A Knight to Remember: Good Knights #2

by Christina Dodd

  Wharton reared back, affronted. “Like her?”

  Hugh tried again. “Do you trust her?”

  “Oh.” Wharton nodded. “Trust her. Aye, I trust her.”

  So did Hugh. Mayhap he was a fool, but he trusted her. She said she didn’t love Pembridge, and he believed her. “I will leave my lady in charge.”

  Sir Lyndon almost fell off his bench. “Your—”

  “My lady. That is why I married her.”

  “She just went wailing upstairs because you’re leaving her. She’s a stupid little—” Someone must have kicked him under the table, for Sir Lyndon jumped, then visibly regained control.

  “She has much experience with directing a castle while her husband is away.” Hugh shook his head when Wharton offered ale. He needed his wits about him.

  Sir Lyndon had gotten over his first shock and now applied logic. Or what he thought was logic. “I’ve been around your lady for quite a while now, my lord, and she is overflowing with emotions. She’s always blubbering or laughing out loud. She has no dignity. What kind of control would she have over the servants? Over the men-at-arms?” He leaned forward and pressed his hand on Hugh’s arm. “Hugh, you need a man here. A man like me!”

  “I do need a man here.” Sir Lyndon’s gesture didn’t impress Hugh, any more than his use of Hugh’s first name. “Sir Philip will perform that service.”

  “I, my lord?” Now Sir Philip had trouble maintaining his seat.

  Sir Lyndon stared at Sir Philip as if he wore a beetle for decoration. “He’s nothing but a one-eyed old knight!”

  “Ah.” Sir Philip stroked his mustache. “I understand now. In sooth, Sir Lyndon, that is the reason my lord chose me rather than you. You have a place at his side during the vigor of battle, while I perform my duty at home.”

  “Does that offend you?” Hugh asked Sir Philip.

  “It is a little odd to be left behind after so many years of combat,” Sir Philip said. “But I cannot complain about the reasoning or the duty.”

  Sir Lyndon lost control. He stood and towered over the rest of them and pointed his finger at Hugh. “I was to be your commander in your castle. You promised me!”

  “I need you in the battle.”

  “I deserve—” Sir Lyndon caught himself, and the words hung on the air.

  “You have no experience in domestic matters.” Hugh didn’t address Sir Lyndon’s expectations, but as Sir Lyndon spoke, he became more and more sure of his own wisdom. “You should do as I do and learn from the people who have experience.”

  “Who?” Sir Lyndon snapped.

  “Lady Edlyn,” Hugh answered.

  A vein in Sir Lyndon’s forehead swelled and beat with his agitation, and Hugh thought he would leap over the table and strangle him.

  Instead he took several deep breaths and sank down into his seat. His chin dropped, and he spoke to his lap rather than to Hugh. “Then leave me here to learn.”

  “Sir Philip—” Hugh began.

  “Sir Philip is a warrior, too. He knows not about the direction of a castle, especially a castle so large. I would place myself under his direction, learn as he learns, and prove myself to you once more.” Sir Lyndon looked up and smiled persuasively, reminding Hugh of the joyous, rash young warrior he had once known. “And as you yourself said, my lord, Sir Philip is an old man. I doubt he would object to knowing there is someone here to carry out his orders.”

  Hugh hadn’t thought of leaving both of them behind, but he would feel better knowing two minds, two hearts, were dedicated to protecting Edlyn and his home. They would serve as a check on each other, and knowing the other was watching, each would be forced to obey Edlyn as if she had always been their lady.

  Sir Lyndon sensed Hugh’s weakening. “And my lord, I would like to point out that no one has seen Edmund Pembridge or any of his men since the battle last fall.”

  Hugh jerked in surprise. “He’s with Simon de Montfort.”

  Sir Lyndon shook his head.

  “Then he’s with de Montfort’s son.”

  Sir Lyndon smiled grimly. “He is not with either of them, nor is he dead, my lord. ’Tis said he wintered in his castle in Cornwall and with the spring went on the march against his enemies. Mayhap it would do well to zealously fortify his former home against him.”

