Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 (7 page)

Seeing them so at ease with each other, Fulke relaxed. “I warrant
Gervase and Guy to be familiar with the stables, having swived their share of
maids in the hay. Yet I would have taken wagers against finding you here,
Talan.”

The men laughed, even Talan cracked a smile.

Osbert scrambled to his feet to fetch him a tankard of ale from the keg
propped in the corner.

Accepting the brew with a nod of thanks, he took a long drink.
 
Lowering his tankard, he spoke into the
sudden silence. “Tell me, why have you chosen the reek of the stables over the
warmth of the hall this eve? Would it have anything to do with a visiting
priest?”

The men exchanged wary looks before busying themselves with their
drinks. Confused by their behavior, Fulke frowned. When they continued to avoid
his gaze, he grew impatient. “Zounds, spit it out lads. Since when have we ever
stood on ceremony?”

Glancing briefly at the others, Albin stood. “Might I have a word in private,
my liege?”

Surprised by the formality of the request, Fulke set his tankard aside,
leading the way outside.

Reaching the rail to the lists, he turned to lean upon it. Crossing his
arms over his chest, he quirked a brow, waiting.
 

Joining him, Albin stood silent, staring at the sun setting beyond the
village. With a sigh, he looked at Fulke. “I know the king has commanded you to
take a wife.
 
I am also aware that time
is running out for you to do so.
 
Yet, I
cannot stand by without saying my piece.
 
I believe you would be making a grave mistake if you were to marry the
Mistress Sibilla. We all do.”

When Fulke remained silent, he went on, “I saw you with Mistress Reina,
Fulke.
 
Until this day, I have never
before seen you laugh like that.”

Staring into the distance, Fulke swore, “Egad, what have we had to
laugh about Albin?
 
We journey from
England to Normandy fighting battles with Louis to defend Henry’s Dukedom.
 
In so doing, we are commanded to take
prisoners in order to fill his coffers only to finance the next campaign.
 
My intent has always been to find a battle
worth fighting. I have yet to do so.”

Albin gripped Fulke’s shoulder. “There is more to life than battles,
drinking and whoring, Fulke.
 
You deny
it, yet deep down you know this.
 
What is
past cannot be undone.
 
I would be the
last to tell you to forget, but for your sake, I am asking you to let it go.”
He gripped harder. “Your attraction to Mistress Reina is obvious to all. I
believe you may have a real chance at happiness. Be strong enough to take it,
my friend,” he finished softly.
 
Dropping
his hand, he stared hard at Fulke, before returning to the stables.

Stars began to make their appearance as Fulke gazed up at the heavens
as if waiting for a sign.

He remained there long after.

Reina found Warin standing alone on the top of his favorite tower,
gazing off towards the village below.
 
She would have come sooner if Hylda had not been so distraught she
feared leaving her alone.

Searching for the words to say goodbye, she crossed to him. By his
reddened eyes, she could see he had been crying, yet he smiled as he turned to
her.

“I have something for you.”
She
held out a slim wool wrapped package.

Untying the twine, he slowly withdrew her silver dinner knife.
 
Her most valuable possession, it once
belonged to her mother.

Tears filled his eyes. “I cannot accept this, Reina.
 
It means too much to you.”

She gently closed his hands around the bundle he tried to give back.
“Not as much as you do.
 
I want
you to have something to remember me by.”

Pulling her into a fierce hug, she bit hard on her lip to keep from
sobbing.

* * * *

After joining the men in prayer, Fulke trailed behind as they entered
the hall.
 
Disappointed he could not find
Reina, he reluctantly took his seat.
 

Noting Warin’s absence, he turned to his mother. “It is well past
vespers. Is not my page joining us this evening, Lady Baldith?”

“He is unwell this eve, your lordship,” she replied, passing him the
jug of ale.

“I am sorry to hear it.” If Warin fell ill, it would explain Reina’s
absence. “Is he being cared for?”

“He needs rest, your lordship. Come the morrow, all will be set
aright.”

“Your lordship, is it true that the king has run to fat?” Sibilla
rudely interjected.

“I do not believe that to be a fitting conversation for the table,
Mistress Sibilla.”

