Once a Knight (31 page)

“We deal with each other very well, but we cannot continue to do so if he's slaughtered in combat.”

Gingerly, he pushed the blade away from his stomach. “Most felons stick the point somewhere and keep it there.”

The tone of this conversation seemed almost too friendly, and she confided, “David told me if I ever needed to attack someone I should aim for the eyes, the throat, or the gut.”

“So far, your blade has reached all three, and if it continues to droop, the future of my royal line is in danger.”

She jerked the blade higher. “So will you order Osbern's knights to cease their attack?”

“I don't think I will have to. It seems my cousin was not well liked and his passing is welcomed by at least some who are here.”

Alisoun straightened and stared.

Henry inched the blade away until the tip rested on the arm of his chair.

She didn't notice. She only saw as first one knight, then another, was removed from the fight by his woman. One by one each knight's wife walked into the fight, took her man by the arm, and pulled him out of the combat. All conflict faltered. No man could concentrate on his swordwork while a woman walked through the battlefield.

“The queen would be pleased with this demonstration of filial devotion,” King Henry murmured.

“The women all know what Osbern was, even if the men didn't know or didn't care.”

“A sharp reproach.” Henry touched her wrist. “But possibly well deserved.”

At last five knights were left facing David and Guy, and Alisoun murmured, “They must be unwed.”

Henry laughed.

Now David and Guy assumed more aggressive stances and the five knights began to back away. “They'll not get far,” Henry said. “Now we'll see some expert combat, and Sir David will win ransom from them, also. They'll learn a lesson that they'll not soon forget.”

As Henry predicted, David and Guy disarmed each knight. Guy took the ransom from three of the knights, David from two, leaving them even in victory for the day.

Then David removed his helmet, and suddenly Ivo stood by his side. As Alisoun watched, she saw David's startled reaction to her man-at-arms' offer of service. He looked around and she knew when he spotted her, for his eyes narrowed to two tight bands. Then he accepted Ivo's assistance with every evidence of gratitude.

Ivo had deemed David worthy of his mistress at last.

Bare-headed, without his weapons, but still clad in his armor, David started toward the king. The crowd yielded for him easily and he walked with solemn dignity. Yet the closer he came to the stand, the quicker he walked. When he neared enough to speak, he demanded of Alisoun, “My lady, what are you doing here?”

The woman didn't seem to realize how his emotions rumbled at the sight of her. In that prissy voice that so infuriated him, she said, “The same thing you are, it seems.”

“I doubt that.” He leaped onto the stand, and his gaze fell to the shiny blade that rested on the chair's arm. “Why do you have a sword pointed toward our sovereign lord?”

Henry caught her wrist when she would have moved
the blade. “She served as my bodyguard when your performance distracted my knights.” Waving his sheepish nobles away, he said, “Nay, nay, my lady Alisoun performed admirably in your absence. Just remain where you are for the moment.”

“With your permission, my liege.” David took the sword from Alisoun's fingers.

“It is good for a subject to ask my permission,” the king mused. “Especially in matters of marriage.”

He knew. The king knew. David wanted to slap his forehead and whimper. Instead he said, “When trapping a wily fox, my liege, a warrior must seize the creature at the first moment it is ensnared, lest it hurt itself in the struggle.”

“I do not appreciate being compared to a fox,” Alisoun said crisply.

“I do not appreciate having my wife hold a sword on the king,” David answered just as crisply.

Henry stopped them with a chuckle. Turning to Alisoun, he held up three fingers and counted them down. “Wealth, breeding, and a devotion to duty. Were not those your requirements for a husband?”

Delicate color crept up Alisoun's face. “I discovered, my liege, that Sir David's devotion to duty outweighed his lack of…ah…breeding, and—” she coughed, “—wealth.”

Henry lifted his brows. “So you wed him knowing full well he didn't meet your requirements?”

“I did.”

“Then, Sir David, although it offends your lady wife, I accept your story of fox and warrior.”

David stifled his laughter. Alisoun stood unmoving.

Henry sighed. “Although I pity you, Sir David, a wife who shows so little emotion.”

