Tender is the Knight (35 page)

“Knock on the door, Charlotte,” he said softly. “I would speak with Miguel.”

Charlotte paled. “What are you going to do,
Dennis?”

“That is between us. I would have you tend to my wife while I conduct business with Miguel.”

Charlotte did not know what to say. She feared her brother had suddenly gone mad, but she did not argue further. He had always been the calm, sensible one and she would have to trust him.  Rapping on the door, they waited some time before a house servant opened the great oak panel.  Charlotte did not utter a word; she and Clive pushed their way into the warm, stuffy keep, making a path for Dennis and Ryan.  The servant woman fell back with a shriek, causing other servants to come running.

Dennis
gently handed Ryan over to Clive while Charlotte turned to the frightened servants and began snapping orders.  While they flew about in a frenzy to bring warm food and blankets to the limp lady, Dennis moved into the great hall.

“Where is your lord?” he boomed to the servants.

His question was met by titters and fearful whispers. Annoyed, Dennis decided to take to the third floor of the keep when a great commotion suddenly rose from the gallery above the hall.  Glancing up, he saw a short, older man in hose and a tunic hanging over the oak banister.  The man gazed down at him, a pewter flask in his hand and expression of sheer loathing on his face.  He was weaving dangerously, and Dennis could smell the liquor on him from where he stood.

“Who are you?” the man demanded in a thick Spanish accent.

Dennis knew who he was immediately.  He had never seen Miguel the Pirate, for when Rodrick had negotiated a peace, he had done it on board the Gemini.  But the accent told him everything he needed to know and he felt his blood begin a slow, angry simmer.

“Someone you are undoubtedly well acquainted with,” he replied evenly. “Should I come up there or do you intend to come down here and speak to me face to face?”

Miguel was terribly drunk, an unusual state for him indeed. He, like Dennis, was normally quite in control of himself. But Ryan’s disappearance had upset him so terribly that drink seemed the only way to ease his anguish.  As he gazed down at the massive knight in his hall, he truly had no idea who he was and his irritation was fed.

“I
do not know you,” he muttered. “What is your name?”

“Come down here and I shall tell you.”

“Tell me now or I shall run you through.”

“
You shall have to come down here in order to run me through.”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed.
“Insolent bastard. Tell me your damn name or I shall… I shall…!”

“
You shall…
what?”

Miguel froze for a moment, as if actually start
led the knight would challenge him. But it was indeed a challenge and with a growl of frustration, he tossed the pewter flash aside and hurled himself down the spiral stairs that led from the gallery to the hall below.  As he marched upon the knight, it occurred to him that he was easily a head and a half shorter than him; Miguel hadn’t realized the knight was so tall from his perch above.  Additionally, the man was as wide as a door.  Miguel had been determined to thrash the knight soundly, but now he came to a halt and unsteadily scrutinized the warrior. There was something to the shape of his eyes that was indeed familiar, but he could not place him.

“Where do I know you from?” he slurred.

Dennis’ gray eyes glittered. “St. Austell.”

The drunken, half-lidded expression vanished and in a heart-stopping moment, Miguel was immediately apprehensive and suspicious. “St. Austell?” he repeated. “Why… why are you here?”

Dennis could see he had the man off-guard and it pleased him.
How sweet to let him stew
, he thought.  “I have what I came for,” he said coolly. “Now I would speak with you, Miguel.”

Miguel took a step back, away from him. He wished he wasn’t so damn drunk; at the moment, a child could have bested him, and he knew he was in no shape to battle this enormous knight.  “
Who are you?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“No!”

There was a bench nearby.
Dennis leisurely sat down, keeping his eyes on Miguel the entire time lest the man decide to do something stupid. Already, Miguel was extremely guarded and, also being drunk, probably lacked the control he normally had.  Dennis wasn’t about to take any chances.

“Can’t you guess?” he finally said. Admittedly, he was taunting Miguel, and it was quite amusing if he were to admit it.

But Miguel did not find it funny in the least. “You must serve d’ Vant,” he said coldly.

