A Knight to Remember (15 page)

He touched it gingerly. “Aye.”

“It looks painful.”

“I’ve tried everything. Killed a toad by th’ new moon an’ slept all night wi’ it on th’ damn boil, an’ all that toad did was make it worse.”

Edlyn touched the pouch that hung at her waist. “I’m an herbalist of some renown. If you would permit me, I would be glad to try one of my poultices to draw out the poison.”

“If th’ toad doesn’t work, why would yer poultice?” Almund asked.

“No harm in trying.”

Almund would have refused, but Hugh took that moment to appear next to the fire. “Woman, go back to your palfrey.”

“She can’t,” Almund snapped. “She’s goin’ t’ fix me a poultice.”

Hugh groaned and spread his arms wide to the skies where the evening star shown above the horizon. “God grant me patience.”

The old man cackled wickedly, and Edlyn said tartly, “I prayed for release, and God granted me you, Hugh of Roxford, so be careful what you pray for.” Standing, she asked, “Are we carrying mead?”

“Are you going to drink with him, too?” Hugh asked.

“Temper,” she chided. “The mead makes a good base for the poultice, and the rest of my herbs are in
the cart with the lads. If you kind men would excuse me?”

She moved away, and Hugh glared at her back.

Almund squatted down and pocked the fire. “Women. Can’t live wi’ ’em, can’t make ’em do a damned thing worth sense.”

It was the first thing Hugh had heard from he ferryman he knew to be the truth. “We just got married,” he found himself blurting.

“Guessed that. Ye look at her as if she is a foreign country ye need t’ conquer.”

“Oh, I’ve conquered her.” Hugh remembered how she looked as she slept after he’d swived her into oblivion. “How many times do I have to conquer her before she stays that way?”

“Why would ye want that? She’s got that beauty that goes bone deep. I mean, look at her. She wants t’ make sure I stay alive, so she steps in front o’t yer knife. An’ she wants t’ make sure ye get what ye want, so she offers t’ cure me boil.” He nodded wisely. “Me guess is I’ll be takin’ ye across at moonrise.”

All of Hugh’s masculine pride rose in indignation at the old man’s words. “You know she’s manipulation you and don’t object?”

“Why should I? I get me boil cured, ye get yer way, an’ she gets t’ think she created peace from strife. Which she did, God her soul bless.”

Hugh stared at the old man in silent admiration. Almund saw more than Hugh himself, and despite Edlyn’s opinion, Hugh considered himself insightful.

“Sit down, ye’re givin’ me a kink in me neck.”

Hunkering down, Hugh experienced a pang of discomfort. He grunted and stomped one foot until grains of wheat showered out of his garter and planted themselves on the ground around him. “She lived at the
abbey, and they gave us a proper send-off as we left late this afternoon. They rang the bells and banged pans and threw wheat.”

The old man didn’t look nearly as surprised as Hugh felt. “’Tis a proper thing t’ do after a weddin’.”

“The wedding was yesterday. That was the proper time to do it, but I let her go off and get captured and…” Why was he confessing his failure to this old man? “Rather than throwing the wheat yesterday, they did it today when we left the abbey. I think they did it because they liked her.” Grimly, Hugh remembered the circle of leering people who had tried her for promiscuity as the result of his deception. “They hadn’t treated her well before the wedding.”

“Yer fault, I wager.”

How did the old knave know that? And why did Hugh feel this pang of guilt for his actions? He had one the right thing, he knew it. Edlyn needed a husband, a and no one owed her reparation as much as Hugh himself. She had refused to accept his help, so he had coerced her. That was as it should be. A man made the decisions. A woman respected them.

If only she hadn’t told him she would never give herself completely into his keeping. He never refused a challenge, and he allowed himself no doubt, but…he’d never faced a woman unwilling to give him her body and her soul. Worse, he never imagined he would care.

He rubbed the tight muscles in his chest. It was that challenge, that was all. He cared only about the challenge.

“If th’ wheat slides into yer curlies, it means yer plow’s goin’ t’ plant early an’ often.”

Startled, Hugh stared at the old man and fought the desire to lift his own surcoat and check for kernels.

“If ’tis in her curlies, she’s quickening already.”
The ferryman considered, then shook his head, and a few wild hairs waved on the top of his bald head. “Nay, but she’s not got th’ glow about her.”

“Doesn’t she?”

“That one’ll not conceive until she’s taken ye fer husband in her heart.”

