Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 (2 page)

The victorious English were returning home.

Strapping on his sword, Fulke slid his dagger into its sheath.
 
Grabbing his cloak, he gazed with
indifference at the naked whore reclining on his straw pallet.
 
“Will you not stay longer?” she purred.
Spreading her legs invitingly.

He tossed a denier in the dirt by her feet. “Your services are no
longer required.”
 
Pushing the tent flap
aside, he ignored the French slurs following him out.

Striding past scores of soldiers preparing to embark on the voyage
home, he made his way down to the crowded shoreline. Skimming the league long
stretch of celebrating men, he spotted Albin’s dark curly hair.
 
Picking his way around the men stowing their
battle gear, he made his way over to where he stood with Guy.
 
“We are to sail on the ship following William
Adelin’s.”

Albin shielded his eyes from the setting sun’s glare as he scanned the
line of troop ships. “Which one is the prince’s?”
 

“He sails on the largest, the White Ship.
 
It is the merchant vessel anchored fourth
from the left.
 
The prince has already
boarded with his entourage.”

Albin grinned. “I shall rejoice to walk on English soil once again.”

“Aye, Albin,” Guy agreed.
 
“I
shall rejoice to see the fair English ladies.”

Fulke shared the same sentiments, yet remained silent.
 
Gathering his packs, he made his way towards
the ship as the others dropped in behind him.

Finding a space on the deck, he set down his gear.
 
Scanning the choppy waves of the channel, he
frowned.
 
“It grows dark; we have tarried
too long in celebration.”

“The sky is clear, Fulke.
 
It
should make for a smooth crossing,” Albin replied.

With a noncommittal grunt, he noted Guy’s ashen color. Muttering under
his breath, he asked, “I take it you have never sailed before, lad?”
 

Guy swallowed hard. “No, my liege.”
  

He shared a knowing look with Albin. “Stay close to the side.” He
added, “Well away from me.”

Seated on rows of benches in a recessed center of the ship, oarsmen
prepared to set sail.
 
Hearing the blast
of a horn, the men onboard fell silent.
 
Listening to the herald announce the arrival of the king’s nephew,
Stephen of Blois, low murmurs ran the length of the deck.

Fulke joined Guy at the rail to clear the count’s path as he headed to
the stern with his entourage.
 
In
passing, he halted before him. “You are the knight who came to the aid of the
king?”

“I am Fulke, your lordship,” he dipped his head.

“You have my gratitude, Fulke.”

“Thank you, your lordship.”

Stephen gestured to the adjacent ship. “I have decided to forego
sailing with the prince. It appears William remains bent on celebrating.”
 

“The ship is prepared to sail at your command, your lordship.”

Stephen regarded him for a moment.
 
“I have heard much about you, Sir Fulke. We shall speak at length
another time.”

“I shall look forward to it, your lordship.”

After Stephen had moved on through the crowded deck, Fulke moved to the
rail beside Albin.
  
Larger than the
transport ships, the White Ship could hold no more passengers.
 
Hundreds of nobles, most of them related to
the king, packed the deck. In the midst of them all, the triumphant prince
celebrated the return to England with barrels of French wine.
  

Hearing the call for the oarsman to set-to, Fulke remained uneasy. “I
have a bad feeling about this, my friend.
 
The channel can be treacherous even by the light of day.”

Albin sighed, “Aye, mayhap you are right. Yet who are we to say
anything?”

* * * *

In the dark of a new moon, they gradually navigated off the Normandy
coast.
 
Not long past the treacherous
rocks of Barfleur, they heard the destructive sound of splintering wood carried
to them on the brisk November wind.

“The prince’s ship has struck the rocks!” The shout brought all aboard
to their feet.
 

“Row about!”
 
Stephen of Blois
bellowed to the oarsmen. Instantly taking charge of the situation.

By the time the ship maneuvered around, they were too late.
 
Reaching the rocks where the White Ship
foundered, they held torches aloft, scanning the churning waves for any living
sign of the more than three hundred souls aboard.

Fulke watched in horror as Stephen bowed his head, before ordering,
“Make for the coast.
 
At first light, we
search for the body of the prince.”

England was without an heir.

Kenwick Keep

Lincolnshire Wolds

England 1126

Crashing through the vibrant underbrush of autumn, Warin spotted his
sister sitting beside the stream.
 
Out of
breath, he rushed up to her.
 
“Reina you
should not be here, Baron Erlegh will be arriving soon.”

Reina inhaled sharply at Warin’s abrupt approach, before replying, “I
have no intention of seeing his lordship.”

He sank down on the bank beside her with a frown. “Father is bound to
be wroth if you do not return to the keep with me.”

