Once a Knight (19 page)

“So it's Sir David who broke the drought.”

“Nay, he says 'tis you. You're the lady, the one they worship as the spirit of George's Cross. They say that Sir David's coming has renewed your youthfulness and turned you once again from a withering crone to a fruitful goddess.”

“That's pagan.”

“Aye, they are half-pagan, you know that.” He
harumphed and looked out at the busily working servants. “The virgin has been sacrificed, the blood sacrifice has been made, and now prosperity is guaranteed to George's Cross.”

“Saint Ethelred save us,” she said faintly.

“If Fenchel is right, then the child is conceived and my lady, you must marry Sir David!”

“I thought you disapproved of Sir David. You've certainly done all you can to ravage his good standing.”

“I fear my dislike had little to do with Sir David. I couldn't sleep last night, and during the dark time I thought long and deeply.” Sir Walter hung his head. “I apologize for showing his incompetence to George's Cross. I was so blinded with fury that you'd brought him to replace me, I never thought you would have a plan, and that that plan depended on something as simple as his reputation as a legend. It was a stroke of genius, my lady, and I should have known you better than to think you would hire a mercenary without testing him.”

“Look at me,” she commanded. Searching his face, she looked for proof of sincerity and found it in the worried lines of his brow and the clench of his chin. “I accept your apology, but I must tell you—I, too, have been angry.” She spoke slowly, trying to negotiate through this unfamiliar maze of misunderstanding and old allegiances. “You have known me for many years. Have I ever given you reason to think me volatile or emotional?”

“Just in the matter of—”

“Sh!” She cut a glance toward the servants, and he lowered his voice.

“Just the one thing, my lady, and it is so overwhelming in its lack of intelligent consideration…” He sighed like a man sorely tried.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and stared into his face. “Everything I did before, all the years of good sense and duty, are washed away by one matter on which we disagree. I thought you would understand that I had weighed the consequences of this one act of recklessness in an efficient manner, but you did not.” She usually tried to properly consider what she said before she said it, but for once prudence failed her. Sir Walter had been her most faithful advisor for years, and his lack of faith infuriated her. “I went from being your wise and sworn lady to being only a silly woman, and you made your opinion clear, not only to me, but to my servants, my villeins, my men-at-arms.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady. 'Twas I who was foolish, I confess.”

“I told you what I had done because I believed that to do otherwise was unfair to you—not because I sought your approval.”

“I never thought I should give approval to anything that you did, but, I confess, I treasured the times you consulted my opinion.” He answered her now with respect, but with the familiarity of an old friend. “I think it perturbed me that you presented me with such a momentous decision and cared nothing for my thoughts.” He gave a bark of laughter. “I suppose I've grown complacent in your employ, and thought myself above my station. You have no family, and you so willingly placed me at your side, I thought myself more than a steward and imagined myself a brother instead.” Slowly he slid off the bench and knelt at her side. “I am only a rough knight, my lady, and I pledge myself to you. I beg you, excuse my presumption and trust me once more.”

Looking at the top of Sir Walter's bent head, she realized he hadn't renewed his fealty in years. That had
been her mistake, and possibly not her first mistake. “I, too, have treasured your advice and come to consider you more than steward and more than a friend.”

Lifting his head, he smiled, clearly pleased by her disclosure. He looked at her with the direct gaze she recognized from the years of their companionship. “I still can't approve of your actions, but regardless, you are my lady and I would do nothing to harm you.”

“I know you wouldn't.”

“And that's why I have to beg you to marry Sir David. I grant you, you have always been a lady of infinite good sense—excepting the matter on which we disagree—and I believe that marriage to Sir David would go far in eliminating the danger which threatens you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“That knave who shoots arrows at you, my lady, would hesitate if threatened by a man whose sole interest is in keeping you alive.”

“Sir David has no money. He has no breeding.”

“
Exactly
why he would fight to the death to keep you alive. He'll not want to battle any other claims on your wealth.”

Startled, she laughed. “Are you saying the reasons Sir David is ideal are the same reasons I rejected my other suitors?”

“And he is the father of your child.”

“Do you believe this crazed tale of drought and my fertility?” He shrugged sheepishly but did not reply. “You do!”

