“Sorry, Captain. I beg pardon.”
Knape already had his hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’re damned right, you’re sorry. You are the sorriest excuse for a horseman this court has ever seen.” Knape pushed Mathieu again, a hand flat on his chest, but the gesture caused him to lose his balance more than the ostler. This incensed him.
“You have no place in my knights’ camp. You are no knight. Never could be. You tried and you failed. You aren’t worthy of licking the boots of any of my men.”
Mathieu held his tongue, swallowing the rage building within him. He hated this man, and for more reasons than one. It wouldn’t take much, especially after all the ale he’d downed this eve, for him to lose control.
Still, he simply sidestepped the captain and continued on toward the stable.
“Off to plow the bastard whore you were fool enough to marry, are ye? I shall like to witness that, ostler. Do you ride her like a horse?” Knape’s maniacal laughter rang through the bailey.
Slowly, in the dim light, Mathieu could see a number of the knights emerging from their tents.
“She’s a lame horse, though. With that twisted foot, a good horseman would have put the bitch down the day she was born.” Knape coughed and spat into the dirt. “But no, not you, Mathieu of Liège. You deigned to take the wench as your wife. I cannot wait to see what manner of crooked monsters the two of you spawn.”
Clenching his fists, the ostler turned and continued out of the camp. With his back to Knape, Mathieu could feel the hair rising on his neck. How much was he expected to accept from this arrogant man?
But Mathieu was no fool. He was unarmed, and Knape had not only his broadsword, but who knew how many daggers hidden on his person. To fight him would mean certain death. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep walking, albeit slowly, toward the stables.
But Knape was not to be avoided. Not this night. Who knew what had happened in the village to stir his anger so, but the captain was angry—crazy fool angry, and deep in his cups to boot? When Mathieu felt the man’s gauntlet clamp on his shoulder, sparkles of ire burst behind his own eyes.
He wanted to punch something, and hard. Knape’s face would be perfect.
Gaspard’s words echoed in his head then, causing him pause.
There’s little use to your fists in situations like this. . . You end up risking damage to your hands, which then renders you powerless.
Mathieu closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. His temper was about at its limit. He turned to face the captain, fists balled at his sides.
“I do not want to fight you, Captain. Please do not provoke me any further. I am unarmed. If you mean to run me through, then do it now, with all your men as witness. You shan’t get away with murder. Not this time.”
By now the entire encampment was awake, the knights gathered in a gaping crowd up against the outer wall. It was true, anything to happen this night would bear plenty of witness. Mathieu searched the crowd but could not locate Keegan or Gaspard in the darkness. But the ostler’s words had touched a nerve in the captain, who lunged for him, swinging a fist that Mathieu easily ducked to avoid.
“How dare you? I put that scar on your face for a reason. You are a coward, and the scar on your cheek proves the fact. One little scratch and you ran away from knighthood with your tail between your legs.”
Mathieu folded his arms across his chest and squinted at the captain. “Is that why you cut me? I thought it was so you could keep the poor maid on the table all to yourself.” He barked out a wry laugh. “Even with that, you needed help, though, didn’t you? Needed two of your henchman to hold her down so you could—”
Knape swung again, and with a simple step to the side, Mathieu sent him reeling. He landed in the dirt but came up just as fast, a dagger glinting in the torchlight from the keep.
“I will kill you, Mathieu of Liège. Say one more word and I swear, I will kill you.”
Mathieu took a step toward him, causing Knape to stumble backward. “Kill me? In cold blood, in front of all your men? I think not. Although, it didn’t stop you that night, did it? Didn’t stop you from raping that poor girl, almost to her death. But no. Still ’twas not enough. You had to finish the deed, carrying her limp body to the stable, then slitting her throat to bleed out in the hay.”
Knape’s roar curdled Mathieu’s blood as he raised his dagger to strike. But before he did, a huge man tackled him from behind, both of them landing hard at Mathieu’s feet.
Keegan had just saved Mathieu’s life. At least, temporarily.
