Once a Knight (21 page)

“For
you
. Your job is done. Mine's just begun.”

He began to lose patience, although he'd had dealings with pregnant women before and well knew their uneasy temperaments. “It's true that in these next few months you will indeed bear the burden, but a father's duties do not end with conception.”

“Yours do.”

Her cruelty struck at him like a well-aimed blow. He took a quick breath and let it out slowly. “I know you had originally thought to raise my babe alone, but surely you've seen the error of your plan.”

“What error? There is no error.”

“Do you deny the pleasure we find in each other's company? Not just in the bed, but in the evening when we speak together?”

“Do you think I should take a husband based on the pleasure of his conversation? I've lived alone for a long time, and no one treats me like an equal except you. No one dares argue with me because I'm the lady and have a sharp tongue. Now a crude mercenary sits at my table and tells me what he thinks of me, my management, and of our world without constantly bowing to my superior status.”

Her tongue lashed him, and he fought his resentment. “I didn't realize I offended you.”

“You don't offend me.” She rose to her feet slowly, walking her hands up the tree trunk behind her. “I enjoy it. It's a powerful enchantment, this companionship, and you've used it to destroy the efficient functioning of my mind.”

She'd as good as labeled him a wizard. Incredulously, he said, “It's called honesty, my lady, and if you've been so seldom exposed to it you call it enchantment, I pity you.”

“Pity me? You envy me. You want to marry me. You want to use this child to control my…my twelve sacks of wool. To control my life!”

“Your money? Your life?” She confused him. She infuriated him. Didn't she know what was important? “This is a babe we're talking about. I do want to marry you, and I know you said—”

“I said I wouldn't, and I never change my mind.”

Her eyes were gray as flint, and just as hard and cold, and he lost control of his temper. After all, he'd failed in the greatest gamble of his life. “You said you wouldn't, but when I covered you at night, I thought I'd found a woman, the true woman that you were. I was mistaken. You used me just as I use Louis to cover a mare, and now my duties are accomplished.”

“You don't have to wait for accounting day.” She scrambled for her keys and shook the one which opened her strongbox at him. “I'll give you the gold at once.”

“Double the gold.” He could hurt her, too. “Gold for being your mercenary, and gold for being your stud.”

“I'll send Eudo with it and you can be gone.”

“Send Eudo with half of it. Keep the other half for my son, and tell him it is his patrimony, to be used anytime he wishes, to travel to Radcliffe and be with me, his father.” Tapping his finger on his chest, he said, “You might be able to keep my child from me, but you can't take that. I am his father and always will be.”

“Be gone with you, then.”

“I wouldn't stay if you begged me.”

They stood facing each other, panting, as if they'd run a race and exhausted all their energy. Alisoun's wimple sat cocked on her head, her cheeks flamed, and she smelled of brimstone. He didn't look much better, he supposed, and he knew one brief moment of chagrin, one moment of wanting her last glimpse of him to be Sir David of Radcliffe, the legendary mercenary.

Instead, anger and hurt had stripped him of all pretense. She tossed her head and strode away, putting as much distance between them as quickly as she could. He whirled and stormed in the opposite direction.

He'd gone only a short distance before conscience brought him to a halt.

He couldn't leave her to navigate the woods alone. His month of stewardship hadn't ended yet. Quietly, so she wouldn't notice and draw false conclusions, he followed her through the woods, where he halted in the shadow of the trees. From there he watched her walk across the clearing and into the stream of people moving from the village to the castle.

She never looked back.

And he didn't care. With a curse, he punched both fists into a tree trunk, then grabbed his scraped and aching knuckles and swore ever louder. Damn the woman! She had him doing stupid things for stupid reasons. He stomped back into the woods, sucking his bleeding wounds. He hadn't meant to lose his temper, but by Saint Michael's arms, he'd not return and beg her pardon when she'd been the one who insisted on following her asinine plans. He circled through the trees. Aye, she'd warned him, but he'd thought she'd see the good sense of marrying him. He'd thought she was an intelligent woman. He should have realized those two terms were mutually exclusive. When a man—

“God…”

David stopped and cocked his head. That sounded like an animal in pain.

