Once a Knight

by Christina Dodd

  His instinct told him to be cautious, and he always obeyed his instinct. In a low, gentle tone, he said, “My lady.”

  She didn’t answer. She still just stared, and it struck him as odd. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought her unconscious of the ramifications of his defeat. She wasn’t; he’d heard her chide Sir Walter. So why did she look at him—at his body outlined beneath the cover—with such a curious intensity? She might have been a butcher considering a lamb for slaughter.

  Quite an odd experience, to feel like a lamb. “My lady, I never lied to you. When you came to the tavern to hire me, I told you I was no longer the greatest warrior in England.”

  She still didn’t speak. She simply laid a hand on the thigh of his leg and pinched it as though testing it for meat.

  He raised his voice a little. “And your Hugh is magnificent. I doubt that anyone here realizes how magnificent.”

  His hands lay on top of the rug across his stomach, and she stared at them.

  His fingers twitched. “But that’s no excuse. Some skills are lost to me forever. The speed of youth is gone. But with practice, I can become a warrior to be feared once more.” The warmth of her palm began to work on his flesh. The strength of her gaze began to work on his mind. If she had been another woman, any other woman, he would have wondered if this clinical survey meant she was considering him for a bed partner. But not Alisoun. She had over and over again demonstrated that her mind worked in a logical manner. Although—his own logic floundered—why she was looking at his body when it had proved inadequate for her combat purposes, he did not know. “Let me stay. I can teach Hugh many things, and he is ideal to bring me back to prime condition.”

  She didn’t answer, and he jiggled his leg. “Lady Alisoun?”

  She jerked her hand back, then stared at the palm as if it belonged to someone else.

  “Shall I stay longer and establish that I am worthy of your trust?”

  She looked at him and wet her lips. He could see the word forming. Nay. She was going to say nay.

  But she didn’t. She said, “Aye,” then looked as surprised as he felt. But she repeated it firmly. “Aye. You can stay. If you practice every day with Hugh. But only until after the market on Lammas Day. ’Tis less than a month away, and if you haven’t improved by then, then you must go and I…” Her lips trembled, then firmed. “I’ll have to organize the defense of George’s Cross myself. I suppose that’s what I should have done to begin with. It would have been more efficient.”

  His reaction was instinctive and immediate. “Defense is a man’s job!”

  “I’ve had two men to do it, and both failed me.”

  He flushed and turned his head away.

  “I beg your pardon.” She placed her hand on him again, but this time on his shoulder. “You have done as I hoped and kept trouble away with your mere presence, but we can no longer depend on that. Everyone in the village knows that Hugh defeated you by now. They’ll gossip to any chance-met merchant, and soon all of Northumbria will have heard. I’ll not don armor, of course, but my safety depends on organization, and my organization has proved superior to any man’s.”

  Taking her hand from his shoulder, he shoved it back at her. “And if you succeed, my lady, what use will you have for a man?”

  He saw it this time, he knew he did. A flare of interest, of hot intent, then with her hand she stroked his ribs. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  That wasn’t an answer, and he replied curtly, “I can perform my duties.”

  “Good.” Her fingers fluttered down his hip and away. “Good.”

  As she left the room, he watched the sway of her hips thoughtfully.

  There would always be one reason a woman would need a man, and from Lady Alisoun’s expression, David could have sworn she’d decided to investigate the possibilities.

  “My lady sent me in here with a tray.”

  David stopped contemplating the darkness captured by the bed canopy above and turned to contemplate Eudo. The lad stood in the open doorway holding a laden dinner tray. He stepped into the room, set the tray on the table beside the bed and, using the candle off the tray, lit the candles Heath had placed earlier.

  Eudo, David now saw, wore the kind of expression David associated with a rebellious serf. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to serve a fallen hero, and he didn’t care if David knew it.

  What was worse, David didn’t want him to have to serve him. What a blow to the boy’s already damaged pride to be the one who waited on the man all considered to be a craven. But if Lady Alisoun had told Eudo to serve him, then both man and boy must uphold her authority, so David plumped the pillows under his back and said, “Bring it here.”

