Once a Knight (30 page)

She hesitated. No one had spoken David's name in Alisoun's presence since they'd left that breeding ground of bitterness called Radcliffe. With a composure that no longer came naturally, Alisoun said, “Nay, Sir Walter is no substitute for Sir David, at least when I need companionship.”

“He just seemed the man who could please you,” Edlyn burst out. “Will you ever forgive him?”

“Nay.” Just that one word, flat and final.

“I wish…”

“So do I, but wishing cannot mend a broken fence.” Alisoun touched Edlyn on the shoulder. “Anyway, when I took you with me to Radcliffe, I told myself your bridegroom wouldn't notice another month, but you have to ride south before winter comes, for I believe he
will
notice another year.”

“At his age, what's another year?”

Alisoun couldn't help it; she laughed at the puckish expression on Edlyn's face. Then Edlyn laughed, too, accepting her fate a little better.

“Hey!”

A man's shout interrupted them, and Edlyn's face lit up. “Hugh.” His name was only an exhalation, but the joy in her voice vibrated through Alisoun. Glowing with youth and spirit, Edlyn waved enthusiastically at the man she loved with an unrequited passion.

Loping over, he stood next to them, a big, stupid youth who had no thoughts in his head beyond the security of George's Cross, his practice that day on the training yard, and his ambitions. Without even knowing it, he crushed Edlyn's hopes. “Are you leaving today? I hadn't realized.” Enveloping her in a fraternal hug, he said, “God speed you on your journey, and I wish you the greatest happiness with your new husband.”

“My thanks.” Edlyn said it to his back as he hurried off.

“He takes his duty to protect my demesne seriously.” Alisoun found herself making excuses to combat the woeful expression on Edlyn's face.

“What will he do when Sir Walter is able to resume his duties once more?” Edlyn asked.

“We'll knight him.” Alisoun looked ahead to that day when she would have to make that decision, and it
seemed like just one more burden placed back on her shoulders by David's perfidy. “Then I suppose he'll go looking for adventure and fortune.”

“I suppose. And I suppose I'll never see him again. I suppose that's all for the best.”

Edlyn's quiet agony as she said good-bye to her childhood dreams tore at Alisoun's heart. She tried to think of something to say, something to ease the pain, but her experience with such emotions was new. How could she help Edlyn when she couldn't even help herself?

Crossing her arms over her chest, Edlyn whispered, “Will I ever see you again?”

Alisoun could offer no more than feeble hope. “Perhaps someday I will go up to London with my children and we can meet there.”

“You can't take Lord Osbern's child out where others can see her, and you won't leave her home.”

Alisoun couldn't dispute that.

“So I
will
never see you again.”

“We'll leave that in God's hands.”

Edlyn nodded, her eyes dry, her gaze steady. “Aye, that would be best.”

Once, not so long ago, Alisoun had been like a mother to Edlyn, and Edlyn had believed Alisoun could twist events to make everything right. She no longer expected that—she'd learned differently through these last long summer days—but she loved Alisoun none the less. Now they were women, united in grief and going their separate ways. Opening their arms to each other, they hugged. Then a groom helped Edlyn into the saddle and with a wave and a brave smile, she rode away.

At last Alisoun had seen her ambition for Edlyn come to fruition. The lass who had been terrified by Osbern's attack had been replaced by the young woman
who went to get married. Edlyn now faced the grief of her life with stolid maturity. Yet Alisoun wished that the girl had not had so many ideals crushed, so many dreams destroyed.

If maturity was nothing more than cynicism and unhappiness, then it was highly overrated, and Alisoun herself wanted none of it.

Alisoun ran to the drawbridge and stood staring at the retreating procession.

Ah, there had been a time in Alisoun's life when she thought that if all people acted with maturity, the world would be peaceful, organized, and prosperous. Now she sought a return to that aloof state of mind, but the memory of her own hopes and dreams haunted her.

She hated David. Hate burned in her gut until she feared it would harm the babe, but still she couldn't tame her rancor.

