A Hero's Heart (Noble Heart Book 7) Read online

  “Amen!” several men replied. The men gathered around the tables in the common room were simple folk—merchants and farmers, mostly—but they were proud of themselves and deeply grateful to Sir Noble and the Lord.

  Tom Locke had rejoined the group once everyone was served and he now asked, “Well then, Sirs, what is it you wanted to ask us then? You said you have questions for us and that you are here on a mission.”

  “Yes, let me explain,” Noble said. “We’ve been hearing rumors in Caernarfon of highwaymen attacking and robbing people on the road to Conwy. Our captain has sent Sir Michael and me to investigate the reports.”

  “They are saying the ambushes are greatest between Bangor and Aber,” Sir Michael added. “That is why we are here—to find out what you know and to see if you have any suggestions. Do any of you have knowledge of such attacks, or have you even been attacked yourselves?”

  “Aye, Sir!” an old man Noble remembered as Willy spoke up. “There have been plenty of robberies near Aber. They are always out on the highway, though—never here inside the village, praise God! The word has been spread ever since last year about the “able men of Aber!” They would not dare come into the village with their evil plans!” He stuck his chest out proudly and looked around at his companions for their agreement. It was quick in coming.

  Noble smiled. “When did the attacks start? And who are they targeting?”

  “I think the first victim around here was old Dame Brumble,” the innkeeper said. “She is from Aber, but she was traveling to Bangor to see her sister and she had only her young grandson with her to drive the cart. They were easy targets, I suppose. That was about six months ago. Since then there have been a few others from Aber who were robbed but our folks quickly learned to travel in large groups and armed.”

  “It is mostly strangers now who have been robbed on the road outside of Aber,” another man said. “People simply passing through who have not heard of the problems we are having.”

  “Yes, and the attacks are becoming more violent,” Jacob said. “Now the thieves are no longer content to merely rob. They have been beating their victims as well, or even stabbing them!”

  “How many victims have there been?” Sir Michael asked.

  “It’s hard to say,” Locke answered. “I don’t know what has happened further away from Aber, but I would say there have been at least two dozen attacks in the last six months around here.” The other men nodded in agreement.

  “Do you have any idea who these highwaymen are?” Noble asked. “Do they live near Aber?”

  “And how large is the gang? Is it only one or two men, or more? And if there are more, do you know if it is one gang or several different ones?” Sir Michael questioned them further.

  Tom Locke shook his head. “If they live near Aber, nobody knows who they are. And as for how many there are, or if they are all of one gang we cannot tell you that for sure, either. There are different numbers at different times, and they hide their faces with scarves or masks.”

  “Bah! Personally, I think they’re from Bangor! Nothing good ever comes out of Bangor!” Willy snorted.

  “You only say that because your wife is from Bangor, Willy!” someone said. The room burst into laughter.

  Thomas had slipped into the room during the conversation and now he said, “I have been doing some searching in the woods near the place where the last few attacks have taken place, Sir Noble. There is a trail that leads back through the trees, but I could not follow it all the way—not all by myself anyway.” He looked nervously at his father.

  Master Locke frowned. “I thought I told you not to go back there, Thomas! It is dangerous in the forest!”

  “I did not go back after you told me, Father—at least not right there. I found the start of another trail last week closer to the village, and I only went a few feet into the forest to look around before turning back. It was close to the spot where that priest was robbed the next day.”

  “What makes you think these trails have anything to do with the highwaymen, Thomas?” Noble asked.

  “I don’t know that for certain, but they are both near places where several attacks have taken place. Those spots are perfect for an ambush—the trees are close to the road and in both places there are curves on either side that would prevent other travelers from seeing what was happening. And another thing—I know the woodland around Aber. Those trails were not there six months ago! I do not know if the paths lead to the same place, but I wager there are one or more hideouts on the other end of those trails!”

