Margo Maguire

by The Virtuous Knight

  It occurred to Alex that he might leave Lucy with this group of travelers that camped nearby, and he was near desperate to do so. He did not know how many more hours he could continue to ride with her sitting practically across his lap. Turning off the road, Alex followed the aroma of the cooking food until he reached a small clearing.

  All music and talk ceased.

  Two burly young men stood and challenged their approach. Behind them were wagons, where women and children stood waiting with three other men. There was a familial resemblance among them.

  Alex dismounted and assisted Lucy down, then placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. Eyeing the men, he stepped in front of Lucy to keep her safe in case of a confrontation. There were few weapons about, though Alex did not doubt that these men would be proficient combatants.

  He took a step forward, but was interrupted by Lucy’s hand on his arm. She walked around him to stand in front.

  “Good evening to you,” she said to the people in the clearing.

  The men relaxed visibly, though they still maintained a protective stance.

  “We are peaceful travelers,” she continued as she made her way toward the men. Alex would have grabbed her and pulled her back until they understood the situation here, but she slid past him to stand directly in front of the men. “I am Lucy of Craghaven,” she said. “And behind me is Sir Alexander.”

  The men remained wary, though the tallest of them stepped forward and spoke. “We, too, are peaceful travelers,” he said, then looked past Lucy to Alex. “Lay down your arms and be welcome.”

  In the moment that Alex hesitated, Lucy turned and looked at him with trusting eyes. Making what he hoped was not too hasty a decision, he unfastened his sword belt and placed it behind his saddle, next to the scabbard that held Brother Roger’s relic. Taking Rusa’s reins in one hand, he went to Lucy and placed her hand upon his, then entered the campsite.

  “I am Gilbert Bavent,” the leader said.

  The two men near the campfire picked up the lute and pipe they’d been playing before Alex and Lucy arrived, and resumed playing. The women returned to their task of preparing and serving the meal from a large kettle suspended above the fire.

  “Three knights harried us in our camp this morn,” Bavent said.

  “The black knights?” Lucy asked. She cast a quick glance toward Alex, and he saw her dismay.

  “Aye,” the man replied. “You know of them?”

  Alex began to reply, but Lucy spoke first. “Did they do you harm, sir?”

  Bavent shook his head. “There was naught here of interest to them,” he said. “But their visit reminded us to be wary. Who do you serve, Sir Alexander, and where are you headed?”

  “Our business is our own, Master Bavent,” Alex said. “But we intend no harm to you. We saw the black knights ourselves and stayed clear of them.”

  One of the women, young and pretty, handed Lucy a bowl containing a thick, savory stew. “Come and sit by me, Mistress Lucy,” she said.

  Lucy took the bowl and followed, going to a place next to one of the wagons. All of the women seemed to be gathered there, along with several children. Alex counted six of them, although he could hear other childish voices in the woods nearby.

  Satisfied that Lucy was safe for the moment, Alex joined Bavent with the other men by the fire. He accepted a bowl and a crust of bread, and began to eat.

  He learned that this was a family of mummers, on their way south to a noble estate where they would entertain during the wedding festivities of the lord. Unfortunately, they traveled opposite the direction Lucy needed to go.

  Alex paid little attention to his meal, keeping one eye on Lucy and the other on the road in the distance. He wanted no surprises. If the black knights returned here…if aught were to happen to Lucy…

  The sudden wail of a newborn cut through the air. Alex looked toward a large canvas tent set up beyond the wagons.

  “My newest son.” Henry Bavent tipped his head in the direction of the sound. “My wife was close to her time, so we had to stop here yestermorn. She birthed the lad a few hours later.”

  Alex congratulated the man and muttered a quiet Gloria Patri in honor of the bairn.

  “Without meaning to pry, Sir Alexander,” Rolf Bavent said, “are you headed to York?”

  Alex gave a curt nod. He was going in the direction of York, if not the town itself, though these men did not need to know that. He wanted no one to know that he was going to Holywake with Lucy, and he would certainly not divulge his errand at Eryngton.