Worse, she missed him. She wanted someone to talk to, someone who thought the same thoughts she did and shared the same values.

Not the same values
, she corrected herself. She had thought they shared the same values, but he'd let Philippa go with her husband because he feared the loss of his lands.

And of his family
. That inner voice, always fair, taunted her. He worried about Bertrade. He wanted to keep his daughter safe, and he would sacrifice anyone to do so. And he wanted to keep
her
safe, too, Alisoun grudgingly admitted. He had done everything he could to keep her safe: taking her to Radcliffe, mobilizing his forces there, protecting her even when she had refused him her bed.

So mayhap he had had a little justification for his actions.

But when she remembered Philippa's scars, her
anguish, her fears; when she remembered that lonely baby upstairs in her keep who cried pitiably for her mother—then she no longer thought him justified, and she wanted to do something, anything, to rectify this situation.

She heard a slow, shuffling tread and the tap of a crutch on the wooden planks behind her, and she turned at once to Sir Walter.

“You shouldn't have walked so far.” She rebuked him. “And never down the stairs from the keep.”

“I didn't walk all the way. I couldn't bear to be inside anymore, so Ivo carried me.” Sir Walter's bruises had faded, the scars had drawn together and formed red and white streaks across his face, and he moved with great difficulty. He looked down toward the village to the tiny figure of Edlyn, and said, “We'll miss her, eh, my lady?”

“Dreadfully.”

Balancing carefully, he tugged at her arm. “Come inside. I still find myself unconvinced that the duke of Framlingford will not retaliate against you, and I don't like you standing in such an exposed spot.”

She didn't want to go, but she knew he was right. Osbern would no doubt brood on the wrong she had done him and would someday come back to take his revenge.

But only when he'd finished with Philippa.

She whimpered softly, but Sir Walter heard. “Would you help me, my lady? I find myself tiring more easily than I expected.”

Blindly, she took his arm and helped him back into the bailey, and after a moment her choking sensation eased. One couldn't remain in pain all the time, and the act of helping Sir Walter seemed to bring solace.

She could, after all, successfully aid someone.

Sir Walter was speaking, and with an effort she tried to comprehend the words.

“I'm not the man I once was, my lady. I'll never walk easily and I'll never fight in battle again. Not only that, but I am humbled in spirit as well. You were right about the threat the duke posed, and I should have listened and done my duty rather than instruct you in yours.”

He breathed heavily, and she realized he hadn't simply used his condition as an excuse to bring her inside. He did need to rest. She looked around, and the hovering Ivo rolled a tree stump toward them for Sir Walter to sit on.

She smiled at the big man who gave her his unquestioning loyalty and wished all men were so easily trained. Sir Walter had almost died learning that a woman could know better than a man, and David…in his ignorance, David had lost her.

But did he really care?

She and Ivo held Sir Walter's arms as he lowered himself onto the stump. With a grunt, Sir Walter settled himself, then with his gaze on his feet, said, “If you choose another steward for George's Cross, my lady, I understand, but there can never be another man who would truly be as dedicated to your service.”

Now she realized the reason for at least some of his discomfort, and said hastily, “Sir Walter, I have failed in my duty to you if you think I would choose another man to care for George's Cross. You may not be able to fight, but you know the people, the crops, and you have the loyalty of the men-at-arms and the mercenary knights. I have no time to train another, especially since I have a one-year-old daughter to reconcile to her new home, and—” she looked at him directly, “—I will be giving birth in the winter.”

He smiled. The attack on him had left him with few teeth and a mouth permanently split on one side, but she read his joy. “That is indeed a blessing, my lady, and I rejoice that the child will be legitimate.”

She grimaced in pain at the thought of her marriage.

“I meant no disrespect,” he added quickly. “Only that I doubted your attachment to Sir David, and I should have realized your wisdom.”

“Wisdom.” She chortled.

“Your activities are always wise and well thought out, my lady.”

