Knight of Westmoorland: The Queen and the warrior

by Toboorg, M. S.

  “Ah. At twelve, she will be old enough to work at the castle. Your brother-in-law is a blacksmith, just as your father was. Your sister is a seamstress. Some would think it a great opportunity for Katherine to work at the castle. And you could make it happen. Will you?” Placing her hands on her knees, she leaned further towards him. “Will you use your influence as a Knight to get your niece employed at the castle?”

  The warrior stared at Queen Gracelyn. He didn’t know how she knew so much about him, but the idea of his niece living under the King’s roof made his blood seethe. “Never!” he snapped, with more vehemence than he’d intended.

  Nodding, the Queen settled back in her chair. Her smile was both satisfied and sad. “You do know your King. Is he still up to his old ways? Or has Jenna put a stop to it?”

  “Huh.” He scoffed. “Queen Jenna either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.”

  “Oh, she knows. I guarantee it.” She crossed her arms over her bosoms. “And she cares. But Jenna is smart. She knows that, until she produces an heir for the throne, she is dispensable. Once she gives William a child—especially a son—he will find out. Jenna is much tougher than she appears.”

  The warrior’s frown deepened and Queen Gracelyn sat forward again.

  “What? Is she with child?”

  He shook his head slightly. “I…I don’t know. There’s been no announcement, but…there is a rumor…”

  “If she is, I imagine she has already talked with some of his advisors, to get them on her side.”

  Closing his eyes, he licked his lips. His head was pounding and the sunlight in the room hurt his eyes. He felt the Queen’s hand on his forehead.

  “You look flushed. And you’re warm. Your fever is up again. Water?”

  He nodded; his eyes still closed, he drank from the mug she held to his lips.

  “I’ve upset you. I’m sorry. When it comes to William…” She sighed. “He brings out the worst in me. Here.”

  Opening his eyes, he saw she had the medicine bottle in her hand, close to his mouth. He turned his head away. “No. I don’t want it.”

  “Are you sure?” She hesitated. “You need to rest.”

  He shook his head. “No, I need…I need…” He needed his questions answered, but he was having trouble forming a coherent thought.

  Queen Gracelyn returned the bottle to the table and then retrieved the damp rag and stroked his face with it.

  “Shh, my warrior. You need to rest. And I need to think.”

  She dragged her chair to the window and curled up in it.

  The warrior closed his eyes, but sleep was difficult. Thoughts swirled around in his head. Was the Queen going to resume his torture? Would she resort to putting him on the Rack? How did she know of his niece?

  And the most agonizing thought of all. The Queen knew about his lineage. Or rather, lack thereof.

  Chapter Seven

  THE YOUNG WARRIOR LEFT THE confines of the church for the cool night air of the gardens. Here, carefully tended roses surrounded him and their fragrance filled his senses. It was a place of peacefulness. He longed for peace, for he had much on his mind.

  He was dressed all in white: his pants and tunic, even the cape that draped his shoulders. All made from the finest of materials.

  His stomach growled and he rubbed it. There would be no food for him now. This night was for fasting and prayerful solitude.

  Tomorrow, he would become a Knight!

  His heart pounded at the thought. So much responsibility. And with it, came opportunity.

  But was he worthy? Most of the other knights didn’t think so. He was of humble birth. His father was a blacksmith. The best in the land, but still…just a blacksmith. Not a Lord. Many of the knights had spent the week in protest against his impending knighthood.

  In his mind, he rebelled against their protests. His ability with a sword, a mace or a lance equaled the best of them. And in hand-to-hand combat, he had an instinct that many of them lacked. He WAS their equal, on the battlefield or in the arena.

  And yet…he’d seen enough to know, there was more to being a knight than just being a skilled warrior. A knight also needed social graces. And in that area, he was barely competent. He knew how to be a gentleman; his mother had taught him politeness and manners. But the other knights had an aptitude for chivalry that he lacked. For him, it was learned behavior. For them, it was nature.

  But did that mean he didn’t belong? Was their blood not red, the same as his? Was his courage not pure, as theirs was?

  He sank down onto a stone bench and raised his eyes heavenward. He had this opportunity because of his father. When the warrior was but an infant, his father had been in the right place, at the right time. Putting himself in danger, he had saved a boy from a runaway horse, only discovering after the deed was done that the boy was the young Prince William himself. King Edward had expressed his gratitude, offering the blacksmith a reward. He could have gold, jewels, land; he only had to name it.

  The only reward the blacksmith wanted was that his own son, when of age, be given the chance to earn his knighthood.

  The warrior had heard the story many times, how his father had procured for him the chance to earn his knighthood. This was his father’s dream.

  And he HAD earned it. He had proven himself worthy of the Knighthood. In his mind, he knew it was true.

  But convincing his heart was another matter.

  His heart only knew one thing: Worthy or not, becoming a knight meant he could approach Queen Gracelyn.

