Returning with his horse, Fulke noted Warin’s crestfallen demeanor. “Is there aught amiss, lad?”
Holding out the reins, Warin avoided his gaze. “All is well, my liege.” Before Fulke could question him further, he turned back to the stables.
Vaulting into the saddle, he rode over to Albin.
Finished instructing Osbert on the correct way to strike the quintain, he glanced up at his approach. “Kind of you to join us this morn, my liege.”
Reining up, he ignored his dry attempt at humor. “Is aught amiss with Warin?”
Albin shrugged. “I know not, Fulke. The lad has been gloomy for most of the morn. I thought perhaps he is a tad melancholy at leaving home, so instructed the men to leave him be.”
Fulke gazed thoughtfully in the direction of the stables. “I have a feeling there is something more behind it, Albin.”
* * * *
By the time Fulke called for a break from jousting, the sun was high.
Joining the men for a tankard of ale, he knew he was postponing the inevitable meeting with Sir Everard.
Hesitant to depart with Reina believing the worst of him, he had hoped all morning to catch her on the way back from the village.
Left with no choice, he headed to the keep for the midday meal. Scanning the stables, he waited to see if Warin would join them. When he failed to appear, he assumed Albin was right. The lad was extremely close with Reina. Perhaps he was taking the parting hard.
“I have not seen the lad since early this morn.” Falling in step beside him, Albin answered his unasked question.
“Were you seeking Warin, my liege?”
“Aye, have you seen him of late, Talan?”
“Not long past, I saw him enter the woods at the base of the motte.”
“Thank you,” Fulke responded absently, skimming the distant tree line for any sign of the siblings.
He entered the hall behind the men with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Sir Everard picked from the platters set before him as the men took their seats. Off to the side, Lady Baldith stood waiting with Sibilla.
To avoid sitting with Sibilla, Fulke moved to the opposite side of the table, squeezing in between Gervase and Guy, to the surprise of them both.
Undaunted, Sibilla came to stand behind Gervase.
Hazarding a glance at Fulke’s deepening scowl he stood to face her. “Would you care to sit here, Mistress Sibilla?”
“How chivalrous, Sir Knight.” She pressed up against Fulke’s side as Gervase slid further down the bench.
Gervase swallowed nervously as Fulke’s angry gaze swept him before coming to rest on Sibilla. Acknowledging her with a curt nod, he speared a slice of venison from a platter with his knife.
Intending to request a private meeting with Sir Everard at the conclusion of the meal, Fulke tipped his tankard back. Choking on the ale he just swallowed, he stood abruptly when Sibilla’s hand slid up his thigh to cup his groin beneath the table.
The table fell silent, all heads turned towards him in question.
Alarmed, Lady Baldith was the first to speak. “Is there aught amiss, your lordship?”
Furious with Sibilla’s lack of decorum, Fulke could not think of an adequate excuse so refrained from offering one. “Please excuse me, my lady.”
“You scarcely touched your fare. Does it not suit you?”
“I find I am not at all hungry at the moment,” cursing his traitorous body when his stomach growled.
Before Baldith could say anything further to deter him, he stepped from the table.
Striding for the door, he called to his surprised men, “Coming?”
Glancing with longing at their full trenchers, they excused themselves.
He was halfway to the stables by the time they reached the courtyard.
Entering the cool shade of the stalls behind him, Albin noted Fulke’s aggravated bearing as he saddled his horse.
Gervase was about to speak when Albin silenced him by gripping his shoulder. “Hold your silence, lad.”
For once grateful to Albin for interfering, Fulke rode out. The rest of the men hastening to catch him.
After several passes at the quintain to cool his rage, Fulke dismounted. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he caught sight of Hylda returning from the village. Prepared to ask after Reina, he started down the slope to meet her.
Drawing near, he could see Hylda’s distressed state. His heart pounding, he quickened his pace to a jog.
She looked up at him with tear-swollen eyes as he drew to an anxious halt before her. “Where is your mistress, Hylda?”
Bowing her head in despair, Hylda mumbled just loud enough for him to hear, “My Reina is gone.”
