Chapter Two

Blackmore Castle

Outside of Bristol, England

L ady Elysande Thorburn of Blackmore took hold of the rope in a firm grip and pulled. The cow bellowed in protest, and she yanked harder trying to get the animal to move. With her livestock scattered, she had been only too happy when she had come across this animal chewing its cud in a field. If she could only get the stubborn beast back to what was left of her stables, she would at least have fresh milk. There was not much else left.

She let the rope go slack. Any effort on her part to have this animal agree to being led had gotten her nowhere. She crossed the distance and ran her gloved fingers over the animal whilst staring into its soft brown eyes. She laid her forehead on its neck in defeat.

"Please, God, help me," she whispered softly hoping that her plea to a higher being might be heard.

As if in answer to her prayer, the cow finally stepped forward. Elysande raised her eyes heavenward and gave a silent word of thanks. With the slightest of tugs, she and the animal began walking back toward the castle. The beast would at least be fed once inside the barn. Aye… she still had enough hay for the cow and grain for the few chickens she had managed to return to the coop. Any other livestock had been slaughtered by Stephen's army when they came through the area, rampaging in protest that their king had been taken and held in Bristol.

She scowled at the memory but was thankful she had hidden herself away and had not been a part of the destruction they had left in their aftermath. They had ransacked whatever had remained of the village. What had been left of her fields after the harvest had been burned as had her outbuildings. Her serfs had either been captured or killed and she had been left to bury the bodies. She had herself, a handful of servants, and her elderly grandfather to take care of since her parents had been staying at one of their estates in Normandy. She had sent word months ago of her plight, but the message may have been delayed or lost since she had had no word of their return. Not that they would be of much help rather than burdening her further. Nay… Blackmore was hers and her parents had been mostly absent from her life.

Her situation was grim, and she had no idea how she would continue to feed not only herself but those who had remained loyal to her household. And her ailing grandfather… no one should live out their last days starving. She was already aware that he was not long for this world.

She reached the outskirts of Blackmore wishing with all her might that she would open her eyes to find that this had all been but a horrible nightmare. But the view before her did not miraculously change from the one she now gazed upon. The barbican gate with its portcullis was a shambles. The stone walls were now in need of repair, but both were far beyond her capabilities and those of her household servants. She would need a mason along with the manpower to work the heavy stones back into place. The knights who had guarded the keep had done their best, but they had been no match for an army bent on destroying all in their path. Their heavy machinery of war had seen to what little there was to the perimeter of her home. She should be thankful the keep was still in one piece.

Leading the cow into the stable and then a stall, she left the animal after ensuring she was fed. She had barely made her way through the inner bailey before her maid, Olive, ran down from the steps of the keep. Her worried frown made Elysande run the remaining distance to reach her. She grasped the maid's hands.

"What has happened?" Elysande urged whilst fearing the worse.

"'Tis your grandfather. You must come quickly, milady," Olive replied.

Hearing her grandfather needed her, she left her maid behind whilst racing into the keep and making her way up through the turret. The circular stairs slowed down her pace but once she reached the second floor where her grandsire's bedchamber was located, she once more ran down the passageway. His door was ajar, and she pushed the portal open. That the castle priest was inside caused Elysande to choke back her tears.

"Grandfather," she called whilst rushing to his side. She took his cool frail hand and brought it up to her cheek. One boney finger traced the tear that slid unbidden down her face.

"Ah, my sweet granddaughter. How I wish I could keep death from my door. But he has come for me and will wait no longer," Barnabus wheezed out before a coughing fit made Elysande reach for a cup on the table next to his bed. She made an attempt to get him to drink once he caught his breath again, but he waved the chalice away.

"Death cannot take you from me, Grandfather. He will have to wait," she insisted. Olive had arrived and she went to grab a wooden stool and brought it to the side of the bed. Elysande took a seat.

"He has waited long enough, child. If only your parents had returned from Normandy so I would know I was leaving you in their care. Now you will be alone," he whispered looking about the room as if her parents would miraculously appear.

"She will not be left alone, Sir Barnabus." A deep baritone voice with a French accent called out from the doorway. A small smile lit Elysande's lips.

"You see, Grandfather? Sir Hawke de Challon is still here watching over me," she answered whilst the priest continued to lift up prayers on her grandfather's behalf.

"He is not the same as your parents or a husband, Elysande, but I suppose he will have to do," he murmured whilst keeping his gaze upon her.

Hawke stepped forward and gave a slight bow. "I have promised to protect this lady from the day of my first service in this household. Nothing will change that, Sir Barnabus."

A heavy sigh left the man lying in the bed and he closed his eyes at Hawke's words. 'Twas as though any energy he still had left him knowing she would be taken care of. "Good. Good," he answered before he turned pale blue eyes in her direction. "You have been a blessing in my life, child. Never forget that you are loved." He gave her a weak smile before heaving one last sigh as his final breath left him.

"Grandfather!" she sobbed but 'twas of no use. He was now gone, and she had no idea how she was to go on in this world without his guidance.

A strong arm came around her shoulders and pulled her from the stool. "Come, Elysande. You have done enough for one day. Let the priest give your grandfather his final prayers. You must needs rest. Olive, come see to your lady's comfort in her chambers," Hawke said ushering her toward the door. Olive went around them and disappeared down the corridor.

Elysande looked over her shoulder for one last look at her grandfather whilst there was still the slight bit of color to his skin. "I will need to see to his grave."

"Nay," Hawke replied. "I will see to it myself along with sending a servant downstairs to the kitchen to ensure there is an evening meal for you to fill your belly. When was the last time you ate?"

She shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Aye, ma petite , it does. I will not have you wasting away whilst you give your meager portions of food to others. You will do yourself no good if you do not retain your strength."

They left the bedchamber and made their way to the turret, climbing the stairs to the fourth floor where her own room was located. "There is too much work for me to do still, Hawke. There is no time to rest."

"For today, you are finished, my lady," Hawke insisted.

"Ordering me about, are you, Hawke?" she managed to tease. She peered up into his green eyes. His blond-brown hair hung in soft waves to his shoulders. There was a time in her youth where she thought she had been in love with this handsome Frenchman, not that she was old at only a score of years. But five years was a long time to hold an affection for someone when she knew her parents would never approve and she had finally given up on any notion of finding love with the captain of her guard.

A slight chuckle left him, not that there was anything to be merry about. "At least for the remainder of the day, my lady," he murmured whilst opening the portal to her bedchamber. Olive had already turned down the coverlets and waited for Hawke to depart.

"You will personally see to his grave?" she asked stepping farther into the room before turning around to face him.

"Aye, Elysande, I will see to it personally," he assured her before giving her a bow and taking his leave, shutting the door behind him.

Elysande went to the bed to pull the covers back up. "'Tis too early in the afternoon to climb into bed, Olive. I will just take my ease with a short rest. You can return when 'tis time for the evening meal unless I am already downstairs in the hall," she said as the weight of what she had lost this day fell upon her.

She waved her maid away and once she was left in the privacy of her bedchamber, she climbed on top of the coverlets and the softness of her bed. For once, she would not think of the responsibilities that awaited her outside of this door. Instead, she dreamed of a carefree life where her parents doted upon her, and suitors came to call who would take her breath away. If only life were that simple.