Once a Knight (6 page)

“My lady!” Sir Walter called. “I need to speak to you.”

“Come along then,” David called. “She has a bath to give first.” He looked up at the sky and held out his hand. “And I believe we should find shelter, for it's beginning to rain.” He could scarcely contain his laughter at the huff of indignation Sir Walter released. David had seen this type of man before. A knight who had held his position for too long, coming to think his place was secure regardless of his actions. It surprised David that Lady Alisoun had allowed it to happen, but undoubtedly the situation had developed gradually,
without her realization. At least now she had taken steps to rectify it, and he thought he understood a little better why she'd hired him.

If someone had been shooting arrows, perhaps Sir Walter was the culprit. He glanced back at the puffed-up little grouse of a man. In sooth, Sir Walter didn't act like a probable suspect. David glanced down at Lady Alisoun. And she didn't act like a woman likely to be so wrong in her judgment of her chief knight.

The maids on the stairs greeted their mistress with curtsies and words of welcome. The respect shown her almost amounted to reverence, and she hadn't earned that by being a fool.

The noble girl at the top of the stairs curtsied, too, then flung herself into Alisoun's arms as if she couldn't bear another moment of separation. Alisoun petted her head—for one moment, only, but it was a definite stroke of affection—then pushed her away. “Stand straight, Lady Edlyn, and let me introduce you to Sir David of Radcliffe.”

David braced himself for another siege of unwanted adulation, but no recognition lit Edlyn's face at his name. He grinned at his own conceit, and realized that she was too young to recall his mercenary exploits.

She said, “Greetings, good lord, and welcome to George's Cross.”

Her pretty manners seemed to satisfy Alisoun, for she patted Edlyn once more, briefly. “Where's Philippa?” she asked.

“Feeding the baby,” Edlyn answered.

Turning to him, Alisoun said, “Philippa is my personal maid.”

The explanation startled him briefly. Why would she think he cared? Then they stepped inside, moving from warmth to cool and light to dark, and he no longer won
dered about anything except the sheer mammoth size of the keep. Stairways spiraled up, rising into the dark. A puff of fresh air told him the stairs extended above three floors to the roof where men-at-arms patrolled. Stairways spiraled down. The scent of damp barrels and bitter herbs rose to tell him of storerooms and wine cellars. A short, crooked passage wound toward the great hall. And once there…“A great hall, indeed,” David murmured, trying to look everywhere at once.

The upright posts reached from the floor to the angle of the ceiling, then mighty oak beams, carved in fanciful decoration, carried the arch up and over. High, narrow windows let in slivers of light from the setting sun, but already torches smoked in the wall sconces. Chairs and benches clustered around not one, but two gigantic hearths, one on each end of the hall. Their roaring blazes warmed the cold stones, but the whitewashed walls remained white. Where was the smoke going? Stepping up onto the dais, he wandered closer and realized that a stone hood captured the smoke and siphoned it into a channel which took it outside. “Incredible,” he muttered, touching the hood with one finger.

Alisoun caught his eye. She watched him without expression, but somehow he thought she read his admiration and amazement.

Well, why shouldn't she? He didn't conceal himself as if he were a miser and each emotion a nugget of gold.

“My lady Alisoun!”

Alisoun swung around, locating the source of the warm voice on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Philippa, I'm back.” She walked to the bench tucked into a warm corner where a plump, smiling maid sat nursing a baby.

David stepped to the front of the fireplace and held out his hands as if to warm himself.

“You're not hurt?” the maid asked.

Alisoun shrugged off her cloak. “I am as you see me—well and still single.” Leaning over, she embraced the woman. “Although that's a tale for your ears.”

“Careful!” Philippa tugged Alisoun onto the bench beside her. “You'll crush Hazel.”

Alisoun peeked at the baby, who, old enough to play games, peeked back. Then she pulled away from the nipple and gave a milky grin.

Straining, David stared. Not even Alisoun's impassiveness was proof against a baby's smile.

“Sir David.” Taken by surprise, he found himself jerked around to face an irate Sir Walter. “I want to speak to you.”

With a fast, efficient twist of the wrist, David freed himself. “By all means.” He turned his back. “Later.” After he'd seen this one thing, watched this one trial by baby.