“I used to think so, too.”

“Even taking Lady Philippa from her husband had its base in wisdom.”

“
Now
you give me your blessing?”

“And if you think about it, you'll see it is wisdom to give up your grief about her recapture.” She drew back, but he caught her hand. “There was nothing you could do about it. There was nothing anyone could do about it. A wife belongs to her husband, and you always knew that one day, he would capture her.”

“I suppose I knew, but I hoped that Sir David…”

“You can't blame the man for recognizing an impossible situation and doing the best he knew how.”

“He isn't who I thought he was.”

“Who's that?”

“A legend.”

“
He
never said he was a legend.”

She didn't answer, because she knew it was true.

“You, lady—you usually think so clearly. What solution can you envision that would take Lady Philippa away from her God-given husband?”

She treated his question seriously. “I've thought about it and thought about it. I can't bribe Osbern. Even if he needed my money, he's the kind of man who
would keep Philippa for the pleasure of tormenting her and knowing that her pain tormented me. I can't appeal to the king. He arranged the match himself, and he would never interfere between man and wife.”

“And think of your estates. Your first duty is to them.”

“I've lived my whole life for these estates, and I know now someone will always tend them. They are too rich to remain unclaimed for long.” Almost to herself, she said, “Surely Philippa's life is worth more than any land.”

“Ease your heart, my lady! Perhaps Lord Osbern learned his lesson during his wife's long absence and now treats her with honor she deserves.”

She gave a bitter laugh.

Quickly he abandoned that fantasy. “It would take a desperate man who cared nothing for his life or his family to try and rescue Lady Philippa.”

“Or a desperate woman.” She said the words, it seemed, even before she thought them.

“A woman? Ha.” As Sir Walter tried to struggle to his feet, Ivo rushed to his side and assisted him. “With all due respect, my lady, a woman's weapons are useless against the might of king and Church.”

She
was desperate.

“I'm going to the guardhouse now, and then I will retire.”

Yet what was she supposed to do?

Sir Walter patted her hand. “If I may be so bold, I would advise you to resign yourself to Philippa's fate and submit to your husband your unquestioning obedience.”

Don armor and ride to rescue Philippa herself?

“Ah, I see a spark in your eye.” Sir Walter smiled, a wise lift of the lips. “I'm glad we had this talk.”

“I'm glad, too.” She smiled back at him, at ease for the first time in days.

He waved Ivo away and hobbled off on his own, and she waited until he could no longer hear her before she turned to her man-at-arms. “Ivo! Have we got any armor that would fit me?”

Ivo's lips moved as he repeated the question silently, clearly puzzled over the meaning. “Aye. There's an old leather breastplate.”

“Is there a sword I could lift? Maybe a sharp knife?”

“Aye. There is.” But rather than going to get them, he stood and scratched his hairy chin with an intent expression. At last he seemed to have comprehended something, and he asked, “Are we going t' get Lady Philippa from her husband?”

“
I
am.” She needed him to get to Osbern's stronghold but she would not command him. “If you and Gunnewate wish to accompany me, I'd be grateful.”

“There's nary a question that I'll accompany ye an' speaking fer Gunnewate, he'll go, too.” His scratching fingers wandered down to his chest. “Pardon me, my lady, fer being forward, but I heard ye say ye're with child.”

In sooth, she made this decision not only for herself, but for the life within her. Still, she knew what she had to do. With steady resolve, she answered, “No child of mine could want a mother tainted by dishonor and cowardice.”

His fingers came to a halt and he nodded slowly up and down. “Aye, m'lady, ye're right about that.”

She realized she'd been holding her breath as she waited for Ivo's opinion. A plain man, an honest man, he viewed the world without imagination and still he approved her plan. She needed no more benediction. “Then we have a journey to make.”

The banners flying
from the ramparts of Osbern's castle gave Alisoun her first indication of the obstacles she now faced.

“M'lady?” Ivo spoke in his slow, measured manner. “Isn't that the king's coat o' arms?”

