Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 (8 page)

Left with no choice, he headed to the keep for the midday meal.
 
Scanning the stables, he waited to see if
Warin would join them. When he failed to appear, he assumed Albin was right.
The lad was extremely close with Reina.
 
Perhaps he was taking the parting hard.

“I have not seen the lad since early this morn.” Falling in step beside
him, Albin answered his unasked question.

“Were you seeking Warin, my liege?”

“Aye, have you seen him of late, Talan?”

“Not long past, I saw him enter the woods at the base of the
motte.”
 

“Thank you,” Fulke responded absently, skimming the distant tree line
for any sign of the siblings.
  

He entered the hall behind the men with an uneasy feeling in the pit of
his stomach.

Sir Everard picked from the platters set before him as the men took
their seats.
 
Off to the side, Lady
Baldith stood waiting with Sibilla.

To avoid sitting with Sibilla, Fulke moved to the opposite side of the
table, squeezing in between Gervase and Guy, to the surprise of them both.
 

Undaunted, Sibilla came to stand behind Gervase.
 

Hazarding a glance at Fulke’s deepening scowl he stood to face her.
“Would you care to sit here, Mistress Sibilla?”

“How chivalrous, Sir Knight.” She pressed up against Fulke’s side as
Gervase slid further down the bench.

Gervase swallowed nervously as Fulke’s angry gaze swept him before
coming to rest on Sibilla.
 
Acknowledging
her with a curt nod, he speared a slice of venison from a platter with his
knife.

Intending to request a private meeting with Sir Everard at the
conclusion of the meal, Fulke tipped his tankard back.
 
Choking on the ale he just swallowed, he
stood abruptly when Sibilla’s hand slid up his thigh to cup his groin beneath
the table.

The table fell silent, all heads turned towards him in question.
 

Alarmed, Lady Baldith was the first to speak. “Is there aught amiss,
your lordship?”

Furious with Sibilla’s lack of decorum, Fulke could not think of an
adequate excuse so refrained from offering one. “Please excuse me, my lady.”

“You scarcely touched your fare.
 
Does it not suit you?”
 

“I find I am not at all hungry at the moment,” cursing his traitorous
body when his stomach growled.

Before Baldith could say anything further to deter him, he stepped from
the table.

Striding for the door, he called to his surprised men, “Coming?”

Glancing with longing at their full trenchers, they excused themselves.

He was halfway to the stables by the time they reached the courtyard.

Entering the cool shade of the stalls behind him, Albin noted Fulke’s
aggravated bearing as he saddled his horse.
 

Gervase was about to speak when Albin silenced him by gripping his
shoulder. “Hold your silence, lad.”

For once grateful to Albin for interfering, Fulke rode out. The rest of
the men hastening to catch him.

After several passes at the quintain to cool his rage, Fulke dismounted.
 
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he caught
sight of Hylda returning from the village.
 
Prepared to ask after Reina, he started down the slope to meet her.

Drawing near, he could see Hylda’s distressed state. His heart
pounding, he quickened his pace to a jog.

She looked up at him with tear-swollen eyes as he drew to an anxious
halt before her. “Where is your mistress, Hylda?”

Bowing her head in despair, Hylda mumbled just loud enough for him to
hear, “My Reina is gone.”

“Gone you say?
 
What do you mean
she is gone?”
 
Fulke grabbed her thin
shoulders without realizing it.
 
“Egad
woman. Tell me where Reina is.”
 
Seeing
her grimace in pain, he immediately dropped his hands.
 
“Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt you,
Hylda.”
 
Striving for a calmer tone, he
tried again. “Where is Reina?”

Tears slipped from her warm brown eyes as she stammered, “Sir Everard
has banished her to a Cistercian Convent in Rotheram.”

Stumbling back from her words, he breathed, “Is she to take the veil of
the church?”

Hylda shook her head sadly. “No, your lordship, were that it so.
 
My beloved Reina is to be nothing more than a
lowly servant.
 
Father Godfrey said it
would be her decision to take the veil.
 
If it makes her way easier, I pray that she does so.”

Fulke felt as though lead had suddenly filled his empty stomach.
 
“When did she depart?”

“This morn at sunrise.” She began sobbing. “There is naught anyone can
do, your lordship.”

“We shall see about that,” he replied angrily.

He did not recall walking away from Hylda, for the next thing Fulke
knew, he was stalking into the Great Hall.
 
Finding a young boy tending the hounds, he snapped, “Fetch your
masters.”

Pacing before the hearth to gain control of his fury, he swore, “Fie.
Even I would be better for her than banishment to a bloody convent.”

Envisioning Reina's sparkle doused by a nun’s dour existence, his anger
soared to new heights. He could understand Lady Baldith's motivation, yet for
Sir Everard to do such a thing, sickened him.

His mind in turmoil, he quickly drafted a course of action. King Henry
taught him strategy succeeded where brute force could not.
 
Interlacing his fingers, he cracked his
knuckles, mentally preparing himself.
 
This was one battle he had every intention of winning.

By the time he heard their approach, Fulke portrayed a vision of calm
standing before the fire. Turning to the pair, he gave them a curt nod. “Sir
Everard, Lady Baldith, thank you for answering my summons so quickly.”

Lady Baldith curtseyed while Sir Everard stood stiffly by her side. “Is
there aught amiss, your lordship? My servant was under the impression you were
distressed.”

