by Leila Snow
The knight glowered at him then pulled a hand-sized iron key from beneath his tunic and turned the key in the lock with a resounding thud. Tucking it back into his pocket he eyed Nathaniel who stood still, trying not to allow his teeth to chatter in dread at what fate awaited him.
"Sit," the knight ordered directly with a wave towards the pallet. "And don't move or I'll sharpen my blade on yer hide," he threatened, turning so Nathaniel could see the sword strapped to his side.
Having grown up in the castle, knights were commonplace to Nathaniel. In his humble opinion, they were all that was good and noble, protecting the castle for the benefit of all the inhabitants. Their terrifying fighting skills and ruthlessness were directed only at threats. Never before had they been directed at him.
* * *
Several hours passed in excruciating slowness before he heard an insistent knocking. The taciturn knight turned from his position at the window and strode to the door. He unlocked it and Nathaniel saw him nod and stand aside deferentially as Lord John ducked beneath the lintel to enter the guardroom. Nathaniel scrambled to his feet and prepared himself for the lord's impending verdict.
John of Alwinsopp was a red-headed bear of a man. Standing taller than most men, he was a formidable opponent who trained with his knights regularly. He had a fierce temper to match the red hair but he was also known, by those he ruled over, as being a fair overlord. He hadn't ever paid Nathaniel much attention despite the fact that he spent a considerable amount of time with his only child. But he was certainly paying notice to Nathaniel now. He could feel the man's eyes boring a hole in him as he stood at the doorway.
"Nathaniel," Lord John finally broke the silence.
He nodded and met his lord's bold eye contact.
"Perhaps you should begin by explaining the occurrences of this day."
"Please, my Lord, firstly may I enquire as to Lady Madeline's health?" he questioned, desperate to know how she fared.
"She is resting comfortably," her father informed him. "Nurse says she expects a full recovery."
"Thanks be to our Lord," Nathaniel swore softly, his relief clearly etched on his face.
Lord John's hard expression softened towards the boy.
"Indeed. I am informed that today's outcome is directly due to your actions," he stated, staring searchingly at the young man standing stoically before of him.
"I have ever striven to protect Lady Madeline, my Lord," Nathaniel explained, shoulders slumped. "Today I failed."
"On the contrary, boy. The outcome would have been much different but for your bravery and bold action. Lady Madeline has told me the course of events and I am deeply grateful that you were with her when such a danger arose. We are in your debt."
Nathaniel's eyes widened incredulously. "But I allowed that villain to put his hands on her..." he broke off.
"There will always be dangers in our lives, Nathaniel," the older man reasoned with him. "We are to be considered fortunate if we have strong, brave friends to defend us in those moments. You have been that to Lady Madeline and we would like to offer you reward for that service."
"It is nothing, my Lord, I would fight a hundred men to protect her," the boy vowed with all the sincerity of youth.
Lord John's eyes crinkled at the corners in a rare smile. "Perhaps then you would like to begin training as a knight so that you will be even better prepared to fight those hundred men? Alwinsopp can always use another brave loyal knight to protect it. What say you?"
Nathaniel swallowed. He had long dreamed of becoming a knight. A wispy dream, merely the longings of a servant boy for something as out of his grasp as it was out of Madeline's.
"Truly?" he questioned, standing very still, barely daring to breathe or hope.
"You will start as a squire of course, as all others, but I have no doubt the day will come when I will accept your oath of fealty and present you with your sword," Lord John assured him.
Nathaniel sank to his knees before the man. More mature than his meager years afforded, he swore solemnly, "I will be honoured to serve you and your household thus for the remainder of my days."
Another smile creased Lord John's face. "Most excellent. Well done, boy. Now, Lady Madeline insists she would like a word with you in her solar. And we both know it won’t do to disappoint her. If you make haste you will be able to attend her before we sup."
Nathaniel rose and bowed briefly to the lord before rushing headlong out of the room and down the circular staircase. He didn't stop running until he arrived at the door of Madeline's solar. Slamming to a halt, he took a brief moment to take a breath and to run his fingers through his tousled, blonde hair before lifting his fist to knock upon the wood of the door.
Madeline's nurse opened it and beckoned him inside. Madeline reclined on a chaise before the fireplace that held a small blaze, lit to keep the chill from the air. Her nurse grinned fondly at the boy and then settled herself back into the chair she had clearly just vacated, as evidenced by the embroidery left resting on its arm.
"Nathaniel!" Madeline cried, spying him. "Come sit with me. Nursey says I may not get up, although I am perfectly well."
"Nursey is correct, once again," Nathaniel agreed as he neared, eyeing the goose egg visible just below her hairline. He could see the nurse nod smugly out of the corner of his eye.
Madeline shrugged but didn't argue, which told him her head was hurting worse than she let on.
She reached up to undo the clasp of the chain that held the intricately wrought, filigreed gold pendant around her neck. A large emerald consumed the centre of the jewellery, glowing faintly in the firelight. She clutched it in her hand briefly then pressed it into Nathaniel's palm.
"This is my most precious thing, Nate. Papa gave it to me. He said the emerald reminded him of my eyes. I want you to have it."