“Gone you say? What do you mean she is gone?” Fulke grabbed her thin shoulders without realizing it. “Egad woman. Tell me where Reina is.” Seeing her grimace in pain, he immediately dropped his hands. “Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt you, Hylda.” Striving for a calmer tone, he tried again. “Where is Reina?”
Tears slipped from her warm brown eyes as she stammered, “Sir Everard has banished her to a Cistercian Convent in Rotheram.”
Stumbling back from her words, he breathed, “Is she to take the veil of the church?”
Hylda shook her head sadly. “No, your lordship, were that it so. My beloved Reina is to be nothing more than a lowly servant. Father Godfrey said it would be her decision to take the veil. If it makes her way easier, I pray that she does so.”
Fulke felt as though lead had suddenly filled his empty stomach. “When did she depart?”
“This morn at sunrise.” She began sobbing. “There is naught anyone can do, your lordship.”
“We shall see about that,” he replied angrily.
He did not recall walking away from Hylda, for the next thing Fulke knew, he was stalking into the Great Hall. Finding a young boy tending the hounds, he snapped, “Fetch your masters.”
Pacing before the hearth to gain control of his fury, he swore, “Fie. Even I would be better for her than banishment to a bloody convent.”
Envisioning Reina's sparkle doused by a nun’s dour existence, his anger soared to new heights. He could understand Lady Baldith's motivation, yet for Sir Everard to do such a thing, sickened him.
His mind in turmoil, he quickly drafted a course of action. King Henry taught him strategy succeeded where brute force could not. Interlacing his fingers, he cracked his knuckles, mentally preparing himself. This was one battle he had every intention of winning.
By the time he heard their approach, Fulke portrayed a vision of calm standing before the fire. Turning to the pair, he gave them a curt nod. “Sir Everard, Lady Baldith, thank you for answering my summons so quickly.”
Lady Baldith curtseyed while Sir Everard stood stiffly by her side. “Is there aught amiss, your lordship? My servant was under the impression you were distressed.”
Fulke perfected an air of nonchalance. “Not at all, Sir Everard. I merely find myself forced to depart on a matter of great import. Before I do so, I thought it best if we were to finalize the betrothal accord.”
Lady Baldith gasped with obvious pleasure. “I shall summon refreshment at once, your lordship.” She gestured towards a seat by the hearth, with a sweep of her arm. “Pray, take a seat.”
Rudely ignoring her offer, he moved to one of the planked tables. “Since this matter also affects Mistress Sibilla and Master Warin, it would please me if you were to summon them as well.”
“Of course, your lordship,” Baldith replied eagerly. Hastening off to do his bidding.
Sir Everard crossed to the table, taking a seat on the bench across from Fulke. Folding his hands before him, he said bluntly, “I must say, your lordship, I believe this marriage will be of great benefit to you. My daughter is blessed with a manner that will do well at court.”
Fulke narrowed his eyes. “I am well aware of that, sir.”
Everard’s eyes flared at his harsh tone. Leani
ng back in his seat, he kept silent.
Anxious to see the matter settled, Fulke drummed his fingers on the table.
They both straightened as Warin entered. Avoiding his father’s gaze, he stopped before Fulke. “You sent for me, my liege?”
Taking in Warin’s pale features, Fulke realized he should have followed his earlier instinct to question him further. Instead, he wasted most of the day. Reina was now that much closer to reaching the Convent.
“I did, lad. We are to discuss a matter of great import that affects you as well.”
Albin entered, followed by Talan, Gervase, Guy and Osbert.
Fulke bit back a smile at their show of loyalty. Responding to their solemn stares with a curt nod, he jerked his head to the adjoining table.
Visibly surprised by their presence, Sir Everard asked, “You mean to discuss matters of import in front of your men, your lordship?”
“I trust my life to them, Sir Everard. I see no reason why they should not be privy to such matters,” he replied stiffly.
Baldith swept in with a beaming Sibilla. Aiming a puzzled glance at the somber men, she took a seat beside her husband.
Sibilla squeezed close beside Fulke. When he did not so much as acknowledge her with a nod, she pouted, “I am here, my lord.”