“Saint…John help…”

An animal who groaned. An animal with a vocabulary. His senses suddenly went on the alert. He scanned the area, noting broken branches on the underbrush and a dribble of some dark substance marking the leaves. He leaned closer.

Blood. His earlier itch returned, the sense of being watched, and he glanced around at the green enclave. He could see no one, but that broken voice called again.

“Help…please.”

Determined, wary, he followed the dark speckled trail. The sound of labored breathing grew louder. Then he saw him. Sir Walter. A bloody wound where his mouth should be. Eyes swollen shut. Leg bones cocked at an ungainly angle.

“By Goddes corpus!” David leaped over the barrier of bushes and knelt at the battered man's side. “What happened?”

Sir Walter lisped, “David?”

“Aye, it's me.” David grimly ran his hands over Sir Walter, seeking more injuries and finding them. “I need to get help.”

“Nay!” Sir Walter clawed at David's arm. “Help.”

David glanced around.

“Help,” Sir Walter insisted.

David understood. If he left Sir Walter, what would be left when he returned with assistance? Carefully he reached around the stocky man and hoisted him onto his shoulders. Sir Walter didn't make a sound, making David respect him for his fortitude. Standing up slowly, David adjusted Sir Walter's weight to ease his suffering.

Then Sir Walter moaned in a burst of pain. Or David thought it was pain until he caught the name.

“Alisoun.”

And David grasped the fact that someone had attacked Sir Walter and beat him brutally. If that someone would do that to a seasoned warrior, what could he do to a woman alone?

“Alisoun,” he whispered. Where was Alisoun? She'd been headed into the castle when last he'd seen her, but had she continued on her way? He started jogging.

Sir Walter gasped for breath as if he were dying, but when David slowed, he urged, “Go…on.”

They broke free of the forest and into the cleared
area around the castle. Villeins from George's Cross and strangers visiting the market walked the road from the village to the castle. They gaped at the mercenary and his gory burden, swerving aside to avoid him, but David paid them no heed. Heading straight across the drawbridge, he bellowed, “Lady Alisoun. Where's Lady Alisoun?”

No one answered at first. The servants stood transfixed as he hurried on into the inner bailey and toward the keep. “Did she come back? Where's Lady Alisoun?”

Two women stood on the landing of the steps, and he shouted, “You stupid cows! Where's your mistress?”

“I'm here.” Alisoun spoke from the door of the dairy, and David swerved that direction. She looked as cool as the first time he'd met her, and her gaze was as cold as a winter's breeze. In a voice that should have frozen the marrow in his bones, she began, “How dare you return after…?” Then her eyes widened, and she gasped in horror. “God his soul bless, 'tis Sir Walter.” Without pause, she ran for the keep, calling, “Get out my medical supplies! Warm water and blankets. Prepare the solar, we'll put him there.” She returned to David and reached out a gentle hand to Sir Walter. She touched his head lightly and spoke to him with a caress in her very tone. “Good Sir Walter, who did this to you?”

Sir Walter didn't answer. Only David felt the sigh of relief that shuddered through the grizzled warrior and turned his body from an anguished sack to an comatose burden.

When Sir Walter didn't answer, Alisoun took her hand away and smeared the blood between her fingers. “Carry him upstairs,” she told David. “Let me work on him before he regains consciousness.”

His burden dragged at him as he climbed the stairs to the keep. The women had disappeared, and the corri
dor inside seemed miraculously clear of obstacles. A few moments ago he'd thought never to see this great hall again, now he barely glanced around as he headed for the solar. Someone held the door open, and hands assisted him as he lowered the unconscious man onto the mattress. Then Alisoun pushed him back, and he moved to the far corner of the bed where he could be out of the way, yet watch the proceedings.

