Chapter One #2
“And what about the manor house? What are we walking into there?” Devin looked down at the manor house.
He saw no fires in the courtyard. Further, there were no men in the watchtower.
That alone didn’t bode well. King Charles had warned his Royalists to remain vigilant.
No loyal servant to the king would leave his house and land without even a minimal guard.
He looked down at his loyal hound, Grim, who stood to the side of his steed. The large dog detected no movement outside the manor house.
“Lord Edmond Capell, from what I gather, is a lecherous old man who loves games of chance. He is rumored to be loose with his money at the gaming tables and likewise likes loose women. I have heard he has quite the temper and runs his house on the bare minimum needed to keep the manor afloat. His servants hate him, and he has no family except a niece over whom he has guardianship.”
“He once kept a small regiment of men here with him, but he failed to pay them so many times that they left. He relies on the king for protection now.”
Both men were silent for a moment. “This lord doesn’t sound like much of anything. Why does the king have so much interest in finding him?” Alden wondered out loud.
“His lands lay next to those of several men whose loyalty the king considers questionable. Suffice it to say, Lord Edmond keeps a close watch and reports anything suspicious directly to His Majesty.” Sir Devlin paused, weighing his words with care.
“But it’s not my place to challenge the king’s urgency in this matter.
I have my orders, and I intend to carry them out. ”
Alden thought for a moment and then asked, “What of the niece?”
“What of her?” Devlin responded. “Her lot in life, most assuredly, has not been easy. But that’s not my problem.
Hopefully, she’ll have some information we can use to clear up this mess.
And if not, she’ll discover quickly; it’s best not to hinder my investigation.
I want to resolve this as quickly as possible. ”
A sharp wind blew. Alden shivered as the cold draft forced its way through his heavily padded doublet and cape. Devlin refused to tremble, refused to show weakness. He countenance was emotionless, like stone; his eyes faced forward to the manor house below.
Devlin picked up his horse’s reins. His mount, after standing in the wind, raised his head and let out an impatient snort.
And without a word, Devlin began a careful descent down the hill toward the manor house.
****
Rosalind sat in a comfortable rocking chair in front of the large fire in the great room.
The hearth was massive—a fully-grown adult could walk easily inside the firebox without striking the stones above, and its flames provided generous warmth for the dining hall.
However, the roaring blaze did nothing to warm her this evening. Fear had settled deeply into her bones.
Marta, the cook, sat with her and watched the flames dance in the hearth. Her normally cheerful round face was drawn with worry. Marta was more of a mother to Rosalind than anyone else in her life. Rosalind knew Marta loved her like her own and had refused to leave her alone to face the beast.
An hour had passed since Ridley had run roughshod out the kitchen door and around the corner, bringing the news she had so dreaded. He yelled loudly, “They’re here!”
The loyal kitchen boy had kept careful watch for two days, knowing the king’s men would arrive.
And despite the knowledge of their upcoming arrival, her breath hitched, and her stomach threatened to empty itself of the little amount of food she had managed to eat that day. She stood at Ridley’s announcement but the room spun slightly and a cold sweat popped out on her brow.
“My lady! Sit before you faint!”
Rosalind took a deep breath. “I am fine,” she said in a weak voice. But she sat with shaky knees. “Ridley, tell me how many and what they are doing.”
“Milady, there are two men at the top of Knobs Hill looking down upon the manor. One is tall with light hair. The other is as dark as midnight. Black hair and he looks fierce. He is dressed all in black, and his horse is black as well.”
Cold dread and then a feeling of doom hit her. Marta held her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
“And beside his steed, a large hound sits looking mean as the devil. He could eat me in one bite for sure!”
“Ridley,” Rosalind said firmly, “Let’s not let our imagination interfere with our assessment. The simple facts are hard enough to deal with right now.”
But Rosalind knew who this rider was. His reputation preceded him.
Sir Devlin Alastor. A loyal servant and hired killer of the king.
Rumors abound wherever he went. It was said he killed without mercy and enjoyed what he did.
Her worst nightmare had come true. She had prayed fervently for the king to send a harmless clerk or even a local sheriff to look for Lord Edmond, but instead, she would now face the devil himself.
“They are just sitting there milady. Just watching.”
And so she waited. The few house servants she had left had prepared the manor house for visitors.
The guest rooms were aired. Wood for fires was stacked in the rooms, and a bathtub was ready for use should the king’s men wish to bathe.
But more important than readying the manor was that they all had to be mentally prepared.
They had to appear unafraid and as perplexed as anyone over Lord Edmond’s disappearance.
Everyone had to tell the king’s men the same story. The slightest inconsistency could spell doom for them all.
Her heart beat quickened when her uncle’s manservant entered the hall. Benton had served the Capell family for three generations. No one knew how old he was, but Ridley often joked he was at least one-hundred-and-twenty.
He walked painfully slow across the great room.
His once tall, proud stature was now bent over in the shoulders.
And Benton never hurried. In fact, he was probably unable to hurry at his great age.
But Rosalind considered him a great treasure.
His wisdom and quick wit had got her out of many unfortunate circumstances.
“My lady,” he said calmly, “The king’s men have arrived.”
Rosalind swallowed hard. A bead of cold sweat traveled down her back, and once again, a wave of nausea shot through her abdomen.
Pull yourself together! Losing your dinner at the feet of the king’s men is not the first impression you wish to make. Breathe! Breathe!
After a moment, she said in a steady voice, “Show them in, Benton.”
Benton gave a curt nod, turned, and walked just as slowly out of the room as he had walked in.
Did anything rattle that man?
Rosalind looked down and she was wringing her hands to keep them from shaking.