As Knape struggled against the Scot’s powerful grip, he spat out an oath. Then, he ripped off one of his gauntlets and threw it on the ground at Mathieu’s feet and issued his challenge.
“Tomorrow, at dawn. We will settle this, once and for all between us, ostler,” he growled.
“Mathieu owns no armor, no chainmail, no sword,” Keegan shouted. “Ye cannot fight an unarmed man.”
“Oh, yes he can. But he shall come to the challenge the same as me,” Mathieu shouted. “I will fight you, Captain Knape—with no armor, no weapons. Hand to hand, man to man. Let us see who comes out the victor when you can no longer hide behind your weaponry.”
Kweeo! Kwiff, kwiff, kwiff!
Kleine Uil’s shrieking woke Eva with a start. She bolted upright, then nearly fell off the pallet since her one foot was still propped up on sacks.
“Mathieu? Mathieu!”
He was not in their quarters. With Kleine Uil making such a stir, he must be in the stable. Mathieu had told her the creature didn’t do this often, but when he did, he’d usually put himself in a position of real danger.
As Eva hobbled through the darkened stable, she could hear voices, shouting above the ear-splitting screeching of the tiny owl. Torches blazed over by the knights’ camp. Two men were facing off, bellowing at one another.
She recognized Mathieu’s voice and her heart shattered. What trouble now? Then she recognized the slurred words of Captain Knape.
Eva knew Mathieu hated the man, but he’d never told her why. Still, she had been afraid it would come to this, any day. As gentle a heart as her husband possessed, she knew Mathieu also had a volatile temper.
Within moments, it was over, and she could see him returning to her. She whooshed out a breath. Good. No fight. No bloodshed. He was safe. She hobbled to him and threw her arms around his neck.
Her husband was shaking all over, and she knew ’twas not with cold nor fear. For the longest time, the ostler could not even speak. He simply swept her off her feet and carried her back into their quarters.
He took her savagely that night, different from any time before. Eva had never seen this side of the man, and it shocked her. Usually so slow and sweet and gentle, Mathieu did not take his time to please her first, as he usually did. After kicking the door to their quarters shut, he tossed her down on the pallet and shoved off the sacks her foot had been propped on.
Before she could say a word, ask him anything, he had dropped his braies to the floor and was over her, his mouth hard on hers. This was more than passion, she felt. This was desperation. After a moment, she met his harsh kisses, stroke for stroke. She fisted her hand in his hair and pulled him down to her breast.
Mathieu ripped the bodice of her night rail wide open and sucked her nipple into his mouth. Sudden pain gave way to evil pleasure as he suckled her, first one side, then the other. Eva’s hips bucked against him, and she felt his arousal hard against her belly. When he reached up to finish rending her night rail in two, her excitement peaked. He kneed her legs apart and plunged into her, pushing her over the edge.
He spilled himself inside her, then went limp. She felt him shuddering again, and realized with anguish that he was crying. With his face buried in her neck, the ostler sobbed like a child for long moments. Finally, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Nay. Did you want to?” she asked, her lips quirking.
&
nbsp; “Nay. I love you too much to ever hurt you. But I’ve done a bad deed tonight, dear wife.”
Eva pushed herself up on her elbows, studying his face in the dim light. “What, husband?”
“I accepted a challenge.”
Eva blinked, waiting. She was afraid to breathe.
“At dawn, I fight Captain Knape.”
Closing her eyes, Eva began to pray.
Chapter Thirty-Four
A multitude of emotions surged through Mathieu’s mind as he lay there in the darkness, holding Eva close. Sleep eluded him, as he’d known it would. This day was inevitable. Many years brewing, and made certain by him living his life in such close proximity to the man whom he hated with every fiber of his being.
The personal insults, he bore for years. He’d become all but immune to Knape’s verbal assaults. But the attacks on his beloved, in front of all the duke’s knights, was too much. The shield he’d wrapped around his heart the day he witnessed the horror served its purpose well. Now, however, he had another to protect, and as he’d vowed on their wedding day, he would protect Eva with all of his being until the day he died.
