Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  He snickered again, and wiped his nose in an effort to hide his excitement.

  "What was that, sir?" a monk who walked beside him asked.

  "Nothing," he grumbled, "just a cough."

  A close call. He needed to better control or he'd surely find himself in a bind. Not one he couldn't get out of, but time was of the essence, and he didn't need to waste any of what precious moments he had.

  The chamber was cold, drafty and dark. Little light shone in through the tiny square window, and only one candle had been lit to illuminate the space. Several small cots were pushed against each other and the walls, as if they'd only just been brought in here and placed haphazardly before she and her ladies arrived. A small rickety table held a wash basin. Beside it sat several trunks which held Elena's belongings and those of her ladies. No table and no chairs. Where would she write her letters?

  An empty hearth stood stark on the opposite wall. Elena shivered, the room reminding her of a tower cell. There were certainly no luxuries to be had here. She would be more a prisoner than a person receiving sanctuary. But she supposed she must be grateful, for this place would indeed be more peaceful than her home at Kent.

  "Your ladyship, Abbott Hunsden wanted me to apologize for the space we have to offer you. With the guest house undergoing renovations as well as most of our living space, the monks have had to sleep crammed just as tightly together. I hope you do not mind? Your servants will sleep on the floor of the chapel, and your guards will have to bed down with the horses." The monk looked ashamed and nervous. He shifted from foot to foot, and his fingers nervously played with the roped belt at his waist.

  "What is your name, Friar?" she asked quietly, hands folded in front of her waist, hoping to soothe his fears with her gentle demeanor.

  "Friar Gyles, my lady." His eyes were a watery blue, and crinkled at the corners, although his lips did not turn much in smile.

  "Well, Friar Gyles, my ladies and I are most pleased to be offered quarters here. We seek no luxuries as we are here for prayer, to seek solace with the Lord, to work and for seclusion from a world that can be all too evil and cruel."

  The Friar appeared pleased with her words. "I shall be holding Vespers in the Lady Chapel, which you are encouraged to attend. The bells will chime when it is time. Afterwards, you will be served a small evening meal in our guest dining hall, as the monks prefer to take their meals without the distraction of women. You will be permitted to attend Lauds—our morning prayer—and Vespers daily, but the remaining prayer times will be for the monks only. I do hope you understand?"

  Elena inclined her head in agreement, eager to lay her eyes on the beauty that had been admonished of the Lady Chapel. Friar Gyles left the room.

  As soon as the monk was gone, she raced to the window to see down into the courtyard. Lord Thomas Devlin had been admitted entrance at Fletch's command, and while he and Raelyn had been able to offer each other a greeting, she and her ladies had been immediately swept away.

  "What do you see?" Raelyn asked, somewhat breathlessly.

  The courtyard had cleared of all their guards, and Thomas was nowhere in sight.

  "I'm afraid I do not see him, Raelyn. He must have been taken to Michael." She gave her lady a small smile, knowing she had really only been concerned about the whereabouts of her betrothed.

  Raelyn nodded and Elena turned back to gaze out the window. Several guards had joined monks near the gates. Her chamber was on the third level of the dormitory, affording her a good view over the thick walls and to the landscape beyond. She could see no approaching riders on the road, but wondered if they lay in wait within the trees beyond.

  Everyone knew that monks took to prayer when the bells chimed. Would the heathens who planned to ambush do so when they were the most vulnerable?

  Her heartbeat quickened, mouth went dry. She bit her lip hard and then felt a soothing hand on her back.

  "Let us wash up for Vespers, my lady," Beth said quietly. "I know what is going through your mind right now. But do not think on those who would do us harm. We are safe now. Let us do what we came here to do, let the evil reside outside this place."

  Elena nodded and allowed her ladies to undress her and scrape away the remnants of their travels.

  There would be time for her to worry later, when the candles were blown out, and the creaks and groans of the abbey walls kept her awake, waiting for someone to burst through her door and deliver her to her death.

