Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 (28 page)

Fulke sat alone in the dark of a barren dank cell,
deep below the castle.
 
The sounds of
those he knew had been tortured, maimed and left to rot in cells echoed eerily
through the passages.
 
Listening to the
poor wretches praying for an end to their suffering, he thanked God for his
only consolation; Reina could not hear it.
 
The cries of despair overwhelmed him for those poor souls, knowing he
had never heard of Henry granting a reprieve.
 

Believing his own life forfeit, he sank to his knees,
praying the king would spare the lives of Reina and their unborn child.

A key grating in the lock had him rising to face the
door.
 
If they were coming to execute
him, he would go to his death pleading for Reina’s life.

Two men-at-arms entered holding torches to stand on
either side of the door as a third person entered the cell.

Recognizing the king, he bowed low. “Sire.”

“Leave us,” Henry commanded.

Hastily setting their torches in two of the iron
brackets lining the wall, the guards departed, closing the door behind them.

Henry regarded Fulke for a long moment. “I need not
say that I am very displeased with you.”

“I felt I had no other choice, Sire,” Fulke responded
softly.
 

“What choice have you left me?
 
Henry shouted, “You openly defied me before
the entire court!”

Willing to grovel on behalf of Reina, Fulke calmly
faced the enraged king. “You ordered an innocent woman to be thrown in the
dungeon for treason, Sire.
 
As a knight
of the realm and her husband, I acted solely on instinct to protect her.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision, damn you,” he
raged.
 
“After Reynold exposed her to the
court, what choice had I?”

“I ask you the same, Sire.”
 

“Had you heeded my earlier warning about your
weakness, we would not be in this situation.
 
Do you realize I am being pressured by my advisors to take your head?”
Henry’s questioning shout echoed down the passage.

“I willingly give it to see my lady safe, Sire.”

“Fie!” Henry swore, shaking his head in
frustration.
 
“My best warrior brought
low by a woman.”

“She is my life, Sire.” Fulke responded softly.

Henry threw his hands up. “Geoffrey is ranting to
anyone who would listen that I set a spy upon him. If I spare your lives, rumor
will spread it was I behind her actions.”

Glancing at the vermin-infested dirt beneath his feet,
Henry stormed to the door.
 
Flinging it
open, he bellowed, “Fetch comforts at once.”

As Fulke looked on with surprise, Henry paced the
length of the small chamber as guards set about their task.
 
When they were finished, a floor covering,
two chairs, a table and various refreshments filled the small cell to
overflowing.

Henry poured himself a cup of wine. “Seat yourself,
Fulke.”

He declined refreshment as he took the chair beside
Henry.

Mentally preparing for Henry’s inevitable punishment,
he waited in silence.
 
He only hoped
Henry would show enough mercy so he could say goodbye to Reina.

“It is no secret you saved my life,” Henry began. “I
would lay a wager I could find a bishop willing to vow it would be a sin to
take your life in return.
 
It is no
secret Archbishop Corbeil is particularly fond of you.”

A slight flicker of hope lit deep within Fulke as
Henry continued. “As displeased as I am with you, it fails to surpass the rage
I feel at Reynold’s rash act.”

Setting his cup on a low wood table, he steepled his
fingers as if a thought had occurred to him.
 
After a moment, he slid his gaze to Fulke. “I believe I may have found a
way to remove us both from this mire, Fulke.”

Daring to hope, he waited for the king’s next words.

“It would mean making a scapegoat of Reynold.”

* * * *

Early the next morning, Fulke waited for the final
scene to play out.
 
Hearing the echoing
footfalls of the guards, he rose from his seat to stand against the wall.

The door opened to admit a gloating, Reynold.
 
His eyes widening at the cell’s comforts, he
stepped before the king. Dropping into a bow, he smirked at Fulke as he rose.
“You sent me for me, Sire?”
   

“I did,” Henry replied coldly.

Seeing the door swing open, it took every ounce of
self-control Fulke had to keep from running to Reina when she hesitantly
stepped through the door.

At the sight of her dirty, disheveled appearance, rage
eclipsed his relief.
 
While affording him
comforts, the wellbeing of his innocent Reina did not even occur to Henry.
 
Knowing how much she feared the dark, he hid
his fury behind a passive mask.

Her gaze resting on him, Reina’s face lit with relief
as she rushed to him.
 
Wrapping her arms
around his waist, she buried her head in his chest, weeping
uncontrollably.
 

Attempting to sooth her, he held her against him,
stroking the back of her head.
 
Catching
Henry’s glower, he eased away causing her to clutch his sleeve.
“Fulke, I am afraid for you.”

“Do you remember what I said about having faith in
me?” he mouthed.

She nodded, tears slipping from her eyes.

“Hold to that now, Reina, I must do this.”

Biting her lip, she clung to him.
 

Reynold eyed them with dawning suspicion as Henry
stood keeping his back to the trio.

Showing a glimpse of the fearsome warrior he once was,
he snatched a dagger from its sheath.
 
Rushing forward, he drove the point against Reynold’s throat. “Give me a
reason not to slit your throat, churl.”