He didn't enjoy them, especially not when Alisoun set first the bone in one leg, then the bone in the other. Menservants had to hold the now-conscious Sir Walter, and the screams drove mighty Hugh from the chamber to empty his gut outside. Alisoun's face was the color of parchment, but she tugged, cleaned and splinted before she stepped away from the bed.

If David had any doubts about Alisoun's strength, her courage in the face of blood and pain reassured him. Life in all its vicissitudes would never defeat this woman.

As she stepped off the dais, she staggered and he sprang forward, ready to assist her.

Something hit him from behind, knocking him aside. He spun around, fists up, and found himself face to face with Lady Edlyn.

“Don't touch her!” the girl shouted. “Everyone knows what you did.”

Everyone knew of their quarrel in the woods? He glanced at Alisoun, but she looked as amazed as he felt. “What did I do?”

“
You
did this to Sir Walter.” Lady Edlyn skittered back as if he were an animal about to attack. “You quarreled with him, followed him into the woods and you—”

“Wait!” Lady Alisoun stepped into the fray. “Sir David didn't hurt Sir Walter. To say so is absurd.”

Philippa stood in the doorway, clutching her baby. “He's a dangerous, angry man.”

“He spent his time with
me
,” Alisoun said.

“The whole time you were gone?” Philippa asked.

“Nay, but—”

“Who else has the skills to beat Sir Walter?”

In the moment of silence that followed, David glanced around the room. Alisoun's servants stood in a sullen circle watching him. Some simply looked confused, but some held knives and pokers in their hands.

Alisoun saw them and declared, “This is ridiculous.”

“I've done nothing,” David said.

Dismissing his objection with a gesture, Philippa said, “He quarreled with Sir Walter, and when you returned to the castle, you made it clear he quarreled with you. You're not safe, Alisoun, and you know what men are like.”

David swallowed his instinctive protest. He would never forget this scene. Like the climax of a passion play, it stood alone as the apex of an eventful day. In his mind, this moment remained fixed, highlighted by powerful emotions. Somehow, somewhere in this morass of fear and accusation rested the kernel of fact which would explain his presence here and the danger which threatened his lady.

Alisoun stood still, letting the heated emotions swirl around her while soothing her people with her very tranquillity. “I have every faith in Sir David. He was angry, true, but he has an impeccable reputation, and he has always treated me with honor.”

Lady Edlyn gestured toward him. “Look at him, my lady! His hands are scabbed and bleeding. How else could he have done such a thing except by beating Sir Walter?”

Holding up his hands, David flexed them in chagrin.
Everyone saw, and the servants stepped forward with a growl.

“David!” Stepping close to him, Alisoun gathered his hands in hers. “You didn't do
this
in the practice yard.”

Fearing the prick of a knife against his neck, David trailed behind her as she tugged him closer to the light. “It's nothing.”

In a voice clogged with fear, Lady Edlyn said, “Lady Alisoun, please move away from him.”

“They need to be bandaged,” Alisoun said.

“They're fine.” He tried to wrench them free. Again the servants stepped closer, their weapons raised, and he hastily ceased resistance. He was going to have to tell her what he'd done, admit his stupidity, and he slumped in embarrassment. “I hit a tree.”

Her hands tightened on his. “What?”

“I
hit
a
tree
.”

Everyone heard that time. Alisoun stared at him as if he'd run mad. “You mean you…walked into a tree with your fists?”

Philippa said, “My lady, surely you don't believe
that
.”

“Why would you hit a tree?” Alisoun asked.

“To avoid striking you or Sir Walter or one of the serving maids or kicking a dog or any of the other lovely ways a man picks to display his anger.” He swept an accusing glance around at the men, and one or two coughed and shuffled backward. “I didn't beat Sir Walter.”

Then Alisoun did it. The thing he'd dreamed of all his life.

