Tender is the Knight (16 page)

he
chamber and changing out the hay in the mattress. Clive had been sent to watch over them, poised at the top of the stairs and watching the women bustle about.  He thought Lyla rather pretty so the watching had been somewhat pleasurable for him. 

Their
zealous cleaning had spilled over into the second chamber on the floor and the big, dirty loft where Rodrick d’ Vant had breathed his last. They had quite a project on their hands and Clive had been roped into helping them with the big mattress in the loft when Dennis mounted the top step and saw all of the activity. There were brooms, buckets of water, and a big basket of hay being put to good use. He grinned as he made his way over to them.

“Clive is a knight, not a house servant,” he told his wife as he came up behind her. “This kind of work is most undignified for him.”

Ryan turned around to see that he was grinning.  Dressed in brown broadcloth with her glorious hair pulled back off her face, she was covered in chaff from the hay. But no amount of chaff or dust could dampen the smile on her face.

“He has become my slave,” she said imperiously. “Beware that I do not make you my slave as well.”

Dennis laughed softly, reaching out to kiss her hand and then spitting out the pieces of straw he had managed to kiss.  Ryan giggled.

“
I am covered with the stuff,” she said. “Kiss me at your own risk.”

Dennis wiped the chaff from his lips. “I will take my chances,” he said, his gray eyes twinkling at her.  Then, he looked around the loft, noting that the bed was pulled apart and someone was repairing the rope sling that supported the mattress. “Who is doing all of this work?”

Ryan brushed a stray hair off her forehead as she followed his focus. “Lyla and I are doing most of this,” she said. “Clive and a few male servants have helped with the heavier items.”

Dennis nodded his approval. “Do not strain
yourself with heavy things,” he said. “I do not want you to injure yourself.”

He was being kind and concerned. Ryan smiled at him,
feeling such warmth and adoration for the man.  Aside from their very bumpy beginning, six days of an agreeable marriage had seen her fall very deeply in love with him.  She wouldn’t tell him, of course, because she was fearful he wouldn’t feel the same way. She knew he was very fond of her and there was compassion and sweetness in everything about him, but love… well, that was never expected within a marriage, and especially not in an arranged one. But she knew that she had his affection and she would have to be content with that.

“I will not, I promise,” she said. “But we could use your help putting our mattress back on our bed.”

He swept his arm in the direction of their chamber. “Lead the way, madam.”

With a smile for his eyes only, Ryan headed towards their bedroom and Dennis followed.  Lyla and Clive followed also and it was Clive and Dennis who eventually heaved the big mattress back onto the bed.   As Dennis brushed off his hands, he noticed that their chamber was
cleaned up and organized.  He also noticed the fabric they had purchased a few days ago neatly stacked against the wall and he pointed at it.

“We have yet to take this material to Mistress Patrizia,” he said to Ryan. “Would you like to take it now?”

Ryan nodded eagerly. “I did not want to ask, knowing you have more important things on your mind.”

His tone softened. “There is nothing more important than you. Ask and it shall be done.”

It was a sweet thing to say, murmured in the most delicious of tones.  Ryan’s heart fluttered. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I will change into a fresh gown quickly.”

Dennis touched her cheek as he turned for the door.
“Clive and I will arrange the escort while you do,” he said, practically shoving Clive from the room. “Come down into the hall when you are ready to depart.”

Ryan looked rather surprised. “Go down
into the hall? Unescorted?”

Dennis winked at her.  “I will see you down there in a little while.”

He shut the door softly behind him, leaving Ryan and Lyla looking at each other somewhat surprised.  Ryan finally shook her head in wonder as she turned for her trunks.

“That is the first time he has told me to leave these rooms unescorted,” she said. “I wonder why?”

Lyla also went to the trunks and began helping Ryan open them. “He must feel that it is safe,” she said. “Mayhap his terrible sister is finally locked up in the vault.”

“Or
still incapacitated after I thrashed her.”

“I wish I had seen it!”

Ryan grinned as she began pulling out surcoats. “I wish you had as well,” she said, unwilling to comment more on Charlotte because she honestly didn’t know what more to say. She waved her arms at her cousin. “Hurry and change your clothing.  I would return in time to oversee the evening meal.”

Lyla scattered, heading for the wash basin just as Ryan was. 
“Dennis has let you oversee the meal for the past three days,” she said excitedly. “He must trust you a great deal.”

Ryan poured clean water into the earthenware bowl. “He is simply allowing me to carry out my duties as chatelaine,” she said. “Truthfully, the cook and the servants have
been very cooperative, especially with Dennis following me around like a guard dog. It has not been such a difficult task.”

“
I would imagine not,” Lyla agreed. “Has Dennis said anything more about his sister?”

Ryan shook her head.
“Not a word,” she admitted. “I do not know if she is well or still injured.  He has not mentioned anything about her and, frankly, I do not care. I am glad to be rid of her in any case.”

Lyla heartily agreed.
Since the incident between Ryan and Charlotte, that measure of fear had been removed from their lives, however temporary. Between the two of them, they managed to wash the chaff off and freshen up with the precious lemon soap.  Within the hour they were dressed and combed, and making their way down to the great hall where Dennis was waiting for them clad in full battle armor.

Charlotte was with him.

***

             
It was a silent ride into the port town of St. Austell.  Ryan rode atop her palfrey rather stiffly, clad in a pale blue surcoat with a darker blue cloak over her shoulders with a hem that trailed over the back of the palfrey.  Clouds threatened overhead but so far, no rain had fallen.  Patches of blue sky streamed down upon them, steaming up the knights in their armor but warming the ladies nicely.