Reina gasped as Reynold stuttered incoherently at the
latest turn of events.
 

Stumbling over his words, he managed a weak, “Sire,
what have I done to deserve this?”

Henry pressed the blade to the point of drawing blood.
“I am Henry Beauclerc. Educated to be a bishop and son of the mighty Conqueror
of England.
 
Do you believe I was unaware
of her ladyship’s ability?”

Petrified, Reynold remained silent. If he said yes, he
would insult the king. If he said no, it would be admitting that he knowingly
exposed Reina’s secret. Either way, he was likely to be strung-up before day’s
end.
 
Refusing to answer altogether, he
chose his own way, whimpering incoherently.

Disgusted, Henry lowered the dagger, kicking Reynold
to the dirt beneath his feet.

Scrambling up to kneel in supplication, Reynold began
to plead. “I beg of you, give me a chance to make amends, Sire.”

Shrewdly eyeing him, the ghost of a smile crossed
Henry’s face. “What use could you be to me, Reynold?”

He caught sight of Reina’s ashen face, addressing
Fulke. “Pray Fulke, your lady looks terrified, have her take a seat before she
collapses.
 
I have no intention of spilling
the bastard’s blood.”
 
He glanced down at
Reynold. “Yet.”

Fulke guided Reina to a seat as she craned her neck to
keep her frightened gaze focused on the king.
 
Gently forcing her to sit, Fulke stood at her side as she clung to his
hand.

Glaring down at Reynold, Henry sneered, “You are unfit
for the nobility.
 
Rise, you worthless
churl.”

Reynold stood on quivering limbs, unable to meet
Henry’s fierce gaze. “I will do anything Sire,” he pleaded.

“Your life hinges on the following three conditions, Reynold.
 
Fail even one and I shall have your head on a
pike as warning to all who would speak false witness against another in my
court.”

“I will do anything,” he wailed.

Placing the dagger under Reynold’s chin, Henry mocked,
“My conditions suit your noble-born self?”

“Aye Sire,” he whispered.

“First and foremost, you, along with every baron you
have convinced otherwise, will swear allegiance to Matilda.”

He wiped the blood from the dagger on Reynold’s tunic.
“Know this,” he leaned close enough to whisper, “If I lose the majority by even
one vote, it shall mean your head.”

“Aye, my king,” he squeaked.

“Secondly, you shall go forth to convince every last
noble present in that hall, starting with Geoffrey of Anjou and ending with
King David, that you were mistaken about her ladyship.”

He pressed the dagger against Reynold’s bleeding neck.
“Do you understand?” he asked softly.

“Aye, my king,” he gasped.”

“Thirdly, you shall beg her ladyship’s
forgiveness.
 
She has been the subject of
malicious slander which you have proliferated.”

“Sire, grant me the chance,” he pleaded.

“If I were you Reynold, I would make the apology a
good one.” Lowering the dagger, Henry stepped back waiting.

Unaware of Henry’s words, Reina watched in horror as
Reynold pleaded with the king, jumping back in her seat when he suddenly spun
around to drop to his knees before her. Staring at the top of his bent head,
tears began to leak from her eyes.

Seeing Reina on the verge of panic, Fulke glared with
contempt at the man kneeling before her.
 
It was only for her sake that he took pity on him. “Her ladyship needs
to see your lips, Reynold.”

Reynold began mumbling again as he stared up at Reina.
Grabbing the hem of her kirtle, he began to wring his hands in the folds,
begging her forgiveness.

Fulke glared at the man brought down by his own
vindictiveness. “Remove your hands from my wife or I shall remove them for
you.”

Reynold dropped the hem to raise his hands in
supplication, begging Reina’s forgiveness for assaulting her.
 

Henry lunged forward at these words.
 
“What is this about an assault whilst the
lady was under my protection?”

Fulke watched dispassionately as Reynold began to sob
incoherently in fear. He found Reina’s frightened gaze resting on him and knew
what she would want. “My lady would not have me make issue of the matter,
Sire.”

Henry stepped back, which began another round of
disjointed begging from Reynold.
 

Reina glanced up at Fulke with frightened eyes.
“I do not understand.”

Fulke gently caressed her cheek.
 
“Reynold is asking for you to forgive him, my
love.
 
If you choose to deny him, his
life will be forfeit.”

 
Reina released
her numbing grip on Fulke’s hand to clasp Reynold’s shoulders.

His mouth open, he gazed fearfully up at her.

She tilted her head for Fulke to see her lips.
“Tell him I forgive him, my lord.”

“My gracious lady grants you forgiveness, Reynold.”

Reina sank back in fear as Henry stepped forward.

Henry skimmed her face as if surprised by her
reaction, before frowning down on Reynold. “It appears you have passed your
first obstacle, Reynold.” He flicked his hand. “Be gone, harder tasks await
you.”

Avoiding Reina’s sympathetic gaze, Reynold pulled the
collar of his bliaut up to hide his wounded neck before bowing.

“Remember this day, Reynold,” the king called after
him. “You owe your worthless life,” he paused, “to a woman.”

Lowering his gaze, Reynold replied in a strained
voice, “Aye, Sire.”