King's Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 4)

by Regan Walker

  Merewyn laughed. “Yea, but he is not old. Have you never asked yourself why such a well-favored knight is unwed?”

  “I just assumed ’twas because of his service to Talisand’s lord.”

  Merewyn shook her head. “Nay, I think not.” She fingered her bow, wondering if she should say the words that were on her tongue. Mayhap they would help Lora see the prize that was hers to claim. “The man is too shy to speak his heart, but you can see his words in his eyes.” Meeting her friend’s dark gaze, she said, “ ’Tis you, Lora. Whenever you are near him, he looks nowhere else.”

  Lora stared at her with a perplexed expression.

  “Aye,” said Merewyn, “I was right in thinking you were unaware. I only tell you so that you do not discourage Jamie over much.”

  “Jamie? Interested in—” Her words trailed off as she looked toward the grass growing at the edge of the river.

  Merewyn put her arm around her friend. “To win the affection of one like Jamie is not a small thing. There are many women at Talisand who would gladly have him, but he waits for you.”

  Lora’s eyes filled with tears and she turned and hugged Merewyn. “Thank you.”

  It pleased Merewyn to realize she had done the right thing in speaking to her friend. “Go tell him how well he did today and see his eyes light like the sun.”

  Lora nodded and hurried back toward the palisade gate.

  Merewyn walked on by herself for a while, enjoying the sun-filled afternoon and the peaceful flow of the river, remembering the match between Alex and his father. Deep in her thoughts, she nearly bumped into Maugris, who suddenly appeared in front of her.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I did not see you.”

  The old seer greeted her with a smile. “Good day to you, Mistress Merewyn. I see you still carry your bow and wear the apparel of one of Rhodri’s archers. Your shooting today amazed all.”

  “You are kind to say so, Maugris.”

  She meant to pass by, but he held up a hand. “A word if I might.”

  “Of course,” she said turning to face him.

  “Remember, the archer controls the bow and not the bow the archer.”

  She blinked twice. Whatever does that mean? The wise one was known to speak in riddles and this bit of advice was beyond her understanding. Did he know of her conversations with her bow? After all, he knew things no one else did.

  At her puzzling look, Maugris smiled, his face a sea of wrinkles and his blue eyes twinkling. “Do not discount the words of an old man. I have faith in you,” he said as he turned to go.

  “I will try and remember that,” she said to his back. What vision had he seen that caused him to speak so?

  Still pondering his words, Merewyn strolled back to the manor and climbed the stairs to her chamber, thinking to please Lady Serena by changing into a gown for what would likely be another feast, this one to celebrate the tournament’s champions.

  She entered the dimly lit room, closing the door behind her, and set her bow and arrows on the table. “You did well today,” she muttered to her bow, “but you need not look so smug.” She walked to the window and threw open the shutters. The afternoon sun flooded the chamber and a pleasant breeze caressed her face as she looked beyond the river curling around the palisade to the green hills beyond.

  Turning into the chamber, she froze. On the far side of the chamber, asleep on her bed was Alex, curled up on top of the furs with his back to her, his long black hair free of its leather tie a dark cloud on her pillow. The sunlight falling on his long lean body made her think of a sleeping Hercules.

  She looked toward her bow. Silently, it warned, “Do not trust him! Remember his reputation.” The bow spoke the truth. She could not allow anyone to find him here for they would think the worst. And if he remained in her bed she might be tempted to succumb to his seductive charm.

  Walking to the bed, she gently prodded his still form. “Alex, what are you doing here?” she whispered, afraid someone might hear. “You must leave!”

  Alex rolled over to face her, one gray eye barely opening under a dark arched brow. “Have you come to join me?”

  He smelled of ale and his words were slurred. Drunk. She might have known he and his friends would be celebrating the matches they’d won. Did he even know where he was? “Alex, you are in my bed, not your own.”

  He closed his eye and sighed contentedly. “I am merely resting and I like it here.” He rubbed his cheek against her pillow. “It smells very pleasant.”

  His measured breathing told her he had gone back to sleep.

