A Knight to Remember: Good Knights #2

by Christina Dodd

  “Oh, Hugh.” She blinked back tears and impulsively leaned forward and kissed him. “You are too good.”

  He caught her when she would have retreated. “Not good enough. Not yet. But I will be, and you’ll give me all soon.”

  She hugged him, and the servants cheered quietly, then hurried about their business as if expecting Hugh to yell again.

  He wouldn’t. Not now. Not while he was feeling so cocky.

  “Edlyn?”

  And sensitive. Somehow, for some reason, he’d sensed the temblor that rocked Edlyn to the soul. The girl who’d fallen in love with Hugh had been buried, and Edlyn thought her dead. Now it seemed she had only been sequestered by the insulating walls that she’d built to block the pain of experience. One wall had already fallen this day; would another tumble?

  “Edlyn?” he said again, his voice eager and his body expectant.

  She pulled back, just enough to see his face. If she gave her heart into his keeping, it would be the biggest gamble of her life. For if he failed her, she would wither. And if she didn’t give her heart into his keeping, wouldn’t she wither anyway?

  “Hugh.” She cupped his face in her hands. “Hugh…”

  “M’ lord!” Wharton’s shout brought a chorus of shushes, but he persisted. “M’ lord, ’tis th’ prince’s messenger.” His eyes gleamed with anticipation. “He brings news of the war. We’ll be fighting again soon!”

  18

  She’d almost made a serious mistake.

  Edlyn moved through the bustling great hall, directing the packing.

  She’d almost declared her love for Hugh.

  She glanced across the huge, vaulted chamber at her husband. He sat at the table on the dais, directing his men, scribbling notes, listening to the messenger, and generally acting like the commander of the royal troops in the west.

  She’d almost given her love to Hugh, and that would have been worse, for the other was only words but the love itself formed part of her soul.

  She caught one of the pillars as a spasm of pain clutched at her.

  She hadn’t given him her love.

  “We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” she heard him say. “The rain has stopped and the sun is out.”

  Was the sun shining? Edlyn hadn’t noticed.

  He continued, “Obviously, God favors our cause.”

  For that bit of ludicrous nonsense, he got a snort from Edlyn. She’d heard that before. Before Robin had marched off to his last battle, that was what he’d said.

  But Hugh didn’t care what she thought. Hugh just moved to do his duty and never mind that she was dying inside.

  Or she would be, if she loved him.

  “Edlyn.”

  He called her from across the great hall, and she needed to brace herself before she could look at him. To give herself a moment, she instructed the maidservant. “Air the rugs well before you put them in the trunk lest they mildew.”

  “Aye, my lady.” The maid, caught in the middle of airing the rugs, curtsied without expression.

  She no doubt thought Edlyn mad, but Edlyn didn’t care. She’d indicated her indifference to Hugh by waiting a little too long to answer.

  “Edlyn?”

  His hands closed on her shoulders, and she jumped.

  “Come and meet the prince’s messenger. He’s an old friend of mine.” He pushed her before him toward the dais. “Ralph Perrett of Hardwell.”

  A conciliatory-looking man, Ralph Perrett stood and bowed before she even reached him.

  She hated him. All that courtesy oozing from him. That polite murmur of gratitude for her hospitality. That inoffensive, yet appreciative gleam in his eyes as he gazed at her.

  Who did he think he was fooling? She knew him for what he was. The prince’s stooge.

  Ralph Perrett subsided onto the bench when she gestured, and she found herself placed beside Hugh with a firmer hand than she cared for.

  “He has brought me information about the troop movements across the countryside. Prince Edward and the Marcher barons hold the Severn Valley. Simon de Montfort and his forces have been driven back into South Wales. His son is bringing forces up from the southeast.” Hugh’s eyes gleamed. “We’ll meet the rebel barons soon and defeat them completely.”

  “With God’s blessing,” Perrett said.

  “That again,” she muttered. She jumped when Hugh poked her with his elbow.

