by Kris Tualla
Also By Kris Tualla:
Medieval:
Loving the Norseman
Loving the Knight
In the Norseman’s House
Renaissance:
A Nordic Knight in Henry’s Court
A Nordic Knight of the Golden Fleece
A Nordic Knight and his Spanish Wife
18th Century:
A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery
A Discreet Gentleman of Matrimony
A Discreet Gentleman of Consequence
A Discreet Gentleman of Intrigue
A Discreet Gentleman of Mystery
and
Leaving Norway
Finding Sovereignty
Regency:
A Woman of Choice
A Prince of Norway
A Matter of Principle
Contemporary:
An Unexpected Viking
A Restored Viking
A Modern Viking
*****
For Aspiring Authors:
A Primer for Beginning Authors
Becoming an Authorpreneur
Loving the Knight
Eryndal & Andrew
by
Kris Tualla
Loving the Knight is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2011 by Kris Tualla
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN-10: 1456577255
EAN-13: 978-1456577254
My thanks go to Diana Gabaldon
for her early support and advice,
to my beta and proof readers
for catching my mistakes, and to
everyone who has ever encouraged me
to keep going.
The road to success is long and slow.
I am so glad to be walking this road
Along side all of you.
Chapter One
Castleton Village
Scottish Borderlands
December 1, 1354
Eryndal grabbed William, her fingers circling his scrawny arm. Though the nine-year-old tried to twist free she held tight.
“Ye are no’ my mither!” he bellowed, stomping a foot. The clomp of his wooden soles echoed off the stone walls of the Great Hall. Young Liam was as indignant and red-faced as a boy his age could ever be.
“I’m not your mother, true. But since the Death, I’m all you’ve got!” Eryn bent her face to his. “And I’m all that stands between you and starvation—or a much worse fate. So I suggest you stop trying to destroy this estate afore it’s yours!”
“He’ll want a whipping,” Geoffrey McDougal drawled from behind the boy.
Liam twisted his head to glare over his shoulder. “It’s no’ your concern!”
“Since I’m constable of Castleton now, yer punishment is fully my concern, William.” Geoffrey crossed muscular arms across his chest and gave Liam a stern look. “When ye open a gate and the sheep wander off it’s akin to stealing them, isn’t it?”
Eryn bit her lips between her teeth, damming any show of amusement. Friends with Geoffrey since she was an adolescent, watching him in his new position of authority made her want to grin. Instead, she gave the boy a little shake and bolstered Geoff’s point.
“Haven’t the reivers done enough damage, Liam? Why do you do such things?”
The boy shrugged one skinny shoulder and shoved ragged hanks of red hair out of his eyes.
Geoffrey considered her from beneath gathered brows. “He’ll want a whipping,” he repeated with a bit more emphasis.
Eryn nodded reluctantly. She’d had her share of whippings from the nuns of Elstow Abbey for being as contrary as Liam was acting right now. Even so she still had trouble curbing her tongue, so she doubted a willow switch would do much for Liam. But it needed to be done.
Jamie, her newly elevated steward, stepped into the corner of her vision. “Lady?”
The summons pulled her attention from the pouting boy. “Yes?”
“The men are starting to arrive.”
Eryn nodded and glanced out the window at the lowering gray sky. “Have them wait in the courtyard, but serve them something warm to drink while they’re standing.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“And William?” Geoffrey pressed.
“Will you do it, Constable?” she asked sternly. “I’ll need to send some men to round up the sheep, and then meet with the tenants.”
Geoff’s gray eyes narrowed slightly; long acquainted with her, he clearly discerned her reluctance. But one corner of his mouth lifted and he dipped a quick nod. “Of course.”
She let go of William’s arm and—to his credit—he didn’t bolt. Instead, he lifted his chin in defiance. But it was wobbling.
“Come on, then.” Geoffrey walked toward the kitchen and the back door. “Let’s get on with it.”
Liam followed with very small steps. Once they were gone, Eryn pulled a deep breath. At twenty-six, she could easily be mother of a nine-year-old son. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t even married.
And raising a sudden orphan that wasn’t her child, living in a home that wasn’t truly hers, and acting in a position that she assumed when none else was left to take it was harder than anything she could imagine; excepting, of course, those horrible years that the Black Death swept across Europe and left no town, no estate, no family untouched.
At least she was already an orphan by then. All she lost were employers.
Eryn sent two youths after the wandering flock and headed out to the courtyard to meet with her remaining tenants.
Less than four dozen men stood in the courtyard, their feet stomping and their reddened hands wrapped around steaming wooden cups. Eryn lifted her chin and refused to look discouraged. She pulled her cloak tighter as if that action would hold the men here. Falling snow dusted all of their heads and frosted the ground.
