Knight Secrets

by C. C. Wiley

  Aldwyn’s muscles bunched under Ranulf’s legs. Buttercup struggled against the lead rope. The smell of damp earth rose up and filled Ranulf’s nose. A jagged lightning bolt lit the premature nightfall, leaving the hair on his arms tingling from the vibration.

  Wind came on its heels, whipping through the branches. Leaves on the trees had flipped in the blowing wind. Their silver underbelly waited for the first splash of rain. The sky opened up, releasing the brewing storm.

  Jarred from her silence, Clarice shouted over the punishing wind. “Ranulf.”

  He adjusted his hold on the reins and leaned over to speak into her ear. “I know of a place not far from here. We shall have to ride hard. Hold tight.”

  Fat raindrops soon became rivulets in a steady stream. ’Twas as if the gods had decided to pour great buckets of water upon their heads. The faster Aldwyn flew, the harder Buttercup ran, the heavier the rain fell. A tree limb cracked from the wind and the weight of the falling rain. They raced out from under the branches without a moment to spare.

  A rain-induced river cut into the bank of rounded earth, slicing past stones, washing away the months of winter decay. Aldwyn’s footing slid in the mire.

  “We’re almost there,” Ranulf said.

  A burned-out building stood against the storm. Its skeletal remains offered little more than a shell for protection. No light shone from the jagged holes in the wall, nor did the smell of a fire in the hearth fill the air.

  “What is this place?” she croaked.

  Ranulf hunched further into his cloak. “Just bricks and mortar.”

  Chapter 24

  The rain showed little sign of letting up. A streak of lightning raced above their heads. Thunder rolled, shaking the ground beneath Aldwyn’s steady hooves. The air was thick with the pungent smell of wet horse and leather.

  Clarice tilted back the hood of her cloak. The pooling water caught in the folds of the fabric trickling down her shoulders, splashing bare skin. She scrubbed her cold fingers against her legs for warmth and squinted through the dull gray light. “What happened here?”

  Ranulf leaned over her back. “Devastation by man and time.”

  “Will it be safe?” she asked, her voice rising to keep the wind from carrying away her question.

  “I promise ’tis safer than where we are now.”

  As if to punctuate his words, a crack of lightning sliced through the ever-darkening sky. The limbs of the trees creaked and moaned, whipping in the wind.

  Ranulf threaded the horses through moss-covered tree stumps and fallen branches. They stopped behind a fragrant juniper.

  Clarice turned to speak but stopped when his arm tightened around her waist. He squeezed once to gain her attention, twice to have her silence. Wary of any unexplained movement from the shadows, he spoke quietly to the horses and moved them toward the burned-out building.

  Blackened timbers looked like grasping fingers sticking out of the crumbling walls. Despite its charred outer shell, the tallest timber stood strong against the prevailing winds. Beams stretched out, crossing and overlapping, forming the building’s crippled backbone. The roof was gone, exposing the remnant to the elements.

  “Are you certain ’twould be best to stop?” She lifted her face to speak above the whistling wind. “I assure you, I will come to no harm if we should ride on.”

  “No, this is where we’ll remain.”

  “Just until the storm subsides?” Clarice asked, wary that the people of Sedgewic would take note of their extended time alone.

  “Yes, just until. See here.” He pointed to a wide path of smooth stone, covered in layers of dirt and moss. It drew them to the cavernous opening that once had had the makings of a doorway.

  Ranulf brought Aldwyn to a halt and touched Clarice’s shoulder. “Stay where you are. Should we need to leave quickly, you’ll be where I need you.”

  Clarice nodded and held her seat while he dismounted. She bit her tongue to keep from asking why they could not enter.

  He looped the reins over a blackened timber sticking out from the slanted doorway. “Remember to stay alert.”

  Ranulf picked his way past the main entrance. It appeared the rear of the building had received less fire damage than the front. What had not been felled by fire showed signs of imminent collapse. The remains of the swaybacked roof hung low, sagging under the weight of time and abandonment.