  Michael watched from his place along the back wall of the church nave as Elena knelt on the floor of the Lady Chapel, her hands clutching her rosary, head tucked down in prayer. The monk's voices blended together in sing-song prayer. He'd never watched a Vespers service before that was so engrossing. He didn't know if it was because of the beauty of the newly renovated chapel, or the vision of Elena's angelic countenance that stirred him more. She looked so peaceful, and he would have to destroy it with even more disturbing news. His eyes shifted to her closest maid, Raelyn. The woman would be devastated to learn she could not yet take her place with Thomas.

  Duty to king and country called first.

  France… A place, Michael did not think he would see just yet, and somehow, he would be there within a fortnight. Good King Henry V had decided that he deserved his crown in France as well as England and there was no time to lose in getting it.

  Thomas' missive from the king, had called upon Michael, not as Kent's man, but as a man to his father in Ireland, who was still a loyal vassal. He bristled at the news, but when he saw a foreign emotion cross over Devlin's face, his own irritation abated. The man had been ripe to marry and take his new bride home, only to find out he'd be going to battle instead.

  Michael pressed a hand to his friend's shoulder in a show of comfort. The man gave an imperceptible nod, but his gaze was riveted on his bride. A pang of jealousy filled Michael's ribs for a brief moment. What he wouldn't give to come home to Elena as his wife.

  "We shall bring the hounds of hell upon the French, and return to the abbey as soon as we can," Michael said, crossing himself at the words he spoke in God's house.

  The service ended, and monks filed out leaving the guests to exit last. Elena came forward, her ladies in tow, all of them with heads bowed.

  They would now dine in the section of the refractory reserved for guests, although Michael felt little comfort in knowing he would spend the dinner hour with Elena, and having to share the news such as it was. He wished to get it over with, but he would not ruin her meal. She'd barely eaten enough since he'd arrived in England—and even that little bit seemed to be more than she'd eaten before. Her willowy figure glided from the chapel, through the south transept and vestry and into the cloister, toward the refractory. Through the cloister, on the other end, he spied a garden and orchard. That would be the best place for him to take Elena, to relay to her the news he must.

  Good God, how would he protect her from Kent if he was in France?

  He shook his head, knowing he would have to trust in the men he left behind—how little there would be.

  Fletch would have to come with him. Could he trust Jon and Colin to see her safe? The guards he'd brought with him would be called up with Kent's men no doubt. And then light dawned in his mind—most of Kent's men would be called up to serve their king as well. They wouldn't have the time to come find Elena while war waged on the continent. Perhaps even Kent himself would go to France to serve his king. If only God would grant that miracle.

  Fortune seemed to have turned the tide for the moment. Elena and her ladies would be safely sequestered behind abbey walls, with the possibility of all Kent's henchmen sent overseas. He couldn't hope for better protection than that.

  The meal was light, consisting of brown bread, salted fish, apples, sweet onions and watered ale. Michael hardly tasted the food, his attention solely resting on Elena. Keeping in line with propriety and the place they now resided, the women sat at one table, the men at another.

  At one moment, their
gazes connected, and Michael felt the blood in his body stir—with both desire and the need to protect her, to love her and comfort her. She was his soul mate. Had things gone as they planned years before, she would have been his wife in deed. Despite not being able to connect with her truly in the eyes of the church, he would gladly lay down his life to serve her for the rest of his days.

  When the plates had been cleared, Michael set his men out on shifts, half to guard the abbey walls, and the other half to rest until their time came to take up vigil.

  While his men went about following his orders, Michael nearly lost sight of Elena as she and he ladies slipped out a side door, presumably on their way to the dormitory to retire for the evening.

  "Thomas, come with me." He beckoned to Warwick, thinking the man would appreciate a walk in the gardens with his betrothed, and if both ladies should be present, it would cancel out the need for a chaperone, as a man and a woman walking alone in the abbey gardens, particularly two who were not married—or yet married—would be most inappropriate, and Michael did not want to do anything that would jeopardize Elena's welcome.

