Tender is the Knight

PROLOGUE

England, 1228 A.D.

Cornwall

Launceston Castle

The stench of defeat was heavy in the cold December air. Sir Thomas
De Bretagne watched grimly from the battlements as soldier after soldier returned to the outer ward of Launceston Castle, either in pieces or on a stretcher or being helped by a comrade.  Though great oil torches burned brightly all about the massive fortress, Thomas felt as if the fire was doing nothing more than illuminating the path of his failure.

“My lord
!” An exhausted young lieutenant stood beside him. “Most of the men have returned. Shall I call a meeting of the knights?”

Thomas grunted. “How many have returned?”

“Eight, sire.”

Thomas flinched.
“Out of Seventeen? Only eight?”

“”Twas a vicious fight, my lord.”

“I know. I was there. But only eight….” He could not help himself from gnashing his teeth in frustration. It was a bad habit that had left him with brittle teeth over the years.

Sir Douglas de Lohr could sense the anger, the disappointment. He watched his superior officer grind and grunt and sought to comfort him. “At least we have a victory this night, my lord.
A considerable one.”

Thomas cast the knight a withering glance until he realized what the man meant. His expression cooled and he nodded his head, watching as the last of his foot soldiers entered into the safety of Launceston’s ward.

“Aye,” he growled. “Rodrick d’ Vant is no more, Douglas. For that, we must indeed give thanks.”

Thomas turned away from the knight and made his way along the fighting ledge that encircled the great circular outer wall of Launceston. His men were below and he was determined to give them a victorious speech in spite of the paradox that had occurred this night; death to the hated enemy, yet heavy casualties to them as well.  He could see his men littering the outer ward, the dead and wounded heaped like bloody dolls on the frozen ground. Thomas had to swallow at the sight; odd how a fighting man with his years always felt ill at the sight of so much blood.

“Men!” he shouted. “Listen to me now!”

His voice reverberated off the dark stone structure. The keep and circular inner wall, high above him on a great mound, seemed to shout his words back at him. There were men up on the inner wall, and even more on the roof of the tower-like keep. They were all staring at him and he could feel their anxiety, their hope, waiting for his words like eager children. 

Thomas’ heated breath hung in the icy air. “This has been a momentous night,” he said strongly. “Though our enemies at St. Austell have not fallen to our siege, we have achieved one great victory this night. The death of their leader, Rodrick d’ Vant!”

A cheer went up through the ranks. Those still with weapons rattled them loudly and a hoot, like the cry of an owl, went up until the sound nearly pierced Thomas’ ears. It was the rally cry for the army of the
Earl of Cornwall, Richard, brother of King Henry III.  Thomas felt his weary spirit lifting with their enthusiasm. “Death to d’ Vant!” he cried again, listening to the volume of their yell increase. It had been a long time since his men had possessed something so monumental to cheer about and he allowed them their moment of happiness.

Thomas suddenly felt another presence beside him, a softness he could sense long before he could see it. Turning, he found himself gazing into wide, golden-brown eyes and for a brief moment, his battle-hardened heart softened.

“Ryan,” he murmured. “You should not be here. Go back to the keep where it is safe.”

His daughter ignored him. Her beautiful face scanned the sea of men below, listening to their cheers of emotion. “Is it over?”

Thomas sighed and put his arm around her shoulders. “Aye, ‘tis over. Rodrick is dead.”

“No more battles?”

“I did not say that,” her father replied. “I merely said that for now, it is over. But Rodrick has a son, and it is my guess that Dennis d’ Vant will avenge his father’s death. We could be in for more trouble than we know.”

It was difficult for her to imagine worse trouble. This was bad enough, and she was frightened for her father. Putting her arms around him, she hugged him tightly. “Perhaps we should pray for a miracle, then.”

Thomas could not possibly imagine what that miracle might be.  He did not even want to guess.

***

St. Austell Castle

Thirty miles to the south, the cries that echoed in the night were not those of glory or victory or happiness. They were the cries of sorrow, penetrating the walls of St. Austell Castle until the stone bled with the pain. Soldiers filled the great hall below the open gallery, spilling out into the ward and the battered walls beyond. Many were injured, screaming as the barber surgeons cut away at limbs and torsos, spilling bright red blood over the stone floors. But up in the gallery, in a great bed that had belonged to generations of d’ Vants, more blood and agony was being spilled than in all of the halls in all of England.