“Perhaps we may discuss it later this eve,” she responded coyly.

Staring morosely at his plank of food, Fulke dreaded the long evening
ahead.

In no mood to listen to the women’s chatter, he excused himself as soon
as he finished eating.
 
Averting his
eyes, he avoided the pitying looks of his men as he slowly climbed the steps.

He passed his chamber to stop before Reina’s door.
 
Bracing his fisted hands on either side of
the doorframe, he stood there a moment staring at the door shut against
him.
 
Even if she were able to hear his
knock, he would never dishonor her in such a way.
 

Returning to his chamber, he bolted the door.

* * * *

Long after everyone had retired for the night, Reina slipped from her chamber.
Descending the steps, she crossed the empty hall.
 
Used to her nocturnal wandering, the resting
hounds tracked her progress to the door without lifting their heads.
   

The cold wind whipping through the courtyard lifted her cloak to float
about her as she descended the steps on her way to the Chapel yard.

She drew back in fear when she noticed a dark figure standing before
her intended destination. About to retrace her steps, she hesitated when the
figure whirled around as if startled.

For a moment, the figure stood in the shadows of the giant yew tree,
before staggering towards her with outstretched arms. Crossing into a patch of
moonlight, she recognized her father, his eyes blazing with a light she had
never seen before.

He was almost upon her when recognition finally dawned on him.
 
The light in his eyes fading to become dark
once again.

Her heart breaking for him, she realized for a moment, he believed her
to be the spirit of her departed mother.

Dropping his arms, he acknowledged her with a curt nod before slowly
making his way back inside.

Tears blurred Reina’s vision as she stared after his retreating figure.
With a sad sigh, she followed the well-worn path her father had just
taken.
  

Curling up on the grave, she bid farewell to her mother.

* * * *

The next morning dawned overcast as Reina prepared to leave Kenwick for
the first and last time.

Glancing around her small chamber, she did not feel the sense of loss
she thought she would.
 
Her home had
always been with Warin and Hylda and she would be taking them with her in her
heart.

Pulling her door closed, she made her way down the darkened passage.
Pausing by Fulke’s chamber, she splayed her hand on the closed door. She stood
there a moment, giving into her tears.

For the first time in her life, she wished she were sound.
 
Taking a deep breath, she dried her eyes with
her sleeve.

Knowing Warin would keep his word to stay away as she bade him, she
descended the steps with her head held high. She would not give Baldith the
pleasure of seeing her weep.

Passing through the Great Hall without pause, she stepped outside to
find Hylda waiting on the top step. Finding herself gathered in the small
woman’s fierce embrace, her resolve not to cry failed her.

Easing herself from Hylda’s grip, she forced a smile.
“You shall be in my prayers every day, Hylda.”

Raising tear-swollen eyes, Hylda handed her a wrapped bundle. “God keep
you, my Reina.”
 
Wringing her hands, she
rushed back into the hall.

Taking several deep breaths, Reina looked up to find her father’s gaze
resting on her.
 
For one heartbreaking
moment, a glimmer of hope flared within her, before being extinguished as he
turned to rejoin the conversation with Father Godfrey and Baldith.

By the time she felt composed enough to descend the steps, the men
riding guard were mounted.
 

She clasped her trembling hands around the bundle Hylda had given her
as she approached the group. Dipping her head to Father Godfrey, she briefly
glanced at her father’s unreadable visage, ignoring Baldith altogether.

Reaching to climb into the high seat of the wagon, she was surprised
when her father stepped forward to assist her. Searching his face for some sign
of warmth, she observed the pain of loss in his eyes.

Briefly meeting her own anguished gaze, he stepped back.
 

She kept her eyes averted from the heat of Baldith’s gaze as she
situated herself.

Her hand stilled in the process of raising her hood to glance up at the
top of the tower.
 
His face solemn, Warin
stood with his arm held high in a solitary salute.
 
She briefly raised a trembling hand to him
before pulling her hood low over her face.

Father Godfrey climbed up to settle himself beside her as she clutched
Hylda’s bundle to her chest.
 
She felt
his gaze as he picked up the reins to set the mules in motion.