             
Dennis and Charlotte rode at the head of the escort with eight soldiers surrounding Ryan and Lyla, and Clive and Riston bringing up the rear.   The roads were still rather wet and slippery from the rains and the heavy chargers would slip on occasion.  As they drew nearer to the town, they happened to come across the merchant avenue and the same smells of baking bread filled the air.

             
Ryan and Lyla inhaled deeply, glancing hungrily at each other.  Ryan would not be denied the allure of the smells.

             
“My lord?” she called out to Dennis.  He didn’t hear her, speaking with his sister, so her voice grew louder. “My lord? Dennis?
Dennis, darling
?”

             
He heard the last part because she had very nearly shouted it. When he turned around to look at her, she rubbed her belly in a silent gesture of hunger.  She also had a rather pathetic look on her face.  He flipped up his visor and grinned at her.

             
“More oggies?” he asked.

             
She nodded, smiling happily, and he sighed with good humored resignation.   “Very well,” he said. “You remain here with the escort. I will return shortly. “

             
Her face fell. “But I want to go with you!”

             
He shook his head. “You will eat everything in sight and we still have not reached our destination,” he told her. “Remain here.  I will return.”

             
Ryan watched him dismount and head off down the alley, his armor creating an echoing racket against the small stone huts.  When he passed out of sight, she suddenly realized that he had left her alone with Charlotte.  As a reflex action, she looked at the armored woman at the head of the column, seeing that she appeared more interested in what was going on around her in the streets.  She wasn’t paying attention to Ryan in the least. 

             
Ryan slithered off her palfrey, keeping her skirts and cloak gathered up from the mud on the ground.  Lyla was shaking her head furiously at her, silently telling her not to wander away, but Ryan waved her off as she made her way to the merchant’s stall at the intersection of the avenue and the alley.  It was the same merchant shop she had spilled the moment she had been told of Bute’s untimely death.  The man had a great many wears, mostly things to interest women, and she stood at the edge, peering inside at the goods hanging from the ceiling.

             
People were bustling all around, going about their business, as Ryan found a particular piece of cloth that she found very beautiful.  It was a shawl, made from iridescent red fabric with yellow flowers embroidered all around the edges.  She fingered it, feeling the softness against her skin.  Then she unfolded it to get a better look, letting it drape over her arm so she could see all of the colors within the fabric. It was a truly beautiful piece.  As she was admiring it, she felt someone walk up next to her and naturally assumed it was Lyla.

             
“What do you think?” she asked. “Do you like the color?”

             
There was a short pause. “It is very… red.”

             
The voice that answered wasn’t Lyla’s; startled, Ryan turned sharply to see Charlotte standing next to her.  The woman was looking up at the fabric hanging from the ceiling.  She wasn’t looking at Ryan at all.  Ryan fought down her natural fright of the woman, realizing that Dennis wasn’t around to save her should this prove to be a mortal encounter.  Summoning her courage, she said the next thing that came to mind.

             
“I… I do like red,” she said, trying not to make it obvious that she was putting distance between her and Charlotte. “It… it is a very strong color.  It implies strength.”

             
Charlotte was still looking at the shawl. “It does?”

             
“Aye,” Ryan said, feeling braver. “The royal house has tunics of red.  My father told me once that Roman legions used to wear red capes into battle because they believed the color brought good fortune.”

             
Charlotte’s gaze lingered on the red shawl a moment longer before focusing on Ryan. It was an odd and powerful moment as their eyes met. There was no real hostility in the air; mostly curiosity.  Acknowledgement. Perhaps a measure of scrutiny.

Ryan,
seeing that she had the woman’s attention, thought to keep the conversation going. After all, it was the first real conversation they had ever shared, even if it had only been just a few words. Even if she truly never had a relationship with the woman, they should at least have a tolerable existence.  Perhaps now was the opportunity to build it.

             
“What color do you like?” she asked Charlotte.

             
Charlotte’s brow furrowed.  “Color?” she repeated, confused. “I have not thought on it. I do not have… I have no use for color.”

             
Ryan cocked her head. “I can see you wearing red,” she said decisively.  “You have your brother’s gray eyes and blond hair.  Red would be striking on you.”

             
Charlotte looked both resistant and curious.  Before she could open her mouth, Ryan yanked down the red shawl with the yellow embroidery and handed it over to the merchant, who had come from the back of the shop to see if he could be of assistance.

             
“Wrap this,” she told him. “We will take it and probably more. I have not yet decided.”

             
As the merchant ran off to wrap the shawl, Ryan moved deeper into the shop to a table of pomades.  She realized she was taking charge of the situation, and being rather strong-willed about it, but she thought perhaps she would just continue until Charlotte either walked away or told her to stop.  The woman seemed rather stumped by her at the moment and she sought to take advantage of it.

             
There were many pomades of different smells; ingredients such as flowers or pungent woods or herbs were steeped in tallow or wax, creating a sweet-smelling ointment that was then rubbed on the skin.

             
“Do you like perfume?” she asked, turning to Charlotte as she smelled one of the pomades that had the scent of roses. “I like them very much, although with my breathing problems, sometimes the scents seem to make it worse.”

             
Charlotte hadn’t moved from the front of the shop. She just stood there, watching Ryan smell the pomades.