He shook his head, smiling gently at her. "It's not for me, Madeline. You keep it. That you are safe is enough."
He could see the stubborn set to her chin before she spoke. "Nate, don't you know it's not very knightly to refuse a lady's request."
Nathaniel shook his head again. "It was a gift from your father."
"Please Nate, I want you to have it. Papa said I may and it will make me happy," she insisted.
Never had he been able to refuse her anything and so, gazing down at the beautiful piece of jewellery in his hand and the brilliant gemstone that did remind him of her eyes, he promised, "It is very special. I will cherish it forever, Linny."
All thoughts, all passions,
all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.
~Samuel Taylor Coleridge
CHAPTER 2
10 years later...
"Catch me, Nate!" the girl laughed as she rode hell-bent for leather across the moor, her dark auburn curls streaming behind her. The emerald green of her eyes sparkling merrily as she threw a glance over her shoulder at the man who followed more calmly on his big warhorse. The gelding's long legs easily kept up with the shorter strides of Madeline's spirited mare. The spring sun blessed their uncovered heads with its warmth and the newly budded flowers surrounding them on the hillside reached towards its light. The smell of new grass and sunshine hung in the air like the most precious of perfumes on this fine day, whilst her contagious laughter rang out as she thundered down the verdant slope of the hill, dodging placid, grazing sheep as she raced on. Neither the sheep nor the nearby villagers were surprised by the twosome, as common a sight as they were.
Clods of dirt flew from her horse's hooves as she raced him to the base of the plateau upon which Alwinsopp stood in guard of the surrounding countryside. At the edge of the woods, she reined her blowing horse to a spinning stop and sat there waiting for Nathaniel to catch up. Her eyes were sparkling and she wore a mocking grin plastered across her pretty face.
"Nate!" she exclaimed. "You let me win didn't you?"
Her companion grinned his lopsided smile at her. His shaggy blond hair mussed from the wild ride. "Now what sort of a knight would I be if I defeated a lady at the competition of her choice?" he questioned jokingly.
"Damn!" the young woman swore. "I knew it."
"Now, now," he admonished her with a playful wink. "Is that any way for an elegant lady of the manor to speak?"
"Ugh!" she groaned. "Don't remind me. I sat with mother all morning working on that tapestry which she is determined to finish before advent. I have no idea how she sits at it for so many hours. It is such tedious work. Thank heavens I managed to escape. And it's about time you had a rest from all the training you've been doing of late." She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at Nathaniel. "Papa has you training the new squires now, doesn't he?"
"He does," Nathaniel agreed. "I value the trust he's put in me."
"Of course he trusts you," Madeline defended loyally. "Who better? You are the biggest, the strongest, the fastest, and the most skilled with a sword."
Nathaniel ducked his head, sheepishly uncomfortable with compliments as always.
Madeline threw her head back and laughed. Then more soberly she said, "Papa requested to speak to me before the evening meal. He seemed rather serious."
Nathaniel held his tongue. He had a strong inclination as to the topic for discussion. Madeline was eighteen now, a girl no longer. A fact he couldn't stop noticing lately. She was a beautiful young woman, curvaceous, and exuding a sensuality she didn't even realize she possessed. She was past the usual age for marrying and if she thought her father had given up on parading eligible young men before her, Nathaniel was not fooled. Lord John was aging and hadn't healed properly since a jousting accident some years earlier. He would want to make sure that Madeline, his only daughter, was well-matched and taken care of before age and injury bested him.
Several nights earlier, Nathaniel had overheard a couple of the guards on watch-duty discussing the Lord's daughter's attributes rather crudely. They wouldn't be inclined to speak about her so in the future after the broken noses he had given them, but Madeline needed a husband to protect her when her father no longer could. Such was the way of the world. She would marry and leave the keep and Nate would lose a part of his heart.
"Remember," Madeline spoke, jostling him out of his gloomy thoughts. "This is the place where you saved me."
"I could never forget," he answered, amused. "You do mention it every time we come this way."
"I know," Madeline smiled. "I like to remember that day."
"I personally would rather forget it," he replied, grinning. "I was terrified."
"You were just a boy," she reminisced. "And yet you saved me. I've never been afraid with you nearby, Nate." He was far from the youth he had been, having continued to grow long after the other boys his age had stopped. He was a head taller than any of the other knights, significantly taller even than her own father. He had filled out too. The constant training and sparring having built muscle upon muscle until he never would have been recognized as that young boy, except for his warm blue eyes and his lopsided grin that had never changed.
"You've never been afraid, period," he joked, unaware of her perusal.
"I'll never admit it," Madeline laughed. "Well, it's getting late and I must get back to Father or he'll be cross and that won't be a good start to this conversation of his."
She spun her horse expertly and dug her heels into the mare's sides sending her galloping back up the slope of the hill.
Nathaniel sat for a few moments watching her go. She would fight tooth and nail any match her father had arranged. She should have picked one of the many suitors who had vied for her hand these last few years but she'd sent them all away saying none of them measured up. Measured up to what, she hadn't said. Nate doubted even she knew, but she had been determined not to marry any of them. He had been grateful at the time, unable to face losing her just yet, despite knowing it was inevitable. She was the daughter of the lord and although he'd become a knight and was widely respected, he wasn't fool enough to imagine her father would ever accept anyone other than a well-landed peer for his only daughter. Never mind, that for her part, Madeline still treated him as an older brother, unaware that his feelings for her had changed to something considerably less brotherly.
