Defending His Lady (Norfolk Knights Book 4)

by Saskia Knight

  He pulled the horse off the narrow track and hid in the bracken. Only minutes later a large group of the king’s soldiers on horseback cantered along the path. If Kezia hadn’t alerted him, they’d have been found and, outnumbered as they were, they’d have been taken back to the hunting lodge and been subjected to the king’s capricious mercy. Rufus didn’t fool himself that the outcome would have been good.

  “That’s the third time you saved me.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps you’ll learn to trust me now.”

  Perhaps he would, he thought.

  They waited a little while before returning to the path. While it was the most dangerous route to take, it was also the quickest, providing they remained alert.

  “Talk to me again of Norfolk. What is your home like?”

  Rufus didn’t need much prompting. His eyes shifted further away than the end of the track as he thought of his home. “We are surrounded by water,” he said, urging his horse a little faster. “To the north, the sea, and all around are the rivers and broads.”

  “Broads? What are broads?”

  “Waterways which are being dug for peat. It fuels our fires.”

  “So much water. I cannot imagine it. It would be good defense no doubt.”

  “Aye. We maintain posts at each of the crossings. No one can come or go without our knowing.”

  “And, if you travel through them, no one can follow,” said Kezia. She glanced up to Rufus. “No dogs, no scent.”

  “Good for those running away. But our family does not run from anyone. Not even the king.”

  “Mayhap. But I fear my days of running are not yet over.”

  Rufus felt something inside of him twist at the thought of Kezia, vulnerable and on the run. He frowned and urged on his horse as if he could outrun her fears and keep her safe.

  It took two days of hard riding before they reached the land which Rufus called Norfolk, days of tension and alertness, followed by nights of dead slumber in alehouses too small to be of interest to the king. They would have been arduous to anyone else, but Kezia was used to discomfort and, besides, she was growing to know this man and like him with every passing moment they shared.

  With each mile they covered the land grew flatter, the trees sparser before virtually disappearing, and the number of people they met traveling and in the villages grew. And as they grew closer to Norfolk, Kezia realized that “like” was too weak a word to describe her feelings for this man who treated her, and everyone else they met, with equal respect. And she didn’t want to feel anything for him. After Norwich—the place where her Romani contacts lived—she’d never see him again.

  As they made their way to the center of the great city of Norwich Kezia marveled at the crowds. She couldn’t believe that there could be so many people in one place. The market place, especially, was full of people—every color of skin and every shape and size—pushing, jostling, laughing, shouting, and crowding in on her. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the quiet of the forest, to quell the panic which rose at the confusion of smells and sounds. Then the horse stopped moving.

  “We’re here,” said Rufus.

  She opened her eyes to see the swinging sign of three hammers. It was the inn where they hoped to find her people.

  Once he’d made sure his horse was cared for, Rufus led them into the small inn, and Kezia’s stomach rumbled as Rufus ordered food and ale for them both. While she sat by the fire, she watched Rufus talk to the landlord. It seemed he’d purposely waited until she was seated before striking up a conversation. The landlord cast more than one inquisitive glance at her before replying to Rufus. Kezia watched Rufus’s response, her anxiety growing as Rufus nodded, his lips tight. He came and sat beside her, and she waited until he’d taken a long draft of ale.

  “Does he know my people?” asked Kezia unable to hide her disquiet.

  Rufus looked uncomfortable. “He knows of them, but not as much as I’d hoped. We’re to go to the market and ask for them at a merchant’s house there.”

  After finishing their meal, they left the horse resting at the inn and followed directions until they found a merchant’s house. There they spoke to a servant who informed them that the only Romani in the city were either dead or had been returned to their old masters.

  Kezia was sickened as she heard their fate. And it would be the fate of her own people in the forest if they were found. She walked away, back into the marketplace, this time welcoming the clamour and noise, wanting to become invisible within it. But she couldn’t leave her thoughts behind. There was no place here for her, except as the lowest of the low, a maidservant in one of the merchant households, used and abused at their whim.