  “We did not stop in town,” said Rolf.

  “Our travels brought us from a castle on the seacoast,” said Henry. “A fine place—Clyfton. Have you heard of it?”

  Alex gave a nod and struggled to contain his intense interest in any news of Clyfton.

  “We spent nearly a month there…festivities every day for the christening of the earl’s sixth child.”

  Alex was dumbstruck. Philip and his wife had had two more children during the time he’d been gone. There could be no doubt that God smiled upon Philip and his family.

  “Beautiful place,” Gilbert remarked.

  “The sea air was beneficial to my wife,” Henry added. “It eased her discomfort during her last month.”

  “Your lady is bruised, Sir Alex,” said the more serious brother, Gilbert. “And there is blood on her gown.”

  “An attack yestereday,” Alex replied. He did not correct the man’s misapprehension that Lucy was his lady. Since the Bavent troupe was not going north, he would not send Lucy with them.

  “The black knights?”

  He shook his head. “A couple of rogues looking for coin, or some such. They are no longer upon the road.”

  “’Tis good to know, for we still have a fair journey ahead of us,” Gilbert said.

  “The black knights were headed north,” Henry said. “They are far along now…. I doubt they will harry you when you continue your travels.”

  Alex doubted it, too, but he would not relax his vigilance. Skelton’s knights were not the only dangers on this road. He glanced to the place where Lucy sat with the women and children and vowed to keep her safe.

  Until they reached Holywake, Lucy of Craghaven was his charge.

  Lucy had never seen a newborn bairn before.

  Carefully, she took the tiny lad from his mother, who showed her how to support his wobbly head and still hold on to his body. Gazing into his perfect little face, Lucy knew she witnessed one of God’s true miracles.

  “You’re a fine one, Little Bert,” she said quietly to the bairn, taking in the wonder of his rosy lips and miniature nose. His hair was thick and dark like his mother’s, but it stuck out in wild tufts all over his head. His eyes were closed, and Lucy could detect no lashes, but his face suddenly contorted. A tiny furrow appeared between his pale brows while his chin quivered.

  “Oh, he’s about to tell you something,” Mathilde said.

  The infant made three short cries, then opened his lungs and wailed as loudly as his little voice could manage.

  “Oh!” Lucy said as she started to hand the infant back to his mother. “You’d better take him.”

  Mathilde guided Lucy’s hands so that she changed the bairn’s position, cradling him on her shoulder.

  “What do I do?” Lucy asked.

  “He’s just been fed,” the mother replied, “so that’s not the problem. Just bounce him a bit.”

  Lucy tried it, but the lad continued his cries.

  “Now pat him…here, on his back.”

  She did so as she started to walk with the bairn in her arms. Tucking his head under her chin, she spoke softly to him as he cried, and suddenly he gave out a loud belch that startled her.

  “There’s a lad,” said one of the men, and they all laughed.

  The infant quieted, and Lucy looked up to find Sir Alex watching her. She hugged the bairn closer to her breast and quietly sang a nonsense song to him as he drifted off to sleep, eve
n as the knight’s intense gaze bored into her.

  This was not the first time she’d felt disquieted by Sir Alexander, but she had never had this odd flush of yearning before—for a husband, for a child of her own. Being with this large family made Lucy realize all that she’d missed over the years, living in her harsh and barren surroundings.

  If she’d felt torn about leaving the abbey before, Lucy was certain now that it was the right thing to do. Cuddling Little Bert in her arms, she thought of her journey beyond Holywake, and what kind of life she would make for herself.

  How did a woman alone find a husband? Lucy knew that families usually arranged marriages, but how would she go about it herself? She supposed the question was premature, since she had not even reached York yet. Once she arrived in town, she would find some sort of employment, and perhaps meet a likely suitor.

