Midnight Shadow (3 page)

As he leaned over her to ease her arm from the biting thorns, Bria noticed his black cape and mask were gone.

“I made a proper mess of things,” he admitted quietly.

Bria looked away from him, tugging and pulling at her other forearm to free the brown velvet fabric of her sleeve from one of the brambles. Together, the children worked in silence until Bria was free of the bramble patch.

“Those thorns really got you.” Garret gently wiped a spot of blood from her elbow. “Are you all right?”

“It stings a little, but I’m all right.”

Garret looked at her for a moment, then hung his head, glancing away from her to the ground. “I never should have pretended to be something I’m not.” He kicked at the cape and mask lying in the dirt.

“You were very gallant,” Bria said, touching his shoulder warmly.

“Not gallant enough to protect you,” Garret whispered. “Not as gallant as the Midnight Shadow would have been.”

If it hadn’t been so quiet in the forest, so still, Bria never would have heard his admission. She pretended she hadn’t.

“Where’s Mary?” Bria asked. “Is she hurt?”

“After Kenric pushed her in the mud, we ran away from him. She’s all right. She’s at her house waiting for us. I came back here looking for you.” Again, Garret kicked at the fallen cape. “Little good that did.”

Bria bent down and retrieved his fallen sword, holding it out to him. Garret stared at it for a long moment. Bria pushed it toward him again, an anxious feeling stirring the pit of her stomach. “Here.”

Finally, Garret took it and placed it back in his belt.

She held out her hand to him and he clutched at her fingers. “I think I’d rather just go home now,” Bria said softly.

He nodded, and they returned to Castle Delaney.

Bria never heard Garret speak of the Midnight Shadow again.

***

Bria squeezed her eyes shut. The shearing noise of her own hair being cut sounded loud in her ears as her grandfather ran the dagger through her long locks. Her shoulders shook with a suppressed sob.

“That’s it, Bria,” Harry told her.

Bria opened her eyes and glanced down at the floor. Her long brown locks lay curled around her bare feet.

Parts of her hair had been so tangled around the brambles, so full of thorns, her grandfather had to cut off her hair. Now her once long locks reached only an inch above her shoulders.

Bria lifted a hand and ran it through her butchered hair. Sobbing quietly, she bent and scooped up the long strands in her trembling hands as if they were a valued treasure. She stared at the knotted mass of hair.

“It was unavoidable,” her grandfather told her quietly, sincerely.

“Will Garret be all right?” Bria asked, wiping her sleeve across her nose.

Harry nodded. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “Just a bump on that hard head of his. You’re sure you just stumbled into that bramble patch? And that Garret fell and hit his head?”

Bria looked away, unable to meet her grandfather’s gaze. She’d argued with Garret to tell the truth so Kenric would get in trouble and be properly punished, but Garret insisted they keep it a secret. “Yes,” she answered.

“Very well.” Harry began to rise from his chair.

“Grandfather?” Bria said.

Harry looked down at her.

“Will you tell me the story of the Midnight Shadow?” she asked softly.

A grin stretched across Harry’s face. “Of course.” He motioned for her to move to the bed. They sat down together upon the soft mattress, and Harry picked Bria up and positioned her on his lap.

Bria settled into her grandfather’s arms, looking down at the mound of brown hair she held in her hands. Someday Kenric would be punished. Someday he’d get what he deserved. Bria hoped she would see it.

Harry began, “He was known far and wide for fighting against tyranny and for upholding fairness. He was called the Midnight Shadow...”

Chapter One

Ten years later

C
andles cast wiggling demons onto the stone walls of the dark room. A large bed held a sole occupant in its lonely vastness. The shadows slithered across her pallid cheeks and moved over her neck like serpents looking for a tender spot of flesh upon which to inflict their deadly attack.

Lord Terran Knowles bent over her small hand, pressing his forehead to the slim fingers he held crushed in his. Her once warm skin felt clammy and cold. He didn’t move for a very long time, and it appeared as if both he and the woman were dead.

But Terran wasn’t about to let her die, not when he’d fought so hard to get her, winning her over another suitor. Not when he’d negotiated a dowry so grand it would provide enough funds to pay his knights and secure peace for his people and his castle for years to come. Not when he loved her. No, he couldn’t permit Odella to die.

But how could he stop it?

Why, Odella? he asked silently. She’d been happy here at Castle Knowles -- at least he’d believed her to be -- and they were to be wed in a week. Why would she do this? Why would she poison herself?

He could think of no answer. Nothing! She’d always seemed so cheerful, with a soft shy smile. God knew he’d do anything to make her better, give her anything she desired.

A knock sounded at the door. Terran didn’t respond. He wanted to be left alone with Odella. The door opened behind him.

“Terran?” a voice called, hesitantly.

Kenric.

His cousin moved closer. “I’ve brought a physician.”

Terran’s jaw clenched; his hands tightened to fists. “A physician will do her no good,” Terran growled. “She poisoned herself. I want someone who knows about poisons.”

“I can’t find the herbalist,” Kenric said. “And a physician –”

Terran whirled, his movements as lithe as a panther. He was off his knees in an instant, grabbing his cousin by the tunic and slamming him back against the wall. “Get me the herbalist,” he snarled.

Kenric’s black eyes were wide as he stared at his cousin for a long moment before nodding his head. “As you wish, m’lord,” he whispered.

Terran released him, and Kenric walked swiftly from the room.