  “Kezia!” She heard Rufus’s call through the mists of her fears. She turned and he took her arm. “You tremble.”

  She shook her head, and swallowed. “You should leave me now.”

  His frown deepened. “You think I would leave you?”

  “Of course. That is the plan, is it not?”

  “Aye. But sometimes plans have to be changed.” He gave a gruff laugh. “I, of all people, know that. No, I’ll not be leaving you here.” His grip around her arm tightened. “Come, we must depart now while there is still time.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He bowed his head. “Away from here. This is no home for you, Kezia.”

  “Then what is?”

  “My family’s castle. We will return there and decide how to proceed.”

  She glanced at the merchant’s house at one side of the market place through which curious eyes looked at her. She turned to Rufus and knew it was the truth. She wouldn’t last two minutes in this alien place.

  “You’d have none of the freedoms of the forest here, Kezia. It is no place for you alone.”

  She nodded wearily, feeling all the fight drain out of her. She was in his hands now, whether she liked it or not.

  As they made their way out of Norwich, the land around them flattened even further, in line with her spirits. It had become a place of water—a land of mist and waterways. All she could think of was the pride with which her people had spoken of their Norwich cousins. The story of how the Norwich Romani had escaped slavery had been a story retold by her people many times. It had all been true except for the fact that they’d escaped only for a few short years before the fairy tale had ended.

  She felt more vulnerable than at any time in her life. She was dependent on one man. And a man whose touch weakened her further, while the vivid memory of his lips pressed against her own turned her body to fire. She was vulnerable, and she didn’t like it. She gripped her thighs more tightly around the horse to keep her securely away from the heat of Rufus’s body.

  He was honorable, that much she knew of him. So honorable that he would not leave her to perish. But he had his family’s well-being to consider, and she didn’t fool herself that marriage to a nobody such as herself would help that. It would hinder it, and she knew, without a doubt, that she’d receive nothing but a chilly welcome at his home. But chill was preferable to a life of servitude which would surely be her fate without him.

  Now that they were far from the king’s influence, they did not have to hide from shadows, and were able to make greater speed along the main roads and paths connecting the small villages. The paths became smaller the farther northeast they traveled. The late spring weather continued to be unseasonably cold, and the wind was sharp and biting. But the sun’s light held a different quality to the south. It seemed clearer here, and brighter.

  It was toward evening when she smelled a change in the air, a salty tang which she knew, from Rufus’s description, to be the smell of the sea. The path turned into a causeway slightly raised between low fields over which a chill mist hung. She shivered, partly from excitement, and partly from the chill air. She craned her neck to try to catch a glimpse of the sea. The tired horse stumbled on the soft ground.

  “Hey, settle back,” growled Rufus at Kezia.

  �
��I want to see the sea.”

  “You can’t because of the sandbank. But the evening is calm and we should be able to hear it soon.”

  Kezia strained to listen and then she heard it. She was so used to the sound of the wind in the trees, had lived with it all her life, that at first, she’d thought it was the same. Then she realized there were no trees around them, only fields in which low green spears were already beginning to sprout, and the whooshing sound was too rhythmic to be the random gusts of wind. She closed her eyes to better hear it. The sound held within it a dull roar suggesting power, overlaid by a gentle trawling sound, as of water moving over fine stones. She opened her eyes, having gained its measure. It sounded mighty… and it sounded seductive.

  “You can’t see the sea, but you can see our castle.” He drew the horse to a stop and turned at an angle so she could see their destination.

  The causeway headed straight as an arrow to a small rise around which high flint walls reared sheer over the land, and a large bleak tower rose from within. The starkness of the vision was softened by the rising mist which curled tendrils of moisture into the increasingly hazy sunlight. Without thinking, she crossed herself, as Ethelinda had taught her. It looked like the very devil might lay within.

