Once a Knight (3 page)

“M'lady,” her man Gunnewate remonstrated. “Ye
can't give a scoundrel money like that and think ye'll see him return!”

David glared, wanting to kill him for his insolence, and realized he could see better now. Glancing up at the sky, he saw clouds gathering. Blessed, blessed clouds, here to break the drought.

Lady Alisoun noticed them, too, and demanded her wooden shoes from Ivo. Lumbering like a trained bear, Ivo brought them and went down on one knee to place them over her leather slippers. Answering Gunnewate, Lady Alisoun said, “He is the legendary David of Radcliffe. He shall not disappoint me.”

 

Sir David had better not disappoint her. If he did, this whole wretched journey and uncomfortable visit had been in vain, and she would have to return to George's Cross bringing little more than a rainstorm.

Without expression, Alisoun observed King Henry III hold court in the great hall of Lancaster Castle just as he had done every morning since he'd traveled north. Patiently, she waited for her chance to present her petition, all the while trying to ignore the presence of Osbern, duke of Framlingford, the king's cousin and her most dreaded enemy.

Osbern didn't make it easy. He watched her with a smirk. Anyone who didn't know them would believe them to be lovers. Certainly Osbern had taken care to represent them as such, and his power and influence were such that her dignified haughtiness only fed the rumors.

After all, she was the widow Alisoun of George's Cross, powerful and influential in her own way. Never mind that Osbern's wife had been her best friend, and that her unexplained disappearance still created gossip.
When coupled with Osbern's insinuations and his rather spectacular masculine beauty, Alisoun's extended sojourn as a single woman created speculation and made her long for the safety of home.

Now she could go, for David would fulfill his duty. He had to, for he was the legendary mercenary. He even looked the part. His rangy form and grace proclaimed his strength. The threads of gray in his dark hair proclaimed his experience. Hard heavy brows lent a severity to his expression, and his eyes had seen much. Yet his mouth saved him from the ruthlessness of most mercenaries. He grinned, he grimaced, he pursed his lips in avarice. Every thought that crossed his mind, he expressed with his mouth, and without saying a word.

She liked his mouth.

Seeing that King Henry had finished with the lesser folk, Alisoun stepped forward and curtsied. Not too deeply, for her family's bloodlines were no less ancient and noble than his, but a modest, respectable curtsy.

Hale at forty-five, with a superficial charm that covered his capricious nature, King Henry responded with a nod. “Lady Alisoun, how good to see you at our court again. You attend every morning, flattering us with your attention. Have you some instructions to share this day?”

He had a distasteful inclination toward sarcasm, especially with her. She didn't understand or like it, for she knew full well an unhappy monarch could create problems for her and the lands which she held in her custody. So she smiled with constrained charm and said, “I take my instructions from you, my liege—”

He snorted.

“—And have only a humble request.” He looked her over critically, and she was glad she had worn her best scarlet velvet for this interview. It weighed on her like a
knight's armor, keeping her safe with its bulk and brazen beauty.

“What request is that?”

“I wish to retire from your most gracious court and return to my duties at George's Cross. I have been away too long, basking in the sun of your presence.”

He cocked his head and examined her. “You
are
getting rather freckled.”

Laughter rippled through the courtiers.

“I was already freckled,” she replied.

Laughter grew and the king dropped his head as if in despair.

She stared at him, and then, in confusion asked, “My liege? Have I displeased you?”

“Never mind. Never mind. So you wish to withdraw, do you? Is there nothing you wish to take back to George's Cross with you?”

Wetting her lips, she tried to appear unaware of his meaning. “What would that be?”

“A husband, of course.” His arm swept the great hall, indicating the courtiers who lined the walls.

Her heart sank. King Henry was mad for marriage. He had used it as a diplomatic coup, uniting England with Provence in his marriage. He used it on lesser nobility, too, to advance his cause within the kingdom and out of it. Those successes gave him an immodest estimation of his own good sense—a good sense he had not proved in his rule of England nor in his choice of grooms for her. Now she dwelled at court, renewing the appetites of the men for her wealth and the appetite of the king for an alliance.

Henry persisted, “You see here the flowers of my kingdom, the best of England, Normandy, Poitou, France. Is there not one here who fulfills your demands?”

She could scarcely say that they did not, and so she protested, “My requirements are reasonable, my lord. Surely you agree to that.”

He held up three fingers and counted them down. “Wealth, bloodlines, and responsibility. Isn't that right?”