It took a long moment for Terran’s anger to subside. Physician. What good is a physician? I need someone who can help Odella. Someone who can cure her of the poison.

Odella was like a glorious angel laid out in his bed, her hands folded on her stomach, her slender face somber and pale, her eyes closed. Her beautiful honeyed hair was tucked beneath her head.

She was a ghostly reminder of what she’d once been.

He remembered the first day he’d laid eyes on her, more than a year ago. He’d been riding into McColl Village to attend a tournament, arriving just as the merriment began. Odella had been dancing around a maypole with some of her ladies. He remembered her bright blond hair all but glowing in the sunshine, her laughter like music to his ears. He’d immediately fallen in love with her.

He won the tournament in her honor, defeating all who stood against him. After that, through months of negotiation, Terran convinced her father to betroth her to him.

In granting Terran Odella’s hand in marriage, her father had given him the woman his heart desired and a bountiful dowry that would save his castle.

Now she lay dying in his bed. As he looked at her, lifeless and ashen, he wanted to cling to the memories until she regained her radiance. But somehow the images wavered and dissolved before his mind’s eye into a mocking replica of what she used to be.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to wipe away the truth they presented to him, desperate to hold fast to the memories.

I have to remain calm. She’ll be as good as new soon. It won’t be long before she’s smiling again. It won’t be long before I hear her laughter.

“Odella,” he whispered. “Why?” He bent again at her side, gently taking her hand in his. “Why?”

Odella’s head shifted slightly and Terran raised his eyes to her face.

In the flickering light of the candle, he could have sworn her lips moved. He stared at her for a moment, holding his breath, waiting for them to move again. It must have been his wishful imagination. Now they were still. Terran wiped his weary eyes, trying to clear them. But when he opened his eyes to look at her again, her lips were indeed moving.

He quickly boosted himself up on the bed. Her breath was so shallow he could barely hear her. He lowered his ear closer to her lips.

“Garret,” she whispered.

Terran sat bolt upright, his jaw hard as granite. He must have misheard her. But there was no mishearing her next cry.

Her lips moved again, her face contorting with pain. “Garret,” she managed to gasp.

Dysen! Terran reared back. He knew only one Garret. Garret Dysen. This cannot be. Why does she call for another man?

Then a thought struck him so hard he almost reeled. Could she love Dysen? Could she have killed herself because she couldn’t be with Dysen?

Anguish and disbelief tore through Terran. He stood and stepped away from the bed. How could this be?

He whirled away from her, clenching his fists. God’s blood! Have I been so blind?

Agony tore through him. It cannot be, he told himself. But deep in his heart, he knew he finally had his answer. Odella had poisoned herself to escape marriage to him.

Chapter Two

T
he midday sunlight washed down upon the tilting field. A dozen knights were busy practicing their skills in the arena set up in a field on the western side of Castle Delaney. Some of the men were on foot, clanging swords in mock battles. Others rode their muscular warhorses, practicing battle maneuvers. Several men worked diligently on their jousting skills.

Bria pulled her knees up to her chest, staring down at the men in the field. She sat beneath a large tree, watching her grandfather give orders to one of the younger men as he handed him a jousting pole. Her grandfather indicated the quintain in the center of the field with a wave of his hand. The man nodded and spurred his horse forward, riding toward the far side of the field.

Someone plopped down on the grass beside Bria. She swiveled her head to see Mary adjusting her patched skirt around her legs. Her friend shoved a strand of unruly dark brown hair behind her ear and attempted to pat the rest of the flyaway strands flat. Her brown eyes twinkled with glee. “Has anyone arrived yet?” Mary asked breathlessly. She liked this suitor business much more than Bria did.

Bria returned her dismayed gaze to the field. The young knight with the jousting pole had reached the far side of the field and was turning his steed to face the quintain. “Two. No one interesting, though.”

Mary chuckled. “I think if the Midnight Shadow himself walked through your door, you’d call him ‘not interesting’ to avoid marriage.”

“If the Midnight Shadow walked through my door, I’d jump at the opportunity to marry him!” Bria exclaimed. “But he isn’t going to walk into Castle Delaney.”

The young knight in the jousting field spurred his horse and it charged forward, kicking up small puffs of dirt in his wake. The knight leaned forward in the saddle, leveling his pole at the quintain.

“That’s your problem, Bria,” Mary explained, watching him. “No flesh-and-blood man will ever be as attractive as the imaginary one you’ve created in your head.”

The young knight hit the quintain, which spun rapidly. The soft bag hit him in his shoulder with enough force to throw him from his steed. He tumbled over the side of the animal, landing in a pool of dust.

Mary put her hands over her eyes and groaned.

Bria grimaced and murmured, “Well, we know he’s not the Midnight Shadow.”

Mary burst into laughter.

“Can you still meet me tonight?” Bria asked, elbowing her friend.

“Of course,” Mary replied.

Suddenly, the distant sound of trumpets filled the air.

Mary’s eyes widened and she strained to see toward Castle Delaney, where the sound was coming from.

Bria rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, sitting back against the tree. “Another suitor,” she said with disdain.

Mary giggled and grabbed Bria’s arm, trying to pull her to her feet. “Let’s go see.”

“Why?” Bria demanded, refusing to be lifted.

“With all that fanfare, he might be handsome!”

Bria huffed disinterest. Mary yanked her to her feet and pulled her down the slight rise toward the road leading from the village to Castle Delaney.