“Not really, my lady, but you asked me if I trusted your good sense, and I do. If you took Sir David to your bed after so many have failed—”

“None ever tried,” she snapped.

“They have, I assure you. You simply never noticed them.” He took a breath and repeated, “If Sir David suc
ceeded where so many have fallen, then I believe you have made your decision and I urge you to embrace it.”

She just stared. What had she started with her impulsive behavior?

“Ask young Eudo, and he'll tell you. Every child should have a father.”

A telling blow, and one that reached its mark. She said, “I'll take your advice under consideration.” Leaning over, she gave him a kiss on the cheek to signify peace between them.

Neither one of them saw David, watching from the dark hallway near the entrance of the great hall.

“
You're thinking of him
again, aren't you?”

Alisoun jumped at the sound of Edlyn's voice and dropped her spindle on the floor of the great hall with a clatter. “What?”

“You have that look on your face, as if you've bitten into some new dish and are uncertain whether you like the flavor.” Edlyn crossed her hands over her wrists. “Are we going to go out and watch him practice again today?”

Alisoun almost pretended not to know to whom Edlyn was referring. But only the new Alisoun would even contemplate such cowardice, and she shunned the new Alisoun. Leaning over, she picked up the spindle and straightened, hoping the bending would account for the rush of color to her face. “I should go to see if Sir David has fulfilled his promise to improve.”

“Well, he has. He improves every day. Even Sir Walter says he's better now, and in only a month.”

Alisoun viewed Edlyn's uptilted chin and wanted to sigh. “But Sir David is not better than Hugh.”

Now Edlyn's color matched Alisoun's. “Hugh is younger and bigger, and Sir David said he's never seen a man so skilled.”

Placing the spindle on the bench, Alisoun tucked her arm through Edlyn's. “He would say so, though, since he can't defeat him.”

“Hugh de Florisoun is special,” Edlyn said.

The worship in her voice made Alisoun want to weep. The preparations for Edlyn's wedding proceeded apace while the bride sighed for another man—a man who never noticed her except to chuck her under the chin and grin. Even if Hugh
had
noticed Edlyn, it would do them no good. They were both poor; should an attachment develop, they would be unable to wed. It was just as well Edlyn went off to Wessex soon, Alisoun thought grimly, as she collected all the wool and put it in her basket.

Edlyn pulled Alisoun to her feet. “Sir David and Hugh are providing much entertainment to all who have come to market.”

“I don't like to expose you to so many strangers,” Alisoun said. “The Lammas Market attracts less than savory characters, I fear.”

“I don't go down to the market,” Edlyn protested.

“You don't have to. They're coming up to us. I've never seen such traffic between the castle and the village.”

As they stepped outside, Alisoun saw that a crowd once again lined the fence around the practice area—her people and many strangers. Alisoun never knew who or what she would see when she stepped out of her door. Greasy sheep farmers mingled with her serving maids, who used their spindles to keep the men at bay when they became too bold. Fenchel stuck close to his friends from the village. Avina strutted among the mer
chants, trying to attack one of the wealthy ones. Ivo stood just as he always did, arms crossed over his chest with an attitude that rejected David's efforts as feeble. Gunnewate had his eyes closed as if the activities bored him. Both men came to the alert as Alisoun neared the training yard.

Normally, she would reprove her people all for sloth, but not this time. The summer work seemed to be getting done, and this time watching the combats was time they would have spent loitering at the market instead. And they needed reassurance that Sir David of Radcliffe would indeed protect them.

They were getting it. David had justified her faith. He worked with every weapon all day, every day, ignoring the pain of his broken ribs and the bruises that mottled every surface of his skin. His transformation proved awe-inspiring, and if not for Hugh, his reputation would be almost as good as new.

The men would fight with swords until both fell panting on the ground. They fought on horseback with mace, lance, and shield. They wore their armor on the hottest days to accustom themselves to the weight.

But Hugh consistently defeated Sir David.

Andrew and Jennings imitated them while young Eudo performed the onerous duties of squire to them all. Alisoun was pleased to see that David's constant courtesy to the lad inspired the others to a like courtesy, and she never once heard the epithet of “bastard” thrown at him. Even Sir Walter found it prudent to keep his lips sealed about Eudo's parentage.