She smiled fondly, resisting the urge to rumple his hair. Six years
younger than she at ten and three, he remained the boy she loved beneath the
exterior of a growing man.
 
Tall and
gangly with thick brown hair, bright hazel eyes and dimples, his boyish face
held the promise of the handsome knight he would one day become.

“Father will be too busy currying his lordship’s favor to even notice
my absence.”

“My mother has already noticed,” he put in reluctantly.
 

Reina had no doubt.
 
Her father’s
wife had already ordered her to stay away from Baron Erlegh, until after the
betrothal negotiations.
 
“As instructed,
I shall stay in my chamber after his lordship arrives. Your mother has nothing
to worry about.”

“I am sorry Reina.”

She shook her head. “Not today, Warin.
 
This is your day.”

He nodded, swallowing hard.

She forced a smile to change the subject. “So tell me. Is it true that
his lordship has met with Archbishop Corbeil of Canterbury?”

“Aye, in his lordship’s service, I may even get to journey as far as
London to see the king.”
 

Reina brightened to see him so excited.
 
“According to Father Godfrey, it is sure to be a certainty.
 
His lordship has been in favor with King
Henry for some time now.”

“I cannot wait to see Castell Maen.”

“You will be in his lordship’s service for eight years. You are bound
to have your fill of the castle, Warin.”

He quickly sobered.
 
“It is a
long time to be separated from you, Reina.”

On the verge of tears, she said, “You better get back now, before
father sends someone in search of you.”
 
She
gazed at the cloudless blue sky. “I intend to enjoy this beautiful day.”

Warin stood, absently brushing the dirt from the back of his best
tunic.
 
“Father still wishes for you to
return.
 
Do not tarry long.”

She watched him make his way back through the shedding trees before
giving into tears.

* * * *

“Shall I ride ahead, my liege?”
 
Osbert dared question his sullen liege.

After a two-day journey, they were within sight of Kenwick Village. A
hot meal, cool ale, and soft pallet sounded good to the weary men.

“Aye, ride ahead. Though I warrant I am in no hurry to reach this
journey’s end,” he replied, spurring his horse to brood alone.

After losing himself for years on the battlefield, he found his only
solace exchanged for an unwelcome baronage.
 
As if that were not bad enough, King Henry’s latest command had him
seeking a wife in order to beget male heirs.
 

The king was a changed man since losing his only legitimate son.

At eight past a score, Fulke had no desire to settle down.
 
Recently named overseer to the construction
of a fortified tower in Rochester, he dared hope the king had reconsidered his
decree.
 
Instead, he commanded Fulke to
accomplish the deed before his winter progress report in London.

The king’s older brother remained captive in Wales a full score after
his failed attempt to take the throne for himself.
 
Fulke did not intend to join Robert.

Muscled by years of battle, Fulke stood a head taller than most men
did.
 
His chest, dusted lightly with
hair, tapered to a lean waist.
 
His
blonde, sun-kissed hair reached his collar and his ice-blue eyes had only to
settle on a woman to find an unspoken invitation.
 
One quirk of a well-shaped brow would have
the lady warming his bed.

Thus far, the king chose to overlook his many court dalliances,
dismissing more than one cuckolded husband’s pleas for justice.
 
In a court rife with nobles as weak as their
chins, Fulke stood out as a warrior.
    

Often finding pleasure in the beds of noblewomen, he could not name one
he would willingly marry.
 
Shallow and
vain, they coveted titles, along with their possessions.
 
Once they had them, they produced heirs to
send to the country, while they enjoyed an immoral life of indulgence.

Left with no choice, the solution to Fulke’s problem arrived on his doorstep
in Rochester with the appearance of a member of the gentry, Sir Everard of
Kenwick.
 
A wealthy elder knight seeking
to foster his young son, he traveled from the country to meet him.

Lost in the overbearing shadow of his father, Fulke felt for the
lad.
 
Older than most pages, he still
agreed to train him for knighthood.
 
When
Sir Everard also happened to mention his daughter had reached marriageable age,
he decided on the spot to meet her.
 
So
long as she possessed a meek temperament, he would immediately follow the
king’s command before he returned to court.

Since the abrupt end to his own childhood, he desired a life of battle
in service to the crown.
 
Only in the
heat of combat could he find escape from the painful memories of his past.
 
He did not intend to allow a forced marriage
to hinder his plans.

“One would think you want to be alone, Fulke.”

Without turning, Fulke let out a resigned sigh as his oldest friend
rode up beside him.
 
“To what do I owe
this dubious honor, Albin?”

“I thought to cheer you a bit with my pleasing presence.”

“There is naught that would please me this day.
 
