Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2)

by Walker, Regan

  * * *

  Emma sat by the fire in the cave one early morning holding Inga’s babe so the young mother could sleep. She gazed into the face of the sweet child who, Emma was relieved to see, would one day look very much like Inga.

  Artur added another log to the fire as his wife, Sigga, stood at the mouth of the cave, looking out. Winter lingered, but as Emma looked into the eyes of Inga’s babe, her thoughts drifted to the spring that would come. What would she do?

  Though she had stubbornly resisted both her father’s and Geoffroi’s plans for her, Emma’s heart longed to be with her knight, her Gabriel who had ridden to her rescue so many times. An enemy who turned out to be more than a friend. He was her lover. For three years, no man had touched her woman’s heart. She decided that a woman did not always choose the man to whom she gave her love. But if Emma had consciously chosen, she could have chosen no better.

  Whether she had realized it at the time, she saw it clearly now. Even before the first time they had lain together, she had loved him. War had drawn them together and then it had torn them apart. Having received his forgiveness for her part in the rebellion, there was only one place she wanted to be—with Geoffroi. But she could not go to Talisand alone. She would not abandon the family she loved. If she were to go, she wanted the twins, Inga, Artur and Sigga and Jack and Martha to come with her. Until she knew they would agree, she could make no promise, for she would not leave them, not even for love of her knight.

  When her father had said goodbye before returning to the Humber, she had not encouraged him to expect her to go to Scotland in the spring. He argued Cospatric’s case as the suitor he wanted for her. She had confessed that she liked the earl.

  “But I do not love him, Father.”

  “Love can grow between two who share respect,” he had said, “I will call on you before I leave. In time, you will come to see what I want for you is best. Be careful, Emma. The woods are full of Normans.”

  She waved goodbye as he faded into the protection of the woods he knew so well to join his Northumbrian rebels. Having led the failed rebellion, once he joined Cospatric in Scotland, she did not think he would ever return to England.

  A cold wind whistled into the cave, making the fire flutter wildly. Sigga wrapped her cloak tightly around her and left the mouth of the cave to sit by Emma. Now that she was no longer fevered, Emma felt the cold as the others did, shivering whenever she left the comfort of the fire.

  Both Geoffroi and her father had counseled against taking her family to her home in York, for it was too easy a target should the Normans again search the town. Before he left for Cheshire, Geoffroi had told them York’s stores of food not taken into the castle to be consumed by William’s knights had been destroyed. The Norman king had also ordered the burning of farming tools, cottages and everything else in Yorkshire. Even the fields had been salted so the land could not be farmed in the spring. Never again would she stand on the hillside outside of York’s walls to watch Ottar and Finna play among the flowers. Never again would she watch with pleasure the ripening grain.

  Sigga raised her head, looking toward the mouth of the cave. “Magnus has returned but without the usual hare.”

  Emma looked up from where she sat holding Merewyn, now asleep in her arms. The weary hound walked to her side and dropped to the ground. She patted his head. “’Tis all right, we have enough food for today.”

  “I will hunt,” offered Artur from where he tended the fire.

  “If you go,” counseled Emma, “take Jack. The woods are not free of Normans. Even more dangerous than the knights are the people who must be starving by now, willing to kill you for any game you bring down.”

  Artur darted a glance at Thyra, Emma’s mare standing just inside the cave. They had talked about the horse. Emma refused to think of Thyra as food, but many would and she was certain that both horses and dogs would be eaten before people gave in to starvation.

  A short while later, Jack and Martha came from their chamber to join them around the fire. Not long after, Artur departed with Jack, the two of them vowing not to return empty-handed.

  Magnus stood as if he would go with them, but she forced him to stay. “You are worn out and I would have you with us should a stranger find the cave.” The hound lay down as if in understanding.

  Inga came to the fire from the chamber where she had been sleeping and Emma handed Merewyn to her.

  “I will feed her,” said the new mother and disappeared with the babe into the back of the cave.

  It was time, Emma decided, to take stock of what food they had. With Sigga beside her, she went to examine their stores. In the rear chamber, she held her candle high as she opened the roughly woven sacks, inspecting each one. “We’ve grain enough for gruel until spring and, thanks to what Sir Geoffroi carried to the cave, we’ve mead enough. He even brought hay for Thyra, bless him.”

  Sigga peered into another group of smaller bags. “There are dried berries, nuts and herbs, but only enough other vegetables for another month. Oh, and we’ve some cheese and apples.”

  “Spring is two months away,” said Emma, thinking out loud. “’Twill have to do till then.”

  “Mayhap the men will be fortunate in their hunting,” Sigga encouraged, as they returned to the main chamber.

  A few hours later, Emma’s spirits lifted when the men trudged into the cave carrying three red squirrels. Magnus sniffed them and walked away as if unimpressed. Emma had to smile. Sometimes the hound spoke loudly even though he lacked words.

  “You did well,” she told the men. “As I recall, Sigga makes a fair squirrel stew.”

  Sigga, who was a very good cook, smiled. “Aye, I will make short work of them. A few onions and turnips with spices ’twill make a hearty dish.”

