Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  Philippa shifted, curling closer to him as they shared the warmth beneath the blanket of his cloak. Her hair spilled over him in a silky fall, her heart beating in time with his own. Temric’s senses stirred with her nearness then ebbed into wonder. It was a miracle that his child, created by their love, should grow within her.

  With that, a sense of his own foolishness rose to taunt him. The last time they spent the night here, he’d awakened worrying that his child might be named bastard. How trivial it now seemed with the possibility of death facing them.

  Sadness followed. If Philippa chose to live, rather than die with him, his child would never know how much his father wanted him. Was this what had so tortured Henry of Graistan that his father’s spirit had lingered in Graistan’s chapel all those years?

  In that instant, Temric found his life unbearably precious and the thought of leaving it intolerable. A list of regrets unfolded within him, things he’d wished he’d done, things he’d done and wished he hadn’t. At its head was dismay with himself, that he’d not only refused his father’s love but the name Henry gave him, all over what hadn’t been scribbled on a piece of parchment.

  Beside him, Philippa stirred as she wakened, then stretched. Her skin slid deliciously against his, teasing him just as she no doubt meant to do. Temric smiled at her play. His fear that he might never gain her trust to love her as a man loved his wife had proved spectacularly groundless.

  “Not again,” he groaned, pretending weakness. It was a doomed attempt, for his shaft betrayed him.

  “If you haven’t the strength,” she teased quietly, but her words died away into a quiver. Moisture glistened in her pretty eyes as pain twisted her lips.

  He reached out to stroke his fingers down the curve of her cheek. “We agreed there’d be no more tears,” he said, hiding his own sadness.

  “Aye,” she agreed, battling bravely to bury her own fears, “but now that morning is upon us, I find I’m suddenly jealous for my life.”

  Using his finger’s tip, he traced the outline of her lips, only to smile when she kissed his finger. “There’s no need for you to die, love, not when you can find your peace in a convent.”

  “Nay,” she refused instantly. “Once Roger knows I live, he’ll want to see me dead for certain, especially when he learns I’m with child.” She caught his hand and pressed another kiss to his palm. “Besides, what have I to live for if you’re gone?”

  Although he knew the thought of her death shouldn’t please him, that she would say so to him was precious, indeed. “Then, these last months have been worth the price?” he asked, needing to hear more.

  “You know they have.” Her smile wavered. “Oh, Temric,” she pleaded, “love me until I cannot think.”

  “As you will,” he said softly, then touched his mouth to hers in a gentle caress.

  It was while Philippa yet lay, basking in the pleasure of Temric’s loving that Alwyna’s messenger arrived in the guise of Tom bringing the packhorses to the stable. The servant carried word that Temric’s noble cousin waited for them to appear at the priory. To Philippa’s surprise, her heart no longer trembled, now that the moment was at hand. Instead, there was nothing in her but a deep calm.

  Washing swiftly, more because the water was so cold than anything else, she dressed and plaited her hair as Temric buckled on his weapons. Sharing his cloak with him, her arms wrapped tightly around him, they returned to Stanrudde. If there was no hesitation in their pace, neither did they rush headlong to meet their fate as they entered the priory’s wooden door.

  Along the cloister they strode, the morning sun shooting beams of light through the arches of stone that fronted it. The new day gleamed bright white and rusty red off the tile walkway at her feet. In the garden at the center of the cloister a monk sat on a stool, while before him, their legs arranged tailor-fashion, were a group of boys learning the same lessons that Peter had learned.

  Their guide led them into the brothers’ residence and stopped before the first dark wooden door. It groaned as he opened it. Releasing Temric, Philippa caught his hand, then stepped inside, blinking against the blinding shaft of sun that poured in through the room’s single window.

  Oswald sat, erect and tense, in a large and ornate chair, no doubt the prior’s seat, near the back of the room. To one side of him was a clerk’s tall desk, the stub of a candle the only thing atop its clean surface. At first, Philippa thought another man stood behind him, but as her vision cleared, she saw it was only a statute of Saint Peter, for whom the priory was named, set against the far wall.

