by Ling, Maria
Knight's Wager
by Maria Ling
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Maria Ling
Cover image copyright Nastenok - Fotolia.com
Published by Byrnie Publishing
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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***
CHAPTER 1
"You'll bring her straight here." The earl fixed Eustace with a forbidding stare. "No delays, detours, or funny business. Else I'll have your head on a spike. Understand?"
"Perfectly." Eustace strove to appear composed. The earl in a temper was always an unpleasant sight, and the memory of too many whippings ached in the young man's skin. Though he ought to be safe enough now, from that at least, he had his sword and spurs and had been accepted as a knight into the earl's service. Which was a great honour, no doubt of that. And got him sent on errands, away from the earl's court, which was better still.
Though this was one honour he would have preferred to do without. Fetching valuable wards was too great a responsibility for Eustace's taste. If anything happened to the girl, it would cost him every penny of whatever fortune the earl had paid for the wardship. Cost Eustace his skin and his place and maybe his life, too.
But he didn't say any of that. Just stood up straight and fought to look manly in the teeth of the earl's displeasure.
Some of which, in fairness, must be attributed to fever and pain. If it hadn't been for a broken shoulder and arm, with rankness boiling up from within and causing the physician many headshakes, the earl would most likely have gone to fetch the girl himself. Or sent one of his most favoured knights -- but they were needed now, to come and go about the earl's own business, to do all that he would usually do himself. Lesser men, like Eustace, received what was in effect a temporary raise in status. He intended to make the most of it while he could, prove himself reliable and worth the earl's good faith.
Which meant ferrying girls around. Well, it wasn't too great a journey, maybe a week each way, with decent inns and towns to rely on for lodgings. He'd be back within a month, to unhand his charge and breathe out in relief after a job well done.
"I want her settled here in time for Christmas," the earl went on. "Do her good. See a bit of life around her. Nursed her parents and sisters, you know. Said she'd rather go with them than remain on earth without. But the fever passed her by. Took the lot, and left her unscathed." The earl lowered his voice. "Some talked of witchcraft. Brought her price down by a fair whack. I'm not complaining. But it can't have been pleasant for her. See that she's not troubled on the way."
Eustace nodded, nervously. He didn't like to think he might be travelling with a witch.
"I take it," he mumbled, "that there is no actual question of...foul dealings?"
"Don't be a fool," the earl snapped. "If she were a witch she'd have brought them around, wouldn't she? The better to avoid suspicion falling on herself, if nothing else. Besides, you're talking about my old friend's daughter, so mind your tongue. No, she's a good Christian girl by all accounts. But she's had a rough time just lately. Bring her here safe and we'll see that she's given other things to think about. Marriage, for one. I'm hoping she'll bring me a fat profit."
"Of course," Eustace said, as suavely as he could manage. The buying and selling of women was a matter beyond his experience. "Is there any particular interest? I could, er, make some favourable mention along the way."
"Do that," the earl said, "and you can choose your own spike. You'll keep civil and restrict your conversation to God and the weather. As for the rest of the men, if one of them gives her so much as a word, you'll have him flogged on the spot. Understand?"
"Perfectly." Eustace bowed.
"Then get out," the earl growled. "I want you all through the gate within the hour."
Eustace swore under his breath as he made his way to the corner by the stairs where he lodged at nights. With a single sweep of his arms he gathered up his few belongings, then knotted them into the blanket. Himself, his sword and armour and various accoutrements, two horses and a page -- that was the extent of his wealth. Carrying his few personal possessions in the impromptu sack thrown over his shoulder, he set off for the stables.
The earl's orders had been heeded. Men were making ready, grooms walked horses around the courtyard. Eustace's page offered him the reins without comment, then took the blanket and mounted the spare horse himself. Carts rolled forward, already laden with food and goods and covered over with greased hides.
Eustace took the lead himself. It was, technically, a breach of etiquette: as the earl's representative he ought to be preceded by outriders and lead riders and guards. But this was a hasty venture, and in any case he had a long way to go before the young lady in question got to see him. As far as anyone else was concerned, the man of importance might as well be another knight. They all wore the same tunics, banded yellow and red, it didn't matter who took the lead. And Eustace relished the chance to do something, no matter how tedious, after the unending sameness of guard duty on the walls.
The road was all rutted with mud and winter rain, though a brief frost last night had settled it into a surface suitable for hooves. The demesne had been lucky in getting no snow as yet, and no deep frost to leave a slick coating of ice everywhere. Eustace would have to take thought for that along the way, sharp weather was sure to come, the entourage could be holed up for days. Should have brought more blankets, he well knew what it was to sleep out of doors in the frost. But they could try for furs along the way, some town merchant might let him have them for a price. He'd tell the earl it was for the lady's comfort, it would excuse the expense whether she chose to make use of them or not.