“It is.” She could scarcely believe her luck, although whether it was good or bad, she couldn't decide. “Henry is here. I should have known.” Not many of King Henry's subjects had the wealth to feed and shelter the court during one of his summer tours, and she suspected Henry took a special delight in plucking the fruits of Osbern's wealth.

Gunnewate had ridden ahead. Now the dust stirred beneath his horse's hooves as he returned to report, “It looks like half the country's mustered in the bailey, m'lady, an' they're all yelling an' excited. A tournament, I'd say, but the stands are only half built.”

“A fight, more likely.” Alisoun fingered the blade hidden under her cloak. “That might make my mission
easier.” But now that the moment had arrived, her stomach twisted and rolled.

She was planning to kill Osbern. What had she been thinking? She'd never killed anyone. And how would she do it? By sneaking around and slipping a knife into his ribs? A paltry, cowardly battle for right, but if she challenged him—him, the king's champion—he would laugh and break her like dry kindling.

“Shall we go down, m'lady?” Ivo asked.

She saw that he had bared his weapons, and it occurred to her he had come prepared to fight and die. She could do no less.

“Aye, let's go.” Ivo rode on one side of her, Gunnewate on the other, and she entered the castle like a warrior of old flanked by her faithful companions. Yet as they entered the outer bailey, no one challenged them. No one even seemed to notice. Everyone—servants, knights, lords, and ladies—were gathered in a circle around two figures, clad in fighting armor, who stood facing each other. From atop her horse, Alisoun had a view the others only fought for, but the warriors' helmets covered their faces and she knew not who they were. Nor did she care, for lifted above the throng on a half-built viewing stand sat King Henry. A few of his lucky nobles, the ones powerful enough to remain at his side, stood around him, and there she sought Osbern.

She couldn't see him.

“Want me t' find out where the duke is?” Ivo asked.

She nodded, and he urged his horse into the outer fringes of the crowd and toward a tree, laden with children who had climbed there to watch the combat. Stretching up out of the saddle, Ivo twisted the hair of a stableboy and the rumble of his voice rolled through the leaves. “Where's the duke o' Framlingford?”

The children all laughed, their high-pitched voices
full of scorn. The stableboy pointed at the warriors in combat. “There. He's fightin'.”

“Who's he fightin'?” Ivo asked.

“That crazy man, an' they're fightin' t' the death.”

Cold tingled in Alisoun's fingertips and at the tip of her nose as she overheard this exchange.

Ivo shook the lad. “What crazy man?”

“That crazy man, that one who walked up t' the king today, on the first day o' the royal visit, an' said he was goin' kill his champion.”

Alisoun could no longer contain herself. “Why?” she shouted.

“He said t' avenge the death o' Lord Osbern's wife.”

Red spots flexed and grew before her eyes. She gripped the saddle and fought to retain her balance. But she could still hear Ivo ask, “Do ye know the man's name?”

No one answered for a moment, then a girl's voice piped up, “They call him Sir David. Sir David o' Radcliffe.”

 

David hated fighting. Whenever he found himself sweating beneath his hauberk, trying to see around a nose guard, gripping a sword in one hand and a shield in the other—well, then he knew how stupid combat really was.

Of course, that was while he was still afraid, before the exhilaration of battle had swept him up and carried him away. And every time he fought, he always feared that that glory would fail to seize him, and he'd have to fight on, cold with the cowardice that no one recognized.

Especially now. Especially facing Osbern. Osbern had defeated him before, and that gave him a powerful advantage over David.

Osbern knew it, too. In a voice designed to carry over the shouts of the crowd, he asked, “Did your wife force you to come?”

David saved his breath and stoically met the hacking of Osbern's sword with his shield.

Osbern didn't seem to mind David's silence. Lightly, he chatted, “She's a powerful woman, I warned you of that, and unless you train her properly at the beginning, you'll have no peace all your life long.” He lost that congenial tone. “Ah, but I forget. You're going to die today, so you'll not have to worry.”

