Tori Phillips - The Dark Knight

Tonia did not intend to fall asleep, but fatigue settled over her like a thick feather bed. In the midst of her musings of the virile, enigmatic man who lay just down the hall, she closed her eyes and drifted into oblivion.

The wind off the North Sea hurled sleet against the leaded glass panes of Snape Castle’s high arched windows. Seeking greater warmth from the lashings of the spring storm, Lady Celeste Cavendish and her handsome husband, Sir Guy, had retreated to the small solar on the second floor where they played a lively game of piquant before the blazing fireplace.

Celeste fanned her cards. “Oh la la, mon cher, I have you now.”

Guy said nothing but frowned at his hand. By his expression, his wife knew she had him by the tail. She always did whenever they played piquant.

An urgent knocking on the chamber door interrupted her gloating. Without waiting to be admitted, Master Bigelow, the family’s chamberlain, threw open the door. A pale visage had replaced his normally ruddy complexion.

“Your pardon, my lord and lady, but Lady Lucy Talbott has just arrived and she is in great distress.”

Celeste cocked her head. Lucy was one of the girls who had joined Tonia’s venture into the religious life.

Folding his cards, Guy turned to his servant. “In this weather? Does her father accompany her?”

The chamberlain shook his head. “Nay, she comes alone save for some hireling lad of York. From the looks of them both, I would venture to say that they have been in the saddle since daybreak.”

Celeste dropped her cards on the felt-topped gaming table. “Ma foi, Bigelow! Bring the child up here at once. She must be frozen. Take the boy to the kitchens. Mull some ale and bring a goodly bowl of pottage at once.”

Guy rose, and his great height filled the small room. “In distress, you say?”

Halfway out the door, Bigelow paused. “Aye, my lord. Weeping and gibbering something about Lady Tonia.”

Celeste’s heart thumped within her breast. Had Scottish reivers swept down on Tonia’s little convent and attacked the covey of women there? What about the serving men, Norton and Thompson? Hadn’t they protected Tonia and her friends as they had been instructed?

“Don’t stand a-gaping, man,” Guy shouted. “Bring Lady Lucy here!”

Celeste gripped the arms of her chair, afraid to move lest she shatter into a thousand pieces. What had happened to Tonia, her beloved firstborn? Celeste closed her eyes and sent a silent, urgent prayer winging to heaven.

Guy paced the narrow confines of the chamber like a great caged bear. “This comes of folly—mine own,” he berated himself. “I should have never let her move so far from home—nor have sanctioned her religious ideas.”

Masking her growing fears, Celeste gave her husband a tiny smile. “You know that neither of us could ever deny Tonia anything. And her endeavor to retreat from this wicked world into a house dedicated to praising God was worthy.” But Celeste had never fully understood why her beautiful daughter had chosen to pursue the celibate life when so many of the shire’s bachelors had come wooing her.

Guy turned on his heel. “Mayhap the wicked world has followed her even there.”

Celeste covered her breast with her hand to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Just then, Bigelow opened the door and ushered in Lady Lucy. The young woman, no more than seventeen years old, all but fell into Guy’s outstretched arms.

“Oh, my lord, I am so sorry!” she wailed before her tears overwhelmed her.

Guy helped her to his chair, while Celeste draped her fur lap robe around the shivering girl. Lucy continued to cry in convulsive gulps. Putting her arms around the girl’s thin shoulders, Celeste willed her strength to stem Lucy’s grief. Deep circles, almost purple in color, stained the skin under her red, swollen eyes. Her light brown hair was windblown into tangles from her journey. The news she bore must be very dire indeed if Lucy had ventured out into this foul weather without even a head covering.

One of the kitchen maids arrived, bearing a large tray filled with several steaming bowls of food and drink. Celeste took one of the cups of hot ale, blew on it to cool it then held it to Lucy’s quivering lips.

“Drink, sweetling, and take heart. You are safe with us.”

Lucy slurped the brew, heedless of its scalding heat, until the cup was nearly empty before she leaned against the chair’s back. Stroking the girl’s brow, Celeste was further alarmed to discover that Lucy was running a fever.

Guy hunkered down before their guest so that his great height would be less intimidating. Taking Lucy’s trembling hand in his, he spoke to her in gentle tones. “Now, then, Lucy, what is amiss?”

The girl’s eyes grew larger and fresh tears appeared in their corners. “They have taken Tonia away, my lord. Methinks they are going to…to…to execute her.” She dissolved again into weeping.

Celeste felt hot and cold at the same time. A drumming hummed in her ears. I cannot faint! Oh, my sweet Tonia! She dug the nails of her fingers into her palms to keep from collapsing.

Though Guy’s voice remained soft, a dreadful chill crept into his azure eyes. “Tell us who threatens to do this most foul deed, Lucy.”

The girl wiped her nose on the tail of her hanging sleeve before replying, “The King’s men, Lord Cavendish. They came to our house over a week ago in the dark of the night.”

“Where were my men?”

Lucy hunched her shaking body deeper into the folds of the robe. “Norton and Thompson tried to stop them. They demanded to see the King’s orders but the soldiers…oh, my lord, the soldiers killed them on the doorstep.” She covered her mouth with her hand.

Guy compressed his lips into a thin line. “Are you sure they were minions of King Edward?”

Lucy nodded. “They wore the rose badge and the King’s cipher on their surcoats.”

Celeste and Guy exchanged quick glances. For decades the Cavendishes had feared just this sort of attack from the Tudor upstarts who had snatched the crown of England nearly seventy years ago. Someone must have discovered the family’s secret of their Plantagenet blood and their remote claim to the throne through their descent from King Edward IV of blessed memory. Both King Henry VII and his son, Henry VIII, had spent their lifetimes wiping out the last known traces of the realm’s lawful rulers. But to have visited their obsessive vengeance upon an innocent young woman was beyond perfidy—yet a craven trick well practiced by the uneasy Tudor kings.

Guy squeezed Lucy’s hand. “What happened then?”

Lucy drew the furred robe tighter around her. “The soldiers bound us, even though Tonia fought them. Then they bundled us into a dark coach and drove off into the night.” She grimaced. “Their hands were not gentle nor their tongues. They called us traitors, whores and a great deal of worse filth.”

Anger at the indignities forced on her daughter and her companions replaced Celeste’s fear. Striving to keep her boiling temper out of her voice, she asked, “Did those churls…touch you in an unmannerly way?”

Again Lucy shook her head. “They said they would ravish us if we did not obey their orders, but they never dared to carry out their threats.”

Blue fire blazed in Guy’s eyes. “Where did the knaves take you?”

“To York, though we did not know it at the time. The carriage’s windows were covered with a heavy black cloth. We were blindfolded inside a mews before they led us into the courtroom.”

“They convened a trial against you?” A muscle throbbed along Guy’s jawline.

“Aye, my lord,” the girl answered. “Three bearded men in black robes questioned each of us in turn. Hour upon hour they harangued us about our religious beliefs and our little nunnery. They wanted to know if we held allegiance to the Pope in Rome or to King Edward. They asked us if we read the Bible and what prayers we recited. They even asked us if we danced with the devil or practiced witchcraft. At one point, I fainted from hunger and thirst.”