The king's lack of perception shocked David.
Couldn't he see by the tilt of her chin that she was angry? That the slight tremble of her fingers signified weariness and relief? That the moisture that wet the outside corner of each eyes presaged her storm of grief at losing Philippa?

But no, Henry saw none of those things. He saw only two unlikely people bound together by wedlock, and he had decided to be amused rather than angered by their unsanctioned union. “I will fine you,” he said. “Nothing more.”

Familiar with Henry's constant need for money with which to finance his warfare, David winced. But he knew they had gotten off easily, and probed the king's mind once more. “Will I be imprisoned for killing your cousin?”

“Who?” Henry started. “Oh, Osbern. Nay, nay. 'Twas a fair challenge, and he did try to kill you after he had surrendered. Don't concern yourself.” Henry must have noticed the way David stared, for he leaned forward and confided, “I mean, God rest his soul, I'll order Masses said, but he was older than me, and picked on me unmercifully when we were lads. He might have been obsequious after my coronation, but I knew the manner of man he was. His family is influential and wealthy, so I never dared do anything about him, but the kingdom is well rid of him—although you never heard such denigration from me.”

David bowed, astonishment and relief warring in him, and his knees wavered in a sudden attack of weakness. The king thought David had done him a favor. All his fears—of losing his daughter, his wife, his lands, and his life—had been for naught. He had done what was right, and for that he had been rewarded.

He looked at Alisoun. Well, not rewarded, exactly. But he got to keep his wife.

Then she spoke. “If I may be so bold as to ask, my liege, what tale did Osbern weave to explain the death of his wife?”

Her softly spoken question jerked David away from his blossoming sense of triumph and back to gritty reality. In sooth, he did have his wife, but his wife had lost her dearest friend and she could, in fairness, blame Philippa's death on his failure to challenge Osbern at Radcliffe.

Alisoun could blame him? Hell, he blamed himself.

“No tale. He simply said she was away on another of his estates.” Henry cocked his head. “So he killed the good woman I gave him, and the estate is not entailed to a male heir. Where shall I bestow it?”

David and Alisoun said it together. “Osbern left a daughter.”

“Hazel resides with me at George's Cross,” Alisoun said.

“Excellent.” Henry rubbed his palms together. “Another heiress to marry off.”

David barely restrained his groan. The king was, indeed, mad for marriage, and he doubted Hazel would pass her second birthday before she found herself betrothed. Then he remembered who had custody of the child.

Alisoun had experience in holding off unwanted suitors. Hazel would be safe until Alisoun decided she was ripe for marriage.

Holding out his hand, David asked, “So shall we go, lady wife?”

“I beg you, husband, to allow me to first find Philippa's maid and inquire about the details of her death.”

David didn't want Alisoun to know. He didn't want her haunted by the gruesome details, but the king rose
and said, “A worthy plan, Lady Alisoun. It shall be as you wish. In the meantime, may I offer my cousin's hospitality to you both. You're hungry and no doubt weary, and now that Sir David is once again the king's champion I will require him to swear fealty to me.”

David didn't want to stay. He didn't care how hungry or tired he was, he just wanted to take Alisoun to a private place and ask if she would ever forgive his stupidity. Osbern's body had already been taken into the castle chapel, where he would rest and not disturb the royal activities. But Alisoun assuredly wanted to say her prayers for Philippa, and so she followed Henry off the stand, and David followed her, up the stairs, into the keep, and up to the royal table set on the dais.

The other nobles kept their distance, as the king had commanded, while the servants hurried to their duties. Osbern had died, but at this moment his passing had little impact.

To Alisoun and David, Henry said, “I'll have you each on one side of me when we dine. Appropriately, I think, for the countess of George's Cross and the king's two-time champion to flank the king while we toast your newlywed status.”

Alisoun agreed with composure, but David could scarcely speak. He had never eaten at the king's table before. He was only a knight, and although he could fight, no one had ever thought him as worthy of more than token respect. Now, because of Alisoun, the king had seated him at his right hand.