  Together, she and Temric stopped at the room’s center. With a wave of his hand, Oswald dismissed the guiding monk. The door moaned again as it closed. When that sound died away, there was nothing to disturb the peace save the distant echoes of city life. Oswald stared at them, his face naught but harsh angles and forbidding planes.

  “So,” the churchman said, long after the quiet had become uncomfortable, “Lady Philippa, are you yet set on suicide and murder?”

  Philippa drew herself up to her tallest, meeting his gaze without flinching. How strange that she could feel so calm and certain. “I am,” she replied, her voice soft and sad.

  “Nor did we come unprepared for this meeting,” Temric said quietly, then lifted the edge of his cloak to reveal his sword and dagger. “If you call the guard, Oswald, we’ll die here.”

  Harsh crevices marked the cleric’s brow. He again looked at Philippa. “All this, so that you might avoid the responsibility of your sin?”

  “Nay, that isn’t my purpose,” she replied, the words coming slowly as she took care with her answer. “I freely admit to both adultery and incest, knowing there’s no penance I can do to atone for my wrong. Instead, I take comfort from my certainty that it was God who willed me into Temric’s arms. I can but believe that where He guides there can be no wrong done. So too, do I believe that if Temric must die, I must follow, since the only reason I didn’t die at Graistan was for him.”

  Oswald slowly shook his head, then looked to Temric. “And, what of you, Richard? If you live on, will you persist in the sin you do between you?”

  Temric gave a small shrug, his fingers tightening on Philippa’s hand. “She’s mine, Oswald, and I’ll keep her, honoring her as my wife for all of my days. As to her claim that our Lord gave her to me, I can but wonder over it, for it explains how I so easily twisted Lindhurst’s plot to kill her into her rescue.”

  “What?!” The young churchman’s black brows tightened into sharp points as they rose. “Plot?”

  “Come now,” Temric replied, amusement touching his words, “were you so easily fooled by that ruse Lord Lindhurst’s mother played out after I’d defeated her son on Graistan’s field? Nay, they plotted to spirit Philippa out of the keep while he and I battled. Two of Lindhurst’s men waited in Rannulf’s chase with instructions to murder their lord’s wife, with each of them then paid to murder the other to avoid any chance of revelation.”

  Philippa caught her breath as she listened. “I did wonder how you managed stealing me away,” she said to Temric. “Nor does what you say surprise me. Wishing to rid themselves of me would have united Roger and Margaret. It would have galled Margaret to spend her coins to keep me in the convent, while Roger would have hated the fact that I lived beyond his reach. But how did you come to discover their plot?”

  It was a swift smile Temric offered her. “I forgot you hadn’t heard this tale. Anne tended you after you were beaten and it was to Anne that Margaret offered her pennies to support her in the mummery she planned to present to the bishop. When she made the offer, she didn’t know Anne was connected to me.”

  Words echoed out of Philippa’s fractured memory, startling in their clarity. “Eight pennies,” she murmured. The cost of a brace of stewing hens was all her death had been worth to Margaret.

  “How can you wrench me from the arms of one who loves and cares for me to once more put me within reach of those who planned my death?
” she asked Oswald in disbelief.

  Worry flickered in the churchman’s dark eyes. He gnawed on his lower lip for a moment, his gaze shuttered as he thought. At last he shook his head. “How am I to know this is the truth?” It was more a cry than an accusation that Temric lied.

  “Proof is easy enough to give you,” Temric replied. “Ask Peter, my half-brother. He was present when Lindhurst’s dam offered her bribes. He was also present when Graistan’s men met with Lindhurst’s hired killers. He heard what they said of the plot before they died. Upon your return to Hereford, ask for Anne of Graistan, my cousin, who stood beside Margaret and made the old woman’s false tale ring like the truth. Say to her that Temric bids her to it and she’ll spill her own story of coins exchanged to assure Philippa’s death.”

  Oswald sighed, his shoulders drooping. “In all truth, I cannot help but believe, for I doubted the old woman’s tale from the first,” he said in defeat. “It was hard to believe her concern when she’d previously made such a show of dislike and parsimony. Well, she got her coins’ worth out of her plot. Lord Lindhurst’s new wife is well-dowered; I saw the contract for their marriage. I think the girl wasn’t so fresh. Her parents were in great haste to see her wed,” he added in a quiet aside, then retreated into a pinched-brow silence, his fingers pressed to his pursed mouth.