Dennis
’ amused expression vanished. There was a glint to his eye, like the glint of a blade before it plunges into the belly of an enemy. “No,” he said quietly. “I
am
d’ Vant.”

Surprisingly, Miguel
did not flinch; he actually appeared relieved to at least know who he was dealing with.  But there was an odd disappointment in his eyes that Dennis did not understand. “D’ Vant,” he finally said. “I knew you would come. It was inevitable.”

“Of course I would,”
Dennis said. “Did you ever truly think otherwise?”

“No,” Miguel shook his head. “But I find it a remarkable feat that you are here so quickly, considering no one, save the earl, knew my destination.”

He simply confirmed what Dennis already knew, but Dennis thought that Miguel was fishing for a more sinister motivation behind Dennis’ sudden appearance. Pure, blind luck could not have been a factor in his mind.  But Dennis would not admit to anything so spectacular as happenstance, amazing as it was. He wanted the pirate to think he knew everything.

“Know that where my wife goes, I follow like a bloodhound,”
Dennis said, skirting the real answer. “Be glad that this dog has not already ripped your throat out.”

“Is that what you intend to do?”

“Not at the moment. But I could easily change my mind.”

Miguel swayed away from him, an exaggerated gesture that was not mean to be as such. But it made him appear as if he was fearful of
Dennis. “You said that you had what you came for. Am I to assume you found your wife wandering the countryside somewhere outside these walls?”

It was hard for
Dennis not to gloat and curse him at the same time. “I have.”

“She is alive?”

“Fortunately for you.”

Miguel snorted ironically, thinking he was rather stupid to have allowed the woman the opportunity to steal the key to her vault.  It made him feel like a silly old fool. “I had her confined to the vault after her repeated attempts to flee,” he said after a moment. “But she stole the key from me. Ran off like a frightened goat.”

For once, Dennis was very glad for his wife’s seeming habit of escaping any situation she deemed undesirable. From an arranged marriage to following Dennis on his quest to Wales to escaping Miguel’s vault, Ryan was the embodiment of stubborn determination.  The thought of her ingenuity made him smile.

“I am well aware of her cunning qualities,” he admitted. “
She has done the same thing to me.”

“She has?” Miguel could see the smile on
Dennis’ lips and it intrigued him. “Perhaps you would tell me one day when we aren’t about to kill one another. I, for one, found her most willful.”

“She is.”

Miguel would have liked to have warmed to the conversation, but it was impossible to discuss the woman with her husband.  The seriousness of the situation weighed heavily and Miguel was forced to sit; his drunkenness and Dennis d’ Vant’s unexpected appearance was catching up to him and, more than anything, he felt a distinct sense of defeat; he thought he would have more time with Ryan. Like a child with a new toy, Miguel did not want to share, but he knew his time with her was ended.

“Well,” he said casually. “Let us return to the subject at hand. It is apparent that the earl has betrayed me by telling you where I took your wife.”

Dennis could see a golden opportunity arising and he would have been a fool not to have taken full advantage of it. “Yes, he has,” he said, almost sadly. “He is my enemy, and now he is yours. What are we going to do about it?”

A salt and pepper eyebrow lifted as Miguel tried not to appear too startled. “We?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

“You cannot serve a man who would betray you.”

That was true, and Miguel wasn’t particularly loyal to anyone other than himself.  But he was driven by the fact that the earl had promised him money, the castle and
Ryan in exchange for killing Dennis d’ Vant. But gazing at Dennis, he knew the likelihood of him being able to kill the massive knight was slim. Perhaps, in fact, the earl had sent Dennis to kill
him.
Perhaps the earl and Dennis were now happily allied and it was now Miguel who needed to be eliminated. His head began to swim with terror and drink and suddenly he was stumbling up from his seat, rushing to the great mantle where his broadsword lay lodged upon the stone.

Dennis
saw what was happening and rose. “Miguel,” he said firmly. “You do not want to do this. You are in no condition to fight me.”

Miguel had his sword in his hand, sensing his death to be very, very near. “I will indeed defend myself against Cornwall’s assassin!”

“I am not his assassin,” Dennis said calmly. “You are.”

