Knight Treasures

Book 3: Knights of the Swan

by C.C. Wiley

Genres: Historical Fiction; Action & Adventure Romance; Historical Romance; Medieval Romance

Synopsis

In 15th Century England, alliances can be deadly for a Knight of the Swan. Especially those made in the heat of passion… Fleeing for her life after a savage attack on her homeland, Lady Sabine of Clearmorrow finds sanctuary on the windswept shores of southern England, praying that her family reaches her before her foes. When Sir Darrick of Lockwood shows up in a swirl of raging wildfires, Sabine is not willing to trust the dark knight, though he may be her last hope.  And when she learns of his urgent quest to locate his sister, she realizes she may be his, too… Lady Sabine is the last woman who saw his beloved sister alive, which is the only reason Darrick demands she join him on the perilous journey to bring Elizabeth home. But even as he shelters Sabine from their powerful enemies—and savors the sweet passion between them—he wonders if the brave beauty will bring him all that he desires, or draw him deeper into danger….

Release date: November 28, 2017

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 226

Sample

Chapter 1

The biting wind, heavy with moisture from an approaching storm, tore at Sabine’s hair. She swiped at the bits of dried vegetation stuck to her cheek and drew the bundle closer to her chest. As she wove her way through the stand of trees, she prayed the thin woolen cloak would muffle the babe’s cry.

Fear that she had waited too long deepened with every step that brought her closer to the hermit’s cottage. Lady Elizabeth must have led Vincent DePierce’s mercenaries to the tiny island. How else would they have found this deserted pile of rocks hidden off England’s shores?

Sabine stopped in front of the gnarled bushes. There in the shadows, hidden by brambles and twisting branches, stood the entrance to the cottage she had called her home for nearly a year.

She waited in the storm, listening for a careless hunter’s footsteps, and checked the many traps set around the building. After making certain she was not being watched, she slipped inside and kicked the door shut.

Exhaustion turned her trembling legs to water and she slid down the door.

How had it happened so quickly? The men must have known Elizabeth was there and lay in wait, stalking the new mother until she was alone.

Sabine rubbed her forehead. She should have followed closer. Found a way to stop them.

The scene exploded behind her eyelids. A flash of lightning. Shadows reaching from behind. A cry for help. And then the babe’s mother disappeared over the cliffs.

Despite the slippery footing, Sabine had tried to see over the edge. The crashing waves had pummeled the shore below. Watching for signs of life. No matter how long she stared into the blackness, the rocks and water refused to release their hold. Elizabeth was gone. And the newborn baby remained hidden in the brush, out of sight and protected from DePierce’s mercenaries.

Sabine pressed her palm to her forehead and tried to erase the horrid memory. To no avail. Her thoughts returned to the cliffs and the lives that had been destroyed in an instant.

* * * *

Sir Darrick of Lockwood bunched his fists in frustration. Their travel from France to England’s southwest coast had cost them precious time. He had prayed that when he arrived at the cottage near Balforth Castle, that Elizabeth would run out to greet them, her laughter ringing out at the lark she had played on her older brother. ’Twas as their mother feared: his sister had disappeared somewhere between Lockwood lands and Balforth Castle. His heart clenched. Elizabeth was in trouble.

He stared down at the injured man lying on the bed. The villagers said the clergyman called himself Rhys and they placed little trust in the man of the cloth. Although there were few signs that he’d been beaten, he had yet to stir from his deep sleep, not even when Darrick and his soldiers rode in that morning. But his mother, Lady Camilla of Lockwood, was confident Rhys had vital information about Elizabeth.

The longer they waited, the colder the trail.

Darrick swatted his gauntlets against his thigh. He needed the answers to Elizabeth’s disappearance. How was he to awaken the clergyman from his deep sleep?

Darrick turned as Sir Nathan Staves entered the musty room. Nathan’s massive body, formed from years swinging a battle sword for King Henry, blocked what little light the torch produced. He bent, narrowly missing the low wooden beam hidden in the thatched ceiling.

“Sir Vincent DePierce, Lord of Balforth, insists Elizabeth never arrived at his castle gate,” Nathan said. “He professes that his men scoured the countryside searching for signs of his nephew’s wife. Claims they returned empty handed. She has simply vanished.”