  Nearly three years had passed since the day he returned her cape, when she’d gazed in his eyes and captured his heart. He had seen her many times in those years, but as a squire, he could only watch from a distance. He couldn’t speak to her. Each time she met his eyes and smiled, he ached to approach her, to speak to her, to declare his love.

  As a knight, he would be able to do so. The privileges of knighthood included the right to approach guest Nobles and Royalty.

  He heard a footstep on the cobblestones behind him and looked up. Who could be coming to join him? Tradition required that he pass this night alone.

  His lips parted in surprise. King William had entered the garden. Only the king could break tradition, if he so desired.

  The young warrior rose to his feet to drop down on one knee. He bowed his head. “Sire. You honor me with your presence, but…I don’t understand.”

  The king waved his hand dismissively and sat on the bench. “Sit, boy. We have something to discuss.”

  Sitting down on the other end of the bench, the warrior kept his head bowed. The king had never addressed him personally. His heart pounded.

  King William got straight to the point. “Knighting you goes against everything I believe. Only sons of nobility should be knighted. I never expected you to succeed. But,” the king sighed. “You have. You have proven to be an exceptional warrior. I would be foolish if I didn’t swear your allegiance to Westmoorland. And my father gave his word. I will keep it. But I want to make something perfectly clear.”

  The warrior raised only his eyes and found the king’s hard gaze upon him. He quickly lowered his eyes again, anxiety clenching his empty stomach in its fist.

  “You were born a blacksmith’s son and so shall you die. You will NEVER be nobility. You will NOT enjoy the privileges of a nobleman’s son.” The king’s voice became harsher with every word he spoke. “You will NOT approach a Lady, nor, heaven forbid, any visiting Royalty.”

  Raising his eyes again, the warrior faced his king in defiance. “But Sire, that is the privilege of a knight.” He struggled to keep his tone quiet, in contrast with the determination burning in his eyes.

  King William pounded his fist on the bench between them. He made no effort to keep his voice soft. “It is the privilege of
a knight because he is Nobility, NOT because he is a knight! If you DARE to approach a woman above the status of your birth, you will regret it. Remember this, boy. You are NOT WORTHY!”

  His heart in his throat, the warrior watched his king stride away from him.

  The warrior awoke to pain. He winced, gasping, and his eyes flew open.

  Gaius was applying ointment to the few still-damaged areas on his chest. The Queen stood by the dark window. She held her place, comforting him with a smile.

  Gaius bandaged the places, patted the warrior’s leg and then nodded at the Queen before leaving the room.

  Queen Gracelyn approached his side and brushed his hair off his forehead.

  “Water?” She offered him the mug and he drank from it.

  Replacing the mug on the table, she sank into her chair and stared at her hands with a troubled frown. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m…I’m all right.” It bothered him that she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Do you need some potion?”

  He shook his head. “No.” The pain was fading.

  “I upset you, yesterday, I know. And I don’t want to upset you again, but…” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on his bed and finally looking at him. “I need you to know the truth.”

  He nodded encouragement, not knowing what to say but wondered at her choice of words.

  Her eyes drifted away from his face. Gazing into the corner of the room, she took a breath.

  “My father died when I was just sixteen. I inherited the throne. Almost immediately, I received an invitation to visit Westmoorland. King Edward had died six months earlier and William wanted us to re-sign the peace agreement. Or so he said.

  “I was still mourning my father, but…I thought that visiting William, who had just gone through the same thing, would bring me some comfort. And it was my first trip as Queen. Though I was sad, I was also…excited.”

  She stood up and began to pace, her face twisted with emotion.

  “My first night there, after I retired to my chambers, there was a knock on my door. It was William! He said he wanted to make sure I needed for nothing. He was so…so charming…and caring, I let him enter. I didn’t know! I was such a fool, but…I didn’t know!”

  She stopped at the foot of his bed and looked at him, her cheeks streaked with tears, the horror of remembrance in her eyes.

  The warrior’s chest felt tight. He watched her as she returned to pacing.

  “He forced himself on me. I told him no! I told him to stop! But…he wouldn’t.” Queen Gracelyn covered her face with her hands, standing still while a shudder ripped through her body.

  Rage coursed through the warrior. His hands curled into fists and he pulled at the chains restraining him.

  The Queen raised her head, taking a deep breath. Her voice trembled only slightly when she resumed. “When he was done, before he left my room, he said…he told me, if I wanted to keep peace between our realms, I would not tell him no, again. So I didn’t. For a while, I avoided going back to Westmoorland, but then…” She gazed at him, her eyes intense, and then shrugged. “I needed to keep peace with William. I was a young queen. So, I continued my visits and each time…each night…” She shuddered again.

  The warrior twisted in the bed, anger burning in him, hotter than the fire that had tortured him in the dungeon. Anger at King William. Anger at himself. It had never occurred to him that her trysts with his King had been anything less than consensual on her part. “I’m sorry,” he moaned. “I didn’t know…”

  She returned to his bedside, wiping his face with the damp rag. “Of course you didn’t. How could you have? And even if you had, what could you have done?”