Before the Death nearly a hundred and fifty men worked the Bell estate. Half of those had died. Now many were simply leaving, going in search of abandoned land to claim as their own. If Eryn couldn’t find a way to keep them as tenants, young William and those still serving at his estate would starve.
“Gentlemen!” she shouted.
The crowd stilled. Gazes full of fear, hope and suspicion met hers. She gave them a smile and prayed that she exuded confidence. “Thank you for coming. We have been through a very rough patch, but I do believe we have turned a corner.”
“What else is new, missy?” one man called out.
“New?” She lifted one brow. “How about this: I am prepared to let you earn your land.” A rumble rose amidst a sea of wagging heads. “Do you want to hear more?”
“On whose authority?” another man asked.
This was the critical moment; her chance to take control.
“My own, of course.” Half the crowd nodded, but the other half shook their heads. Eryn pressed on, “Since the death almost a year past of Henry Bell, may God sain his soul”—Eryn crossed herself as did the assemblage—“I have been running this estate on behalf of young William Robert. I intend to continue, until he comes of an age to do
so himself.”
The head-shaking ceased, but the gazes were still suspicious.
“Explain yourself, then,” the first man demanded.
Eryn stepped closer to the huddled bodies. “I am well aware that many of our tenants have fled in hopes of better circumstances. But I ask you, what better circumstances are there to be had?” She spread her hands. “Your homes are here. Your families are here. You know this land well, do you not?”
Glances. Shrugs. Nods.
“Here is what I propose: the estate will be divided between those who wish to earn ownership of their own land, and those who wish to remain as serfs for William. For those men and women remaining as serfs, nothing will change; you will continue to work for, and be cared for by, the Bell estate.”
“And the others?” a man in the back prodded.
“The others will work their own plots. Each year one tenth of what they produce must be given to the estate. In ten years, the land will be wholly theirs.” Eryn chose one big man to lock eyes on.
“Why start with nothing?” she queried. She tossed her hood back, exposing her head to the icy elements. Snow melted in her hair and seeped to her scalp. “Why wander in hopes of finding empty, unworked fields? Tumbling plague houses? Broken fences? I am offering you fertile land, already tilled. Houses already built.”
Another rumble rose, but this time the heads bobbed in affirmation.
“What abou’ the livestock?” the big man asked.
“I’ll sell them to you for a return of one animal per animal taken. You’ll have three years to breed them and repay me. Repay William, that is.” Eryn grinned to cover her slip. “All the rest are yours to keep.”
A lanky redheaded young man pushed his way forward and pointed an accusing finger at Eryn. “What’s in this for ye?” he demanded.
What indeed.
Not nearly enough.
“I will have a roof over my head, food on my table, and a little to set aside for the day when William takes his rightful place as lord of the Bell estate.” She turned and stepped toward the manor, then faced the crowd again. “In the meantime, you shall address me as Lady Eryndal Bell and afford me all the rights and respect due the lady of an estate—because that is what I am. Have you any objections?”
For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved. All the men seemed to be weighing the options before them, as well as her overt claim to the title. Eryn’s hands fisted alongside her thighs. Her jaw clenched.
She earned this role, damn it.
She was head of the household staff when Lady Elspeth Bell fell victim to the plague. For several months afterward, Eryn fulfilled every one of that worthy woman’s roles, including the raising of William. When Henry Bell’s steward died, she assumed his authority over the rapidly diminishing staff as well. By the time Henry himself succumbed, there was nothing on the estate that she wasn’t managing on her own. That was January seventh, the day after the feast of Epiphany, this same year.
She already proved herself capable. She only lacked the official designation. Now was the time to claim it.
The big man she had addressed directly straightened and dipped his chin. “No, my lady. I have no objections at all.” He glared down at the younger redhead and nudged him with an elbow.
“Uh, no. Lady Bell,” he squeaked.
She swept the crowd with an intense gaze, searching for reluctance or outright rebellion. There was none. “Good. Those of you wishing to earn your lands come back tomorrow at noon. Together we shall draw your boundaries on the map. If you do not appear, you will not be given the option again. Is that fair?”
Nods all around. Some smiles. Backs were being slapped. Hands were clasped and shaken. Eryn turned to her steward, Jamie.
“See that everyone gets another cup, will you? It’s a cold day and the walk home will be thus eased.”
He dipped his chin in grinning respect. “Of course, Lady Bell. As ye wish.”
Eryn’s hands shook as she closed the door to the manor. She leaned her backside against it and blew a long sigh. A rivulet of cold sweat trickled down her backbone as melted snow dripped from her hair.
Her offer was accepted; her role wasn’t challenged. The bastard orphan of Elstow Abbey, Bedford, England was now Lady Eryndal Smythe Bell of Castleton, Scotland. Foster mother of William Robert Bell, heir.
