Chapter Two
The dreary day was lined with gray skies and wet earth. A long line of horses trudged through the mud of the road, making it difficult to pull the wagon.
Luke maneuvered his horse to the side of the line warriors. Weary mounted knights passed with slumped shoulders, too tired to look up at him as he waited. The clump clump of the horses sounded as the men rode by. They had ridden from the coast after crossing from France to bring Lord Tristan home. The creak of the wagon wheels came closer. Luke took up pace beside it. Tucked in thick blankets like a swaddled new born, Lord Tristan rested in the back of the wagon. His eyes had not opened since he received his wound on the battlefield fighting the French. During the battle, Luke had been too far away from him to prevent the blow that landed on his head. Luke had managed to make it to his side before the second blow finished his life. It had been a count who begged for his life at the tip of Luke’s sword when Luke got the upper hand. He took the count prisoner, but was too worried about Lord Tristan to truly care. The battle over, physicians hovered about Lord Tristan. Yet, still he had not opened his eyes. Luke offered to escort him home and was granted the pardon by his liege, Prince Edward, to do so. Now, he wasn’t sure if Lord Tristan would survive the trip. Luke glanced at the physician. “How is he?”
A small, round man was seated at Lord Tristan’s side. He shook his head. “He hasn’t woken, my lord.”
But he hasn’t passed. Luke was grateful for that. It took a moment for Luke to realize the title was for him. He acknowledged it with a nod of his head. My lord. He would never get used to the title. Prince Edward had granted him land and a castle in Andover, just outside of Winchester for saving Lord Tristan’s life and capturing the count. Concern hung heavy in the pit of Luke’s stomach as he turned his horse and trotted to the front of the line where his trusted friend, Walter Gray, rode. Luke met his inquisitive gaze with a grim stare before looking away.
“This weather can’t be good for him,” Walt said, gazing at the sky.
Luke didn’t care. “We’ll be at Tiverton soon.”
“He might not make the journey,” Walt said quietly.
“He will,” Luke replied, insistently. He had made a vow to see Lord Tristan home, to his daughters. Mel and Nessa. He was grateful to be on English soil again. After the battle, Luke had somehow come out a hero, distinguishing himself by saving Lord Tristan’s life. He didn’t feel like a hero.
Soon, the castle rose before them. Luke had sent a rider ahead to announce their return. The gates were opened for them and villagers lined the streets in welcome. Luke noticed the solemnness on their faces. Perhaps because they knew their lord was injured. As they rode to the keep, Luke saw a blonde woman standing before the doors, surrounded by ladies and knights, and quickly recognized her as Mel. His gaze scanned the crowd, but he couldn’t see Nessa. She was probably off riding one of the steeds or planting in the garden. Prickles of apprehension danced up his spine. She should be here to welcome her father home. Luke brought the line to a halt before the keep doors.
A small boy rushed forward to grab the reins of Luke’s horse as he dismounted. Melwyn came forward. She was stunning, much more beautiful than he remembered. She had grown up, become a young woman. Her large blue eyes glinted with concern.
“Luke!” She threw her arms about his shoulders. “Luke!” She pulled back, her eyes dancing over the line of men. Alarm made her eyes wide, and carved deep grooves in her forehead.
“Do not fear,” Luke said softly. “Your father is home. He is --”
“Nessa...” she gasped.
Luke scowled. “Nessa?”
“He took her!” Mel grabbed his arm, shaking it. “You have to do something. I didn’t know what to do. But you can --”
“Someone took her?” Luke clenched his jaw and straightened. “Who took her?” Walt came to his side.
“Urien,” Mel gasped, squeezing his arm. “We were on our way home from the village. He surprised us.”
Urien. Luke’s brow lowered into a scowl. He was the neighboring lord’s son. He had hated Nessa when they were children. Prickles raced across Luke’s neck. He turned to see servants unloading Lord Tristan from the wagon. He glanced back at Mel. “Are you all right?”
Tears welled up in Mel’s eyes. “You have to find her, Luke. You have to.”
“Did you send men after them?”
Mel opened her mouth and then shut it. Guilt filled her quivering lower lip. “I didn’t... I never...”
Nessa was the one who ran the castle in her father’s absence. Luke knew that even though she was the younger sister, Nessa was the one the people looked to for guidance and protection. She was never any good with tallies nor details, but she was compassionate and they knew she would do whatever it took to take care of them. He grabbed Mel by the arms. “Why didn’t you take guards with you?”
Mel’s lower lip puffed out. “We did. He killed them.”
Luke released Mel. Killed them. He looked toward the open gate. Nessa. Luke stepped away from Mel. “Walt. Stay here. Guard the castle.”
Mel reached for him. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll take five men and go after Nessa. How long --”
“No!” Mel grabbed his chain mail sleeve, halting him. “Don’t leave me!”
Luke took her hands in his, prying them free of his chain mail. “I have to go after Nessa.”
“Send someone else. Don’t leave me,” she begged. “I’m frightened, Luke.”