  Again, the silence dragged. Philippa shifted from foot to foot as she awaited Oswald’s judgment. At her nervous movement, Temric released her hand to wrap his arm around her and draw her into the protective curve of his shoulder. At last, she could bear it no longer.

  “I pray you, say something,” she cried. “Tell us what you plan.”

  “Plan?” Oswald’s head jerked up, his expression sour. “What plan can I have when you leave me no option? I’m trapped between all I know is right and what I believe is best. I don’t want your suicide and the murder of your child upon my soul, nor can I give Lindhurst the opportunity to commit murder by exposing your existence to him. Richard is right to suggest that the events revolving around your supposed death would reflect badly upon me with my noble master, should they come to light. The only solace for me in all this is that my faith listens eagerly to your tale of a holy encounter, although I find it hard to believe you the saintly sort to whom such visions are granted. Nay, all I want to do is find some way to hide your true identity and pray that God won’t damn me for it.”

  “You’ll do nothing?” Temric asked in surprise, his arm tightening around her.

  “Aye, coward that I am, I’ll do nothing at all,” Oswald retorted bitterly. “Now, go away the two of you. I’ll bide here a day or two longer as I search for a way to achieve what must be done and cover my tracks whilst I’m at it. I want no hint to remain that I’ve seen what I have.”

  Philippa’s shock was so great that her head spun. To hold herself steady, she wrapped an arm around Temric’s waist, then lifted her head to look at him. Joy glowed bright gold in his eyes, his smile beautiful to behold.

  “We live,” she murmured in disbelief.

  Temric knew he was grinning like a fool, still he couldn’t help it. “So we do,” he replied, yet stunned at this miracle.

  Beside him, Philippa’s eyes lost their focus. He felt her muscles began to loosen. As she lost consciousness and began to fall, he caught her in his arms, cradling her against his chest. As closely as he held her, it wasn’t close enough. They would live. What followed was the niggling worry that this was coming too easily, too cheaply.

  He looked at Oswald. “I will never forget the gift you’ve given us this day. If you ever have need, call me.”

  His cousin’s mouth tightened as his dark eyes narrowed. It was more hurt than hatred that filled his gaze. “I doubt I’ll ever sink so low as to need you,” he said coldly. “Rather that you never speak to me again. Now, begone with you.”

  “So be it,” Temric replied, striving to sound humble while every fiber of his being was exulting over this miracle. Giving his cousin no chance to change his mind, he turned and carried the wife of his heart back into the life he now found so precious.

  Philippa regained consciousness near the city’s center. Although she pleaded with Temric to set her down, that her weight was too great for him to bear, that the shopkeepers would think him a besotted fool, he refused. For this moment, he needed not even the slightest separation between them. It wasn’t until they reached the entrance to his mother’s courtyard that her protest changed.

  “Nay, you mustn’t carry me within the gate,” she cried. “Alwyna will fear the worst if you do.”

  Temric stopped and let her feet again touch the ground. “You’re wrong,” he told her. “That she sees us at all will tell my mother to rejoice.”

  As he started into the gate, Philippa caught him by the arm and drew him back. “Nay, we aren’t entering until we settle something. If we’re to live on, I’ll not allow you to waste your life here. Take me at my word; we’ll find a way to hide my existence. Now, tell me you’ll write to Lord Graistan and accept the lands he’d give you.”

  Within Temric, the gates of his prison flew open. Now that the worst had happened, what reason was there to refuse? The relief that filled him was deep enough to make him laugh.

  “Aye, sweetheart,” he said, adopting the tone of a hen-pecked husband, “I’ll do your bidding.”

  As she made an irritable sound, he caught her hand and led her into his mother’s compound. Across the yard, Jehan stood in the warehouse doorway braced on his crutches. The gleam of a smile touched his lips.

  “Good morrow, Temric, Philippa,” he called, then started carefully across the yard’s stone surface toward them.

