Once Upon a Knight

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Feeling more like prisoners than guests, men came to escort them into the middle bailey, which flourished with well-stocked gardens. Then came the last of the inner curtain walls, and beyond that lay a beautiful courtyard. At long last came the keep—an immense rectangular building, so big that it could have swallowed three of the Lontaine’s tiny donjon.

  From beyond Montagneaux’s walls, it would have been all but impossible to determine the vast expanse of land the fortress contained.

  The master of this citadel was either very extravagant... or he simply trusted no one.

  Chrestien chose to believe the former because a man who trusted no one could not be trusted himself. Had her father not often said so?

  Standing before the doors to his keep, Aleth de Montagneaux awaited them eagerly.

  He was as striking a man as Chrestien recalled—and just as amiable, albeit only to Adelaine.

  From the moment he set eyes upon her, he seemed quite besotted with her sister, and Adelaine with him. Chrestien could easily see why Adelaine might be so taken with her father’s longtime ally. He was possessed of deep blue eyes that bordered on gray. And she was certain one look from him could weaken a grown woman’s knees—though she could hardly swear by it, for he never even glanced her way long enough for her to confirm it.

  His hair, which was reddish brown in color, defied the standard for red hair in that it was unusually satiny looking. It made one want to feel the softness of it, Chrestien mused. He was not so tall, but his chest was thick, and his elegant finery boasted of riches far beyond any she and Adelaine had ever known. His mantle and surcoat were of a burgundy Italian velvet not oft seen in these parts, covered with jewels of every sort—including a few gems Chrestien did not recognize.

  For her part, Aleth treated her with aloof respect—if it could be called that. He allowed her to sit at the lord’s table to sup—Aubert too, although he neglected them both in favor of her sister. And yet even if she did not take kindly to being ignored by her sister’s betrothed, she was entirely relieved, for it was so much easier to keep up the pretense in silence and without scrutiny.

  They had arrived in time for Montagneaux’s None day meal, and were pleased to find that Aleth had arranged to serve the main meal upon their arrival. The tables all groaned beneath a spread of roasted pork, beef, mutton, and herring flavored with cream and herbs. Sliced apples, pears, and peaches were arranged in the shape of a bird in flight, and an assortment of cheeses filled trays that were interspersed along the table.

  The only unpalatable item was the wine. It was bitter and grainy, and a mouthful of it reminded Chrestien of the time she and Adelaine had made mud pies by the stream at home. Adelaine’s had looked overmuch like a tart, and Chrestien, at five years of age, had decided to sample it, much to her dismay.

  But acrid wine or nay, her only real complaint was that she was forced to share a trencher with an obnoxious knight by the name of Gervais, whom she’d neither met nor heard of before now. Albeit, to hear him speak his sword was sought after by all, for he was, of course, unmatched in the skills of warfare. Oh, and the women all enjoyed his other sword, for he could wield it far better even than he did one made of steel.

  Jesu! Had he the dexterity to find his own mouth while eating, she might have believed him. As it was, his beard was filled with bits of food and dribbles of wine spotted his plate. His breath smelled of stale wine and poor hygiene, and Chrestien wasn’t certain which was more offensive. And if he whacked her back just once more, or recited another repulsive tale of female conquest, she was going to stab him with her eating dagger... and accuse Sir Rolfe, Aleth’s elder brother, who was scrutinizing her from across the table with the intensity of a hawk sizing up its prey.

  She did not particularly enjoy being a man, she discovered.

  Seeking out Aubert, who was seated next to the fair-haired Rolfe, she gave him a glimpse of her ire. To her dismay, his only reaction was to laugh.

  Adelaine giggled at some witty remark of Aleth’s and Chrestien turned to see her sister’s cheeks bloom with color. Adelaine’s eyes met Chrestien’s then and lowered in chagrin.

  “What find you so amusing?” Chrestien asked innocently, smiling, for she was in dire need of something humorous to brighten her spirits. As she waited for her sister to reply, Adelaine’s color deepened to a shade somewhere this side of violet and for the first time in her life, she refused to share her secret.

  Chrestien frowned.

