Page 2 of Knight of Chaos
“Immediately, or so I was told. It should not take me long to reach Brockenhurst and then I am to wait there for further instructions if I am needed,” Reynard replied whilst a small contingent of knights began riding in their direction. “As you can see, I do not ride alone.”
“’Twill ease my mind that you have others to watch your back. You will relay my best wishes to our brother,” Theobald stated.
“Aye, I will,” Reynard said before reaching out his hand to clasp his brother’s forearm.
Theobald nodded before a smirk turned up the corners of his mouth. “Try to look on the bright side of things… at least it seems that you will be able to stay out of trouble by returning to our ancestral home.”
“Mayhap Wymar’s new bride will have a lady attending her that will catch my eye,” Reynard declared chuckling.
“Then you best be prepared to wed her, brother, lest you wish to encounter the lady’s wrath.” Theobald stared at his brother wondering when their paths might cross again. “Seriously, Reynard… behave and Godspeed on your travels home.”
“Stay alive, Theo,” he replied, “and make your way to Brockenhurst when you are able.”
Theobald watched his brother turn his horse and canter down the lane they had previously traveled. Stay alive… Aye, he planned to do just that. He had no desire to meet his maker anytime soon. But the choice might not be his to make. While he had every intention to be careful, Theobald sensed that there were dangerous times ahead and he was not looking forward to whatever the future held for him in Winchester.
Chapter Two
A small farm outside of London
Mistress Ingrid Seymourtook one last look around the tiny farmhouse that she had called home for the score and two years of her life. The single-story house with a thatched roof had kept her safe and yet there was nothing left but memories to keep her here, or so she reasoned with herself. Her mother, Jonet, had been long gone from this world, having perished giving birth to Ingrid. Her father, Harold, had done his best to raise his only child by himself. The neighboring tenants had warned him when Ingrid was young that ’twas foolish to teach her sword play but her father had insisted the lessons might come in handy one day. They had laughed at him, jesting that he treated the young girl as though she were a boy, and that he would one day regret his decision.
More days than not, Ingrid could be found in tunic, hose, and boots and rarely would be seen in a gown. And as she grew into a young lady, she saw no reason to give in to what the villagers thought was proper. If her father did not mind what she wore, then neither would she. Besides, ’twas difficult to heft a sword in a gown, and her usual attire also made it easier to handle the chores in the fields.
In between tending the land, Ingrid’s father had taught her all he knew on the art of defending herself. She never questioned how a mere farmer had become so skilled in the art of self-defense and hefting a sword. Ingrid felt that the lessons had given her strength both in body and mind and had helped form her into the strong woman she was today—but that was not how everyone saw it. The villagers complained constantly about how improper she was. At times Ingrid felt like an outsider. And yet, she had always raised her head in defiance. What did they know anyway?
When her father became sick and Ingrid had to realize he would not recover, she swore she would do him proud one day. His dying words had been of how much he loved her. They still echoed daily in her mind. Now, he rested in the ground not far from this very house in the village cemetery next to the mother she never knew. This house and land were all she had left of him but ’twas just an empty space without her beloved father keeping her company. Life, as she had known it, had become so unfair.
She had not felt as though she had the ability to tend the land by herself for very long. Most of the inhabitants of the village were too busy tending their own fields and could hardly take on the extra work to tend Ingrid’s. When word reached the village that Empress Matilda was marching south, Ingrid came to the decision to join her company. She was certain the Empress would appreciate another woman who could hold her own against the world.
Ingrid heaved a sigh when she closed the door for the very last time, the palm of her hand resting momentarily upon the hard wooden portal. Her horse stood nearby, already saddled to begin their journey. She went to the steed and rubbed her hands along his mahogany-colored coat. She began checking the cinches one last time, along with the leather straps keeping her gear and provisions attached to the saddle.
Satisfied all was ready and she had left nothing important behind, she turned to face the one person who had supported her for most of her life. Sadness reflected in his amber eyes. Ingrid pondered if the man had feelings for her that went way beyond the friendship between them. They had been friends for more years than she could remember. His hushed words confirmed her worst fears.
“Are you certain you wish to leave, Ingrid?” Charles asked, reaching for her hand. “I am certain my parents will look out for you if I explain that I wish to marry—”
Ingrid’s eyes went wide and she held up her hand causing Charles to go silent. His lips snapped shut and his features appeared mutinous. Charles had been her friend when she had no others, and yet she could in no way think of him as a possible husband. He was more like a brother she never had. He had stood by her side since their youth, and they had formed a bond of friendship that she had cherished to this very day. But that was part of the reason why she knew that marriage would be a mistake between them. Ingrid had always been something of an outcast. Charles deserved a wife who would be accepted amongst those that lived in the village.
She watched a range of emotions race across his handsome face. Hope. Love. Fear, most likely for her safety. His blond hair became untamed in the morning breeze and she reached over to push the locks from his forehead. He took her fingertips in his and raised them to his lips. She shook her head before squeezing his hand, and he let her go with a look of anguish flashing in his amber eyes.
“Charles… I am sorry but you know my answer. We have discussed this before.” A timid smile was all she could offer him and ’twas as if the fight to keep her by his side left him.
“You cannot blame a man for trying one last time,” he confessed before crossing his arms over his chest. “I worry for you, Ingrid. You cannot travel alone. Mayhap I should join you.”
Fear caused her heart to race. Not for herself but for her friend. He had none of the training with a sword that she had gotten. An image of him fighting with a pitchfork and nothing else to help keep himself alive made her shake her head once more. He would never live a day in a battle against seasoned knights. She only prayed she was trained well enough to do better.
“You know you cannot leave here, Charles. Your family needs you, and I am more than capable of taking care of myself.” She lifted her chin waiting for the next round of arguments that were sure to fall from his lips. He didn’t disappoint her.
He cursed, anger now replacing the love that recently showed in his visage. “Your father was a fool to teach you the use of a sword. He did you a disservice not imparting upon you your place in a world ruled by men!”
“Do not dare defame my father and the decisions he made on how to raise me,” she fumed, certain her hazel eyes showed him her displeasure.
“You are only a woman, Ingrid. Look at you! As soon as anyone gets a good look at you—which everyone will do when that dark red hair of yours catches their eye—they will instantly see that you are a woman in a man’s clothes.”
His words were as though he tapped directly into her own doubts about her ability to conceal herself. Her lips momentarily quivered before she once more composed herself. Tears would in no way help her on what lay ahead on her journey. Charles could very well be correct but this would not sway her from her course to follow the Empress.
“I believe you have said enough, Charles,” she said quietly knowing the friendship that they had shared all their lives was at an end.
A low growl left him. “I am only trying to make you see the reality of your situation if you are to leave the safety of this farm. What makes you think you are capable of actually killing another in the fight to stay alive?”