A large, hairy man lay upon the dirty linens, his head grotesquely bandaged, the strips
of boiled cloth literally holding his skull together. He had been struck by a Launceston ballista but had refused to die instantly as other men would have. Worse yet, he was still conscious, babbling and crying, as a woman in armor knelt beside him and wept. 

At the foot of his bed, in the shadows away from the reaches of the oil
lamp, stood a figure so massive that it was almost surreal. Blond hair, fine and glistening, was shorn up the back of his skull but left to hang down in the front over one eye. He kept sweeping it out of the way. The figure stood silently as the man on the bed grew silent and eventually passed away, and even then, as the others around him wept and prayed, he remained like a rock in the sea of turmoil.

“Revenge,
Dennis,
revenge
,” the woman in armor hissed. She was still kneeling beside the bed, her mannish face wracked with anguish. “Launceston must pay!”

Dennis
d’ Vant stared stoically at the corpse of his father. His gray eyes were distant and so very, very cold. “That is my decision.”

“What are you going to do?” the woman demanded.

Dennis remained silent. His mind was numb, his body weary, and he truthfully could not decide how to feel at this moment. But one thing was for certain; St. Austell was now his, without his father’s heavy handed influence, and now he had the opportunity to do something he had wanted to do for as long as he could remember. He should have felt terrible, but he did not. He should have felt guilty for not feeling terrible, but he did not either.

Turning on his heel, he left the death and blood of the gallery behind him as one would shed a cumbersome, restrictive suit of clothing

“What are you going to do, Dennis?” the woman screamed after him.

He
did not turn to look at her. “Something that should have been done a long time ago.”

CHAPTER ONE

Richard,
Earl of Cornwall sat behind an enormous teakwood desk that had been brought all the way from the Byzantine Empire upon the backs of donkeys. He was a small man, dark haired, and possessing the supreme Plantagenet trait of one droopy eyelid. It gave him a rather moronic appearance, but the man was anything but foolish. He was brilliant, mildly scrupulous, and richer than God himself.

A thin lancet window in the wall of the crescent-shaped solar allowed the December chill to penetrate the rich chamber, which was resplendent with lavish furnishings.  Richard himself was clad in the finest wool and satins that money could buy. Across the room, he watched
the captain of his army carefully, gravely aware of what he was suggesting. The conversation, so far, had not been a pleasant one.

“It
makes perfect sense,” Richard said. “This would answer all of our prayers, Thomas. Think on it!”

Thomas stood across from his liege, gnashing his teeth furiously. It was obvious he
did not agree. “You shall forgive me, my lord, for showing less enthusiasm than you. It does, after all, involve my daughter, and….”

“She is
all I have, Thomas,” Richard insisted. Although he thought of the de Bretagnes, father and daughter, as his family, he would not let Thomas’ indignation deter him. “I have no daughters to give.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but you have nieces.”

“It would take time to secure them and I do not want to risk d’ Vant changing his mind. It makes perfect sense to pledge Ryan.”

Thomas gnashed his teeth so hard that he bit his lip. “
Dennis d’ Vant,” he hissed, drawing the name out so that it was correctly pronounced:
de Vont
. He paced away from Richard, trying desperately not to appear insubordinate. “Son of Rodrick, a man who made our lives a miserable hell up until his death.” He turned sharply to the earl. “How, my lord, can you ask me to pledge my daughter to the son of this man?”

Richard inhaled slowly and rose from his cushioned chair. It was cold in the room and he moved to the copper vizier, glowing red with heat and coals. He warmed his hands a moment before speaking.

“St. Austell Castle controls the road leading from the Cornwall peninsula to the rest of England. She controls St. Austell Bay. While Rodrick was alive, he cut off most of Cornwall from the heart of my brother’s kingdom.” He turned to glance at Thomas. “That was why Launceston was chosen as the site for my fortress, you know. To deal with the d’ Vants.”

“I know.”

Richard turned back to the glowing warmth. “He and his fathers before him have always been enemies of the crown.” He paused in thought. “The House of d’ Vant descends from the kings of Cornwall, which is presumably why they are so fanatical about protecting their land. I suppose they believe they have an unalienable right to rule it.”