  Edlyn supposed she was acting much as her children had acted earlier, but she was tired of being mature. She was tired of settling in, thinking she comprehended her situation, adjusting accordingly, and then having everything knocked arse over hedgehog. She was just tired.

  “We have everything arranged now,” Hugh said. “There’s nothing more for me to do tonight except feast and soak in the warmth of a hearth fire.”

  When it became clear Edlyn wouldn’t answer, Perrett said, “Aye, that’s true. ’Twill be autumn before you sit before anything but a campfire’s feeble flame.”

  “I need to arrange the meal.” Edlyn tried to rise.

  Hugh’s hand on her shoulder pushed her back down. “Neda is doing it. This rain has been a curse for the rebellion, but a blessing for me. It gave me a chance to heal after that wounding at Eastbury.”

  “I heard you were killed.” Perrett allowed Allyn to refill his cup of mulled wine. “The rumors were flying!”

  Hugh smiled grimly and took the cup Dewey offered. “De Montfort must have thought he’d had a stroke of luck.”

  “Why is it luck if the battle goes well with Simon de Montfort and God’s grace if the battle goes well with you?” Edlyn asked.

  Hugh shoved the cup under Edlyn’s nose. “Drink.”

  As if she had a choice! He almost slopped the liquid down her chest to fill her mouth—and stop what it was saying. Well, if he didn’t like it, he could let her go.

  “It’s hot!” she complained when he finally let her come up for breath.

  “It’s likely to get hotter,” he warned in an undertone. To Perrett, he said, “My own dear lady wife cured me of that wound. I took that as a sign I should wed her.”

  “A sign from God, of course?” Perrett asked smoothly.

  Edlyn almost laughed. If Perrett was going to be amusing, she would be hard-pressed to dislike him.

  “Of course.” Hugh must have felt her shudder of suppressed amusement, for his grip on her relaxed.

  “How long will you be gone?” She hoped for an answer, that kind of solid reply on which she could depend.

  De Montfort’s troops are in tatters, she imagined Hugh saying. All I’m going to do is chase them into the ocean.

  She could almost hear it. I’ll be back before the new moon, he’d say. Don’t try to take all the responsibility for Roxford on yourself. Leave some for me.

  Best of all—I couldn’t stay away from you. If I did, my step would falter and my eye would dim. Nay, Perrett, you must go to Prince Edward and tell him. Tell him I wish only to stay with my wife who has stolen my heart.

  Instead he said, “We have to find the enemy first. Mayhap we will meet up with the prince and fight a battle with him. That battle will only last a day, but we must kill or capture de Montfort and his son. We’ll have to chase them as they retreat and engage them in another battle.”

  He relished the thought, it was clear. His eyes twinkled, his smile, lavished on her so seldom, appeared and stayed.

  Wharton slapped a loaf of bread on the table. “Then ye’ll free th’ king an’ then ye’ll have t’ go t’ court.” He shuddered. “I hate court.”

  He would, Edlyn thought. No man could be more out of place than Hugh’s servant.

  “Simon de Montfort has lost most of his support among the barons,” Perrett said.

  “Then I’ll be back before the first snow flies.” Hugh leaned back with a sigh of what sounded like dejection.

  Edlyn came off the bench so fast that his hand, when he reached for her, closed on nothing.

  “Edlyn,” he yelled. �
��Come back right now!”

  Edlyn didn’t want to cry. She wanted to beat on somebody. She wanted to go hide. She wanted to…to…cry. No instinct told her where to go. She hadn’t lived at Roxford long enough to seek refuge blindly. But she ran toward the stairs that led outside, heard Hugh’s steps behind her, and plunged instead up toward the solar. That bar on the door could be used to keep Hugh out as well as any intruders on marital privacy, and anyway, how hard would he try to get in? What he really wanted to do was talk battle strategy with Ralph Perrett, the royal weasel.

  She darted up the stairs and hit the door with all her strength, then shoved it closed. She reached for the bar only to stumble back when Hugh smacked the door with all his strength.

  He didn’t even notice when she sat down hard among the rushes. He just stomped over and stood above her. “What did you think you were doing down there? You broke every rule of hospitality.”

