Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 02

by A Knight of Battle

  Giving up on sleep altogether, he pulled on his white linen chainse, black wool tunic—bearing the Erlegh coat of arms of three silver shells on a field of red—and black breeches. Slipping on his knee-high black boots, he left his cloak behind as he made his way below, intent upon taking a walk.

  Upon entering the dark, quiet common room, he noticed a flickering light coming from the kitchen and made his way towards it.

  He drew to a surprised halt at the sight that met him in the overly warm kitchen. At the end of a long planked wood table, laden with half-chopped vegetables, rested the object of his torment, Lecie. Her arm outstretched the width of the table, her flour-dusted cheek rested upon it as she slumbered.

  Taking in the bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes, Albin frowned. Caring for an ailing husband, three young children and the inn was too much for one so slight to bear.

  Without a second thought, Albin rounded the table to lift her into his arms. Cradling her against his chest, he ignored the feelings coursing through him at finally having Lecie in his arms.

  Guided only by the flickering firelight, he gazed down at the serene beauty of her face in repose as he passed through the common room.

  Her petite figure had grown gaunt since the last time he saw her. Her long chestnut hair, usually pinned back in a snood, looked tousled as it flowed like a silken waterfall to her waist. Her high, delicate cheekbones were made even more prominent by her weight loss. The only thing that had not changed was the perfect curve of her soft pink kissable lips.

  In spite of the obvious changes, he found himself wanting to claim her more than ever before. He wanted to draw her into his protective embrace and take the burdens from her shoulders, even as it angered him to know that he had no right to do so.

  As he ascended the steps, Lecie’s beautiful golden eyes fluttered open. “Sir Albin,” she murmured softly. “These are always the best dreams.”

  Dumbstruck, Albin came close to tripping on the last step. Replaying her words, he stared back down at her. Could it be that she was indeed as attracted to him as he was to her?

  Further thought would have to wait as he pondered the thought of where to bring her. He could not very well carry her into Edric’s chamber. Ill or not, a man would not take kindly to seeing his wife in the arms of another.

  Seeing no other alternative available, he carried her into his chamber and laid her gently down on the bed. His throat went dry as he watched her curl on her side towards the very spot where he had been sleeping.

  His hand shook when his fingers lightly brushed against a full breast as he covered her with the blanket. Uttering a curse, he exhaled to gain control of his traitorous body.

  On his way down the darkened passage, he idly pondered how much longer Edric had left to live. Shame for thinking such a callous thing coursed through him when he heard yet another racking cough followed by a low moan of pain.

  Clearing his mind of all thought of Lecie, he rapped lightly on Talan’s door.

  Muttered oaths and stumbling preceded the cracking of the door as Talan sleepily peered out at him. “Albin, what is amiss?”

  “I need you to assist me below with some cookery.”

  Understanding lit Talan’s weary gaze. “Have you been in the common room drinking all this time? I did not see you return.”

  “Of course not.” Offended, Albin spoke in hushed tones. “I need your assist in the kitchen.”

  “Break your fast at first light with the rest of us,” Talan muttered, attempting to close the door.

  Pushing against the door, Albin scowled. “It is not my stomach I am thinking of. With your noble nature, you will be pleased to discover I am here on behalf of another.”

  Talan opened the door wider. “Lecie?”

  “Aye, Lecie,” Albin whispered anxiously. “She fell asleep in the kitchen whilst cooking.”

  “Give me a moment to dress.”

  Reappearing a moment later, raking his hands through his light brown short-cropped hair, Talan followed Albin down the steps and through the empty common room.

  Talan glanced around the large, untidy kitchen as they entered. “Where is Lecie?”

  “Asleep in my chamber,” Albin replied in an offhand manner as he lifted the lid of a salted meat barrel. “Does this look like dried pork or mutton?”

  When Talan failed to reply, Albin glanced up to find him staring at him with mouth agape. He felt color suffuse his face as he barked, “Cease thinking like Gervase. I found her asleep at the cook table and brought her to my chamber to get some much needed rest.”

