Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2)

by Walker, Regan

  As they rode north, Emma was never far from his thoughts. Would she have sent word? Should he go to her even if she did not?

  * * *

  By the time Geoff arrived at Talisand, winter was turning to spring. Rain had followed the snow and the hills were once again clothed in green. The picture he had carried in his mind for over a year, of wildflowers dotting pastures where lambs idly grazed, was beginning to take form. There was no starvation in this valley of the River Lune for it was well tended by the Lord of Talisand and his lady, Serena.

  “’Tis just as it was when we first arrived,” Geoff said as they reined in their horses on top of a hill to gaze down the long slope leading toward the green meadow in front of the palisade that backed onto the River Lune.

  “Only the castle you see in yon distance was not there two years before,” said Alain.

  “Aye, of course,” he said letting out an exasperated breath. “But all else is the same, the palisade, the village, the river. I have missed this place.” How I wish Emma was here to see it.

  Spurring their horses to a gallop, the three of them raced down the hill to the palisade surrounding the bailey, the manor and the motte on which sat a timbered castle three stories high.

  Aethel must have seen them coming for as soon as they passed through the gate and Alain slid from his horse, she flew into his arms.

  “Ye have a daughter, husband!” exclaimed the dark-haired beauty as she brazenly kissed her husband.

  “Lora?” asked Alain, sweeping his wife off her feet for a hug only the Bear could give.

  “Aye,” she said breathlessly, “a babe among many babes born at Talisand in the year ye have been gone. I cannot wait for ye to see her. I was so worried when the tales started coming to us from York.”

  Shooting Geoff a glance, Alain said, “’Twas a bad time. But we’ll not speak of it now. I would see my child.”

  Alain took his wife off, arms wrapped around each other, making Geoff smile to see them together. Once the old thegn’s leman, Aethel had become the treasured wife of the Norman knight.

  Geoff dismounted and handed the reins to the waiting Mathieu. “You served me well, Mathieu. ’Tis time you were a knight and had your spurs. I will see Ren about it.”

  “Thank you, Sir Geoffroi. It was an honor to serve you and Sir Alain. Sir Renaud is a grand knight ’tis my privilege to call ‘lord’, but he is no better lord than you.”

  “That is quite a compliment coming from Ren’s squire, but if it be so, it is because Ren and I share the same heart. We may be men of war, Mathieu, but neither of us would see innocents suffer or women ill-treated.”

  Mathieu bowed his head and led their three horses toward the stables, leaving Geoff alone in the bailey. But not for long.

  A smile on his wizened face, Maugris walked toward Geoff, his thin frame covered by a fine tunic of dark blue Talisand wool.

  “I suppose you saw our return in your visions?”

  “Nay, ’twas the king’s messenger. At least this one bore good news.”

  Geoff took off his gloves, his helm he’d left tied to his saddle. “You were right about it all, Maugris. There was more death than I ever want to see again, innocents among the guilty.”

  “But you return a better man, one who has faced evil and stood against it.”

  “Aye, at least I hope so,” Geoff said, still wondering if he had done enough.

  “And what of the woman?” asked the old man, the breeze blowing his gray hair across his forehead, his pale blue eyes seeing too much as they always did.

  “I have no woman,” said Geoff. “Mayhap I never will.”

  Maugris chuckled. “You would quit the field too soon.”

  Geoff studied the old one’s wrinkled face, all lightheartedness gone from his ancient countenance.

  “The Red Wolf has his jewel,” said Maugris, “and, in time, Sir Geoffroi, you will have yours.”

  * * *

  That night a great feast was held in Talisand’s hall, constructed by King William’s command two years earlier. Torches and candles lit the large space and fresh rushes smelling of dried spring flowers had been laid on the floor. It was the kind of welcome Geoff and his companions had talked about during the days they rode home. He was glad William had decided to ride south for another crown-wearing ceremony, this one at Winchester. Talisand would have a more intimate feast without him.

  At the head table, Ren and Serena sat in the middle with Geoff on Ren’s right. On Geoff’s other side sat Alain and Aethel. Maugris had a position of honor next to Serena.