When the squire approached with a basin of water in which to wash, David plunged in his head and scrubbed until the salt of sweat and the dirt of the road had disappeared. When he turned, he realized an unusual silence gripped the hall. Wiping his hair with a towel,
he moved to Alisoun's side. “What's wrong?” he asked.

Alisoun gripped his hand as if nothing had ever come between them—or as if she didn't realize what she did. In a low tone, she said, “The servants claim to know nothing of Philippa's death, and one of them—” Alisoun broke off as the door from the undercroft opened.

Watching her, David saw her eyes get big, then with a cry she flung herself at the battered figure in the doorway.

“Philippa.” She wrapped her friend in her arms. “Philippa, you're alive!”

“
How's my babe?
”

The pallor of the dungeon hung about Philippa, bruises marked her jaw, and one eye was swollen shut. But she was alive, Osbern was dead, and Alisoun resolved that nothing would threaten her friend ever again.

In an upper bedchamber, the two friends tried to realize that at last the threat to their lives and happiness had been destroyed.

“Hazel's healthy, but she misses you.” Alisoun didn't mention the hours she had spent rocking the crying baby, trying to comfort the child desolated by the loss of her mother.

“I long to hold her in my arms once more.” Philippa's voice trembled with eagerness, and the maids who fed and bathed her redoubled their efforts to please the mistress they had been forced to ignore.

“You'll have her soon,” Alisoun promised.

“Aye, I will. Soon I'll leave this place behind, and I'll never come back.”

Somewhere, somehow, Philippa had developed a steely determination to go with her earthy good nature. No one, Alisoun thought, would ever be given the chance to harm Philippa again. She might marry again—indeed, Alisoun thought Philippa was made to be married—but somehow Philippa would hold the balance of power. Going to her friend, Alisoun knelt at her side. “The thought of you in Osbern's hands haunted me.”

Philippa touched her cheek. “You should not have been troubled. He loved me, you know.”

“A dreadful, capricious love then.” Alisoun held Philippa's hand against her skin and thanked God again for her miraculous survival. “Did he keep you in the dungeon the whole time?”

“He said he had to punish me for running away. I didn't care what he did, as long as I knew Hazel was safe.”

“She's fine,” Alisoun repeated.

“I'm leaving to see her as soon as a way can be prepared.” Philippa turned her face up and let the maid swab her swollen eye with cold water. “Today. I'm leaving today.”

Briefly, Alisoun thought of the king and his court who waited below in the great hall. Then she dismissed them. “I'll arrange a cart. I don't think you're strong enough to ride.”

Philippa started to argue, then thought better of it. “Can we find me an escort?”

“Put on a clean gown, and I'll go speak to David about it. He'll find someone.” Alisoun opened the door.

Guy of the Archers fell in as if he'd been leaning against the wood. Straightening, he said, “I'll do it.”

Puzzled, Alisoun asked, “Do what?”

“I'll be the lady's escort. It would be an honor to reunite her with her babe.”

Alisoun stared at Guy, then at Philippa as she smiled tranquilly from her place by the fire. “Have you been listening at the door?” she asked.

Guy didn't seem to hear Alisoun. He saw only Philippa, spoke only to Philippa. “Would it please your ladyship if I escorted you?”

She held out her hand. “My thanks, gentle knight. I would have no other.”

Rushing to her side, he took her hand and knelt, and Alisoun felt suddenly superfluous. She stepped into the hallway and found David waiting, a peculiar expression on his face. Obviously he had been with Guy as he waited. “Do they love each other?” he demanded.

“I never suspected, but it would seem they do…or at least that they know they might love.” Alisoun didn't know why, but after she said the words she blushed and lowered her gaze.

He sounded odd, also, his voice deeper and fraught with significance when he said, “They seem an unlikely couple, but I suppose love blossoms where it will.”

Beneath his words lurked something unspoken which she didn't comprehend. Wouldn't comprehend. Instead she took refuge in briskness. “Since you are now in the king's favor, could you explain to Henry that Philippa longs to embrace her child and seeks permission to leave immediately?”

“
I'm
in the king's favor?” David's voice had returned to normal, and she risked a glance at him. Although his mouth formed a serious line, his eyes watched her faithfully and seemed to analyze her every movement. “You are also in the king's favor.”