  Accepting his answer without comment, Talan crossed to glance in the barrel. “That is salted pork.” Lifting the lid of another, he found rabbit meat. “What should we prepare?”

  “If I knew the answer to that, I would not have fetched you,” Albin replied with a trace of sarcasm.

  Eyeing the supply of garlic, onions, peas and beans, Talan pulled several rabbits from the cask and held them out. “Rinse the brine from these and cut the meat into bite-sized chunks.”

  Taking the salt cured game, Albin grinned. “What are we making?”

  “Apparently, we are not making anything,” Talan replied. “I am doing the cookery and you are lending assist.”

  Eyeing Talan’s smug look, Albin mimicked his tone. “Very well, what are you making?”

  Talan lifted an iron cook-pot and plunked it down on the worktable. “I shall figure it out as we go.”

  “Sounds flavorsome.” Rolling his eyes, Albin reached for a water pot.

  The meat was prepared and in the pot as Albin chopped onions. His eyes watering from the pungent vapors, he squinted at Talan as he added ingredients to the cook-pot. “If you were Guy or Gervase, you would have plied me with queries by now.”

  Talan looked surprised before replying, “Why would I question you for doing a noble deed?”

  Albin smiled, once again thankful for Talan’s quiet nature.

  They worked in companionable silence as Talan added bacon fat and garlic to the pot for flavor. Nodding in satisfaction, he lifted the pot to the hook and swung it to rest above the now blazing hearth fire.

  Following Talan’s instruction, Albin was kneading dough for trenchers to hold the stew when he paused for a look at the simmering concoction. “It actually smells appetizing.”

  Stirring the pottage with a long iron ladle, Talan smirked. “Do not sound so surprised.”

  “I am, nonetheless,” Albin admitted. “Where did you learn to cook?”

  “As a small lad, I used to watch my mother prepare meals.” Talan smiled in reminiscence.

  “You have my sincere gratitude for doing this.”

  “You need not thank me, Albin.” Talan brushed off his thanks as he reached for a bowl. “Finish the trenchers while I soak a stock of barley. By the look of the empty barrels, it appears ale is running low. Once the barley soaks, I can lend assist to Lecie in making more.”

  “Ale is running low?” Albin asked in stunned disbelief.

  Laughing, Talan shook his head. “I am of the belief you would rather starve than go without ale.”

  “In that you would be correct.” Albin agreed with a grin.

  TWO

  Lecie woke in the dawn’s early light staring at the russet canopy above her head.

  Her eyes flying wide, she sat up and looked around. It was definitely not her small pallet in the attic. Confused at how she had gotten there, she stumbled from the bed into the empty passageway.

  Hastening to the master chamber, she slipped inside and crossed to the bed. Relieved to find her patient dozing, she took in his frail, sunken frame. A lump of emotion formed in her throat as she soaked a cloth in a bowl of water on the nightstand.

  As she dabbed at his sweat-beaded brow with the cool cloth, Edric slowly opened his pain-filled eyes. “Lecie, you look weary.”

  “I am fine, Da.”

  “You take too much upon yourself. You need to rest more.”

  Concern et
ched her smooth brow as she heard the congested rattle in his chest. “It is you who needs to rest more.”

  Reaching for her free hand, he gently squeezed it. “Rest assured I shall be resting soon enough, lass.”

  Tears flooded Lecie’s eyes as she gazed sadly down at him.

  Having lost her mother and the babe she carried during delivery years before, Lecie was the eldest of four children. She would be lost without her father.

  As if reading her mind, Edric wheezed, “I fear what will happen to you children once I am gone.”

  Seeing concern shadow his light blue eyes, she forced a brave smile. “I am my mother’s daughter, Da. I have been running the inn on my own for some time now.”

  “Your dear mother would be proud.”

  Thinking of the patrons who would go without a warm meal to break their fast, a wave of guilt brought a flush to her fair cheeks. “You need to rest now. I shall fix you a nice broth after I rouse the children.”

  A spasm of coughs seized him as he shook his head. Waiting for the bout to pass, she supported his shoulders so he could take a drink of ale.

