Her Haunted Knight Read online

  Then, he spent the rest of the day drilling his men, sharpening his weapons, and waiting for night. When the word came that the barrels of wine had been stolen, he grinned.

  The battle has begun.

  Tonight, everything would change.

  Chapter 8

  Hugh would’ve been aghast if he knew Rose was deep inside the dark walls of the keep he was planning to attack.

  What am I to do about my brothers?

  She pondered while she paced. If given enough time, she could teach them how to be better men. Suddenly, a most marvelous notion struck her as she relit her candle. Her shaking hands checked the herbs in her pouch.

  I have almost everything I need. ’Tis another sign from God…

  Listening at the cupboard door, she waited until all was silent except for the pounding of dough and hushed female voices.

  When she tapped lightly on the wood, her old nurse responded, “What is it, dearie?”

  “Are my brothers gone?”

  The old woman cursed under her breath. “Aye. Every day, they’re off looting innocent travelers in Inglewood.”

  “And how long before they return?”

  “It depends on their greed and who’s foolish enough to travel through the forest.”

  “Then we have no time to waste. Anon. Let me out.”

  The cupboard scraped against the floor and Rose crawled out. After blinking hard to adjust to the light, she hugged each of the kitchen women.

  “Ye all are so wonderful for hiding me. It will all be over soon, I swear it. Tell me, do ye have neep and pape?”

  “Aye.” A dark-skinned woman with a large scar across her cheek moved a bench and climbed up, reaching deep within a top shelf.

  “I’ll also need a little vinegar, mortar and pestle.”

  “Are ye ill, lass?” Agnes’ warm palm rested upon Rose’s forehead, leaving a spot of crusted dough.

  “Nay, nay, good nurse. I’ve never been in better health. Help me and I’ll explain.”

  Rose dumped the ingredients into the mortar and ground with the pestle. “I’ve made this dwale many times for stitching up wounds. Four drops can kill a man, three will make him sleep… but two?”

  Smiling, she held up the mixture and sniffed. “Two will put the most stalwart of warriors into a half-stupor and he’ll believe most anything ye say.”

  Her old nurse shook her head and made the sign for warding off evil. “I’ll nay be a part of witchcraft.”

  “Nonsense. Just add two drops in each of their chalices during dinner or before bed.”

  “Why not just poison the bastards and be done with it?” The dark girl dressed in rags grinned.

  Rose stiffened. “I cannae murder my own kin! First, I must give them a chance at salvation.”

  With an index finger pointing, Agnes countered, “Yer daft, I tell ye. Even if Christ hisself jumped off the cross in the middle of the mass, they wouldna pay Him any mind.”

  “Be that as it may, ’tis my duty. I won’t have them going to hell without at least trying.”

  The old woman clenched strong fingers into Rose’s shoulders, “Prithee, stop this madness.”

  Shrugging out of her grasp, Rose stared down every woman in the kitchen. “If ye don’t help me stop their evil ways, yer as sinful as them. You must see that they’re properly drugged. The good Lord will do the rest. Are ye sure my brothers believe me dead?”

  “When they came for ye in the kitchen, I told them ye escaped, jumped into the moat and sank to the bottom.” Agnes pulled Rose’s cheek into her soft bosom. “Yer just so brave, so fool-headed, just like yer mother… Och. Oh, verra well.”

  She clapped her hands, white flour making a cloud of dust, and pointed to the dark woman. “Catherine, put that large bucket here, no that one, the one for taking baths and water. Add a bit of honey.”

  Rose stood in the center of the half-barrel, wet herself with the sticky liquid, and closed her eyes as flour covered her from head to toe.

  It took some effort to open her eyelids and stop coughing. “Do I look like a ghost?”

  Everyone giggled and a buxom blonde added, “Ye look like a mill-slave.”

  “What more do I need?”

  The one called Catherine jumped up and down. “I know. I know. I’ll be back, anon.”

  Agnes shrugged at Rose while the excited woman opened a trunk near the ovens. Out came a gold tunic, scarf and matching slippers.