  It was a few weeks later when a small family of three freemen found the cave in which Emma’s family lived. In truth, it was Ottar they found, gathering wood just outside. Perhaps the boy had been drawn to the man’s son for they were nearly the same age.

  “They are hungry, Emma,” Ottar announced, leading the small family into the main chamber. Emma was sitting by the fire putting her embroidery skills to work mending the twins’ clothes.

  “You are welcome to share what we have,” said Emma rising to greet them. They must have fled with little more than their clothes and those not in good condition. Their tunics and cloaks were soiled and threadbare, their faces dirty and gaunt beneath their hair. “Come, sit by the fire.”

  “I’ll fetch them some mead,” said Sigga, hastening to where they kept the wine.

  The small family introduced themselves as Sker, his wife, Drifa, and their son, Hunlaf. Both the father and son had red hair and ruddy complexions; the mother’s hair was golden like Inga’s. If they were to be cleaned of dirt, they would be a handsome family. “We had only a little notice,” said Sker, “but it was enough to save our lives. We grabbed what we could carry as we fled. I am a farmer, unused to hunting. We have been surviving on what we brought with us until recently.”

  Seeing the hungry look in their eyes, Emma inquired, “How long has it been since you ate?”

  “The day before yesterday,” Drifa said, looking around the cave as she reached her hands to the fire. “It is warm here. You have prepared well.”

  “I had a dream that warned us,” said Emma. “We came here before the Normans returned.”

  They did not question her dream, only nodded. Such were the beliefs of the people they gave credence to warnings, visions and dreams.

  Without being asked, Martha served bread and cheese to their visitors and Sigga brought them cups of mead.

  “The bread is stale,” Emma explained, “but ’twill fill your stomachs. Our men caught some squirrels this morning, so there will be stew for dinner. The water in the stream is good, too.”

  “We are most grateful,” said Sker as he and his family greedily ate the bread and cheese, washing the small meal down with the mead.

  Finna cam
e to sit in Emma’s lap, her brown eyes watching with interest the family across the crackling fire.

  When Jack announced he was leaving to gather wood, the two boys happily went with him. “Mind Jack, Ottar,” Emma said.

  “You, too, Hunlaf,” Drifa said to her son. Since the woman had first entered the cave, her eyes kept darting to where Magnus lay by Emma’s side, his head on his paws.

  “The hound will not harm you,” said Emma, relieved when the woman appeared to relax at her words.

  “All of our friends fled when the Normans came to burn the cottages, but we became separated,” said the father, Sker. “No one is left in York, save those who may be hiding in the homes that remain. And that is dangerous should they be discovered. If the Normans had waited until spring or summer for their revenge ’twould not have been so bad, but now it means starvation for most.”

  His wife shuddered and, with a look of pain, turned her head away.

  Inga, holding little Merewyn, came from the back of the cave to join them by the fire. Merewyn was a contented babe, blithely unaware of the desperate times into which she had been born. Would she be better accepted in Talisand than Scotland? Merewyn would not be the only half-Norman babe born in England this year.

  Looking at the freeman and his wife and thinking of three more mouths to feed, Emma worried about the dwindling stores of food. Their small band of survivors now numbered twelve, including the babe.

  While Martha helped Sigga prepare their meal, Emma decided mayhap it was time to broach the subject of where they might go in the spring.

  “My father would have us go with him to Scotland,” she told them. “He will come in the spring to see if that is our desire.” Those huddled around the fire listened intently. “But we have another choice I would ask you to think on.” She waited, feeling their eyes upon her. “We can go to Talisand.” To the newcomers, she explained, “’Tis the home of our friend, Sir Geoffroi, and lies a few days’ journey to the west, longer with us walking.”

  “A Norman?” asked Sker, aghast.

  “Aye, a French knight,” acknowledged Emma, “but a noble one. Talisand is the demesne of a former English thegn whose daughter is wed to the Norman who is lord there. We have been assured we will be welcome.”

  They stared at her, then began to mumble among themselves.

  Emma interrupted them. “Whatever we do will mean a hard journey.” She glanced at Inga who held the sleeping Merewyn in her arms. “And if we travel to Talisand, ’twill be dangerous. Not just because the Norman army garrisoned in York would kill us if they found us, but the wolves we hear at night might set upon us in the forests and there are people so desperate for food they would stoop to violence for what little we have.” She was not telling them anything they did not already know but she felt she had to warn them.

  “We cannot stay in York,” said Inga.

  They all nodded. The horrors of war had come home even to the children.

  “I would choose Scotland,” said Sker’s wife, “but I know nothing of it.”

  “I want to go where Mathieu is,” Finna insisted. “He will go to Talisand.”

  When the new arrivals looked to Emma for an explanation, she said, “Sir Geoffroi’s squire.”

  “He is very kind,” added Inga.

  “And I would go with Sir Geoffroi,” said Ottar. “He might let me be his page!”

  “We will go with you,” said Artur, taking his wife’s hand and looking at Emma. “Sigga and I have discussed it. We are part of your family. Wherever you go, we will go.”

