Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 (15 page)

Sometime during the night as he stood alone, watching
the fire destroy everything he held dear, Fulke closed his heart to the
pain.
 
He closed his heart to everything.

Talan lightly touched Reina’s sleeve to finish the
tale.
 

She stared at him with fearful eyes as he picked up
where Albin left off. “Fulke’s father carried him to safety.
 
Rushing in for the rest of the family, the
timbered roof collapsed.
 
Fulke’s entire
family along with five serfs perished in the blaze,” he finished softly.

Reina was standing, repeating more forcefully,
“No.”
 
Shaking her
head in despair, she screamed,
“Please God, no!”

She thought she wanted to hear what they had to tell
her, yet no one should hear such heartbreak.

Giving into her tears, she fled the hall for her chamber.

Albin cleared his throat loudly, before shifting his
gaze to Talan.
 
“Feel better now?”

* * * *

Fulke rode the men hard to reach Rochester. With only
a few short stops to rest the horses, they cut hours from the full-day journey.

Each time Reina’s pain-filled eyes seeped into his
mind, Fulke would spur his horse. The men’s slower chargers struggled to keep
up with the larger destriers ground-eating pace.

Cold wind whipped his face as he rode on blind to
everything around him. He willed himself to think of nothing. He forced himself
to feel nothing.

Slowing his lathered horse, he dismounted in the yard
of the Wounded Stag.
 
He lashed the reins
to the rail outside the stall to unbuckle his saddlebags.
 
Running a hand through his wind-tousled hair,
he headed for the tavern.

* * * *

Riding into the yard the men began to dismount.
   

Gervase followed Fulke as Guy held back. “Our liege is
a good man, Warin. To me, he is the best of men.”

“Why did he do it, Guy? ” Warin asked, staring after
Fulke.

“He did it to protect himself,” Guy replied
sadly.
 

“That makes no sense. Reina is his wife.”

“Perhaps when you learn of his past, you will
understand. Have Osbert enlighten you when you are rubbing down the horses.”
Clapping him on the back, Guy headed for the tavern.

After seeing to the horses, Warin entered the dim,
crowded tavern with Osbert.
 
Seeing Fulke
flanked by Gervase and Guy, he led the way to one of the last available tables.

Discovering what happened to Fulke’s family explained
everything. If anyone could have found a way into his heart, it would have been
Reina.

Osbert elbowed him from his gloomy thoughts when a
woman with long chestnut hair and striking golden-brown eyes came over to their
table.
 
To be heard over the din, she
leaned close. “We have stew for supper, if you care for some.”

Scanning the length of her with his eyes, Osbert
leered, “It is not food that interests me, lass.”

“Then I suggest you find a tavern wench, you lecherous
lout,” she snapped, drawing chuckles from men at the adjoining tables.
 
Osbert stared wide-eyed as she weaved her way
through
 
the tables.
    

His mouth watering at the mere mention of food, Warin
demanded, “Cannot you tell the difference between an alewife and a tavern
wench?”

“How was I to know, Warin? She is a wench, she is in a
tavern, hence tavern wench.”

“Thanks to you, we are bound to go hungry,” Warin
continued.

Osbert threw up his hands. “The village in which I was
born did not even boast a tavern. Guy and Gervase are oft bragging about their sport
with the wenches at the Wounded Stag.”

“Therein lays your first mistake, listening to Guy and
Gervase. Moreover, have you not stayed here on numerous occasions?”

“No,” Osbert replied sulkily. “I remained behind at
Castell Maen, polishing armor until my hands were raw.”

Warin was distracted by the comment.
 
“Then why does he have need of a page to tend
him?”

“He did not have one, before he found me,” Osbert
replied softly.
 
“Although, he has become
accustomed to my close shave,” he suddenly brightened.
 
“That is why he was willing to accept a
replacement.”

Warin stood with a sigh. “Aye.
 
A replacement that will soon starve, unless I
can smooth things over with the alewife.”

Scanning the tavern, he spotted the woman scrubbing
down a vacated table. At his approach, she straightened.
 
“There is no need to apologize. Just give me
a moment and I shall fetch you both some stew.”

Warin grinned, “Thank you, ah...”

“Lecie. My name is Lecie.”

“Thank you Lecie. I shall ensure my lecherous friend
behaves henceforth.”

She glanced towards the bar. “May I ask you
something?”

Surprised by the request, he asked, “What is it you
would like to know?”

“I see you wear Baron Erlegh’s coat. Is there aught
amiss with his lordship?”

“I regret that I am not at liberty to say.”

“Forgive my asking. I meant no offense.”

“It was very kind of you to ask. My name is Warin.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Warin.
 
I shall go see about your supper.”

Reseating himself, his stomach began to rumble as
Lecie returned from the kitchen with their meal.
  
