Chapter Seven

Clark waited.

Then he heard it, a barely perceptible swishing noise behind him. He glimpsed a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and wheeled around, drawing his sword at the same time.

"Who goes there? Show yourself!" he shouted, in as commanding a voice as he could.

"Aaaah! Don't strike, sir! 'Tis I, your squire!"

Clark lowered his sword, beholding the trembling boy in front of him. "Damn and blast, boy! You scared the"--how did you say crap in Middle English? "You sacred me," he finished lamely.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," the boy, Ralph, implored. "I didn't mean to. I thought you were a brigand."

"You'd best thank God I wasn't, or you'd be on the wrong end of a sword by now," Clark said darkly. "You nearly ended up on the wrong side of mine."

The boy bowed his head, chastised.

Clark felt odd referring to Ralph as a boy, since he was only a couple of years younger than he was. But he figured Kendrick was probably in his early or mid-twenties by the time he found his way to Langdon. "Why on earth are you wandering around the woods at night, anyway? Are you looking for trouble?" Clark demanded.

"Nay, sir… I was only seeking to protect the kingdom from routiers." The boy puffed out his narrow chest proudly.

"Foolish boy. More likely you'd have ended up getting yourself killed," Clark grumbled. "Now come on, let's get back to the castle before we run into real trouble." He led the way to Blackwood, a humbled Ralph following him. Clark made sure to keep a perma-scowl on his face. Playing the proud, arrogant knight was kind of fun!

A few moments later, the trees fell away and Blackwood castle loomed out of the darkness. It was a sight to behold, the massive stone structure illuminated by the flickering glow of hundreds of torches. It stood stark and proud on an outcropping of land, a moat surrounding three sides while the fourth fell away in a steep rock face. A winding path let up the hill to the drawbridge, which Clark and Ralph followed. A sentry sleepily guarded the gatehouse, barely batting an eye as they crossed. The moat lay still and black beneath the indigo sky. It reeked so foully that the odor alone would surely keep invaders at bay.

Blackwood's Great Hall was, as predicted, the antithesis of Landgon's. It was dank and ill-lit, and there were probably colonies of vermin living in the rushes. A pungent mixture of sweat, ale, and smoke assaulted Clark's nostrils as he entered. A crowd of men had gathered for their evening meal, and the cacophony of loud voices, ribald laughter, and clattering silverware nearly drowned out the minstrel serenading them with a lute.

Clark ended up taking his supper with a group of loud knights, whose main topic of conversation was either their prowess in fighting or in bedding comely wenches. He partook of a generous amount of ale, despite its strong, bitter taste. He pretended not to notice the way the serving wench, a buxom redhead, kept eyeing him, as though she fancied him her dessert.

"Methinks Rosaline fancies you, Kendrick," a burly knight with greasy hair joked.

"Eh, Rosaline fancies anything that moves!" a second knight chimed in.

"Nay, she must have standards--you've not tasted her charms yet!"

Raucous laughter rang out around the table.

"So what say you, Kendrick? Are you going to tumble her in the stable tonight, or what?" Greasy Hair wanted to know.

Clark gulped down more ale. "I think I'll pass."

"You're a picky one, eh?" a tall, bearded knight spoke up. "But then, had I spent the afternoon with Lady Lianne, 'twould be difficult for a mere serving wench to measure up!"

"Aye, Lianne is a fetching morsel," Greasy Hair agreed. "Our Lord is a lucky man. Could you imagine those milky thighs spread for you?"

"I bet Kendrick knows the feeling!" the bearded man taunted.

The bawdy laughter accompanying that statement abruptly went silent as Clark's wine goblet banged down on the table. "You'll not speak of the lady that way!" he commanded. "Have you no manners?"

A collective groan was his only response. "You take chivalry far too seriously, Kendrick," the bearded knight grumbled.

"We were only having a spot of fun," Greasy Hair added. "After all, 'tis not us who are tupping the comeliest lady in the land. We merely wish to know of your-"

He stopped short as a sword whipped through the air and embedded itself in his trencher, neatly slicing it in half. "You will cease this talk at once," said Clark menacingly, "or this sword shall be slicing other things than your trencher."

