King's Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 4) Page 18

  The sooner they dealt with the Scots, the sooner he could go home—and return to Merewyn.

  The king rode forward to meet them, on his head a conical helm circled by a golden crown. Beneath his helm, Alex could see William’s red beard, now trimmed. His long blond hair was splayed out on his mail-clad shoulders.

  Alex bowed from his saddle. Sir Nigel did the same.

  “Sir Nigel, Sir Alex,” said the king, “I am glad you ride together. What news of the Scots?”

  “Malcolm’s army fled north as we arrived, My Lord,” said Sir Nigel.

  “Fie!” The king’s face grew flushed with anger and the bejeweled fingers of his right hand clenched around the pommel of his saddle. “By the holy face of Lucca, we shall pursue the rabble to the very door of Malcolm’s pile of stones in Dun Edin. I will have an end to his excursions into Northumbria!”

  The king’s chestnut stallion stamped his hoof and snorted, no doubt sensing his master’s anger. William’s moods were not unknown to his men. Alex had seen his anger flare before, often just as he ordered some torture for a defiant prisoner.

  “We expected no less, My Lord,” said Sir Nigel.

  Alex wanted to deflect the king’s attention to other, more urgent needs. “Sire, would you have the army camp here tonight or go on?”

  The king looked across at his brother. “What say you, Robert? Do we camp?”

  Alex did not have to wonder what the answer would be. Robert, who had always been tenderhearted to suppliants, turned to survey the king’s barons and senior knights, their weariness apparent. Robert fitzHaimo, baron of Gloucester, the ponderous Earl of Chester, Roger Bigot, Sheriff of Norfolk, Ranulf Flambard, the king’s advisor, and Sir Duncan were among them. “Aye,” said Duke Robert, “ ’tis been a long day and the men and horses need rest. We would not get very far else we do.”

  William appeared to accept the answer. “Have you sufficient food?” he asked Sir Nigel.

  “My men have taken deer and game, My Lord, but you may need more for the army.”

  “Parfait,” said William. “We have some provisions and the men and archers can hunt. It will serve until we meet my ships on the Tyne. What of Durham?”

  “From what we can tell, My Lord,” said Alex, “the people have fled to the woods or are now behind the city’s closed doors. There are no villeins to be seen in the fields.”

  “The city was caught between Malcolm’s army and the men I brought with me,” added Sir Nigel.

  The king’s brows drew together. “We have no time to deal with the Northumbrians. They can remain behind their city walls for now. On the morrow, we will chase the Scots north.”

  The men made camp, erecting a tent for the king. The horses were watered and allowed to forage. And soon, cook fires dotted the countryside as the men prepared their supper before bedding down for the night.

  Alex returned to his men. After a meal of roast venison, he and his companions shared a conversation around the fire, speculating about the fight to come.

  “ ’Tis unseasonably cold,” said Guy, clenching his cloak to his chest, “and we have yet to enter Scotland.”

  “Aye,” said Rory, “These are not the pastures of Normandy.”

  Alex, too, felt the damp cold seep into his cloak and was glad for their fire. At least it had not rained. He laid his pallet on the ground and stretched out to stare up at the stars, remembering the conversation he’d had with Merewyn as they had looked up at the radiant circle of stars the night he’d first kissed her. He would never again see the stars without thinking of her.

  * * *

  “I wonder where she learned to do it.” Jamie muttered under his breath as he watched Merewyn fire another shot from her pony to hit the target’s center. He had counseled her against riding in the weeks since he’d learned she was with child but she insisted both she and her babe enjoyed it. Her body showed no signs of the child growing within her—Alex’s child, he reminded himself—and the sickness she had once displayed no longer troubled her.

  “Iorwerth issued her a challenge and she accepted,” said a voice from behind him.

  Jamie whipped around to see a tall young man wearing the brown and green clothing of a Welsh bowman, except that beneath his leather jerkin he wore mail. Not just any bowman, but a warrior.