  “Oh, hospitality.” She scooted back. “He doesn’t deserve my hospitality.”

  “He’s a guest. Our first guest.” He paced away. “And my friend!”

  Standing, she rubbed her sore rump and wondered what exactly she should say. The rules of hospitality were firm. With few inns, and those louse-ridden, and with men like Richard of Wiltshire on the road, the castle owners always opened their pantries and offered a place to sleep to the weary traveler. She knew the rules. She’d lived by the rules, even enjoyed the rules, for all her life. But being polite to Ralph Perrett had been more than she could do.

  “Well?” Hugh tapped his foot.

  For the first time, she realized why he got so irritated when she treated him like one of her sons. “I didn’t feel like welcoming Ralph Perrett.”

  “Why not?”

  Because he came to take you away.

  The thought blasted through her with the chill of a winter storm, and she jumped away from it.

  “Why are you so nervous?” Hugh demanded. “I told you before, I don’t beat women. Although you have tested that resolve sorely this night. Now come back down and—”

  “I will not.” She moved to the fire and warmed her hands. “You go down and make my apologies to your friend. Tell him I will rise to see him off. Him, and you, and…are you taking my sons?”

  Her sons? Hugh heard that like a crack across the knuckles. What did she mean, her sons? Only this morning, they had been their sons. “I wouldn’t take two untried lads into battle. They don’t even know how to carve a roast, much less spit a knight!”

  “Thank you for that, at least.”

  Her voice had grown quiet, down from that highpitched squeak of anger and dismay. It sounded better on the ears, but somehow he suspected it wasn’t better for him, or for her.

  “This is about my going into battle for the king, isn’t it?”

  “Your depth of comprehension astonishes me.”

  No one dared mock him, but he recognized this nonetheless. “Did you think I wouldn’t go when the prince called?”

  “Oh, nay. I always knew you would go.”

  “Then why are you angry?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  She really didn’t seem to be, but something was wrong, and he knew what it was. “The king is my sworn lord and in need of help from all true English lords. I cannot abandon him!”

  “Your duty calls. I’m not stopping you.”

  But she was. She was holding back some powerful emotion, and when he recalled that moment of the morning, that moment when he thought she was going to gift him with herself, he felt sick. Had it all been a lie? “You told me you didn’t care anymore when he died. You said he’d killed your love.”

  “Who?”

  “Robin. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

  “Nay!”

  “I captured your husband, your one true love, and sent him to be executed, and you thought you could sway me from my duty to the king by promising to…to…”

  “Love. The word is love.”

  He girded his loins. “By promising to love me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Then what is true?”

  “I loved Robin once. That love is dead. Was dead when he died. That has nothing to do with this.”

  “Then why are you acting this way? A lesser man would feel guilty for leaving you in the performance of his duty.”

  “And you’re not a lesser man.”

  She was sneering, and he didn’t like that.

  She tried to speak, and words seemed to elude her. At last she said, “You might be killed.”

  She had sounded matter-of-fact, so he tried to, too. “We’ve talked about this before. I won’t be killed.”

  Her sensible facade cracked. “Robin said that, too.”

  “I…am…not…Robin.”

  “I’ve met the widows of other men who marched off to battle with like minds.”

  “Then this is about Robin. The shade of Robin haunts our marriage.”

  “Nay!”

  “What other reason could there be for you to wish me to stay behind when men are joined in battle?” She glared and twisted her hands, and he dared something he would never have tried before this morning. “Are you saying,” he asked carefully, “you don’t want me to go because you’re afraid of Pembridge?”

  “Pembridge?”

  “Aye, Pembridge. You did meet him when you lived with Robin, didn’t you?”

  She widened her eyes so much the whites shone all around, and her horror spoke for itself. She had lied to him. He had asked her if she knew Pembridge, and she’d said nay. What was she hiding?

  “I met him,” she admitted.

  He almost staggered from the pain of her betrayal. “Have I been wrong all along? Is this about him?”