  “Ah, you’ve a knack for it,” Emma Bavent said. “You and your husband should have fine, sturdy bairns, what with the way he’s made.” She gave a nod in Alex’s direction, and Lucy realized the woman believed that she and Alex were man and wife.

  She opened her mouth to correct Emma’s misconception, then changed her mind. Pressing her lips to the infant’s head, she inhaled the scent of him, unlike anything she’d ever encountered before, and thought of the children Sir Alex would sire.

  Like the infant in her arms, they would have dark hair. Their eyes would be as sharp and green as blades of grass, and would turn fierce when challenged or perplexed. His sons would be physically powerful, though kind. ’Twas difficult to imagine how his daughters—

  Lucy gave herself a mental shake. Sir Alexander was a monk…or would be, as soon as he returned to France. All that was missing were the vows that would bind him to the monastery forever. He would never sire children.

  Certainly not Lucy Kendal’s children.

  Alex walked away from the camp. He should have told the Bavents that he and Lucy were not wed, then he would not be expected to sleep with her in the small tent the family had provided for their use.

  Too edgy to take his rest, Alex prowled the perimeter of the camp, as if the light rain could rid him of his unwelcome thoughts. He should not be thinking of the way Lucy had felt in his arms the night before. If there was any woman to occupy his thoughts, ’twas his beloved Isabella, the mother of his son.

  Alex began his Pater Noster more times than he could count, but never managed to get past the first few words of the prayer.

  He could not remember Isabella’s face.

  Her scent, the memory of which he’d carried with him for three years, was gone, too. As was the sound of her voice, and the bitter ache in his heart whenever he thought of her.

  A cold sweat broke out over Alex’s skin and his head throbbed from forcing his thoughts to the direction they should take. ’Twas not possible that he was forgetting Isabella, or their years together at Clyfton House.

  His reaction to seeing Lucy with the bairn had only demonstrated how callous and unfaithful he was to the memory of his wife and son. He had allowed a multitude of earthly concerns to interfere with his memories as well as his chosen vocation.

  He scrubbed one hand across his heavy beard. He’d had no idea that this task set by Brother Roger would be so difficult. It had seemed simple enough.

  Yet now, when he was merely days from completing his mission, his life was fraught with complications. The dead nuns on the road, Lucy, and now the Bavent mummers… He swallowed. Never had he striven more to be an honest and virtuous man. Yet he had been possessed by lust since the moment he’d set eyes upon Lucy of Craghaven. And he’d committed the sin of omission, by neglecting to correct the family’s impression that Lucy was his wife.

  ’Twas true that it had seemed safer at the time, to let them believe they were wed. But that lie would lead to the commission of yet another sin. Alex was going to have to lie with the woman again. And conquer his lust as he did so.

  He looked up at the moon, shadowed by the clouds gathering in the sky. “Beati mundo corde, quoniam ipsi Deum videbunt,” he whispered, praying for purity in his own heart.

  The unfamiliar stirrings of desire were entirely unacceptable. He was beyond such feelings, such needs. He’d been certain they had died with Isabella.

  He stayed away from the tent long enough for Lucy to have fallen asleep, but finally resigned himself to joining her inside. They had many miles to cover on the morrow, and he needed to try for a few hours’ sleep.

  When he found Henry Bavent sitting near the smoldering fire, he pulled his leather tarpaulin from his pack and unfolded it.

  “This will keep the rain out of the fire.” Alex tossed one end to Henry and the two men strung it up in the trees.

  “I don’t mind the rain as long as it stays warm as it is.” Henry sat down beside the fire when the tarp was in place.

  “I’ll keep watch if you care to sleep, Master Henry.”

  The mummer shook his head. “Nay. ’Tis my duty tonight. Go find your woman and seek your rest,” he said, then added with a grin, “or your pleasure.”

  Alex rubbed the back of his neck, and as he approached the tent, he tried to think of an excuse to stay away.

  The tent flap was closed, and all was quiet within. Seeing no choice in the matter, Alex pulled his wet tunic over his head and lay it under the tarpaulin to dry near the fire. After giving a nod to Henry, he crawled into the tent.