“I know that.” She laid one hand on his chest and looked up into his eyes, her own calm, sure and trusting. “I was never in doubt.”

And Sir David Radcliffe fell in love.

The solar filled with a silence
that lapped up and over everyone, and they were silent, David knew, because of the awe and reverence he displayed. Only now, when Alisoun showed her trust, did he realize—he was living the legend his crazy old great-grandmother had told him.

“David?” Alisoun raised her hand to touch his face. “Have you hit your head?”

Hit his head? He almost laughed. Aye, Alisoun would think something like that. The truth was, he had all the symptoms his granny described—unusual strength, a sense of rightness, a glow from within. He didn't even have to be around Alisoun to feel the effects. Granny had called them signs of a great love.

“David, no one's going to hurt you. You don't need to look so—” Alisoun cocked her head, at a loss for a description, “—preoccupied.”

Granny had entertained him and the other children in the long winter nights, and the best story, the one
they always asked for, was the one about their grandmother and grandfather, and how they'd come through trial and sorrow to a special place, a special feeling, just for each other. Not everyone had it, Granny said. Most people never witnessed such a phenomenon in their whole lives, but it had shone through his grandmother and grandfather's everyday activities. It had warmed the whole family and every servant and serf. It had been precious, inviolate, and it had worked miracles. Even after Grandfather died, Grandmother carried the glow with her to her grave.

“I think it would be best if you sat down.” Alisoun tried to steer him toward a stool, but he took her hand off his arm and just held it.

Aye, it had been his favorite story, but he'd grown up. By the time he reached the great age of eight, he'd realized what nonsense Granny spouted. After all, she wasn't his grandmother, she was his great-grandmother, so old he had believed his mother when she said Granny had lived through four kings. Granny didn't remember what she'd eaten two hours before. She didn't remember his name, or his mother's, or even her own maid's. She was nothing but a crazy old lady who told crazy old stories, and he'd scarcely thought of her since the day she died.

Now he couldn't forget her, because he was living that story she told. His union with Alisoun was almost mystical, as if they had been separated long ago, lost to each other across time and space, and now reunited to form one being, one self.

“I wish my Granny were alive to see this.” David brought Alisoun's hand to his lips and kissed it respectfully, then turned it over and kissed her palm with the passion of a lover.

Her puzzled frown faded; she must have seen some
thing in his demeanor that hinted of his thoughts, for she stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest once more. “David?”

His heart pounded from the contact, and the glow from his reflected in her eyes. They drew closer and closer still, caught in the precious moment of recognition and dedication—until Sir Walter coughed.

Alisoun turned away from David at once, and he let her go without a qualm. There would be time and place for this later. Now Sir Walter needed tending, and Alisoun took that responsibility seriously. She went to his side and took his hand, then leaned close to his battered, swollen face. “It's Lady Alisoun. Did you want me?”

The sounds Sir Walter formed weren't words, not really, but he spoke urgently, as if he needed to make himself heard.

Alisoun winced and reached for an icy cloth to place over his puffy eyes. “Pray you, Sir Walter, don't speak if it gives you pain.”

“Must!”

Moved by the urgency in that one word, David came closer.

“Grave.”

Puzzled, David shared a glance with Alisoun.

“I don't know what you mean. Grave trouble?” she suggested. “Grave wounds?”

The breath Sir Walter took came up through a windpipe so battered it scarcely functioned, but he lisped, “
The
grave.”

Suddenly alert, Alisoun bent so close her lips almost touched the injured man's ear. “The grave? In the churchyard?”

“Open.”

David observed the appearance of bluish veins in Alisoun's forehead as the color washed out of her face.

“Is that where he found you?” she demanded.

A tear squeezed out between Sir Walter's swollen lids and trickled down his cheek. “Stupid.”