  Aleth cleared his throat. “I simply told my lovely bride—Christopher, is it?—that I had originally arranged to wed her a sennight from today... but that was before I set eyes upon her. Your sweet cousin has blossomed into a lovely lady.”

  Aleth took Adelaine’s pink-flushed hand and started to kiss it, but stopped abruptly, and looked directly into Chrestien’s eyes. “If there are no objections from you... I shall wed her on the morrow. Even,” he assured Chrestien, “if it means I’ve insulted my guests by curtailing the celebration.” He turned to Chrestien then and his smile faded. His very gray eyes bore into Chrestien’s, deliberately and with what appeared to be condemnation. “I simply cannot—will not—wait.”

  Was he warning her not to interfere? Had he made her an enemy without knowing her? The thought made Chrestien’s stomach sour and blackened her mood.

  When he turned again to Adelaine, Aleth was all smiles again.

  Alas, it was clear to Chrestien that the guest he had not a care of insulting was her. Well, it suited her just fine not to remain in this den of wolves. But that he would have such little care for Adelaine’s only surviving kin was insufferable.

  He turned again and seemed to be waiting for her response.

  Chrestien kept her emotions well masked and simply nodded her acquiescence, her anger deterring the telltale tears.

  “Splendid... splendid,” Aleth declared. “Then I trust we understand each other quite well when I say I wish ye a safe journey home. And where did you claim that to be?”

  “Oh! Christopher has lived at Lontaine most of his life,” Adelaine provided quickly.

  Aleth’s brows twitched, but he accepted the answer with a curt, but polite, nod and then returned to ignoring Chrestien.

  It was clear enough that he truly believed Chrestien to be a man, for there was a distinct possessiveness in his gaze—a warning that seemed directed at Chrestien. Forced to enjoy her own company, she lamented that now Adelaine, the only family Chrestien had remaining, would be gone from her life all too soon and it seemed she was destined to become a pariah in her husband’s home. Not that it mattered. Once she was cloistered, she would likely never leave La Trinite again. She stabbed at her trencher. It was enough to make her feel quite sorry for herself and that was not her way. It was an alien emotion—one she did not relish.

  Adelaine yawned loudly, bringing Chrestien’s senses into focus. “Well, my lord Aleth, ’tis been a most grueling day and I am in sorely need of rest, lest I be too weary for tomorrow’s festivities. Shall we retire, cousin Chris?”

  Adelaine seemed quite proud of herself for remembering to use the correct name.

  Aleth’s eyes grew wide and his eyes nearly burst from their sockets as he focused his fury upon Chrestien. At first, Chrestien did not comprehend the ire in his gaze. But it dawned on her all at once, and she feared it would be the end of their charade. Mother Mary! She would be forced to confess all simply to keep from being run through by Aleth’s blade. Jesu, but Adelaine was daft!

  Chrestien did not bother to stand, despite that she wanted to flee from the table. “My lady, I am most certain your chamber is safe!” she asserted as she stared at her sister in disbelief.

  She turned to Aleth and faced his angry glare in an effort to acquit herself of his silent accusations. “My dear cousin has quite a fear of sleeping in unfamiliar places,” she explained. “If you would but be so kind to assure us that her chamber will be adequately guarded... there will be no need for me to inspect it.”

  I
ncredulously, she did not even stumble over the explanation and it came across very believably. It was quite frightening what a good liar she was becoming—may God forgive her. Once she was in the hands of the good Abbess, she would make atonements then. She turned her smoky eyes on Adelaine, smiling tersely. “Is that not so, Lady Adelaine?”

  Aleth relaxed his menacing posture, if only slightly. “Your chamber is indeed quite safe, m’lady... but if ye would come with me, I would see to it myself.” He rose from his seat, eyes still narrowed upon Chrestien, and took a very contrite Adelaine by the hand.

  Chrestien watched as her sister and Aleth disappeared from the hall and sighed with even deeper relief when Aleth returned only minutes later.

  At least Adelaine would sleep in peace.

  The same could not be said for herself, for she no doubt would be sleeping with the men in the great hall—on the rush-strewn floor, no less.