  The dark-haired man was nearly Jamie’s own height though younger by several years. Added to the archer’s clothing were leather gauntlets and guards over his shins. From his belt hung a wicked-looking axe and in his hand he carried a longbow. Slung over his right shoulder was a quiver of arrows, the brown-tipped fletchings unlike any Jamie had ever seen. Circling the top of the quiver was a band of metal with an ornate Celtic design.

  “Who might you be?” Jamie asked, his hand itching to reach for his sword. The young Welshman was unknown to him, but the voice carried the same accent as Rhodri’s, the prince of Powys whose true name among his people was Iorwerth.

  “I am Owain ap Cadwgan,” he said in his accented English, looking behind Jamie to where Merewyn was watching them from her pony. “I see she has not forgotten all she learned from me.”

  “You knew Merewyn in Wales?”

  “I did.”

  He expected the Welshman to say more but he only dipped his head respectfully and walked around him, heading toward Merewyn. He had not even asked Jamie his name.

  Jamie was suddenly anxious, yet he did not know the reason. Since his conversation with Merewyn about her condition, he’d been very protective of her, for he knew Alex would expect it no matter that she spoke of leaving. He did not like this new person coming to Talisand, a warrior bearing serious weapons who seemed to know much about her. He had said he had taught her. What was he to her? And with war threatening with Wales, why had he come to England now?

  * * *

  Merewyn watched Owain walking toward her, his dark brown eyes intense as he approached. Despite his serious demeanor, it cheered her immensely to see him again.

  “Merry,” he said, drawing near, “fy golau.” “My light” was the name he had given her for her fair hair, unusual among the Welsh.

  “Owain!” She dismounted and, with her bow and quiver slung over her shoulder, led Ceinder to meet him. “What brings you here?”

  He took her hand and pressed a light kiss to her fingers, his lips warm on her skin. Never before could she recall his acting so much the gallant. “I had a desire to see this place you spoke of, this Talisand,” he said looking around. Reaching out to stroke her pony’s neck, he added, “I see you and Ceinder are still a pair.”

  “We do well together,” she said, wondering why Owain had come now at a time when his warrior skills were so needed by his people.

  He continued to stroke the pony’s neck but his eyes stayed on her.

  “It is wonderful to see you,” she said. In truth, she had missed her friends in Wales and had been thinking much of Rhodri and Fia as she contemplated returning. “You must share some wine with me in the hall and tell me about all that has happened since I left.”

  “Nothing would please me more,” he said with a subtle smile. Owain was a prince, Rhodri’s nephew. Still in his second decade, he was already a respected warrior among his people. She knew he lived a turbulent life, raiding, plundering and defending his family. Yet for all that, he spoke poetry around the hearth fire and he had taken the time to teach her to shoot from her pony.

  Owain had been there for her transformation from a frightened girl to a woman secure in her ability to protect herself.

  She walked beside him toward Talisand’s captain. “You met Sir Jamie?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Jamie,” she said, as they reached him, “a friend has come from Wales.”

  Jamie inclined his head. “Owain introduced himself.”

  Merewyn smiled at the two men, each studying the other like two roosters facing off with their hackles raised. “You two should get to know each other. Owain is a prince of Powys,” she said for Jamie’s ben
efit, “and Rhodri’s nephew. And Jamie is the captain of Talisand’s house knights,” she told Owain. “Both of you are respected commanders of men.”

  Jamie offered his hand and Owain took it. Merewyn was happy the two roosters had declared a truce. Together, the three of them walked from the archery field.

  “Where is your horse?” she asked Owain.

  “I left him with the stable boy.”

  “He will be well-tended,” said Jamie.

  Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she asked Owain, “How is Rhodri? And Fia? And the children? I have missed them.”

  He grinned at her show of enthusiasm. “Rhodri and Fia and their children are all well. And, if I am included in the ones you have missed, it makes me glad to hear it.”

  Jamie frowned and Merewyn wondered at the cause. She considered both Owain and Jamie her friends. But since Jamie had learned she was carrying Alex’s child, he had become very watchful of her.

