If Not For The Knight, Debbie Boek [electronic reader TXT] 📗

“That is how it should be,” he said, squeezing her hand. Lowering his voice even more, he asked, “Will you stay tonight?”

He felt his heart drop in his chest as he watched her lower her eyes to the table. “I cannot, Milord,” she answered unsteadily. “Many people already suspect we have been together. The situation is getting much more difficult for Radolf already.”

She would not tell him about the older boys who had called him names while they threw rocks and sticks at him earlier that day. It was not Calder's concern and she would not burden him with her problems.

She raised her eyes back to his. “I wish that I could, but it is too difficult right now.” Her heart ached at the thought of not being able to feel his hands on her body, his lips on hers, the weight of him on her as he drove her to heights of passion the likes of which she wanted only to experience over and over again.

“Somehow, Regan, I will resolve this between you and your people. I am not sure how yet, but I will make it right.”

“Yes, Milord,” she replied softly, loving that he cared, but knowing that there was nothing he could do to mend the situation.

“Please, stay,” he whispered, his mouth so close that his breath brushed her hair.

She could feel herself weakening and stood up from her chair, leaving most of her trencher still filled with food. “I cannot, Milord. I must go now. Please excuse me.”

Regan quickly walked away before she could change her mind.

Calder’s disappointment at her departure quickly changed to renewed anger at Edgar and anticipation at finally finding a way to get to him. “Men,” he called loudly, so all in the room could hear him. “I have come up with a plan for tomorrow night. Rather than split our forces again,” now that she had been brought to his attention, he could not help but notice Maida's interest in his words “we will all surround the hideout tomorrow night. We will arrive just before dark and wait till dawn, if necessary.”

Hearing his men's groans of frustration, he continued. “They have been gone too long from their home. They will have to return, and I believe it will be soon. We will catch them as they try to sneak in with the darkness. Trust me men, I know this will work.”

Pulling Draco aside a short time later, he pointed Maida out to him. “Do not lose sight of her when she leaves tonight, Draco. She will go to tell Edgar of our plans. Follow her and find him, then return here. We will set out immediately to apprehend the thieves. They will not get away this time.”

“Yes, Milord,” the massive knight responded with a smile, the anticipation in his face evident as he went outside the Manor to lay in wait for Maida.

After the serving women left and his men were starting to make themselves comfortable on their pallets, he called them together once more.

“Draco follows the spy,” he said. “Tonight, we hit them, so sleep lightly.”

He noted their smiles with satisfaction. Rather than sleeping, they chose to use whetstones to sharpen the blades of their swords as they talked quietly amongst themselves. When Draco arrived a short time later, they were awake and ready do battle.

“They are staying in a grove not far from here, in the opposite direction from where we keep the livestock. I saw at least a couple dozen of them huddled around their fire, and I believe there were more standing guard in the woods. All have weapons,” Draco stated.

Silently, they left the Manor and saddled their horses. Draco led the way as they entered the forest. He gestured to them when it was time to dismount. They tied their horses far enough away that their noise would not attract any attention, and each man was given instructions on where to position himself once they reached the site.

“Edgar is mine,” Calder said, blood in his eye at the thought of finally being able to meet his nemesis one on one and dispatch him back to the hell he had come from.

They situated themselves around the group of thieves. A few men had been set as lookouts, but they were removed quickly and quietly, before they were able to call out any warning.

Slowly, the knights made their way down the hillside, carefully moving branches out of their way and stepping over any sticks that might break and give them away.

When they were a few yards from the campsite, Calder nodded to Draco. He let out a bloodcurdling war cry, which all the other knights joined in on as they ran at the cluster of men around the fire.

Mayhem reined as the thieves quickly grabbed up their weapons and turned to face this threat. Most were just farmers and no match for Calder's trained soldiers. They were easily dispatched as the knights moved on to the more experienced men.

Calder's eyes met Edgar's across the fire and he smiled. Fear flickered in Edgar's gaze, but he was not easily cowed. Leaping across the fire, he engaged Calder with his own sword.

Wishing Edgar were a better swordsman, so that he would not have to feel bad when he killed him, Calder toyed with him awhile. He allowed Edgar to believe he had the upper hand, only to thrust upward, knocking the sword from his grasp.

Edgar lost his balance and landed on his back, the tip of Calder's sword tickling his throat.

“Now you will die like the dog that you are, Edgar,” Calder said coldly, ready to thrust the blade home.

He saw Edgar's eyes flicker over his shoulder and, turning just in time, was able to deflect the blow meant to sever his head from his body. The man was close though, and Calder was unable to prevent the sword from striking his right arm, cutting him deeply. The limb went numb instantly and the sword dropped from his useless fingers, leaving him at the mercy of the thief.

An evil, toothless smile lit his attacker's face as he walked slowly toward the defenseless Calder. Backing slowly away, the injured knight breathed a sigh of relief when Skeet suddenly appeared from the shadows. Thrusting his sword into the thief's back, Skeet efficiently skewered him before the man could dispatch Calder as he had intended.

In the meantime, Edgar rolled away and retrieved his own sword. He faced Calder now with a sinister look on his face.

“Who will die like a dog now, Milord?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face as he relished the thought of killing his foe, feeling much more confident now that Calder had only bare hands with which to fight against him.

Edgar continued to thrust at the defenseless Calder, but was not close enough to do any damage. So far, Calder was able to keep away from the sharp blade, but Edgar was closing in and the knight was losing a lot of blood from the cut on his arm. He could feel himself weakening and knew he must make his move soon.

Skeet stood nearby. He would gladly have taken on Edgar himself, but the warning look Calder sent in his direction reinforced his earlier words. Calder wanted this man for himself.

Edgar's face gleamed with overconfidence as he continued to toy with his enemy, close enough now to nick Calder occasionally on the arms and legs. His grin widening, Edgar paused a moment to savor his anticipated victory.

Unfortunately for Edgar, Calder had maneuvered himself close to where his sword had fallen. He took that moment to dive to the ground, rolling away from the deadly tip of Edgar's sword as he grabbed his own with his still useful left hand.

Edgar roared in rage and ran toward Calder, who was now crouched on the ground. Holding the hilt of the sword in his good hand, Calder thrust upward with all of his strength, watching as the point buried itself deep into Edgar's chest.

Edgar’s eyes widened in surprise, then they glazed over and he sank to the ground as the life left his body.

Calder stood and looked around at the battle still raging. “Your leader is dead.” His voice roared above the sound of steel striking steel. “Give up now or join him in hell.”

The men hesitated as they glanced at Edgar's motionless body. Most were already wounded to one degree or another and slowly they lowered their weapons to the ground.

“Bring the bodies and the prisoners,” he called to his men, tearing his sleeve and binding his wound to staunch the flow of blood.

When they reached the village, Calder sent Skeet to find the woman called Maida and bring her to the Hall. She entered the room a few minutes later and walked slowly toward Calder, where he stood talking with Draco. Maida eyed him suspiciously.

“You've been injured, Milord,” she said, trying to sound concerned rather than curious.

“That I have, lass. I've heard you've a way with mending a man's wound. Would you be able to sew it up for me?”

“Of course, Milord, just let me go get my supplies,” she replied, hurrying away.

Maida returned a short while later and began to bathe the deep gash with warm water.

“May I inquire as to how you came by such a wound, Milord?” she asked, as she began stitching it up.

“A minor skirmish,” Calder said, gritting his teeth and watching her every move closely. “You can be sure the man on the other end of my sword suffered much worse than this.”

She faltered as she tied the knot, but recovered quickly and tried