Read Online Knight Triumphant by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page B

muscles. His hands first, because in the days following the worst of the fevers and the nightmares and the dreams and illusions, not even his fingers wanted to bend at the command of his mind. Bit by bit, he struggled to create a grip, then to raise his arms, to sit up, and then to stand, and finally to walk. He forced himself to eat, for he knew that he had to do so, and he knew, as well, that his own people watched over the kitchen. He kept to the bed until he had gained a certain sense of power, then he rose, and called to Peter MacDonald to help him; he needed water, a long bath in hot, soothing water. In all the days when he had tossed and turned, he had known that he still bore remnants of the blood and mud of battle, and the sweat of sickness. He was eager to feel clean again.
    As he bathed, he listened gravely to Peter, who was at a loss to know how either Robert Neville, who had been abed, scarcely able to move, and the lady—well enough, but certainly within the gates at all times—had managed to leave.
    â€œNone will speak,” Peter told him.
    Eric nodded.
    â€œThere is obviously a way out through the castle. And, therefore, a way in. I will discover what it is.”
    â€œBut have you the strength to force out of them what you need to know?” Peter asked him. He wasn’t an old man, but his features were weathered, lined and creased. Like Eric, he was a natural sailor, brought to shore, and a learned warrior.
    There had been no other choice for them.
    â€œToday, I will let them know that this castle will be kept in the name of the Bruce. And that we will discover their secrets. But soon, very soon . . .”
    â€œSoon . . . ?”
    â€œWe will begin to even the score in this deadly tournament,” Eric said softly.
    When he was done bathing, he donned a linen chemise and breeches belonging to the past master of the castle, found his boots, and made his way down the stairs. He drew out a chair at the head of the great long table in the hall, lifted a booted foot upon the table, startling the poor old steward of the castle into something like apoplexy.
    â€œYes, I am alive and well,” Eric said. “And very hungry for good bread and meat. Are there such luxuries to be had?”
    The old fellow nodded dumbly and started to turn.
    â€œWait. What is your name?”
    â€œGarth, my lord.”
    â€œWell, Garth, it is good to see you moving, in far better circumstance than that in which we found you here.”
    â€œAnd you, sir, have apparently weathered the illness as well.”
    â€œI have. Most regretfully, I’m certain, to your number.”
    The old man shrugged. “It has made little difference here. Kings and nobles make war. Men such as I merely serve until we die.”
    â€œNot true, Garth. The common man of Scotland is the soldier who will make her free.”
    â€œThe common man of Scotland is the one who dies, butchered by the armies, starved out by either side.”
    â€œLangley stood unaffected for many years.”
    â€œLangley could only fall from within.”
    Eric arched a brow without replying for a moment. Aye, it was true. Without huge war machines and a massive army moving against it, this castle could not fall.
    Except from within. And if there was a way for men and women to escape the walls, there was a way for traitors to slip inside as well.
    â€œGod’s judgment,” Eric said after a moment to Garth. “Had we not been imprisoned for the purposes of torture and demise, this death would not have come to Langley. Some might call that God’s judgment.”
    â€œAnd some,” came a voice from the doorway, “might call it the idiocy of a few stupid men with enough arms to force their way.”
    Eric grinned, seeing the priest at the entry to the great hall. “Welcome, Father MacKinley. I was about to send for you.”
    â€œYou’re looking extremely well.”
    â€œYes. The sickness is