Some great shock held Alisoun in its grip, then she started as if she woke. “Nay, you're not stupid. We weren't expecting that he would be suspicious. Sleep now, and heal. I'll have need of your services when you are better.” After giving his hand a light pat, she placed it on the covers. Then she turned and surveyed the room. No one except she and David had heard Sir Walter's words. They'd been spoken in a low tone and his injuries had rendered him almost inarticulate. Nevertheless, she examined each servant and maid, requesting their discretion without saying a word. Clearly, she held their complete loyalty.

Near the door, Philippa and Edlyn huddled together, victims of the fear this violence had brought. To them, Alisoun said, “Warm sand in the sandbags and brace it against Sir Walter on both sides. Bring blankets and keep him covered. Don't let him get chilled this night, and if his condition worsens, call me.”

“Where are you going?” Philippa questioned her sharply, as if she had every right.

“I'm going to order added patrols and find some way to return security to George's Cross.”

“What did Sir Walter say?”

Alisoun wrapped her arm around Philippa's shoulder. “I'll take care of it. You take care of Sir Walter.”

She walked toward the door and Philippa followed her, but David grabbed her before she could jerk Alisoun around. Gruffly, he said, “
I'll
take care of her.”

Philippa stared at him and gulped audibly, then nodded.

“Alisoun.” He caught up with her when she was
halfway across the great hall. “Lady Alisoun, we need to talk.”

She kept walking with a serenity that belied her intentions. “I have to go instruct the men-at-arms to watch for strangers, to be more careful.”

“That's for me to do.”

Without looking at him, she asked, “You'll stay?”

His hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. Spinning on his heel, he used her forward motion to turn her toward his bedchamber. “You couldn't drive me away.”

Trying to jerk out of his grasp, she said, “I need to set watches.”

“And have them beat, too? Anyone who tries to protect you is in danger.” The horror on her face proved everything he could have desired. “Every person in George's Cross knows what happened to Sir Walter by now. They'll be cautious, I have no doubt, and I wouldn't want to be a new merchant come to visit the market this night. He'll find himself without a place to stay.”

“Aye.” The door of his chamber loomed before them and she grabbed the sill and tried to hang on. “This will be bad for our prosperity, but what can I do?”

He stuffed her through the entry and shut the door behind them. Leaning against it, he said, “Come with me to Radcliffe.”

She whirled on him. “What?”

“Radcliffe,” he repeated. “It's small, there's no market, and any stranger who visits is noted and marked and treated with suspicion.”

“I can't come to Radcliffe with you.”

“You could if you married me.”

She turned away. “We've already had this conversation.”

“It wasn't a conversation, it was a shouting match.”

She moved her shoulders uncomfortably. “Nothing's changed since this afternoon.”

He chuckled. “Oh, Alisoun.”

“Except Sir Walter!”

“I can't keep you safe here. I can't keep your people safe here. You have a market, and a busy town center. Peddlers come through, and country people and farmers who've heard about your prosperity and seek some for themselves. I can't keep track of every stranger every moment he's here. Neither can your men, and this vicious attack on Sir Walter is going to put your villagers at odds with the very people who come to trade with them.”

“I know that.” She placed one hand on her stomach and one on her head. “I don't know what to do.”

He moved closer and pressed her hard for a decision. “Can you take a chance with them?”

She didn't move.

“I've seen robberies and beatings on the road less vicious than the one inflicted on Sir Walter.” Laying his hand over the one she pressed to her belly, he asked, “Can you take a chance with the babe?”

She looked up at him, and for the first time, her every emotion showed on her face—fear, distress, anguish. And he wished he had his old Alisoun back. He wanted that serenity for her. He wanted her to have the time to relish her accomplishments, her skills, her pregnancy. But he wanted her to do it with him, and she had to understand their marriage was no longer just an option. It was a necessity.

He hadn't intended to comfort her until she'd given in, but he couldn't bear to see her so upset. Wrapping her in his arms, he rocked her against him.

Turning her head into his chest, she wailed, “I'm so embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” He moved her back a little. “Why embarrassed?”

“I failed in my responsibility to care for Sir Walter.”

