by Regan Walker
“We are ready to leave,” said his mother. “What we have now will fill the cart we brought from Talisand.”
They turned toward St. Peter’s church and the manor beyond.
Merewyn had enjoyed her morning, but with Alex walking beside her, her mood rose higher. Their time might be short but she vowed to enjoy it. As the skirts of her dark blue linen gown glided over the hard-packed earth beneath her feet, it was as if she floated above the ground. Not even the darkening sky could dim her spirits. She laughed at Guy’s shameless attempts to amuse them, making fun of the king’s “three graces”, as he called the courtiers, and their outlandish shoes with long curving toes she had not observed at the king’s court.
“However do they walk in them?” she asked.
“Not far, to be sure,” said Alex.
“They have only to walk as far as William,” offered Rory.
Alex seemed happier than she had ever seen him. He stole glances at her as they walked along. Was he thinking of their time together? She had given him her heart as well as her body. At least for a time, he was hers. She refused to think of Lady Adèle.
That morning when she had dressed for the day, she had spotted her bow leaning against the wall of her chamber. Silently, it had shouted its disapproval.
“Do not stand there rigidly condemning me for my behavior,” she had retorted. “Alex is… unlike other men. He is different. And with him, I am different.”
Maugris’ words had come back to her then. … The archer controls the bow and not the bow the archer.
And so she would.
CHAPTER 9
Alex shared a glance with Merewyn, who rode across from him, resisting the urge to pull her into his lap. They had departed London the next morning before Terce, taking the same route back to Talisand they had coming south.
In the days that followed, Alex was able to share only a few whispers with Merewyn. It was grand torture to be so close to her and yet unable to touch her, except to help her from her pony. At times, he worried his friends, if not his parents and Sir Geoffroi, would sense the new closeness between them and see his gaze drifting often to Merewyn. He did not want the others to know of his intentions concerning her, not yet.
The storms held off making their stop in Shrewsbury pleasant. This time, it was his younger brother, Roger, who lost a game of chess to Merewyn. Alex had watched the game, exchanging occasional, heat-filled looks with Merewyn. That she had been able to keep her mind on the game so as to beat his brother amazed him.
It was a weary group of travelers that rode into the bailey a sennight later. Alex was pleased to be home. He and his men would have only a few days before they would have to leave to meet the king in Durham and he meant to share them with Merewyn when he was not in the practice yard.
Maggie came to meet them as they entered the hall. “My lady, my lord, there is food and drink should ye be wanting it.” His parents thanked her and headed for the tables.
Alex turned to Merewyn. “Will you have a drink of ale?” The road had been dusty and his throat was as dry as dirt.
Merewyn looked down at her rust-colored gown, covered in dust. “Ale would be good but what I need is a bath.”
He leaned in to whisper. “Would that I could join you.”
She blushed and darted a look at the others. “ ’Tis most unseemly to say so.”
“Aye, I suppose it is.”
By the time the weary travelers had drunk their ale and wine and Alex and his companions had hied off to the river to bathe, the afternoon was fair gone. On his way back, he stopped in the stable with Rory and Guy to check on their horses.
As he entered Azor’s stall, the stallion was nibbling on oats while the young groom combed briars from his tail.
Alex stroked Azor’s neck. “See anything I need to attend?”
The groom stood, one hand on Azor’s buttock. “Nay, except he needs a new shoe. I’ll see the blacksmith fits him tomorrow.”
“And the destrier?” The horse Alex kept for battle was fierce in a fight but too difficult to manage for long rides over the countryside. But he would have his squire bring him to Durham.
“Your squire has seen to him while you were away. The destrier was restless this morning, so I turned him out for a bit of exercise, but you might want to run him through a few paces before you go.”
“Aye, I have been remiss,” admitted Alex. Unlike Azor, the destrier needed constant training in order to respond in battle to his commands using changing leg pressure. “Tomorrow, I will wear my spurs and bring Rory and Guy. Their warhorses also need the practice. My squire can assist with some distractions.”
