The Dark Lady (5 page)

Peter sent up a silent prayer as Richard and Van walked away from him. He prayed for them to be safe, for Van to have the opportunity to grow into a good man. He prayed for a quick end to the wars and a safe trip home for all the warriors involved in it.

***

The dark, black eyes, filled with caring and concern, once more hovered over Peter. The blurry face of the woman swirled in and out of his vision and her sweet, hypnotizing voice sang to him. Enticing him as it had that night, singing her sweet siren song of home and family. He could feel the heat of her skin over and over as he ran his fingers along the smooth cheek. He could feel her blood dripping down into his shoulder, becoming one with his own.

Jerking his eyes open in the darkness, Peter took a ragged breath. He tried to pretend it was just a dream about a woman, but he could not.

His shoulder ached softly but not enough to convince him to roll over and take more of the bitter concoction the doctor had sent.

Closing his eyes, he lay in the quiet darkness and tried to dispel the lingering whispers of the phantom voice.

CHAPTER
3

England June 1158
:

Daniel Farnsworth crouched deep within the bushes, trying to ignore the pricks and scratches as the jagged thorns dug into his weathered skin and pulled at what little gray hair he had left. He had watched the battle rage around him for most of the day. Fear raced through his heart as he huddled in his cold, damp hiding place. He was too old for this. If a sword did not kill him, his old heart might. His muscles were tight and pain settled deep in his bones.

The reason he was here ran through his weary mind for the thousandth time since he had agreed to deliver the message. He had consented to this trip because he desperately needed the money this job would pay. His wife had worked at the dress shop for many years but was now sick and unable to work. Now his only concern was what would happen to his wife if he did not come home at all.

His beautiful wife of thirty two years had pleaded with him not to come here. He had explained to her that Van Burgess had spent his childhood in their village of Junket, that he knew him, and would not harm him. She had reminded him several times that Van had always been unstable of temper and had grown into a dangerous knight since he had left. She had told him the money was not worth it and had begged him to stay home. He had not listened, but she was right. Money was worth nothing to a dead man.

Daniel’s body shook violently—not only from fear, but from an immense chill that seemed to radiate from his very soul to envelope him. He watched men fall atop one another onto the blood-soaked ground until his innards were in turmoil and his mind numb. The heavy swords clanged so loudly he could feel them vibrate through the ground itself.

Taking a slow breath, he watched the man his message was meant for. The Dark Knight wielded his sword with deadly accuracy. A victorious guttural cry burst forth from the dark figure as man upon man fell to his weapon.

The Dark Knight’s reputation preceded him and Daniel knew he was not a man to be trifled with.
I
t was well known that he murdered men, raped women, and found joy in all that he pillaged and plundered.

The battle cries rose into a booming thunder. Daniel flinched as more fear raced through him. The enemy retreated and The Dark Knight’s army took chase.

Daniel did not know how long he had crouched there in his cold damp hole, but he could not bring himself to leave the safety of concealment. Through the dense branches of the red berried bush he could see the knight standing proud in the misty late afternoon air. The eerie silence that draped itself over the now calm meadow was worse on Daniel’s frayed nerves than the sounds of battle had been.

He closed his eyes and thought of the stories he had heard of the Dark Knight. The Dark Knight’s heroics and his mischief were widely told among the commoners. According to the tales, he had killed more men than one could count. His temper was short and he answered with his fists more often than not, but that did not come as a surprise to Daniel. Van Burgess had always been that way. He had always been proud and arrogant.

Daniel took a deep, shaky breath. The smells of decaying vegetation and moist dirt filled his lungs. He swallowed hard and forced down a cough that threatened to burst loose and give away his position. He opened his eyes and watched as the fierce knight’s penetrating gaze scanned the countryside. He could clearly see Van’s nostrils quiver and flare as he seemed to scent the air for danger.

He ran his trembling, dirt-encrusted finger along the slightly rough surface of the rolled parchment. He knew he had lost his mind to have come here to deliver this message. If it was bad news, he did not want to face the Dark Knight’s anger.

The darkly-clad and menacing figure walked slowly toward his hiding place. Daniel crouched lower into the soft and spongy ground, holding his breath to keep as still as possible.

His gaze was drawn to the flickering motion of the Dark Knight’s pennant. It hung proudly upon a staff that had been embedded into the earth behind the tethered war horses. It fluttered gently in the breeze, an emblem of a rearing stallion, appearing for only a moment before it disappeared again into the waving folds of black cloth.

A shadow fell upon him, drawing his gaze back to Van, who now blocked the sun from his view. The fearsome knight was clad all in black. The only color to break the monotony was the silver destrier on his helm, one that matched the emblem on his pennant.

Sweat ran down Daniel’s face and stung his eyes as he watched the Dark Knight stop not more than ten feet away. He took a slow deep breath and could smell the blood on the knight’s heavy metal chest plate.

He thought to run. Forget the money promised him with a return message. He could say he never found the man and give back the money already given. His life was worth more than a small sack of coin.

He had left the money with his wife, along with a promise that he would hurry home, and he had sealed that promise with a kiss. He could almost smell his wife’s sweet-scented soap on her warm soft skin, taste her lips beneath his.

Rough hands grabbed him from behind, jerking him from his concealment and the fantasy of his wife. Daniel screamed as he was catapulted through the brush covering, the thorns tearing at his face and hands as he fought for purchase. He landed only a few steps from the dark figure’s booted feet.

Dirt stinging his eyes and terror freezing his thoughts, he fought to regain his footing. The knight spun toward him, drawing his large, blood-stained sword as he did so. Daniel’s heart skipped a beat as his blood chilled. He dropped back to his knees in terror. Knowing he was about to die, he began to yell as he waved the message before him. “I am a messenger, please. I am a messenger, please.” Over and over he pleaded, his heart thudding in his heaving chest.