  Rufus glanced at the movement and smiled. “Don’t fret, lass. It looks worse than it is. It’s built to defend but is comfortable for all that. Looks are not everything.”

  She caught his gaze and accepted his argument. He was right. When she’d first seen Rufus she hadn’t thought him handsome and that had counted in his favor. She’d learned the handsome ones were not to be trusted. Handsome men learned that things came easy. And one look at Rufus was all it took to know that nothing had come easy to him, and he valued and cared for it all the more. But what he lacked in classic good looks he more than compensated for in strength, not only in body but in mind.

  He urged on his horse, and the buildings surrounding the castle came into view. There was a fine church beyond, with cottages clustered at the bottom of the road. The green shoots of an early crop rose from dark, rich soil and the open doors of a large barn next door, larger than she’d ever seen in her life, revealed a glimpse of packed hay and grain. It might be austere, but it looked wealthy.

  As Rufus dismounted the horse, a large gray, shaggy dog shot out of the castle, barking madly and jumping up and down on the spot with excitement.

  Rufus grinned and petted the dog who, Kezia could have sworn, grinned back.

  Kezia jumped to the ground. “And who is this?”

  “This is Boulon, my dog. He was but a pup when I left to fight and has been inseparable upon my return. He was most aggrieved I left without him. He believes it his job to keep me safe.”

  Boulon thrust his head into Kezia’s waiting hands and after a quick sniff licked her and looked up at her with the same half-grin. She laughed and fondled his ears. Kezia muttered Romani words of endearment which seemed to cast a spell on Boulon for when she walked away, he followed.

  “I think,” said Rufus, “that my fickle dog has switched allegiance. He always was a good judge of people.”

  Rufus gave her such a look of warmth that it took her breath away, and she looked away, not wanting him to witness the spreading blush upon her cheeks.

  She felt the touch of his hand upon her arm, but before she could turn to him, a woman emerged from the castle into the inner bailey, calling his name.

  “Rufus!” she called again. “You were not expected back so soon.” The woman was of early middle age.

  “Mother!” He walked to her and kissed her on both cheeks. She was a little shorter than he. “Things did not go to plan.”

  “But,” she said, her gaze fixing on Kezia, “you have brought us home the prize we’d hoped for.” She gave Kezia a beautiful smile.

  “Things are not as they seem,” said Rufus. “I have not been able to send a messenger, but our plans were—”

  “Hush, Rufus. You can tell us all shortly. Your wife”—she looked from one to the other of them—“I take it she is your wife, that that much went according to plan?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Kezia replied before Rufus could. “I am.” She bobbed, as she’d seen ladies do at the king’s court. It did not come naturally to her, and she stumbled slightly.

  The older woman reached out and steadied her and laughed. “You do not have to bow to me. I am your mother now.”

  As the woman turned away, Kezia swallowed a gasp at the memory of Ethelinda saying the same words to her. But Ethelinda had meant it—this woman would not, not when she knew the truth. Kezia swallowed and looked away, taking the horse and patting its neck, watching as the woman spoke quietly to Rufus. It seems Rufus wasn’t given a chance to respond, as the woman held up her hand. She turned to Kezia.

  “You are welcome to our family, Lady Maud.”

  Kezia shot a look at Rufus who was diverted by the approach of a man who was the image of Rufus. He greeted him with brotherly back-slapping and insults. She wouldn’t contradict his mother. She’d leave that bit of news for Rufus to give.

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Now come.” Lady Charlotte frowned at what Kezia was wearing and then shrugged. “You dressed for the journey, evidently. Come with me, and you may wash and change.”

  Lady Charlotte beckoned over a stablehand who took the horse from Kezia. Together they walked across the bailey, past the kitchen from which wondrous smells of roasting meat drifted out on wafts of steam, to a large, studded oak door, darkened with age. Kezia felt uneasy without Rufus by her side and glanced to see him deep in conversation. She hoped she’d get some food inside her before Lady Charlotte discovered she was an imposter and threw her out.