Her throat caught in dismay at the way he beamed in triumph, but she cleared it and answered, “That is correct.”

“Then I have a suitor for you.”

He had caught her unprepared. “That's impossible! I've been to court every day, watching to see who might petition to wed me, and—”

“Is that why you've been here?” He looked down at his hand, clenched in a fist. “To give me guidance, should any man dare?”

She didn't like this. She didn't like the king's attitude nor Osbern's superior leer. Someone had been whispering malicious rumors in the king's ear, and she knew the culprit. An importune pang of longing for George's Cross struck her like hunger for a wholesome broth after a diet of sweetmeats, but she fought it away. The solemn facade she'd created after so much youthful training remained in place, and she said, “I would not dream of offering you my advice. I am only a lowly woman, and you are the king of England.”

“You do remember,” he said. “Then listen well, Alisoun of George's Cross. For husband, I give you Simon, earl of Goodney. Can you think of a more suitable mate?”

Unfortunately, she couldn't. Simon of Goodney carried his nobility, his wealth, and his responsibilities well. A distinguished man and a recent widower, Lord Simon held lands in Poitou where the king wished to strengthen his ties.

She'd been paired with him at the table. She'd listened to his nasal voice. Her stomach had churned when he'd breathed and chewed through his open mouth. She'd seen the food which encrusted his eating knife. And she'd dirtied her eating knife with a drop of his blood when he'd groped her breast with his filthy fingers.

Nevertheless, she knew where her duty lay. Regardless of her feelings, she had to protect George's Cross, and a husband would be an asset. More, this precarious and dangerous situation which plagued her would surely vanish in a husband's custody.

But a husband would also increase the possibility of discovery and the chance she would be unable to fulfill her vow. Dread ran in her veins, but, God help her, she could see no relief from her dilemma. “The earl of Goodney is indeed a fitting husband for me, and I thank you for consideration.”

“Does that mean you'll not chase him away?” the king demanded.

“Chase him away? I do not understand.”

“Five men I've sent to you.” King Henry struck the arm of his chair. “Five! And not one has been able to withstand your lashing tongue.” When she would have spoken, he pointed his finger into her face. “One even went on Crusade and never returned.”

“He was not worthy.”

“And the other four?”

“They were not worthy, either.” When he would have spoken, she swept over his objection. “My liege, I am no green stalk of wheat who wavers in the contrary breeze.”

He seemed to ponder that. “That's true. You're more like a stalk of yellow wheat stiff with overripe grains.”

“Exactly.” She congratulated him on his apt simile,
then frowned at the stifled giggles that sounded from the crowd. What did the foolish creatures find so amusing?

“How old are you now?” Osbern slipped the question in like a thin knife through her ribs.

She ignored him. It was rude of him to step between her and the king in their conversation. Rude, typical and…menacing.

“She's twenty-six.” King Henry answered for her. “The oldest widowed virgin in England, and probably the Continent.”

Charm oozed from Osbern's dashing figure, giving him a sheen most men envied. His short dark hair shone almost purple, like a blackbird's wing. His blue eyes blazed with the heat of interest. His sleek body rippled with muscle when he moved, and when he smiled at Alisoun.

Dear Lord, how she hated him. Hated him, and feared him.

“Not still a virgin, surely,” he said.

King Henry froze, then turned slowly to face his cousin. “Do you have personal knowledge of this?”

In that drawling, detestable tone, he said, “Personal knowledge of the Lady Alisoun would be—”

“Death.” King Henry interrupted. “I would kill the man who claimed to have deflowered the finest example of English womanhood.”

Osbern didn't move. Only his eyes moved, flicking from King Henry to Alisoun and back again, and she saw realization dawn. His desire to insult and implicate her had taken him beyond the bounds of courtesy and into the realm of royal displeasure. He might be Henry's elder by five years, but Henry was the king and now Osbern would have to scrape. With the grace that characterized his every movement, he swept a bow to
Alisoun, a bow that somehow included King Henry and the whole court. “No doubt the Lady Alisoun is yet fit to bear the very symbols of purity which distinguish the Virgin Mary herself, and I would fight the man who insinuated otherwise.”

King Henry seemed to accept the apology, but Alisoun did not. How could she? She had guarded her reputation and her virtue as a sacred trust, and her name would now be on the lips of the gossips because of one short visit to the court. A mere apology could not wipe the stain away.