  She took in his masculine form. Even at rest he appeared formidable and so sensual that a part of her wanted to crawl in beside him. Shaking off the scandalous thought, she shook his shoulder. “You must wake up!”

  This time both his eyes opened and he reached for her, his powerful arms pulling her onto the bed and drawing her tightly against him. “I do like you in your bowman’s attire,” he said, nuzzling her neck. He inhaled deeply. “You smell like a field of flowers.”

  She tried to wiggle free of his embrace but his strength held her to him. “Alex! Stop this at once.”

  “Do not scold, Merewyn,” he said, tightening his grip and brushing his lips over her neck. “I like having you here. So soft. Can you not stay?”

  It would have been laughable had she not been concerned about what others might think and where this could lead if she did not stop him. “This is my bed, not yours, you fool!”

  Ignoring her protest, he rolled on top of her and brought his mouth down upon hers. The moment his warm lips kissed her, she forgot her scolding. She could not bring herself to refuse what she had longed for. He tasted of ale, his warm lips easing hers apart. Slipping in his tongue, he gently explored her mouth. ’Twas alarming and wonderful at the same time. Small ripples of pleasure coursed through her and an ache formed deep in her woman’s center. With any other man she would have reached for her bow, but this was Alex. She did not fear him, as she would have another man.

  She threaded her fingers through his thick raven hair, finally able to touch what she had so long admired. In a moment, she would pull away, she told herself.

  He wiggled his hips until they parted her thighs. His hard arousal pressed between her legs, moving against her woman’s flesh. Only his hosen and hers separated them. “I want you, Merewyn.”

  He knows who I am! Reason came back to her. She would have to be the one to stop this. Reining in the passion rising within her, she placed her hands on his shoulders and hissed, “Off! You must get off! This is unseemly.”

  He took her hands from his shoulders and raised them above her head, threading his fingers through hers. Pinned by his body and secured by his hands, she could not move.

  His mouth sought the tender flesh of her neck where he trailed kisses down her throat, the stubble on his chin tickling her sensitive skin.

  “You do not want me to get off, I can tell,” he muttered. His speech was still slurred and she was not certain he was fully awake. But when his hips pressed into her causing her to sink deeper into the soft bed cushion, desire threatened to intoxicate her as surely as the ale had robbed him of his wits. “You are so warm and soft and smell so good,” he murmured against her throat.

  His words roused her from the fog into which she was slipping. “And you smell like the bottom of an ale barrel,” she said shortly. Afraid she would soon succumb to his seduction if she did not move this instant, she brought her mouth to his ear. “Alex, ’tis my bed you are in and you were not invited.”

  She must have reached him in his stupor, for he raised his head, looked into her eyes and blinked. “Not invited?”

  “Nay,” she insisted as firmly as she could, meeting his startled gaze.

  “Oh.” Shaking his head, he let go of her hands and pushed his weight from her to sit on the bed, leaving her aching and wanting for his touch, but resolved to see him gone.

  As soon as she was free of his body, she pulled her legs be
neath her and scrambled back away from him on the bed.

  He flung his legs over the side and turned to look back at her, blinking again as if trying to focus. Casting a glance around the chamber, he spoke in a clear voice. “ ’Tis not mine.”

  “I have been trying to tell you that, you drunken sot.” She was not really angry with him. Drunk, he had stumbled into the wrong chamber, but his nearness had stirred her senses, his kisses made her want more and her heart hammered in her chest with the excitement of touching him as a lover might.

  With a deep sigh, he got to his feet and walked to the door. Turning to look at her, he said, “You are beautiful when disheveled, Merewyn, but ’tis quite apparent I am not wanted.”

  He opened the door to leave and she bit her lip to keep from speaking.

  He could not have been more wrong.

  CHAPTER 4

  Alex speared a piece of smoked salmon with his knife and popped it into his mouth, savoring the salty, somewhat oily taste before washing it down with ale. A few days had passed since the contests and he had finally recovered from his celebration, his appetite returning full force.

  His mother, dressed in a ruby-colored gown, glided toward his table and he welcomed her to the seat beside him.