Seeing him now inside the training yard, Alisoun sighed. “Sir Walter has tried to be a most gentle knight.”

“He has tried,” Edlyn said sharply. “I would that he always succeeded.”

“Perhaps if Sir David rode him less harshly, those
small fits of temper would abate,” Alisoun said. “I don't understand the reason for Sir David's displeasure.”

“He doesn't like that Sir Walter has wormed his way into your affections once more.”

“We but spoke and came to a new understanding. I would think that Sir David wished for such an accord between me and my steward.”

Edlyn spoke matter-of-factly. “New lovers want all attention for themselves.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Philippa told me.”

“Philippa discussed Sir David and me with you?”

“Philippa tells me much, trying to prepare me for marriage,” Edlyn answered.

Feeling irked and strangely hurt, Alisoun said, “If you have questions, you should come to me.”

“I thank you, my lady, but although your experience in most issues I hold in the utmost respect, in this one issue I would prefer Philippa's council.”

Edlyn spoke pleasantly, giving the rebuke in a manner Alisoun recognized—it was much like her own.

Walking toward the training yard, Alisoun kept her spine stiff and her shoulders squared, and everyone moved well back, bowing and tugging at their forelocks.

“My lady.” Sir Walter bowed before her and Lady Edlyn. He kept a constant eye on the proceedings in the training yard and scowled at any bold souls who came too near to Alisoun. “Have you once again come to watch your expensive apprentice?”

Alisoun's gaze lingered on the two men who engaged in throwing light lances at a straw target, and she didn't make the mistake of thinking Sir Walter spoke of Hugh. From the irritation in his voice, she guessed that David had been antagonizing him again.

Before she could try and ease his offense, he held out his hand, palm up. “Never mind me, my lady. I try not to be offended by his hostility, for I fear I deeply offended him when I opened him to the ridicule of your folk.”

“That could be the reason for his rude and unnecessary animosity, of course, but I expect more from my…” she hesitated.

“Consort,” Sir Walter promptly finished.

Edlyn giggled.

Alisoun glared.

Holding out the flat of his hand, Sir Walter looked toward the sky. “We're due for another rain soon, I suspect.”

Alisoun couldn't take teasing. Not about that. Not about a legend it seemed all of her people believed.

Sir Walter realized it, because his expression changed from teasing to compassion, and he said, “I beg you, my lady, pardon me. I thought to ease your discomfort about that legend, but I will mention it no more.”

She nodded gratefully, then with none too much grace, she changed the subject. “What do Ivo and Gunnewate think of Sir David's improving skill?”

Sir Walter's face changed at once. Harshly, he said, “I don't ask men-at-arms their opinions.”

Sir Walter might have sought reconciliation by humbling himself to her, Alisoun realized, but he still thought well of himself. A crab didn't file his claws, but waved them to display his strength. Sir Walter was a crab.

Unaware of her amusement, he continued, “
I
seldom have seen a man blessed with a combination of such natural skill and dogged determination as Sir David.” He stroked the dangling strands of his beard. “I'm not saying you got what you paid for, understand. If it were
me, I'd be demanding he account for his failures. But you're a woman, easily led astray, and at least he's willing to better himself.” He leaned against the fence and muttered loudly enough for her to hear, “He'd be a fool not to, with the gold you're paying him.”

A yell from the field distracted her before she could chide Sir Walter. Glancing up, she saw Hugh go down under an unexpected attack from David. In only a moment, David had Hugh pinned, a knife at his throat. “Wha—what happened?” she stammered, climbing up on the bottom rail of the fence to catch a better view.

“I like that.” Sir Walter grinned. “He's knocking the arrogance right out of Hugh.
I
can't tell the youth anything anymore. My woman says I'm like a father to him, and since he's grown beyond my skills, he doesn't listen to a word I say. That David has taught him a thing or two.”

“I don't understand.”

“David heard Hugh say a true knight doesn't use a paltry weapon like a knife for any reason but to spear his meat. But David's teaching him differently. Told him that a mercenary knight spent more time in dark streets and isolated inns than in tournaments and sieges. Said Hugh had best learn to defend himself from others, poorer even than a mercenary, who would seek his armor and his horse with the point of a dagger.” Sir Walter nodded as David took the point of the knife away from Hugh's throat and offered a hand. “In this area, at least, David is by far Hugh's superior.”