Fall back with the men and leave me be.”

“If marriage were such a punishment, Henry would not command it of
you,” Albin replied matter-of-factly.

“You believe as the rest that I am in favor with Henry?
 
If that were so, I would not be obligated to
take a wife.”

“Henry oversees your own interests, Fulke.
 
You are a titled baron now.
 
It is vital you produce an heir to secure
your holdings.”

“I did not seek a baronage, Albin. I would never have petitioned Henry,
had I known what he would force me to do.”

“Surely, you did not believe Henry would release you to join Hugues de
Payens and his band of nine?
 
I warned
you of the futility of your request, before you made it.
 
He would never agree to send you to the Royal
Palace on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem.”

“The order has been charged to protect Christian pilgrims’ enroute to
the Holy Land.
 
It is a noble, just
cause.
 
Since the crusade, it has become
a necessity. As a loyal subject, it should not have been denied me."

“The Templar order also happens to be a religious order, Fulke.
 
Perhaps they seek knights of a more pious
bent.”

“I missed the crusade, banned from entering a noble order, commanded to
marry, and now forced to endure the company of a fool.”
 
Spurring his horse, Fulke ignored the loud
laugh behind him.

He rounded a bend to find the small village of Kenwick spread out
before him.
 
Carved from the dense woods
that surrounded it, the village consisted of two rows of small thatched peasant
huts, separated by a rutted dirt road running down its center.

As he reached the road, he caught a flash of red in the sun’s setting
rays.
 
Glancing towards one of the
smaller huts, he spotted a petite woman with gold streaked auburn hair in the
midst of a heated discussion with his newly acquired page.

Wearing a long-sleeved under dress of cream with a short-sleeved kirtle
of brown wool, her plaited hair reached below her slender waist.
 
Gesturing wildly with delicate hands, she
shook her head angrily at the flushed lad.

Warin looked up with alarm as he approached.
  

As she followed his gaze, the brilliant blue eyes of the woman widened
as they locked on his.

Fulke inhaled sharply as he felt her searching gaze reach deep within
him. Exhaling only after Warin recaptured her attention by touching her
sleeve.
 

Stunned by her delicate beauty, lust coursed through Fulke.
 
His shaft bulged against his braies, forcing
him to shift in the saddle at the sudden discomfort.

Preparing to dismount, he stopped himself when the woman abruptly
pulled away from Warin.

Without so much as a cursory glance in his direction, she entered the
thatched hut behind her. Staring in disbelief at the rickety door shut against
him, the approach of his men drew his attention.

By their bawdy comments, it became clear he was not the only one
affected by the woman.
 
Marking the hut
with his eyes, he fully intended to make a future visit to the peasant
lass.
 

“My liege, welcome to Kendrick,” Warin called.

Gervase interrupted from behind him. “Who was the beauty you were
having words with, lad?”

“My sister, Sir Gervase.
 
She is
tending an ill child” Vaulting onto his horse, he added, “She will return to
the keep before long.”

In a better mood, Fulke smiled at his flustered page. “Be at ease lad.
Your sister is to be commended for her noble task.”

“Of course, my liege,” Warin replied. “With your permission, I shall
ride ahead to see that all is in readiness for your visit.”

Fulke dipped his head. “We shall follow directly.”
 

He watched Warin ride off as he nudged his horse into motion, thinking
of the jests he had endured from the men regarding his future wife. Glancing
over his shoulder, he slanted a brow. “What think you now of Sir Everard’s daughter?”

Satisfied with their crestfallen expressions, he spurred his horse to a
faster gait.

Amazed he felt more than a passing interest in a woman; something about
Warin’s sister fascinated him.
 
Not only
beautiful, her stubborn determination to tend a child not her own showed a
depth of compassion lacking in the well bred ladies of court.

He suddenly could not believe his luck.
 
Perchance King Henry granted him a boon when he commanded him to wed, he
mused. A beautiful woman to warm his bed when he wanted her might not be such a
bad thing after all.

Their hopes dashed, his knights grumbled at his back.
 

Gervase once again spoke up, “Perchance the lad has a few more sisters
secreted away, my liege.”

Fulke chuckled, “Can you not go anywhere without thinking of women?”

“What else is there to life, if not fighting, food and fine
women?”
 
He grinned at Guy beside him.
“Not necessarily in that order, of course.”

“Aye,” Guy seconded.
 
“Perhaps
the mistress has a twin, my liege.”

Albin let out a frustrated sigh as Talan shook his head.
 

“You are both out of luck,” Fulke called over his shoulder. “Sir
Everard only mentioned one daughter.”

The two knights groaned their defeat in unison.