  Clarice remained on Aldwyn’s back. Although reluctant to leave the horse, the thought of waiting to stretch her limbs was almost unbearable. She felt a rush of relief when Ranulf returned. He held his arms up and motioned her to trust in his strength to lift her from the saddle. “We’ll stay here until the storm passes.”

  She nearly fell into his chest. Her hands braced, her palms pressed into his upper arms. His muscles contracted and bunched when he lifted her off her perch. Her breath caught. Their mouths were so close. Near enough for her to nibble his lip.

  “Many thanks.” Her eyes widened. If she were to lean in, she might brush his lips with her own. She cleared her throat. “You can let me down now.”

  “True. I could.” His large hands encompassed her waist as he drew her close, suspending her in his embrace. Ranulf smiled, then gently, slowly, lowered his arms.

  Clarice touched the solid ground with the tips of her toes. His fingers heated the flesh covering her ribs, inches away from her breasts. She held her breath, hoping he would not be aware of his dangerous hold.

  Their chests touching, his heart throbbed through the layers of leather jerkin and linen shirt. The steady beat burrowed under her skin. It was as if the raging storm had discovered an entrance into her body and raced through her blood.

  Her breath escaped as she slid against his manhood. Her skin heated. Her legs trembling, she leaned into his solid wall of muscle and absorbed enough strength to release his arms and push away. She rushed to ask the first question that came into her head. “Did you bring the food Erwina sent with us?”

  Ranulf tucked an ebony strand of hair behind her ear. His finger grazed over a drop of rain clinging to her cheek. “Yes. Mayhap while we eat you will entertain me with tales of your life before our paths crossed.”

  Clarice looked away, hoping to avoid his prodding comments. “Maud did always say a full stomach made for a better companion.”

  He gave a long-suffering sigh, feigning acceptance of her game of avoidance. “She’d make a lucky soldier well and happy.”

  Warm memories flooded Clarice’s mind. Maud’s skinny legs flashing under a work-worn hem, her grizzled hair and failed hearing were all sweet visions of her dear friend. However, the idea of Maud giving a man pleasure was enough to make her snort.

  “You might laugh,” Ranulf observed, “but a soldier’s life is connected to the plentitude of food.” He held up the linen-wrapped food and grinned. “Have you failed to note the generous portions Erwina sent for two people?”

  “’Tis a wonder the horses carried both rider and parcels.”

  “This?” He glanced down at the wads of cloth nestled in the leather satchel and shook his head. “This is nothing compared to the preparations she’ll make for my men before we leave.”

  “My Maud could feed an army if she had need,” Clarice said.

  “But I cannot imagine her devotion turned anywhere but toward Margrave Manor. As she tells it, she hasn’t set one foot off the land since I was placed in her arms.”

  Ranulf peered into her eyes. “Loyalty is priceless. Henry desires to find it in all the people of England.”

  Clarice refused to turn away and met his gaze. “My father knew this fealty to his king. He has always said one’s honor is tied to family and throne.”

  “Your father sounds like a good man.” Ranulf smiled and played with a damp tendril clinging to her neck. “I would share my bench and break bread with him one day.”

  Her hunger fled with his comment. “I’m afraid that would be impossible. As you are well aware, Nicholas of Margrave is dead.�
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  “You wish to claim a man accused of treason as your father?” He reached out, erasing the distance she had tried to place between them. He stroked the tension along her jaw. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he applied enough pressure with his thumb to tilt her face up to look into his.

  Clarice allowed her heart to indulge in the tenderness of his touch. She smiled up at his concern. “I will take consolation that you have accepted my claim. For now, that will have to do.”

  She stepped out of his reach and untied the leather thongs that held the blanket rolled behind Buttercup’s saddle. Pausing, she waited for Ranulf to lead the way.

  He took her by the elbow and led her to a corner of the barren room. Large fallen beams angled close together to form a partial roof over their heads. Ranulf stretched his cloak over it, creating a barrier to slow the drenching rain.