  Serving wenches, some new to Geoff, carried platters of roast venison and lamb to the tables. There was also baked fish from the river. To this were added peas spiced with cumin, turnips boiled with thyme and dill, and all manner of cheeses. He was delighted to see the hot bread placed near him along with butter. ’Twas more food than he had seen in a long time.

  “’Tis a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach,” he told Ren.

  “Serena says you are more welcome than the king and so she spared no effort to see you and Alain had the best.”

  Geoff chuckled. “Aye, your lady would welcome almost any of William’s knights more than the king himself.”

  Serena leaned over her husband to offer Geoff a smile.

  “Have you been gone only a year?” asked Ren, placing several choice bits of meat on the trencher he shared with his wife.

  Serena spoke across her husband. “You and Sir Alain have been sorely missed, Sir Geoffroi. My husband has oft inquired when you would be home. Maugris was little help, only saying, ‘when it is time’.”

  Geoff chuckled at the wise one’s cryptic remark. He was happy to be home. “I feel like I have lived a lifetime in this last year, mayhap longer. I am sorry about the knights who left with me.”

  “We heard of the Danes’ attack in York,” said the Red Wolf. “For a while we worried you were dead, but despite the reports of the slaughter, Maugris insisted you lived.”

  “Were it not for a lady’s intervention, I would have gone the way of the other knights in York.”

  “You must tell me of this lady,” said Serena.

  “Mayhap in time,” Geoff said.

  “You have changed,” said the Red Wolf. “I cannot say how, but ’tis clear you have changed all the same.”

  “If I have changed, Ren, ’tis because our sovereign has changed. What we were asked to do was worse than Hastings where we fought Saxon warriors. Worse than Exeter and York two years ago where William showed mercy to the citizens. In York and Chester, he showed none. Mere serfs and cottars were slaughtered along with the rebels. Some were children and their mothers.”

  Then he told Ren of all they had seen, all they had lived through, his voice dropping to a whisper for some of it. Serena listened intently.

  The Red Wolf’s brows drew together in a scowl as fierce as the beast for which he was named. “I see why you no longer laugh as you once did.”

  “What we have seen,” said Geoff, “would make any man lose his laughter.”

  “I doubt it not,” said the Red Wolf. “’Tis regrettable our sire has resorted to such rough measures to establish his reign. To burn cottages and destroy cattle, food supplies and farming tools, leaving the people to starve in the midst of a brutal winter. How can he live with it? I could not.”

  “Nor could I, which was why I did what I did.”

  “As I would have done,” Ren said, placing a hand on Geoff’s shoulder. “I find no fault with your actions. I do feel some guilt for leaving you and Alain to take it on alone. When my leg was healed, I thought to join you, but my lady asked me to stay for Alexander’s birth and then the news out of the North was not good and I wanted to go but Maugris made clear I was not needed, that you had much to do I could not share in. I have learned to trust the wise one’s words.”

  Alain, who had been listening, leaned across to the Red Wolf. “All that Geoff has said is true. Not all of the dead lying in our path
were men. William ordered his army to kill and maim not just the rebels, but any who could support them, whether they did or not.”

  “Word has come to us of the starvation that ravages the land in Yorkshire and in Durham,” said Ren. “A few who escaped have made it to Talisand. They describe the wasteland Maugris saw in his visions.”

  Geoff experienced a terrible knot in the pit of his stomach when he thought of Emma living amidst such desolation, trying to survive in a cave. His appetite ebbed and he pushed his trencher away. Again, he questioned whether he should go to York no matter she had sent no word. He knew Maerleswein would see to her well-being, but it was not enough. He had to be sure. He had to know for himself.

  When it was time for the musicians to be summoned to entertain them, a new bard stood before the dais, richly attired. His back to the hearth, he held a lute in his hands. Two others, wearing jewel colored tunics, joined him with psaltery and pipe. The music they made soothed Geoff’s anxious soul but it reminded him of the beautiful music Rhodri had made with his Welsh harp as Serena sang.