“Some screeching chickens and straw bales for the horses to jump over are readily available. ’Tis sure your brother, Tibby, will be there to add his shrieks.”
Alex laughed. “Just like a battlefield, aye.” He patted Azor and thanked the groom.
In the hall, his mother and Merewyn were sitting by the hearth, a bench between them covered with a stack of materials. “Heads bent to stitchery?” he inquired as he strode toward them.
Merewyn’s head popped up and she rolled her eyes. “Look closer, Sir Alex. ’Tis not stitchery, but a fletcher’s work we are about.”
His mother smiled but kept working and did not look up as she carefully fitted part of a feather into the shaft.
“Gray goose feathers?”
“Have I ever used anything else?” his mother asked, finally raising her head. “ ’Tis not the first time you have seen me fit a feather into an arrow shaft.”
“Have you ever considered using the peacock’s feathers?”
“I have used them,” Merewyn said. “Sets my arrows apart in a contest.”
“A bit bright for me,” his mother said, “but Merewyn had need of new arrows so we are making some using the feathers I prefer.”
Merewyn kept glancing at his mother’s actions, appearing to copy her in the distinctive way she had of placing the feathers.
“Alex,” Merewyn said, “can you hold the shaft for me? It keeps slipping.”
He took a seat next to her on the bench and reached out his hands. “What do I do?”
“Here,” she said, offering the shaft. “Just hold it in the middle while I attach the feather.”
He held the shaft still while she worked at the end, biting her lip as she tried to do what his mother had done. He could not take his eyes off her lips. Her delicate scent of flowers wafted to his nostrils and he had to fight the sudden urge to kiss her.
“I have never been very good at this,” she said. “Rhodri taught me to make them, but the fletchings he made were always better than mine, more like Lady Serena’s. ’Tis why I brought a supply of them from Wales.”
“In time, you will be an expert, like my mother,” Alex encouraged. “Like many things, it just takes practice.” He smiled and she blushed. He was certain she had discerned the kind of practice he had in mind.
“My son speaks the truth,” his mother said, setting down her finished arrow. “And it takes patience. I did not have much when I was your age. That, too, comes with time.”
“There!” Merewyn said with a look of satisfaction as she took the shaft from him and held it up. “ ’Tis done!”
“The best one all afternoon,” his mother remarked.
Alex liked that Merewyn took pride in small things, laboring to get something right she cared about, even if it was an archer’s arrow and not embroidery. But for his mother’s presence, he would have reached out and pulled her into his arms. Ah well, he would see to that this night.
* * *
Merewyn had just hung her gown on the peg and was about to blow out the candle when there was a soft knock on her chamber door. Wearing only her undertunic, she set down the candle and went to open the door, peeking around the oaken panel.
“Alex!” She opened the door. As he entered, she looked behind him. “Did anyone see you?” she whispered, closing the door.
“Nay, I wai
ted till all was quiet. I could not stand another moment without holding you. Come here.” He held out his arms and she went to him eagerly.
His muscled arms closed around her like a safe haven. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “Oh, Alex.” She wanted to ask what would become of them but she already knew the answer. Hoping for another was not wise. It was enough to have this part of him for as long as she might.
He turned her face up to meet his lips and with one kiss, swept her mind clean of its many concerns. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bed where he laid her down and crawled in beside her. “Come to me, my passionate archer. I have so much to teach you. Remember, it takes practice.”
“I was sure this is what you had in mind when you teased me as I sat with your mother.”
“You were right.”
When he said such things, and he often did, she asked no more of him than he was willing to give. “Then teach me, my love,” she whispered.
And he did, the night becoming sweeter than she could have imagined.
* * *
The next day, Alex and his father were standing in the bailey when in through the gate rode the comte de Vermandois with his daughter, Lady Adèle, with their attendants and several men-at-arms.