  Clarice eyed the makeshift shelter. While the winds continued to whistle, the worst of the storm was held at bay. “Stay here. I’ll move the horses closer,” he said.

  She turned to offer her help and found the space where he had been standing empty. All she could see of him was the shadow of his back weaving through the fallen timbers. After draping her wet cloak out to dry, she unfurled the blanket and wrapped it about her shoulders. Then she peeled back the linen from the food.

  Her task completed, Clarice stepped back to admire the victuals and waited for Ranulf’s return. Shivering, she dreamed of a small fire to warm her toes and dry her clothing. After a while, she considered whether Ranulf would mind if she went through his satchel in search of flint and steel for a fire.

  She dipped her fingers into the leather pouch and pulled out a wad of stiff material. Slowly, she smoothed it out across her knee. With shaking hands, she held the satin strip closer. ’Twas from her father’s banner; the scrap of material used to staunch the flow of blood from the wound on her arm.

  * * *

  Ranulf searched the corner of the building, looking for anything to aid in their comfort. Clarice’s determination to lay claim to a man disavowed by the king made little sense. She would be a fool to want to be connected to a traitor. She had spoken of someone named Maud. A common enough name. Being Margrave’s daughter would not protect her. In truth, she should deny ever knowing the man. It went against what he knew as his duty, but he had to convince her to stop telling the foolish story. The lies might take her head.

  As he moved about the remnants of the orphanage, memories of another life flashed and swirled in his mind. He walked past areas of his life he had thought he’d placed well behind him. He found that in ignoring the rebuilding of this lord’s house, he had ignored the beginning of his life.

  Mayhap, if I had tried harder, been there to protect Mary from her unhappiness, I might have earned her love. In time.

  Lost in regret, he wove his way past the fallen beams. Upon entering the alcove, he found Clarice as she knelt beside the food. Displayed upon the woven blanket was a glistening wedge of yellow cheese, hunks of fresh brown bread, a mound of smooth, diamond-shaped almonds, and two red apples. His stomach rumbled as he took a step toward the banquet.

  The hunger gnawing at his stomach vanished when she turned toward him. In her hand she clutched the material, stiff with dried blood. He knew she would question his motives for carrying it with him.

  “Was this once a monastery?” Clarice asked, her voice faint and without strength.

  “Not here. This portion was used as an orphanage.”

  Clarice glanced around, her fingers moving blindly across the stiff scrap of banner. “Whoever lit the fire didn’t start it near the children? ’Twas not meant to harm them?”

  “Who said ’twas set by man and not by an act of God?”

  “The tale of the avenging knight. ’Tis true, is it not?”

  Ranulf swallowed and took a deep breath. “Yes. Although at the time, in a child’s mind, ’twas a demon.”

  “You were here? Did you see that child’s monster?”

  “’Twas a long time ago.”

  “But ’twas your home.”

  “A place to rest my head.” Ranulf held out a hand to help her rise. “Never my home.”

  Clarice touched a tentative finger against his tunic sleeve. “Were you lonely?”

  “There are times when one is never alone but constantly lonely.”

  She looked at where his wide hand covered her own. “I am familiar with a constant loneliness. It penetrates the soul.”

  Ranulf could not ignore the pain in her voice. His heart ached for her. “A beauty such as yourself? I cannot believe you have been kept from companionship.”

  Her smile lifted the corners of her mouth. The sadness never left her eyes. “Oh, Maud is a dear, right enough. She has been my constant companion. Until of late, that is.”

  His fingers tightened over hers and gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And you have your family.”

  Clarice tugged against his hold. “I have no one until my return to Margrave.”

  “Your family still resides at Margrave? Were they not removed by the king’s men?”

  “Didn’t you hear my words, my lord?” Frustrated anger glittered back at him. “My family is of Margrave Manor.”

  Ranulf traced the crease between her brows with the pad of his finger. “I had hoped you would turn from this tale once you realized I don’t believe it.”

  Her face paled. Clarice stepped back, drawing out of his embrace. “Must you cling to your disbelief? Why are you unable to accept that I am Nicholas of Margrave’s daughter?”