  With great order, the tables were cleared, the servants dispersed, and the hall was emptied, save for those men of lesser distinction, which of course, Christopher was considered to be.

  She watched in horror as the men undressed right in front of her and prepared for a night’s rest on their thin, smelly, flea-ridden pallets. She cringed when she realized Sir Rolfe was still watching her, but she was determined to make the best of this. She busied herself with preparing her straw mat next to Aubert’s—all the while cursing him for disappearing yet again.

  When finally Rolfe quit the hall, Chrestien settled onto her pallet, fully dressed in her hauberk, and closed her eyes. She tried to conjure images of Lontaine... to pretend she was home in her comfortable bed. But naught would come to her, save for thoughts of Montagneaux and her sister’s upcoming wedding. Solace came only when Aubert’s voice interrupted her troubled thoughts.

  “I shall not sleep tonight,” he whispered softly at her ear. “Have no fear. I will keep watch over you, minx.”

  She opened her eyes to look into Aubert’s familiar blue ones. “Thank you,” she said gratefully.

  He smiled and said, “'Tis the least I should do.”

  Exhaling a sigh of relief, she settled again into her pallet, ignoring the sensation of tiny bugs crawling through her hair. It was just her imagination, she reassured herself. Soon it would all be over.

  The night air was clear and cool as Rolfe made his way across the yard to the stables.

  There was more to this Christopher than met the eye, he was certain. He’d heard a rumor once that Gilbert de Lontaine had twin daughters, but had dismissed it as idle talk. Even then, so long ago, it had wrenched his gut to know his brother was offered the beautiful Lady Adelaine to wife, and even when Aleth had refused her, Gilbert had never bothered to offer her to Rolfe.

  This time, he’d masked his anger well enough. He had been the one to convince Aleth to wed the young girl. Dead men had no need of women and if Rolfe carried out his intended plan, his brother would have little need of a woman in his bed.

  Now, for once, he would not have to settle for his brother’s leavings. Having met Adelaine’s cousin, Rolfe had little doubt the old rumor was true. Christopher de Lontaine looked too much like the lady Adelaine for it not to be so. Mayhap Aleth was too stupid to note it, but even considering the disguise—and it was a good one at that—Rolfe could see the uncanny resemblance. The hair, though much shorter and straighter for the filth, was the same rich golden color as Adelaine’s. The whisker-less face, though dirty, was as smooth as porcelain. A good soaking would reveal much, no doubt. But there remained one difference between them: the eyes—such dark, smoldering eyes the unnamed one had—almost spellbinding.

  If the obvious were true, and Christopher was in fact a maiden... it would also be true that the unnamed one had to be the more beautiful of the two. Why else would de Lontaine keep her locked away? She was either beast or beauty, and he could see very well that she was no beast. Gilbert de Lontaine had been renowned for his avaricious and hoarding ways. Did he not shun all who came to his gates? The man had surely turned Rolfe away oft enough! Truly Gilbert would keep his most valued treasure close to him always—it was his way.

  Rolfe had stood next to the unnamed one but once this evening, and though she reeked of perspiration, there was also the unmistakable odor of rosewater that drifted from her hair. He ached to go to her now, remove her men’s garb, wash her dirty face, and see what lay beneath the filth. But for now, he would content himself with what he could learn within the stables. The state of her mount would tell him much and he planned to check her saddle and bags for evidence.

  Why she should go through such pains to remain inconspicuous now that her father was dead was beyond him, but her efforts were all for naught, for Rolfe would have her regardless. She needed a man to protect her and he fancied himself to be that man.

  He rubbed his groin as he imagined all that he would do to the girl. Aye, he would wait until she left Montagneaux and seize her then. By the time it was discovered she was missing, who would trace her to his castle in Poitiers? He’d gotten away with it once before—but nay! He waived away those distant memories as quickly as they emerged. This girl would make a warm and willing whore by the time he was through with her, of that he was certain. She would be nothing like Gwynith. And, if Gervais was about his duty tonight, the girl and her men would be far too tired to put up any resistance on the morrow. A warm flush crept to his face even as he thought of her lying beneath him.

  Aye, she’d make a lovely consolation prize... lovely indeed.