Darrick grunted, not bothering to voice his disgust with DePierce’s ridiculous story. Instead, he voiced his own theory. “A few of the servants hiding on the neighboring lands say that when Hugh left for France, he took with him a vast number of soldiers still riding under the old Lockwood banner.”

“That would leave Lockwood and Elizabeth virtually unprotected.”

“Unprotected and without an heir. I’m told a recent missive reported Sir Hugh’s disappearance from his command.”

“And there were orders from Hugh that should harm befall him, Elizabeth was to make haste to Balforth. To his uncle, DePierce,” Nathan added.

“Someone used Hugh’s death as bait to draw Elizabeth from Lockwood’s safety?” Darrick nodded as if answering his own question. “We find the one who did this, we find Elizabeth. Then we grind him into the ground.”

Nathan’s green eyes shimmered with vengeance. Darrick could almost see the plans forming inside his friend’s head. He would do well to keep his tall friend out of trouble and still manage to find his sister.

“What of the runner we intercepted?” Nathan asked.

Darrick placed a hand over his heart, quoting the missive they had taken from the messenger. “‘After a lengthy search, it is with our deepest regret that we failed to find the remains of Sir Hugh DePierce, Lord of Lockwood.’” He paced the confining cottage. “My God! Vincent DePierce’s nephew, Hugh, now Lord of Lockwood. Indeed, it still burns my throat to speak of another man’s name attached to my ancestor’s home.”

“I fear it will not bode well for the servant who misplaced his lordship’s body.”

“A man of Hugh’s ilk will turn up, whether you like it or not,” Darrick said with a thin smile.

“You doubt his death?”

“Until I see his body, I advise we embrace caution while we travel upon these lands.”

Nathan nodded at the wizened lump lying motionless in the bed. “What of that one? Have you been able to shake him awake? Question him about what he knows?”

Darrick straightened his shoulders. “’Tis useless. For now, we’ll put the hounds on the trail again.”

Nathan scrubbed at the stray whiskers on his jaw. “Did you note the fear in the villagers’ eyes? None would mention your sister’s name. Perhaps if I speak with them without the Lord of Balforth by my side, we will discover where he has hidden Elizabeth.”

“’Tis imperative we find her. Without Elizabeth to claim Lockwood from the king, DePierce may stand to receive all the lands held in Hugh’s name.”

“You’re in Henry’s good graces. Surely Elizabeth’s rights as heir to Lockwood will hold.”

“Unless DePierce claims Elizabeth as his latest wife and declares Lockwood as his own,” Darrick said.

He leaned forward and pressed his ear close to Rhys. Nothing more than the sound of labored breathing came from the clergyman’s cracked lips. Darrick spoke over his shoulder as he continued to watch the little man. “Would that I could leave this bedside and join you, Nathan. Once again, I must ask you to put yourself in danger and see what you can learn from the people of Balforth.”

Nathan flexed his shoulders. Restless, he strode to the window and looked out. “You know I stand for you. Have done so since we were children playing as knights protecting our king.”

“In truth, you are part of my family,” Darrick said. “More so than those of my blood.”

Nathan nodded. “Knights of the Swans until the day we die.”

Darrick’s gaze shuttered. “Perhaps those are memories left for another time. You know the consequences.”

“Let us away from these lands,” Nathan said. “Ignore those who’ve turned their backs on you. An eye for an eye. Turn away from the lot of them.”

“You know I could never do that,” Darrick said. “’Tis certain DePierce has drawn Elizabeth into his greedy clutches. I am honor bound to find her and ensure her safety. Try as I might, I cannot ignore my family’s call for help. His need for power continues to grow. No longer can I let the threat to Lockwood run free.”

“So be it,” Nathan relented. “I honor your decision.”

Darrick frowned. “Be safe, my friend,” he warned.

Nathan moved to carry out his orders. He paused in the doorway. His indecision apparent, as he wrestled with his thoughts. “You know Elizabeth already may have succumbed to his treachery.”

“We must continue to hold the hope that she will be found alive and well,” Darrick said. “I’ll have the men prepare to ride as soon as we learn anything new.” He paused when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“I must know,” Rhys whispered, his voice as hoarse as flint scraping across a rock. “In truth, do you intend to help the Lady Elizabeth?”

Awash with relief, Darrick leaned forward and pulled the little man upright. “Tell me what you know.”

