The Quest

Iana felt her heart twist just watching his remembered grief. “I regret your loss, Everand. And then your father died, also?”

He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. When he answered, he seemed almost lost in his thoughts. “He wasted away with grief, I believe. He wanted death. My brothers were all gone, my mother and sister, as well. There was only me. When Lord Henri came one day to select cloth for his new court garb, my father pleaded with him to offer me employment.”

He glanced up, the corners of his mouth tipped in a sad smile. “You should have heard the plaudits my sire heaped upon my head whilst asking that boon, lady. I feared never to live up to his praise of me. Wishful lies, most of it, yet Lord Henri accepted it as truth. I refused to leave home until my father breathed his last. Then my new master came for me and made me his squire.”

“And now his son,” she added, sitting down at his side, pressing her hand on top of his. “I’ll wager both your old father and your new feel great pride in you, the one in heaven and the other who directs your life here.”

He shrugged with modesty. “I pray it is true, though I have unworthy thoughts betimes.” He glanced up at her from beneath his long lashes. “And, like your poor Thomasina, I do not seem to grow properly.”

The urge to comfort the motherless boy overwhelmed her. Iana put her arms around Everand and held him to her, brushing a kiss upon his brow. “Take heart, Everand. My own brother remained much smaller than his years should have made him until he was near sixteen. Then he quickly grew near as tall as Sir Henri.”

“You cannot mean it!” Ev exclaimed, pulling back from her, his large eyes rounded with hope. “Shall I, do you think?”

“Wait and see,” she advised, pinching his cheek lightly and giving it a pat. “And even should you not attain such great height, it matters not at all. Deeds make the man, Everand. Always remember that. Your deeds will speak for you, not your size, nor your wealth, nor your way with words. Deeds are all that matter in life.”

He inclined his head thoughtfully. “So says Sir Henri, or something to that effect. I suppose I must believe it.”

There came a scratch upon the door then and he leapt up from the bed, his hand on his knife hilt, doubtless hoping for a chance to perform the heroics of which they had spoken.

“Who goes?” he demanded in his deepest voice.

“I bring your supper,” a man declared. The iron handle of the door moved downward, but the bolt held fast.

“That is not the publican,” Iana whispered.

“Come back later,” Everand ordered loudly. Then, very quietly, he said to her, “It must be one of those ruffians thinking to steal from us.”

After a few moments of silence, something heavy banged against the door. The bolt shook in its fittings. “Mercy, he means to break it down,” she gasped.

“Take the chamber pot and stand to one side of the door,” Everand told her. “Aim for his head if he breaks through. I’ll finish him off with my blade.”

The man rammed against the door again. Iana grabbed up the heavy clay pot and ran to her station. Everand gripped his eating knife and assumed a fighting stance.

With the third blow, the entire portal came off its rusty hinges and collapsed into the room. Iana struck swiftly, threw her full weight behind the swing of the pot and connected with a solid thunk.

Stunned, the brute just stood there, his weapon drawn back to strike.

Everand flung his knife and lifted a stool, tossing that as well. The blade struck true, to the left of the rogue’s breastbone. His beefy hand grabbed it just as the stool hit his head. With little more than a groan of dismay, the man toppled like a felled tree, landing flat upon the door itself. The wicked short sword bounced out of his hand with a clang and landed in the corner.

For a moment she and Everand just stood there, frozen with the shock of their success. Then the lad’s lips kicked up in a semblance of a smile and he shrugged. “We did it!”

“Do you think he is dead?” Iana asked. Everand walked over to the man and nudged him with his boot. He did not stir.

Together they knelt and rolled the brigand off the fallen door so that he lay on his back. Everand retrieved his trusty knife, grimaced at the bloody blade, then wiped it clean upon the wretch’s filthy jerkin.

Iana felt the man’s neck vein for a heartbeat and found none. Blood welled out of the vacant wound in his chest and stained a dark crimson circle upon his yellowed sark. If they did not move him soon, they would have a puddle upon the floor.

“We’ve killed him, I think. What should we do now?” she asked.

Everand bounced to his feet, went to the doorway and leaned out into the corridor.

Apparently, the noise of the fracas had drawn no attention. Or it was possible happenings of this sort were so commonplace they did not merit anyone’s notice.

The lad stepped back, looked down at their attacker and blew out a sigh. “Could we lift him high enough to get him out the window?”

“I believe so,” Iana said. “He is quite large, but there are two of us.”

“Then we should tidy up. The landlord will not be pleased by this, I am quite certain.”

