Knight Triumphant Read Online Free Page A

promise of certain death. Though Eric and many of the others had been apart from the band when King Edward’s men seized hold of the group, they had allowed their own capture, aware in their depleted condition and poor numbers that their only sure chance to rescue their women from the grip of the enemy was to come among them and discover the weaknesses among their captors and their prison. They had gone so far as to warn the English as to the manner of prisoner they were taking. The enemy had not believed them.
    Now, they did.
    Even as they rode the last stretch of distance to their destination, they could see that black crosses had been painted here and there around the walls, warning any who might venture too near that death lay within.
    â€œTell the guard to open the gates,” he commanded his captive, reining in.
    Castle Langley rose high before them. A Norman fortification, it had high, solidly built stone walls, and a moat surrounded the edifice. It was an excellent estate, one that stood on a hill surrounded by rich valleys. It was near the vast hereditary Bruce holdings, except that Robert, recently anointed king of Scotland, now held less than he ever had as a first earl of the land. Edward of England had come to lay his heavy fist of domination with a greater vengeance and anger than ever. The Scots had a king they could admire, one behind whom they could fight for a free Scotland. But being crowned king, and becoming king, in Scotland were far from one and the same.
    â€œYou will but have me open the gates of death,” she said softly.
    â€œCall out; have them open the gates,” he said. “We are a band of dead men riding already.”
    â€œGuard!” she called. “It is I, Igrainia, lady of Langley. Cast down the bridge.”
    There was motion on the parapets high above them, and a reply.
    â€œMy lady, where is your guard? You must be away from this place; you must not reenter here!”
    â€œOpen the gates; lower the bridge.”
    â€œSir Robert has said that you must not return—”
    â€œI am lady here; open the gates.”
    â€œYou ride with madmen; you come with rebels—”
    â€œThe guard will die if you do not open the gates.”
    â€œOh, my lady! For your own dear life—”
    â€œI am commanding you. Open the gates. Let down the bridge.”
    For a moment Eric feared that the woman might not have the authority she should wield; despite his desperation, he had not come here ill prepared, without knowledge regarding the situation at Langley. The lady here was a woman of greater importance than the lord. Though her husband had been a Scottish peer in his own right—one who had maintained a loyalty to Edward of England—this woman, wife of the perished lord, was the daughter of an English earl, a man who had gained his title some years back through an ancestor born on the wrong side of the English royal blanket.
    The sound of gears and pulleys creaked against the stillness of the day. The gates began to lower to span the moat. Here, near the sea, it was an oddly clean body of water, for the moat joined a stream that cut a blue ribbon across the green plain toward the rocky coastline where the land joined the sea. Moments later the gate was down, and entry to the castle was but yards away. He spurred his horse and entered into the courtyard.
    A pathetic show of troops came mustering from the tower keep as his band of men came clattering over the bridge. Though clad in mail and the colors of their late lord, the group that greeted them did not draw weapons, but formed a semicircle around their horses, waiting. They seemed to be leaderless, strangely adrift.
    â€œSet me down!” Igrainia said, “if you would manage this without bloodshed.”
    He didn’t like her tone, it was as rasping as her mere existence. But her words made sense toward his one driving goal, that of reaching Margot, his daughter, Aileen, and the