Rhys stared into his face. “I see now that you, too, have your father’s eyes. The bards didn’t exaggerate their tale when they likened them to the strength of steel.” He stopped his efforts to pry Darrick’s hands from his clothes. “Be a good soul. Pour me a drink from yon jar. See there. Sitting on the shelf…”

Darrick unlocked his fingers and let Rhys fall back to the straw mattress. He snatched the jar with one hand, grabbing the wooden vessel that stood beside it with the other. Thrusting it into Rhys’s hands, he waited impatiently for the man to continue.

After sipping the elixir from the wooden cup, Rhys spoke slowly. “I arrived at Balforth after I left your father’s side. They had need of both healer and clergy at the castle.”

Darrick waited as Rhys took another slow, laborious swallow. The little man made a show of letting the soothing liquid trickle down his parched throat. Testing Darrick’s patience further, he took another drink before continuing.

“Unfortunately, the wives of Lord Balforth have been beset by poor health.”

“Plague?” Darrick asked.

Rhys looked up from under a ragged hank of hair. He took a deep, rattling breath, and added, “Nay,” he said. “The marriage bed.”

“You forget, old man, Elizabeth is not Lord Balforth’s wife.”

“Not yet,” Rhys mumbled under his breath. “When I heard your sister was widowed, and traveling to Balforth, I tried to watch over her. As a favor to your father.”

Nathan returned to the cot. “How did you know of Hugh’s death so soon? ’Tis only recently that official notice was delivered.”

Rhys glanced back at Darrick. Shrugging, he waved aside Nathan’s question with a pale hand. “’Tis of no importance. Perhaps a loyal retainer came with the report. I don’t recall.”

“Quickly, old man, where is she?” Darrick asked.

“Vincent DePierce was most displeased when your sister arrived at Balforth Castle. You see—”

“You saw her?” Nathan pressed closer. “She arrived at Balforth?” He turned to Darrick. “I knew it. We’ll tear Balforth apart.”

“Please continue with your tale. Where is my sister?”

“She hides on a small island off the west coast. Few people know of its existence.” Rhys hesitated before continuing, “Should have found safety there. Until today. No one knew where she was. Save myself and the maiden I sent with her to tend to her needs.”

Darrick cursed the delays he and his men had met with every step of their journey. “Continue,” he ordered.

Rhys bowed his head. “May God forgive her. The serving girl did not stay as instructed. Fears of the old hermit hiding on the island were too much for her. She deserted your sister to fend for herself.”

“Where’s the servant now?” Darrick asked.

Rhys’s gaze rose from his lap. He studied the men before giving them his answer. “She was reported missing at the same time as Lady Elizabeth. The DePierce mercenaries were waiting. Her arrest came as soon as she returned home.”

Darrick searched the man’s face for truth. “Damn it, man! How is this possible?”

“You must understand! The soldiers of Balforth are very efficient. The maid did not have a chance.” Rhys’s eyes shifted away. “Even now, I fear they are on their way to ferret out the safe keeping of the two women and end their lives.”

Darrick leaned over, his face close enough to smell the pungent odor of wild onions on Rhys’s breath. “Are your brains addled? You just said the other woman is no more.”

A flash of impatience burned in Rhys’s eyes before he hid them behind heavy lids. “Nay, ’tis true!”

“There is another?” Darrick asked.

The thin blanket bunched under Rhys’s gnarled fingers. His voice continued to rise in agitation. “Aye, the stubborn wench. Too headstrong for her own good.” He wiped the spittle from his mouth and motioned toward the door. “You tarry long enough. Leave tonight for the island. I pray you are not too late.”

Nathan grabbed Darrick by the front of his gambeson. “You cannot mean to go there alone.”

Darrick shrugged free. “I am capable of handling two women. ’Tis you who enters into Balforth’s den of vipers. Don’t draw attention until we station more men.” He nodded towards the rumpled clergyman. “Watch him closely.”

“Hear me, Rhys,” Darrick called from the doorway. “If what you say is true, I owe you a debt of gratitude. To be paid upon my return. However, should you play me false, know that I’ll be on your trail. And I will find you.”

Barely acknowledging the threat, Rhys hid his eyes behind heavily hooded lids. “If you open your ears, I will instruct you on how to reach the island.” His hand trembled as he pointed at Darrick, adding his own warning. “Do not harm the old woman, or ’tis I who shall find you.” A bitter smile drifted to his lips. “One day, Sir Knight, one day, we will compare the pasts we share.”