  “You may be right, Thomas. But I agree with your father. Do not go back into the forest alone. These men are already dangerous, but if they think you are on their trail or know where their hideout is, they could be deadly.” Sir Noble looked seriously at the boy.

  “I won’t, Sir Noble,” Thomas promised earnestly.

  “Does anyone else know something or have any suspicions that might be helpful to us?” The men looked around the room at one another and shook their heads. They talked a few more minutes about the highway ambushes, but eventually the talk drifted to other subjects—mostly news from Caernarfon.

  It was getting late by the time the last of the townspeople went home and Noble and Michael were able to have their supper with the innkeeper and Thomas. They were the only guests at the inn, after all, so it was quiet in the common room after all the laughter and commotion that had filled the room earlier. Master Locke had fixed a tasty stew and biscuits to go with it and for the first few minutes there was not much conversation as they concentrated on their food.

  At last, though, Noble said, “Oh, yes! That message I promised you Thomas! It is from the prince! He sends greetings to you and wants you to know that someday he will come visit you again and go riding with you! How is, er, Noble doing by the way? Are you enjoying having a horse of your own?” It felt a bit strange to call a horse by his own name.

  Thomas’ eyes were shining. “Oh, yes! Noble is wonderful! He is beautiful and fast and smart! I will never forget receiving him from the prince and his father as a gift last year!”

  “He was a reward, Thomas, for service well done for the kingdom. You deserved him!”

  Thomas flushed at the praise and changed the subject. “I am most honored to have a message from Prince William! Please tell him for me that I would be pleased to welcome him back to Aber and that I know many pleasant spots for riding that I think he would enjoy.”

  “I will tell him, Thomas, but I think before he comes we must rid these parts of highwaymen!”

  They talked a little while longer, but Noble could see that Master Locke was tired so finally he said, “Well, Thomas, Sir Michael and I would like to check on our horses. Why don’t you come out to the stable with us and show us your wonderful Noble? Then I think we will retire for the night. We would like to investigate those trails you told us about in the morning, and then we may ride on toward Bangor.”

  Master Locke bid them goodnight. He was going to clean up the supper things and then go off to bed. “Thomas will show you to your rooms,” he said, “and then lock up. There’s a good boy!”

  They spent only a few minutes out in the stable. Valiant and Storm had been well cared for by Thomas earlier and seemed content enough in their small stalls for the night. Noble—the horse, that is—was every bit as beautiful as Thomas had declared. He was the twin to the prince’s own horse, except for the small white patch on his forehead. They admired him for a few minutes and, finally, returned to the inn.

  Noble did not know what time it was but he knew he could not have been asleep for long when suddenly a loud pounding at the door of the inn wakened him. He lay there for a moment but when he heard loud voices and the door crashing open he jumped from his bed and ran down the stairs, sword in hand. Sir Michael was at his heels. It had not taken long for trouble to find them once again!

  ___________

  CHAPTER THREE

  ___________

  The Hawthornesr />
  Thomas and his father were standing near the open door. A girl was kneeling at their feet and in her arms she cradled a young man. A large patch of blood stained his tunic and there were cuts and bruises all over his pale face. He was unconscious. Master Locke jumped into action, calling to Thomas to fetch towels and water as he knelt beside the girl and took the fellow from her and laid him gently on the floor.

  Noble and Michael rushed over to them. “What happened?” Sir Michael asked grimly as he took in the scene.

  The girl did not seem to hear his question at first, but when he repeated it, she replied, “We were attacked! About a mile from Aber. I remember my brother telling me just before it happened that we had only another mile to go. We were trying to reach the inn before sunset, but it was getting dark already and we were worried we would not make it before nightfall. It has taken me this long to get him here! They stole our horses, and I could not carry him. I fear he has used his last strength to reach this place. Oh, do not die, Peter! Peter, hang on!” she cried, clutching his hand in her own.

