Reynold de Burgh: The Dark Knight. Deborah Simmons

frowned. Had the boy not learned to keep his confidences? If they were outnumbered, they might well be held for ransom and Reynold would wring the cost out of his squire’s hide. But a few strides around the inside of the church revealed no one else. Yet why would these two be here, alone in a deserted village? Had they survived some illness that had killed the other inhabitants?

      ‘We are pilgrims, on our way to Bury St Edmunds,’ Peregrine said, and Reynold shot him a quelling look. But the boy appeared to be totally enthralled by the woman, and who could blame him? Fleetingly, Reynold wondered whether she was some kind of siren, luring travellers to their death in this empty place called, fittingly, Grim’s End.

      ‘My Lord de Burgh.’ If she was intent upon mischief or murder, it was not apparent, for Mistress Sexton called his name with a mixture of urgency and entreaty. She even moved towards him, only to step back, away from his outstretched sword. With a frown, he sheathed it, though he remained alert.

      ‘Obviously, you are no simple pilgrim, but a lord, and a knight as well?’

      ‘All the de Burghs are knights,’ Peregrine piped up, with a giddy smile that Reynold longed to wipe from his face.

      ‘Quiet, you,’ Reynold admonished. Although the women appeared to present no threat, the situation was hardly normal.

      ‘I am not familiar with these de Burghs of whom you speak, yet I am in most dire need of a knight,’ Mistress Sexton said.

      Reynold slanted her a glance of surprise. Although he did not expect everyone in the country to know of Campion and his seven sons, still her reaction made him uneasy, as if she were not of this world. Dismissing such a fancy, Reynold turned towards the other woman, who looked ordinary enough, if frightened. ‘What happened here? Where are the rest of the villagers? Did some sickness kill them all?’

      ‘Nay, my lord,’ the one called Ursula said. She drew in a shaky breath and began ringing her hands in agitation. ‘‘Tis worse than that, more horrifying and deadly than any illness.’

      Again, Reynold felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

      ‘But no challenge to a man such as this! Knights fear nothing,’ Mistress Sexton said, with a certainty that Reynold could not share.

      He feared plenty, but he was not about to go into the details with these two. Were they being menaced by outlaws or brigands? Had there been a kidnapping? Murder?

      ‘Perhaps you should explain the situation more fully,’ Reynold said, returning his attention to Mistress Sexton. She appeared the more lucid of the two, though neither made much sense. ‘Are you and this woman all who live in the village?’

      ‘Nearly,’ Mistress Sexton said. ‘There are a few stalwarts who remain with us.’

      Reynold frowned. Had he and Peregrine stumbled into some kind of local conflict, a battle between neighbouring landowners? He walked towards the window and glanced out, but all was still and quiet. ‘Where are the others now?’

      ‘Hiding! We are always hiding!’ Ursula wailed. ‘I beg you, my lord, take us away from this place.’

      Reynold glanced sharply at Mistress Sexton, but she shook her head in disagreement. Still, if only a few people were here, they could hardly survive for long. Maybe the older woman was the more lucid of the two.

      ‘What are you hiding from?’ Peregrine asked, wide-eyed.

      ‘Yes, if sickness didn’t kill the others, what did?’ Reynold asked.

      ‘Nothing! They fled like cowards, rather than face our foe,’ Mistress Sexton said, with obvious contempt.

      ‘What of your family? Your father? Your liege lord? Surely he would send soldiers to aid you,’ Reynold said.

      ‘My parents are dead,’ Mistress Sexton said. ‘And our lord’s only concern is greed. It matters little to him where he gets his labour, whether here or Sandborn or elsewhere.’

      ‘Yea, let us all be eaten, for he cares not!’ Ursula wailed.

      ‘Eaten?’ Peregrine’s question was little more than a whisper, but it echoed Reynold’s thoughts. Was some kind of wild beast attacking the villagers?

      ‘Yes, eaten!’ Ursula said. ‘Swallowed whole, roasted on a spit of fiery breath!’

      ‘You cannot be certain of that.’ Mistress Sexton turned to reprove her companion, as though their discussion was not one bit peculiar. ‘And ‘tis no matter because a knight does not fear such things. Nor can he refuse a plea for help.’

      ‘Swallowed whole?’ Peregrine’s voice rose, and Reynold wondered if either of the women was lucid. Perhaps they had been left here to wander witless, abandoned by those who feared the insane.

      For the first time since leaving Campion, Reynold wished that one of his brothers were with him. Surely Geoffrey, who had handled his lunatic of a wife, would know what to do with these two. Simon would probably have taken them to the nearest convent, but Reynold was reluctant to remove them against their will, though the older one seemed eager for an escape. Perhaps she was held in the thrall of Mistress Sexton.

      Reynold could certainly understand that, for when she turned toward him, it was hard for him to focus on anything except her beauty, which was enough to seize one’s breath.

      ‘I am a damsel much distressed, my lord,’ she said in an earnest tone. ‘And I charge you to honour your vow to aid any such as me, to rescue me and my people by slaying the great beast that is menacing this village.’

      Reynold heard Peregrine’s gasp, but he ignored it to study Mistress Sexton with a more jaundiced eye. Although her entreaty seemed serious enough, her words sounded far too familiar for his comfort. ‘And just what great beast am I supposed to slay?’ he asked.

      Mistress Sexton lifted her delicate blonde brows as though surprised by the question. But her lovely face wore a serious expression when she gave him the answer he both dreaded and expected.

      ‘‘Tis a dragon, my lord.’

      Chapter Three

      ‘It’s just as the l’Estranges said!’ Peregrine’s voice, laced with awe, rang out in the silence, but Reynold was not so gullible.

      ‘Yes, it does seem very familiar, doesn’t it?’ he asked, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. Stepping closer to Mistress Sexton, he bearded her with a pointed look. ‘And I’m curious as to who is responsible.’

      To her credit, the woman appeared bewildered by his attitude. No doubt she had been chosen with an eye towards her charms, which were intended to dazzle him into witlessness, and he felt the sharp sting of insult. ‘Was it Stephen? Or Robin? Whoever it was went to some trouble to involve you, considering how far you are from Campion.’

      He turned to Peregrine. ‘Is that why you led me here?’

      ‘I—I? I did not lead you here!’ Peregrine stammered. ‘You chose the roadways, my lord.’

      ‘Yet I recall you suggesting Bury St Edmunds.’

      ‘But that’s just because you were heading east, my lord.’ The boy’s face flamed, and he acted indignant, yet Reynold had seen mummers and such who could appear convincing in some sham. And there was no denying that Peregrine was allied with the l’Estranges, a family that both Stephen and Robin had married into.

      Reynold opened his mouth to demand some answers, but everyone started talking at once, and it was all he could do to sort them all out. As far as he could tell, Peregrine was denying any involvement in the so-called quest, Mistress Sexton claimed to know nothing of the boy or Campion, and Ursula wailed unintelligibly.

      ‘Silence!’ he said.

      Everyone looked to him, even Ursula,