Thomas
did not say anything. He lowered himself in to a chair, staring off into the dimness of the cold room. “But to pledge Ryan into this violent, hated house,” he closed his eyes at the thought of his sweet daughter in the hands of a d’ Vant. “You are condemning her, my lord. ‘Twill kill her, I think.”

Richard gazed at him pointedly. “Do you really think I would send
Ryan to her death? Have more faith in me than that.” He moved away from the vizier and stood in front of his miserable officer. “I was there for her birth, Thomas. You permitted me to name her Ryan Elizabeth. And do you recall why I named her that?”

Richard was trying to draw the man out, but Thomas was unwilling to be comforted. “Because
Ryan means ‘little king’ in Gaelic,” he muttered. “You called her Little King Elizabeth for years until she begged you not to.”

“Only when she grew to a woman,” Richard’s droopy eye was twinkling.
“’Tis undignified for a young lady to be called by a childhood name in public.” He put a strong hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “Given that I am so fond of her, do you think I would lightly consider Dennis d’ Vant’s proposal?”

Thomas had to shake his head. “I suppose not, my lord.”

It was the answer Richard sought. He left Thomas and went back to his desk. In front of him lay partially unrolled vellum. He fingered it as he spoke.

“
Dennis d’ Vant seems to be different than his forefathers,” he said quietly. “There is more reason in his word. He proposes a marriage to end the hostilities once and for all. Why do you suppose he has done this?”

Thomas shrugged; he found he was fairly weak with the realization that the decision on his daughter’s future had already been made. “We heavily damaged St. Austell with our last si
ege. Perhaps he is simply tired of war.”

“A
d’ Vant tired of war?” Richard shook his head at the improbability. “How many times has St. Austell been rebuilt in the past year?”

“At least twice to some extent, but it seems as if there
is always some sort of repair or building going on.”

“Enough to bankrupt them?”

A light went on in Thomas’ eyes. “You are suggesting they can no longer afford to keep their war efforts financed?”

“It would seem logical.”

“But what of St. Austell harbor? Surely it brings in heavy tariffs.”

“St. Austell Castle is enormous, as is her army. It would take a king’s ransom to keep them going.”

“But what of her tolls on the road to and from Penzance?”

“Not many people stray that far into the wilds of Cornwall with a battle going on between Launceston and St. Austell, and certainly not enough people to support a war machine of that size.” He smiled rather smugly. “What we could not accomplish with our constant sieges, Thomas, we can accomplish with an arraigned marriage. A hefty dowry would come with a royal bride.”

“But Ryan isn’t of royal blood.”

An odd flicker came to the earl’s eye, but it faded unnoticed. “She is of m
y choosing,” he said quietly. “And I shall supply her dowry. Therefore, she is a royal bride.”

Thomas thought a moment. “So
d’ Vant proposes peace and in exchange, he receives a wife and a sizable sum of money.”

Richard nodded firmly. “That is why I said
Dennis seems different from his forefathers. He’s willing to play the political game in order to survive. Rodrick was either too stupid or too immersed in his legacy to realize that.”

Thomas felt marginally better. He
did not know why he should, but he did. Now he had to break the news to his daughter. He knew she would not take it well. Wearily, he rose from his chair, noting from the light filtering in through the lancet window that the sun was setting. Through the gray cloud cover, it was difficult to tell.   He felt as if his heart was gray and cloudy also.

“I suppose I should inform my daughter of her destiny,” he said quietly.

“Indeed.”

Thomas sighed in resignation; Christ, he wasn’t looking forward to this in the least. Moving through the door that led to the darkened halls of Launceston, he silently practiced the words he would use to describe to his daughter how crucial her role was in the peace of Cornwall. He truthfully
did not think there were any words strong enough to convince her.

He was right.

***

“Thomas, I forbid it!” Richard was furious.

“We have no choice, my lord.”

“Of course we have! I forbid you to present
Ryan in this… this state!”

Thomas sighed patiently. “You do not understand, my lord. If I untie her, she will run.”

“She will not!” Richard shrieked. “I forbid it!”

“She will, I assure you.”

“Then I shall make it a royal command!”

“
She will defy you.”

It was the afternoon following the receipt of
d’ Vant’s proposal. Richard stormed about his solar, marching over the luxurious Persian rug that nearly covered the length of the room. He stomped around in fine slippers crafted in Assyria, a robe and tunic made in Italy, and hose that were made from the most amazing linen from Egypt.  But the fury on his expression was pure Plantagenet.