  They passed through the palisade gate and she handed Ceinder’s reins to a waiting stable boy. Crossing the bailey, the three of them entered the hall. Merewyn set down her bow and quiver and asked a servant to bring wine and cheese for their guest.

  When the servant appeared with a tray bearing a pitcher, three goblets and a plate of cheese and bread, Merewyn offered to pour the wine.

  She handed Owain a goblet and he lifted it to his lips and drank deeply.

  Jamie took a sip of his wine and, turning to Owain, said, “You come to England at a time when the king’s men fight the Welsh.” To Merewyn, it sounded like a challenge.

  “A difficult time, yea,” Owain answered, “but I did not come because of the fighting between our countries. I came for Merry.”

  Jamie frowned at the Welshman’s words. “I am sure she appreciates the visit.”

  The captain stayed only long enough to finish his wine, all the while his eyes stayed on the Welsh prince. After she and Owain began to share stories, Jamie excused himself and left the hall.

  When he was gone, Owain said, “You have grown lovelier. Your face seems to glow.”

  Merewyn did not feel lovely. Dressed in her bowman’s clothing, she was dusty and her brow damp with the exertion of her practice. From where it sat on the table, her bow scolded her for her shabby appearance in the presence of a Welsh prince. Ignoring it, she said, “Mayhap you remember me as only a novice archer in need of training.”

  “Nay, I remember you well. One day you were there, like the sun, and the next day, Rhodri had taken you back to England. Every day thereafter was full of clouds.”

  “So somber! What happened to my demanding teacher of the bow?”

  “I have never been far.”

  * * *

  Alex drew his woolen cloak tightly around him, glad for his mail and helm as a sharp gust of wind knifed through his clothing. Azor bent his head to the wind but continued on.

  It had been stormy and cold as they left Durham. Alex was only vaguely aware of Rory and Guy riding beside him, their heads tucked into their hooded cloaks. Nor was his mind on the dark clouds that promised more rain, the brown and green hills that seemed to go on forever, or the heather trodden down by their horses. He took it all in but his mind was focused on the golden-haired archer he had left behind.

  He imagined Merewyn warming herself with a cup of wine in front of Talisand’s hearth fire as she and his mother fashioned fletchings for their arrows. He saw her as she looked the night before he left when he had kissed her goodbye.

  He had not seen her for a month. Did she think of him often as he did her?

  “Does my wolf brood over the cold?” asked the king as he rode up beside Alex. Guy pulled back on his reins, dropping behind to make room for William’s chestnut stallion.

  “Nay, Sire, though ’tis a brutal autumn. But I do worry about feeding the men. We could have used the corn and other food the ships would have brought us.”

  William’s face grew red with his increasing anger. “By the face of Lucca, I will have an explanation for their delay!”

  When they had reached the River Tyne, the fifty ships William had expected were nowhere to be seen. The king had waited two days and then, cursing and red-faced, ordered his army to push on.

  Since then, they had passed the crumbling stone wall built by the Emperor Hadrian to separate the Romans from the barbarians, a symbol of the Romans’ might much as the Conqueror’s timber castles were a symbol of the Normans’ military strength. As they’d pressed on toward Lothian, Alex could not help but think of the Roman legions of a thousand years before. The Scots William would face were no less formidable than the Picts the Romans faced then.

  Later that day in the king’s tent, William shouted to his senior knights and nobles. “Our seamen had best be there when we reach the Firth of Forth!”

  Alex hoped William was right but he had his doubts. Moreover, William, too, was worried. Judging by his ruddy cheeks and the sparks shooting from his eyes, his anger was replacing his concern.

  Alex and his men made camp to the sounds of the red deer rutting. The loud bellowing of the stags echoed through the glens, sometimes broken by the sharp clash of antlers, as the males fought each other for control over the hinds. With their food stores running low and the few people they had encountered hostile, Alex knew they must hunt.