Iana agreed with that. Even if they could prove the man intended to rob them—which they could not—they would have to stay here until there was an inquiry into his death. She did not want to think what might happen to them, since they could not prove he had meant them harm.

Together they struggled to drag the man toward the window that opened to the back of the building. With the greatest of effort, they managed to get his upper half through the opening, then tumbled him out and watched him land upon the ground between the inn and the stables.

“Do you think anyone will guess we threw him out this window?” she asked in a whisper. “What of the stable lad?”

“Busy inside there with our mounts. There’s no one about to have seen us do it,” Ev assured her. “Likely whoever discovers him will believe he was accosted down there in the back dooryard.”

Iana stared down at the man for some time to see whether she might have been mistaken and he would bestir himself after all. When he did not, she finally turned away.

Everand was grunting, diligently trying to prop the door back into place, so she went to assist him. Together, they got it upright within the opening, though they had no way now to secure it. At least it would afford them a bit of privacy. If anyone else came along, they would stop and scratch or knock, instead of walking right into the chamber.

“What of the blood on the outside of the door?” she asked, wringing her hands to keep them from shaking.

Ev patted her arm. “Do not worry. There was little on it. He mostly bled when I took out the knife. There by the window where we lifted him is the worst of it.”

“I will take care of it,” Iana declared, gathering up her scattered wits and berating herself for her weakness. If a mere lad could deal with all this, then so could she.

She unpacked the remainder of the rags she had brought for use as bandages, and wiped up as much of the gore as she could. So stained the raw wood was after many years of occupancy and abuse, the smears left were hardly noticeable.

Amazingly, wee Tam had slept through the entire incident. All in all, Iana felt things had worked out much better than they might have done. They had given a right good account of themselves, she and Everand, and Iana decided not to bemoan the fact that the cursed lout had met his end here. Had they not been successful, they might be the ones lying dead.

“The chamber pot was a fine idea, Ev,” she told him, her voice less steady than she would have liked.

“It was, was it not?” he acknowledged pridefully.

“Aye, I admit I was not quick enough to consider it. And your aim with the blade was true as a marksman’s arrow. I commend you.”

“Resourceful, that is what Sir Henri says I am.” He shrugged as he helped her pick up the pieces of broken crockery that littered the floor. They tossed the shards onto the small blanket she had spread upon the floor to collect them. “He always says that about me.”

Iana sighed, feeling rather numb now that her heart had stopped hammering so hard. “Does he ever mention humility, by any chance?”

Ev cocked his head, thought a moment, then shook it. “Not that I have ever heard.”

She could believe that rightly enough. Finished with their task, they gathered up the ends of the blanket and carried it to the window. No sooner had they tossed out its contents than they heard a loud knocking.

Suddenly the door fell flat into the room with a bang.

Iana jumped clear off the floor and Ev cried out a warning.

Henri stood in the opening, fist raised and mouth agape as he stared down at the unhinged panel of boards.

Chapter Five

As he entered, Henri dropped to one side the bundle of goods he had bought. “What the devil is this? What happened to the door?”

“We had an unwanted visitor, sir,” Everand announced cockily, “but we managed to entertain him without you.” He nodded toward the window.

Henri rushed across the room and looked out. A man lay in the rear dooryard unmoving; another knelt over him. Had the injured one jumped from the window?

“Did he harm either of you?” Henri demanded, still looking down upon the intruder, watching the one who had found him drag him away.

“Not at all,” Iana answered, “though I fear the chamber pot is done for.”

“Makes a fine weapon, sir,” Everand said proudly, “and our lady wielded it well.”

Iana nodded, accepting the compliment.

Henri turned, incredulous. “You struck him and he leapt out the window?”

Iana and Everand looked at each other before facing him again.

She was the one who explained. “When we would not let him in, he broke the door down. I hit him, then Everand crowned him with a stool and sent a blade straight to his black heart. Together we tossed him out.”

Henri’s awestruck gaze caught upon the unfamiliar short sword that lay abandoned in the corner of the room. A chill ran up his spine and he shook his head, still disbelieving. “You mean he…? Why, he might have…”

“Aye,” she agreed. “But no matter. ’Tis done and he is gone now. I was thinking we should be away, as well. And soon,” she added.

“Yes, that definitely would be wise,” Henri muttered, his mind still fixed upon the intruder and what could have happened during his brief absence. He would not leave them alone again for any reason.

Iana was right. They needed to quit the inn and travel on immediately. Injured as he was and not at full strength, he was hardly geared for defending them against anything other than the most inept of miscreants. Certainly not the vagaries of Scottish law. There were certain to be repercussions.

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