  There was not a flicker of an eyelash or even a moan from the young man. Noble knelt on the other side of him and pulled up the tunic to see the wound. It was a gash, only a few inches long but deep across his abdomen. It was still oozing blood. Thomas reappeared at his side just then and Noble took one of the towels and pressed it against the wound. “We must stop the bleeding,” he murmured. He looked up. “Is there a doctor in Aber—or someone who can stitch the wound?” He remembered the last time he had been in the village there had been only an old woman, skilled in herbs and remedies.

  “Still no real doctor,” Master Locke replied, shaking his head. “When we have a wound like this we call old man Stout. He tends to our sick or wounded animals, but he’s stitched up a few folks from time to time, as well. Thomas, be a good lad and run fetch Master Stout! Quickly now!” Thomas ran off and Locke asked, “Should we move him? We can put him in my room for now rather than carry him up the stairs.”

  “Let me bind the wound first,” Noble said. “He has already lost a lot of blood, by the looks of it.” He gingerly washed around the wound and then quickly tore the other towel in strips and tied them together until they were long enough to wrap around him, holding the bandage in place. He and Michael lifted Peter carefully then and followed Master Locke into his room. They laid him on the bed and then moved away to allow his sister to be at his side. Now all they could do was wait for Thomas and Master Stout to return.

  It was the first chance Noble had actually had to look at the girl. She was a rumpled mess—no doubt from the harrowing experience of being held up by the highwaymen and then having to somehow get her brother the remaining mile to Aber. She did not appear to be too many years older than himself. Whether that was older or younger than Peter he could not say, for the young man was much the worse for wear, and with the waxy pallor of his skin, the dark circles around his eyes and his battered face he looked far older than his actual years. It was obvious, though, that they were siblings for they had the same flaming red hair and freckles.

  “Oh, Peter,” she was saying now. “You should have just let them take the horses! How could you hope to fight off four armed men at once?” She wiped her tears on her sleeve and kissed her brother’s limp hand. He did not respond to her voice or the touch of her lips, but lay there still and silent.

  “There were four of them you say?” Sir Michael questioned her. “Can you describe them?”

  She shook her head. “It was getting dark, and they all wore hats and scarves over their faces so that only their eyes showed—and I was too far from them to tell you even their color. One of the men was much larger than the others, but that is all I can recall. Their horses were all an ordinary brown, and their clothes could have belonged to any working man in the land. I am sorry.” She looked down at her brother again. “He was trying to protect me,” she said. “Perhaps it was foolish, but it was also very, very courageous. It was not the horses he was worried about, truly. It was me. That was all that kept him going, I am sure, until we got here, for I could not carry him and I would not leave him out there on the road to go for help as he urged me to do. He is the only family I have left in the world! If—if Peter dies I do not know what I will do!” She burst into tears once again.

  Noble had been praying in his heart, but now he said aloud, “Our Father we ask for Your mercy upon Peter. We ask that You spare his life, if it is Your will, and be with him and his sister through whatever is to come. Give Master Stout wisdom when he comes as to how to care for Peter, and may we give You all the glory as we trust in You. In our Savior’s name we pray, amen.”

  She was staring at him when he opened his eyes as if she had never heard a prayer before. She did not comment, however, other than to murmur, “Thank you.”

  “What is your name?” Michael asked just then. We know your brother’s name is Peter, but you are—?”

  “Juliet. Juliet Hawthorne. We are from Chester, England. We are on our way—or we were—to Caernarfon to see King Stephen.”

  Noble and Michael exchanged glances. “Why did you want to see the king?” Michael asked.

  She looked from one of these strangers to the other before answering, “I—I am not sure I ought to tell you our business. Who are you?”

  “I am sorry,” Noble said. “We are knights of King Stephen’s Guard. I am Sir Noble, and this is Sir Michael. And this is Master Tom Locke, the innkeeper here. It is his son Thomas who has gone for someone to look after your brother. Sir Michael and I know the king very well. Perhaps we may be able to help you.”

