Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2)

by Walker, Regan

  Geoff stepped into the great hall where sunlight sifted through the shuttered windows to cast pale streams of light onto the herbed rushes strewn on the floor. Built less than a year before, it still smelled of new wood. But stronger was the spicy aroma of mutton stew. His mouth watered as he imagined tender chunks of meat in rich sauce and butter dripping from a thick slice of bread. Suddenly he was starving.

  “I suppose ye have a yearning for some of me stew after all yer swordplay,” observed Maggie coming toward him, a twinkle in her green eyes.

  As Talisand’s cook, the plump Maggie held a special place in his heart. When he and the Red Wolf had arrived to claim Talisand the year before, Maggie was the first of the English to accept them, mayhap the only one at the beginning. That her husband was the blacksmith rendered the pair indispensable. To knights who wore chain mail, fought with blades of steel and rode iron-shod warhorses, the blacksmith was most valuable, a good one, like Maggie’s husband, highly prized.

  “A picture of your stew has been with me all morn, Maggie, but I must see the Red Wolf before I eat.” Sir Renaud de Pierrepont was the Earl of Talisand by King William’s decree, but Geoff still thought of him as he’d known him years before, the knight named for the beast he had slain with his bare hands.

  Before Geoff could head toward the Red Wolf’s chamber, Maugris approached, his ancient blue eyes shining out of his weathered face framed by gray hair that was ever in disarray. A Norman, who had come with them to England more than two years before, Maugris was neither a soldier nor a servant, nor the wizard the people of Talisand had at first thought him. He was a wise man and a seer who directed his own fate. It struck Geoff then, as it always did, how nimble the old man was in both mind and body. Maugris had been the first of them to learn the English tongue.

  Geoff’s gaze shifted to the door of the bedchamber where the Red Wolf lay.

  “Lady Serena is with the earl just now,” Maugris informed him. “’Twould be best to eat first.”

  “I suppose you speak wisdom,” Geoff muttered as he stretched his hands toward the hearth fire.

  “Why not join me at the table?” Maugris suggested.

  Though anxious to see his friend, Geoff grunted his agreement and headed for the high table.

  “Sit yerself down,” insisted Maggie, “and I’ll see ye both have some stew.”

  He and Maugris took their seats.

  “How is he, Maggie?” Geoff inquired, his brow furrowed in worry as he again looked toward the bedchamber where Renaud was recovering from a wound all were concerned could lead to a deadly fever.

  “None too pleased, I expect. ’Twas worse than he pretended. He is already growling at being so confined, but Lady Serena rightly insists he stay abed.”

  Maggie disappeared into the kitchen and a servant brought trenchers with bowls of stew and bread and butter to join the pitchers of ale already on the table.

  Geoff speared a piece of mutton from his stew with his knife.

  Maugris reached for the bread. “The Red Wolf is not used to being injured or mayhap I should say he is unused to acknowledging his injuries. Lady Serena has forced him to do so.”

  “’Twas a bad riding accident that,” muttered Geoff, remembering the fall Renaud had taken from his stallion a few days before when the horse had stepped into a hole and fallen. “His Spanish stallion is none the better for it, either.”

  “Belasco will recover, as will his master.”

  “Have you seen that in one of your visions?” Geoff asked, only slightly amused, for he desperately wanted assurance Ren would be well.

  Maugris took a sip of his ale. “Nay, but I know the Red Wolf and his Spanish stallion. Both will recover in time.”

  Knowing Maugris was never wrong, Geoff’s spirits lifted. “And I will be thanking God when that day arrives.”

  He cut a large piece of bread with his knife and slathered it with butter. It was nearly to his mouth when, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Serena, Countess of Talisand, coming toward them from the chamber at the base of the stairs, her flaxen hair covered now that she was wed. Beneath the headcloth were two long plaits trailing down the front of her violet gown.

  Round with the child she would deliver in the spring, Serena walked slowly to the dais. “Good day to you both.”

  Geoff set down his bread and he and Maugris rose as one and bowed.

  “My lady,” Geoff said, helping her to her seat.

