirely.  The cold, stone cells were fair to bursting as there were fully hundreds more prisoners being held there this afternoon than there were that morning.  There were also cart loads of bodies being taken to burial in the cemetery on the far western edge of the city.  They were the remains of those who hadn’t survived the short, decidedly one sided battle that had occurred in the castle courtyard at just before noon.

But Lord Rosskeene didn’t see the state of the dungeons, or the cemetery either one as he arrived in his carriage at a little after one o’clock that afternoon.  He’d come expecting to step into the role of monarch.  To courageously and magnanimously step in to comfort and protect a kingdom thrown into chaos by the death of its entire hierarchy, but he couldn’t find even a margin of chaos.  Instead, he was wondering whether his coup attempt had gone so smoothly as to cause no upheaval at all, or whether it had failed as completely as it appeared to have failed.  Or if it hadn’t even occurred, which was what the case seemed to be.  There was
simply no activity in the streets whatsoever to indicate a battle of any kind.

As his carriage drove past the seemingly placid castle, he felt a seething anger arise i
n him.  Nothing!  There was nothing going on at all and he glared around at the unassuming peasants in fury.  What had happened here this day?  He’d sent literally hundreds of men, under the command of fairly competent soldiers.  ‘Twas impossible that they’d not been victorious in such a surprise attack, so then where were they all?  And why wasn’t anyone in the street noticing that the king and his heirs and his stronghold of knights had been slain?

Rosskeene cursed viciously and slammed his elegant driving gloves to the seat beside him.  What had happened here today?  Had anything at all happened here today? 

He glanced around one more time and closed his eyes in an attempt to rein in the fury.  He had to remain calm.  He needed to go on to his meeting with the noblemen tomorrow as if nothing had gone on at all.  No one knew he was involved.  In truth, only a couple of the most key men had known he was the mastermind of this attack.  He’d seen to that, just in case the impossible happened and they hadn’t succeeded.  Like before, he had made sure to keep his own noble name clear of any wrong doing.  It had been a vitally smart idea, apparently.

             
                                        
 
SSSS

King Dougal nodded for the entrance of his Chief Captain, hoping for a more heartening report that they’d found some willing to witness against Lord Rosskeene.  The Chief Captain had been in the dungeon for most of two days, but had yet to bring news of any luck in finding one who would admit to knowing who was behind this second and more vicious attack on the crown. 

They knew from Mordecai and Peyton’s informant that it was Rosskeene, but Dougal preferred to take the matter before one of the magistrate’s so that any proceedings would be considered absolutely above reproach.  Dougal was known throughout the land to be fair and generous, and he was.  Moreover, he wished to remain known that way.  It made governing so much easier and
Monciere prospered because of it.  Beheading or hanging the wealthiest nobleman was apt to make ripples. 

However, thus far, they had only the informant’s word to stand against Lord Rosskeene’s.  If it came down to it, Dougal would do whatever he needed to do, with or without the magistrate’s involvement, and he’d soon need to, but he preferred it otherwise.  So, the Chief Captain kept inte
rrogating.  All were hoping eventually, they would find one who could testify.

                                                      
 
SSSS

Two evenings after the attack, Prince Laird asked Peyton to report to him in the castle again.  They had met numerous times over the last day and a half and Peyton knew Lord Rosskeene had reported to the noblemen’s meeting acting as if all was right in the world.  Nothing had been said to him, but the placid tone of the king’s family had an undertone of tension that only those most trusted were allowed to glimpse.

Princess Clarissa had been quietest of all.  Finally, the Queen herself had suggested a royal masquerade ball to try to promote a sense of well being in the kingdom until the problems with Rosskeene had been settled.   Surprisingly, the
king had agreed and a date just ten days off had been set.  Under the circumstances, Peyton had been convinced they were all lunatics until Mordecai explained to him of the importance of keeping the appearance of peace and prosperity in the land. 

When Peyton reported to the prince, the prince’s signature grin was back on his face as he rose upon Peyton’s entrance to his study.  The worry over Chantaya that had plagued Peyton since Mordecai’s arrival made it hard to return the smile, and the prince said, “Oh come now, Sir Peyty.  Have you been eating pickles for supper?  Surely there must be a smile in there somewhere.”

Peyton finally grinned and returned, “Forgive me, Prince Lairdy, I must simply be fatigued.  I’ll do better, I swear it, Sire.”

The prince nodded, “Good.  See that you do.  Your glumness has cast a veritable pall round the entire kingdom.  How is Sir Mordecai?”

The smile faded again as Peyton replied, “Quite ill I’m afraid, Your Highness.  Unfortunately, his long night in the rain has taken a toll.  But he’ll be fine, in time.  He truly is as a strong old bull.”

Shaking his head, the prince’s own smile slipped as he said, “
'Tis a shame his wife and daughter died.  One who has served as he has deserves more in his old age than a cottage and a loyal horse.”

Peyton agreed, “Indeed, Sire.  But he has more than that.  He lost his wife, but my family loves him as our own and Chantaya near worships him.  She’s every bit the daughter to him and him a father to her.  Or a grandfather.  At any rate, she fair adores him.”

“But she’s hours away at Rosskeene’s manor, is she not?”  Peyton only nodded, the ugly truth painful to say out loud.

The prince sensed his discomfort and assured, “Not for long, Sir Peyton.  My father won’t take much more of Rosskeene’s antics.  We’ll deal with him and get your girl and her mother out of there.  That’s what I wanted to see you about.  You must find a way to bring her to the ball, if possible. ‘Tis why Mother chose a masquerade ball, so your love could come and Rosskeene not be the wiser.  He’s likely to be there, of course.  I also wanted to ask you to go home and see to a few things there.  See to it that Mordecai is cared for properly and check on your Chantaya.  God willing, she made it home safely the other night.  And while Rosskeene is here in Valais for a time, perhaps you and your father and brother could get a sense of how the farmers and other tenants are doing there.  No?”

“Of course, Sire.”  Peyton hesitated, unsure of how to voice his next concern.  “About that ball, Sire.  Chantaya is the loveliest and fairest of all God’s daughters, but she is a peasant, Sire.”

The prince nodded.  “I understand that, Sir Peyton.  That factored into the decision of the masquerade ball as well.  You haven’t seemed to have come to terms with the blessings of your knighthood. ‘Tis the only situation that can gracefully overcome the blasted class system of this world.  You see, even though most of the nobles have forgotten how they came to be nobles in the f
irst place, that being that their ancestors were trusted warriors for the kings in days gone by and were given gifts of land, the crown has not forgotten.  We still reward those whose service is of great worth to the kingdom, such as the sacrifices of yourself.  And your Chantaya.  She will only remain a peasant until she is married to a knight.  I’m assuming that won’t be overly long, with the way you speak of her.”

The teasing grin was back on the prince’s face and Peyton shook his head and laughed as he said, “I pray not, Sire.  Still, we’ve gone to length
s not to let Rosskeene know she has ties to the soldiers.  I may not be able to spirit her away from Rosskeene’s household for a ball and still keep our secret.  And it’s a fair bet she hasn’t a gown.  Perhaps it’s best not to expect her at the ball.”