Alex watched as the new arrivals dismounted. Both the nobleman and his daughter were attired as if they were still at court, but dust now covered Adèle’s dark green gown.
“Bonjour, Ren” said the comte, extending his hand to Alex’s father. “Veuillez pardonner notre arrivée inattendue.”
Talisand’s lord accepted the comte’s hand with a welcoming smile as the Talisand grooms took their horses away. “You are welcome, Herbert, whether expected or not, but I must tell you we speak English at Talisand. I trust ’twill not be an inconvenience?”
“Ah, bon,” said the comte. “We speak the English tongue. Again, please forgive our abrupt appearance.” The comte glanced at his daughter. “ ’Twas the king’s wish. William sent us north in all haste shortly after you departed, so that my daughter and your son might have some time to get acquainted before Sir Alex rides to meet William in Durham.”
Lady Adèle smiled at Alex. He was certain his face bore a scowl, though he managed to say, “Welcome, my lady,” and bow over her hand when offered. William had mentioned naught of this to him at the meeting of the barons. Had the king planned it all along or was this Ranulf’s suggestion?
Alex remembered the comte de Vermandois from the evening at court. His face, like Alex’s father’s, was lined from years in the sun. Both his mustache and short beard were brown, but Herbert’s small eyes were blue and his hair, extending only to his nape, was nearly silver. Except when he smiled at Alex’s father, the comte’s appearance was stern.
“A visit by an old friend is always welcome,” his father said to the comte. “Have you met my son, Sir Alex?”
“I have, in London, when he returned Adèle to me after a dance. Your father and I were young knights together. I was there in Maine when Earl Renaud gained the name ‘the Red Wolf’.”
Alex offered his arm to Adèle and suggested their visitors join them for some refreshment after their journey. It felt odd having a woman on his arm who was not Merewyn but he supposed he could play the gracious host for his king. Still, he could not help but wonder, had Adèle’s father wanted to travel so far north? Or had the comte chafed at William’s command? Some few years ago, the nobleman’s allegiance would have been to Duke Robert, but with the signing of the Caen treaty, his lands were now controlled by England’s king. Some Norman nobles welcomed the change, for Robert was never a strong leader, but some did not.
Once in the hall, Maggie had servants bring their guests wine, bread and cheese and then sent for Alex’s mother.
When she arrived, the Lady of Talisand welcomed their guests and spoke of their lodging. “The castle is quite spacious,” she said to the comte, “but if you prefer to avoid the steps, we can provide chambers in the manor, that is if Adèle is willing to share with our ward, Merewyn. Lady Adèle’s maidservant can room with mine. Nelda is very accommodating. Alex’s younger brother can move into his chamber, which would free a chamber for you and your manservant. Your men are welcome to lodge in the castle’s great hall or with our men-at-arms.”
“We wish no inconvenience,” said the comte. “The manor will be fine and my men can lodge with yours.” Alex did not miss Adèle’s tight-lipped smile at her father’s words. Did she resent having to share a chamber with his father’s ward, a commoner?
Alex cared not if Tibby joined him in his chamber, but he was none too sure ’twas a good idea for Merewyn to share a chamber with Adèle, particularly since Merewyn was not of the Norman woman’s class.
* * *
Merewyn had just finished her bath and was dressing for the evening meal when Nelda hurried into her chamber, her expression anxious.
“Mistress,” she said, breathless, “visitors have arrived from London.”
Taken aback, Merewyn sputtered, “Who?”
“ ’Tis the comte de Vermandois and his daughter. Lady Serena has made arrangements for the daughter to share your chamber.”
“Oh,” Merewyn said, turning to show her laces to the maidservant. “Can you help me with these?”
Nelda pulled the laces tight as Merewyn pondered this latest news. “Why are they here? Do you know?” Merewyn remembered the dark beauty from London, the woman the king intended for Alex. Was there to be a betrothal?
“I only caught a bit of their conversation. ’Twas the king who sent them.”