“Corpus Christi.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Setting her down in the middle, he leaned close and told her, “If there's something keeping Sir Walter awake tonight, it's that he failed in his responsibility to you.”

“Nay, I—”

“Alisoun.” He kissed her.

“I should have—”

He kissed her again.

“I didn't—”

He kissed her again. And again. Soft, gentle kisses that cradled her senses and finally brought her relief from the endless round of self-recriminations. Then he tasted her tears and used his sleeve to wipe them from her cheeks. “You're the best lady any demesne could have. You know you are.”

She pressed her lips together and sniffed.

“Admit it.” He kissed her. “Admit it.”

“I am.”

He wanted to grin at her reluctant confirmation, but more than that he wanted to kiss her. She needed his kisses now, needed solace and security. With his tongue, he outlined her lips. When they parted, he ran his tongue along the bumpy ridge of her teeth. She lay there, limp, and he thought she was doing nothing more than absorbing peace of mind from his embrace and affection, but when he thrust his tongue into her mouth she met him.

He pressed harder, sealing their lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He climbed onto the mattress next to her.

The pillows lay above them, and the blankets lay
below. Their feet banged the footboard. He'd done this all wrong, but he hadn't planned to do more than console her. He hadn't planned on his rush of desire or her ready response. He still wanted to console her, but with his touch on her cheek, his kiss on her breast…and when she pushed her wimple off, he perceived she wanted it, too.

He lifted each individual lock of hair to his lips, then arranged it around her face like rays of the sun. Quiescent, her eyes half-closed, she let him do what he would. Some men might have been offended. He himself might have remembered his long-dead wife and the way she had lain like a limp fish when he touched her. But with Alisoun, her very lack of motion was a confession. She'd ceded her power to him and trusted him to not abuse that power.

“So you like to talk to me.” With his finger, he curled the short wisps of hair in front of her ears. “You think I enchant you when I tell you what I think.”

She stretched, adjusting her shoulders. “You don't say the things other men say.”

“Like?”

“The other noblemen always talk about themselves and how strong they are and how they killed a boar with their bare hands.” She blew a puff of air out and rolled her eyes. “Like I'd believe that.”

Putting his fingers under her neck, he massaged the taut muscles. “They just want to impress you.”

“Why? What makes a man think he can impress a woman by telling lies?”

“Some women aren't as discerning as you are.”

“Some women pretend to believe.”

He grinned and imagined the scene. A respected warrior, fabricating his strengths to impress the cool woman beside him. And the cool woman questioning
him until he stumbled in his tale. No wonder she'd remained unmarried.

He looked down to see her staring at him. “You don't tell tales,” she said.

He shrugged. “I haven't killed any boars with my bare hands lately.” He trailed those hands down the front of her and loosened the laces that held her gown together.

As he widened the gap in her gown, his hands brushed against her breasts, still covered by her shift. She shivered, and goosebumps tightened her skin. “I doubt you've wasted time on something so trivial. You were too busy—”

He cupped her and she took a big breath.

“You were too busy becoming the legendary Sir David.”

Rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, he said, “Not much of a legend anymore.”

She smiled. “Your lance strikes ever true.”

He froze and searched her face for an explanation.

“What?” she asked. “What?”

“You made a jest.”

“So?”

“A bawdy jest.”

A spark of indignation made her stiffen. “I am not without humor!”

“Aye, it's been there all along.” He slipped the gown over her shoulders and down, stripping it from her completely, and as he worked on divesting her of the rest of her clothing, he said, “But you do make me think I'm a wizard.”

 

Sir David's face loomed above me where I slept on my pallet in the great hall, and his hand shook my shoulder. “Get up, Eudo. I need you
.”

It never crossed my mind to question his command. I stumbled to my feet, rubbing my eyes, and pulled my short cape over my clothes. I think he had to help me—no one wakes an eleven-year-old boy after a strenuous day without having to fight the lingering consequences of sleep
.