Hugh settled carefully on his rump, pulled off his boots, and peeled down his hose, trying not to give the old man’s statement too much importance. “How do you know that?”

“When ye get a little smarter, ye’ll know some things, too.”

Hugh could scarcely argue with that. He’d only in the last day begun to realize how much he didn’t know.

“Where are ye off t’ in such a hurry?” the ferryman asked.

The cramped sensation in Hugh’s chest eased at once, and he answered proudly, “To our new home. To Roxford Castle.”

“Just got yer lands, did ye?” The old man wiped his nose on the long sleeved of his shift. “Worked hard fer ’em, too, I trow.”

No one knew how hard, except perhaps Wharton, and maybe Sir Lyndon, but not even they could comprehend the desire that gnawed at Hugh’s insides at the thought of a castle, his castle, and a demesne, his demesne.

“Here we are.” Edlyn’s light, musical voice broke into his reverie, and Hugh looked up at her.

A wife. His wife.

He wanted her there, in his home, a symbol of all he had achieved. He didn’t need that affection she withheld from him, as long as he had her physical body to maintain his castle and his lands.

Then unbidden, the thought of her naked body in a
tall bed slipped into his mind, and he knew he needed her physical body for more than just its abilities to work. He wanted it for pleasure—his pleasure, and hers.

The ferryman started cursing as soon as she applied the steaming poultice to his face, and he kept up a steady stream of blunt English words that should have made a woman who’d lived in an abbey blush. They didn’t seem to faze Edlyn, but mayhap she didn’t understand them. Hugh dumped wheat from his hose and wiped it off his feet as he listened, and he grinned. Regardless of the conversation they’d just shared, he still wished for the old man’s discomfort. After all, he had defied Hugh in front of his won men.

He had the satisfaction of hearing the ferryman howl in pain as she lanced the boil and seeing him shuffle his feet as she gave him ointments and lectured him on their use. Finally, she patted the old man on his bald head and promised him the boil would be completely drained and feel better in the morning so all his secret admirers could lavish him with their love.

“Ain’t got no secret admirers but ye, m’ lady, an’ that’s enough fer me.” The old man touched the bandage on his check. “But it throbs so much I couldn’t sleep tonight anyway, an’ th’ moon’s arisin’. Could be I would ferry ye across now.”

Edlyn shot Hugh a triumphant glance, then said to the old man, “You are generous indeed.”

Disgusted, Hugh pulled on his hose and boots and shouted for his men. It took three trips to get everything across. Most of his knights went first, and with them Edlyn’s sons, still awake and so rambunctious it was decided they could frolic on the far side while the ferry made its remaining trips. Wynkyn was put in charge of the lads, and Hugh felt sorry for his page.
Parkin and Allyn, he thought, could use a man’s discipline, and when they were settled at Roxford Castle, he would see to it.

About half of their possessions went second, guarded by Wharton and the squires, who moved from place to place under Almund’s direction to keep the ferry in balance.

Last came Edlyn, Hugh, the remaining knights and the rest of their gear. As they bobbed along, the moon shining on the river, Almund pulled Hugh aside. “Part o’ th’ reason I would bring m’ lady across in th’ night is because o’ that knave.”

Hugh’s mind leaped to the claiming of his castle. “Edmund Pembridge?”

Who’s Edmund Pembridge?”

“The former earl of Roxford,” Hugh answered.

“Ah, him. Nay, not him, although I hear he’s a right wretched knave, too. Nay, I’m talkin’ about him what took Castle Juxon.”

“Hugh’s pulse quickened. “Richard of Wiltshire took it?”

“Aye, an’ from all accounts, a more feckless brig and never lived.”

“I’ll not quarrel with that,” Hugh said. “He’s lacking in honor.”

“Honor?” The old man laughed until a cough racked him. Grasping the paddle, he leaned over it until he got his breath, then said, “He’s nothin’ but a thief who speaks wi’ yer fancy tongue an’ entertains travelers while pluckin’ them clean o’ every bauble an’ coin.”

Hugh scowled. “He’s a knight, a younger son thrown out into the world to seek his fortune. Not a pleasant prospect, of course, but common. Most men don’t immediately turn to robbery.”

“He’s good at it.”

“Aye, he had plenty of practice.” Hugh had met Richard of Wiltshire and despised him with all his heart, and that had done nothing more than amuse Richard.