  “Is Rhodri no longer among us?” he asked the Red Wolf and Serena.

  “My brother, Steinar, and Rhodri have hied off to Scotland,” she said with regret in her violet eyes.

  “We expected it after Steinar was wounded in the fighting in York two years ago,” said Ren, “but my lady worries about him all the same.”

  “There was no future in England for the son of an English thegn whose lands were taken from him,” Serena sadly acknowledged.

  Ren took his wife’s hand. “I know it is hard, my love, but ’tis the way of it. At least you are still lady of your people.”

  “I know, husband,” she said giving him a tender look. “For myself, I am content. But for Steinar, I worry.”

  From where he sat next to Serena, Maugris spoke. “Steinar will make his own way, my lady. ’Twill not be easy for such a warrior, but he has known since our coming his future lay outside of Talisand. In Scotland, he may find it.” He patted her hand. “Do not worry for your brother.”

  The music died and the Red Wolf stood and stepped down from the dais. The hall grew quiet with anticipation as their lord stood before them. Serving wenches drew to the side to watch.

  “And now I must see to the knighting of one who has served me so faithfully,” said the Red Wolf. “Mathieu, come forward.”

  The handsome squire rose from one of the trestle tables and slowly walked to stand before the knight he had served since before Hastings, for he had been the Red Wolf’s page at one time.

  Geoff had been prepared for what he knew would happen this night. Mathieu was of an age to take his place among the knights and none could doubt he had earned the honor. Geoff picked up the sword belt that lay behind him and stepped down from the dais. When he reached Mathieu, he strapped the sword on the young man. The superbly crafted blade had been a gift from Feigr, the sword-maker, when Geoff had helped him and he had managed to store it under the boards of Emma’s house. Though Feigr typically made shorter swords, this one was long in the Norman style.

  Once the belt was secure, Geoff helped Mathieu to put on a set of spurs handed him by the Red Wolf, a gift for Mathieu from his lord.

  Slapping the squire on the back of the neck, Ren said in a loud voice that boomed around the hall, “I dub you knight, Sir Mathieu!”

  The hall erupted in applause as everyone joined in the celebration of the new honor for the former squire.

  Mathieu bowed to the Red Wolf. “Thank you, my lord.” Then to Geoff, “and to you, Sir Geoffroi.”

  “’Tis well deserved,” said Geoff. “Were it not for your quick action to summon Emma, I might not be here today.”

  Mathieu grinned.

  With the toasts that followed, for a moment, at least, Geoff knew again happiness shared with friends. But all the while, in the back of his mind was the picture of Emma.

  The next day Geoff was in the practice yard outside the bailey, trying to rid his mind of thoughts of Emma when he realized it was futile. “Enough!” he cried out, signaling Alain he was breaking off their sparring.

  Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he glanced up at the sun, nearly at its zenith. The vigorous wielding of swords in feigned combat required his concentration and every muscle to meet the Bear’s challenge, but it had not spared him thoughts of the woman he wanted. The gnawing ache inside his chest was a constant reminder he’d left his heart in York.

  He had held on to the wise one’s words, hoping they meant Emma would choose him and Talisand. Anxiously, he had awaited a summons from her, some word, but there had been no news from York. He could wait no longer.

  He reached for his shirt where he had laid it against a stone in the grassy area and looked at Alain. “I’m bound for York.”

  * * *

  Emma gazed at the flowers shooting up through the ground, their yellow blossoms catching the light of the sun. She had always loved the crocuses that hailed the coming of spring. “‘Tis time we decide,” she told Sigga who walked beside her, Magnus slightly ahead of them roused by new scents. “Father will come soon, expecting us to leave with him.”

  “You do not look to the land of the Scots for your future, my lady, no matter the Scottish king offers refuge.”

  “Mayhap I would prefer Talisand as our destination, but ’twill be a hazardous crossing and I still have doubts I’ve not shared with the others.”

  “Sir Geoffroi cares for you, my lady, and ’twould appear you care for him.”