He hoped that day had not arrived so quickly.
Eva stirred in his arms and when she voiced her question, his entire body tensed.
“Will you tell me now why it is you hate the captain with such venom?” Her fingers brushed his scarred cheek. “He gave you this, did he not?”
Mathieu took a deep breath. The tale was one he tried to forget. Yet he knew as his wife, she deserved to know. After dawn came, he may never have another chance to tell her.
“I was seventeen, working with my maman and my stepfather in his tavern, The Raven. The duke had just arrived to spend the winter months at his castle on the Rhone. Of course, his Royal Guard accompanied him.”
Mathieu pushed himself up to sit, his back resting against the hard, planked wall. Eva laid her head on his lap and waited. He was pleased with her patience. These memories were tortuous. Recanting the tale, as he’d never done before—not like this—would be like living it all over again.
“My father was a knight, fighting in the Flemish army at Othée when he died. ’Twas before I was born, but I dreamed of someday following his lead. My maman was not of royal blood, but she begged audience with Admiral La Laing, being my papa had served. She secured me a position to foster with the duke’s army. Even though I was at such at advanced age.”
Most young men started their journey to knighthood when they were just babes, seven or eight years old. Mathieu had not had that advantage. He spent his days in the stables, working with the horses, and his nights scrubbing mugs and tapping barrels in the alehouse.
“There was a young maiden . . . about my age, and just the sight of her swept me away the day she came to work at the tavern. Her name was Meadows. I was a foolish lad, and set my sights on the girl. She never knew how I felt. In truth, I don’t think she ever acknowledged my existence.”
Mathieu slipped out from beneath Eva and went to the sideboard, where a little sloe wine remained in the pitcher. He lifted it and drank, not bothering with a mug. Then he crossed his arms and stared out through the tiny window at the moon, nearly full and lighting the courtyard with an eerie glow.
“I had just finished putting the knights’ horses up for the night. A half-dozen of the duke’s men had straggled in, though it was late, and asked for a meal and beds. Maman knew better than to deny the duke’s Royal Guard. The men ate, and drank, and all but three retired to their rooms.”
Mathieu closed his eyes against the memory, but it played out in his mind anyway. ’Twas not a sight he’d ever been able to erase from his mind. ’Twas the kindling that kept his hatred for the duke’s captain ever-glowing, ever ready to burst into flames.
With his back to Eva, he continued.
“Knape flirted all evening with Meadows. He’d had his eye on her since the moment they arrived. The other men . . . they picked their quarry from the wenches who plied their trade under my stepfather’s roof. But Meadows wasn’t one of them. The daughter of a local sheep farmer, she had her sights set higher. She hoped for a better life.
“The more Knape drank, the bolder he became. The last time he smacked Meadows on her bottom and pulled her to him, she’d had enough. She slapped him his face. That was her fatal mistake.”
He turned to face Eva, unashamed of his tears. “One does not humiliate Captain Knape and live to tell of it.”
Eva sat on the edge of their pallet, watching him with wide eyes that flashed in the moonlight. With his last proclamation, she covered her face with her hands.
“Knape grabbed Meadows around the waist, lifting her off her feet as he swept the table clear. When he threw her down, I heard her head hit the wood so hard, I felt certain she’d been knocked unconscious. ’Twould have been better if she had.
“He barked orders to his companions, also gallant knights.” He spat the words as though they were poison. “To their credit, they seemed reluctant, but they had no choice. He was their captain. To deny his orders would mean certain severe punishment, if not death.
“They held Meadows down, one man on each shoulder, as she twisted and screamed for mercy. Knape knows not the meaning of the word. He tore her dress from her body and cast it on the ground. Then he abused her body with such brutality . . . he brought to mind a wild boar. When Meadows caught him in the groin with her knee, he slapped her so hard, I thought for certain he’d broken her neck.