Richard’s reputation as a merry master had attracted a troop of disaffected knights, and they hired themselves out as mercenaries. They fought for whoever paid them. They had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and now they’d gained a castle. When the rebellion was over, the king would reorganize and recover those lost lands, but until then Richard and his men would laugh and swive and drink the castle cellars dry.

“There’s been a few he let go wi’ out their fancy clothes of their gold, o’ course, an’ they’ve come through here. I wouldn’t like t’ think o’ m’ lady—or any lady—in his hands, if ye know what I mean.”

The old man cast a meaningful glance at Edlyn, and Hugh vowed, “I will keep her safe from him.”

The tug of the current
on the ferry felt like the hand of God to Hugh. Almund grabbed for the paddle, but the handle twisted right out of his hands. The Ferry lurched, then slowly, inexorably, it tilted up on its side. Hugh fought to grab the rail, but the rotten wood broke when he leaned on it and he went over the side with a shout.

“Hugh!”

He heard Edlyn cry before the water closed over his head.

He fought for the surface, but something floating knocked him back down. The second time, he came up and stayed up, and he saw the ferry breaking up in the water. “Edlyn,” he roared, treading water and looking frantically around him.”

“Hugh.”

Her voice sounded from the side. she was climbing up on the bank, assisted by his knights.

“Hugh!”

She pointed at something off to his left, and he saw a jumble of their belongings floating by.

Did she expect him to save them? With this current,
he’d lucky to save himself. The river took him in a swirl, and he saw a thin shape floating not far away.

“Hugh, ’tis Almund.”

He heard Edlyn at the same moment as he recognized the limp figure of the old man and started swimming toward him.

“You’ve got to save him,” she called.

Of course he would save him, Hugh thought with irritation. Did she think him incapable of a compassionate intention without her teaching? Reaching Almund, he wrapped his arms around him and towed him to shore. The treacherous currents spun them in circles several times, and once a trunk floated up behind Hugh and gave him such a blow on the head he almost lost consciousness.

One thing kept him going, though—anticipation of Edlyn’s gratitude. When he towed the old man to shore, she’d see him for the hero he was, and that would be the first step to capturing her affection. Her
true
affection.

Hands stretched out to him as he neared shore, but he shook them off and reached with his feet for the bank below him. Gasping, he dragged Almund behind him, then picked him up, placed him on his shoulders and carried him to a soft place in the grass. Carefully he lowered him, then straightened, waiting for his reward.

Just as he’d hoped. Edlyn ran right for him. He opened his arms wide—and she dashed past to kneel at Almund’s side.

“Is he breathing?” she rolled the old man over. “Push the water out of him!”

Hastily, Hugh lowered his arms and hoped no one had noticed his disgraceful bid for Edlyn’s attention. “He’s a touch old bird.” He stood dripping until
Wharton handed him a linen towel from the supplies already on the shore. “He’ll survive.”

Edlyn pressed on Almund’s back until he vomited up river water. “If he doesn’t, it is your fault,” she scolded. “If you hadn’t been in such a hurry to get across the river at night, this would never have happened.”

Through the haze of his own outrage, Hugh heard Wharton say, “Don’t ye talk t’ th’ master that way! ’Tis not yer place t’ question his commands!”

“If someone questioned them occasionally, mayhap he would think before he made them!” Edlyn answered back, as spirited as Hugh had ever heard her.

In some way, Wharton’s indignation and Edlyn’s anger soothed Hugh. He
had
made a stupid decision, and he’d hear about it from Edlyn. That was as it should be; a wife claimed the right to educate her husband, and Edlyn clearly had settled into that matrimonial role. “I won’t do it again,” he said meekly, and all conversation stopped.

He looked around at his gaping men. “Well?” He snapped his fingers. “Have you retrieved everything from the river?”

The squires scrambled down the riverbank. With a shout, Parkin and Allyn went with them, and Wynkyn hurried after. Hugh addressed the still-dry Sir Lyndon. “Did everyone escape the river?”

Sir Lyndon opened his mouth, but wasn’t his voice that answered.

“I certainly hope so.” A strange man stood in the shadows at the edge of the road that led away from the landing. “It will make the ransom for you so much more lucrative.”

Hugh swung around in surprise and dismay. A row of swords glinted in the moonlight, and they pointed right at him.

“Who dares threaten the prince’s commander in the west?” Sir Lyndon shouted.

Wharton growled, and Hugh felt the sharp flick of exasperation. How stupid of Sir Lyndon to identify him to this enemy!