Fulke perfected an air of nonchalance. “Not at all, Sir Everard.
 
I merely find myself forced to depart on a
matter of great import. Before I do so, I thought it best if we were to
finalize the betrothal accord.”

Lady Baldith gasped with obvious pleasure. “I shall summon refreshment
at once, your lordship.” She gestured towards a seat by the hearth, with a
sweep of her arm. “Pray, take a seat.”

Rudely ignoring her offer, he moved to one of the planked tables.
“Since this matter also affects Mistress Sibilla and Master Warin, it would
please me if you were to summon them as well.”
  

“Of course, your lordship,” Baldith replied eagerly.
 
Hastening off to do his bidding.

Sir Everard crossed to the table, taking a seat on the bench across
from Fulke.
 
Folding his hands before
him, he said bluntly, “I must say, your lordship, I believe this marriage will
be of great benefit to you. My daughter is blessed with a manner that will do
well at court.”

Fulke narrowed his eyes. “I am well aware of that, sir.”

Everard’s eyes flared at his harsh tone.
 
Leaning back in his seat, he kept silent.

Anxious to see the matter settled, Fulke drummed his fingers on the
table.

They both straightened as Warin entered.
 
Avoiding his father’s gaze, he stopped before
Fulke. “You sent for me, my liege?”

Taking in Warin’s pale features, Fulke realized he should have followed
his earlier instinct to question him further.
 
Instead, he wasted most of the day.
 
Reina was now that much closer to reaching the Convent.
   

“I did, lad.
 
We are to discuss a
matter of great import that affects you as well.”

Albin entered, followed by Talan, Gervase, Guy and Osbert.

Fulke bit back a smile at their show of loyalty. Responding to their
solemn stares with a curt nod, he jerked his head to the adjoining table.

Visibly surprised by their presence, Sir Everard asked, “You mean to
discuss matters of import in front of your men, your lordship?”

“I trust my life to them, Sir Everard.
 
I see no reason why they should not be privy to such matters,” he
replied stiffly.

Baldith swept in with a beaming Sibilla. Aiming a puzzled glance at the
somber men, she took a seat beside her husband.
  

Sibilla squeezed close beside Fulke.
 
When he did not so much as acknowledge her with a nod, she pouted, “I am
here, my lord.”

“I am aware, Mistress Sibilla,” he replied coldly.

Choosing not to sit, Warin stood off to the side, staring hard at his
father.

Serfs hurried from the upper level bearing heavy trays.
 
Glancing up to refuse refreshment, Fulke
spotted Hylda hovering in the shadows of the upper passage. A slight smile of
approval touched his lips as he briefly met her gaze.
 

He lowered his eyes as she eased back into the shadows lest he expose
her presence. Hylda took a considerable risk to eavesdrop.
 
It was something any mother would do for a
beloved child.

Glancing at Lady Baldith, he fought to conceal his disgust.
 
Staring at the rings on her right hand, he
let his anger flow through him as he turned a cold stare on Sir Everard. “I
wish to discuss your daughter’s dowaire, sir.”

Sir Everard frowned. “This is all untoward, your lordship. We discussed
the matter at length when last we met.
 
I
assure you nothing has changed.”

Fulke stood to place his hands flat on the table.
 
Leaning forward, he gave into his anger.
 
“I assure you, things have changed. Sir.” In
a tone that his men knew all too well, he continued, “I do not speak of your
favored daughter’s dowaire. I speak of the dowaire for the daughter that you
and your lady wife banished to a convent, just this morn.” His eyes narrowed to
angry slits. “Dare you deny you banished Mistress Reina for no other reason
than she cannot communicate as befitting your high standards?”

The response to his words by those gathered was immediate, ranging from
shock, outrage, surprise and joy. In the midst of it all, Fulke remained
defiant.

Lady Baldith was the first to find her voice. “My husband’s daughter is
worthless, your lordship.”
 
Her dark eyes
sparked with fury. “You could never present her at court.”

Briefly fixated on her rings, he slid his gaze slowly over the arrogant
woman.
 
Contempt flaring in his eyes. “I
would not demean myself to present you at court.” He sneered, “My lady.”

Flustered, Baldith’s face took on an unhealthy shade of red as she
gained her feet. Glaring down at her husband, she snapped, “Say something,
Everard.”

He calmly flicked a hand in her direction. “Leave us. Take Sibilla with
you.”

Sibilla was the last to grasp Fulke’s intent. Her dreams of a life at
court once again dashed, her rage knew no bounds.
 
Jumping to her feet, she whirled to face
Fulke. “You dare place that drasty lack-wit above me?”

Before Fulke could respond, Sir Everard’s fist slammed down on the
table hard enough to split the heavy oak. “You will leave this hall at once,
Sibilla!”

Satisfied with her husband’s unyielding stance, Baldith calmly dragged
her outraged daughter from the hall, murmuring assurances in her ear.

Hearing low chuckles from the men at the adjacent table, she quickened
her pace.

Waiting for the sound of simultaneous door slams from the upper level,
Sir Everard shifted his gaze to Fulke.
 
“Please take a seat, your lordship.”
 
As Fulke stiffly complied, he continued, “For obvious reasons, a dowaire
has not been set aside for my eldest daughter. What do you ask?”