Balancing the tray on a slender hip, she set
stale bread bowls of stew before them.
 
Taking in Osbert’s flushed face, she said, “Enjoy your meal, lad.”

Barely meeting her gaze, Osbert mumbled his
thanks.
 
Whisking his knife from its sheath,
he dug in.

Withdrawing his own knife, Warin inhaled the
appetizing aroma.
 

They had finished eating by the time Fulke stumbled
his way to the garderobe at the back of the common room.

Staggering back into the bar a short time later, a
trio of tavern wenches sauntered in after him. Following the loose women’s
approach, Warin frowned, amazed Osbert could have ever mistaken Lecie for one.

Well into their cups, Guy and Gervase were laughing as
the women rubbed up against them, hoping to sell a tussle to the handsome
knights.

Fulke ignored the women altogether. Propping an elbow
on the planked bar, he continued to drink himself into oblivion.
 

Deciding they were the real thing, Osbert stood. “We
must now part, my friend. Unless you care to join us?” He lowered his voice,
“They may not be much to look at, yet I wager they could make a man of you.”

Noting their stained woolen kirtles, Warin fought a
grimace. “I shall forego the pleasure.”

Osbert gripped his shoulder. “As a future landed
knight, you have something to entice the comely ladies.
 
The rest of us cannot be so selective.”

Joining the men at the bar, Osbert appraised the women
surrounding Fulke.

Warin bridled to see a wench boldly run a hand down
Fulke’s back.
 
Holding his mug high above
his head, his arm swayed as he bellowed for more ale.
   

He moved closer as the boldest of the three wenches
wrapped her arms around Fulke’s neck.
 
Shoving her away, he slammed his empty mug on the bar, loudly shouting
for more ale.

The tapster reached him just as he pitched towards the
bar.
  

Osbert broke away from the woman he was haggling with
as Warin leapt forward.
 
Before either
could reach him, Fulke’s forehead struck the wood with a resounding thunk.
 

Belatedly realizing he was no longer upright, Gervase
slurred, “My liege, it is too early to turn in.”

Leaning close to Gervase’s ear, Guy shouted, “He has
passed out, lack-wit!”

Warin and Osbert hefted Fulke’s dead weight between
them. Slipping ahead of them by the steps, Lecie led them to a chamber.

Struggling up the narrow passage, Warin huffed, “If
our liege cannot handle his drink, perhaps he should not drink so much.”

Osbert chuckled, backing into Fulke’s chamber.
 
“Albin has been known to help his stupors
along, Warin.”

They stepped back after dropping Fulke on the bed.

“The man is a veritable giant,” Warin breathed.

Unstrapping Fulke’s bawdryk, Osbert lifted his weapons
from him. “One tends to forget when he is more in control of himself.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Lecie’s soft voice
brought a flush to Osbert’s face.

Warin reached for Fulke’s booted foot.
 
“His lordship just needs to sleep it off.
Thank you, Lecie.”

“I shall be turning in now. Should you have need of
anything, please seek out the tapster, Hamon.”

Closing the door softly behind her, Osbert looked
wistful. “A man could lose himself in that woman’s eyes.”

“Let me know when one shows up,” Warin replied dryly.
“Would you please keep women off your mind long enough to concentrate on the
task at hand?”

“One day you are bound to be as bad as the rest of
us,” Osbert smirked.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Just grab a leg.”

As they struggled with Fulke’s boots, they were forced
to step back when he flung a muscular arm out. Mumbling incoherently, he rolled
over to hug a pillow to him, slurring Reina’s name.

Warin exchanged a pleased grin with Osbert. “Go back
to your wenches, I shall stay with him.”

Osbert cocked a brow. “You shall remain here all
night?”

“Just be sure to have clean linens sent up first thing
in the morn.”

“At least using our chamber will assure clean linens.”

Warin wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You doubt their
cleanliness, yet you bed them?”

“Of course. If I am stuck with the homely one, I shall
blow out the candle.”

Closing the door, Warin prepared a pallet behind it.
 
Settling down, he crossed his arms behind his
head, staring at the designs cast on the ceiling by the flickering candle.
 
Worried about Reina, he drifted into an
uneasy sleep.

The weak light of dawn filtering through the shutters
caused Fulke to stir.
 
Boasting a
splitting headache, he pressed the heel of his palms to his throbbing temples.
Grateful for the cushioning comfort of a bed beneath him, he flung out an arm,
relieved to find himself alone.

Rolling into a sitting position, he held his head,
waiting for the chamber to stop spinning. Taking in his surroundings through
slitted eyes, he spotted Warin.
 
Attempting a smile at the lad’s loyalty, it turned into a painful
grimace.
  

Urgently needing to use the garderobe, he reached for
his boots beside the bed.
 