A tense silence hung in the air, until gradually the men resumed their eating--quietly, save for the sounds of smacking, slurping, and the gulping of ale.

Clark himself was in need of a generous amount of ale. Where had that outburst come from? Was some of Kendrick's personality coming through to him? He didn't know, but hearing Lana spoken of that way ignited a hot swell of temper that just seemed to get away from him. No one spoke of her that way, not even a bunch of crass medievals!

"Good work, Sir Kendrick," a low voice spoke up behind him. Lord Lothar had materialized seemingly out of nowhere, and was likely a large part of the reason for the men's sudden silence. "I would be most displeased if these men spoke ill of my bride."

"'Tis my duty to defend her honor and well as yours, my lord," Clark said respectfully.

"And you know, sir, that I would also be gravely displeased should the rumors of your involvement with Lianne have any truth to them," Blackwood continued.

Clark gulped. "I assure you, my Lord, 'tis naught but hearsay. I've no agenda but to keep the lady safe for you."

Blackwood seemed appeased. "You are an honorable man, Kendrick. I trust you… and should you be lying, I will doubtless find out on my wedding night. Then, both the lady and yourself shall suffer the consequences."

"You'll not be disappointed, my lord. I've had naught to do with Lianne in that sense." Wasn't that the truth.

"See that you don't." With a final cool glance over his shoulder, Blackwood moved on.

The remainder of the meal passed without incident. Clark barely tasted the stale bread and stew he had been served. He was most grateful when he was finally able to vacate the Great Hall.

The chamber Blackwood had assigned him was small but surprisingly comfortable. Kendrick had few possessions, but Clark managed to find a heavy fur-trimmed cloak that kept him quite warm. However, it soon came to his attention that the ale he'd consumed at dinner had caught up with him. Surely the medievals had some answer to a bathroom. He had no choice but to wander the keep until he found what he needed.

Fortunately, it did not take long before he stumbled upon the garderobe. Once had finished his business, he realized he had no idea how to get back to his chamber. Swell. He trudged down the hall to the narrow, winding staircase, wondering if he was headed in the right direction.

The sound of voices down the corridor soon diverted his attention. Clark knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but upon hearing the men's words, he couldn't help himself.

"Methinks the lady knows more than she lets on, my lord," an unfamiliar voice was saying.

"Perhaps, but do not forget that she is a mere woman. Even if she did know something, she could do little about it." Blackwood's voice.

Clark flattened himself against the wall, ducking into the shadows.

"She could go to the king. After all, Langdon was on good terms with John."

"If she tries to flee, she'll not go far. I've men posted throughout the forest disguised as vagrants. 'Tis a shame about the incident this morning, but one must do what is necessary to guard his reputation."

"Aye, and an inspired idea it was, my lord. But she's a smart one… she'll find a way to get around it."

"Mayhap you're right. Her dullard of a brother may have had the good graces to get himself killed in the Holy Land, but her father was a bit trickier. I'll send Kendrick to guard her while I am in France. When I wed her, I shall find out if she is innocent or not. Either way, Langdon's lands and fortune will be mine, and I'll have little need of her except perhaps for siring an heir."

"Aye, you'd be a fool to dispose of her before you got a decent bit of sport," Blackwood's companion agreed. "Mayhap when you've had your fill, you might see fit to share the wench--"

Clark nearly jumped as steel whistled through the air, and the man's raunchy tone abruptly degenerated to a strangled gurgle.

"Show some respect, Hugh," said Blackwood with deceptive calm, the blade of his jeweled dagger pressed to the man's throat. "Remember what happened with Kendrick at supper this eve. His threats will pale in comparison to what I have in store for those who disrespect my bride."

"Aye, my lord," the man named Hugh said, or at least attempted to say, since the phrase sounded more like, "aiieemlllrrrrrd."

