The Knight's Bride

by Stone, Lyn

  Alan’s countenance did not bode well for a pleasant evening. He looked fit to kill something. No amount of cajoling could rouse him to a better mood, so she gave it up.

  Janet threw her several sympathetic half smiles. Honor quite liked the woman. They’d had pleasant enough conversation that afternoon, and had begun a tentative friendship despite their obvious difference in upbringing. As far as mothers-by-marriage went, Honor knew she could have done worse by far than Janet Strode.

  When they had finished their stewed apples and cheese, everyone quickly made their good-nights and took to their respective chambers. No one even suggested a game of gammon or a song from Melior, much to her relief. She felt in no mood for entertainment, at least not of the kind more than two could enjoy.

  The solar seemed chilled, despite the hearty blaze of the fire. She wondered whether Alan would suggest bedplay this night. Likely not, given all those frowns and glares. She supposed he and his sire had quarreled, or else he had simply worried himself into a stew about her father’s threats.

  Were it the latter concern, he certainly did not suffer alone. But he had said he would protect her and she had to believe it. That was her only hope. Pray God her father’s men could not breach the gate or the walls of Byelough.

  Surely the siege force would run out of food long before the castle stores were depleted. Then they would have to leave. Nothing more could be done at present in any case.

  Once she had fed Christiana, Honor instructed Nan to take the babe away to sleep with her. She watched as Alan leaned forward on the stool by the fire, carefully honing his sword. The thing must be sharp as a carving knife by now. She made ready for bed, leaving him to his chore.

  When she lay covered to the chin, he finally put the blade away and divested himself of his clothes. Not once did he meet her interested gaze or speak. He climbed into bed beside her as though she did not exist.

  “Art weary, Alan?” she asked as she reached out and brushed his arm to show concern.

  “Aye,” he answered, pulling away from the touch and turning away from her.

  So, it was to be that way, was it? They might not have many nights left to hold each other, and Honor badly needed to be held tonight. She suspected Alan did as well. Something was very wrong here.

  Had he guessed by her actions that she had never loved Tavish? Perhaps he thought her disloyal to enjoy their loving so. Had she been too bold in her seduction last eve? Did he hate her for it now that he had thought on it a while?

  He would never trust her, never believe her constant with regard to himself if he discovered she had played Tavish false with lies. She sniffed and wiped her cheek, unaware until then that she wept.

  At the sound, he quickly rolled over and stared at her in the candlelight. “What’s amiss?” His voice sounded gruff with irritation.

  “Nothing,” she said with a curtness that belied the words. “I would not have you angry, is all.”

  “I am not angry!”

  “You are!” she insisted, kicking herself for beginning what she knew would grow into a confrontation she did not want.

  “Nay, Honor. Leastwise, not angry with you,” he whispered, his voice softening with what sounded much like regret. “This waiting for attack plagues me.”

  “Is that truly what troubles you?”

  “Well, that and more. It angers me that I have naught to offer in return for all you give to me. Were I very wealthy, well connected, or nobly inclined, your father might well leave us be. You are so perfect, and I...I know I am not the kind of man—”

  “And how are you not? You won many riches with that sword of yours and a king troubled himself to knight you. Better than that, you are the soul of kindness,” she argued, brushing away a long strand of hair that fell over his forehead. “See how you have always handled Christiana? Think how you deal with our people. What can you mean, not my kind of man? There is none better that I know.”

  He stared at the top of the bed curtain, avoiding her eyes. “I speak of other things, Honor. Things I should have learned at my mother’s knee, at my father’s side,” he said, closing his eyes and sighing all forlorn. “At a tutor’s hand. You should have more than an ignorant—”

  “Unlettered,” she corrected. “There is a great difference as you once pointed out. Can it be you pity that young fellow you once were, after you staunchly forbade me to do so?”

  That earned her a twisted smile that grew into a short laugh. “Aye, you’ve the right of it, I fear. I have been wallowing in self-pity, have I not? ’Tis a new experience and I cannot say that I like it much.”

