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

“Will you stop that?” he yelled at Orvyn, as the dog continued to dig frantically at the face of the fireplace.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, as he realized what the dog was doing. “Oh, my God, you wonderful, smelly cur, you.”

Grabbing the dog, he gave him a brief hug, grateful for the dog's persistence in trying to get through to such a simple human and explain what had happened.

Unsheathing his sword, he pulled the hidden lever under the mantle and a small door opened silently, leading to one of the secret passageways that went behind the fireplace and down to the river. Calder crept stealthily down the narrow, stone stairs, allowing the large dog to follow behind.

Rounding a sharp bend in the circular stairs, he jumped back as a broadsword was swung directly at him. It barely missed, but clanged loudly against the stone wall next to his head. Calder lost his footing as he hit the wall and was unable to counter when he saw the man preparing his next attack. Orvyn took advantage of the moment while Calder was attempting to regain his balance. The dog leapt at the assassin, the two of them rolling like misfit lovers down the remainder of the stairs.

Calder heard a howl of pain as he hurried to join them and was able to bury his sword in the man's back before the bastard finished off the dog as he had intended.

He removed his tunic and wrapped it around the Orvyn's bleeding belly, stanching the flow of blood from the wound. “Hold on, boy. I'll get you back upstairs and have you taken care of soon. Just hold on a few minutes more.”

He ran over to the doorway leading to the river, broadsword at the ready as he slowly pushed it open. The adrenaline coursing through his body turned swiftly to disappointment as he found only footprints leading to the river.

They had gotten her away, and there were no tracks to follow.

With some difficulty, he carried the heavy dog back up into the Hall. Some of his knights had just returned to let him know they had been unable to locate Regan.

“Someone get Bernia, quickly. The dog needs care. Call together the rest of the men. They've taken her by way of the river.”

Calder waited impatiently for his orders to be carried out, grinding the blade of his sword with a whetstone until it gleamed with deadly sharpness.

Bernia quickly cleaned and stitched the dog's wound with just minimal help from the knights, who held him still as she did so. “He will survive, Milord. It will just take some time for his wound to heal.”

“I am happy for that,” Calder replied, looking at the dog with a new sense of respect and gratitude. He ran his hand through his short, black hair, his brow furrowed in worry. “Men, they have taken Regan by way of the river. Whether upstream or down, I do not know. We'll have to split up and search each side, in both directions. It is almost dark now,” he said, trying to hide the desperation in his voice, “so we will not be able to track them tonight. We'll wait for first light, I won't risk missing them in the darkness.”

It tore his heart out to speak those words and to have to sit idly by while Regan was in the hands of men who only wanted to cause her harm, but he knew there was no other option.

Draco clasped his shoulder. “Tomorrow, Milord, we will find her. And those who took her are spending their last night on this God's earth, have no doubt of that.”

Calder placed his hand over Draco's. “Thank you, my friend. Will you help me keep my wits about me while we do this?”

“Aye, Milord,” Draco answered, squeezing his shoulder once more before walking away.

After a sleepless night, Calder and his knights filed out of the castle at dawn and halted in amazement at the sight that met their eyes. At least twenty of the village men were standing in the square, some carrying pitchforks, others with makeshift weapons they had been hiding in their homes.

Filbert stepped forward. “We have lived here all of our lives and know these lands better than anyone. We want to help you search for Regan. We are prepared to fight to get her back.”

For the first time in his life, Calder had to swallow back tears as he walked down the steps and reached for Filbert's hand. “Thank you.” No other words were necessary.

They broke up into groups and were given instructions. By mid-day tracks had been spotted and the men collected together. Quietly, they set out to follow them, Draco and Calder leading the way. They stopped abruptly at the top of hill, spying a large camp down below.

The wagon appeared to be empty, but knights mingled around the fire and a tent of animal hides had been set up to one side.

“Roderick,” Calder said balefully, as he watched his nemesis sitting near the fire, laughing and joking with his men.