Kicking his horse, he followed her back up the hill.
* * *
Madeline changed out of her soiled riding clothes quickly before rushing to the solar to meet with her father. She realized as she stood outside the heavy wooden door that she'd forgotten to tidy her hair yet again. Papa would give her another of his patient frowns and tease her about it. She knew that he coddled her and her mother was always complaining that he was much too lenient with her hoydenish ways, but he had never had a male heir and Madeline knew that he took some pride in her more unconventional abilities. He had even insisted, after the incident in the forest ten years earlier, that she be instructed in the finer arts of swordmanship.
There was no way she would be able to get her hair back into the customary braided arrangement by herself now, so she smoothed it back and knocked at the door to the solar.
"Enter." She heard her father's voice sound from inside the room.
She pushed the door open to find him sitting behind his desk pouring over a sheaf of papers. His bailiff stood nearby. Lord John hated the small details of running the lands he was responsible for. As much as possible he left the mundane details to his bailiff and his steward, preferring, before his injury, to train with the knights or to be out on the land seeing to the practical aspects of managing the vast estate. He wasn't able to do as much since a lance had broken his leg badly at a jousting competition. He now walked with a pronounced limp and the wound remained open and festering, leaving the big man in constant pain.
"Good eve Papa." Madeline greeted her father with a brief curtsey. "You had asked to speak with me before we supped."
"Ah, yes, Madeline," her father said, looking up from his paperwork. He dismissed the bailiff with a gesture towards the door and leaned back in his chair, wincing slightly as he stretched his bad leg out.
"Is it bothering you overly much?" Madeline asked, concerned at the lines that etched themselves on her father's rugged face. He was beginning to look old, she noticed with surprise and dismay.
"No more than usual, my girl," he answered, dismissing her concern. "Now, I will just come out and say it, although I know you won't be happy to hear what I have to tell you. Your mother is right, I have been too lenient with you, at least in this matter. But no longer, you will do as I say because I am your father and it will be done whether you like it or not."
"Of what do you speak, Papa?" Madeline questioned cautiously, suddenly nervous.
"Your marrying," he returned succinctly.
Madeline chuckled, relieved. They'd had this conversation many a-time.
"Papa, I will marry. Just not yet."
"No. Madeline. You will marry. And you will marry very soon," he responded without a trace of amusement on his ruddy face.
Madeline stilled. "I'm not interested in any of the boys who have come begging for my hand, Father."
"What of the men who have come? Some of them good men. You haven't been interested in them either," he retorted, his patience with her seemingly exhausted.
"No. None of them measure up," she explained for the hundredth time.
"Measure up to what? What are you measuring them against?" he boomed at her, rising slightly in his seat.
"Well, I don't know exactly," she replied, unsure herself.
"Enough is enough, Madeline! You are past the age when you should be married. I begin to think this leg will be the death of me and there will be no one to protect you when I am gone. You will be a pawn in a dangerous game."
"Don't speak like that Father," Madeline begged. "You are still a young man."
"Not as young as I once was," he grumbled, his leg paining him fiercely. "It is no use arguing, Madelin
e. If you were not such a stubborn woman you would see that you have no choice in the matter. Shortly you will pass from my keeping to that of your husband, willing or not. The contract has already been drawn up and signed. The notice of betrothal will be posted on the chapel door ere long." He laid his hand on the papers before him.
Madeline blanched and dropped into the wooden chair before her father's desk, the skirts of her kirtle pooling about her feet. It was done then. Disbelief warred within her. A cold anger rose up in her chest and she resisted the childish urge to stomp her slippered foot. But when she met her sire's matching green-eyed glare, she knew that there would be no putting him off or changing his mind this time. He was stubborn when he had decided on a course of action.
"Who?" she asked weakly.
"Lord Endle," he answered.
"The earl?" she questioned again. "I don't recall him among the men who came offering suit."
"He didn't come," her father explained impatiently. "He wrote me. He needs a wife. Lost his years ago and had no heirs. I assume he is now realizing that time is of the essence and he needs a young wife to produce a son."
"But he's old!" Madeline spat out incredulously.
"He's about my age, a bit younger actually," her father responded, becoming weary of her obstinacy. "He is an excellent match for you. I remind you that he is an earl. A very wealthy man and very well connected at court. He was fast-friends with the king's father and we all know the young king is enamoured of those who were loyal to his father. You should be grateful we managed to get such a good match for you at your age."
"He's an old man!" Madeline repeated more forcefully. "You can't expect me to marry someone who is old enough to be my father."
"I can and I do," her father declared, banging his fist on his desk. "The contract is already signed, as I said. Lord Endle will be arriving on the heels of Lammastide, once the harvest has been drawn in. You will do your duty as my daughter and you will not embarrass this family, am I clear?" he shouted at her, his ruddy face reddening in his frustration.