  Honor leaned over and kissed his cheek. His days’ growth of beard scratched her lips and made them tingle. He turned his head slightly and brushed his mouth across hers. “What a treasure you are.”

  The warmth of his words suffused her body. She wanted him. Dared she become the aggressor again? Without further thought on it, she settled her mouth on his and deepened the kiss. He drew away and stared into her eyes for what seemed like hours.

  When he spoke, his sincerity frightened her as no angry act could ever do. “Honor, my heart, I need you. I know you cannot love me, but I need you more than my next breath.”

  “I am yours,” she whispered. In that moment, Honor knew she had never spoken truer words than these three. He would take them at face value, of course. Her body belonged to him by law and he could do with it as he willed. But she could admit to herself, if not to him, that he held more than that in his power.

  Dread mingled with elation as he drew her against him and began to work the magic she craved.

  She loved Alan of Strode. There it was. Against her will and against her better judgement, but she loved him nonetheless. And even if her father could not manage to take her from Alan, her own perfidy regarding Tavish would surely destroy any tender regard he had developed for her.

  More deceit was the only answer.

  Even as Honor returned Alan’s caresses full measure and gave herself up to the pleasure he offered, remorse over her deliberately continued dishonesty weighed heavily on her heart.

  Eventually they slept, wound about each other like vines intertwined, sated and content. At least for the night.

  Scratching on the door gave way to loud knocks as Honor tried to come awake. Alan had already roused and was busy lighting the candle that had guttered out earlier.

  He quickly unbarred the door and opened it, standing in the opening to shield her from view.

  She heard David the Younger, whom Alan had chosen to lead his guard, speak breathlessly as though he had been running, “Attack’s begun. Ram’s in place, sir. They sneaked it up under cover of dark. We just heard ’em.”

  “Archers to the parapet?”

  “Aye, sir. Gettin’ there.”

  “Oil vats tended?”

  “Hot as hell, sir.”

  “Pikers watching for ladders?”

  “In place.”

  “Take yer station. I’m right behind ye.” Alan wrapped his breacan round his waist, buckled his belt, and slung the excess fabric over his bare shoulder. Grabbing up his sword, he ran barefoot after David, bellowing orders as he crossed the hall.

  Honor jerked on her bedrobe, snatched up his boots and hurried after him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Honor ignored the pebbles and grass stubs pricking her own feet as she carried Alan’s boots across the bailey. He couldn’t fight barefoot.

  In the light of the torches brandished by latecomers running to man the wall-walk, she spied Alan’s large form ascending the steps near the front gates. Without further thought, Honor dashed after him.

  The first blow from the ram pealed like thunder. She stopped in her tracks and looked toward the portals in time to see the thick timber vibrate. Deafening shouts ensued. Battle cries echoed off the surrounding hills.

  She ducked her head and ran for the wall steps, tearing up one side, shoving against others making their way to the top.

  Alan
yelled above the crash of the ram and taunting bellows from both sides of the wall. “Choose targets. Do not shoot wild!”

  A crossbow quarrel flew past his head, arced downward and stuck in the dirt. Honor froze, shocked at his close brush with death. Her father’s men would shoot him! He had no care for his life up there.

  “Alan!” she screamed. “Alan, get down!”

  He turned then. She knew the moment he saw her. Green eyes narrowed with anger, he shouted, “Get back to th’ keep, lass! Make ready for wounded!”

  When she opened her mouth, he drowned out her words with his order. “Go now or I’ll open the buggerin’ gates and let him have ye!”

  She dropped his boots and ran. Never had she seen a man so riled! Would he do it? Would he turn her over? Never. ’Twas merely battle fury that made him threaten.

  Another bolt from a crossbow landed inches from her foot. She jumped and screamed. With all the haste she could make, she tore up the steps to the hall entry and bolted the doors behind her.

  “Good lord, they are mad, all of them!” she said as Nan ran to her. “I never thought it would come to this.”