Miguel faltered in the midst of his rage, though his suspicion remained strong.  “I have been many things in my lifetime,
d’ Vant, including an excellent warrior. If you want to kill me, then know I will not be an easy target.”

Dennis
held up both hands as if to prove his point. “I am not Cornwall’s assassin,” he said again. “And if I was going to kill you, it would be in the name of my wife and nothing more. However, I do have a proposition for you.”

“From Cornwall?”

“No,” Dennis said with a hint of irritation. “I am not an ally of Cornwall, as you well know.  There is an old saying; my enemy’s enemy is also my friend.”

Miguel kept the sword up, though it was apparent that he was intrigued by
Dennis’ statement. “Then you are not here to kill me?”

“Nay.”

“What proposition, then?”

“Put the sword down and I will tell you.”

Miguel did not immediately comply. “Your father was trustworthy. I know, for I dealt peace with the man. Are you as your father was, young d’ Vant?”

“I am.”

Miguel hesitated a moment longer. Then he lowered the weapon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-
TWO

It was warm and musty smelling, and the sway was comforting. Everything around her was moving, but she did not mind.  She thought of it as much like being in a snug, cozy womb. As her groggy mind came into focus, Ryan remembered fleeing Usk’s vault and ending up in a blinding snow storm. Then it was cold, so bitterly cold, and the desire to sleep was overwhelming.  A freezing white blanket covered her, smothered her, and she had struggled to fight against it. She tried to run, to keep going, knowing that she must find Dennis. She could see his face before her, calling for her to be strong, but it was of no use. The misty blanket surrounded her and then blissful, if not chilly darkness, descended.

And now this.
She blinked her eyes a couple of times, realizing that she was in the back of a wagon. Heavy warm blankets covered her and a light dusting of snow fell from the gray sky above. She could hear talking around her, muffled voices entering her muddled brain, and a great fear took hold. She could not even imagine where she was, or in whose company, and as she lay there listening to her heart pound steadily in her ears, a great hand suddenly reached down to adjust her blankets. She was positive the hand meant to do her harm and without hesitation, she bit it.

“Christ!”
Dennis hissed and snatched his hand away, but in the next instant he realized his wife was conscious enough to inflict damage. He leapt into the bed of the wagon with the agility of an excited child. “Ryan, you are awake!”

Ryan
’s terror turned to boundless joy.  She whimpered as her husband pulled her into his arms, too weak to properly respond to him. Dennis whispered to her gently and she could feel his joyous kisses against her face, her head, anything he could come into contact with. He smothered her with his embrace, squeezing her until she could hardly breathe.

“My sweetest love,” he breathed. “How do you feel?”

She sniffled, struggling with shaking hands to wipe the tears from her face. But her hands were trapped beneath the blankets so Dennis wiped her face for her. “I feel very tired,” she said softly. Her golden-brown eyes gazed into her husband’s gray orbs and never in her life had she felt more happiness or relief. “My God, I can’t believe... I mean, I simply would never have guessed.... Dennis, you
found
me! How did you ever find me?”

He shushed her gently, kissing her pale lips tenderly.  “God works in mysterious ways, love,” he whispered. “I
do not know how I found you, but I did. So many things just fell together that a miracle happened. I will not question God’s wisdom. It was meant that I should find you.”

Ryan
was so wrapped up in her husband’s presence that she failed to notice Clive and Charlotte, riding beside the wagon and grinning like idiots. They, too, were relieved to see that she was alive and at least marginally well. Ryan managed to free her hands and she eagerly roamed Dennis’ face, reacquainting herself with the feel and texture of her husband.

“I wanted to come to you in Wales,” she murmured, somewhat guiltily. “You left me... I simply
could not be away from you, Dennis, not for a minute nor a month nor a thousand years. Patrizia and I hired a man from town who promised....”