“I am aware, Mistress Sibilla,” he replied coldly.
Choosing not to sit, Warin stood off to the side, staring hard at his father.
Serfs hurried from the upper level bearing heavy trays. Glancing up to refuse refreshment, Fulke spotted Hylda hovering in the shadows of the upper passage. A slight smile of approval touched his lips as he briefly met her gaze.
He lowered his eyes as she eased back into the shadows lest he expose her presence. Hylda took a considerable risk to eavesdrop. It was something any mother would do for a beloved child.
Glancing at Lady Baldith, he fought to conceal his disgust. Staring at the rings on her right hand, he let his anger flow through him as he turned a cold stare on Sir Everard. “I wish to discuss your daughter’s dowaire, sir.”
Sir Everard frowned. “This is all untoward, your lordship. We discussed the matter at length when last we met. I assure you nothing has changed.”
Fulke stood to place his hands flat on the table. Leaning forward, he gave into his anger. “I assure you, things have changed. Sir.” In a tone that his men knew all too well, he continued, “I do not speak of your favored daughter’s dowaire. I speak of the dowaire for the daughter that you and your lady wife banished to a convent, just this morn.” His eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Dare you deny you banished Mistress Reina for no other reason than she cannot communicate as befitting your high standards?”
The response to his words by those gathered was immediate, ranging from shock, outrage, surprise and joy. In the midst of it all, Fulke remained defiant.
Lady Baldith was the first to find her voice. “My husband’s daughter is worthless, your lordship.” Her dark eyes sparked with fury. “You could never present her at court.”
Briefly fixated on her rings, he slid his gaze slowly over the arrogant woman. Contempt flaring in his eyes. “I would not demean myself to present you at court.” He sneered, “My lady.”
Flustered, Baldith’s face took on an unhealthy shade of red as she gained her feet. Glaring down at her husband, she snapped, “Say something, Everard.”
He calmly flicked a hand in her direction. “Leave us. Take Sibilla with you.”
Sibilla was the last to grasp Fulke’s intent. Her dreams of a life at court once again dashed, her rage knew no bounds. Jumping to her feet, she whirled to face Fulke. “You dare place that drasty lack-wit above me?”
Before Fulke could respond, Sir Everard’s fist slammed down on the table hard enough to split the heavy oak. “You will leave this hall at once, Sibilla!”
Satisfied with her husband’s unyielding stance, Baldith calmly dragged her outraged daughter from the hall, murmuring assurances in her ear.
Hearing low chuckles from the men at the adjacent table, she quickened her pace.
Waiting for the sound of simultaneous door slams from the upper level, Sir Everard shifted his gaze to Fulke. “Please take a seat, your lordship.” As Fulke stiffly complied, he continued, “For obvious reasons, a dowaire has not been set aside for my eldest daughter. What do you ask?”
Not expecting Sir Everard to yield so easily, Fulke gained a new respect for the elder knight. “I ask nothing that is not in your power to give, sir. I ask only for you to release Hylda, so that I may reunite her with your daughter.”
A shriek of joy sounded from the shadows above.
Feigning a cough, Fulke concealed the quirk of his lips behind his hand.
Paying no heed to the outburst, Sir Everard heaved a weary sigh. Staring heavenward, he asked, “Do you love my daughter?”
“I will protect her with my life,” Fulke replied honestly.
Everard pressed, his dark green eyes scrutinizing Fulke. “Do you ask for her hand out of pity?”
Fulke did not hesitate, “No, sir.”
Sir Everard swung his legs over the bench to stand. “Consider it done, your lordship.” His back to Fulke, he murmured, “You did not ask for it, but you go with my blessing.”
His plan to embarrass the elder knight into agreeing to the marriage unnecessary, it took a moment for Fulke to dip his head in acknowledgement.
The hall was silent as those gathered watched Sir Everard ascend the steps. Hearing the click of a door latch, it was Talan who broke the quiet. Raising his tankard, he called, “God’s blessing be on you both, my liege.”
Albin stood with tankard held high, beaming his whole-hearted approval. “Aye. May the future hold joy for you both,” he seconded.