“Thomas, you cannot present her to her husband like an animal on a leash,” he beseeched him. “What will
d’ Vant think? That I have saddled him with the wildest, most disobedient woman I could find?”

Thomas nodded calmly to the ravings. “I am aware of that, my lord. If you wish to speak with her one last time…,”

The earl waved his hands irritably. “No, it would not do any good. She will only ignore me, or cry like she did the last time.”  He shook his fist at his captain. “I swear, Thomas, if she wasn’t the loveliest thing on God’s good earth, I’d….”

He
could not finish. Thomas wriggled his eyebrows in understanding. “That is about as far as I get before I cannot finish my sentence, as well.” He lifted his shoulders helplessly. “She is so much like her mother, in every way. I know I should be harsher with her, but….”

Richard was torn too. He had watched the Lady
Ryan Elizabeth de Bretagne grow from a fat, beautiful baby into a woman of such magnificence that to gaze upon her literally took his breath away. Truly, she looked like an angel; hair of amber tumbled down her back in waves, and spectacular eyes of a golden-brown could cast a spell so strong that no man was resistant. In truth, the color of her eyes was like a brown cats-eye stone that Richard had set in a ring. It was a piece of jewelry that had come from the Holy Land with his uncle and the stone seemed to change color in the sunlight, going from a rich brown to a spectacular gold depending on the angle of the rays. Ryan’s eyes were like that, too; they changed with her mood accordingly.

And
God only knew, she was moody. The earl’s men had called her a spitfire since she was small. She was also stubborn, willful, and extremely difficult at times, but she could also be the sweetest creature on the face of the earth. Truly, Lady Ryan was a paradox that now belonged to Sir Dennis d’ Vant.
God have mercy
, Richard thought.

“Well,” the earl was calming, realizing that he was in a difficult situation and shouting wasn’t going to help. “It would seem she must be reasoned with not to run away if we untie the rope from her ankle. What about Lyla?”

Thomas shook his head. “Her cousin would more likely help Ryan than us. Hell, if we allow Lyla, she will untie the rope and they’ll both run off. We shall never find them!”

Richard grimaced. “Women,” he growled. “What to do, then?”

Thomas sighed thoughtfully. “Speak to her again, I suppose. Extract a promise that she will not run away if we untie the rope. Convince her how foolish she looks being presented to her future husband like a rabbit in a snare. Truthfully, I know naught else to do.”

Richard pondered that. Then he nodded firmly, as if coming to some sort of decision. “Indeed. I shall speak to her common sense, then.”

“She is only seventeen. She hasn’t much.”

“She has enough.”

“And if that does not work, my lord?”

Richard
would not look at him. “Then we let d’ Vant deal with her. Suppose we use that as a threat if she doesn’t behave?”

Thomas was both horrified and encouraged by the suggestion. “It might very well work, my lord.”

Before Richard could say another word, a shriek erupted from the corridor outside the solar. Servants were running about, howling, and Thomas stepped into the hall curiously. One woman, dressed in a severe wimple and soiled brown robes, nearly ran into him in her haste.

“My lord!” she screeched. “The lady has escaped us!”

“Damn!” Thomas pushed past the woman with Richard close on his heels.

The keep of Launceston was three stories in height, rather small and circular in shape. On the bottom floor were the kitchens and a chamber in which Thomas slept. The second floor held the great hall and Richard’s half-moon shaped solar, and the third floor held the earl’s lavish bower as well as a chamber where
Ryan and her cousin Lyla slept.  There were narrow spiral staircases running between floors, which made running up and down them difficult with armor and weapons. Thomas struggled to maneuver these stairs, made even more trying as harried servants attempted to descend, bumping into him and the earl. It seemed that the entire castle was in an uproar, and for good reason.

As he knew,
Ryan’s chamber was empty. There were no signs of a struggle, not as if she had fought her way out of the rope that tied her ankle to the bed. In fact, both the rope and his daughter were missing and a light of understanding came to his eye just as Richard rushed up behind him.

“There is no sign of her,” the earl swore softly under his breath. “No one has seen her. What do you suppose…?”

Thomas put up a quelling hand before gesturing strongly towards the two lancet windows cut into the wall of the chamber. They were just big enough for a young lady to leap from. Before he could stop the earl, the man rushed to one of the windows and hung over the ledge, nearly pitching himself out in his haste.