As they slowly wound their way down the slope leading to the village,
she knew Warin would still be on the tower, yet could not bring herself to look
back.

Father Godfrey patted her hand to get her attention as they reached the
rutted road at the base of the hill. She glanced up only to choke back a sob by
the sight before her. The villagers were all standing alongside the road with
their heads bowed in silent tribute to her.

She spotted Rolfe standing proudly beside his mother with tears
tracking down his rosy little cheeks and gave in to her sorrow.

* * * *

Fulke woke at dawn with his heart racing.
 
Recalling the dream that had woken him, a
fleeting vision of Reina in anguish entered his mind.
 
Lying back on the pillows, he stared at the
faded linen canopy above him.

At some point during the long fitful night, he resigned himself to what
he already knew to be true. He could not marry Sibilla, any more than he could
willingly stay away from Reina. For as long as he remained at Kendrick, Reina
would be a temptation to him.

Resigned to the unpleasant task of imparting the news to Sir Everard,
he made plans to depart for Castell Maen. After meeting with his castellan, he
would journey to Rochester to view the tower’s progress, before riding to
London. When he reported his marriage-less state, he could only hope Henry
would be in one of his more benevolent moods.

Satisfied with his course of action, he closed his eyes where he found
Reina waiting.
 

The sun was well up by the time he stirred to the sound of laughter
coming from the practice yard below. Striding naked to the window, he threw
open the shutters to find his men training with the quintain.

Gervase sat sprawled in the dust after his lance struck the edge of the
shield.
 
Before he could dodge, the
weighted bag swung around to sweep him from his horse.

“That is the third time in a row Gervase, I believe you are losing your
touch,” Guy called.

“Not where it counts,” Gervase quipped.

Shaking his head in exasperation at his youngest knight, Fulke hastened
to dress. A bout of physical exertion was just what he needed before his
meeting with Sir Everard.

With a will of its own, his mind wandered to more pleasurable
activities as the glimpse he had of Reina’s perfect body flashed through his
mind.
 
Recalling himself, he stormed from
the chamber. It was past time for him to leave Kendrick Keep.

Except for a pair of young boys cleaning the hearth, the Great Hall
stood empty.

Stepping into the brisk autumn air he gazed up at the cloud-laden sky.
Winter was fast approaching.
 
It made
travel of any duration all the more difficult.

He spotted Warin standing alone by the rail to the lists watching the
men practice as he stepped through the gate.
 
After their attempts to befriend the lad, he would not take it lightly
if they chose to shut him out.

Intent on bringing the matter up with Albin, he called, “Fetch my
horse, lad.”
 
Watching with satisfaction
as Warin jumped to the task.

So long as he gave a clean shave, he no doubt would be a fitting
replacement for Osbert.
 
Recalling the
many nicks he endured during Osbert’s first attempts with a sharp blade, he
winced.
 

Long considered to be the mark of a knight’s virility, he could never
stand the feel of the coarse whiskers covering his face.
 
Refusing to pay heed to such nonsense, only
Albin dared to bring it up on occasion.
 

Returning with his horse, Fulke noted Warin’s crestfallen
demeanor.
 
“Is there aught amiss, lad?”

Holding out the reins, Warin avoided his gaze. “All is well, my liege.”
Before Fulke could question him further, he turned back to the stables.
 

Vaulting into the saddle, he rode over to Albin.

Finished instructing Osbert on the correct way to strike the quintain,
he glanced up at his approach.
 
“Kind of
you to join us this morn, my liege.”

Reining up, he ignored his dry attempt at humor.
 
“Is aught amiss with Warin?”

Albin shrugged. “I know not, Fulke. The lad has been gloomy for most of
the morn. I thought perhaps he is a tad melancholy at leaving home, so
instructed the men to leave him be.”

Fulke gazed thoughtfully in the direction of the stables. “I have a
feeling there is something more behind it, Albin.”

* * * *

By the time Fulke called for a break from jousting, the sun was high.

Joining the men for a tankard of ale, he knew he was postponing the
inevitable meeting with Sir Everard.

Hesitant to depart with Reina believing the worst of him, he had hoped
all morning to catch her on the way back from the village.