  “You knew. That is why you wanted your husband to kill him first,” Nan reminded her. “Come, feed the child and drink some wine. You are beset.”

  “Right enough!” she agreed heatedly. “Beset and scared witless. Gather linens and the basket of simples. We may—no, will—have wounded ere this is done! Hasten!”

  Honor pushed Nan toward the kitchens and made for the alcove where she knew Christiana would be waiting.

  For what seemed half the day, screams, shouts and the battering of the ram filled the air at Byelough. Even the stout doors of the keep itself provided an inadequate barrier to the awful sounds.

  They opened the doors to admit wounded though there were only four of those after all. Each time the call came to open the portals, Honor cringed with fear that Alan would be among the men felled by arrows or bolts. Her father must not own many bowmen or she suspected it would be worse.

  When silence descended, everyone halted what they were doing and glanced fearfully at each other. In a few moments, she heard Alan’s voice. “’Tis done for now. Let us in.”

  Honor hurried to remove the heavy bar and fell into his arms as he entered. Alan squeezed her once, then promptly set her aside. He stalked toward the tables where the wounded lay. “How bad?” he asked her.

  “Two with shoulder wounds. One lost an ear, of all things. Old Hamish had the worst of it. We had to cut a bolt from his chest. He will live, I think.” Honor said. “What... what about the others, my father’s men?”

  “Worse than ours. They carted away nine or ten. A few burned, three shot, most hurt when the ladders fell.” He smirked, still not looking at her. “Your father’s well enough. Never came close.”

  “Will they come back?” she asked, hating how weak her voice had become.

  “Sure as the sun rises. I think not today, however.” He turned quickly and left the hall to return to the men outside.

  Honor swiped at her cheeks, wet with either sweat or tears. She didn’t know or care at this point. Exhaustion drew her to the nearest stool and she sat with her elbows on her knees.

  “Are ye ill?” Adam of Strode asked softly.

  “Yes,” she answered, not bothering to look up at her father-in-law. “I am sick to death of all this. I have never witnessed a battle before.”

  “Battle? Hell, daughter, this was but a slight argument to what will happen on the morrow. I think we but tweaked their anger.”

  “They will take Byelough, will they not?” she demanded, standing up then and facing him squarely. “I must go out to my father and stop this madness.”

  He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Hold on, my girl. It will not be necessary to do that. You leave things to old Da, eh?”

  She scoffed. “And what can you do?”

  The smile he gave her looked so like Alan’s, she nearly wept again. “What I should have done already. Why don’t you have a nice rest now?”

  “Good thought,” Janet agreed as she appeared at his side. “Come, Lady, and let us see to the bittie ones. They’re like to set up a howl the likes of which we’ve not yet heard today if they don’t get fed soon.”

  She hugged Adam’s arm to her breasts and winked up at him. “See you wash off that stink afore I see ye again, eh?”

  He laughed and tapped her nose. “That mouth will be your undoing one day, you sly wench.”

  “Mayhaps tonight,” she cooed suggestively.

  Honor left them bantering and went to refresh herself and feed the baby. Adam and Janet made her long with all her heart for such a closeness with Alan.

  Given his attitude today, it did not seem likely. Despite their loving the night before, Alan had distanced himself. Did he resent her for bringing on all this trouble?

  No further attack occurred that afternoon. Alan remained out with the men, readying Byelough for tomorrow’s assault, she assumed.

  Supper was catch-as-catch-can, broken meats and stale bread, dried apples and chunks of cheese. Most ate standing around the hall, picking at the dishes covering the one table not in use as a bed for the wounded.

  The men gathered in groups to discuss the next morning’s plans and the women remained subdued. All retired early with the expectation of another dawn exactly like, or worse than, the one they had just endured.

  Someone had remarked on the fact that the supply of arrows and boiling oil had diminished dangerously. He had been quickly hushed, but not before Honor heard and divined exactly what that meant. Tomorrow Lord Hume would take Byelough Keep. Tomorrow, she would likely become a widow unless she surrendered herself.