  Eudo dragged his feet through the rushes as he made his way toward the bed. He watched the contents of the tray intently, and stepped up on the stool beside the tall bed to present the tray.

  The array of delicacies astonished David. Fish stew steamed in a pewter bowl, redolent with parsley from the herb garden. The bread was tinted yellow with kingly saffron, the herb of happiness. Fresh pressed wine had been mixed with cinnamon, and spring lamb dressed with sprigs of mint had been cut thin and placed on a silver plate alternately with a creamy white cheese. “Good God!” David said. “Is it a saint’s day I’ve forgotten?”

  “My lady said you’d need your strength,” Eudo answered.

  “For fighting, you mean.”

  Eudo snickered.

  Reaching across the tray, David took Eudo’s tunic in his hand and slowly brought him forward. “Why did you laugh?”

  “I didn’t laugh.”

  “A lie, Eudo.” Letting him go, David took the tray. “Because you’re disappointed in me, you think your vow to tell the truth invalid?”

  “Nay.” Eudo’s voice rose and cracked. “But I don’t need you hitting me because of what I think.”

  “How often have I done that?”

  Eudo squirmed. “Never.” He jumped off the stool and stepped back a safe distance. “So I did laugh at you. Everyone’s laughing at you.”

  David placed the tray across his lap, shook out the massive napkin and spread it on his chest. “Because I failed today?”

  Eudo tucked his hands into his armpits and hunched his shoulders.

  Humiliation began to gnaw at David again, and picking up the spoon, he gripped the handle tightly. “If you don’t want to be in here with me, why don’t you go?”

  “They’re laughing at me, too.”

  David glanced toward the door. Of course. The disappointed servants of George’s Cross would have to take their ire out on someone. David wasn’t available, so even better was his squire, a small, bastard-born lad who couldn’t defend himself against the jeers.

  Now David really despised himself as a craven, leaving the boy to suffer his punishment, and he offered himself to Eudo. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?”

  “Nay,” Eudo muttered.

  “Another lie,” David chided.

  Eudo’s eyes flashed. “Well, why not? You lied to me.”

  “When?”

  “When you let me think you were a legend.”

  Getting a grip on his composure, David said, “I didn’t create the legend, nor did I encourage it. If I let you think anything, it was that I was still the greatest fighter in Christendom.”

  “Fine.”

  Eudo almost spat the word, and David realized that facing the rest of the castle would have been easier. After all, adults knew how to pretend respect with their faces and their voices. Eudo displayed all the fierce honesty of an eleven-year-old, and David found himself scrambling to assuage the boy’s disappointment. “Once I was the greatest fighter.”

  “Should I believe that?”

  David grappled with his suddenly unsteady temper. “Keep a civil tongue in your head,” he warned.

  Eudo flinched and huddled farther into himself. “Don’t tell my lady.”

  “Have I ever?” David tore
off a piece of bread and spread it with cheese. “Do you want some?” He offered it in Eudo’s direction. “It’s good.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Eudo shot him a rebellious glare and said hatefully, “Nay, wait, that’s a lie.”

  David waited, but Eudo didn’t continue. Prodding him, David asked, “What’s the truth?”

  “I can’t tell you the truth.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you told me to keep a civil tongue.”

  The lad was so angry and so clever at tormenting David with it. He reminded David of his own daughter, and for the first time since his backside left that horse, David’s mood lightened. “It’s a tough balance, isn’t it? Very well, never mind the civil tongue.”

  Eudo answered now with glee. “I don’t want to eat with you.”

  “Hm.” David spread another piece of bread with cheese. “That is tough. It’s hard to remain hostile when you share a tray. That’s why when two enemies share a table, it cancels all animosity. But only for the evening. Come and eat now, and you can hate me again tomorrow.” Dunking the bread in the soup, David slurped it noisily. “This tastes good!” He did it again, then speared a slice of lamb and waved it so the scent wafted across to Eudo. In a singsong voice, he said, “I wager this tastes good, too.”