  Juliet seemed to relax a bit and make up her mind to trust them. “Our business with the king is not really business, I suppose. It is more of a personal matter. You see, King Stephen is our cousin—well, a distant cousin—the great-great-nephew of our father on his mother’s side. We are going to him for help.”

  “Help?” Noble inquired.

  The young woman blushed and hung her head. “Yes. I told you already we are alone in the world. Our mother passed away last month—just weeks after our father was killed in an accident. We have no family left in England. Last week a banker came to our home, and told us that my father had died owing him a great deal of money and he wanted it back. If we did not pay him immediately he was going to have us both arrested and put in debtor’s prison! We had no money and we ended up signing over my father’s estate to him. We sold a few of our personal things to get the money to make this journey, but once it is gone we will have nothing.” She paused and laughed bitterly. “Actually, it is gone, for the highway men robbed us of what little money and valuables we had, as well as the horses. The sweet special little keepsakes I had of my father and mother—sentimental things that would mean nothing to anyone but Peter and me. All of our worldly possessions were on those horses. They are gone now, except for the clothes on our back! And poor Peter no longer owns even a shirt! We are destitute. I do not think we can pay you for your hospitality, Master Locke.” The tears started flowing again. “If you would allow us to stay just until Peter can be moved…”

  “Do not worry about it, Miss. You may stay as long as it takes for your brother to be back on his feet again,” the kindly innkeeper said. He brought a chair over close to the bed so that she could sit.

  “If we could only get to Caernarfon! We must throw ourselves on the mercy of the king. My father was proud of the connection he had to the royal branch of the family and often spoke highly of Stephen’s family, although it had been many, many years since he had last seen any of them. Peter and I did not know where else to go when we lost our parents and our home in just a matter of weeks. You know, King Stephen, Sirs. Do you think we will be welcome in Caernarfon?”

  “We cannot speak for the king, Miss Hawthorne, but we can tell you that King Stephen is good and kind. He is wise, as well, and he will do whatever he thinks is right. I do not think you have anything to fear if what you say is true,” Noble said.

 
She looked up at him and sighed. “Oh, it is true, alright—all too true, I am afraid.” She looked down at her brother again. “We are willing to work, of course, although neither of us has much experience in working for a living. While Father was alive we had a very comfortable life.” She paused. “Where are they? Why is it taking so long? He might die before they come!” She was as agitated as her brother was still.

  “They will be here soon,” Locke tried to soothe her. “Master Stout does not live nearby. Thomas had to ride through the dark to get him, you know.” The words had barely left his mouth when suddenly they heard horses and the sound of voices as someone came into the inn. Moments later Thomas entered the room with an old man close on his heels.

  Juliet jumped up. “He has lost much blood!” she blurted out without greeting them. “Can you help him?”

  Master Stout did not answer her but went directly to the bed and lifted the bandage to take a look at the wound. He snorted at the sight of it and said, “I can stitch it up, Miss, but that is all. The rest is up to the good Lord whether it will heal or not. At least there is one good thing—of all the places they could have stabbed him, they did it in the one place where it would do as little damage as possible. If it does not become infected, perhaps he will recover, after all!”

  “After all? What do you mean? Is there some doubt whether or not he will recover?” Juliet was twisting her hands together. She watched as Master Stout removed the makeshift bandage and took needle and thread out of his pouch. “Oooh, I cannot watch!” She suddenly looked nearly as white as her brother, and she swayed slightly on her feet as if she would faint.

  Noble caught her arm and said, “Here, sit down again!” He moved the chair away from the bed. “Master Locke, do you have something you can bring to Miss Hawthorne? Tea, perhaps? And what about something to eat? Have you eaten anything at all tonight?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I cannot eat right now—at least not until we have taken care of Peter. A cup of tea would be most welcome, though, Master Locke. Thank you.”