  After he had watered and rested his horse, Alex had approached the king to seek his guidance. In response, the king sent his best archers into the woods to search for grouse, hares and small game. But to feed the army, they would need to set upon larger prey. The king called for three hunts for the red deer. William proposed to lead one group himself and the other two would be led by his barons, each setting off in a different direction.

  At the king’s request, Alex and his men joined William. As they cantered behind the king, Alex’s thoughts turned to the days ahead. They would soon cross into Scotland. Would Malcolm’s army be waiting for them or, as the king had suggested, must they lay siege to Malcolm’s fortress at Dun Edin?

  * * *

  Merewyn and Owain rode their horses along the bank of the River Lune, the trees’ autumn colors of yellow, gold and red reflected in the waters. Gentle breezes rustled the leaves, causing some to fall.

  A golden leaf drifted down to the water, hovered for a moment on the surface, and then was carried away downstream. Soon, all the colored leaves would fall, the trees would be bare and winter would be upon them. She could be like that leaf and allow the flow of her life to carry her and her babe back to Wales.

  Owain might take her.

  Would Rhodri and Fia welcome her? Or might they rebuke her for the predicament she had gotten herself into? If she were to bear a child with no father to raise it, she would know her mother’s shame. Yet she would have Alex’s child to love, mayhap a son that looked like him, and that would be reward enough for loving a man she had known from the beginning could never be hers.

  The air was colder than she would have expected for this time of year, but she had worn her woolen cloak and it warmed her.

  Owain broke the silence. “When I first arrived, you said you missed Wales.”

  “Aye. I was many years among your people and I made friends. I could hardly leave and not miss them.”

  “Do you ever think to return?”

  “Yea and recently.”

  “Your captain, Sir Jamie, thinks me a spy for the Welsh who would throw off the Norman yoke. I have seen it in his eyes. ’Tis true, we wish them gone and, in time, my father, Cadwgan, will see to it. But that is not my purpose in coming. I was speaking the truth when I told your captain I came for you, Merry.”

  “For me?”

  “Yea, I came to bring you back to Wales. Does that surprise you?”

  “I suppose it does.” She had wanted to leave so that Alex would be free to pursue the future his king intended for him. Here was her chance. She shut her eyes tightly against the painful thought of leaving the father of her child, the man she loved. But it had to
be done.

  Owain glanced at her from where he sat on his Welsh pony. “I had begun to think of you as always being with us. Your absence did not sit well.”

  She looked into his dark eyes. What she saw there was different from what she remembered from their time together in Wales.

  “There are things you do not know about me, Owain. My beginnings, for one thing. Then, too, much has happened since I left Wales.”

  “I have known you for many years, Merry. Your beginnings, whatever they were, do not matter to me. I doubt they would matter to my father or Rhodri, should they learn of them.” He chuckled. “Even knowing you were English did not matter when Rhodri invited you to train with his archers. You were family to my uncle and you are more to me.”

  He paused, then continued, looking intently into her eyes. “Whatever may have happened since you left us has not changed you. You are still fy golau, my light, and I would take you back to Wales. Should you be willing, I would make you my wife.”

  His words came as a shock and they changed everything. She had never considered Owain had such feelings for her. Would it be fair to him to allow him to see her to Wales? After all, she loved another and carried that man’s child. Mayhap if Owain knew, he might not want to marry her. A prince of Powys must have sons of his own, not those of another. But if he knew the truth and was still willing to take her to Wales, she and her babe might find a new life there. She needed to think of what she could say, how to tell him.

  “I must have time, Owain.”

  “You shall have it,” he said. “I will stay until the coming winter forces me to leave. After that, the snow in the mountain passes will make the journey unwise.”

  “We will talk again before then,” she assured him. “But not today.”

  Her head swiveled toward the river at the sound of beating wings. Hundreds of pink-footed geese rushed through the air to descend on the water. The beating of their wings and the incessant, high-pitched shrieks made conversation impossible.

  Drawn from the serious discussion they had been pursuing to the glorious sight, she stared in wonder. The coming of the gray and brown geese with their unusual pink feet was always a magnificent sight. And it reminded her winter would soon be upon them.