A Knight's Vow Part 12

"Be aware that 'tis those of Brackwald ilk who hold it."

"Wasn't there a fire there once?"

"Aye, a mighty one and it killed the last of the Falconberg line. The younger Brackwald lad rebuilt the

hall. 'Twas rumored his elder brother was the one to set the fire and perished thereafter with a knife in his back for the deed. The saints only know who put it there. I suspect, however, that you can count on a decent bite at the board and perhaps even a bed if you ask nicely."

"Thank you, uncle."

"When are you planning to leave?"

William smiled and stretched. "In another day or two. You've a fine goosefeather mattress in that tower

chamber, my lord, and I'm loath to leave it."

"And I do set a fine table."

"Aye, that as well." William rose. "Thank you, my lord. For everything."

Henry waved aside his words. "Nothing I wouldn't have done for a brother."

If sitting on his favorite stool hadn't come near to unmanning him, hearing that certainly did. William left

before his uncle could see his tears.

They left a month later. William tried to convince himself that they needed to depart sooner, but he couldn't manage it. He spent hours walking the paths he'd walked in his youth, reliving moments spent with his grandsire, storing up in his heart the sights, smells and sounds of his home.

Ofttimes Julianna came with him on his little rambles, but just as often she stayed behind. In such cases, he found her almost without fail in the company of his aunt, bludgeoning the woman with questions. His

aunt answered everything with endless patience. William had laughed behind his hand the first time he'd seen the two women at it. He half suspected his aunt feared she would drive Julianna off some hidden precipice into madness if she did not humor her. If she thought there was aught amiss with his lady, she said nothing of it. And on the morn of their leave-taking, she presented Julianna with a satchel full of womanly things-from cuttings from her garden to all manner of threads, needles and cloth.

Julianna, likely much to his aunt's relief, accepted all in stunned, grateful silence.

They traveled in relative luxury, with a horse each and a packhorse loaded up with as much gear as Henry had been able to force on them. Not being sure where their travels would take them, William had accepted all and ignored his discomfort over the charity. He was too old for such quant.i.ties of gifts, but for all he'd known, that would be what sustained them for quite some time.

Well, that and the bags of gold hanging from his saddle that clanked like hammers on anvil with each fall of hoof.

And so William had kept a crossbow loaded and loose in his hands as they traveled, certain their wealth would be a beacon to any and all ruffians in the countryside. Adding to his unease was Julianna stopping them several times, telling him that she was certain she'd heard someone traveling behind them.

William had heard nothing, though, so he pa.s.sed it off as her preoccupation with his aunt's gifts, which she delved into every chance she got.

It took them well over a fortnight to reach Falconberg. They hadn't traveled with haste, and William wondered if Julianna's reluctance mirrored his.

What if the map was wrong?

"Is this it, do you think?"

His lady wife's voice startled him out of his reverie. He looked at her and smiled grimly.

"Falconberg? Aye, but I think we won't trouble the lord for a bed. He'll send someone to see who we are, no doubt, and we'll give him what answers he wants. But I've no mind to find myself inside walls this eve." He unloaded his crossbow and hooked it over his saddlebag. "Let us find a place to camp and see if we can look as harmless as possible."

She nodded and reined in her horse.

Then she froze.

"William, look."

He followed her gesture, then felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up of their own accord.

There, not ten paces before them, was a circle. A faery ring was what some folk called it. The circle of flowers bloomed eagerly, as if it wanted nothing more to invite the hapless soul within its bounds.

"By the saints," he managed in a choked voice.

"Do you still want to go?"

He swallowed with difficulty. "Aye."

"Then let's do it now," she said, dismounting. "I think we need to hurry."

Her urgency became his. He dismounted as well and led both his horse and the packhorse into the circle.

Julianna followed him. Her horse had scarce placed all four feet inside the circle when he heard the crack of a twig.

And then the sound of something far more lethal.

He turned instinctively at the sound of a crossbow bolt being pulled back into place. Likely one of Falconberg scouts- He froze at the sight that greeted him.

"Good morrow to you, son."

William wondered absently if he would have the time to slip the dagger from his belt, flip it so he grasped

it by the blade with his fingertips, then fling it into his father's eye before the fool squeezed the trigger and sent the bolt flying home.

Hubert smiled in triumph. "Did you think I would simply fade into oblivion?"

A body could hope. William glared at the man who had sired him. "You have your keep. Isn't that enough?"

"Ah," Hubert said, looking at Julianna briefly, then back at William, "but I have no lady to share it with."

"Find your own," William said, slipping his other dagger down from inside his sleeve. "You'll not have mine."

"Won't I?" Hubert mused. "I suppose we'll soon see-"

And with that, Hubert released the crossbow bolt.

And at the same moment, William sent his blade hurling toward his sire.

"No!" Julianna said, and, to William's complete horror, threw herself in front of him.

"Julianna, nay!" he cried out, trying to jerk her back. He set her aside, then looked down at his chest,

fully expecting to see an arrow protruding from between his ribs. He wondered, absently, why there was no pain. Perhaps that was a gift for the dying...

Then he realized something quite astonis.h.i.+ng.

There was no bolt.

He looked up.

His father was gone as well.

"Oh, my goodness."

William turned his attentions to his wife, wondering if he might find the arrow lodged somewhere in her

precious form. But she was standing on her feet with apparent ease. Her eyes were huge in her face, those beloved eyes of vivid blue, as she looked around them.

"The trees," she whispered. "Look at the trees."

"Julianna," he began.

"Look at the forest," she insisted.

William scowled. There were several things that were of much greater importance than observing the forest around them, such as finding out where his father had hidden himself and why neither of them was bleeding from a life-threatening wound.

Then he understood the words she had spoken.

Forest?

He looked down. They were still standing in the midst of a faery ring, but the trees surrounding them

were far different than they had been but a moment before. Gone were the shorter, leafier trees. In their place were tall, close-set evergreens that cast the glade into deep shadow.

William gaped at his wife. "Think you we're in Scotland... ?"

"I don't know what else to think."

William looked around him, searching the shadows for his father. But the man was nowhere to be seen.

Nor was the knife that William had flung at his sire.

He suspected this was not a mystery that would be easily solved.

"Let us mount up," he said, handing her the reins and giving her a leg up. He swung up onto his own

horse. Wherever they were, and whoever might or might not be following them, they would no doubt be served well by removing themselves from an open glade. "We should keep watch for my sire."

"I don't think he'll be following us."