Alisoun didn't smile back at the child. She looked vaguely bewildered, unsure for the first time since he'd met her. Tilting her head, she stared into Hazel's big eyes. “What does she want?”

Philippa laughed, indulgent. “She's a baby. She doesn't want anything.” Hoisting Hazel into a sitting position on her lap, she elbowed Alisoun. “Smile back at her.”

“Sir David.” Sir Walter stepped between him and the women, and his voice trembled with rage.

Stupid
, David thought, craning his neck to see over him. If they were to be enemies, Sir Walter would do well to disguise his anger with a little more—
Look at her!
His breath caught. Alisoun
was
smiling!

Pish! Hazel knew how to do it better than Alisoun. Alisoun's lips twitched; if she'd been the baby, he'd have wondered if she had colic.

Then, as if she feared detection, she glanced guiltily toward him. Lowering his gaze to Sir Walter, he tried to look as if they were having a discussion. “We'll work together,” he said.

“You don't understand,” Sir Walter said. “I don't work with anyone. I'm the chief knight and steward here.”

David nodded in conciliation and without conviction. “Aye, aye, that's easy to see.” Cautiously, he glanced over Sir Walter's shoulder. Alisoun had turned back to Philippa. David edged closer. Sir Walter tried to hold his ground; he gave way when David pushed.

Philippa's hands moved over little Hazel knowingly, straightening her clothes, testing her for wetness. “Wants to eat when she wants to eat, and is done when she's done,” she grumbled.

Sir Walter said, “We must talk—away from the women.”

But Philippa wasn't really upset. David could see that, even from a distance. Everything about that woman shouted
proud mother
. Handing the baby and a rag to Alisoun, she said, “Burp her. I need to put myself together before I meet
him
.” She jerked her head toward David, and David realized the maid had monitored his maneuvers ever since he'd entered the room. “He's the one, isn't he?”

“What?” Alisoun fumbled with the baby, while Philippa watched. After much fidgeting, Alisoun managed to cover her shoulder with the rag and lift the baby. But she held her so stiffly and patted her so uncertainly, Hazel neither burped nor relaxed.

Exasperated by Alisoun's inefficiency, David stepped around Sir Walter. “Here. Let me.” He rescued the baby from Alisoun's sweaty grip. Philippa grabbed, but he laid Hazel against his shoulder, patted her effi
ciently, and challenged the anxious mother with a lift of his chin.

Philippa observed him shrewdly, then relaxed a little. “Aye, you've done this before. Best give him the rag, Alisoun, or she'll spit on him and he'll stink of sour milk.”

“It wouldn't be the first time.” But David held out his hand anyway, and Alisoun placed the rag in it without hesitation.

Still keeping a watchful eye on him, Philippa said, “Lady Alisoun will have to learn sometime.”

Wrestling to put the rag under Hazel's chin, David answered, “She'll learn with her own.”

“If she ever has her own, which I'm starting to doubt, she'll have enough maids that she'll never have to touch the child.”

“Hm. You probably speak the truth.” Amused and a little perplexed that Alisoun allowed her maid such freedom to speak her mind, David rubbed firmly up Hazel's spine until a moist belch sounded in his ear. Turning to face the satisfied little face so close to his own, he said, “Perhaps you'd best go back to Lady Alisoun.”

A rumble sounded on the baby's other end, and Alisoun rose from her seat. “Oh, nay. You'll not give her to me now. I have a bath to prepare.”

Apparently Sir Walter had given up on David, for he appealed to Alisoun. “We must speak together.”

“Of a certainty.” Alisoun nodded graciously to him, then called, “Edlyn!”

Her ward came rushing up, her cheeks flushed with pleasure at being called. “My lady?”

“Prepare our guest's bath in the blue bedchamber. We'll need the biggest tub for him.” She glanced at David and moved a little away, but he heard her anyway. “Bring the scissors, I'll cut his hair.”

He fingered the strands that hung around his shoulders.

She continued, “And I think marjoram and oil of eucalyptus might abate the worst of his stench.”

Surprised, he asked Philippa, “Do I smell?”