“I tried to help her,” he choked through a sob. “He turned on me, dagger in hand, so fast I did not see it coming.” He reached up and covered his cheek with his palm. “’Tis the captain who marked me that night.”
Mathieu was shaking now. He clenched his fists before him, and his words sputtered out from between clenched teeth. “Meadows lay still, helpless, until he was finished. But even then, having stripped her of all dignity, he wasn’t finished acting out his evil.
“After the beast had fastened his braies, he tossed her half-naked body over his shoulder and headed for the stables.”
Eva was on her feet, wrapping her arms around him, but he pushed her away. Sympathy, comfort was not what he wanted. ’Twould not even the score for an innocent life taken so savagely.
He caught her wrists in his hands and stared straight into her eyes. “Don’t you see? The captain is a murderer. Killing on the battlefield is one thing. Taking another’s life . . . a girl . . . an innocent who’d done him no harm . . . for one’s own pleasure . . . that goes against the laws of God and man. Is that how the code of chivalry is carried out? Is that how a knight abuses his powers?”
Eva took a step back and wrapped her arms around herself. She, too, was trembling all over. Now, at least she understood. She knew the reason for his hatred and hidden rage.
“’Twas what kept you from your sword and spurs.” It was a statement, not a question.
Mathieu threw his hands up and began pacing in the tiny space. “What I saw that night proved to me that a man who gains the title—a knight—can wield his power in whatever ways he chooses, without punishment.”
“But not all knights are evil, Mathieu,” Eva murmured. “Are they?”
He stopped and dropped his head. “Nay. Not all knights are evil. But the one who leads the duke’s Royal Guard is. And this day, his reign of terror will end. By God’s breath, I swear ’twill be true.”
Eva ran to him and again wrapped herself around him. “But how can you win against a man armed with dagger and sword? Surely, you will be killed,” she sobbed.
He faced her and gripped her arms. “Nay. We will fight without weapons, my love. The conditions of the challenge were spoken before Keegan and many more witnesses.” Mathieu pulled her to his chest and pressed his lips to her hair. “We will see just how mighty the powerful Captain Knape is when stripped of the armor he’s hidden beneath for all these years.” Then, in a whisper, he began to recite the Prayers of a Knight:
“Grant me the gift
of Divine Grace and conquer my five senses, that I may carry out the seven works of mercy . . .”
Chapter Thirty-Five
What does one wear to face another man in battle? Traditional garb—chainmail, armor, a helm with shield—none of these would be allowed this day, even if Mathieu had access to them. The belt holding the sheath for his dagger ’twould be banned. So how to go into a match such as this properly garbed for maximum protection?
Although he usually did not wear his leather braies in warm weather, they would, he reasoned, provide him with the most protection against scratching nails or biting teeth. He dug his lightest pair out from under the pallet as Eva slept.
He stood over her for a long moment, watching her sleep. Better she remains unaware as long as possible this morn. Her anguish would do nothing but heighten his anxiety.
He also had a sueded tunic with long sleeves—another smart choice, he wagered. Sweat he could bear, but at least his skin would be protected.
As he stood peering out of the window, fumbling with a strip of leather with which to secure his hair, Eva woke.
“Yes, husband. That glorious mane of yours could provide a hand-hold for your enemy this day.”
She rose and helped him, combing her fingers along his scalp as she gathered the long hair to his nape. It sent tingles down his spine. If only he could turn and face her this moment, claim her lush mouth with his, and allow his hands to roam wildly over her soft curves. Just one more time . . .
But there was not time. The horizon had already gone pink over the mountains in the distance. Energy he sorely needed to face the challenge ahead of him should not be wasted on satisfying his carnal desires.
Still, he yearned for it. Yearned for her. She seemed to sense this and, after binding his hair securely, placed a kiss at the base of his neck. Then, she proceeded to rent his heart in two.
“Please, Mathieu. Do not do this. Do not fight a battle you cannot win.”
The Warrior and the Wildflower Page 26