  Once settled, Serena rested a hand on the mound of her belly. “’Tis fortuitous my lord cannot climb the stairs and must be confined to the lower chamber as I will soon be unable to climb them myself.”

  “’Twill not be long now,” observed Maugris. “The coming of April will see the Red Wolf with his first cub.”

  “I look forward to the day he arrives, Maugris,” she returned, casting the old man a kindly glance. “I cannot sleep for this babe’s kicking in the night.”

  A servant set a trencher before Serena, but she must have been thinking of her husband, for she only picked at her food.

  “What news from the messenger, my lady?” asked Geoff, eager to hear. “Did your husband happen to say?”

  “Yea, but I would have him tell you himself. When you finish your meal, he will likely be ready for you and Maugris. Just now his bandage is being changed and he’s snarling like the wolf whose name he bears. The leg pains him greatly but he tries to hide it.”

  Geoff finished his stew quickly, knowing the other knights would soon be coming in for the midday meal. Since the king had left a contingent of knights and men-at-arms with them, it was always crowded in the hall at meals. Rising, he bowed to Serena, “With your permission—”

  She waved him off. “Go. He will be shouting for you soon enough.”

  “Come, wise one,” said Geoff turning to Maugris. “Your counsel will surely be needed.”

  “Do not be in such haste to hear unpleasant news,” chided the old one as he slowly rose from the table, the folds of his dark woolen tunic loose about his thin frame.

  “I did not need your visions to know it would be unpleasant,” Geoff protested. “When I saw the messenger ride in through the gate, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Things around her have too long been quiet.”

  Together they crossed the hall and entered the bedchamber sometimes used for visiting nobles. The king himself had stayed there only last year. At one end of the chamber was a large velvet-curtained bed where the Red Wolf was propped up on a mound of pillows, staring out the unshuttered window, frowning.

  “Ren?”

  The Red Wolf turned his glower on Geoff. “’Tis a dark day that has brought me news from Durham. It will take you back to York, my friend.”

  “York?” blurted Geoff. “It has not been a year since we were there and William built his castle. What has happened in Durham that would take me back to York?”

  Ren lifted himself onto the pillows, wincing. His chestnut hair fell over his forehead as he slowly let out a breath. “It was as I suspected when we left York last year. The Northumbrians slinked away into the forests, taking their will to rebel with them.”

  “Have they returned?” asked Geoff.

  “Not to York as far as I know but I believe ’twill be soon. When William replaced Cospatric with Robert de Comines as Earl of Northumbria, it appears our sire made a bad choice.”

  “He is a Fleming,” muttered Geoff. “We have seen what the Flemish mercenaries did in the South. They came not to settle as we did, but to pillage.”

  “Aye, ’twould seem Robert de Comines’ men were of the same cloth,” declared Ren. “A fortnight ago, the new earl and his mercenaries cut a swath of misery and death on their way north to Durham.”

  “Mon Dieu,” Geoff hissed. “Northumbria will again be in turmoil.”

  “The news is worse.” Ren’s frown deepened. “When the word of Comines’ ravaging the countryside reached the men of Durham, they thought to flee but a heavy snow blocked their retreat, fo
rcing them to fight. They set fire to the house where Comines was staying. Those of the earl’s retinue that did not perish in the blaze died by the sword—including the earl.”

  “Merde!” Geoff cursed. “What a fool Comines was to let his mercenaries loose on the town. ’Tis no surprise the people rose against him.”

  “The messenger hinted of rumors that have spread following the uprising. Edgar the Ætheling, the one the English consider heir to the throne, is on the move. Word has it he has left his refuge in Scotland, accompanied by Cospatric and that rich Dane, Maerleswein. I suppose they are encouraged by what happened in Durham.”

  “Did the messenger say where they were headed?”

  “The rumors say York.”

  Maugris, who had been silently listening, spoke, his wizened voice sounding like a harbinger of doom. “Ancient enemies have come together to rise against a common foe.”

  “So it would seem,” Geoff murmured in resigned acceptance. “And we Frenchmen are the foe.”