  “Do you go to the practice yard this morning?” she asked.

  “I cannot avoid it. Rory and Guy want a rematch from yesterday’s practice and some of the men-at-arms are itching to have a chance to trounce the three of us.”

  “I shall have a busy day myself. Aethel and I are taking herbs to the village women,” she said as she accepted the bowl of gruel a servant set before her.

  “Sir Alain’s wife knows much about herbs and such.”

  “She does and they count upon her knowledge. Lora will be joining us a bit later.”

  All the while he ate, his eyes kept straying to where Merewyn sat at the next table with Lora, planning their day, no doubt. Since that afternoon in her chamber, now a vague but pleasant memory, Merewyn had been avoiding him. Had he really lain beside her? Held her? Kissed her again? He who, since coming to manhood, had never missed a woman’s presence was missing this one’s. Truth be told, it bothered him greatly. He’d not had a woman since returning home and he was beginning to suspect the cause was Merewyn.

  The day after he’d wandered into her bed, Lora had moved into Merewyn’s chamber, saying the two wanted to spend time together before Merewyn left for London. He had to wonder if Merewyn had sought Lora’s company to protect herself from him. Surely she knew he would never harm her. He had not meant to stumble into her chamber, had he? He’d been drunk as a villager after harvest, but even floating in ale, some part of his mind must have known whose chamber it was.

  Had he hoped she might welcome him? It was hardly noble to entertain such thoughts about a woman who had once sought his protection, but then she had been a girl, now she was a woman grown. As much as he tried, he could not deny the attraction between them. He was certain she had returned his kiss, at least for a few moments. Even with the ale, he remembered the enticing taste of her and her scent.

  Letting out a sigh, he reached for the dish of wild strawberries, popping one into his mouth. The taste of it was sweet. Just like Merewyn.

  As far as he could determine, she spent her mornings with Lora and her afternoons with Talisand’s archers. When she donned her bowman’s garb and headed toward the archery field, little Cecily trailed behind her like her shadow.

  At one time Alex and Merewyn had been friends. The year before he’d gone to Rouen, she was always close by, her eyes large and adoring. ’Twas why he had looked for her the moment he’d heard she was back, curious to know what had become of her. In all the years he’d been away, he had never forgotten the beguilingly beautiful girl with her blue-hazel eyes, fragile features and golden hair. No longer adoring in her gaze, her manner was wary. But he sensed an inner strength in her that matched the beast in him. Her skill with the bow only made her more fascinating. She was making him think differently about other young women, too. No longer did he see them as merely potential bed partners. With Merewyn re-entering his life, he had to consider other women could be as intelligent and skilled.

  He rose from his bench, belted on his sword and bid his mother good day. He was just about to reach the door of the hall when Merewyn and Lora passed by. Holding the door for them, he asked Merewyn, “Will you take part in the hunt this afternoon?”

  She paused, allowing him time to peruse her simple gown of blue linen that brought his attention to her unusual eyes. “I might. It would be my first with the men of Talisand.”

  “Good. I shall look for you as we depart.”

  “I should never like to hunt,” Lora said. “I am content to tend the herb garden and wait for the hunters to return.”

  “There is place for that, too, my lady.” He bowed and watched the two women walk arm in arm from the hall, so very different. He had new respect for each of them, but only one had the courage to hunt with a wolf.

  * * *

  By the time the hunting party formed in the bailey, Merewyn had donned her archer’s clothing and Ceinder was saddled and waiting. She grabbed the pommel and slid her foot into the stirrup. Lifting herself into the saddle, she made sure her bow was secure and her quiver was at her right shoulder where she had only to bend her elbow to fetch an arrow.

  The hounds, excited for the hunt, barked and howled as the men made ready to depart. Lady Emma’s husband, Sir Geoffroi, kept large sight hounds, offspring of Emma’s beloved Magnus she had brought from York. One Christmas, Sir Geoffroi had given some of the pups to Talisand’s lord and now their offspring hunted with him.