A warm laugh from the stranger confirmed Hugh’s unease. “The prince’s commander? I have captured Prince Edward’s commander?”

Hugh’s heart sank as he recognized the familiar voice.

“Hugh de Florisoun himself.” Richard of Wiltshire stepped into the moonlight and gave a flourish of his sword. “It
is
you, Hugh! It’s been many a year since I’ve had the honor of your acquaintance, but I admire you and your vaulted honor now just as much as I ever did.” His voice turned soft and cruel. “That is to say—not at all.”

“Did they capture everybody?” Hugh sat in the dungeon at castle Juxon surrounded by his men and interrogated them as briskly as if he could see them—which he couldn’t. The sun shone outside, but in this dank and vile cell beneath the very ground, no beam of light had a chance of ever penetrating.

“They got every thing and everybody,” Sir Lyndon answered, sounding dreary and discouraged. “My tent. My armor. My destrier.”

“My wife.” Hugh didn’t appreciate Sir Lyndon’s litany of his lost belongings when Edlyn’s purity and her life were at risk.

“Your wife,” Lyndon agreed, but he said it in such a lackluster one it was clear he didn’t comprehend the magnitude of Hugh’s loss.

If only Richard of Wiltshire hadn’t pounced on
them while they were still in disarray from the sinking of the ferry.

“They didn’t get all th’ servants,” Wharton said.

“Well, I’ll be expecting them to besiege the castle and rescue us at once,” Sir Lyndon snapped.

“Shut your yap, London.” Hugh listened to the stunned silence with a sense of gratification. “You’ve given up, and I don’t like that. What kind of knight gives up just because he faces overwhelming odds?”

“One with good sense,” Lyndon answered defensively.

This imprisonment had shown Hugh a new side of his chief knight, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like Lyndon’s easy acceptance of defeat, especially when it had been Lyndon who had failed to set a guard. He didn’t like Lyndon’s attitude about women, and really he didn’t like Lyndon’s disrespect to his wife.

Hugh’s men shuffled and coughed as they tried to make themselves comfortable among the rats and the leavings of other prisoners, and Hugh wished he had started his sojourn in dry clothes, for the dampness of the dungeon seeped through to his skin and shivers racked him periodically. “Where’s Wynkyn?”

No one answered.

“He had orders to watch Edlyn’s sons. Could he have saved them from capture?”

“I didn’t see those lads anywhere in th’ line o’ prisoners,” Wharton said thoughtfully. “M’ lady would have kept them by her if she could.”

“It would have been better,” Lyndon said, “If she hadn’t told Richard she was your wife.”

That, unfortunately, was true. Richard of Wiltshire had ordered Hugh stripped of all weapons while he unerringly found his way to the side of the
only woman among the company, touched her under the chin, and asked who owned her.

Hugh wouldn’t soon forget that haughty little answer. “I am the wife of Hugh, earl of Roxford, Sir Knight, but no one owns me.”

“They do now.” Richard had linked his arm with hers and smiled quite wickedly into her face. “They do now.”

If Edlyn had understood the implications of that, she had given no indication. She just instructed Richard’s men to lift Almund onto a cart so he could be carried to a bedchamber, and after a nod from Richard, his men had scrambled to obey.

Hugh dropped his head onto his knees and muffled a groan. All the scorn he had heaped on Richard in previous encounters returned to haunt him now. What nefarious activities would Richard force Edlyn to endure as vengeance against Hugh?

The tiny door creaked open, and a flickering light stabbed the room with little blades of agony. His men stood, almost in unison, shading their dark-accustomed eyes, but Hugh remained on the floor leaning against the wall. A man-at-arms stuck his head in the low opening and said, “Me master wants Hugh o’ Roxford, an’ he wants him now.”

Hugh’s men turned and looked at him, and Hugh waited a few beats of the heart to show his indifference before he rose.

The man-at-arms stepped back, holding a sword on him with capable hands, and said, “I have orders t’ kill ye if do anything out o’ place, an’ I’d love t’ kill an earl, so please, m’ lord, try an’ rush me an’ me men.”

Hugh held up his hands to show his defenselessness and bent to exit the dungeon. Straightening, he looked around at the narrow, short corridor that led to
the stairway, then at the dozen men who stood at various intervals with swords, maces, and quarterstaffs, all pointed at him.

Hugh found cold comfort in knowing Richard respected his fighting ability.