“How could that be? I held a sword on him.”

“Badly.” He dismissed her pretensions with one brisk word. “And you have done the one thing that was guaranteed to find favor in Henry's eyes.” His sober mouth twitched into a smile. “You married me.”

“I could have married anyone and gotten the same results,” she snapped, unnerved by his scrutiny. Most people said they didn't understand her. David, on the other hand, seemed to understand her too well, and right now she wasn't sure she wanted him to fathom how she felt. She wasn't even sure how she felt, or why she insulted him.

He didn't take offense. “But no one else ever wanted to marry you, did they?”

“Too many wanted to marry me.”

“Not you,” he corrected. “But your estates.”

She wanted to say that she and her estates were one and the same, but they weren't. Lady Alisoun was from George's Cross, but
she
was not George's Cross. She had separated the two entities forever when she'd decided to put her lands at risk to rescue Philippa.

And David…well, he wanted George's Cross, but he wanted her, too. She was not the bad medicine he had to take to gain claim to her lands, but an added jewel for his shield.

The saints knew he'd told her so in many ways; now she believed him.

She blinked. Had she been daydreaming? By Saint Michael's arm, she had. David had disappeared. She rushed after him toward the stairwell, but already she heard his voice in the great hall, begging the king to allow Philippa to leave at once.

She also had a duty to do, she reminded herself. She had to arrange transportation for Philippa, not chase after her husband for the purpose of useless chatter.

In fact, when she thought about being alone with David and speaking about their difficulties, she could only remember his half-tender, half-exasperated expression and wonder what it meant.

Still, she didn't want to return to the chamber which housed Philippa, and when she entered she knew why. Too much sunshine seemed to have penetrated the dim recesses of the room, and she had to call that glow happiness. She couldn't discern its origin—the glow permeated the stone walls, the beamed ceiling, the tapestries, and the wooden floor. On the other hand, she didn't look directly at Guy or Philippa or their rapture would blind her.

Calling the maids, Alisoun directed them on errands to prepare for Philippa's journey, and by the time the serving women had departed, David returned. “We're leaving at once,” he announced.

“We?” Startled, Alisoun rounded on him. “Who's we?”

“Guy, Lady Philippa, you, me.” David took her arm. “And Louis.”

“You and I can't leave.”

He hustled her out the door.

She tried to dig her heels in. “We must wait on the king!”

He kept a firm grip on her as they descended the staircase and bypassed the great hall. “He told us to go.”

“On your instigation!”

David shrugged and held the outside door for Guy and Philippa. “Of course. I told him that Lady Philippa needed a heavy escort to George's Cross, because I had set the precedent for minor nobility to wed rich widows.” Guy chuckled as he descended the stairs, and David grinned, quite proud of himself. “King Henry
almost fainted at the thought of losing dominion over another one of his heiresses.”

“You are a wicked man,” Philippa said, her voice rich with admiration.

“How can you approve of him?” Alisoun asked her. The cart stood prepared, all their horses had been saddled, and Ivo and Gunnewate stood stoically awaiting their departure. Obviously David had given commands in addition to hers. “It is always best to pay court to the king when it is convenient to secure yourself in his good graces.”

“The king's good graces gave me Osbern for a husband. I no longer seek the king's good graces.”

Philippa's outburst left Alisoun stunned and speechless, and David used the time to put her on her palfrey. To Guy, he said, “We'll ride north together to George's Cross, then Lady Alisoun and I will ride on to Radcliffe.”

“We will?” Alisoun said. “But I wanted to stay at George's Cross and tend to Philippa.”

“Did you?”

She didn't really. Her well-trained maids would overwhelm Philippa on her triumphant return. But Alisoun feared to be alone with David.

“It will be as my lady rules,” he said, but his long face belied his proffered agreement. “Like Philippa, I long to see that my child is robust and thriving.”

“Is Bert unwell?” Alisoun demanded.

“Nay, but I said farewell to her and warned her it could very well be the last time I saw her, for I probably rode to my death.” He smiled wistfully. “I would reassure her now.”

