King's Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 4) Page 19

  “I do love the geese,” she shouted over their honking.

  “We have them in Wales,” he shouted back.

  She laughed as they turned to go. Once the geese had settled on the water and quieted, she said, “You may yet persuade me to return to Wales.”

  That evening, with so many knights and men-at-arms away, Owain was the object of every young woman’s attention. The tall Welsh archer with his noble bearing and unusual clothing looked very much the prince he was, handsome in both form and face, but also a warrior. Many at Talisand knew Rhodri and this nephew of his was much talked about.

  Lady Serena had been thrilled to welcome Owain to her hall. “You must sit on the dais with my husband and me tonight,” she urged. “Rhodri would expect it.” It did not matter to their lady that Wales warred with England’s Norman king. The bond Serena had forged with the Welsh bard had been a strong one. For Merewyn, too, Wales was a source of happy memories.

  Lady Serena waited for Owain’s answer and he looked at Merewyn.

  “ ’Tis an honor to sit with the Lord and Lady of Talisand,” she told him. “Go.”

  Reluctantly, it seemed to Merewyn, Owain took his place beside Alex’s father and she returned to the trestle table to sit with Jamie and Lora. Merewyn was glad she had refused Jamie’s noble offer to marry her for the sake of the babe. The affection she now saw in Lora’s eyes for the captain was its own reward.

  “Your Welsh friend is drawing many admiring glances,” said Lora, leaning in to speak in a low voice.

  “Aye, Owain is a handsome one.”

  “And?” Lora raised her brows, waiting for Merewyn to say more. “Why has he come so far?”

  “He said he wanted to see Talisand.” She could never tell her friends that Owain had come for her, but Lora was perceptive.

  “More like, he wanted to see you,” her friend said, nudging her in the ribs.

  “We are merely friends,” Merewyn insisted. “He was the one who taught me how to shoot from my pony.”

  Lora answered her with a suspicious grin. “He does not look at you the way a man looks at a ‘mere friend’.”

  Merewyn let out a sigh and reached for the bread next to their shared trencher. From his seat on the other side of Lora, Jamie shot her a sidelong glance. Merewyn was certain he had overheard the last of Lora’s comments and was thankful for his silence. Jamie was the only one at Talisand who knew of the babe and she meant to keep it that way for as long as she could.

  * * *

  The messenger’s grim expression spoke loudly to Alex, telling him the news was not good. Having already endured a shortage of food and many storm-filled days, the king’s army, camped on muddy ground south of Lothian, needed their spirits raised, not lowered.

  The king, his brother and the barons had been discussing strategy in William’s tent when the man stepped through the opening, removed his hat and bent his knee before the king. Alex, invited to join the discussion, looked on with interest.

  “My Lord,” the man said with bowed head.

  “Rise,” said William, his eyes narrowing on the man.

  The poor wretch trembled in the face of his monarch, who was obviously impatient. Slowly, the man got to his feet, worrying his hat in his hands. His clothing was ragged and salt-crusted and his jerkin was smeared with mud nearly the same color as his mussed hair.

  “Out with it man! What news have you brought us?” Next to the king stood Duke Robert with furrowed brow. Behind William was his chancellor, Robert Bloet, his advisor, Ranulf Flambard, Earl Hugh and Sir Duncan. All bore worried expressions.

  “I am one of your seaman, Milord. We was sailin’ north of the Tyne when the ships ran aground on the rocks of Coquet Island. ’Twas over so quick, I can still scarce believe it.”

  “By the face of Lucca!” the king stormed, glaring at the shaking seaman. “Was there foul weather? What cause?”

  “Nay, My Lord,” the man humbly answered, uncomfortable with the truth he had to convey. “The weather was fair, but the waves were like great mountains, swampin’ the ships and forcin’ them into each other. The hulls split open and the cargo washed away.”

  The king’s face turned a dark red as he erupted in rage. “My… my ships lost? All… all of them? By God’s face, man, how… how can that be? And what of the men?”

  The seaman hung his head. “All lost, Milord, save the few of us able to swim ashore.”

  For a moment, Alex thought the king might draw his sword and sever the man’s neck, but Duke Robert interceded, placing a hand on his brother’s arm. “William.”

  Alex watched the king take a deep breath, apparently managing to control his anger before shouting at the seaman, “Go!”

  The man scampered out and William turned to face his men. The loss of the ships put a hole in the king’s strategy to encircle the Scots as the Conqueror had done. And it meant there would be no supplies. “So,” said the king, “we mu… must make do with our army and wha… what food we have with us.”

  One baron opened his mouth as if to protest.

  The king’s chin took on a stubborn tilt, his nostrils flared and the sparks in his eyes turned to flint. “We go on!”

  It said much for William’s determination that he would push on in the face of such dire circumstances. And, at that moment, Alex was proud to be one of his knights.