The men-at-arms placed him in the middle, then paced upward toward the cellars, which were on the windowless ground floor. Here servants scurried, tapping the casks of wine. They all stepped back as Hugh and his guards came through.

Up the spiral staircase they went, moving toward light and warmth and noise. Hugh could smell roasting meat and bread and the sharp, shrill odor of spilled ale, and his stomach rumbled noisily. The man-at-arms in charge laughed at the sound. “If ye please th’ master,” he said, “mayhap he’ll let ye eat—wi’ th’ dogs.”

Hugh waited until they entered the great hall before he replied. “The dogs would be better companions than my present company.”

The man-at-arms stopped short, then whirled and raised his sword.

“Halt!” Richard’s voice rang out over the babble of voices. “You’ll not kill that man while he lives on my charity!”

Hugh allowed himself a nasty smile as the man-at-arms lowered his sword. On one thing he knew he could depend—on Richard’s sense of fair play.

In this massive great hall, the rough trestle tables were set up in a U-shape, with the diners seated around the outside for the servers’ convenience. As usual, the bottom of the U was the raised dais where the noble folk ate, and there he saw Richard, sitting in the place of honor—with Edlyn at his side.

Hugh lunged toward the head table.

Blades gleamed as they flashed out of every scabbard in the hall.

Silence quivered as challenge met challenge and everyone awaited the next event.

“By the saints, you men are such children.”

Edlyn’s voice broke the tension, and she rose gracefully from the bench beside Richard. Richard grabbed her arm, and she glanced down at him. “I must go greet my husband and escort him to his place at the table.”

Richard watched her with a scowl, then she smiled at him, and he softened. “Go on, then.”

Hugh ground his teeth at the sight of raven-headed, wicked Richard of Wiltshire yielding to the charm of Edlyn,
his
countess of Roxford.

The sunlight streamed in through the thin arrow slits that cut through the massive stone walls. It fell on the dark heads, light heads, knightly heads, and servants’ heads with equal grace. The packed chamber vibrated with masculine ribaldry and rivalry, and Hugh expected one of these men to reach out a hand as Edlyn passed and pinch her rump or fondle her breast. He prepared himself to leap like a wolf to her defense.

No one did. Most of them turned their gazes away. A few of them responded to her smiles. A few blushed bright red and buried their faces in their curved horn mugs. And Hugh found himself wondering what the woman had done to tame this bunch of cutthroats.

She reached him before he could even begin to speculate. She held out her arms to embrace him, then stopped short and plugged her nose. “What have you done with yourself?”

He glanced down at the filth that covered him. “The river and the dungeon are a lethal combination, my lady.”

“Too true.” She flapped her free hand at him, then
turned to the aggressive man-at-arms with his ready sword. “How can you bear to stand so close?”

The man-at-arms stared at her, then at Hugh. “I didn’t notice anything lackin’.”

Edlyn laughed, a carefree trill that sounded quite unlike her normal merriment. “You are too diplomatic, my man.” Plucking Hugh’s sleeve between two fingers as if he were a slug she disdained, she said, “Step back and I’ll take him to Richard.”

“Richard?” Hugh rumbled. “You call that blackguard by his given name?”

With a slight tug, she urged him forward. “I call him as he wishes. I do whatever he wishes. I told him of my skill in storytelling, and he wishes to hear a story this night.”

Hugh didn’t hear the significant note in her voice. He only heard
I do whatever he wishes
, and he snarled, “If he wishes your tongue to entertain him in private ways, will you rush to do that, too?”

The knights and yeoman who lined the tables heard him and started to laugh, until she slapped him. Once, hard, across the face.

Silence fell again, an amazed and anticipatory silence this time, and everyone waited to see the direction his anger would lead him.

It led him nowhere. He was blank. Stunned. She’d hit him. Edlyn had hit him, and he would have sworn this woman never hit anyone, ever, as long as she lived.

So why…?

“I hate stupid men,” she said.

Stupid. He’d been stupid. She’d been telling him something, and his jealousy had led him astray.

Bending his head in apology, he worked to recall the bent of her conversation, and after drawing a breath, he said, “You’re going to tell a story.”

A tension relaxed in her. It told him she had a message to impart, if only he would listen.

“Richard wants me to entertain him with one of my famous tales of yore, and I have assured him I will so fascinate him and all the men they will be captivated”—she glared at him meaningfully—“and helpless.”

Richard vaulted up and over to them before Hugh could reply. He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Are you scheming to escape, my lady?”