  Inside the castle she saw that Rufus had not lied. The austere chill of the castle’s exterior bore no reflection on its interior. Its form had been modified to give not one but two fireplaces to warm the entire hall. Large Flemish tapestries lined the flint walls and matting, woven from rushes and dried herbs, covered the floor. Lady Charlotte led her to the far end of the hall where wooden settles with high backs were grouped around the fire. Some books and pens lay around, scattered between piles of sewing.

  “Please be seated.” Lady Charlotte glanced up at the servant and smiled. “Bring wine and food for my son and daughter.”

  Kezia looked around, wondering at the books which she’d seen only men use at court, but also at Lady Charlotte’s polite tone with her servants. They must do things differently in these eastern lands. She’d never been inside such a place and been invited to sit, let alone been offered hospitality. Since her hasty marriage, she’d been on the run, living as she’d lived all her life, on the edge, in the rough, ready for anything. But here—at least for now—it seemed she was to be a part of their world, not someone who existed in the shadows. And she had not the first clue how to behave.

  She glanced anxiously at Rufus who’d entered with his brother. Rufus shook his head, and she was relieved. He hadn’t yet told him, but he would and then what would happen to her? Whatever it was, she intended to meet it with a full belly.

  “Lady Maud,” said Lady Charlotte. “Allow me to introduce my youngest son, William.”

  “My lord.” She again bobbed a curtsy and hoped she’d done it right. But there was something about the twitch of William’s lips, and the quick look exchanged with his mother, which told her she hadn’t.

  “Welcome, Lady Maud. I trust the journey wasn’t too onerous.”

  “Not at all, sir.”

  “Good,” said Lady Charlotte, who turned to Rufus. “This is most timely, mon fils. We can look forward to a time of peace with your marriage.”

  Rufus and Kezia exchanged glances as her heart sank.

  “Mother, I have to tell you that our plan failed. De Montmorency’s daughter, the woman to whom I was affianced, is not the lady who sits here now.”

  Lady Charlotte looked from one to the other in bewilderment. Then she turned to Kezia and a dee
p frown settled on her brow.

  “But you are Maud, are you not?” Her tone was more chill than the freezing air outside.

  Kezia shivered and shook her head, keeping her eyes downcast.

  “Then who are you?”

  “This is Kezia,” said Rufus.

  “And what is your family name?” asked Lady Charlotte.

  Kezia bit her lip in a vain attempt to stop it from trembling. It seemed she could face down the highest nobles in the land with more ease than Rufus’s mother. She looked up. “No name, my lady. My family are Romani. My family live in the forest. We have no name.”

  “No name?” Lady Charlotte rose and clasped her hands tightly before her. “Well, Kezia No Name. You are not welcome here. You have somehow managed to dupe my son into marriage and, as a consequence, have destroyed all our hopes for the future.” She turned to Rufus. “Mon fils, I trust you understand what you need to do.”

  Kezia stepped away from Lady Charlotte as if she’d been shoved. She’d never felt so worthless. She turned to Rufus, but she could see from his expression that he knew exactly what he had to do. She took another step toward the door. They were wrong, both of them. She might not have a name they approved of, but she wasn’t worthless; she knew it, she felt it, and one day she would prove it.

  Rufus opened his mouth to reply, but Kezia didn’t want to hear. Instead, she opened the door and fled outside into the fading sunshine and didn’t stop running until she reached the stable. At least there, among the horses and the dogs catching the last of the sun in the yard, she would not be so judged.

  Chapter 8

  Rufus watched Kezia disappear outside and turned wearily to William while Lady Charlotte paced the length of the Hall in an effort to rein in her temper. He shrugged in response to William’s querying gaze. “It was complicated.”

  William shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve no doubt. But to return with the wrong wife? Even for you, brother, that is something remarkable.”