Knight of my Dreams by Beth Ciotta

Author:Beth Ciotta
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks Inc.
Published: 2014-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

England, 1315

SWORDS CLASHED, shrill with the promise of death.

Baldric lunged.

Moonlight flashed off his blade before it sank deep into his attacker’s shoulder.

A piteous cry bubbled in the man’s throat.

Baldric withdrew the steel.

Clutching his wound, the man sank to his knees, crying for the saints to spare his miserable life.

Baldric felt no pity. As the whimpering man before him would spare no pity. But Baldric was not without charity. His enemy had proven little challenge. ’Twould be naught but savagery to slay such an unworthy opponent.

With a graceful arc of his sword, Baldric relieved the man of his weapon and prodded him toward retreat. The scraggly miscreant raced toward the woods. He did not look back.

God’s teeth, he knew that insufferable cart would entice trouble.

Through the chaos he found Simon holding his own against two bulky marauders. In an instant, Baldric fought at his brother’s side.

Simon grinned. As usual, he brandished his sword with dramatic skill, flourishing in the element he cherished most. “For me?” he shouted to Baldric over the raging battle. “You shouldn’t have.”

Simon delighted in the unexpected confrontation. His devilish white smile proved as intimidating as any weapon of war. Baldric, however, savored no such thrill. Gillian Marrick remained under his protection. Until her safety was assured, there’d be no peace within him.

Fortunately, none of the attackers proved a match for the brothers’ proficient swordplay. Giffard and FitzHubert, abruptly roused from their drunken sleep, offered their own brand of resistance with brute strength.

The marauding band had attacked as a dozen or more.

Four remained.

Some had run off. Others lay injured or dead.

Eloise screamed. A bloodcurdling cry that knotted his gut.

Gillian.

Intent on ending the skirmish, Baldric dodged the thrust of a dagger and knocked the assailant cold with his sword hilt. Snatching the fallen man’s weapon, he dashed through the fray, rolled under the cart, and handed Eloise the still clean dagger.

Then his heart stopped.

A sickening chill blew through him as he realized the second shadow beneath the cart was not Gillian, but his squire, Ivo.

The fires of hell must’ve burned in Baldric’s eyes for Ivo scurried back against the farthest wheel, more petrified of his lord than of the raging battle.

“Dear heaven, what have I done?” Eloise cried, staring at the dagger in wide-eyed horror.

“Where is she?” The demand carried the solemn promise of retribution.

The maid shrank away from him. “The stream. I allowed her to go alone.” Her mouth trembled as tears ran down her pale face. “What have I done?”

“Indeed.” He sprang out from under the cart and to his feet.

Simon had felled his attacker and dallied with the last remaining. Giffard and FitzHubert surveyed the bodies—some writhing, some still—beaming with pride.

Simon looked to his brother and frowned when he saw his face.

“Gillian.”

The single word registered in Simon’s eyes. “Go,” he ordered. “Take Giffard and FitzHubert.” He deflected a blow, then slammed his boot into the gut of the pathetic creature that dared challenge him. “I am almost finished here.”

Baldric sheathed his sword and waved back Redmere’s knights.

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