At least the knights' and pages' cloaks were fur-lined, every man warm enough to ride. Too warm, because the weather had mellowed with the sunrise, the air lay mild around them now. Under Eustace's horse the mud gave pleasantly, enough that the creature arched its neck and snorted in approval, danced a step or two before settling down again. The men at the carts swore briefly as they encountered a particularly steep rut, but once safely over that they too began to whistle with good cheer.
This was more like it. Eustace let his gaze sweep over peaceful fields with small clots of rising smoke to show the locations of scattered dwellings. A mid-morning ride for a distant town, and the prospect of not a single bawl-out for weeks. A chance to be a man of importance, to order other men about as he pleased, to take separate lodgings for the night if he chose. Though he already knew he wouldn't do that, he'd never dare let the carts out of his sight. And on the return trip he'd carry even more valuable goods, he'd have to keep near her.
It occurred to him that he hadn't asked her age. If she was well young she'd feel the cold more, and she'd weep for her lost family too. If she was aged -- though the earl had spoken lightly of her marrying, not marrying again, she couldn't be all that old. Not a child, either, if the prospect of a bridal bed could be thought to entertain away her grief.
About his own age, then, perhaps a few years difference. He could work with that. If she was a reasonable woman, she'd understand her own value in coin and not give him any trouble.
Eustace rode on, whistling, content with himself and the world.
***
"Vultures," Aline snapped. She wasn't entirely sure what a vulture was, but she believed she'd seen a picture of t
hem in a bestiary once. Foul creatures of some kind, that much she remembered. Like the earl and his men.
"You must have a guardian," her maid pointed out. Matilda, who might as well be Mother, for all the love and care and disapproval she'd ladled out onto Aline since those first swaddled months. "A woman needs a man's guidance, especially if she's young."
"Why?" Aline demanded. "I've got you. As for the house and the estate, none of it falls to my management in any case. I can see those need a man to run them, but why do I need to be managed too?"
Matilda just smiled over her sewing. "It's good to have you back in a temper, dear."
Aline flinched. She'd been in a daze since all the funerals, it had been like an endless nightmare. So much death, all her loved ones gone. Except Matilda, she clung to that -- Matilda who'd nursed Aline with her own hands, and brought her safe from that wilderness of pain and fear into the stark chill of survival.
"I understand," Aline said in a more collected tone, "that all land ultimately belongs to the king, who holds it in trust from the hand of God Himself. And that the king duly collects it back when a lord dies. And that he'll give it to some other lord to hold in trust in turn, and not to a young woman who knows nothing of how to manage it well. All of this I understand. But why won't he take me in trust too? What am I to the earl, or he to me, that I should be his ward?"
"Other than an old friend to your father, I don't know," Matilda said patiently. "You can ask him when you meet him. Though I would urge you to adopt a more humble tone. He might not be inclined to indulge you as your father did."
Pain slashed through Aline's heart. Father and Mother both, though Mother had cared more for the younger children. As was right, Aline didn't grudge it: she was first with Matilda and had been since she was born, that was enough for her. But Aline loved her parents, and her little siblings too. It tore her apart to think of their limbs stilled in eternal rest, their mischievous grins and shining eyes dulled forever.
God was evil, she decided, evil and selfish to gather them around Him and leave her here alone.
Almost alone. He'd spared her Matilda, for that she ought to give thanks.
But she wouldn't. He could have heard her prayers, and spared them all.
"I never asked for him as my guardian," Aline snapped. "And I see no reason to want him over any other man. If he doesn't like how I speak to him, he can send me home."
"Or whip you," Matilda said with undiminished patience. "Or starve you. Or marry you to a man who'll do worse."
Aline kicked a footstool, so hard it overturned. "If he does I'll kill him myself."
"That might be difficult, dear. He is a man, with knights in his employ. You'd do well to regard him as your benefactor, and show him due respect. Especially since he so kindly offers to take you into his own house in the place of his daughter."
"Whom he's already married off somewhere." Aline righted the footstool and slumped on it, scowling. "No doubt under duress. And if he threatens me with any of those things -- "
"I do not say he will," Matilda pointed out with the vestige of a sigh. "I only say he can, and with perfect impunity. Do give some thought to behaving with appropriate decorum while you are his guest." She put a final stitch in the tunic and held it up for inspection. "Yes?"
"Beautiful," Aline said with honest admiration. Much as she worked at her sewing, she couldn't emulate Matilda's effortless style. "Before God, you are a true artist."
"We all have our gifts." Matilda shrugged off the compliment as if the elegant fall and deft silver-thread embroidery sprang from every needle. "Now you will bear in mind what I've said, won't you? For my sake, if not your own. I'd be sorry to part with you, my darling."
Aline flared up again. "Of course we're not to be parted."
"Good," Matilda said briskly. "Then no doubt you'll rely on the earl's kindness and goodwill to let you decide on your own attendants."
Aline glared at her. And then subsided. "I'll do my best to secure it."
"Do that." Matilda rose, kissed Aline's hair, walked over to the window. "I think this might be his men approaching."