  “As you might expect,” said Ren, “William summons us to York, along with his knights and men-at-arms we shelter. You must lead them, Geoff, for I cannot.”

  Regret flickered in the eyes of his friend. Geoff recognized it for he would have felt the same had he been forced to stay behind. “I will gladly go in your stead.”

  The Red Wolf nodded his acceptance of what he could not change. “Do you remember William Malet, my old friend who fought with us at Hastings?”

  “Aye, I remember him,” replied Geoff. “William appointed him Sheriff of York just as we left the city last year.”

  “No doubt he will be pleased to see you with what he is facing.” Ren stared into space once again, seeing something Geoff did not. “His hands will be full if the Northumbrians rise under Edgar’s banner. The thegns of York have been waiting for the young Ætheling to return. He will draw many to their cause.”

  “William will stand for no king in England save himself,” Geoff insisted.

  Ren shook his head in dismay. “Yea, and York is important to our sovereign. The messenger said William already marches north. He will have a battle on his hands when he gets there. I thought it a possibility when his victory at York last year came too easily. The Northumbrians with their Danish connections may yet hope to carve out a northern kingdom as they did in the past.”

  “If that be true, the people of York have much to fear,” replied Geoff. “It will not be pleasant for them when William arrives to exact his revenge. Does Lady Serena know?”

  “Aye, she knows, and is none too pleased that the people of York are threatened by William’s army. You know well how she feels about our sire.”

  From behind Geoff, Maugris spoke. “William is a great king, but terrible in his wrath. He cares more for his crown and his treasures than the people he would rule. I fear for him on Judgment Day when the Master of the Heavens holds him accountable for his cruelty and his slaying of little ones.”

  “Little ones?” Geoff protested. “I have yet to see William’s knights raise their swords against children.”

  Maugris’ eyes fixed on some unknown point as he gazed out the window. “In my visions I have seen it. And though horrible, it did not surprise me. When defied, William can become a great destroyer, ripping off limbs, blinding eyes and laying waste to all in his path. This time, William will show the people of York no mercy.”

  Geoff knew Maugris saw things the rest of them did not, but he remembered the mercy William had shown the year before when he entered York and left behind a castle and a garrison of knights. “I hope such can be avoided.”

  “I have seen a great wasteland,” Maugris intoned, “where nothing grows.” As he spoke, the old man appeared taller, his voice enduing him with power. “Vacant land strewn with the dead, both young ones and old.”

  “For once, wise one, I hope your vision is wrong,” said the Red Wolf.

  Troubled by Maugris’ ominous words, Geoff gripped the hilt of his sword. “I will prepare to ride.”

  “Tomorrow is soon enough,” Ren insisted. “Take Mathieu along as your squire. He is nearly a knight and grows impatient for action.”

  “Yea, I will.” Geoff was happy to have Mathieu join his company, for the squire had served the Red Wolf well. “His sword arm is strong. I welcome his service.”

  “With me limping around, you’d best leave my few knights, save Alain. The Bear will guard your back as he has guarded mine, though he will not be anxious to return to York where he got that scar that adorns his jaw.”

  Geoff remembered the fight the year before when the knight, dubbed “the Bear” for his size, had taken a blade across his jaw. “I would gladly have Alain with me. What about the others?”

  “Take all the knights William has quartered here. Serena will be glad to see them go. She nearly sank an arrow into one for grabbing a servant girl, and that in her condition!”

  Geoff chuckled at the picture of Lady Serena, heavy with child, wielding a bow and arrow. Her state would not stop her from defending the maidens of Talisand. “I will do as you say, Ren. Rest if you can bring yourself to do so. We want you in the practice yard again.”

  “Godspeed,” said Ren as they left the chamber. Geoff heard concern in his voice but there was nothing for it. They must heed the king’s summons.

  Early the next day, a good meal under his belt, Geoff mounted Athos, his chestnut stallion. The air was chilled even though the pale sun was shining on the winter landscape. He was glad it was not raining. His helm and shield tied to his saddle, Geoff gave the signal to ride.