  He and Thomas picked up their pace and met the ladies just feet from the dormitory entrance.

  "My lady, if I may, I would be honored to escort you on a walk through the herbal gardens. There are a few matters we should discuss before I must depart."

  He watched, with a pain to his chest, as her face fell on his last few words. She turned and whispered to her women.

  "Lady Raelyn, if you would, I would be pleased for your company," Thomas said, his countenance almost bashful.

  Michael offered Elena his arm, and sighed with relief when she took it. From the hesitant look on her face, he'd been sure she was going to decline the walk. The play of emotions across her face was confusing. Women. They were an odd sort.

  They walked through the cloister and into the herbal garden, the scents of sage, rosemary, basil, chamomile, sweet fennel, lavender, mint and marjoram mingled in the air with the sweet crisp scents of the apricot, peach and apple trees.

  He glanced down at the top of her head, liking the way the sun set, making the ringlets of her long hair shimmer down her back, and the jewels on her head dress sparkle. As he gazed down at her, she peered up, the expression on her face taking his breath away. She looked…vulnerable.

  "My lady, I hope you have found your accommodations acceptable."

  She smiled at him endearingly. "They are indeed. It is quite different from Kent, but I think my ladies and I shall find peace here." Her face fell for a moment, showing him a glimpse of sadness before her stoic countenance returned.

  "What is it?" he asked, lowering his voice, even though they walked several paces ahead of Thomas and Raelyn.

  "I shall miss Raelyn. I suppose she and Lord Warwick will be married soon, since the special dispensation has already been issued. She is my dearest friend and confidante. Life will not be the same without her by my side." She hurriedly added, "But I sincerely want her to seek her happiness, and I know she and Thomas share—"

  Her voice cracked and she abandoned the rest of her words. Michael wanted to pull her into his arms, stroke her back and kiss her until she forgot her melancholy.

  Instead, he had to settle for patting her hand that rested on her forearm as they walked, linked arm in arm—and even that much he wasn't certain wouldn't be frowned upon by the monks. Luckily for them, the garden was deserted at this time of evening. The monks would retire early, since they would soon be awakened and summoned to another round of prayers.

  He had to tell her his news soon. His heart lurched, even though he knew the change in situation would keep her safe, he still dreaded telling her. He'd never thought to have to cause her distress. In fact, his whole reason for coming to attend her was to give her a measure of comfort and peace, and then when he'd seen her again, kissed her, made love to her, everything had changed. He wanted to be the man she deserved, her husband in spirit.

  And now he would have to deliver the news to her which he knew would cause her much anxiety.

  "My lady…" he trailed off. When had he become such a coward? Spit it out, man!

  Elena stopped walking and turned to face him. Her gaze lit upon Thomas and Raelyn, whose expressions were a mixture of sorrow and regret.

  "Michael," her voice held a hint of panic, "what is it?"

  "Raelyn will not be going anywhere for the time being."

  Elena pulled her hands away, and he was sure if he hadn't gripped them in his own, she would have stormed to the couple who now appeared to be comforting each other, to voice her displeasure, but she needed to know all the facts first.

  "It is not of his choosing, Elena."

  She turned her gaze back to him, stricken. "What has happened? You must tell me. Is it because of the men following us?"

  "No, my lady. The king has summoned us."

  "Us?"

  "Aye, my lady. He requests our presence in France to help secure his lands, and his title."

  Terror flashed in her eyes.

  "Do not fear, my lady. You will be well protected here in the abbey. Kent's men have most likely been called to serve and shan't be able to bother you and your ladies while I am away. In fact, Kent himself may be headed to the continent. I shall try to return as quickly as I can."

  "Not if you are killed!" Her voice rose, and for a moment true panic and pain washed over her face.