  * * *

  “Thwack!” The arrow hit the target, but not in the center. Still, it was close enough to be a winning shot for Merewyn’s young novice.

  Cecily beamed her joy.

  “Very good,” said Merewyn. “I can see you have been practicing.”

  Cecily nodded enthusiastically. “I have.”

  “By the time she is your age,” said Owain from where he leaned against a tree, “she will be able to compete well with those of greater experience who also use the shorter bow.”

  Like most of the Welsh archers she knew, Owain was a master of the longbow. But neither Lady Serena nor Merewyn used the bow that took a strong man’s arm to pull the string. She was pleased that Cecily had done so well with her child’s weapon. The girl’s two friends, envious of her new skill, had recently expressed a renewed desire to begin their own lessons.

  “I will win, too!” shouted Cecily.

  Owain pulled away from the tree and walked to where the small redhead nocked her next arrow. “Your arm is not in the correct position, imp. I can show you how to improve your form so you will hit the target every time.”

  Cecily gazed at the Welsh prince in adoration. “I would like that.”

  Merewyn stifled a laugh. Owain had won the affection of Rory’s youngest sister. And, truth be told, he had conquered the hearts of several younger women at Talisand, including Bea and Alice, who vied for his attention each night in the hall.

  Watching Owain and Cecily together reminded Merewyn of her first year in Wales. Lady Serena had taught her much, but in Wales, she had come to see she knew little compared to Rhodri’s archers. While they also wielded the lance, the Welsh took their archery most seriously. Their longbows were crafted with careful skill, their arrows beautifully made. And they were deadly. Rhodri had over one hundred archers in his personal guard and hundreds more at his command.

  If she were to return to Wales, he would have another.

  She would have to decide soon. There had been no news from Alex, but she had not expected any. Not until he and his men faced the Scots and sent word of victory or defeat.

  Each day, she prayed for his safe return. But even if her prayers were answered, her decision would be the same. She had less than a month to leave, for the child growing within her would make itself known by November when winter would descend with its fury and blanket the mountains with snow.

  * * *

  William’s army proceeded north, crossing the River Tweed, finally stopping to camp in a Lothian glen. Hunger gnawed at Alex’s stomach as he stood on a crest looking north, the wind blowing his hair and cloak behind him. Vast untamed
hills stretched before him in all directions. In the distance, brooding gray storm clouds dropped curtains of rain. He could almost smell the scent of the torrent that would soon be upon them.

  The Scottish terrain, like its people, warned intruders not to venture forth. He felt the threat in his bones and shuddered. Not just a warrior’s fear before a battle that he had experienced many times. This was the Scots and their wild land challenging William Rufus and his knights as they had the Conqueror.

  Having lost the supply ships to the sea and with the unexpectedly harsh weather descending upon them, William’s men often huddled around the night fires still hungry. The king’s stubborn determination had brought them this far. But what now?

  Alex wanted to put the battle behind him so he could go home, but he knew it would not be so easy as that. The time it had taken William to raise his army had given Malcolm months to prepare. And they would now be fighting the Scots on their own land.

  The next morning, Sir Nigel came to Alex’s tent. “Would you take a few of your men and go with me to scout out the land? William wants to know if Malcolm’s army draws nigh.”

  Alex nodded and mounted Azor as Rory and Guy swung into their saddles. The three of them followed Sir Nigel and two of his men north toward Dun Edin. Cresting one hill, they looked into the distance beyond the valley below and saw thousands of mounted warriors riding in their direction, covering the ground like a cloud of dust.

  “We have what we came for, lads,” said Sir Nigel. Turning his horse, he shouted, “Make haste to the king!”

  They galloped toward the glen where William’s army was holed up. Soon, they were inside the king’s tent, where the tension hung thick in the air.

  “Well?” demanded William of Sir Nigel. “Did you see Malcolm’s army?”

  “Aye, My Lord. He leads an army to match ours, possibly more numerous, and they are not far.”

  “Since we know of them,” offered Alex, “we must assume they are aware of us.”

  Duke Robert, his dark eyes and hair a contrast to his younger brother, stepped forward. “Our father agreed to terms with the Scottish king and Malcolm once swore loyalty to me as well. We could seek terms now. Should you agree, William, I would ride to meet him and ask for his fealty on your behalf.”

  “What terms?” demanded William.

  “The same terms he gave our father.”

  William huffed his displeasure. Clearly unhappy to be considering a negotiation rather than a battle, his hand moved to his sword hilt, and his fingers flexed over it, itching for action. “I will give you leave to try. Take Duncan, Malcolm’s son, and Sir Alex with you.” Then to Alex, he said, “Your uncle is one of Malcolm’s chiefs, is he not?”

  “Aye,” said Alex. “Steinar is Mormaer of the Vale of Leven.”