Again,
Dennis shushed her. “I know all about it, love,” he did not want her upsetting herself with distressing tales of woe and with trembling lips, he kissed her again. “It was my fault, Ryan. I should not have left the way I did. It was cowardly and I beg you to forgive me. But you... you look at me with your beautiful face and ply me with your sweet voice and I swear to you that I am unable to resist. I knew if you begged to go with me one more time that I would relent, and I simply could not do it. I knew you would be far safer at St. Austell, though I wanted you with me as badly as you wanted to go. It was easier for me simply to flee to avoid facing my weakness. My weakness is you.”

“I know,” she smiled faintly, touching his scratchy cheek. “And there is nothing to forgive, my darling.  If anyone should be begging forgiveness, it is me.  I disobeyed you terribly.”

He kissed the palm of her hand, a lingering kiss as though it was the first or the very last. “You listened to your heart,” he murmured. “I do not know if that is ever wrong.”

“I should have stayed where you told me to.”

“And I should have brought you with me.”

They giggled like giddy lovers, embracing and kissing until Clive and Charlotte had to look away. It was a tremendously private moment, one upon they did not wish to intrude. Exhausted and dizzy yet elated,
Ryan’s joy would have been complete had she not caught a glimpse of the man driving the wagon.  The bald head and small stature had horrific meaning to her and she flew into a panic.

“Miguel!” she screeched. “
Dennis, it’s... it’s Miguel!”

She was jabbing a finger at him frantically, all the while seeming to make an attempt to crawl out of the wagon. It took
Dennis a good deal of effort to calm her.

“It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “He’s no threat to you, I assure you.
Ryan, look at me - the man is no threat!”

She knew she should believe him, but it was terribly difficult. She only knew her history with the pirate, and not what had transpired over the past few hours.
Dennis was practically holding her down in the wagon to prevent her from escaping. Miguel turned to the pair with a lazy expression on his face; it was a deliberate look to mask the disappointment in his eyes.  He had heard their delighted reunion over the past few minutes and it was all he could do to fight off the sadness and jealousy he was feeling.  He still wanted Ryan in the worst way, but hearing and seeing how happy she was with Dennis resolved him to defeat.

“
Mija
,” he finally said. “‘Tis good to see you are well after your, shall we say, adventure.”

Dennis
comforting grip was not enough to control Ryan’s fear. She yelped and continued to struggle to move away from Miguel. “I am dreaming,” she muttered wildly. “I must be having delusions. Miguel is driving a wagon that my husband and I are traveling in. I must be
mad!”

Dennis
grasped her by the chin and forced her to look at him. “You are not mad,” he said soothingly. “Miguel
is
driving the wagon. We are going to Launceston.”

She yelped again and took a swing at
Dennis, narrowly missing his nose. “You are not my husband!” she gasped. “What demon are you that you have possessed my sweet husband’s body? I am dreaming; this is all an insane dream!”

Dennis
thought it was all rather comical and struggled to keep the smile from his face. “Ryan, stop this now,” he said firmly. “You are not dreaming. Miguel and I go to confront the earl for his treachery. Do you understand? Miguel is no longer the enemy.”

She looked at him as if he was the one going mad. “It’s not that simple!”

“I am afraid that it is, sadly,” Miguel said from his perch on the end of the wagon. He cast a long glance at Dennis. “Ask your husband to explain.
My enemy’s enemy is also my friend.”

Ryan
was calming, but it was a strained calm. She looked wildly between Miguel and Dennis. “What is he talking about?” she demanded of her husband.

Dennis
put his lips against her forehead. “It means that the earl has betrayed all of us.”

Ryan
knew that. Richard had caused more damage than she could comprehend, to everyone. It was more than the death of her father and the attempted destruction of her marriage and husband; it was the fact that Ryan had always looked up to him, had always loved him like family. Now all she could do is mourn the memory of what she had once believed.

Her heart rate slowed and fatigue consumed her. Cradled in her husband’s arms, she felt more peace and contentment than she had ever known. All was right in the world now, she hoped for
awhile.

“What are you going to do when you reach Launceston?” she asked softly.

Dennis held her against him, tightly. “Convince the earl to leave us in peace or suffer the consequences.”

She closed her eyes, seeing more battle and bloodshed when Richard ignored the request. “He wants St. Austell,
Dennis.”

“I know.”

“He won’t stop until he has what he wants.”