And still well-liked, so it seemed. Eryn crossed herself again and kissed the crucifix that hung from her belt. Its amber beads smiled dully in the candlelight, approving her success.
Thank you, Father. Be with me always.
Eryn straightened and made her way to the kitchen at the back of the huge manor. William was there, red-eyed and sniffling over a plate of toasted bread and honey. Geoffrey sat astride the bench beside the lad. He held a steaming goblet of his own.
“Ye’re still alive I see,” Geoff teased, though his eyes were unsmiling. “The peasants have accepted yer elevated status, then?”
“They have. Tomorrow we shall see how many of them wish to earn their freedom.” Eryn took the goblet from Geoffrey’s hand and swallowed a large gulp of the warmed mead. She began to smooth Liam’s russet hair but he jerked his head from her reach.
“Don’t,” he growled.
Eryn handed Geoff his goblet and sat beside Liam. “I know you’re angry that your parents died, Liam. I have no intention of taking their place.”
“Then leave.”
“If I do, you’ll starve. Don’t you understand that?”
One shoulder moved a little and dropped back into place.
“Will you look at me Liam?” she whispered.
Brown eyes rimmed in red lifted to hers under a canopy of ginger. His lips were pressed in a hard line.
“Today I made arrangements that will keep the tenants here until you are grown. They will bring us food and animals and things that they make, so that we may always have a warm place to live and plenty of food. I’ll make your clothes as I always have. I’ll take care of you the way your mother wanted.”
Tears bulged on the boy’s lower lids but he swiped them away before they spilled. “Ye’re no’ my mither!” he snapped.
The litany was an old one and Eryn ignored it. “The thing is, Liam, every time you try to hurt me with your mischief, it’s your own estate you harm.”
“She’s right, ye ken,” Geoffrey added. He leaned closer. “And as Constable it’s my task to keep peace and punish the wrongdoers, isn’t it?”
William’s mouth twisted and his chin trembled. He stood, grabbed the last of his toast in a grubby fist, and ran out of the kitchen. Eryn might have worried if she couldn’t hear his boots thumping up the stairs. The slam of his chamber door assured her of his whereabouts.
Geoffrey took her hand. “He needs a man around, and ye ken it’s true.”
Eryn looked away. “Not now, Geoff, please. I’m done in after the meeting. Besides, I’ve got maps to study and—”
He rose to his feet of a sudden, stopping her words. He glanced over his shoulder at the women preparing the evening meal and then pulled Eryn to her feet. “Come.”
“Where?”
“The Hall.”
Eryn followed Geoff because he had a firm hold of her hand. She didn’t want to pull it away and upset him. If her intuition was correct, their pending conversation was going to be difficult enough as it was.
Geoff led her to a corner of the huge hearth and bade her to sit. He knelt in front of her. “Marry me, Eryn.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Please don’t ask me that, Geoff.”
He shook his head and the grip on her hand tightened. “I’ve waited, as ye asked.”
“I know.”
“The Death is past. No one has died since Lord Henry. It’s almost the year.”
“True, but—”
“And the boy needs a father. Ye see it plain as day!” he pressed.
“And why do you ask me today?” she countered.
His brow furrowed
. “What do you mean?
“Today I am the Lady Bell. Yesterday I was only Eryndal Smythe. Why not yesterday?”
Geoff’s cheeks grew splotchy and darkened the gray of his eyes. “That’s no’ fair, and ye ken it well!”
She did. But his proposal made her feel like a rabbit in a trap. “It’s only that, well, it seems as if… oh, I don’t know.” She pulled her hand from Geoffrey’s.
“Do ye no’ have a care for me, Eryndal Smythe?” he pleaded.
She laid her fingertips against his cheek. “Of course I do. You’ve been my steady friend since I arrived here, a maid of only fifteen years.”
He laid his hand over hers and pressed her palm against his bearded jaw. “I hoped for more than friendship.”
“I know…” Her voice caught in her throat. How could she explain feelings she herself didn’t fully understand?
“Is my hope foolishness, then?” he asked.
“No, Geoff. But I asked for a year, remember? A year with no deaths?”
He nodded slowly. “Aye. But it’s been—”
“It’s been ten and a half months.”
His grip on her hand loosened. “Ye’ll be a stickler then? Hold out to the end?”
Eryn leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. “Ask me again in a month and a half. Until then, give me peace and time to organize the changes. Will you?”
Geoff slid a large hand behind her head and pulled her into his more demanding kiss. He tasted of the mead and his warm breath grazed her cheek. She didn’t resist; she didn’t want to.
When the kiss ended, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Aye, I’ll do it. But don’t hold me off forever.”
“No,” she lied.
She looked out the window. The snowfall was blowing harder.
Chapter Two
Hermitage Castle
Scottish Borderlands
December 1, 1354