  Easing back onto the feather tick, he weakly clutched her arm as she turned to go. “You cannot deceive me,” he wheezed. “Your eyes speak the truth.”

  “I am fine, Da.” Patting his hand, she admitted, “Mayhap, just a tad weary of late.”

  Bending to kiss his sunken cheek, she made her way from the room. Once in the empty passageway, she leaned against the paneled wall beside the closed door as tears slipped from her eyes. She would have to try harder to conceal the strain.

  At the end of the passage, she stepped around the narrow ladder leading up to her garret, to the door beyond it. Turning the latch, she stepped into the small chamber to wake her siblings.

  The seven-year-old twins, Osana and Sabina shared a small bed opposite five-year-old Clayton.

  A fond smile lifted the corners of her lips as she gazed down at her sisters. Favoring their father in looks, they boasted flaxen curls reaching past their waists. So identical in appearance, it was only when one became acquainted with them were their differences apparent. Where Osana was bold and brave, Sabina was shy and reserved. The only similarity the three sisters shared were the striking golden-brown eyes of their mother.

  Bending, Lecie gently shook Sabina’s shoulder.

  Her eyes fluttered open with a smile. “Is it morn so soon, Lecie?”

  Lecie smoothed a wayward curl from Sabina’s brow. “It is, little one, time to wake and face the day.”

  Knowing Sabina would wake her twin, she stepped over to Clayton’s pallet. Blond like the twins, he boasted their father’s blue eyes.

  Kneeling, she leaned to kiss his rosy cheek. “It is morn and time to wake, little man.”

  Without opening his eyes, Clayton groaned and rolled away from her. A morning person he most certainly was not.

  Reaching over the bed, Lecie threw open the shutter, allowing the early dawn light to penetrate the cramped chamber. Larger chambers were for paying customers.

  “I shall see he wakes, Lecie.”

  “Thank you, Sabina.” She glanced back with a smile. “I fear I shall need your assist in the kitchen this morn before your work in the garden.”

  “Do not worry so,” Sabina assured her. “We shall do what needs to be done.”

  “How swift you have been forced to grow, Sabina.” Lecie turned away to conceal her sudden tears. “I shall await you in the kitchen.”

  Rushing down the steps, she smelled the enticing aroma of simmering food as soon as she entered the common room. Puzzled, she made her way to the empty kitchen only to glance around in amazement.

  The worktable held over a score of coarse rye and barley trenchers, ready for the aromatic pottage simmering in the large pot above the fire.

  Wondering if Betta had seen to the meal, she froze when she heard the deep resonant tone of Sir Albin behind her.

  “Hello, lass.”

  Suddenly breathless, Lecie turned to face the man that had so often entered her dreams.

  “Sir Albin.” Her hand anxiously going to her unbound and uncombed hair, she nervously pulled the thick mass over her shoulder.

  “You look a tad on the weary side, yet as lovely as ever, Lecie.”

  Blushing at his praise, she returned his steady gaze. Never before had she seen a man so handsome.

  Tall and broad-shouldered, Albin’s wavy dark hair reached the collar of his black tunic. In the old fashion, he and the Erlegh men wore cloaks, short outer tunics, and chainses with tight-fitting sleeves, breeches and high-leather boots, instead of the ankle length tunics, belled chainses and striped hose currently in favor by the nobility.

  His warm brown eyes held her as she took in his strong jaw, close-cropped beard and wide, firm lips. She knew if he were to smile or laugh, he would reveal a set of even white teeth, for his smile often left her weak at the knees when directed at her.

  “You have had your hair trimmed since last we met, Sir Albin,” she blurted. “It suites you well.”

  “Her ladyship Reina does a better job of it than I.” He grinned. “I fear I am not steady with a blade when it comes close to my own throat.”

  “Is her ladyship doing well? Last news I heard, she was soon to be expecting a babe.”

  “She and the wee lass are both doing very well.”

  “I am very pleased to hear it. His lordship seemed quite content with life the last we met.”

  “My liege is a truly blessed man.” Albin’s eyes moved to Lecie’s hands where she fidgeted nervously with her brown kirtle. “He has found a happiness most men search the whole of their lives for.”