But she had been too well trained to waste time mourning what couldn't be mended. Instead, she answered the king. “Five men you have ordered me to wed, my liege, but I am a mature woman with simple requirements of my spouse, requirements which have not wavered through the years of my widowhood. I am a noblewoman of royal descent, so my husband must be noble. My wealth is considerable, so my husband must noble. My wealth is considerable, so my husband must be wealthy. I am responsible and dedicated to maintaining my wealth and position, so my husband must be equally dutiful. I tested those men who were noble and wealthy to see if they could be molded into fit and responsible mates. Invariably, they fled, but Simon, earl of Goodney will show his nobility by his consistency. I thank you, my liege, for—”

Running footsteps interrupted her. Before Alisoun could see him, she could hear him—Simon of Goodney, shouting in nasal tones, “Stop. My liege, stop! I refuse! I will not marry that woman.”

The damned witless woman
had left without him.

David stood in the common room of the Crowing Cock Inn, cursing all women and Alisoun of George's Cross in particular. He'd learned from his wife what idiots they were, but yesterday Alisoun had behaved like an average, rational person. Like a
man
.

Now here he stood with her money in his pocket and no way to deliver his services.

Well, if she didn't want him, he wasn't going to chase after her. True, she'd said dawn, and some might even say the sun was now approaching its zenith. But Lady Alisoun ought to realize that when a man drank as much as he had the day before, it would take time to sleep it off. Aye, how could he attend the silly woman with a head that ached and a stomach that rebelled? He'd been doing her a favor by hugging his pillow this morning. Furious, he swung his leg over the bench by a table and bellowed, “Bread!”

A girl scurried to do his bidding while her innkeeper-father watched with approval. “Will ye be needing more than bread?” the man asked. “We have a hearty venison stew.”

David looked around the Crowing Cock Inn. No dark, louse-ridden inn would do for Lady Alisoun. She stayed with the best and no doubt thought she deserved it. “Aye,” he snarled. “I'll have a bowl, and some fine cheese as well.”

“At once, sir.” The innkeeper himself brought the cheese while the girl presented the bowl. The innkeeper examined David. “Godric, master of this house, at yer service. Ye're Sir David of Radcliffe.”

Ah, they still remembered him in the streets. David preened until Godric added, “Ye're Lady Alisoun's mercenary, are ye not?”

David stopped his spoon just inches from his open lips. “Lady Alisoun's mercenary?” He slammed the spoon onto the table and stood up. “Lady
Alisoun's
mercenary? I'm my own man, and no woman owns me.” Glaring around him at the nearly empty common room, he saw the serving girl cower and Godric wring his hands.

“Of course, sir. Foolish of me, sir.”

“That's better.” David started to sit, discovered halfway down he'd knocked the bench over when he'd stood, and barely caught himself before his arse hit the ground.

Godric raced up and settled the bench beneath David, all the while muttering, “Dreadful seat. Horribly unsturdy. Should have had it fixed.” He waited until David had inhaled several bites of the stew before he asked anxiously, “You won't tell my lady Alisoun that I displeased ye, will ye?”

David wanted to spit the concoction at the stupid
man. Then he faced the truth, swallowed and sighed. He'd been thrown out of lesser inns than this with just one look at his clothing. Godric should have done the same, or at the least demanded to see his coin before he served him. So it had to be Lady Alisoun's influence. “Why'd she leave so early?” David asked gruffly.

Godric winced. “She didn't show it, of course, but I believe my lady felt uncomfortable crossing the taproom yester evening. I tried to discourage the gossip, but the mortification must have been more than she could bear.” He nodded sagely. “What woman wouldn't be chagrined?”

Obviously, Godric thought David held her confidence, and David hesitated to disillusion him. So he nodded back just as sagely and stuffed bread into his mouth.

“To be rejected so rudely!” Godric tutted. “And in front of all the court.”

Perking up at the thought of Lady Alisoun being taken down a peg, David chewed and swallowed. “And by whom? A nobody, that's who.”

Startled, Godric protested, “I wouldn't call him a nobody. Simon
is
earl of Goodney, with so much gold in his possession he has cobwebs over the coins, and he has a pedigree to make our sovereign blush. But that he should refuse King Henry's order to wed the fair lady makes him nothing more than a pestilent knave.”