Osbern's sword slashed toward David's neck, but David stepped aside at the last moment and the steel whistled through the air.

That angered Osbern, and he said, “A rather drastic solution to an unhappy marriage, isn't it?”

The crowd cheered when he lunged and his tip slid down David's shield and caught in David's chauss over his knee. He hadn't used enough force to pierce the chain mail, but the kneecap snapped sideways and David went down hard beneath the weight of his armor.

“Give it up, old man!” one of Osbern's knights shouted. “You're so slow you're boring us.”

Turning his back on David, Osbern chided the heckler. “Such manners! And from one of my own men. Haven't I taught you respect for your elders?”

Even as the crowd laughed, David swung the flat of his sword behind Osbern's knees. Osbern toppled with a clatter of armor. The chanting of his people ceased, and a spattering of cheers rose from the crowd.

Mostly feminine cheers, David noted. Looking at his prone opponent, he experienced a deep visceral satisfaction and realized that once again, his pleasure in the fight had returned. So Osbern's taunts had been good
for something. Leaning on his sword, he hoisted himself to his feet. “At least, my lord duke, I can stop your tongue.”

As David had hoped, Osbern clambered to his feet in a fury. “My tongue will say as it pleases at your funeral.”

“Mayhap so, my lord. Mayhap so.” They squared off again, and this time, David noticed, the tip of Osbern's heavy sword shook just a little. He was rattled or tiring, or both, David hoped. Then the shock of taking Osbern's first blow almost broke his shield arm, and that hope faded.

Still, his practice with Hugh had paid off, for he met Osbern's blows with a supple defense and even placed a few of his own. He would have placed more, but he waited, for he'd fought Osbern once before and lost, and he knew his strategy now.

Aye, he knew it, but whether he had the skill and strength to counter it, only time would tell.

“I've had her, you know.”

Osbern's gibe jolted David's concentration. “Had who, my lord?”

“Your wife. We played hilt and hair more than once.”

Still uncomprehending, David watched Osbern swing the sword and he stepped aside. Then he asked, “Alisoun? Are you saying you swived her?” Before Osbern could concur, David burst into laughter. “I wouldn't brag about that if I were you, Osbern. Her maidenhead remained intact for me, so if you'd been there first, your blade must be as short as your reach.”

Osbern jabbed at David's chest. The thrust slammed past David's shield and pierced his hauberk. David leaped away. Blood spurted once, then slowed to a trickle, but Osbern waited no longer.

He slashed at David, pressing him hard.

Laughter, David realized, could get him killed.

He concentrated on his work, but clearly Osbern had been toying with him before. Now Osbern was angry.

But that was good, David assured himself. An angry man didn't think clearly.

Then Osbern brought his sword up from underneath and smashed David's blade. The hilt jerked out of his hand and it went flying, and David looked at the tip of a sword pointed at his face.

“On your knees,” Osbern commanded. “On your knees, and maybe I'll spare your miserable life.”

“It's not worth sparing if I don't kill you,” David said, but he did as he instructed. He remembered this from the last time. The humiliating defeat. The groveling. The magnanimous release.

But this time, Osbern wouldn't release him. They both knew it, but Osbern wanted to savor his full triumph, and David gladly would let him.

His whole plan depended on Osbern playing the role as it had been played before.

“Look at him!” Osbern called. The crowd hollered and whooped. “The former champion of the king, the legendary Sir David, on his knees before me.” Slowly, his gaze still fixed on David, he lowered his sword. “Begging for his life! And should I give it to him?”

“But you haven't disarmed me yet.” Moving with care, David drew his dagger from its sheath.

Osbern started laughing as hardily as David had earlier laughed. “What are you going to do? Slash my ankles with that?”

“Nay.” David brought the point up under Osbern's hauberk. “I'm going to geld you.”

Osbern froze. “Put that down.”

The crowd quieted.