Oh, Lord, Father in Heaven. Hear my prayer. Deliver me from this evil and keep my family safe from harm…
As she prayed, her breathing calmed slightly.
From across the grand hall, the heavy English double doors creaked open with a slow, ominous wail that echoed through the lower rooms of the manor.
Silence followed, thick and suffocating, until the doors groaned shut once more.
A cold draft curled around her feet, but the chill that crept up her spine came from something far more unsettling than the icy air.
Two men rounded the corner from the manor’s foyer and entered the great room.
Just as Ridley described, one man stood almost a head taller than his companion and his skin and eyes were fair.
He looked cold, but his face was not unpleasant, just tinged red with the damp chill of the evening.
His eyes were a clear blue, and his beard, trimmed in the Norman fashion, framed his jaw.
His hair under his helmet appeared to be a light brown, almost the color of honey, and wet.
His companion stood in stark, foreboding contrast to his tall, fair friend.
He was not overly tall, but his dark presence commanded attention, and Rosalind’s breathing threatened to get out of control again quickly.
He was a wall of black from head to toe.
He wore black clothing, boots, and a cloak.
The clothes did not conceal the raw strength shown in his muscled arms and broad chest. On his face, a scar ran from the corner of his right eye, passed down his cheek, and ended at the corner of his mouth—a full mouth that wore a frown when he entered the room.
A shadow, an evil shadow. Now, whose imagination is running amok?
Benton’s strong voice broke into her thoughts.
“Lady Rosalind Capell, I present Sir Devlin Alastor and Alden Danby.”
She wasn’t sure how she managed, but she stood from her chair without the slightest wobble.
“Sir Devlin, Mr. Danby,” she said with a slight nod. “Please come in and warm yourself by the fire.”
As the men moved toward the hearth, she turned to Marta, “Marta, please fetch some warmed cider or ale for our guests.”
Poor Marta nearly went down on her first step. Their brave act threatened to dissolve already. Ridley was there to offer his help.
“Now Mum, I see your lame knee is botherin’ ya. Let me help you to the kitchen.”
Clever Ridley…
The men removed their cloaks, and Benton took them to hang where they could dry. They walked to the edge of the hearth and stretched their hands toward the flames, but the dark one did not stay there long. He paced around the room.
Rosalind’s gaze turned to the ominous figure as he assessed his surroundings.
“Sir Devlin,” she said tentatively. “Please sit here by the fire. You must be tired from your journey.”
He turned his coal-black gaze toward her. His eyes were nearly black as midnight and framed in thick, dark lashes. But he did not respond and continued his survey of the room.
An audible sigh came from Sir Devlin’s man.
“I could use a sit-down.” Alden took a chair from the table and placed it closer to the fire. “And please excuse my tall, mute friend, my lady,” he said as he sat down. “His manners are sorely lacking.”
Rosalind did not reply, but the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly.
His friend is not afraid to goad him. Maybe that is a good sign.
A stressed silence filled the room, but thankfully, Ridley returned with a tray that held warm ale and cider. Marta also included chunks of cheese and a loaf of crusty bread in the late-night supper offering. Ridley walked to the head of the great table and plopped the tray down loudly.
Ridley moved toward his lady. Alden scooted his chair back to the table and began to drink the ale. Sir Devlin sat down, tore a chunk of the bread from the loaf, and ate, his quiet, intense stare focused on Rosalind.
Rosalind could not hold his piercing stare. She looked down and her wringing hands betrayed her.
Stop it!
Finally, she turned her head from his agonizing scrutiny. Her comfort obviously didn’t concern him. Out of the silence, his steady, serious voice said, “Do you know why I’m here?”
Rosalind’s head turned upward and toward Sir Devlin. “Yes,” she replied. “The king’s missive was clear. You are looking for Lord Edmond, as he didn’t arrive at court as expected.” She was proud that her voice sounded strong.
“The king believes that his loyal vassal would never intentionally ignore a royal summons. I am here to discover whether foul play has kept him from attending to his liege or if he, by chance, turned traitorous. Anyone who interferes with my inquiry into this matter will be dealt with harshly. And if foul play is found to be the cause of his absence at court, anyone involved will be tried, judged, and sentenced accordingly.”
Rosalind’s heart pounded. She wondered if Sir Devlin could hear the beating.
His voice boomed, and he turned his cruel gaze toward all in the room. “And I expect—”
Benton, with an ancient grave voice, decided at this time to announce, “Your rooms are ready, Sir Devlin and Mr. Danby.”
Rosalind stopped breathing; worried Benton would be punished for interrupting. But the dark menace paused and looked at the older servant for only a second before continuing.
“I will begin interviews first thing tomorrow. Are there any others who live here in the manor and are not present now?” Sir Devlin inquired.
“Just the children, Kaylyn and Luella. They are already abed upstairs.”
“They will be included in the interviews. Am I clear?” he said and turned to Rosalind.
She gave him a cursory nod, and then he and Alden turned and left the room, following Ridley to the stairs that adjoined the foyer just outside the main hall.
As soon as the men exited the room, Rosalind gasped. Marta ran from the kitchen and immediately attended to her.
“Deep breaths, milady,” she said decisively and grabbed a chair. She forced Rosalind to sit, and she bent her head over to rest between her knees.
Panic had overtaken Rosalind, and she struggled to breathe. “Oh Marta, what are we to do? He already suspects us!”
“He can’t prove anything!” Marta exclaimed. “Let him search and interview all he wants. If anything happened to that lecherous fool Edmond, it was probably his own fault!”
Rosalind’s breathing calmed after several deep inhalations, and she sat up in her chair. “You’re right, Marta. He’ll find nothing.”
But to her own ears, her words rang hollow.