Hugh took David's hand in every evidence of gratitude, then jerked his mentor down and over his head. While David floundered, Hugh jumped on his back and began pounding his face into the grass. Alisoun didn't see what happened next, but she thought it had to do with David's elbow, for Hugh doubled up and rolled off, groaning.

David levered himself up, leaned over Hugh, and said something. From the smirk he cast on the writhing youth, it obviously wasn't a compliment.

“My lady, may I go to him?” Edlyn asked.

For one wild, jealous moment, Alisoun thought Edlyn wanted to help David. Good sense returned, and she realized Edlyn spoke of Hugh. Curtly, she said, “Nay. Go inside and ask Philippa to help you with your spinning.” Edlyn didn't move, and Alisoun turned on her sharply. “Now!”

Edlyn gave a little sob as she fled, and Alisoun saw the horror on Sir Walter's features as he realized Edlyn's infatuation. She could see the words hovering on the tip of his tongue—
You're setting a bad example for the girl
—but he restrained himself.

She
was
setting a bad example, she knew, but she had no choice. At various times, her conscience smote her, and she tried to barricade the door of her bedchamber or refuse to have commerce with her lover, but David would not accept
nay
for an answer.

In an undertone, Sir Walter asked, “Have you told your hero yet why you hired him to protect you?”

“'Tis not necessary that he know,” she answered as quietly. “Only that he do it.”

“He's a hard man.” Sir Walter watched as David strolled toward them. “What makes you think he will see it any differently than I do?”

She wanted to say that he would. In sooth, life had made David hard, but he showed compassion every day—to Eudo, to the servants, to all who had not his strength. But he
was
a man, and what man would ever support her in her course?

The doubt Sir Walter saw in her face satisfied him, for he smiled without humor. “Aye, and he could lose everything for assisting you. Everything he's labored for
all his life. Have you thought on how he will extract his vengeance on you for that?”

David loomed over Sir Walter's shoulder. Dirt and blood stained his face, and he clearly didn't like the whispered conversation he'd interrupted, but with every evidence of respect, he bowed before her. “My lady.”

“Sir David.” She nodded graciously, playing the game as it should be played. It was absurd, she supposed, to be so formal when Sir David disappeared into her solar every night and never left until the morning, but he seemed to want everyone to know he still respected her person and her station.

He nodded as well to Sir Walter, and Sir Walter nodded back. “Good work,” he said gruffly, jerking his thumb toward the still-groveling Hugh. “Out there.”

“Aye. The practice goes well. Hugh improves every day.” David turned to Alisoun. “As do I.”

“Both Hugh's progress and your own are pleasing to me.” Her answer came automatically even as she confronted again the effort he made every day to bring his body back to its former condition. She admired his persistence with every fiber of her being, as well as his unfailing sense of humor in the face of his occasional humiliating failure.

If only he acted more like other men in every way, she would have better luck dismissing his pretensions. If only he had strutted and crowed the morning after she yielded to him, rather than acting irritated. With her! As if she had denied him something that was his right.

“The other squires are performing well, too.” David spoke as Eudo came across the field, dragging a full bucket. Accepting a dipper of water from the lad, he drank deeply, then took a white rag from Eudo's hand
and smeared it across his own face in a halfhearted effort at cleanliness. Alisoun winced as the cloth scraped across old scabs and new wounds. “And Eudo is a constant companion.” David smiled down at Eudo, opening the cut on his lip where fresh blood now oozed.

She couldn't stand it anymore. She climbed through the fence rails, took the rag from his hand, and dipped it in the bucket. “Sit down,” she told David, and while Eudo dragged over a stool for his master, she said, “Eudo exceeds all expectations in performance both on the field and in the keep. Now sit down, Sir David.”

David bowed in ready deference. “As you command, my lady.” Sinking onto the stool, he turned his face up to hers, closed his eyes and awaited her ministrations.

She glanced around. Everyone, especially her own people, leaned over the fence, waiting with avid attention for her to touch him. It wasn't as if she had never tended another's wound. She was the lady, required by tradition to care for the injured. But her folk seemed to see this as something special, a sign of her emotions.