The king. Merewyn’s heart sunk. So it was to be a betrothal after all. Her laces now tied, Nelda came around to stand in front of her. “Oh, mistress, the woman is here for Sir Alex, I am sure.”
Nelda must have observed her affection for Talisand’s heir, but Merewyn did not ask what more she knew. Most of the young women had a tendre for Alex and mayhap Nelda was among them and disliked another woman coming to visit him, especially one who was noble born. “Well,” said Merewyn, speaking the truth, “there is little we can do about that.”
“But mistress—” Nelda began as if in protest.
Merewyn held up a hand, stiffening her resolve and ignoring the pain that suddenly gripped her heart. “We must make Lady Adèle feel welcome.” Looking around her chamber, Merewyn said, “She can have the large bed and I will take the small one.”
“But that is your bed, mistress.”
“Surely it will be for only a short while,” Merewyn assured the concerned maidservant. “I do not mind.” Truth be told, Merewyn did mind, not that she had to share the chamber, but that the woman who would claim Alex had come to Talisand, invading the one place Merewyn believed was hers alone to share with him. Mayhap they would have less time together than she had thought.
* * *
Alex had never felt so uncomfortable sitting on the dais with his parents and their guests. The meal that evening was bound to be awkward. Lady Adèle sat on his left next to her father. On his right were his parents and then Maugris, Sir Geoffroi and Lady Emma. As soon as he sat down, his gaze reached out to the trestle tables where Merewyn ate next to Lora and Jamie. Across from her sat Rory and Guy. Their faces, when lifted to Alex, were marked by curious stares. He had not had time to tell them of William’s sly move in sending the comte and his daughter north to Talisand.
His father stood to introduce their guests. Goblets were raised in welcome. Alex drank heartily, but seeing Rory attempting to charm Merewyn, his mood darkened.
“The salmon is very good,” remarked Adèle, running her tongue over her bottom lip, a gesture he was certain was meant for him. She was younger than Merewyn but seemed older, wiser in the ways of the world. Her teasing, sensual gestures were familiar to Alex, having known other women at William’s court much like her.
“Do you hunt, my lady?” he asked her.
“With the men?” she asked, aghast. When he nodded, she shoo
k her head. “Never. A lady would not do so.” Alex refrained from telling her his lady mother had once hunted game for Talisand’s kitchens.
“Might you play chess?”
“A bit,” she said, “but I am not proficient like my father. Do you play?”
“Aye, I do. ’Tis a game knights learn in the evening when a candle’s light is available.”
She took a drink of her wine, licked the last drops from her bottom lip and smiled. “We could play… together this eve. There are many candles in your father’s hall.”
He supposed it was expected of him to entertain her, but he much preferred to play chess with Merewyn. Still, he would do what was required of him. Thus, at the end of the meal, when there was music and games of chess organized, he led Adèle to the trestle table where the games would be played.
His father sat opposite the comte, just setting up their board. Next to them, Sir Geoffroi smiled across a board at his wife, Lady Emma, known to be an intelligent chess player.
Unable to resist, Alex’s eyes often drifted to Merewyn, who sat talking with his friends a short distance away.
“That woman,” said Adèle, “the fair-haired one I met in London, she is your father’s ward, non?”
“Aye. Ranulf introduced you to Merewyn at William’s court. You will be sharing her chamber.”
“Oh, yes,” she said with a decided lack of enthusiasm. “She was not there when I went to the room. Is it true what they say, that she hunts with the men?”
“Aye, she does,” he said, resisting the smile forming on his lips.
Her hazel eyes widened. “I had heard she went to the king’s hunt disguised as your page, but I could not believe it. ’Tis hardly the action of a lady.”
Alex laughed. “Some of the women of Talisand tend to be unusual in that way.” He did not mention his mother was one of them.
“Does she also play chess?”
“Yea and well.” Where was the woman going with this? “Many women play chess.”