His arm around a dejected Gervase, Guy nodded in half-hearted agreement.
Fulke grinned at the two lovelorn knights. “Cheer up lads. If Mistress Reina accepts me, she will still be your lady.”
Exchanging a resigned glance, Guy spoke as Gervase joined Osbert in raising their tankards. “To our liege and lady. May sons bless your lives and fill your home.”
Accepting their well wishes with a dip of his head, Fulke noticed Warin still standing quietly off to the side.
While the men began to bandy jokes back about life at Castell Maen with a lady about to keep them in order, he joined him.
“I shall protect her with my life, if she will have me Warin,” he said softly.
Warin grinned. “It will be a great honor to call you brother, my liege.”
Fulke gripped his shoulder as a commotion drew their attention to the steps.
All heads turned as Hylda came into sight dragging a heavy ironbound chest behind her. Bouncing her burden from step to step, the screech of metal on stone pierced the ears as she slowly descended.
Reaching the rush-strewn floor, she abandoned the chest. Rushing over to Fulke, she dipped into a curtsey. “I have prepared myself, your lordship.”
“So I have heard.” He grinned at her puzzled expression.
“I shall gather us food for the journey.” Bobbing her head, she rushed back up the steps.
Fulke belatedly released Warin’s shoulder. “How long do you need to prepare yourself, lad?”
Running to the steps, he called over his shoulder. “I shall be prepared before the horses are saddled, my liege.”
FOUR
By the time they stopped to make camp in a small glade for the night, Reina felt exhausted. For once, the sunset held no joy for her as she numbly dropped to the ground before the fire. She did not feel the damp grass seeping through her kirtle or the warmth of the flames as the fire was stoked into a blazing brilliance. Staring unseen into the distance, she felt nothing.
Clearing a space in the back of the wagon, Father Godfrey happily set about making a pallet for her. Plumping the last of the blankets, he climbed down.
Out of breath from his exertions, he settled himself on the ground beside her. Taking in her dra
wn features, he patted her hand to get her attention. “Feeling a touch melancholy at leaving home, lass?” Without waiting for a response, he rambled on, “Fear not, the Lord is always a step ahead of us to keep the stones from our path.” Struggling to his feet, he left to feed his mules.
She watched him go, grateful for his reassuring presence.
He returned a short time later with a bundle of cheese and flat bread. Passing out the food, she refused his offer with a shake of her head.
After the meal, he joined her to recite the evening prayer. Smothering a yawn, he stood. Bidding her to get some rest, he retreated to his pallet.
Lost to her own misery, it was some time before she felt the gazes of the two men her father sent with them. Glancing across the fire, she felt a tremor of fear to find them both leering boldly at her.
One smiled, exposing a mouth full of blackened or missing teeth. The other slowly licked his lips, crudely running his eyes down the length of her.
She stood to retrieve the bundle Hylda had given her. Keeping a watchful eye on the men, she retreated to her pallet in the back of the wagon.
With a sad sigh, she untied the twine to withdraw a blanket of soft lavender wool. Holding it close against her, she felt hot tears slip from her eyes. It must have taken Hylda longer than a moon to stitch the detailed border of light blue wildflowers.
Wrapping up in the blanket’s warmth, she settled down on her side facing the men.
Eventually, they grew bored with their vigil. Pulling their woolen cloaks around themselves, they settled back to sleep.
Lowering her guard, she focused on the meager light of the fire. She found herself dreaming of Fulke, Warin, and the knights.
As if awake, she watched her dream play out as Fulke materialized by the edge of the fire. She held her breath as he searched the sleeping figures, until his eyes locked on her.
Afraid he would disappear if she looked away, she lost herself to his gaze as Warin stepped into the flickering light with the knights following behind. Fulke spoke to them, before bending by Father Godfrey to wake him.
Sir Albin crossed the camp to stoke the dying fire, and she would have sworn she could feel the sudden flaring heat of its flames. He glanced her way as he moved past to step back into the darkness. Returning with his saddle, he set it beside the fire as the rest of the men followed suit.
Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 Page 6
