The Traveller (Macleod Family #6)

Chapter 1

one

The air inside the small chapel was thick with portents, omens, and a goodly amount of dust. The latter caused the resident priest to double over with hacking that came close to rendering him quite unfit for his duties.

He straightened finally with a great creaking noise, then coughed gingerly a time or two to test the workings of his frail frame.

Finding it not unequal to his present business, he took a deep, wheezing breath and continued.

“Ah, let me think a moment,” he said, scratching his stubbled cheek, “um . . . a vow . . . ah, a solemn vow to protect—”

“Aye, aye,” the knight standing before him said impatiently, picking a nit or two off his tabard and noting the threadbare patches. Damned seamstresses.

“And defend women of all stations—”

The knight grunted in grudging assent. All women save seamstresses, perhaps.

“And champion children—”

The knight turned a baleful eye on the nearest child he could see—his squire, no less—who was currently rummaging about behind the altar.

The old priest was concentrating so hard on remembering what he was trying to say that he apparently didn’t realize what mischief the boy was combining.

The squire popped up from behind the stones with a triumphant smile, holding aloft a loaf of bread in one hand and a jug of drink in the other.

“Excuse me for but a moment, Father,” the knight said politely.

He strode around to relieve the lad of his burdens, then booted him strongly on the backside.

The boy went scampering off with a curse.

Not as foul a curse as it likely could have been, though.

The lad had no illusions about not receiving his share of the spoils.

He scuttled to the back of the crumbling chapel and huddled near the knight’s gear.

The knight tucked the bread under one arm, the bottle under the other and went to stand in front of the friar yet again.

“Now,” he said shortly, “let us be about this sorry business. I’ve an assault to mount, and I need your blessing.”

The priest chewed upon toothless gums. “Let us see, my lord,” he said, fumbling nervously with his robes and apparently searching his aging mind for further promises to bind upon the hapless man before him. “Um . . . women . . . um . . . children . . . er—”

“Nuisances, both,” the knight muttered.

“Hoisting of swords and such,” the priest said, looking upward for a bit of inspiration.

“Aye, aye,” the man said, wondering if hoisting his sword with a man of the cloth skewered thereon would count as a breach of the vow he was making. He forbore, however. He had need of whatever help he could obtain. His inheritance hung in the balance.

“Ah,” the priest said suddenly, springing to life as if he’d been pierced by St. George’s sainted blade itself. “Aye, one last thing is needful.”

The knight felt himself chill at the sudden fire that burned brightly in the priest’s eyes. He hardly dared speculate on what it might mean for him. Even so, he was no coward, so he pressed forward.

“And that would be?” the knight asked, steeling himself for the worst.

The priest’s words spewed forth in a great rush. “The most important thing of all, something that no honorable knight would think to go into battle without, aye, likely the most fitting vow a man of a chivalrous nature would take upon himself . . .”

The knight flinched. The saints preserve him.

“A vow to protect—”

Never a pleasant word.

“Defend—”

Even worse.

“And rescue—”

The knight closed his eyes and began a prayer of his own.

“Any and all maidens in distress, but preferably a maiden in the greatest of distress . . .”

And then Sir William de Piaget, rebellious son of the useless, never-take-a-vow-upon-pain-of-death Hubert of Artane, grandson of the illustrious Phillip of Artane and great-grandson of the legendary Robin of Artane, knew he was in deep trouble, for no lad from Artane—save his sire, of course—had ever made a vow he hadn’t kept.

It would be as impossible for William to break his word as it would be to take his own life.

But the thought of a possible maiden in distress, added to his other problems, was almost enough to induce him to consider both.

Once upon a time there was a knight who made a vow, a solemn vow given with all his heart and soul to protect women of all stations, champion children, defend and rescue any and all maidens in distress, but preferably one in the greatest of distress . . .