Losing his
balance, he fell forward, banging his already pounding head into the wall.
Holding his head, he fell back on the bed. The additional pain rendering him
speechless.

“Is there anything I can do for you, my liege?”
 

“Aye,” he croaked, stumbling to his feet. “You can
help me get my boots on.”

Raking his hands through his disheveled hair, he
staggered down the steps.
 
Glad to find
the common room blessedly silent, he careened through the tables to the back of
the tavern.

He was surprised to find Lecie standing behind the bar
on his return.

Her dark hair parted down the middle, pulled back into
braids, she eyed his approach. “Good morn, your lordship. I did not have a
chance to greet you on your arrival yester-eve."

Taking a seat before her, Fulke propped both elbows on
the bar, supporting his head with his hands. “Morn, Lecie,” he replied
hoarsely. “I have yet to see anything good about it.”

Pouring a mug of ale, she set it down before him. “My
mother always said to have a little in the morning of what you had a lot of the
night before, your lordship.
 
It will
make you feel better.”

Warily eyeing the mug, he replied, “I shall have to
take your word for it.”
 
With a grimace,
he tossed back the mug’s contents. Leaning back, he braced his hands on the
bar. Keeping his gorge down, he relaxed. “Your mother must be a wise woman,
Lecie.”
 

“Aye. She was the very best of women, your lordship.”

Realizing his mistake, Fulke said, “I am sorry for
your loss. How did it happen, if you do not mind my asking?”

“We lost her in childbirth, both she and the babe,”
she murmured sadly.

“I am sorry, lass.” Changing the subject, he ventured,
“I do not recall seeing Edric. Does he not tend bar nights?”

Lecie lowered her eyes. “I fear he is unwell again
with the coughing illness that plagues him.
 
He has been bedridden for some time.”

“I am sorry to hear it, Lecie,” Fulke said softly,
resolving to keep his big mouth shut.
 

Lecie filled the awkward silence. “I hear that glad
tidings are in order on your recent marriage, your lordship.”

 
The image of
Reina’s pain-filled eyes rose up to haunt him. “Her ladyship would have been
better off had she never met me.”
 

“Begging your pardon, your lordship, is that not
something for your lady to decide?”

Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation
seemed to be taking, he remained silent, toying with his empty mug.

“Never you mind, your lordship,” she said lightly.
“Things always have a way of working out.”

He gave her a sorrowful smile. “You are wise beyond
your years, Lecie.”

“I oft times feel old beyond my years,” she responded
softly.

Feeling his stomach roil, he chuckled, “I know exactly
what you mean.”
 

“When you are up to it, I have porridge and warm yeast
rolls this morn.”

“Mayhap when the rest of the men come down to break
their fast.”

The pounding of little feet on the steps drew their
attention as two small blond girls with long braids flying sped into view.

Turning the corner into the tavern, they came to a
screeching halt before Fulke. Wide-eyed, they began communicating in hurried
whispers.

Lecie scolded, “Osana and Sabina.”

Ignoring her, the braver of the two girls stepped
forward, the other clinging shyly to the back of her woolen kirtle. Staring up
at Fulke, she asked boldly, “Are you a giant?”

Fulke’s lips twitched as he leaned down to gaze into
her golden-brown eyes. “Most tend to think so little one.”

In reply, the little girl glanced back at her twin,
“see, I told you.” Pulling her sister along, they rushed off towards the kitchen.

Lecie blushed. “I am very sorry, your lordship. I fear
they are too bold.”

Fulke held up a hand. “I take no offense, Lecie. Is
there not a small lad usually hard on their heels?”

“Aye. I best go wake him. Clayton is apt to sleep the
morn away, if I let him.” She hesitated. “Would it be too bold to ask after Sir
Albin, your lordship? I did not see him with the rest of your men.”
 

Running a hand along his jaw, Fulke frowned.
 
The two had not parted on the best of terms.
“I am sure he is well. He remains at Castell Maen with Sir Talan and her
ladyship.”

“Thank you.” She lowered her eyes. “Please excuse me.”

It was not the first time he noticed Lecie’s
attraction to Albin.
 
From the sounds of
it, her husband suffered with the wasting illness.
 
Although much older than she, it troubled him
that she would willingly make a cuckold of a dying man.

* * * *

Gone less than a fortnight, Reina still struggled with
the overwhelming sorrow threatening to consume her.
 
In order to keep from dwelling on Fulke, she
walked with Hylda through the frosty air to the village each morning.
 
Treating a variety of cuts and burns brought
on by the season’s tanning process their skills remained in demand.
   

On slower days, they spent their time instructing the
village women various ways to make healing remedies.
 
Showing them the use of alder bark, she had
Thea reveal her healed fingers.
 