“Oh.” He
had
almost ridden to his death. When Alisoun thought how close Osbern's dagger had come, the belated terror made her ill. When she thought about Bertrade, her heart ached.

She could remain at George's Cross without David. Of course she could. But she didn't mention the possibility, because Guy and Philippa deserved to be alone.

Then she wondered where her former self had disappeared—the one who would have disapproved of a romance between a dowager duchess and a mere knight.

She guessed that Osbern had killed the former Lady Alisoun, for of all the men she'd ever met, only Osbern met all her requisites as a perfect husband. He had wealth, breeding, and a sense of duty, yet his evil deeds had scarred Philippa and Hazel and finally brought about his own downfall.

At David's hands. She looked at her husband. She had now put her life in danger for another, and she understood his former reluctance. She'd pointed a sword at the king's throat—and his chest, gut, and nether regions—and threatened him, and all the while her knees shook and her teeth chattered. She had known that with one cry he could have had her cut down, and she had discovered she couldn't have stricken him a blow even if it
had
saved Philippa's life.

She couldn't kill anyone. She was an errant coward.

But David had killed Osbern, thinking all the while he would die, if not at Osbern's hands, then as a victim of the king's vengeance.

She wanted to tell David how much she respected him for his courageous stand for justice, but she couldn't.

Not while Guy and Philippa could hear.

So she waited.

The travelers reached the village of George's Cross and said their good-byes. Guy and Philippa rode up to the castle. David and Alisoun rode north.

The silence grew heavier with every step.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to explain why he had allowed Osbern to take Philippa in the first place, and why he had gone to free her. He wanted to tell her that he had done what was conventional and he now comprehended the line she walked between compassion and propriety.

But Ivo and Gunnewate rode on their heels and he hesitated to speak in their presence. Even at night they weren't alone.

So the days had passed and too soon they topped the rise above Radcliffe. David stared at his beloved home without joy or hope. All the long journey together, he and Alisoun had said nothing but polite words. As far as he could see, they could continue like that forever. They could live their whole married life just as they'd passed the journey, both longing to speak, both weighted with the memory of their last quarrel and frightened to expose themselves once more.

Who would break the silence? David chortled in a sudden burst of acrid humor. How could he even wonder? Alisoun knew how to organize her castles; she had no inkling how to handle the intimacies of marriage. She who had so much in material wealth had never had someone love her, and he had to show her the way.

His destrier seemed to think so, too. Louis, who should have been in a hurry to reach his stable, lagged behind while Alisoun and her men rode on.

Alisoun glanced back, then waving Ivo and Gunnewate on, she returned to David. “Has your horse gone lame? A trek like this must be difficult for a steed of such advanced age.”

Louis turned his head and looked at David, express
ing equine disgust. Then, with a very human nod of conspiracy, he came to a complete halt. David sat with the reins held loosely in his hands.

“Is he in pain?” Alisoun asked. “Do you think he's thrown a shoe? Is he—”

She realized David studied her, and he saw the moment she stopped worrying about Louis, and started worrying about what David would say to her and what she would say to David.

“I have a question.” He tried to ask casually. “Do you love me?”

Apparently he was not successful, for she drew back, and her palfrey took a few steps away. “Do I what?”

“Do you love me?”

If he was going to speak, he realized, she had expected him to speak of loyalty or honesty or duty. Something she understood. Something she had experience with. Instead he'd asked her a question which baffled her by its very unfamiliarity.

“Love?” She kept her back ramrod straight in the saddle. “To what kind of love do you refer? I admire you. I appreciate your finer qualities.”

He gained confidence from her discomfort. “What about my lesser qualities?”

“Well, I don't admire
them
.”

“But do you love me for them?”

“David.” She leaned all the way back in her saddle. “I don't believe that people admire other people for their lesser qualities.”

“I don't want you to admire me. I want you to love me.” Her brow puckered, and he realized he would have to work for her comprehension. Leaning out, he held out his hand and slowly, warily, she took it. Then he asked, “How did you feel when I let Philippa leave with Osbern?”

Her face lengthened as she blanked all expression, and her fingers grew cold in his grasp. “I did not admire you.”