“I have the king behind me,
do not forget.”

Ryan
’s nausea returned with her trepidation.  “He has St. Austell now, doesn’t he?” she had left St. Austell before the troops arrived, but she knew her husband’s plan had been successful.  Dennis never failed. “Will it ever return to d’ Vant control?”

Dennis
wasn’t sure. He did not like to think that he had lost his castle forever. But he had done what was necessary to preserve it. “Time will tell, love,” he murmured. “Do not worry overly about it. I am sure all will right itself in the end.”

She was quiet a moment, feeling
Dennis’ heat against her. “Let me ask you this, then,” she said slowly. “Do you think our children will ever know the d’ Vant legacy of controlling St. Austell?”

Dennis
lifted an eyebrow. “I do not know. But I have a few years to answer that question.”

She closed her eyes, lulled by the sway of the wagon. The urge to vomit swept her again but she fought it off; there was nothing in her stomach to vomit.  “You have approximately eight months.”

***

Lyla had never been so cold. Her feet were wet, her hair was wet, and she had been regretting fleeing north for quite some time now. Every time her stomach rumbled or she hid in the bushes to avoid a traveler, she regretted her decision. She had been dependent on the kindness of lesser-threatening strangers to get her this far, and even so, she wasn’t sure she was on the right road.  She had been afraid to ask at times and simply took her best guess as to which direction to take. But she was in Wales, she knew that much. Just exactly where in Wales remained a mystery.

It had been foolish for her to come.  But she had to get to Ryan, no matter what. Still, she could not do Ryan any good if she was dead from cold and starvation.  But perhaps that was one trait she and her cousin had in common; sometimes their determination overwhelmed their common sense. Both had tremendous determination. And both were incredibly stubborn. But their love for each other kept them strong, and as Lyla traipsed the snowy road, her determination never wavered in her hunt to find her cousin no matter how miserable or frightened she was.

The snow had stopped falling and the countryside was coated with a perpetual mist of white.  She had spent the past several hours hiding out in an abandoned shelter to protect her from the vertical snow that had been punishing the land. But the weather had eased and she could travel again, though the drifts were up to her waist. There was no food to speak of and she ate handfuls of snow to fool herself into thinking she was having a meal. But in truth, she hadn’t eaten in over a day and her strength was waning. Her desperation to find
Ryan was becoming critical in more ways than one.

Distant voices caught her attention. Her head was so wrapped with wool that it was difficult to tell just how far off they were, or how long she had actually been hearing them but had been unaware. She tried to leap off the road and into the snow drifts, but it was too late; rounding a narrow corner in the road, she ran headlong into an armed party of soldiers. Lyla screamed with surprise and fear, her hands around her throat. The first thing she saw was a pair of brilliant blue eyes gazing back at her.

“Lyla!” Riston gasped.

His features registered slowly. Lyla burst into tears as Riston scrambled off his charger and pulled her into his arms.

“Lyla, what in the hell are you doing out here?” he demanded softly

Lyla wept loudly, from relief and fear and, in truth, happiness. She could hardly believe he was here, holding her, protecting her from all that would harm her, and she clung to him fiercely. Suddenly, she
did not want to be so strong anymore. It was good to be weak within his strong arms.  Now, he would find Ryan for her.

“
Ry… Ry…,”she sobbed.

She was too overcome to speak.  Behind them, the army of King Henry came to an unsteady halt, over five hundred men grinding to a slow crawl. Riston had been leading the group, plowing his way through the snow and elements on his way to Launceston. He had bullied St. Maur into coming and wasn’t about to ease his show of determination. But now, his determination was halted for a pair of familiar eyes and a familiar pretty face. He realized that nothing at that moment was more important than the woman in his arms.

“Lyla,” he held her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me why you are here in Wales, wandering in the middle of nowhere. What’s happened, honey?”

She swallowed, struggling to calm herself. “I… I came to find
Ryan,” she hiccupped.

His brow furrowed. “
Ryan?” he repeated. “Where is she?”

Lyla wiped her running nose.
“At Usk Castle. Uncle Richard said Miguel is holding her there.”