“By the saints.” David was awed. “Simon of Goodney refused her.” Godric flinched at David's surprise, and David spoke hastily to ease his sudden suspicion. “I still can scarcely credit it, with him as thrifty as a Spaniard with a bottle of port.”

“Oh, aye.” Godric plucked the towel that hung from his belt and polished the table. “'Tis a fact well known among innkeepers.”

“What about her other suitor?” When Godric looked confused, David explained, “The one who plots to abduct her. Did you hear how he reacted to Simon's disclaimer?”

“I hadn't heard of Lady Alisoun's other suitor.” Godric leaned closer. “Who is it?”

Good question, and one that Godric obviously couldn't answer. David would have to find out another way. Acting virtuous, he said, “If it's not common knowledge, mayhap my lady prefers to keep it that way.”

Disappointed, Godric drew back and David returned his attention to the bowl. Ever the clever innkeeper, Godric retreated to leave him at peace, and as David's stomach filled, his honor twitched to life.

Lady Alisoun had given him gold coin. He had taken it, and she did have the right to name the time and place he should fulfill his obligation. By the sound of it, she might have waited for him if not for Simon of Goodney. He supposed he should roar with merriment that the lofty Lady Alisoun had been humiliated, but he'd had his own encounter with the great Lord Simon and knew the extent of his conceit. “In fact,” he murmured into the empty bowl, “if Simon of Goodney refused her, that's a strike in her favor.”

“Quite right, Sir David.” Hovering close as David finished, Godric whisked the bowl away and presented a dish of water.

David looked at it suspiciously, but when Godric indicated he should wash his fingers, he did so. After all, he
had
learned manners when he'd been at court as the king's champion. It had just been long since he'd had to utilize them.

Godric handed him a towel. “One must suppose she is too fine for the likes of him.”

Rising much refreshed, David scratched at his belly
and stretched. “Have your stable boys bring my destrier. I'll ride after Lady Alisoun now.”

“She'll be well protected with you at her side.”

Godric's flattened, outthrust palm appeared in the periphery of David's vision, and David thrust a coin in it. Godric impressed David when he didn't bite it to ascertain its authenticity, but slipped it into his purse where it clanked with its mates. Oh, to be able to stay at such an inn! To afford its luxuries for his daughter! He coveted Lady Alisoun's privileges, coveted them mightily.

Godric said, “I worried when she left with those carts, laden as they were with the purchases she had made, but your presence will set my mind at ease.”

“How many carts?” David asked.

“Three.”

“Three!”

Godric peered at him. “Lady Alisoun is efficient. She combined her homage to the king with her twice-yearly buying trip.”

David shook his head. “Women.”

Godric straightened and for the first time exhibited a little manly impatience. “Aye. Women.”

In the yard of the inn, two boys clung to the stallion's reins while Louis tossed his head. One of them went flying and the other's eyes grew big as he rode the leather strap. David caught the reins in his own grip and brought the warhorse to a standstill. The still-clinging stable boy dropped to the ground like a flea off a dog while the other scrambled out of the dirt and harm's way.

Looking up into Louis's magnificent face, David explained, “We have to join Lady Alisoun.”

With his normal good sense, Louis tossed his head and neighed, then tried to leap backward. David hung onto the reins and swore, taking his bad temper out on
the horse with the comfortable security of knowing that the horse would return the favor.

King Louis hadn't always been so capricious. In his younger days, the massive white stallion had been part of the legend of David. Unfledged knights related the story of how David had named his destrier after the French king, which so enraged the English-bred animal he had battled to establish his good standing and thus secured in the annals of history.

But six years of relative inactivity had left him with the attitude that tournament and combat were for younger horses. He wanted the comforts of his own stall. He preferred to have his personal stableboys caring for him, and he resented being called to duty when he should be lauded for his past glories.

All in all, Louis had much in common with his master.

Since David had ridden him to Lancaster, Louis showed his hostility by refusing to be mastered even by the one he adored. David had tried reasoning with him, but most of the time both of them had resorted to brute force.

Like now. David whacked Louis on the shoulder. Louis caught him a glancing blow to the shin. David's high, heavy leather boot protected him from serious injury, but he swore and danced around while Louis bared his teeth in a grin. Then, satisfied, the stallion allowed David on his back. With a wave at Godric, David rode Louis north toward George's Cross.