“We have no past, but we will surely have a brief, pain-riddled future if your information fails me.”

Rhys thumped the cot with his gnarled fist. “No, Sir Knight! I dare advise you to keep in mind that size does not always measure the strength of your opponent.”

Chapter 2

Sabine’s eyes snapped open with a start. She meant to rest for only a second. Her muscles had stiffened during the time she sat on the hard-packed earth.

She glanced down, afraid of what she would not find. The baby was still there, cuddled in her lap. She sighed, slowly releasing her breath. “What am I to do with you?”

Gathering her scattered wits, she brushed her cheek against his cap of silky down. A foreboding shiver ran through her body. There was nothing she could have done to stop the attack, but still, she felt the weight of failing. With a determined shove, she pushed away the memories from the night before.

Sunrise created an odd glow through the small window. Dust motes danced in the amber rays of sunshine. Peering through swollen lids, Sabine concentrated on the particles floating in the filtered light. She listened for the birds, announcing the new day with their morning chorus. Her hand hesitated in midair. An uncomfortable silence settled on the cottage.

The birds were silent. Not a sound could be heard over the rumbling in the distance.

“God’s blessed bones,” she muttered, “another storm’s about to break.”

Hoping to clear her muddled head with the cool morning air, she inhaled as she wriggled her back up the door. Her nose stung at the first breath of the bitter cloud.

She lifted a corner of the leather hanging over the window. Mammoth flames engorged the sky. She had seen their like one other time. The vicious fire had claimed her home, Clearmorrow. “Holy Mother, DePierce’s men intend to burn me out.”

Her fears mounted. She dared not tarry. Soon the flames burning in the glen would rage over the island.

She swept Elizabeth’s few belongings into the wadded blanket, adding them to her own meager pile, and tucked her dagger securely at her waist. The baby in one arm and the bundle draped over her shoulder, she stumbled across the room.

Sabine opened the door. Smoke rolled upward, coiling over the tops of the trees. The glowing inferno scorched the living with its dragon’s breath.

Frantic bleating caught her attention, slowing her frenzied steps. With little time to spare, she ran to Matilda’s goat shed behind the cottage. Grabbing the rope, she fumbled with the knot. Finally, it gave way, but not without costing her the precious time she had left.

Rapidly plotting her escape, she cut a path through the trees. She prayed those who set the fire had yet to discover her only means of flight. The little boat simply had to be where she left it, bobbing in the water.

Her lungs tightened from the smoke, forcing her to slow her pace. Aware of the valuable time she was losing, she counted out the seconds and then pushed on. Her steps unsure, she slid on the moss and dead leaves littering the ground.

Sabine glanced over her shoulder. Although the billowing black clouds seared her lungs, squeezing the fresh air out of her chest, the smoke temporarily hid her from the enemy. No one followed her trail. Yet, she could not trust that she was safe from harm. Her enemies would not be far behind. They expected her to surrender without a fight, as any meek and mild maiden ought. Sabine knew otherwise. These men would never request a ransom. Moreover, she was not the same maiden who ran in terror once before.

The smoke thinned as she neared the edge of the cliffs. Gulping in fresh air, she strained to fill her lungs. A cool breeze floated over her flushed face. She paused at a pile of boulders and felt along the wall of stone. With the bushes pushed out of the way, she found the fissure cut into the rock.

Sabine tied the goat’s rope to a branch, then cradling the baby, she crawled through the opening. Once inside the cave, she placed the child on a pile of soft moss and pulled the blanket away from his face. Her spirits soared. Despite their jarring run through the grove of trees, the orphaned angel swung his tiny fists in the air and kicked out his feet.

“Who might your kinsmen be, my sweet love? I wonder if they are worthy of your bravery. No doubt, they are incapable of providing you protection.” The baby wrinkled his face and began to cry. Grimacing, Sabine added, “How am I to feed you?”

Matilda’s plaintive bleating roused Sabine from her thoughts. “Lord, love us. Of course.” She caught the rope with one hand and gave a gentle tug, drawing the beast into the cave. “Darling,” Sabine cooed through gritted teeth. “Come along now, or there’ll be roast goat for dinner.”

Matilda bleated once and ran through the opening of the cave. Sabine eyed the animal. A plan began to form. Her skill at milking the goat had improved since the first night on the island. When the clergyman Rhys had assured her she would find the required supplies, she hadn’t stopped to think he intended her to fend for herself. It took many failed attempts, but Matilda had finally grown accustomed to her touch.