  Once Alan and Honor were abed, she said as much.

  “You will not go out to him,” Alan said, his voice low and hoarse from shouting orders. “I will not let you go.”

  “I must,” she insisted, pleading with her eyes for permission to stop the fighting. To save him and to save Christiana.

  “Nay,” Alan said simply. “If they take the keep, your priest has orders to hide you and Kit in the bolt-hole. I will distract Hume and his men while Father Dennis takes you out to the caves where the villagers hide. Once he returns to these parts and hears Byelough has been taken, Bruce will come. You must stay hidden until then. The king will protect you if I...cannot.”

  Honor shook her head and grasped his hands, desperate to persuade him to let her go. “Father will kill you.”

  “The whole of Edward’s army tried to kill me, sweeting. Yet here I am.”

  He dropped one of her hands and pinched out the candle by the bed. Her other hand he brought to his lips. “Go to sleep, Honor. I dare not love you tonight, for I would be too fierce.”

  Honor rested her palm on his heart until she felt the beating slow. He slept. She wondered if she ever would again.

  A knocking noise awakened her. Surely it wasn’t dawn already! Alan leapt from the bed and opened the door. David the Younger stood there, his rushlight illuminating his excitement.

  “Sir, they are come back!”

  “Attack?” Alan swung around, almost knocking the candle stand to the floor in his hurry to dress.

  “Nay, sir, not th’ soldiers.”

  “Then who? Back from where?”

  “The bolt-hole, sir. Melior said summon you in all haste! They’ve done it!” David stuck the torch in the holder beside the door and ran back into the hall.

  Alan pulled on a sark and reached for his plaid. “Stay here until I see what this is about,” he ordered Honor.

  By the time she had thrown on her bedgown and reached the hall, Alan had halted beside the group gathered around a form on the floor. Her father-by-marriage hooked a booted toe under the body lying on the floor and flipped it over on its back.

  “Your nameday is next week as I recall,” he said to Alan in a well-pleased voice. “Brought you an early giftie!”

  “God ha’ mercy, Da! �
�Tis Hume himself!” Alan coughed out a laugh of disbelief. “How—?”

  “Well, Melior here thought of it. We dressed us up so,” he said, brushing a hand over the dark woolen clothes he wore, “and took ourselves out to the woods behind their campsite. ’Twas merely a matter of waiting until nature called him.”

  “You’ve killed him.” Honor whispered, not altogether grieved.

  “No, no, no,” Adam assured her. “Just gave him a sound knock on the head. He’ll come about right soon, I expect. Of course, then he could die of embarrassment.”

  Alan laughed again, this time with pure delight. “This is too good to be true. Tell me I am awake!”

  “You are awake, else we are all dreaming,” Honor said. “Now what will you do? Kill him?”

  Alan did not answer her, but spoke instead to David, the guard. “Bind him securely. Throw him in the small storeroom. Lock and guard it with your life.”

  “Why not the oubliette?” Honor asked. Dropping her father in a deep dark hole dug under the floor of the keep seemed fair enough after all he had done.

  “There’s a thought,” Alan said. “But come the morn, I want him close at hand.”

  “Will you beat him then?” Honor asked, still staring at her father with rapt fascination.

  Alan looked at her curiously. “Would you want me to?”

  Honor covered her mouth with her hand to hold back the words. God help her, she did want him beaten. She wanted him very soundly beaten.

  Her gaze flew to Alan’s, then to his father’s. She had asked if they would kill him, and they thought she wanted them to. Did she? What must they think of a daughter who would wish such things on her own father?

  Without another word, she turned and ran to the solar to bury herself in the bed. No more would she say. Not one word to damn herself further in their eyes. She had seen the censure, felt their rebuke.

  They were good men, and kind. They would not understand how she felt. How her father had once made her feel, How terrified she was of him even now as he lay senseless on the floor.