  Michael watched transfixed, as she cleared her face of emotion, while smoothing her skirts as if that gentle movement also soothed her nerves.

  "I swear, I will return to you." He was surprised at the vehemence in his own voice.

  Elena's gaze shot up, as if she too was struck by his conviction. Michael took his gaze off her for a moment and surveyed the herbal garden and orchard.

  "Come this way, we might be afforded a measure of privacy." He took her elbow between his fingers and steered her toward an abhor of grapevines. Once beneath the sweet smelling grapes, and out of view of anyone who might wish to see their actions, Michael pulled Elena into his arms.

  "'Tis true going to battle is dangerous, but Elena, I have been trained since boyhood, there is nothing to fear. I shall come back to you."

  "Let us hope you are in one piece when you do."

  He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, and brushed a kiss on her lips. "I will come home whole, and be more than happy to let you examine my person for any injuries."

  "And I will happily oblige."

  She lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, her tongue, tasting of apples, swept between his lips to mingle and stroke against his. Their kiss deepened, becoming desperate, as if they would both remember the taste of each other.

  He would never forget her, the scent of her, the taste of her, the sight of her smile would be what kept him alive during the desolate months abroad.

  The scents of summer flowers and ripe fruit surrounded Elena as she ambled through the gardens at St. Augustine's Abbey. Nearly a month of peace had passed since Michael left her to her safety and solitude behind the abbey walls.

  The men who'd been sent to ambush them had turned around when they hadn't reached the abbey before the doors were locked tight against them. Every night for a fortnight, Elena had stayed up, blinking at the crumbling plaster ceiling, waiting for the call of alarm to go out. Only to finally fall asleep before finger lights of dawn crept over the room, and she would have to rise for morning prayers and chores.

  Each day was the same, and while ordinarily she would have been bored to tears at the mundane ritualistic day after day activities, she relished them. No surprises. Knowing what to expect gave her a certain measure of comfort, something she'd never felt before—at least since she'd been in England.

  Raelyn was distraught however, and Elena spent much time comforting her friend, rather than focusing on her own pain—and thoughts of Michael. She couldn't bear to imagine what he might be going through at that very moment. Behind abbey walls, th
ey rarely got news of what was happening within the country, let alone abroad.

  "My lady!" Friar Gyles, hustled down the garden path, his robes lifted by one fistful to his ankles so he could walk faster over the gravel path. His other hand clutched a rolled parchment. His face was pinched, and his manner agitated.

  She hastened toward him, eyes riveted on the parchment. Was it a message for her? From who?

  "What is it, Friar?" Fear gripped her gut, twisting painfully. What meager porridge she'd had for breakfast threatened to present itself.

  "My lady, this just arrived by way of messenger—he presented your father's crest so we were able to open the gates to him."

  Her father? She had not heard from him since the letter telling her that her mother had passed on. He hadn't even bothered to return her pleas for help. She frowned at the parchment, didn't reach to take it.

  "My lady?" Friar Gyles held out the missive, his brow raised at her hands clasped at her waist. "The missive?"

  Elena pursed her lips. Her father's communication could only mean bad news, and she wasn't entirely sure she wished to read it. "Does the messenger require a response?"

  "He didn't say, my lady. Sir Jon sent him to the kitchens for a repast."

  Elena reached for the parchment, her fingers winding around the thin, crisp material. It was warm, as if it had rested against the body of the messenger and still contained his heat.

  "Thank you, Friar."

  He nodded to her and retreated from the garden.

  She looked down at her hand, her thumb brushing over the wax seal with her father's crest pressed into it.

  She walked to a bench in the cloister and sat staring for a long time at the missive. The bells chimed for mid-day prayer, and from where she sat, she watched the monks shuffle in a line to the chapel, already singing out their prayers for Sext.

  Procrastinating further, she watched until the last monk entered the chapel, the large wooden door closing soundlessly behind him.