  They met near the center of the yard. Temric frowned. Smug satisfaction glowed in Jehan’s dark eyes and lifted the corners of his mouth. His half-brother looked like a cat who had itself a bird.

  “Lazybones! Where’ve you been? I’ve been hard at work these past hours,” Jehan said, the glittering in his eyes increasing. “In all truth, I thought you were long gone, running from that prancing Norman churchman my mother found so interesting”—he paused, then shifted on his crutches to look at the gate as surprise wiped some of the satisfaction from his face. “Master Gerard, what brings you here so early this morning?”

  Temric turned and watched Gerard of Stanrudde stride into the yard. The portly man, bald to a fringe of hair around the back of his head, grinned, displaying a full set of teeth. There was no mistaking the rich merchant’s opinion of himself. Beneath a dark cloak lined with otter, his red gown, vibrant green chausses and fine leather boots shouted of his status. Should anyone still doubt his wealth, he adorned his fingers with heavy rings and wore a massive gold chain atop his attire.

  “What brings me here?” the merchant called back, his deep voice friendly. “Why, it’s you and only you, Master Jehan.”

  Temric’s brows rose. That Gerard used the title master in speaking to Jehan was compliment, indeed. It seemed his mother and Philippa were right to think Gerard’s hesitation toward the union between their houses resolved.

  The smaller man came to join their wee circle at the center of the yard. “Indeed, you have no idea how glad I am I’ve found you here today, Jehan. For months now, Clarice has nagged incessantly over setting your wedding date. This morn I could bear it no longer. I hope circumstances,” the subtle lift of his hand indicated Jehan’s crutches, “haven’t changed your mind about wanting my daughter.”

  Jehan’s mouth gaped. Eyes wide, he stared silently at the man who would soon be his father-in-law. Seeking to rescue his brother from surprise, Temric laid a hand upon the merchant’s shoulder. Yet trapped in his own relief and joy, he dared to let his words tweak both his brother and Philippa in one stroke.

  “God be praised, you’ve come at last to rescue my wife! Too long has Pippa had to do the job of two wives, nagging at Jehan at the same time she nags at me. I daresay she’ll be overjoyed to have Clarice join our household and shoulder her good and wifely dutie
s.”

  Gerard’s laugh was a pleased bellow, the sound echoing around the courtyard. “Well said! Is Mistress Alwyna about so we might have at this thorny problem?”

  “I am,” Alwyna called from the house’s back door.

  The group turned to look at her. Alwyna’s face shone like a beacon as her gaze met that of her eldest son. “Why, Richard and Pippa. I hadn’t expected to see you so soon. How went your mission to the priory?” Her voice cracked slightly as she called the question.

  “It went very well, indeed,” Temric replied.

  For an instant, his mother’s eyes closed and she leaned against the door’s frame, then with a deep breath she straightened and once more looked at her visitor. “Good morrow, Gerard. What brings you calling this morn?”

  Gerard smiled at her. “Why, wedding plans, what else?”

  Alwyna’s answering grin was glorious. “Well then, you must come in this instant. We’ll share a drop of wine and make our plans.

  It wasn’t until Gerard started toward the door that Jehan pivoted on his crutches and caught the older man by the arm. “Wait!” he cried.

  His new father-by-marriage looked at him, a brow arched. “What is it, Jehan?”

  “Why now?” the younger man demanded.

  “Why not?” Gerard retorted. “This betrothal has dragged on so long that Clarice cries she’ll be too old to bear children if we wait any longer.”

  Confusion raced across Jehan’s face. “But, three months ago I was certain you meant to annul our betrothal.”

  Gerard gave Jehan a friendly buffet on the shoulder. “Three months ago you weren’t the man you are today. I can’t tell you how your rapid improvements these past months have startled the whole guild. I’ll tell you now, there were those among us who believed you’d never rise above the twin blows of losing your father and your legs all at once, Master Jehan,” he said, this time emphasizing the title. “And haven’t you just proved yourself your father’s son and all of us wrongheaded fools? Aye, you’re a bit uncertain yet, but you’re young. I, myself, think you’ve shown you have the same gift for trade that your father owned, and it won’t be long before you take your father’s place in the guild.”