  “These belonged to yer mother.” Catherine placed everything on the shelf next to the rising dough but Agnes’ gray brows furrowed. “Where did ye get those, lass?”

  “My father gave them to me. He dug up the body the night after she died… Och? What is that look fer? If ye believe in the here-after, ye bloody well know the poor lady no longer needs them. Someday, I’ll wear these at my wedding.”

  The tunic fit perfectly when Rose twirled and Agnes made a sign of the cross. “Dear Lord and all His saints, help us all.”

  Rose smiled and gave Catherine, Agnes, and the other women hugs, leaving white spots on all. “Wish me good fortune. Remember, poison their wine right before they retire.”

  “Wait.” Agnes handed her a trencher of cold stew. “Take this. Ye’ll need yer strength.”

  “Many thanks.” Rose dropped onto hands and knees, then turned her head. “Just two drops.”

  The cupboard slid back, the hound reappeared and Rose patted his head. She gave him a bite of meat and stood when he tried to lick the flour off her face. Then, she lit a candle in order to find her way and instead of turning right in the tunnel, she went in the other direction only to find it ended in just a few feet.

  She scolded the hound when it nosed her calves and nipped her ankles. “Och, for the love of God, I’m moving as fast as I can. I’ve got two legs, ye’ve got four.”

  Retracing her steps, Rose passed the kitchen door, the small slit in the wall, and arrived at the downward stairs that led down beneath the moat. At the bottom, she lifted her candle.

  “Ach, doggie. Look.”

  A narrow set of steps led up to a stone wall as if someone had filled in an arched door. At the top, she put her ear to the wall where hammer clunked against steel.

  I must be outside the blacksmith’s hearth in the bailey.

  Disappointed not to find another exit, she wandered back up the stairs, along the outside wall of the great hall, and up the tower steps. At the top, she waited and stared out the archer’s slit trying not to think about The Destroyer. First, she did not think about the way his heated gaze stared at her as she exited the spring. Nor would she ponder about his firm thighs as they hugged the charger. Especially and decidedly, not on dreams of sharing his bed.

  Finally, men started to exit the forest but something was amiss. It wasn’t until the bawdy singing reached her ears on the breeze that her heart stopped.

  Damnation! It can’t be.

  In their cups, her brothers and their men wobbled in their saddles as they rode across the meadows and through the arch in the bailey wall. A wine cart pulled by mules bumped along behind them and across the drawbridge.

  Standing on tip toes, she couldn’t believe her bad fortune as men dismounted and all sorts of drunkenness sounded from the great hall below.

  Rose dashed down the stairs, along the long dark wall and to the kitchen. On her knees, she opened the small door and shoved shoulder to cupboard.

  “Psst!”

  “What is it?” When Catherine’s nose poked in the crack, Rose handed her one of her little pottery bottles.

  “Here, take this. It’s more dwale. Dump the whole of it into the top of their wine barrel but prithee, don’t get caught. Do whatever it takes to get my brothers back to their chambers. Christ’s heavenly host! I can’t haunt their whole army. I need to get them alone.”

  “Don’t fret. I’ll see to it.” She poked her dark face into the hole and stuck out her tongue. “Those evil serpents did to me what they threatened to do to ye. Whatever ye got in min
d, it’s too good for ’em.”

  The drunken fest continued into the wee hours of the night while Rose paced in the space behind the chambers. Before dawn, boisterous giggles came from the chambers and Rose put her face to the cold stone.

  On the other side of the wall, Catherine placed a torch into the wall holder, then she and the busty woman half-dragged, half-carried her brothers to their bed.

  “Com’ere, wench. Cam, God’s blood, grab her.” The oldest stumbled onto his knees and Catherine kicked his arse.

  The strong woman laughed, grabbed the one called Cam by his belt, and threw him on the mattress. This drunken play went on for some time until the two brothers collapsed, and snored.

  Catherine put a dark cheek to the wall and whispered, “Are ye in there?”

  “Yes. Thank ye, both. Anon. Go.”

  “No. It’s we who must give ye thanks, spirit.” Chuckling, the white woman opened the men’s purses, poured the contents onto the floor, and split the treasure with Catherine.