  Did Hugh think Edlyn was a fool? She would have declared love, affection, need, anything if it would have kept him at her side, but nothing would do that. She could have wallowed in love, tempted him with her body, strung a thousand kisses across his form, and he still would have ridden off to do his duty.

  Duty. It made her ill. She’d done her duty too often and too well, and what had it got her? An empty bed.

  Of course, some people might say it didn’t need to be empty. Hugh had slept elsewhere last night, but only because she’d locked the door against him. He’d been furious, if his poundings and his shouts had been any indication, but she’d just pulled the covers up and ignored him, and eventually he’d gone away. He hadn’t even burned down the door as she half expected. He’d just…gone away.

  Gone away.

  She shoved the rugs off her head and sat up. An early morning light beamed in through the glass, and she stared at it in blatant incredulity.

  If she didn’t get downstairs, he would leave without her pledge of love.

  She scrambled out of bed fully dressed and ran to the door. Remembering, she ran back to her trunk and pulled out a white linen shift. Hands trembling with haste, she returned to the door and pulled the bar out of its brackets. Her bare feet made no sound as she descended the stairs, and the cold of the stone made no impression on her. She only knew she had to find Hugh before he left. She skidded on the reeds as she raced into the great hall and found it abandoned.

  So all the servants had gone downstairs to bid the warriors farewell. She would join them.

  The outer door hung open, and from the landing she saw the great gathering of servants, just as she expected. But rather than facing outward to wave good-bye, they walked toward her as if that duty had already been carried out.

  She looked at the gate, but no troop of knights remained within.

  “My lady?” Neda stood on the bottom step and looked up at her. “They’re gone.”

  Stupid with dismay, Edlyn stared at the older woman. They were gone? She’d sent Hugh off, probably to his death, without a word?

  Something of her anguish must have shown on her face, for Neda said, “If you wish, I know a place where you can watch him ride away.”

  Edlyn rushed down the stairs, Neda took her arm, and together they hurried through the gate into the outer bailey, then up the stairs to the top of the battlements. On the broad wall walk, every man-at-arms leaned out and watched some event off in the distance.

  Edlyn rushed to a notch in the stone and stared out also. “There they are!”

  They were close enough that she could still distinguish each knight, and Hugh himself towered over the others. They weren’t looking back though. They all faced forward, moving away from this home that had sheltered them briefly and toward the fighting they knew so well.

  “Hugh.” Edlyn whispered his name. Then she screamed. “Hugh! Hugh!” She stepped up into the embrasure between the tall stone merlons. “Hugh!”

  He couldn’t have heard her, but his head turned suddenly and he stared back at the castle as if imprinting it into his brain.

  Frantically, she waved the shift she still clutched in her hand. “Hugh. Hugh!”

  Attracted by the flailing white garment, his gaze lifted to the place where she stood. He stopped, staring, and turned his horse. Then she saw the flash of his teeth, and he waved an arm in reply.

  The knights around him took in the situation in one glance, then rode on. Only Wharton remained by Hugh’s side, and even from the distance Edlyn felt the disgust in his glare.

  She didn’t care. Hugh was smiling and waving, and she continued to signal with the white shift even after he’d gone
on.

  Behind her, Neda said, “He’s out of sight in the forest, my lady.”

  “Aye.” He was. She knew it, but she didn’t want to face the emptiness of the castle behind her. Oh, people filled it, of course. She had many duties to attend, and her sons required she reestablish her discipline now that Hugh had left. But knowing she would not catch a glimpse of Hugh, not hear his voice or have the opportunity to touch him, made her obligations almost too heavy to bear.

  Dear lord, she did love him.

  She’d sworn not to. She’d been hurt so badly by Robin she had sincerely thought her capacity to love had been destroyed. But Hugh had resurrected an old love and built on it, and now all of her—her past, her present, her future—was saturated with the desire to be with him. She loved him. She loved a warrior.

  “You should come down now.”

  Edlyn felt a tug on her cotte, and she saw Neda held her hem in both fists as if she feared her lady would fall.

  “You’ve signaled your desire for truce to your lord.”