  “Nay!” She shot to her feet and stood, visibly shaking. “I didn’t tell you because he…I didn’t like the way he…I am afraid of Edmund Pembridge.”

  “Afraid?”

  “He never hurt me, but I think he is a cruel man.”

  Hugh thought she was right.

  “I was always faithful to Robin.”

  “But did you want to be?”

  “I never wanted Pembridge.” Her shaking increased.

  “What about me?” His dissatisfaction and sorrow increased with every anguished moment. “Then do you want me?”

  Her eyes sparked; she began to answer.

  He’d asked the wrong question. “Nay, wait—do you love me?”

  “I…you…” She seemed to be wrestling with some great emotion that weighed on her mind and turned her eyes a sluggish green.

  He wanted her to say yes. She would say yes, he knew it.

  “I…nay.”

  He let out his breath. “Well. That is that, then.”

  “Nay.” She said it again—in case he didn’t hear it the first time, he supposed. “I don’t love you. But I am your true and loyal wife, and I swear, my lord, that I would never betray you.”

  She looked at him without hesitation or fear, and he remembered what Ethelburgha had said. That no woman would brag about having Edmund Pembridge lurking behind her. Remembering the man and his sly habits, Hugh hoped that might just be all the truth. With a sigh, he said, “Thank you for that, at least.”

  Hugh’s step faltered as he trod the stairs down to the great hall. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. He couldn’t despise Edlyn, as much as he wanted to. She’d proved herself to be capable, clever, and kind, and he wanted her. By the saints, he did want her.

  He almost turned back and climbed those stairs once more when he saw Wharton, Sir Lyndon, Sir Philip, and Ralph Perrett sitting around the trestle table, waiting for him. It should have been a council of war; from the expressions on their faces, he knew it was a lecture, and he was the one who would hear it.

  Wharton smirked. “Is she going t’ let ye go?”

  Placing his hands on the table, Hugh seated himself.

  “She is overwrought.” Sir Philip obviously disapproved.


  “That woman needs discipline.” Sir Lyndon clipped the words off.

  In soothing tones, Perrett said, “I’ve seen it a dozen times. When the wife hears the husband goes to battle, she must go and cry.”

  Hugh found himself biting his tongue. For most of his life, he had been the best at everything—at riding, at combat, at commanding. This day he had shown his ignorance to Burdett time and again with his stupid questions. While Burdett had hidden his astonishment well and answered patiently, Hugh chafed at his own incognizance.

  Now these men, his companions, thought to give him advice on the handling of his wife. As if he were some inexperienced boy with his first woman! The reduction to student galled and humiliated him, and he could scarcely contain his impatience.

  Worse was the knowledge he had invited their comments with his remarks in the alehouse that very afternoon. And tonight he might be listening to these men’s opinions—aye, he might—except for the memory of Ethelburgha and her righteous indignation. She had scorned Sir Philip, Sir Lyndon, and Wharton—Wharton still sported a lump over his eye from her scorn—and gave Hugh different advice. Advice that he’d put into action and that had almost given him the desired results. Edlyn had almost told him she loved him. Almost. So close.

  Maybe women knew what they wanted more than men knew what they needed.

  “So you’ll leave me in charge,” Sir Lyndon finished.

  “What?” Hugh had missed something, and he narrowed his eyes as he considered Sir Lyndon.

  “You’ll leave me in charge of Roxford Castle while you go into battle,” Sir Lyndon repeated obligingly. “It only makes sense. I’m the knight who has been with you the longest, and someone has to remain behind in case of treachery.”

  “Whose treachery?” Wharton asked.

  Sir Lyndon twitched toward the place where the steward and his wife worked.

  “Humph.”

  Wharton didn’t seem impressed with any suspicion against Burdett and Neda, and Hugh noted that. Wharton had proved to be an astute judge of character over the years.

  In fact, Wharton had never liked Sir Lyndon.

  Hugh still smarted with the knowledge that Edlyn had lied to him about Pembridge, so he leaned close to Wharton. “Do you like Lady Edlyn?”