Her task completed, Sabine reached for the red-faced baby. To her dismay, the blanket was a sodden mess.

She dug through her bag until she found her favorite skirt. She purposefully ignored the stains. It would never be fit to wear once the baby had use of it anyway. In short time, the soft, buttery material was torn into several pieces. One rectangle successfully tucked around the infant.

Sabine rummaged through the bundle and found a small wooden bowl. She poured a meager amount of the goat’s milk into the bowl and set it aside. After a moment of hesitation, she wrapped her blanket around the baby and held him in her lap. Armed with the corner of the thinning blanket, she dipped it into the milk. Careful not to lose a blessed drop, she touched the tip to the infant’s lips.

Warm and dry, he looked up with his big dark eyes. He waved his arms in the air and gurgled with delight.

Sabine ignored the tug at her heart. Like it or not, until she found his family, the baby was hers to care for. She shook her head. “Sorry, little one, but I don’t want the responsibility for another life. Not now. Not ever.”

A lone tear fell from her cheek and landed on her hand. She watched as it dissolved the paste that disguised her age. The plan was to wait until ’twas safe for her brother Taron to come for her. However, many nights had passed well beyond the designated date. The fire was proof that she had waited too long. Her enemy was relentless, and she must leave the island before they found her. Or the baby.

Doubt gnawed at her newly discovered courage. What would she do if Taron were unable to come for her? Was he lying sick, or hurt? Or worse?

She flicked at the dried paste on her arm. “I won’t think of such things. ’Tis not possible that DePierce could destroy all that I hold dear. I won’t allow it. I’ll find Taron and put things to right.”

Smudging the trail of tears from her cheek, she looked down at the babe. Fed and dry, he was content once again. “I have to find your family. I have no desire to keep you by my side any longer than I must. The sooner I deposit you in their care, the better.”

Sabine reached for the bundle at her side and pulled out the usual lady’s personal belongings: a brush, a comb, and a small dagger with jewels on the hilt.

“Well, my lad, your mother made an odd choice of traveling supplies.” Frowning, she weighed the sparkling dagger in her hand. “The balance is wrong. How can such a small knife be so heavy?”

Her brother and men-at-arms carried swords that oft times held secret compartments in the hilt. She stared at the metal but could not see anything amiss. Laying the dagger down, she dug further into the bundle and found a silver mirror and a small bag of coins.

“Saints,” she said. “Why would someone carry such senseless baggage? ’Tis a wonder she found the cottage at all.”

Drawn to the dagger, she picked it up again. Its weak reflection bounced off the cave. She scratched Matilda’s ears and held the knife out to the hairy beast. “What do you make of this? The hilt is in the shape of a swan.”

The goat dutifully examined it with its lips.

“See?” Sabine pointed with a soot-smudged finger. “’Tis an emerald, where the eye should be.” She rolled it repeatedly in her hands. Unable to discern a family crest, she sighed and packed the items away. “Once the fire is out, those fools will search for bodies. We’ll try our luck and climb down the rocks leading to the cove.”

The thought of the cliff made her head spin. Her stomach clutched and churned. The rocks had been slippery the night she arrived on the island. As long as she never looked down, she had managed to climb up the treacherous stairway. Afterward, when she had reached the top and could barely see the shore, she sank to her knees and could not move for hours. It took forever to force her legs to carry her away from the ledge.

“Matilda,” she whispered. “How am I ever going to get down these rocks with you and a baby in tow?”

As if wary of Sabine’s words, Matilda snorted in response.

After ensuring that the goat did not have a means of escape, Sabine offered a prayer under her breath. “Dear God, I need an angel sent from heaven.” She glanced at the goat. “One with a very strong back.”

* * * *

Sir Darrick of Lockwood pulled the oars through the body of water. Sweat streamed down his face despite the chill in the wind. His breath came in small bursts, leaving a trail of clouds in the cold morning air.

The sides of the wooden vessel squeezed against his body. He shifted his weight. The lip of the hull dropped dangerously close to the water. He had forgotten how much he despised boats. With a grimace, he drew closer to the shadows dancing on the pile of rocks. The bucking increased as the small craft neared the isolated island that lay straight ahead.

The wall of rock towered overhead. How did Elizabeth manage the cliffs? Prior to her disappearan. . .