  The fire cast a dim light upon the walls of the tent, so Alex could see Lucy lying on one side. As quietly as possible, he picked up his blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, then stretched out on the ground beside her.

  “Take your rest…or your pleasure,” Henry Bavent had said.

  He grunted and turned away from the woman, presenting her with his back. Not that she would notice, for she appeared to be sleeping soundly, which was more than Alex was likely to do this night. He doubted he would rest easily until he had left her at her destination.

  “…or your pleasure…”

  She made a small sound and Alex felt movement beside him. She must have turned over, for he sensed her body lying much closer now. ’Twas no wonder that thoughts of her were so often in his mind. All day, her hair had brushed his arms and grazed his nose. Her scent had inflamed him. And whenever she spoke, her husky voice fascinated him beyond reason.

  And that little brown mole…

  “…or your pleasure…”

  Alex sighed and moved away to the farthest edge of the tent.

  “You smell like the rain,” Lucy said when he stopped moving. Her voice felt thick with sleep, for she had almost drifted off when he’d come into the tent.

  She’d been thinking of Mathilde’s newborn, and all the strange, new things she’d learned about him tonight.

  “Did you know that when a bairn is newly born, there’s a cord that attaches him to his mama?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Oh!” He sounded as if ’twas something so commonplace that any fool would have known it. “I was so surprised by it.”

  “Go to sleep. You’ll need your rest before we ride tomorrow.”

  Silence blanketed them once again, though the rain came down harder than before. Lucy was grateful for the canvas tent that Emma had given them, though its small size made it necessary to sleep close to Sir Alexander once again.

  She had loved holding Mathilde’s bairn and had watched with wonder when the infant had suckled at his mother’s breast. Lucy would give anything to have a child of her own one day, to hold and suckle. And love.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she might bear a child before she’d had a chance to find a husband.

  “Might I get with child from lying with you, Sir Alex?” she said abruptly, concerned about what she’d been told over the years. “We’ve lain together twice—”

  He sat up abruptly, coughing. He was choking! Lucy moved close and struck his back several times.

  “Are you all righ—”

  “You cann
ot conceive by merely lying with a man,” he growled. She shifted her position to face him and then they were sitting knee to knee.

  “But Father Boucher said th—”

  “’Tis impossible,” Alex countered. “Whoever told you such a tale is…”

  She heard him take a deep breath, then he grabbed his blanket and lay down again.

  “Is what?” She remained sitting and watched him cross his hands over his chest. A few muttered words in Latin came to her ears.

  He did not answer her.

  She supposed this might not be a fitting subject to discuss with a man, but she was confused. Lady Elsbeth had spoken of some very strange practices that contradicted everything Father Boucher and the nuns ever said about procreation.

  “I did not believe Lady Elsbeth….” She whispered absently. But it must be true. Now that she’d seen Mathilde’s babe out of his swaddling, Elsbeth’s words made sense. She looked at Sir Alex and felt her face flush with heat when she thought of the babe’s male part and wondered if Sir Alex was similarly made. Certainly the thing would be much larger on a grown man, particularly a man of Alex’s size.

  Would it fit?

  Lucy wondered if, when they’d awakened in each other’s arms this morn, Alex would have done what Elsbeth had described. Though the act had seemed altogether distasteful and embarrassing when she’d first heard of it, Lucy had not felt degraded or uncomfortable when he’d pulled her close. She had not been embarrassed when he’d almost kissed her.

  ’Twas after he left that she’d felt embarrassed.

  “This morn,” she said, “when you…when we…” She hesitated, never more aware of the abbess’s admonitions to guard her tongue. Yet how was she to know and understand unless she asked questions? Sir Alex was clearly not inclined to offer her any enlightenment without her prodding, therefore, she must ask.

  She lay down and faced him, her body close enough to feel his warmth. Slightly breathless now, she felt overwarm remembering the details of their near tryst.