She
demonstrated how yarrow could be used to fight off infections. Leading them
into the woods, she pointed out various herbs that would complement the
pottages they served to their families for supper.

Reina spent most of her free time in the village with
Helewys and Thea. Both young widows, she sensed sorrow in the sisters that
matched her own.

Evenings were the hardest. Often passed in the Great
Hall, she found comfort in being around others who cared for Fulke. Talan and
Albin would often share tales of his past exploits in battle. Her heart ached
to hear it, even as she yearned for more.

One evening as she sat stitching by the fire with
Hylda, Talan approached. “Would you be willing to show me how to converse with
you, my lady?”

Grateful to have a task to keep her occupied, she
faced Hylda.
“Inform Sir Talan it would please me
greatly, Hylda.”

Averting her lips, Hylda spoke to the knight.
 

Seeing his eyes flare wide in surprise, Reina
sighed.
 
Arching a brow at Hylda, she
drummed her fingers on the armrest until she reluctantly met her gaze.
“Tell him in my words, if you please.”

Facing her, Hylda grudgingly amended her response. “My
lady would be pleased to instruct you.”

Reina stood to gesture for Talan to take a seat at the
table. Taking a seat beside Hylda, she entreated,
“Please
behave yourself.”

“When do I not?”

Shaking her head at Hylda’s surprised expression,
Reina smiled for the first time since Fulke left.
  

From that evening on, the trio spent their evenings
together. During those times when the quiet knight opened up to them, Reina
could see why the ladies were so attracted to him. Beneath the solemn exterior,
she found a genuine friend.

Turning his chair, Albin would often follow their
progress from his place beside the fire, waving off their numerous attempts to
include him.

Doing remarkably well, Hylda began to add her own
twist to Reina’s words. Turning in such a way Reina could not follow, Hylda
found humor in eliciting startled looks from Talan.
 

Seeing Talan’s eyes widen in alarm to an innocent
query or response, she would chastise Hylda.
  

It did not take Talan long to catch on. Determined to
put a stop to it, he approached Reina before Hylda joined them one evening. “My
lady, I was wondering if perhaps you would allow me to jest with Hylda.”

Reina smiled mischievously.
“What shall
we do?”

By the time Hylda entered the hall, they were sitting
quietly at the table, waiting for her. Taking a seat beside Talan, she smiled
smugly. “Mayhap you will stagger us and learn something this eve, Sir Talan.”

“I have no doubt I shall,” Talan replied with a smirk.

Fighting a smile, Reina said,
“Sir Talan,
would you care to sup?”

He turned in feigned affront to Hylda. “Did her
ladyship just ask me if I would care to tup?”

“Do not be a fool,” she snapped. “She inquired if you
would care to sup.”

Talan leapt to his feet. “My liege shall hear what you
are about during his absence, my lady.”

Hylda sat slack-jawed staring after Talan as he
stalked from the hall.

Laughing, Reina covered her face with her hands to
hide her mirth.

Hylda patted her back in comfort.
 

Glancing up, Reina took in Hylda’s stunned expression
as Talan rejoined them. “Will you concede I have learned enough to carry a
conversation with the lady on my own, Hylda?”

“Aye, it would seem so,” she admitted.

Reina patted her hand.
“We did not
mean to alarm you overmuch, Hylda. You did, however, have it coming, did you
not?”

Hylda’s weathered cheeks held the hint of a blush as
she stood.
 
“Since I am no longer needed,
I shall take my leave. That tetchy castellan is in need of a sound tongue
lashing.”

“Hylda, please do not give Rowan
such a hard time. He means well.”

“It took me a full day to search the woods for the
herbs he discarded for weeds,” she replied stubbornly.
 

“He did not know what they were
to be used for.”

“If he did not guard the larder key like a ferocious
beasty, I would not have been forced to dry them in the hall.”
 

Following her flight towards the kitchens, Reina
wished there was some way to warn Rowan.

She turned back to Talan when he lightly touched her
sleeve. “My lady, may I ask you a personal question?”
 

Surprised by the request, Reina replied,
“Of course, Talan.
 
What is it
you wish to know?”

“Did we do wrong in telling you about Fulke’s past, my
lady?”
 

Speechless for a moment, Reina slowly shook her head.
“I am grateful to you both for telling me, Talan.
 
I only wish Fulke would have cared enough to
tell me himself.”

“If I may be so bold my lady, my liege does care for
you, a great deal I would wager, for no other reason would he leave.”

“Yet, not enough to return to
me,”
she replied sadly.

At a loss, Talan reached out to touch her hand. “You
must hold to the faith that he will find his way, my lady.”

* * * *

On the nights Talan played chess with Albin, Reina’s
sorrow would become unbearable. Excusing herself, she would seek out her
chamber.