He thought for a moment she was going to laugh. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, her lips twitched, and even though she would be laughing at him, he looked forward to hearing her. This motherly creature would surely release a big belly laugh, one of those great booms of merriment that invited guffaws in return.

Instead, she controlled herself, quivering with the effort. “My lady has a sensitive nose, and you smell very much like a…man.”

That hadn't been her first choice of a description, he was sure. Had Alisoun quashed this woman's natural humor? He glanced at Alisoun as she gave instructions to Edlyn. If nothing else, during his stay he'd get Alisoun to laugh aloud and free her servants from this senseless bondage.

With a caution he thought reserved for wild boars, Philippa removed the baby from his grasp. “I'll change her wrapping clothes.” But she still looked him over. “You
are
Sir David of Radcliffe, aren't you?”

He stood still and tried to appear unthreatening. “Aye.”

“The legendary mercenary?”

Some people, on hearing his name and knowing his reputation, thought he must be constantly savage and brutal. Apparently this woman was one of them. Gently, he said, “I am a mercenary, but the legend is perhaps exaggerated.”

“It had better not be,” she snapped, then paled and stepped back. She looked as if she wanted to run and her breath came in little gasps. The baby, sensing her
mother's agitation, squirmed and squalled, and Philippa patted her rhythmically, her instinct to comfort smothered by wariness. “We need you to be everything the legend claims. We need you to protect my lady Alisoun. If anything should happen to her—”

“Philippa!” Alisoun's voice sliced across her maid's warning. “Go change the baby, then get back to your duties.”

Swinging around, Philippa stared at Alisoun with open mouth. Then she said, “Aye, my lady.” Hampered by the baby, she bobbed an awkward curtsy. “I was just—”

“I don't care.” Alisoun pointed her finger in Philippa's face. “Keep…your…place. You have no business speaking to Sir David, especially not in such a familiar way.”

Alisoun didn't sound angry, but Philippa paled. Tears rushed to her eyes, and she caught Alisoun's outstretched hand. “I know. I'm just stupid, but I fear for you. I should—”

“The only thing you should do is tend to your duties here.” Alisoun pushed at Philippa. “Go now.”

Philippa rushed away, looking like an abused puppy, and David found himself disliking Alisoun again. Philippa seemed to be all woman, mother to her child first and to the world after, and something had crushed her spirit. He narrowed his gaze on Alisoun. Aye, he wanted to teach Alisoun many lessons.

In a voice as bitter as gall, Sir Walter said, “Philippa proves there's good reason to beat a woman.”

Instinctively protesting, David began, “Jesú, man, that's harsh.”

Then Alisoun caught his attention. Her face and figure remained absolutely still. She might have been encased in ice. Slowly, her head swung toward Sir
Walter like a door on a rusty hinge, and something about her made Sir Walter step back. In a voice of command, she said, “Do not ever let me hear you say such a thing again.”

“If you would just listen to me—”

“I do not choose to follow your advice.” Sir Walter tried to speak, but Alisoun lifted her hand. “I do not wish to hear it again.”

A pox on all this secrecy! David felt the undercurrents tugging at him. Had Sir Walter beat Philippa? Had he beat his wife? Did he have a wife?

David's gaze narrowed on the disturbed knight. Was Sir Walter the reason Alisoun had not married? Did he occupy her bed, and had they had a lovers' quarrel? David had told her he wouldn't interfere between man and wife, but if she'd taken Sir Walter to her bed, he'd interfere. He'd abandon his half-made plans to court her and abduct her instead. Sir Walter would have no chance against David.

“Did you hear me, Sir Walter?”

Her chilly voice broke David's musings, and he dismissed the daydreams. He believed only what he saw and heard and touched.

“I beg your pardon, my lady.” Sir Walter bowed, giving every indication of sincere contrition.

But was he sincerely contrite about saying such an asinine thing, or contrite about infuriating his liege? And why had he advocated such despotism when his liege
was
a woman, and likely to consider it a challenge?

“If you again subject me to such an outburst, you will have no choice. You will be seeking another lord to serve—one more to your liking.”

Could she speak to her lover like that? Surely not. Not even Lady Alisoun could sound so disdainful to a man who'd rumpled her mattress.