  They laughed all the way down the stairs and into the great hall while Rose stood frozen in the wall.

  Are my brothers in their cups or under the spell of my potion? Regardless, I best make haste.

  She stepped on the mechanism, iron clinked, and a stone by her foot inched forward and stopped.

  Squatting, she went onto her belly, slid through and ran to douse the torch in the wash basin.

  “Oooohhhh.” She danced and waved her arms around but neither one took notice and continued to snore.

  Louder she wailed, “Aaaaaach. Wake up. Heed me wellll…”

  The younger turned onto his side and slapped his brother on the face. “God’s nails, Brian. Wake up. There’s a bloody ghost in the room. And it’s Mither!”

  The other turned over holding his stomach. “Shut it, Camran. Can’t ye see I’m dying? What the hell was in that wine?”

  They both tried to stand but tumbled back onto their arses on the floor, staring at the rafters.

  “Silence!” Rose picked up a sword resting against the far wall and slammed it down on the mattress.

  When the straw settled, she said in her most unearthly voice, “God sent me to ye. Repent or be cast into the eternal flames of hell.”

  “What in the blood of Christ is she going on about?” Camron held his head in his hands and when he attempted to stand, Rose butted her head into his stomach.

  He hit the back of his daft noggin against the stone wall and moaned.

  The older seemed not as affected by her potion so she brought the flat edge of the sword down on his head.

  “You threatened to mount yer sister and have greatly offended the Lord Most High, St. Peter, Paul, and all the apostles and angels in heaven.”

  “All of them?” Brian blinked vapidly.

  “Aye, and more. Brothers do not take their sisters in such a manner. ’Tis a great affront to God. And uh, then yer sister jumped in the moat and died. That is, ah, verra bad, too. Ye will pay, both of ye.”

  Camron rubbed his head, the centers of his eyes large and black. “Well, it’s too late now. What’s done is done. Begone.”

  None of this was going as Rose had planned. She’d expected them to fall on their knees and pray for God’s forgiveness. Then, she’d tell them to go to confession and sin no more.

  Her haunting took an abrupt end at the sudden sounds of war. Outside, drums pounded, battle horns bleated, and confused shouts came from the hall below. Her two dazed brothers cursed, and crawled on hands and knees.

  Without another thought, Rose knocked them senseless, ran to the wall, and opened the shutters.

  Silver in the full moon, Hugh the Destroyer sat back on a white charger who reared with front legs high.

  Dear God, he’s the magnificent, avenging angel of the apocalypse.

  She held her breath, quite certain that swords should be clanging and men should be screaming and dying.

  Instead, the Douglas warriors could barely stay astride their mounts. Swords waved peculiarly in the air. Archers reached behind their backs and were either unable to find quivers or their arrows shot far off target.

  Dear God, what have I done?

  She almost lost the contents of her stomach waiting for the final massacre but much like she’d done to her brothers, The Destroyer’s men simply banged men on the head, punched them with their fists, or knocked them silly with the front of their shields.

  Realizing she had not much time, she tore up linens and bound the limbs of her only kin. Perhaps, if they were unable to fight, The Destroyer would show them mercy and send them home. Surely, if Rose followed at a distance, she’d find some relatives that would take her in.

  Chapter 9

  While Rose paced outside her brother’s chambers, The Destroyer sat on Wind looking up at Naward, muscles taut. The chargers waiting in the woods behind him stomped the ground and blew air through their lips. His men waited, quiet and tense. This was the battle that would determine their fates and that of their families.

  Ali’s teeth shone bright against his dark face, blackened with charcoal. “The Douglas are having quite a celebration.”

  Hugh couldn’t imagine any warrior being so careless with life and home. “Might this be a ruse? What if they’re waiting prepared as they lure us in with drunken songs?”

  “The Scots didn’t strike me as that clever. Why? Did you think otherwise?”

  “No, no. But by God, they must have DeBruce’s support. Otherwise, who’d dare behave so recklessly.”

  “Ah. You suspect that’s why Edward sent you north.” Ali grew silent, face grim.