  Emma had never told Sigga of Geoffroi’s declaration of love. “Do you think me wrong to want to be with the Norman?”

  “Nay,” said Sigga. “He has proven himself many times. If he says we will be welcome at Talisand and that ’tis a place of peace, I believe him.”

  “Father spoke with Sir Geoffroi when I was ill. I overheard their argument. He knows Geoffroi has offered me marriage.”

  “Marriage?” Sigga raised a brow.

  “Aye,” she said and felt her cheeks heat. “I forgot to say.”

  Sigga tossed her a grin. “’Twas an important omission.”

  “’Twas in the summer,” Emma murmured wistfully. Thinking back to their days in the meadow and their lovemaking before he had left with his king. She spoke her thoughts aloud. “It seems so long ago. I do not even know if he lives. What if we were to go to Talisand only to find him gone, or worse—dead?” Emma did not believe Geoffroi was dead or she would have felt something, a loss that she did not feel. He lived, she knew it.

  “Nay, my lady, do not think it. He has survived so many battles. What can one more be to such a knight?”

  “Aye, what can one more mean?” Her voice trailed off. Would Geoffroi always return from his battles for his Norman king? He might yet live but would the blood on his mail one day be his own?

  “I wonder what Inga will decide,” said Sigga. “The others are for Talisand, even Sker’s wife has come around.”

  “I would not go without Inga,” Emma retorted. “I have told her we will be a family, that I will help her raise Merewyn.”

  “Do not worry, Mistress. Inga may hesitate to go where there are Normans, but she oft speaks of the squire’s kindness and, beyond that, she will not want to leave you.”

  Emma was thinking of Inga when Sigga suddenly said, “I had best see about what food there is for our dinner. Are you coming?”

  “In a moment. I want to think a bit here among the flowers. Magnus and I will return shortly.”

  Emma did not stray far, knowing with the warmer days the knights might stir from their castles to hunt, though typically it would not be this late in the day. She idly wondered if there were any deer left for them to hunt in the forests of York.

  York was not the place of her birth, but with her marriage to Halden, she had made it her home. It was here Finna and Ottar had been born and become like her own children. It was here she had ridden through the meadows on Thyra with Magnus bounding along. And it was here she had
first glimpsed the fierce blond knight whose laughter softened her heart as well as his face. But her future did not lie in York.

  She paused at the edge of the stream, swollen with the spring rains. Magnus wandered a short distance away. As she watched the rippling water, in her mind she saw Geoffroi’s face, his blue eyes she had at first thought so stark but now remembered twinkling with laughter. She remembered his kisses, too, and the last time they had made love.

  The fever had disrupted her woman’s bleeding, but she was fairly certain they had made a child that last time nearly three months ago. She was still slim from her illness and the lack of food so there was only the barest hint of a change in her body and she had experienced no urge to vomit as some women did.

  She had told Geoffroi she loved him and it was truer now than it was then for her love had grown in his absence. And now there was more to draw her to him. I want this child as I want him.

  Even if she had to face the uncertainty of crossing the western fells and the thick forests between York and Talisand, she would do so to be with him. He was her heart’s desire, had been since the night he’d first kissed her while saving her from his fellow knights. And if he still lived and had returned to his beloved Talisand, she wanted to be with him.

  But she had to wonder. Had he forgotten her? Were his feelings still the same?

  Aloud she whispered to the crocuses, “Does he still love me? Does he still want me at Talisand?”

  Chapter 17

  “Aye, he still loves you, Emma. And, yea, he wants you with him at Talisand.”

  Emma whirled. There before her, stood the knight of her dreams, tall and strong—alive. “Geoffroi!”

  He opened his arms and she ran into them, no matter that Sir Alain and Mathieu stood on either side of him wearing amused smiles.

  “You came!” she exclaimed as he showered her face with kisses. The tears fell, she could not stop them.

  Seeing the huge knight and the squire turn away their faces, she felt her cheeks heat and started to pull from Geoffroi’s arms, but he held her fast.