  “Aye,” said Sigga. “We are fond of Sir Geoffroi and if you choose Talisand, we are with you. I would not have you go without us. Maerleswein would never forgive us.”

  Emma smiled. To hear such words warmed her heart. Her servants, her twins and her friend were her family. She wanted them with her. But she wanted them to know the risks they faced. “We would have to cross the fells and rivers swollen with spring rains. We could not forage for food until we passed the salted lands. It would be especially hard on the little ones but they can ride Thyra.”

  She reminded herself this time they would have no guards. For all their grumbling, her father’s men had been faithful protectors. What did Artur, a house servant, and Jack and Sker, who were farmers, know of guiding women and children over such obstacles? Even she did not know Talisand’s precise location, only that it was in the Lune River valley to the west. Would they be able to find it?

  As she stared into the bright flames, the responsibility for the others weighed heavily upon her.

  Jack spoke into the silence. “We would go wherever we can farm.”

  “I remember Sir Geoffroi speak of the wondrous place called Talisand,” said Sigga, “where the English live in peace with Normans. There is land to farm there.”

  “Must be land in Scotland,” said Sker’s wife.

  “Aye, but colder winters than in England,” said her husband.

  “I wonder if ’tis possible to live in peace with Normans,” Inga murmured as if to herself.

  Emma was unsurprised at Inga’s reaction. The decision to live among Normans would be difficult and she had voiced such concerns before. Given her being unwed, Inga would face disapproval wherever she went. At least at Talisand, she would have friends who understood.

  “We do not have to choose today,” Emma reminded them. “I know some will want to think on it.” Her gaze fell upon Inga and her babe. “Scotland is far but with my father guiding us, ’twould be safe. Talisand is closer but the journey will be difficult.”

  Chapter 16

  Geoff and his men, along with that part of William’s army not left in York, were driven mercilessly across England, heading southwest over the snow-covered peaks lying between the cities of York and Chester.

  They rode through barren hills and dales and splashed through icy streams. The middle of England was a vast wilderness with few inhabitants. Their food consisted of meager pickings except for the few times they managed to hunt and the pace William insisted upon kept their hunting trips few.

  Cheshire in the west of Mercia had yet to be conquered and William had vowed he would not return to London until all of England was his. The city of Chester in the far west of Cheshire near Wales stood like a last remaining column in a long forgotten temple, a symbol of lands still free. But, if William had his way, ’twould not be for long.

  With unrelenting determination, the king pushed his men forward.

  The cold took its toll in suffering and even the death of some horses. Men in William’s army had begun to grumble, particularly those from Anjou, Brittany and Maine, who were neither Norman nor English. They wanted to be released, but William would not hear of it. Instead, for their complaining, the king told them they would serve another forty days.

  Though he was not among those affected, Geoff inwardly groaned at the news. Having already endured one march through snow and ice, it now appeared he and his companions would have to endure another. But they did not complain. When he could, Geoff helped the men whose strength was faltering, encouraging them to go on. And he took special care with Athos to ensure his horse did not fall. When he grumbled, it was not to William, but to Alain.

  “I like not this duty that takes us over so much ground claimed by winter’s brutal storms. My only hope is that we will soon see the rich pastures of Cheshire.”

  “I remember well those pastures. We rode through them two years ago.”

  As it turned out, when they reached Cheshire, much to Geoff’s dismay, those rich pastures were covered in snow for the harsh winter was even felt here.

  More than a year before, at William’s command, Geoff and the Red Wolf had ridden to Exeter in the south of England to join the king’s army where they laid siege to the walled city. Like Exeter, Chester was an old Roman town with Roman walls, a fortress that would have to be taken by force.

  And take it they did by William’s order.

  The resistance they met was fierce, but
unlike William’s actions in Exeter, where he granted mercy, in Chester he offered none. Instead, he inflicted the same drastic measures on Cheshire he had on York and Durham. The king ordered his knights to ravage the countryside, wasting the land to assure there would be no base for future rebellion. It sickened Geoff to see such a beautiful land treated so. But William had grown intolerant of anything save total submission secured at any cost. The king’s mercy was at an end.

  As before, Geoff resisted the killing of innocents. Instead, he and the few men who agreed with him helped those who were left homeless, the young and old and women and children, to escape. He had heard the Abbey of Evesham to the south was taking in those fleeing William’s wrath and so he directed the fleeing toward that shelter where Abbot Æthelwig provided food to the hungry. For all his help, some still died.

  If Geoff had ever had a taste for war, he lost it in the snows of England that winter.

  Once William conquered Chester, to no one’s surprise, he ordered the building of a castle as a sign of his lasting imprint on that city. Since it had become more difficult for Geoff to disguise his actions to help the fleeing English, he was greatly relieved to be among those knights who were then released from the king’s service.

  It surprised Geoff that William, who had acted so ruthlessly to force the people to submit, could then give God thanks for blessing what he regarded as his “holy work” of conquering the whole of England. Geoff believed the holier work had been that of Abbot Æthelwig. But he accepted William’s thanks and words of honor and, with a grateful heart for the end of it, turned Athos north toward Talisand.