“
Bloody hell, shut up!” The menacing growl of the figure before him quickly shut his lips. The Dark Knight stalked the short distance between them, his black eyes drilling into Daniel’s very soul.

“
Are you quite done?” Van growled in irritation.

Daniel’s eyes clenched as tightly shut as his lips were. He did not open either as he dropped his head to his chest. He cowered in the mud, the stained parchment trembling in his outstretched hand.

Van noticed that blood trickled from several scratches across the face and hands of the familiar messenger. There was only one person from Junket that would send a missive and the only reason that Van’s mother ever made contact was because she wanted something. It was more than likely either money or repairs, but worry and concern still slithered around, refusing to be ignored.

Heavy boots splashed through the mud and Van looked up dismissing the messenger and his missive for the time being. There was no time to deal with either. Not just yet anyway, not with Eolian and his men still somewhere nearby.

Van glanced at Richard in concern. Richard nodded that all was clear, but anxiety was etched on his face. Van quickly scanned the area for the remaining scouts as the other men-at-arms began to circle.

Nervous tension twisted Van’s stomach as the scouts returned. Each came back to camp with a nod to show that all was clear. None returned with prisoners, which was not a good sign.

Eolian and his army had escaped, once again. Anger boiled inside Van, bubbling like a cauldron until its poisoned waves spilled over the top. In a fit of rage, Van cursed loudly, turned, and kicked the blood soaked body of an enemy.

Taking a slow, calming breath he dispatched the guards and gazed after the men as they took up their posts around the perimeter of the camp. With knowledge that all was secure, Van turned back to the kneeling man who had still not moved. “How long have you been watching?”

The messenger remained immobilized, his arm outstretched and the message extended.

“
Messenger?” Still nothing. Van peered closely at the old man. “Farnsworth, how long have you been watching?”

“
Several hours, sir.” The raspy voice was a bare whisper.

Van watched as the parchment trembled and shook in the old man’s withered hand and understood that his fear was not from the battle he had just witnessed nor was it just the fear of him. It was from the message that he held as far from his body as possible.

With an amused grin, Van pulled off the black helm and shivered as the soft cool breeze drew goose flesh to overheated skin. “Rise and look at me.”

The messenger rose shakily to his feet, held the message out, and looked in wide-eyed shock at the figure before him.

Van knew what the messenger saw. He saw a tall boy who looked all of eighteen. Van’s smooth and defined cheek only added to the illusion of youth. The only thing that marred the baby face was the long jagged scar that had been earned three years before. If not for the wicked scar and the dirt and encrusted blood, Van would look effeminate. Not that anyone would dare say that to his face.

Van felt the same nagging anger that always surfaced when coming face to face with that shocked look. The expression in those wrinkled eyes said clearly that Van’s lie would soon fail to be credible.

Van, short for Vanessa, had lived the lie all her life.

Van’s father, wanting a son, had been enraged when she was born a girl and had vowed to kill her. Her mother had spoken of it often, telling her that she must always pretend to be a male or else her father would find her and finish what he had vowed to do the day she was born.

She had kept the secret all her life and had never strayed from the lie, but it had gotten to the point where very soon she would no longer be able to pull it off.

Worry grew within her as she considered her options. She could not stay as a knight, this she knew. She would never grow a beard and she was lucky that her woman’s cycle had not been noticed.

Pain gripped her heart as she realized that she really only had one choice. She had to leave before she was caught in her deceptions. She hated being put in this position. She was angry with her father for wanting to kill her and with her mother for forcing her into this life. Mostly she was angry because she loved her life as a knight and was loath to let it go.

Richard cleared his throat gently beside her. Van looked into the concerned eyes of her friend. She raised one black brow at him and grinned.

Richard shook his head and groaned. He knew that look. Van was angry and when he was angry that made Richard nervous. Van turned back to the elderly man and jerked the message from his hand.

Farnsworth, who looked about ready to fall from fatigue and fear, screamed as the parchment was ripped away from him. The Dark Knight said, in the most arrogant voice Richard had ever heard him use, “Relax, I receive messages all the time and I assure you, very seldom do I have to kill a messenger.”

The man teetered and would have fallen if Richard had not grasped the bone thin arm. Richard laughed a deep resonant sound to comfort the old man. “He is kidding you, my dear man. Come, we shall get you some water and some—” Richard looked at Van’s ghost white face behind the unrolled parchment and his laughter died in his throat.

“
Sir?” Richard had never seen that look on his friend’s face. It was a mix of anger and concern, almost fear. Worry wormed its way through him as he stepped closer to his friend.

Van’s helm went back over jet black hair that was pulled into the thick braid and wrapped full length with a black leather strap as it always was. There was no answer as the wide shouldered figure stalked toward the still saddled horses.

“
Sir.” Richard caught him in several strides and grabbed a mail clad arm. “Van. Where are you going?”

“
I need to go. Take care of the men.” Van looked agitated and nervous as he looked from the parchment to the horses. Richard had never seen his lord in such state. Indeed Van had only two emotions. Anger and calm. Richard was unsure of how to deal with this new emotion, but he did know that he could not allow his liege to ride off alone.

“
Nay.” Richard refused to release Van’s arm even as Van pulled against his hand.

“
Nay!” Anger flashed in the dark ebony eyes and Van gripped the hilt of his sword. Richard knew he was not used to being questioned, especially by a friend. Van was still in the habit of fighting for respect, of fighting just to survive with the men.