  “Aye. If I kill this clan outright, irate Scots will descend like locusts from the north. If I don’t, Edward will rescind his promise and maybe even insist we depart England for good.”

  The drunkenness grew louder, sweet music to Hugh’s ears, and a new idea took root. He pressed a left thigh into Wind who turned so he could speak to his men.

  “Hold back on the flaming arrows. Stay your blades and kill none. Allow all within to surrender.”

  Ali nodded, then rode forth holding onto a long ladder with Doğan on the other end. When they arrived, they leaned it against the wall, and climbed.

  Hugh lifted his fist. Turk, Mongol, Jew, and Christian mercenaries drew swords and readied their bows. Soon, they’d take what they’d waited so long to have; home, land, a dwelling.

  Family. Wife. Children.

  He pictured sweet Rose and wished for nothing more than to have the right to lie with her. Alas, it was just a dream for once this was over, Edward would choose him a wife with a dowry fit for the Steward of Naward.

  Ali’s owl hoot signaled the start of the battle and Hugh focused, motioning his men forward. His best archers knelt and pointed their cross bows at the four guards silhouetted atop the battlement. However, before Hugh could signal for arrows to fly, one man disappeared, followed by the rest.

  A few moments later, the portcullis opened and Hugh whooped. “For home, for keep, for family.”

  He led the charge into the marshy ground between forest and castle wall. Drums within the keep pounded and the bleat of a horn signaled that they were found out.

  Gritting his teeth, Hugh gripped his sword as the Douglas clan poured out of the arch.

  What’s this?

  Most of them wore no armor and their swords wavered. Those mounted, barely stayed astride, half naked.

  Bloody hell. What a sorry sight.

  The priest’s wine must’ve been strong.

  Oh, for the love of God. This is embarrassing.

  Disgusted, Hugh left his warriors to deal with the drunken Scots in the field and entered the melee in the bailey. Swinging one leg around the back of his horse, he jumped in front of Ali who was dodging the blows of a barefoot man in his braies.

  “Let’s find the Douglas chieftains and get this over with.” Hugh grabbed two Scot heads that approached at the same time and bashed them together.

  Ali nodded, bro
ke a man’s knee with his right foot, and bloodied another’s face with a twist of his shield. “Let’s go. I’m told they’re in their chambers, completely in their cups.”

  “Why does that not surprise me.” Hugh sighed, tried not to kill another drunken fool, and eyed his warrior.

  “Doğan?”

  “Yes, m’lord?” The dark-haired Turk looked up and grinned while continuing to punch and kick at Scots coming at him.

  “Try to see that they don’t kill themselves by accident, then lock them in the barracks. When they’re sober, we’ll sort the chaff from the wheat.”

  “Quoting the bible?” Ali chuckled as he knocked some poor sod in the head with his shield.

  “Only because it seems an apt enough description. Anon, to the main hall.” They crisscrossed the shops of the bailey as merchants cheered, slapped them on the back, and handed them fruit.

  When they reached the moat where the inner drawbridge was raised, Ali held his nose. “Gah. And you Christians call us barbarians.”

  Chuckling, Hugh shouted across the filth. “You. Inside the keep. Lower the bridge and I promise you’ll not be harmed.”

  There was some arguing within but it was a woman’s voice that called out. “Hold, good knight. We’re trying to get it down. How the bloody hell does this thing work?”

  Ali cupped his hands to his mouth. “There should be a rope or chain and maybe a lever. You’ll need a strong arm to lower it.”

  “Damnation. Samuel? Samuel? Somebody get me the bloody blacksmith.”

  After a few moments, the wood lowered with a clunk and Ali grinned. “After you, m’lord Steward of Putrid Moat.”

  Hugh grinned as they both put sleeves over their mouths and stomped across with swords drawn. At the thick arch in the wall, a dark-faced peasant girl covered in flour, curtsied.

  She pointed up at the tower. “The two lairds are up in their chambers. Follow me. Feel free to slice their necks.”

  The great hall reeked of rotten rushes and vomit. From there, they circled up a staircase and into the tower.