"Already?" They'd had outriders not an hour ago, to say the earl's man was on his way. Some Eustace of no family Aline had ever heard of, but distantly connected to both her father and the earl. The messenger had delivered that intelligence in a tone that suggested she ought to be impressed. For revenge, she'd sent both riders down to the hall to take their ease, instead of favouring them with admittance to her own chamber.
Damn all arrogant men. This Eustace was clearly one of them, or he'd not have sent such word. He'd have asked after her health and welfare, apologised for his intrusion, done all he could to diminish the simple fact that as her guardian's representative he held absolute power over her. But no. He had merely informed her that his rank was the equal of hers, and he was on the earl's business, and she was his to take away.
She hated him already. But she practised a simper, all the same. Because Matilda was right, as always. Aline must get the earl on her side, must make him value such qualities as she had, or he might lock her away in some chamber and forget all about her. And with all her family gone, there was no one now to take her part, or threaten him into treating her with kindness.
Her or Matilda. Because Aline was firmly resolved that no matter what befell her own self, she would do all she could to make sure her beloved servant was treated well.
***
Eustace rode into the courtyard in a state of high satisfaction. He'd sent a carefully worded message ahead, stressing his connection to the family and his position as an emissary of the earl. She could not take him for some random intruder; he hoped she recognised him as a friend.
No one met him but stable grooms. He winced at that, as from a slap in the face. She ought, if not to meet him in person -- a freezing rain pattered down steadily all around him, small blame to her if she chose to hide by a brazier in her own chamber -- to send at least her steward or some other man of significance within the household. If this were pique at not being collected by the earl himself, Eustace would...
...well, he'd see the justice of it, he supposed. She was highborn and wealthy and an earl's ward worth a fortune, whereas he was a nobody with barely a knight's outfittings to his name. Hardly worth her while to be civil to him, she could confidently expect that no one but himself would care. Certainly not the earl, to whom he was the most trivial of trivial matters.
Arrogant sorts, the pair of them. Eustace scowled against the sleet, and wished them joy of each other.
He saw horses led into shelter, led his own men into the great hall. And here at last a well-dressed man came forward to meet them, introduced himself as steward to the manor, had sense enough to apologise for their uncivil reception.
"Your message arrived scarcely an hour ago," he said, and watched the frozen men with a sympathetic grimace. "I did not expect you so soon. I've ordered hot food and hot wine to be sent in. Your outriders have already been fed." He nodded to the pair of men at dice in one corner. "The lady Aline is dressing and will be downstairs shortly."
Dressing, at this hour? Eustace concealed his puzzlement behind an expressionless face. Perhaps she had been taken sick after all, and spent most of her time abed. In which case he'd rather not have her go near his men. "Is the lady unwell?" he asked. "Because if she's not to be moved, I can certainly delay the journey back." The earl wouldn't like it, but he'd be a lot less pleased if she died along the way. So much for the fat profit he'd hoped for, if she were sent to the grave by Eustace's mishandling. No, that wasn't a thought to dwell on, not at all.
"She's as well as can be expected," the steward said. "She took sick, of course, as most of us did. But we're all recovered now -- save those who died. The young ones and their mother, and our master shortly after. One of the squires, too -- a little lad just arrived. A dear boy, great enthusiasm for knightly pursuits, wanted above all to have a a tilt at the quintain. Much missed." There was real gr
ief in his voice, and in his eyes. Eustace nodded with growing sympathy.
Movement at the inner door caught his eye -- and then a vision appeared, so miraculous he thought himself in church. But it was a lady -- the lady herself, he had no doubt. He'd been right about her age, but beyond that he'd never thought to guess, and it was as well, because he'd have shot far wide of the mark.
She was tall for a woman, and beautifully made, with a lavish figure wrapped in dark blue cloth on which silver glinted like the froth on waves. Silver filigree netting glittered on her dark hair, and dark eyes regarded him with grave displeasure.
"Madam," Eustace said with his best bow, and felt acutely conscious of the mud and sweat on his own clothes.
"I am told," she said, "that you have come to fetch me away. Must I leave at once, or do I have your permission to say farewell to those servants who remain behind?"
Christ and all the saints, she might as well ask if he planned to carry her over his shoulder. "Of course," Eustace said, smothering his irritation under bland courtesy. "Take as long as you wish. I am entirely at your disposal. Horses and men alike could do with a rest. If you would care to extend to us your gracious hospitality, we shall stay for as long as it pleases you. Bearing in mind," he added cautiously, "that the earl particularly wished to have you settled at his court in time for Christmas. But that is some time away still." Not too long, conscience whispered, especially with the threat of snow. The clouds that massed over him as he rode carried the promise of worse than sleet to come. But so far, it hadn't arrived.
"Three weeks," the lady said, with a startled frown that might be surprise. "How long do you expect the journey to take?"
"We spent eight days getting here," Eustace said. "Assume rather more going back, with your comfort to think of and the possibility of time lost to bad weather."
"Oh." Surprise, most definitely. "I hadn't thought of that. But you need not take particular thought for my comfort. I assure you that hot meals and a good bed will be all that I require."