They pulled back to determine their best course of action. Roderick had double the men that they had and all of his were seasoned knights, not inexperienced farmers, as they had in their group. If they attacked, Roderick would no doubt bring Regan out and use the threat of her life to stop them.

As much as it tore up his insides to do so, Calder decided that they must wait for nightfall before taking any action. “They would not be sitting out in the open that calmly if they were not waiting for us with a plan to repel our attack. I fear Regan's life would be forfeited should we not catch them by surprise.”

He brushed his hand through his hair and deep lines of worry etched in his face as he continued. “We will wait until dark, then two men will sneak up to the tent while the others attack from the opposite side of the camp. We must ensure Regan's safety before all else.”

Calder and Draco stayed on watch while the others fell back a mile or so to get some food and rest. The day would stretch on interminably waiting for darkness to fall and the fewer they had close to Roderick's camp, the less chance of discovery.

“You should go with them and rest, Calder,” Draco said firmly.

“I can't,” he replied, staring fixedly down at the camp. “I need to be here.”

“As you wish,” he replied, shaking his head in disgust at Calder's stubbornness, but also knowing that was why he, himself, had chosen to remain.

It took all of Calder's will power to not rush the camp himself when they brought Regan out of the tent and paraded her before the knights sifting there. Voices and laughter carried on the wind, but he could not hear what they were saying.

He felt the blood in his veins turn to ice as he watched Roderick run his hands over her distended belly and vowed that the man would not live to see another sunrise.

At long last night fell and, with just a quarter moon and heavy cloud cover, they made their way surreptitiously toward the camp. Calder and Kenny would try to get to Regan first as the others approached from the opposite side. When Calder heard Draco's war cry, he quickly sliced through the leather covering Regan's tent and slid through the opening. He stopped abruptly when he saw Roderick with a dagger to her neck.

Sounds of the battle rang loudly outside as Roderick smiled at Calder, sliding his blade along Regan's throat without breaking the skin. “You didn't really think that you could outsmart me, did you, Calder?” he asked, his voice low and filled with smug self-satisfaction.

“Let her go,” he replied coldly, as Kenny slipped in beside him.

“Do you know how easy it would be for me to kill her, or your bastard growing in her belly?” he asked, moving the blade down against her extended stomach.

Tears slipped down Regan's cheeks, but she made no sound.

“What would be the point?” Calder asked. “It's me that you want. Why harm them?”

“Because I can. Because you scarred me and now I must make you suffer before you die. What better way to do that than to kill what you hold most dear?”

“Roderick,” Calder said in a calm, reasonable voice, “everyone knows what a cowardly bastard you are, but this is a new low for you, murdering an innocent woman because you are not man enough to take me on alone.”

“Don't, Calder,” Roderick replied softly, his eyes narrowing as he pressed the knife deeper into Regan's stomach. “Don't insult me. I will only make it that much harder on her.”

Regan winced in pain and blood started to trickle through the fabric of her kirtle.

“What do you want?” Calder asked, trying to keep the desperation from his voice.

“You dead, her dead, your lands. It's not too much to ask, is it?”

“Well,” Calder said, sighing deeply, “you'll just have to kill her then, because that is the only way that you can destroy me. And if you do not destroy me, you will be back in the arms of hell before this night is over, I promise you that.”

Roderick changed the position of the dagger in his hand. Regan screamed when she realized that he was about to plunge it into her stomach. Tearing herself out his grip, she stumbled awkwardly and fell to the ground. Hesitating momentarily, worried about Regan's close proximity to Roderick, Calder threw his own dagger. A split-second later it was buried deeply in his nemesis' throat.

Roderick slid to the floor with a wet gurgle, both hands flailing in an attempt to remove the blade. The strength left him quickly, however, and within moments he lay still, gazing out of sightless eyes.

Calder rushed over to Regan and helped her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

Unable to speak, she just nodded as tears flowed down her face.

“Kenny, take her out through the back. I must go help our men. Let no harm