“You have the sword, my lord duke. You have the greater weapon. Why don't you use it?” David felt Osbern's muscles quiver as he considered it. “Of course, I'll cut until I hit bone, and I might die and you might live, but cold water will no longer hold any fear for you.”

Osbern shifted. “So what are we going to do? Stand here until we rot?”

“Nay, my lord. You're going to surrender to me.”

“Are you mad?” Osbern shrieked. Then he shrieked again as David shifted his weight forward and pressed the point closer to home.

“I don't think I am, but it's possible. After all, I'm half-hoping you swing that sword, so I can be the object of praise from all womankind.”

“I'm dropping the sword.” The fine steel blade thumped in the dirt. “I'm surrendering to you.”

“Are you indeed?” David checked. Osbern's dagger remained in its sheath, but David made no demand that Osbern surrender it. Instead he stood and brought his dagger up under the chain mail coif to rest on Osbern's throat. “Take off your helmet.”

Osbern started to jerk it off.

“Slowly, my lord. You don't want to alarm me, for I truly would like to kill you. You insulted and tried to murder my wife. You savagely beat your own wife. You're a plague on the face of England, and everyone would be happier without you.”

Now Osbern moved with infinite care, and David smiled to see the way his chin trembled when it came into sight. Loudly, David asked, “Do you freely surrender yourself to me and grant me that ransom which I require?”

Glaring venomously, Osbern said, “I do.”

“I demand custody of your wife, Philippa.”

The crowd gasped and David heard King Henry calling, “What? What did he say?”

“She's dead.” Osbern wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Then we'll exhume her here and now and show King Henry how you treat the heiresses he gives you.” David stepped away and turned his back on Osbern. “Let's do it now.”

When he heard a woman cry out he leaped away from the blow of Osbern's dagger. While Osbern still hung off-balance, David shoved his own blade into the hollow of Osbern's throat.

Osbern was dead before he hit the ground.

Osbern's knights surrounded David before David could rearm himself. “The king's cousin,” they shouted. “He's killed the king's cousin!”

Then something drove a wedge through the knights to David, and David saw Guy of the Archers, clad in armor and carrying enough weapons to decapitate half of London.

He promised, “We'll fight back to back, Sir David, until we can't fight anymore.”

 

The knights around the king abandoned their posts and crowded forward to watch the fight, and if Henry could have done the same and still retained his dignity, he would have been off his chair and mingling with the crowd. As it was, he leaned forward, his hands clenched around the arms of the chair, his gaze intent on the combat. Alisoun seized her chance. Climbing onto the viewing stand, she drew her short sword and held it where the king could see it.

Henry never moved. Only his gaze flicked along the
steel glinting in the hot sun. He followed it to the hand that held it, then up to her face. She found herself gratified by his astonishment. “Lady Alisoun, what are you doing with that sword?”

“I'm holding you hostage.” She spoke without inflection, concentrating on keeping the sword steady and hoping that her reputation as dispassionate would carry the king beyond his initial amused reaction.

It seemed to work. Easing himself back in the chair, he asked, “May I ask why?”

“I want you to command Osbern's knights to cease their attack on Sir David of Radcliffe and Guy of the Archers.”

Henry's gaze flicked toward the field. “But Sir David and Guy of the Archers seem to be acquitting themselves well.”

“Two cannot win against so many.” She noticed that the sword had drifted down, and jerked it back up.

“At one time, Sir David defeated fifteen men to save my life. There are not more than twenty knights out there, and he has Guy of the Archers to protect his back.” Casually, he inquired, “Why should you care about the fate of Sir David?”

She was holding a sword on Henry. So why should she be concerned that she had wed without his permission? Yet she was. To wed without the king's consent could sometimes be seen as treason. Stiffening her spine, she answered him with equanimity. “Sir David is my husband.”

“He married you? I mean…you're married?”

His stunned surprise could hardly be called flattering. “We are wed.”

“I knew Sir David could fight with the best, but I never imagined him up to the challenge of—” he looked her over, “—you.”