  Mathieu followed on his palfrey, leading Geoff’s black destrier, the squire’s brown hair blowing about his face. A few years in Ren’s service had given him a proud bearing and a confident look, more like a knight than a squire.

  Behind Mathieu rode Alain and the long line of William’s knights who would accompany them to York.

  Geoff guided Athos toward the gate, but before he could pass through the wide opening, Maugris called him back.

  “Sir Geoffroi!”

  Geoff brought the column to a halt and circled back to the old man whose face bore an expression more serious than his normal mien.

  Looking up at Geoff, Maugris said, “I have had another vision…”

  Geoff swallowed and waited, his stomach tightening into a knot as he anticipated what the seer’s vision might have told him.

  “You will have to face the fear you have carried from your youth, the one you keep hidden even from the Red Wolf that has nothing to do with battle. But mayhap you will find these words encouraging: You will give help to those who would otherwise fall and you will find an ally where you least expect it. But if need be, you must have courage to stand alone.”

  From atop his horse, Geoff stared down at the wise one, wondering at the cryptic message. How could the old man know of something Geoff had shared with no one?

  “I do not suppose you would care to elaborate?”

  “All will be clear in time,” Maugris assured him with a knowing grin.

  So the old man’s remarks were to remain a mystery. “All right,” he reluctantly agreed. “I shall try to do as you say. Take care of the earl and his lady.”

  As Geoff turned his horse, he glimpsed the Red Wolf standing in the open doorway of the old manor in the bailey, his arm around Serena’s shoulders, whether in affection or for support Geoff could not tell. Mayhap both, for Ren loved his lady and his stance told Geoff he was favoring his wounded leg. That he had managed to walk given the pain he was in was a tribute to both his strength and his resolve.

  Geoff tipped his head to him and, as he did, noted Serena looking around the bailey, searching, he knew, for her friend, Eawyn. Ren’s wife had hoped Geoff would one day wed the beautiful widow. He was relieved to see Eawyn had stayed away. She had not warmed to his advances as he had hoped. What he had thought was a growing affection had turned out to be merely a friendship on her part. She was still in love with her dead English husban
d. Mayhap she always would be.

  When he returned, he would have to make it clear to Serena there was no hope for the match.

  A look of frustration crossed Ren’s face as he raised a hand to Geoff in farewell. Geoff knew its source. It was the first time the Red Wolf had failed to heed the call of his sire.

  The first time Geoff rode alone.

  Chapter 2

  By the light from the fire in the hearth, Emma sat bent over her embroidery, lost in her thoughts. A loud pounding on the front door made her start. She thrust the needle into the linen and stood.

  Magnus clambered up from where he’d been lounging next to the hearth and trotted to the door, reaching it before her. She was glad for his presence. An unwelcome visitor would think twice before forcing entry. But this time the hound’s prodigious tail wagged furiously, telling her the visitor was most welcome indeed.

  She unlatched the door to see Maerleswein, her tall, proud father, standing there grinning, his golden hair loose about his shoulders, his mustache and beard neatly trimmed.

  “Daughter!”

  She had not seen him for nearly a year. “Father, you look well.” She reached out to embrace him. “It has been too long.”

  Before she could say more, he gave her a quick hug, planted a kiss on her forehead and strode over the threshold, crushing the rushes under his large feet. Behind him was a man she recognized from many past meetings, Cospatric, the handsome Earl of Bamburgh. Unlike most Danish and English men, he was clean-shaven and his dark brown hair extended only to the base of his neck.

  “My lady,” Cospatric bowed, his brown eyes twinkling. Straightening, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “You are beautiful as ever and a most welcome sight.”

  “And you, my lord, are too kind. Do come in.” He walked past her and she closed the door. Emma smiled to herself. The charming nobleman who had once been the Earl of Northumbria had always been wont to flatter her.

  Magnus followed the two men into the room. It was large enough to provide seating for several people around the fire burning in the central hearth where smoke ascended to a hole in the roof. Firelight illuminated the tapestries gracing the whitewashed walls, tapestries that had been in her family for generations.