  “Truce?”

  “The white flag,” Neda said gently. “He understood, I’m sure.”

  The white flag? Edlyn stared about her. Ah, the shift in her hand. She’d waved it, and Hugh had thought she had declared her submission. Well, she hadn’t. She might love the man, but she was far from submissive.

  Hugh stood on a hill and stared across the open meadow turned golden in the setting sun. There, on the morrow, he would meet and defeat one army of rebels who fought for Simon de Montfort’s cause.

  The breeze lifted Hugh’s hair and cooled his cheeks, and the sky showed no hint of rain. Aye, it would be a good day for battle. Not so hot that men would broil within their armor, but dry enough so that the horses could find footing.

  Yet the armies were a mere eight days’ march from Roxford, and that made him uneasy. In this terrain and in this weather, a lone man with changes of mount could ride to Roxford in two days. That was too close. There would be vagrants after the battle, men who had captured horses and armor and looked for other plunder. Worse still, the armies of Simon de Montfort and his son could easily move in that direction. Then Edlyn would be besieged.

  Edlyn. He took a breath of fresh air and remembered the sight of that white flag she waved from the battlements. Trust Edlyn to signal defeat when he couldn’t claim his reward. She had left him with an itch he couldn’t scratch and strengthened his determination to get back to her so he could subdue it.

  Edmund Pembridge might have besieged her heart, but Hugh de Florisoun had won it.

  If only they’d had time to have the fealty ceremony! If he could have held the hand of each knight and each servant in his own and looked into his eyes as he swore to obey and serve Hugh as his master, Hugh wouldn’t be so anxious now.

  Where was Edmund Pembridge? Hugh had thought him in Simon de Montfort’s army or even with de Montfort’s son. To hear that Pembridge had disappeared into the English countryside made Hugh want to watch his back—and to beg Edlyn to watch for treachery, too.

  For really, how much did he know about the men he’d left to guard Edlyn?

  Oh, aye, Burdett had said he would gladly transfer his loyalty to Hugh, but would he really? He had been Pembridge’s man for years; was he still?

  Sir Philip he didn’t know well either. He was a private man, not given to confidences, and while Hugh thought him reliable, he couldn’t help but wonder if any man was reliable enough to trust with Edlyn.

  That was why, he told himself, he’d left Sir Lyndon at Roxford Castle, too. If only Sir Lyndon had fulfilled the promise of their early years together. If only he would acknowledge his mistakes and leave his bitterness behind. His offer to remain behind as second-in-command was a beginning. But now, as Hugh waited on the eve of battle, it occurred to him that if Sir Lyndon wished to make mischief, he had placed himself in a prime position.

  The fears preying on Hugh’s mind only strengthened his resolve. He had to defeat the rebel forces.

  His hands ached to hold a sword, yet across on the opposite hill, he could see the tents of the enemy lined up in colorful rows. Before each tent waved a flag with the symbol of its owner sewn on in bright silks. Lions, griffins, and eagles reared their heads, but to one Hugh’s gaze kept straying.

  A stag on a background of black and red proved one thing. The Maxwells were here.

  “My lord.” Dewey stood at his elbow. “Sir Herbert wishes to know where he should place his archers.”

  Hugh’s gaze never left the tents. “I already told him.”

  “I know, my lord, but he seems nervous.”

  With a sigh, Hugh turned and went toward Sir Herbert’s tent. A good knight and one of the king’s faithful barons, Sir Herbert was inclined to fret on the eve of battle, and Hugh knew it was worth his while to reassure him.

  Then Hugh returned to his place on the hill. The sun had set while he calmed Sir Herbert’s fears, and now he could see aught of the other camp but the fires of the enemy.

  Many were the flames, and many were the knights squatting around them. It wouldn’t be an easy fight, not at all, and he looked forward to it.

  About that, anyway, Edlyn was right. He did like to fight. What man wouldn’t? The scent of destrier between his thighs, the sight of an armored knight charging him, the clash of arms all around…ah, it roused his blood. No mere woman could understand.