  In Wales, Rhodri had hunted with rough-coated hounds that bayed to alert the hunters when game was sighted. She and Ceinder had hunted together in Wales but this would be the first time she would hunt with Talisand’s men, the first time she would hunt with Alex.

  A dozen riders, including Jamie, Alex, Rory and Guy, waited for the signal from Talisand’s lord. Merewyn could not take her eyes from Alex, sitting atop his great black horse. He wore only a tunic and hosen, but he was still every bit the knight, armed with sword, spear and knife.

  Chasing after the deer with him presented a test, for she must concentrate not on Alex but on the hunt, avoiding the men’s horses and spears while she loosed her arrows. Some of Talisand’s archers had gone ahead on foot to await them in the woods. She would have to avoid them, too.

  Since that day in her chamber, her mind strayed many times to the handsome heir of Talisand. Alex might not remember that afternoon as drunk as he’d been, but her memories of his body pressed into hers and his kisses trailing down her neck were all too real. Alex had awakened a desire in her that had once been only imagined. Now it was all too easily brought to mind. She pressed her lips together, fighting to keep her mind on the hunt. She no longer thought of him as an arrogant beast, but he was still a man.

  When the signal was given, the score of riders spurred their horses to a canter, the knights in the lead, following the dogs. She chased after the men, keeping to their pace. Trees rushed by as the hounds howled and the horses crushed the dense undergrowth beneath their hooves. She was thankful that Ceinder had an eye for obstacles and a steady gait that made riding to hunt with bow and arrow easier than it would be on a larger, bolder horse.

  Merewyn slowed, guiding Ceinder around branches that jutted from trees blocking her path.

  Shouts echoed through the woods, followed by the hounds’ baying. Deer had been sighted. Ceinder’s reins were already knotted. Now she laid them at the base of the pony’s neck, reached for her bow and rode on.

  In the distance, three deer leapt from the cover of the woods and raced across the meadow. The men galloped after them.

  In front of her but behind the men, a hart sprang out of the woods, crossing her path. Seeing no other archer, she nocked an arrow, raised her bow and loosed the arrow.

  The deer leapt high, as if trying to tak
e wing, and then went down in a flailing tangle of legs.

  Slowing Ceinder, Merewyn dropped from her pony and carried her bow to where the deer lay, wanting to assure the animal a quick death.

  The deer lay quiet and unmoving, its tongue lolled out, its red sides still. A clean shot. She smiled to herself. Tonight they would dine on venison. Hunting was not merely sport, but necessary to add to their store of meat and she was proud that she could contribute to the meal this eve. July was a hungry month when grain stores were low and the people foraged, waiting for August’s harvest.

  She straightened, her eyes searching the woods for a servant who might be following the hunt. Before she could summon help to lift the deer, she heard a snorting sound from the bushes. Turning, she glimpsed a brown snout rising above the green underbrush less than twenty feet away. On either side of its hoary snout were wicked curved tusks as long as her hand. A whiff of musky taint hit her nostrils.

  Oh God, a wild boar in rut!

  Heart pounding, Merewyn reached for Ceinder’s reins, but the normally calm pony rolled her eyes, showing the whites, and backed away, blowing and snorting.

  With a guttural sound, the beast stepped from the brush, sniffing the air. Ceinder let out a high-pitched scream. The boar’s tiny eyes glittered as it snorted and pawed at the ground, agitated by the pony’s panicked dance.

  The beast let out a fearful squeal sending chills up Merewyn’s spine. What should she do? Her arrows would not stop a charging boar. Afraid she might only madden the animal if she wounded it, she began to back away. The boar squealed again and charged.

  Ceinder fled and Merewyn ran, terrified. She could never outrun the wild beast gaining on her.

  Pounding hooves shook the ground. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed Alex galloping into the clearing. He swung out of the saddle, landed running and flung his spear all in one powerful motion. The boar crashed to the ground and slid, plowing up the loam, before smashing into Merewyn, knocking her to the ground. One of its tusks pressed against her leg. The spear quivered, jutting up from the beast’s armpit where it pinned the boar’s heart.