Once a Knight (16 page)

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.

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 doing 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.

She sat on her heels before him like a supplicant before her lord, and she stared at his body as if deciding how to best achieve her goal. “Philippa knew you were coming in to me?” he asked.

“She advised it.”

He nodded slowly. “Did Philippa advise you on your attire?”

Alisoun glanced down at herself. “She was wrong, wasn't she? I wanted to wear something a little grander. Something made of velvet and trimmed in lace. But she insisted that simple was best—” Alisoun came to her knees and spread her arms wide, “—and look at me. I'm not attractive at all.”

The worn linen clung to her hips, and he saw the shape of her thighs and the triangle of color between muted by the gauze above it. A simple bow gathered the material at the neck and held it closed and he could have sworn he saw one end of the ribbon waving to him, begging him to grasp it and pull it free.

He had to clear his throat before he spoke. “Philippa is a wise woman.”

Slowly she lowered her arms to her sides. “You like this?”

He corrected her. “I like what's under it.”

She almost smiled. Then, rather briskly, she said, “Well, let's get on with it. What would you like me to do first?”

If she'd been more certain of herself, he would have burst out laughing. But beneath that superficial confidence, he sensed a virgin's self-doubt. “I always like to start with just some cuddling.”

“Cuddling?”

He patted his chest. “Lay your head here and rest.”

“I didn't come in here to sleep!”

He could be stubborn, too. “
That's
the way I like it.”

“As you wish.” She hovered over him. “But I wasn't expecting this.”

She didn't seem to be settling. Like a bird sneaking up on a meal, she almost touched him with her hand, then snatched it back. She sat down beside him, then skittered away. She'd been able to make contact to adjust his bandage, but not in an affectionate display. Finally, he had to ask. “What were you expecting?”

“Philippa said men were always in a hurry.”

He snapped, “Then I suppose Philippa never bedded
me
.”

“Actually, I suppose Philippa doesn't know too much.”

She wanted to do this, he realized, but she lacked the nerve.

She chatted on. “She's only had the one, although I think she's talked to quite a few women.”

Taking her hand, he laid it on his chest near his neck, where the bandage did not cover. “Then Philippa probably knows that men who are in a hurry leave their women wanting.”

Her fingers flexed. “Wanting what?”

He slid her hand to his far shoulder, so she leaned across him and had only to make minor adjustment to lie on her side and rest her head on his chest. She didn't; she remained stiff and uncomfortably upright, leaning on her other elbow. “Cuddle with me and I'll show you.”

“Philippa said satisfaction is a myth.” Her elbow skidded along the sheet until her shoulder fit in his armpit and her head hovered above his shoulder. “Philippa said most of the women just snorted when she asked if they enjoyed it.”

“Then they've not been in my bed, either.” He placed his palm on her ear and gently pushed her down the rest of the way. Her arm against the mattress moved restlessly as she sought a comfortable spot for it, and she kept a discreet distance between the length of their bodies. For now, that satisfied him. Tucking the sheet around her, he said, “You need not worry, my lady. I will satisfy you.”

Sounding surprised, she said, “I never doubted that.”

Her flattery, for such he considered it, could go to a man's head. Reaching up, he popped her wimple off and flung it away. “Lie back down.”

He must have put enough authority into his tone, for she obeyed him. But she hadn't answered his question, and he would ask again later…when she wasn't so skittish. “Now we just lie here.”

And they did. Her head rested on his shoulder, he wrapped his arm around her back and rested his hand against her hip, and at irregular intervals, he'd pat her. At first, she was so stiff she couldn't stiffen further. Then involuntarily she began to relax, and when he moved his hand, she stiffened again. Then when nothing happened, even when he moved his hand, she relaxed and stayed relaxed, but when he started to rub her with a slow and steady pressure, she asked, “Is this it?”

“For now.” His hand slid down to the base of her spine and he massaged the muscles there. “If we do no more tonight, there is always the morrow.”

She started to speak, then no doubt realized that he
quoted her, and she settled beside him. But she must have been thinking, wanting to finish this in one efficient event, for on his far shoulder, her fingers curled. As he held his breath, she cupped the joint and pressed it gently, using her palm to stroke the muscles. Slowly she worked her way down his arm, then back up again and across his chest to his neck. There she touched her fingertips lightly to his ear, down his jaw, and along his throat.

His own hand hung suspended above her back. For a novice, she had very good instincts, and it would not do for him to underestimate her intelligence. Nor would it do for him to allow her to take the initiative. In this matter, at least, he was determined to retain control.

He moved enough to shift the feathers beneath them and she rolled into him.