  Still, an intelligent man did what he could to ensure victory, even if his actions didn’t involve killing.

  His gaze returned to the place where he knew the Maxwells waited.

  “M’ lord, I got a group o’ foot soldiers who’ve never seen battle before, an’ they’re making themselves half ill with fear.” Wharton’s voice came from the dark void beside Hugh. “Could ye come an’ put th’ fear o’ deserting into them before they flee?”

  “I’ll come,” Hugh answered. It was always thus the night before a battle. Every man looked up at the stars and feared he would never see them again. Every man feared he would end a legless beggar on the street, reminding passersby of a long ago battle and pleading for a few pence. Every man feared he’d left his wife for the last time.

  Edlyn…

  Hugh calmed the foot soldiers easily. They were good men, but untried, and when he demonstrated a few tricks with the quarterstaff and the lance, they stopped quaking and began practicing. He left Wharton supervising their training and walked through his camp, greeting his knights, speaking with his lords, reassuring everyone the royal commander was there and knew his duty.

  But even as he walked, his mind returned to the camp across the way.

  The Maxwells.

  He’d lived in their drafty, primitive castle in Scotland for over a year. They’d taught him Scottish tracking techniques. He taught them English fighting tricks. He’d drunk their ale and learned their songs, but tomorrow he would face them on the battlefield and kill them.

  It was part of a knight’s life and nothing new. So why did he think there could be a better way?

  He couldn’t help but remember Edlyn, captured by the bandits and feeding them noxious herbs. And Edlyn, trapped in Richard’s castle, singing her way to freedom. Edlyn didn’t understand fighting, but she did understand how to weigh the balance in her direction.

  He liked not such womanish tricks, yet the sight of that white flag haunted him. He had to defeat this army so his forces could rescue the king and place him once more on the throne. He had to get home for Edlyn.

  Hugh heard Wharton’s hoarse voice calling him and swerved away. Dewey spoke not far from Wharton, and Hugh swerved again. He made his way to the supply wagon, and while the man in charge gossiped with his helpers, he hoisted a barrel of ale onto his shoulders and tromped off into the night.

  19

  “You cannot send to my lord to tell him of our dilemma.” The evening rushlights were lit as Edlyn spun a thread from her spindle.

  Beside her, Neda watched and muttered in disgust as the thread got fatte
r, then thinner, then fatter again.

  Edlyn ignored her critique and said, “It would distract him from battle, and that I cannot allow.”

  “But my lady, our situation is dire!” Burdett paced across Edlyn’s bedchamber and ignored his wife’s murmured instructions to his lady.

  Burdett’s agitation had been growing every day since Pembridge and his knights had shown themselves at the gate of Roxford Castle. Although the steward was efficient in every other way, Edlyn had found him ill suited to warfare. His wife dealt with the disquietude of this siege much better than her husband, and Neda glanced between Burdett and Edlyn in obvious worry as she wound her own finely pulled yarn into a colorful ball.

  “Pembridge knows this castle too well,” Burdett said. “He knows our weaknesses, he knows our vulnerabilities. He breached the outer walls through a nefarious trick, and he came so fast we lost the villagers to him.”

  Such a point rubbed Edlyn sore. It was the duty of the lord and lady to protect their people, but she’d had no time to give the villagers refuge. Pembridge had been at the outer gate almost before they could shut it, then even as they’d amassed the castle workers, he’d attacked through a hidden gate and captured the outer bailey. Now, every day, she watched from the wall walk while Pembridge used the villagers as labor, and at night she listened to the screams of the women as the knights used them for enjoyment.

  No wonder the villagers had been ready to change lords. Yet what must they think of her as they suffered under Pembridge’s hand?

  Burdett was oblivious to Edlyn’s dejection. “The loss of Sir Philip as commander has sore crippled our defense.”

  Edlyn could have groaned at Burdett’s indiscretion. A glance at her bed showed that Sir Philip, propped up on the pillows and ruddy with fever, had been angered by Burdett’s thoughtless comment. “Crippled? Crippled?” Thrusting back the covers, he lifted his bandaged leg in both his hands. “I can still give orders.”