  Chrestien winced as the knight Gervais whacked her tender back again. “God’s teeth!” he said. “How can ye sleep encumbered that way?” He was referring to her hauberk, of course, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Poor skinny lad; you have naught any other man does not have, but it matters not,” he crowed. “This wench I’ve invited to my pallet will scorch your ears and ye shan’t sleep all night anyhow.”

  He was holding a brawny red-haired woman by the waist, and proceeded to plop her down upon his pallet, his belly rumbling with laughter over his own keen wit.

  Chrestien gritted her teeth and sent Aubert a beleaguered glance.

  Aubert snickered, and she buried her face in her pallet and threw an arm behind her head in an attempt to shut out the noise.

  The torches were put out, and Chrestien lay in the darkness, unwillingly listening to the unabashed whimpers and moans coming from the shadows beside her.

  “Foul,” she muttered, almost inaudibly.

  But Aubert heard and he chuckled, leaning toward her to whisper softly, “Do not worry, minx. He cannot dally all night. It will take great feats of strength to move that hefty belly about and I predict he will collapse before ye know it.”

  Chrestien muffled her giggle and he tousled the back of her head affectionately.

  “In fact, I vow it will take the two of us to drag the red’s body from beneath him once he is done.”

  Chrestien laughed again and felt like kissing Aubert for lifting her spirits. Instead, she giggled until her sides hurt, and fell asleep content.

  Once the wedding was ended, it didn’t take long for Aleth to shoo them out the gates.

  After a brief adieu to Adelaine, Chrestien and Aubert led the company of villein away from Montagneaux. But despite her grief over leaving her sister, Chrestien was heartily relieved to be gone from the harrowing place. Now all that was needed was to get safely to Caen, to the abbey of La Trinite and then Aubert would return to Lontaine until such time as Aleth decided what to do with the demesne.

  Deep down, she knew neither of them would ever live there again. Her sister had no need of Lontaine, not when she had Montagneaux. Lontaine was naught more than a hovel in comparison and her sister would want for naught as Aleth’s bride. That, at least, was a consolation.

  On the way to Caen, they would pass by Lontaine, but Chrestien could not bear to go there and then leave again. Better to go straight to Caen and begin her new life at once.

  No sooner did
they leave Montagneaux when the first drops of rain pattered her helm. Chrestien ignored it, determined not to let anything dampen her mood, even if her body was soaked to the bone.

  She sighed deeply. “The wedding was lovely. My only regret was that I was not able to help prepare Adelaine for the ceremony as I always dreamt I would.”

  “Christ's mercy, Chrestien, it did seem Aleth had eyes in the back of his head,” Aubert conceded.

  “Jealous oaf! He would not allow me to come within yards of my sister,” Chrestien complained. “Much less within her bower. Still, she was the most beautiful bride I have ever beheld.” She tilted Aubert a glance. “Of course, she’s also the only bride I have ever beheld,” she lamented.

  “If your father was overly protective, minx... ’twas only because he wished to have his daughters at his side as long as he could manage it. He cannot be faulted for that, now can he?”

  Chrestien shuddered—less as a result of the damp chill, and more over the prospect of being forced into matrimony. “No, in truth, had he not been so sheltering, I would be on my way to the altar now—but not to take the veil. In my mind, ’tis surely something to be grateful for.”

  “Though you do not regret it for Adelaine’s sake?”

  “Nay.” Chrestien shook her head. “Adelaine was born to be a good man's wife. ’Tis her nature to be nurturing and loving, and ’tis only fitting she should have a husband to cherish.”

  Sighing wistfully, Chrestien's thoughts drifted back to the wedding. Her sister had worn the most beautiful bliaut of pale blue brocade with gold thread woven intricately into its fabric and a blue velvet mantle trimmed with ermine—a more lavish gown than any she had ever seen, much less worn. A chaplet of gold cord, from which fell a silken veil, had adorned her plaited gold hair. And Chrestien had experienced a momentary twinge of regret that she would never don such finery, but she knew it was for the best. How many times had her father fretted aloud over the beatings Chrestien would earn? Nay, she was hardly fit to be any man’s wife—at least she knew it.