Her fingers stopped their stroking. He thought she'd stopped breathing. The length of her rested against his side, and while she still wore her full-length shift, he wore nothing but a bandage.

It was the kind of intimacy she most needed to learn. It was the kind of intimacy that made him forget, just for a moment, that he was dominant.

Then he felt her muscles gather and strain as if she were preparing for some great effort, and she scooted closer. She put her knee over his thigh and moved it up and down a little too briskly. Catching her thigh in his hand, he slowed her down, eased the pressure, made it more of a sensuous dance and less of an activity, and closed his eyes beneath the onslaught of unexpected pleasure.

“Are we going to finish, now?”

Her matter-of-fact voice in his ear rallied him. She might know enough body language to arouse him, but her tone needed work.

Making a special effort to keep his own voice low and seductive, he said, “We've barely started.”

She took her knee away.

Bit and starts of courage, he diagnosed, followed by fragments of embarrassment and uncertainty.

“You've used some kind of rinse in your hair.” Turning his head, he gathered a handful and sniffed it. “Kind of flowery.”

“It's probably marjoram and lemon balm and…”

She sounded so prim and informative, he wanted to see her face. Gently, he lifted her head and slid out from underneath it, then rolled onto his side and faced her. The sheet stretched taut between them, forming a tent, and she watched him without expression. If he had succeeded in easing her inevitable apprehension, she cloaked that. She still concealed everything from him, all emotion, and he lost inhibitions in one blast of impatience.

Too good a strategist to let his aggravation show, he allowed himself one brief grin. “It's delicious.”

Her eyes widened and she moved back an inch. “You seem distracted tonight.”

So she had spied something in his face that made her wary. “Why is that?”

“Discussing the scent in my hair when you could be performing other, more pleasurable duties is not something I had supposed would happen. If you're too tired—”

“Why would I be tired?” He scooted down so the top of his head matched her collarbone and the sheet protected his expression from her gaze. “I've dozed half the day. Why, this could take all night and I'd have no problem.”

She took a big breath. He saw it as her bosom jutted out. Then she said, “I have to get up in the morning. It's already taken longer than—”

He kissed her breast through the veil of linen.

“—Than I'd planned. If we miss—”

Wetting the cloth with his tongue, he sucked the nipple into his mouth.

“—Mass.” She took another breath. “If we miss Mass, we'll have extra penance and I'll already have more than I—”

“Keep talking.” With his lips moving against the damp material, he encouraged her. “I can listen.”

“I have only so much time scheduled.”

He rubbed the stubble of his beard on the shift, and it snagged the weave of the material. It must have scratched her skin, too, but softly, for she jumped and her hands flexed. The urge to have her out of the shift grew in him, and he reveled in it. Aye, he could prevail without forfeiting passion. But he wanted to see Alisoun, just once, forfeit everything to passion. It should be easy, for she was so unaware. Gravely, he promised, “I will do everything in my power to maintain your schedule, but of course you
were
planning to sleep here with me.”

“I was?”

He kissed lower, finding her navel, skirting the curve of her hip. “Although it would be amusing to see you leave after you have spent so much time in here. I wager every conversation in the great hall would cease.”

“Everyone who beds in the great hall is asleep!”

“Have you never slept in a great hall?” He lifted the sheet off his head and looked up at her. She shook her head, and he smiled. “One sleeps lightly, especially when there's intrigue afoot, and when the lady of George's Cross visits her defeated mercenary for a night, that's intrigue of the best kind.”

“They would gossip about me?”

“And me, lady. Have you no thought of my reputation?”

“What will this do to your reputation?”

“Enhance it, I would suppose.” He dropped the sheet and slid his hands around her hips, turning her onto her back. “So in this battle, I had best provide evidence of expertise for all to see.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will love you so well none will doubt your pleasure.” She jerked the sheet around her neck and he grinned in the dim light beneath it. That maidenly gesture of dismay only trapped him more tightly with her long slender body. Like a starving man before a feast, he intended to savor each nibble and taste.

Pressing the shift into the indent of her navel, he watched it spring away as she sucked in her stomach. She was wary again, and if he proposed cuddling once more, she would rise from the bed and never return. Nay, he had to get on with it now—show some efficiency, dazzle her with his skill, make her think he was doing as she wished when actually, he was stealing that vaulted authority away from her.

He scarcely felt the pain in his ribs.

Resting his head on her thigh, he blew softly into that sensitive junction where he wished to be.

“What are you doing?” she asked sharply. But she didn't lift the sheet.

“I'm waiting for you to relax your legs. I can't do what you request without your cooperation, as you no doubt comprehend.”