  Eudo glared and weighed the situation, but he didn’t have a chance. He was a page, the last to eat, and a growing boy. When David folded lamb into the bread and took a bite, he gave up the struggle. Climbing on the bed, he sat facing David as David carved the loaf into a bowl and served him. Wisely, David kept his silence until the two of them had demolished almost everything on the tray.

  Eudo’s motions slowed, and David waited for the first question. But Eudo didn’t seem to be able to ask, so David broke the silence. “Did you take care of Louis after my fall?”

  Relieved, Eudo nodded vigorously. “Aye, and he was good for me. The other stableboys couldn’t believe it, and Siwate tried to make him buck while I was inside the stall, and Louis bit him.”

  “I told you Louis would care for you,” David said.

  “Then Siwate said—” Eudo took a breath, “—that it probably wasn’t King Louis at all.”

  “Who is it, then?”

  “Siwate said it probably isn’t even…are you really the legendary mercenary Sir David of Radcliffe?” Eudo asked.

  David thought himself braced, but nothing could have prepared him for the hurt the lad inflicted with that simple, honest query. “Who else would I be?”

  “I don’t know.” Eudo shrugged. “Siwate said you killed him on the road and took his things so everyone’d think you’re him.”

  “Siwate had better hope that’s not true, or they’ll find his little body buried beneath the floorboards,” David snapped. Then Eudo shrank back, and he was sorry. “I’m really Sir David of Radcliffe. I’m just a little older than the legend you speak of.”

  “You can’t protect our lady if you fly off a horse like that whenever you face another…knight.”

  David read Eudo’s mind. “And Hugh’s not even a knight.” Hiding his face with the napkin, David wiped his mouth until he could speak without showing his grief. “I know how to be the best. I just need to practice. In the morning, I’ll be in the training yard.”

  “But when will we ride the estate to see if there’s mischief afoot?”

  “Do you want to go with me as you always have?”

  Eudo thought first, then answered, “Aye.”

  “Then we’ll go in the afternoon tomorrow, but we’ll have to ride at different times every day. If there’s someone watching who wishes to harm Lady Alisoun, then we shouldn’t lull him with consistency, especially not now. Not after my…defeat.” David said the word steadily, and that accomplishment encouraged him to think he might survive this humiliation. Handing Eudo the napkin, he said, “Wipe your face.”

  Eudo did as instructed, then wadded it and placed it on the tray. “But that person seems to know what goes on inside the castle. Some of the servants think he is inside the castle. And now he’ll know that you’re not so wonderful as we thought.”

  David’s suspicions of Sir Walter flared again, but he said only, “If he’s in the castle, then it will be easy to apprehend him when he strikes again. I need someone to keep watch for me out in the great hall. Would you watch for anyone suspicious?”

  “Aye!” Realizing he might have sounded too eager, Eudo slid off the bed and took the tray. In a more moderate tone, he said, “This sounds like a good plan. Is there anything else I can do for you before you sleep?”

  “Douse the candles.” David watched as Eudo did as instructed. “All except this one by the bed. And shut the door behind you. I don’t need to hear the talk from the great hall.” He saw Eudo’s face fall, and he realized how difficult Eudo’s evening would be. “You don’t need to hear it either, lad. Hurry through your chores and come back to your mat in here.”

  “Aye, Sir David.” Eudo threw him one valiant grin and plunged into the great hall, pulling the door tight and shutting himself out of the safety which David’s chamber represented.

  David relaxed, replete and at ease with himself now that he had a plan. He would spar with Hugh, practice until he reached his former fighting form, and not worry about those whose pride and safety rode on his success. Not about Eudo. Not about Alisoun. Not even about…himself.