  “Shall I be expecting his lordship?” Noting his regard, she slipped her rough, blistered hands behind her back. “I have kept his chamber ready for him.”

  “You shall not.” Albin returned his gaze to her eyes. “Baron Erlegh is content to stay at Castell Maen with his lady and newborn daughter. It is just Talan and I on this trip.”

  Lecie’s eyes flared as she recalled something. “You carried me up the steps last night, did you not?”

  “Twas obvious to me you needed the rest,” he replied softly. “I apologize if you take it as an offense against your person.”

  “I would never take it in such a way.” Lecie gestured to the table in order to change the subject. “Do I have you to thank for this as well?”

  “I lay claim to the scorched bread,” Albin acknowledged with a grin. “I was fortunate Talan knew a bit more about cookery when it came to the stew.”

  “Thank you,” Lecie responded her voice choked with emotion. “It was very kind of you both.”

  “I had no other choice,” he teased. “I have heard a scandalous rumor that ale is running low.”

  “I shall be sure to replenish the barrels before the day is out.” She returned his warm smile. “Can I get you some pottage to break your fast?”

  “If you please,” Albin agreed. “Talan and I are off to the tower to survey the progress once we have eaten.”

  Ladling pottage onto a trencher, she placed it before him. “It smells as good as it looks, Sir Albin.”

  He lightly clasped her hand when she made to move away. “Join me for the meal, Lecie? It has been some time since we have seen each other.”

  “Let me retrieve some ale for you first.” Conscious of her rough hands, Lecie eased her hand from his. “It will be but a moment.”

  “Forgive me, Lecie.” Albin stepped back. “I do not know what came over me.”

  “You have done nothing to warrant forgiveness, Sir Albin.” Lecie’s cheeks flushed red as she held her hands out to show him. “I fear I do not boast the hands of a gently born woman.”

  Taking her hands in his, Albin lightly caressed the chafed areas with his thumbs. “I only know of one other gentle born woman that can even compare to you.” Roughly clearing his throat, he pulled away from her. “I shall await you in the common room.”

  Lecie wa
tched him leave with a small smile.

  Entering the common room with a cup of ale for him and a trencher of pottage for herself, she sat in the chair Albin held out for her.

  Imparting the latest village gossip to him, they were halfway through their meal when they glanced up at the sound of small feet racing down the steps.

  “Sir Albin,” Clayton called, skidding to a halt beside them.

  With a fond smile, Lecie pushed back her chair to stand. “Have a seat, Clayton. I shall get you a cup of almond milk to go along with your breakfast this morn.”

  Glancing at the twins as they took their seats, Lecie scolded, “Mind your manners in front of our guest.”

  “Sir Albin is not a guest,” Osana quipped. “He is here far more often than a traveler passing through would be.”

  “Nevertheless, mind your manners, Osana.”

  “There is indeed truth to that, little lass.” Albin cut in with a chuckle. “Since my chamber is held available for me, I suppose I am to be considered a bit more than a passing traveler.”

  “You always preferred a view of the back garden,” Lecie responded softly. “It is far from being the best of the lot, yet I would see you enjoy your stay.”

  She held his gaze until Clayton drew Albin’s attention by tugging on his tunic. “Has Tugger come to greet you yet, Sir Albin? He is quite fond of you.”

  Rumpling his tousled curls, Albin shook his head. “I have yet to be mauled by your dog this visit, Master Clayton.”

  As Lecie entered the kitchen to retrieve breakfast for the children, the outside door swung open.

  Tugger, the family’s large brown mastiff came charging in ahead of Hamon and Gunilda. His claws scrambling for purchase on the slate flooring, he raced past Lecie towards the common room.

  Imagining the tongue mauling Sir Albin was in for, Lecie shook her head with a soft chuckle.

  Hamon dropped his arm from around Gunilda’s shoulders when he spotted Lecie. “Something smells good this morning, Lecie.”

  Ignoring him, Lecie filled a trencher for the twins when Gunilda swiped it from her. “You know,” she whispered close to Lecie’s ear. “If you sold yourself, you would not have to toil so hard.”