  Ranulf reached out and pulled her closer. She let out a feral growl. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and spoke as he rested his chin on her head. “You forget. I’ve met the Margraves.”

  Her fingers dug into his chest, pushing him away. “Then you should understand that I wouldn’t make this up on a whim. You must know I speak the truth.”

  “Clarice, you bear no resemblance to them. Besides, how could you be a Margrave without the king knowing of your existence?”

  His heart twisted as she struggled to find the words to explain the contempt in which her family held her. “Annora is my stepmother. Robert is my stepbrother. I was never allowed to leave Margrave lands.”

  “What reason would keep them from introducing you at court, let alone to the rest of the world?” Ranulf argued.

  “My father always spoke of protecting me.” She gripped her elbows, a wary look in her eyes.

  “Protect you from whom?”

  She blew out a breath of frustration and threw up her hands. “I don’t know.”

  Ranulf stepped closer, pressing her to tell the truth. “You still maintain your father is Lord Margrave?”

  “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth, poking him in the chest with her finger. “And I’ll remain steadfast on this fact. Listen well, Lord Ranulf of Sedgewic, for I’ll not repeat myself again. Believe me or not, I know who I am. Can you say the same?”

  As soon as the words leaped from her lips, she realized the hurt they caused. Her eyes widening, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “’Tis true, there was a time when I couldn’t say the same. That life is done. I am King Henry’s man and he has named me lord of Sedgewic.” He peeled her fingers from her mouth and tipped up her chin so that he might look into her eyes as he spoke. “Truce. Tell me of your life and how you came to be so lonely.”

  “Before I do, would you grant me one boon?”

  Ranulf lifted an eyebrow. “Only one?” Seeing her hesitation, he offered his encouragement. “Speak and I shall do my best to grant your boon.”

  She nodded and rushed forward. “Do you deny that you despised my father?”

  Ranulf took a deep breath of the damp air. Clarice stood before him, braced for his response. His glance skimmed the structure that stood around him. He noted the charred remains that clung to the life that once was. Memories flooded back, forcing their way to the forefront of his thoughts. He gathered them to hi
m and then held them out to ponder.

  “There was a time when I both despised and thanked Nicholas of Margrave. The demon who came to the monastery, demanding his angel, caused many a night filled with nightmares.” He held his hand up for silence. “Eventually all the children found new lives and I remained. The oldest of the children, I was the least likely to find a new mother or father. My lot was to go to the next farmer who required another hand to wield a hoe. ’Tis that uncertainty that held me in torment. Then came the day they sent me away.”

  Ranulf paused when he heard her gasp. Glancing down, he noted the tears shimmering in her eyes. The realization caught at his heart. Never had anyone shed a tear for him. Not even his wife had shed a tear when he left for battle.

  He stroked Clarice’s silken cap of ringlets, inhaling her scent as he once again rested his chin on her head. He reveled in the need to hold her there so that he might feel the warmth of her form nestled next to his. The chill of the rain and wind vanished with the knowledge that in this he was not alone.

  Clarice wrapped her arms around his waist. She lifted her gaze to his. “Was it far?”

  “To a lad it seemed to take an eternity to travel. However, once I got over the fear of the changes in my life, I learned there was a grand world to explore. When we stopped at the camp I soon discovered what my new role would be.”

  “Were you mistreated?”

  He chuckled. “Not to worry. My lot had improved. I was to be Prince Henry’s friend and companion. To this day, I remain his friend and sometimes unwilling confidant.”

  “King Henry’s childhood friend and confidant? You lived in Wales?”

  “Unless we were embroiled in battle. Henry learned at a young age to become a man. Taught the ways of battle almost before he left the nursery. It shapes a man to choose his friends with caution.”

  “And my father? Did you know him when he was at court?”

  “Distantly. However, the man of whom you speak, at one time, was both friend and confidant to Henry. Many years earlier, I forgave the man who burned the home around me. Had he not done so, I would more than likely be digging the soil and wondering where my next bread might come from.”