  He gazed at her, tormented by his memories of standing in the hall. If he’d known…

  “But…why did you visit so often? Knowing what would happen?”

  Sighing, she stroked his cheek with her fingertips. “I…I had my reasons. But now you see. When William announced his betrothal to Jenna, I wasn’t angry. I was relieved! I thought…with young Jenna in his bedchamber…I would be safe.”

  The warrior shook his head, remembering the last time Queen Gracelyn visited Westmoorland. “You weren’t.”

  “No, I wasn’t. And it angered me. His bride just down the hall and still he comes after me! I told him in no uncertain terms…he’d touched me for the last time.”

  She sank down into the chair, her face pale. “I left for home the next day and…two months later, he voided the peace agreement.”

  “Do you…” He paused, licking his lips. “Do you think King William had the streams dammed, himself?”

  “I don’t know,” she responded softly, her eyes telling him the idea wasn’t new to her. “I only know I didn’t.” She reached for the rag, caressing his face with it. “I have upset you again. I’m sorry, but…I needed you to know the truth.”

  Again, he wondered at her choice of words. “It’s all right,” he insisted. “I’m glad you told me.”

  Without asking, she reached for the water and held it to his lips. He drank his fill and then watched her as she set the mug down. Her hands were trembling.

  “Queen Gracelyn…” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “How do you know of my niece? My…family?”

  Smiling, she laid her hand on his arm. “I know much about you…Sir Declan.”

  His eyes widened and his mouth gaped. She even knew his name!

  She laughed softly. “Many years ago, on a visit to Westmoorland, the wind stole the cape from my shoulders. A young soldier rescued it, before it touched the ground, and returned it on bended knee.”

  “You…you remember that?” His heart was pounding out of his wounded ribcage.

  “Oh, yes! Your hair was about the length it is now. You cut it short when you became a Knight. I like it better long…” Leaning over, she played with the curls of hair on his pillow. “Strong and handsome. Brash and yet…humble.” She trailed her finger softly down his side. “You haven’t changed much.”

  She sat back in her chair, her eyes bright, though her face was still drawn and pale. “My manservant, Raleigh, always accompanied me to Westmoorland and the other Knights talked freely in front of him, as if he wasn’t there. Some of them were friendly and talked to him. It wasn’t hard for him to get the information I wanted.

  “I know about your father saving King William, when he was a boy. I know how hard you worked as a squire, to earn your Knighthood.” She frowned slightly. “I know how the other men treated you, how they fought against you becoming a knight. But in the end, not one of them could honestly say you were not worthy. I know some of them still resent you, but all in all, you have earned their respect.”

  He closed his eyes and turned his head, his cheeks flushing. He wondered if she also knew about the many lovers he’d taken, in his pointless attempt to banish her from his heart.

  He felt her hand on his forehead.

  “You have a slight fever again. I need to let you rest.”

  He opened his eyes, insisting, “No. It isn’t that. I want to talk—”

  The Queen pressed her finger to his lips. “We’ve talked enough for tonight. You need to rest, my warrior Declan.”

  He was dreaming. The sky was blue and the sun was hot on his face as he laid on a blanket in a meadow. Rising up on his elbow, he looked around.

  Queen Gracelyn was several feet away, picking the tall wild flowers that covered the ground. He watched her, feeling the heat of the sun warm his body. She looked up and smiled at him with a wave of her hand.

  Joining him, she held the stem of a flower, stroking the petals across his face.

  “The sun is so hot,” he murmured.

  “Yes, it is.” The flower transformed into a damp rag, as she continued to caress his fac
e with it. “Shh. Rest.”

  He didn’t want to rest. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her down beside him, nuzzling his face in her hair.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

  “Shh, my warrior. Rest.”

  Sighing, he raised his hand to touch her face, his chest tight with emotion.

  “I love you, my Queen. My beautiful Queen Gracelyn. I have always loved you and I always will.”

  “Shhh. Declan, you must rest…”

  The morning sun was bright, shining in the window, when the warrior opened his eyes. He turned immediately to the chair beside his bed.

  It was empty.

  Frantically, he searched the chamber for her.

  She wasn’t there.

  Gaius sat at the table across the room, flipping through a book and scribbling notes.

  “Gaius…?” His voice was hoarse; his throat was parched.

  The physician jumped up, knocking his chair over, and ran across the room. “You are awake. How do you feel?” As he asked, he pressed the back of his hand against the warrior’s forehead. “Your fever is staying down, I think. That’s a good sign.”

  “I feel…tired.” He felt weaker than he’d felt in days. “Where is the Queen?”

  Gaius studied him a moment and then reached for the mug. “Water?”

  It surprised the warrior that he needed the old man’s help to raise his head from the pillow. He drank the offered water quickly and then asked again. “Gaius, where is she? Is she all right?”

  Gaius returned the mug to the table. “Do you remember very much about last night?”

  He frowned, thinking. “I remember…talking with Queen Gracelyn, after you bandaged my chest…” He remembered that conversation clearly.