David knew the well-traveled road. How could he not? George's Cross was considered the last bastion of civilization in the wilderness of fells and woods on the Irish Sea. His beloved Radcliffe was beyond that civilization, and David had had to ride through George's Cross on his way south to Lancaster. Fishermen, sheep, and merchants had mingled in the prosperous hamlet.
He had looked—he looked hard—but saw little evidence of the two-year drought which had wiped him out. Perhaps the drought had been less virulent farther south; perhaps the people of George's Cross had had a cushion of plenty on which to fall back. He was glad to be going there, but at the same time envy gnawed at him.

Lady Alisoun had inherited George's Cross and other estates from her parents, then inherited the dower's portion of her husband's estates when he died. David hadn't inherited anything from his parents but an old shield and sword and an order to go out and make his way in the world, and while his wife had brought him his lands through the marriage settlement—a more whiny, frightened rabbit of a woman he'd never met. He'd suffered for every acre.

Now he was going to protect another whiny, frightened woman. True, yesterday she hadn't seemed so, but she must be flighty or she'd have not left him chasing after her with a pocketful of her gold. When a man dipped deep into the well of ale, he didn't leap to greet the day. She should understand that.

He remembered the austere, emotionless features she'd displayed the day before.

Then again, she wouldn't understand. Maybe a woman like her was used to being obeyed. Maybe a woman like her…by the saints, he didn't want to work for a woman like her. He just wanted to ride through George's Cross and on to Radcliffe Castle, where his daughter and his people waited. He shuddered briefly as he fought the need to see Bert's thin face light up when she saw her daddy. Louis, too, shuddered as if he comprehended, and picked up his pace. “Nay, good fellow,” David said aloud. “We've got a bargain to keep, even if we have to chase after the frivolous wimple-wearer to keep it.”

Louis sighed, a long, horsey exhalation, then lifted his head and neighed. A neigh answered him, and David realized that over the next hill someone else journeyed—Lady Alisoun and her escort, he hoped. But if he was unlucky, it would be road robbers, and he'd have to smash them to perdition. Loosening his sword from its scabbard, he grinned. He could use a good fight, especially one that he could win.

He placed his basinet helmet on his head, brought his shield forward, and leaned into the saddle. The big horse understood his desire and slipped into a canter. Louis might pretend to be surly, but his curiosity and confidence were as great as his master's. Topping the rise, David saw not robbers but three heavily laden carts laboring along the wooded road. Massive oxen stirred up the summer's dust as they strained to pull their loads. Their drivers walked beside their heads, poles in their hands. But nowhere did David see Lady Alisoun or her men-at-arms.

“Sweet mother of God!” Sure that calamity had found Lady Alisoun, he spurred Louis on and caught up to the carts just as they reached the ford of a brook. “Hey!” he shouted.

“Halt!” he heard from behind.

He twisted in the saddle and stared. In the shadow of the trees, two helmeted knights sat on their horses in battle-ready gear. One held a lance, one held a mace, and David's heart sank. No doubt Lady Alisoun had already been robbed and murdered by these two renegade knights. God help him, he'd lost the moneyed goose before he'd grasped more than a few feathers. He eyed the sharp point of the lance. And if he wasn't careful, he'd lose those feathers, too.

Without warning, he spurred Louis. The great horse leaped from full stop to full speed in the blink of an eye.
David shrieked his war cry as he barreled between the two knights, knocking the lance holder to the ground with his shield and swinging his sword into empty air as the other ducked and yipped.

The expert assault David expected hadn't materialized, and the momentum of his forward rush took him into the dense wood. “Idiots,” he growled, struggling to find a place to turn Louis. “They're not knights. Must have stolen it all. Come on, Louis, we've got to—”

“Don't.”

The woman's voice stopped him in his tracks. He knew that voice. His ribs ached with the memory. “Lady Alisoun?”

The underbrush rustled and, calm as a nun, the lady stepped forward. “Sir David. I thought you had abandoned us.”

She was here. God in heaven, those were her carts, and she'd been in the hands of those villains for who knew how long. “Have they hurt you?” he demanded. Her slender beauty appeared unruffled. Her green velvet riding cloak fell in even folds from her shoulders, her hat curved over her head, and her draped wimple held it in place. Not a strand of hair slipped out of its restraint, and no tears marred the purity of her complexion. Nevertheless, guilt caught at David's throat. If he'd gotten to the inn sooner…if he'd skipped the meal…if he'd ridden faster…God forgive him, he'd failed her. He knew full well what fate awaited her if he failed once more. “I'll save you.”