The blood rushed back into Hugh's pasty face as Blackwood abruptly pulled back his blade. "Good night, Sir Hugh." With that, Blackwood whirled and strode down the hall, his ermine-trimmed cloak swirling behind him.

Sir High beat a hasty retreat. When he was sure the coast was clear, Clark slipped out from under the cover of the shadows and quickly made his way back to his chamber--at least, he hoped he was heading back to his chamber. Relief rushed through him when he finally found the room. I've got to warn Lana and Gillian, he thought urgently. He debated using his powers to race through the woods to Langdon Castle, but quickly dismissed the idea. Surely Blackwood would find out he was gone, and it would only enforce his suspicions that Kendrick was dallying with Lianne--or worse.

No, Clark couldn't afford to tip his hand now. Blackwood would be sending him to Langdon tomorrow, and then he'd be able to keep Lana and Gillian safe. He had only tonight to get through.

It might as well have been a hundred years. He could get no rest while Lana was in danger, and morning could not come fast enough.
--

The night was dark and silent. She felt the quiet pressing around her, almost like a living thing, as she paced about her father's treasury. Henry of Langdon appeared no less uneasy.

"Must you go to France again, Father?" she asked anxiously. "You just got here!"

"I know, Lianne." Henry's green eyes reflected sorrow. "Would that I could spend more time at home, but alas, the situation in France grows worse, and I must go to war for my king."

"Why this incessant fighting?" Lianne scowled, placing her slender hands on her hips. "War in the Holy Land was the death of William. I cannot lose you, too!"

"You shall not lose me, Lianne," Henry assured her. "But in the unlikely event I don't return, please remember this. Should Blackwood offer for you again, do not accept. I wish I could've married you to Robin before war broke out, and then I would know you are safe. But things are as they are, and hopefully he will return soon and the matter will be taken care of. Until then, do not trust Blackwood. That's all you need to know."

"But why?" Lianne pressed. "Has Blackwood a hidden agenda of some kind?"
"The less you know, the better," was all Henry said. "Promise me you will heed my advice."

"I shall not promise, for you will return safe and sound," Lianne said firmly. "Please do not speak so, father. It distresses me."

"Lianne, we cannot hide from the reality of war. As much as I hate to think about such things, we must be prepared for the worst." Henry regarded her gravely. "Please promise me you will do as I say… just so my mind can be at ease when I depart on the morrow."

Lianne hesitated, loathe to make the promise and to thus admit to the possibility of her father's demise. "I promise."

Henry laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "'Twill be all right, my daughter. Do not worry. I will return to Langdon in due time."

Lianne tried to smile. "I know, father." Outside the castle, the wind howled incessantly in a lonely dirge. She could not help but find the sound ominous.
She wished she could share in her father's optimism. But she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong… very wrong.

Lana awoke to a clear and sunny morning. But the night had been a restless one, the dream leaving her with a feeling of profound consternation. Could it be that she was experiencing some of Lianne's memories?

Still feeling uneasy, Lana summoned Gwyneth, her lady-in-waiting. She was still getting used to the idea of servants waiting on her hand and foot. Gwyneth helped her dress, choosing a deep green gown that matched the color of Lana's eyes. Lana inspected her reflection in the bronze, the closest thing the medievals had to a mirror. The only makeup Lianne apparently wore was rice powder and some lip rouge. Although Lana usually didn't wear much makeup, her face felt naked without it.

She and Gillian immediately headed to morning mass in the church's chapel. The priest gave the entire mass in Latin, which got massively boring considering Lana didn't understand a word he as saying. Afterward, it was off to the Great hall for breakfast. The meal consisted of bread, cheese, and mulled wine. They were just finishing up when a squire entered the hall.

"Lord Lothar of Blackwood is here to see you, milady," the boy announced. "Sir Kendrick de Montclair is with him."

Lana rose abruptly. "Send them in."

The squire did as he was asked. A moment later, Blackwood strode in the hall, with Clark and his squire, Ralph, behind him. Clark caught Lana's eye, and relief coursed through her seeing he was all right. However, she worked to keep her expression haughty as she addressed Blackwood. "Lord Lothar, what brings you to Langdon today?"