  Sudden tears stung, and he pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes to cut off the unwelcome flow. How could he be concerned about himself when so many people depended on him? But he was. Defeat tasted bitter in his mouth, and he would have done anything to wipe this afternoon from his mind. Younger men, better fighters, had been nipping at his heels for years, but always he’d floated within the bubble of that legend. Now the bubble had burst and he’d fallen to earth with a crash. All those years of fighting in tournaments and battles, and his goals had been ever foremost in his mind. Land, a home, a family. He didn’t realize when he got them they’d consume him, lull him, so thoroughly he’d neglect the very skills by which he’d earned his way.

  Now he was older, slower. Being a fighter was a young man’s game. Yet…

  If his skills had disintegrated, his wit had sharpened. Surely he could protect Alisoun and reclaim Eudo’s respect with a combination of skill and guile. Surely he could earn his way and support his child, and most important, face himself in the basin of still water where he washed his face.

  On that resolution, he dozed, waking only a little when the door creaked open. He thought it was Eudo, come to sleep away from the teasing of the other boys, so he allowed himself to drift, still caught in the current of sleep.

  Light footsteps crept close to the bed, and he almost spoke, wishing Eudo a good night.

  Then a scent enticed him. His nostrils twitched; he had to be dreaming, but he’d never dreamed a fragrance before. It smelled like marjoram and rue and lemon balm—an odd combination, and one he’d smelled earlier today. But where?

  The step stool scraped closer. The sheet lifted. Opening his eyes he saw her—Lady Alisoun, clad in a white linen shift, climbing into bed beside him.

  Not even surprise could make him hesitate. Placing his hands on her waist, he helped her in beside him.

  11

  David had had dreams like this before. A woman came to his bed, leaned over and said, “I want you,” with husky passion in her tone. This must just be another satisfying, ultimately frustrating dream.

  But this dream girl behaved differently than she should. She was distressingly silent. She didn’t smile seductively. And she didn’t utilize the expertise his usual dream-women exhibited.

  “Alisoun?” he asked, the sound of his own voice whimsical and distracted. “Are you really here?”

  “Lie back,” she directed. “You’re hurt. I’ll do all the work.”

  That snapped him out of his reverie. Only Alisoun would use that tone of voice when visiting a man’s bed dressed in a gauzy shift. “What are you d
oing here?” he demanded.

  “Learning how to swive.” She appeared astonished, then abashed. “That is, if you are willing to oblige me.”

  Aye, it was really Alisoun. Only Alisoun would wear a wimple to hide her hair and keep the sheet draped over his hips. Only Alisoun would order a man to be still while she used his body to debauch herself. Only Alisoun would want to retain supremacy.

  Only Alisoun lacked the experience to bring her desire to fruition.

  This situation required much thought. He needed to understand why she was here now, after the day he’d had, but more important, she needed immediate reassurance. Placing his hand against her neck as she sat beside him on the mattress, he said, “I am yours to do with as you will.”

  That apparently was all she needed to hear. She briskly arranged the pillows under his head, as he tried to comprehend what had brought him this sudden blessing. She seemed to have no concept of her body and how it would work on him, for as she bobbed around him, he could see her breasts moving through the thin linen of her shift. The nipple of one rubbed his shoulder, and his hand rose to cup it in an involuntary reaction.

  Oblivious, she moved back before he made contact. “You’re very bruised.” She checked his bandage to assure herself of his comfort. “Are you able to proceed with this?”

  For a moment, he wondered if she were jesting. Then she peered at him, all earnest inquiry, and he managed a simple, “Aye.”

  “That’s what Philippa said you would say. She said a man could be halfway to heaven and be called back by the promise of a nature romp.” She sighed as if his irresponsibility weighed on her. “I don’t want you to feel you must swive me, for there is always the morrow.”

  How many tomorrows? he wanted to ask. Somehow, he didn’t think this was about his suit of marriage. Something told him she wouldn’t have changed her mind about her requirements or his inadequacies. But she’d decided he was good enough to bed, and if he performed successfully, those tomorrows could stretch through the rest of their lives. The lady was ripe and willing, and the strategy and skill of a legendary mercenary resided within his breast. A smile curved his lips. He would succeed.