"Surely you remember that I promised to call on you. His voice was low and unnervingly intimate. "However, I fear I am the bearer of unfortunate tidings."

"I'm sorry to hear that." His words sent a rumble of uneasiness through her. "What might that be?"

"I've received word that tensions are mounting in France again. I've interests abroad that must be seen to, so I leave on the morrow. 'Twill likely be a sennight, maybe a fortnight, before I return."

"I am disappointed that the peace did not last," Lana remarked, "but I neglect to understand why your departure should sadden me."

A peculiar coughing sound emanated from the back of the Great Hall. Red-faced, Clark held his hand over his mouth. "Sorry, catch in my throat," he rasped.

"Would you like a glass of wine, Sir Kendrick?" Lana asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"I would be much gratified, my Lady."

She signaled a serving wench. "Eleanor, kindly fetch some wine for Sir Kendrick."

Eleanor nodded and was off.

"I am leaving you in the care of Sir Kendrick until I return," Blackwood went on, ignoring her slight. "I hope you will be more amenable to our betrothal by then. If not, I'm afraid I will be left with no choice."

"No choice but what?" Lana stared him down, despite the fact that her palms were sweating and she was forced to hide her shaking hands in the folds of her skirt.

"You are aware that you are a mere woman. You can never own this land in your own right. Sooner or later, it will be snatched from you--either by myself, or by the king. As loathe as I am to take your lands or your person by force, I will if I must."

"Are you threatening me?" Lana demanded.

"I prefer to think of it as offering you an incentive," was Blackwood's smooth reply. "I beg you reconsider. Would a marriage to the house of Blackwood be so bad? You will be given everything you need, and most of the time you will be left to your own devices. Of course, I am in need of an heir, but I doubt you shall find that duty terribly unpleasant."

"I'd rather bear the devil's spawn than subject myself to such torture, even if it wouldn't last long," Lana spat out.

This time Gillian began choking and sputtering, having nearly snorted wine up her nose. Eleanor rushed to fetch her another glass.

Blackwood was unruffled. "You always were a cheeky baggage, my lady. It shall make our wedding night all the better."

Lana had run out of witty retorts. "Bite me, Blackwood."

Gillian lost it altogether and bolted from the Great Hall, muttering something about the garderobe.

"'Tis curious speech you use in Brittany," Blackwood remarked. "But alas, as much as I would love to continue this verbal volley, I must be off. We will resume our conversation when I return. By then, I trust you'll have seen the wisdom of accepting my offer."

"Aye, at about the same time I see one of the village swine flying past my window," Lana retorted. "Will you see yourself outside, or shall I have a squire escort you?"

"I can find my own way out, thank you very much. I'd like to get acquainted with my future property."

"I hear the view is lovely from the gallows!" Lana called after him.

The Great Hall fell quiet after Blackwood's departure.

"Oh, my God, you were freakin' awesome!" Gillian exclaimed, having returned from wherever she'd fled to. "Way to go, Lana!"

"I never know you had it in you," Clark added with a grin.

"Yup, beneath this sweet exterior lies a saucy wench just waiting to get out," Lana joked. She didn't let on how much the encounter left her shaking and how wobbly her knees felt. She hadn't known she had it in her, either! But Christopher's accounts did paint Lianne as a strong and willful woman, and Lana felt she should play the part.

"Your wine, milady?" Eleanor asked Gillian, arriving with the glass.

"Thank you, don't mind if I do." Lana took the glass and downed it in practically two gulps. She handed the empty glass back to a confused Eleanor, who disappeared into the kitchen.

"They really water it down," she said defensively, noticing Clark and Gillian's curious stares.

"Well, we can't stand here basking in the glory of Lothar's departure for too long," Clark said. "I hate to be wet blanket, but I've got some bad news."

The smile melted off Gillian's face, and Lana became concerned. "What is it?"

"I overheard Lothar and his right hand man talking last night," Clark answered. "Turns out there's more to him than it seems. I'm afraid you're both in terrible danger."