  Duncan came forward and nodded his willingness to try to convince his father to agree to terms. “I, too, met Steinar long ago. He is a good man, a Northumbrian, loyal to my father.”

  And so it was that Alex, along with Duke Robert, who had known Malcolm for years, and Sir Duncan, Malcolm’s son, rode out alone to meet the King of Scots and his army.

  CHAPTER 12

  Merewyn glanced at the yellow leaf blowing in the wind, adjusted her aim accordingly, and pulled back the string, focusing her eyes on the distant target, before loosing the arrow. It flew across the field to land with a resounding “thwack” in the center of the target.

  Cecily and her two companions, watching from where they sat on their favorite rock, clapped their hands with glee. Merewyn paused to give them some advice on shooting when the wind was up and how difficult it could be to hit the target if they did not account for it.

  Owain tossed Merewyn a smirk, stepped to the line and carefully took aim. With his greater strength, he brought the string of his longbow back to his chin and released his arrow in one smooth stroke. In a “whoosh”, it flew through the air and split her arrow.

  The three children stared in wonder.

  “Now you are making a show of it,” chided Merewyn, but she tossed him a smile. She had seen him split an arrow once before in Wales. Not many archers could match the feat.

  “For your benefit, aye,” Owain said, his smirk back.

  He had taken to spending his afternoons with her on the archery field. The archers that remained behind when Alex had gone to meet the king seemed to accept her Welsh friend, often admiring his skill. But Merewyn had observed them watching Owain closely whenever he went off by himself. She suspected one of them followed, mayhap on the orders of Talisand’s lord.

  Owain was never without his weapons. Even when he shot arrows from his horse, his wicked axe hung from his hip, an intimidating sight.

  October was nearly gone when Owain began pressing Merewyn to leave Talisand. He was right in thinking they could delay no longer. And why should she not go? Would it not be best if she were gone when Alex returned? She had not yet felt the child moving in her belly, but she was keenly aware it was growing. Her body was changing, her breasts swelling. She often thought of the babe’s father. Her mother had to bear alone the child of a man she abhorred and, while Merewyn might be alone, she would bear the child of the man she loved.

  With her palm on her belly, she would sometimes speak to their child as she lay in bed or was alone in her chamber. This afternoon as she changed into a gown for supper, she told the babe, “Your father will live, do not doubt it, young wolf.”

  That evening, after supper, she and Owain played chess in one corner of the hall. With Alex and his men gone and no news from Northumbria, most evenings the mood of those gathered was somber. Everyone waited for news. Maugris had told Lady Serena her son would return, but he did not say he would be without a wound.

  This night, a minstrel played his lute softly as the candles burned and men played games on the trestle tables. Lady Serena and Lora stitched by the hearth fire. Bea and Alice had returned to their homes with their parents. There had been no dancing. Any celebrations would have to await the return of Talisand’s men.

  She looked at Owain across the board as she considered her next move. He was a good chess player, though not as good as Rhodri or Alex. Still, his skillful moves sometimes required her to consider carefully what she would do next. She returned her attention to the board and reached for one of her knights when he said, “ ’Tis time, Merewyn.”

  She met his dark gaze. “Have I delayed my move overly long?”

  “I do not speak of chess. We must be on our way.”

  “Tomorrow, Owain. I will give you my answer tomorrow.”

  He dipped his head. “As you wish, but I believe you will be going with me, so prepare.”

  The next morning, Merewyn rose early, dressed warmly and walked through the village, heading toward the stone church. There was a chapel in the castle, but she rarely went there. She preferred the stone church set amidst the oak trees with its weather-beaten doors and small arched windows. It was the only stone structure in Talisand and Lady Serena had told her it had given the old thegn much pride to build it.

  As she entered through one open door, her attention was drawn to the walls, painted in bright red, blue and yellow, depicting scenes from the Bible that reminded the people of their faith. One wall depicted the seven deadly sins she had been warned about as a child.

  “Did you come to see me, my child?”

  She turned to see Father Bernard standing behind her, his white hair and well-trimmed beard rising above his gray cowl robe. “I was hoping you might pray with me… for Sir Alex and his men.”

  “Of course. We will kneel together.”

  The priest’s words comforted her as he asked God to protect Talisand’s warriors who rode with the king. And he prayed for peace in the land that had known so much war.

  When she got to her feet, she felt much relieved. “Thank you, Father.”

  “I am always here, my child.”

  Outside, she pulled her cloak tightly around her against the wind and tugged her hood
over her head. Hunched down as she walked, she nearly ran into Maugris.

  “Oh!” She gave a start, looking up. “Please forgive me.”

  “It is nothing, Mistress Merewyn. You come from the chapel?”

  “Yea.”

  “That is good. You do well to seek direction from the Master of the Heavens.”

  “I was praying for protection for Sir Alex and his men. We have heard nothing.”

  “Ah,” he said, nodding. “That, too, is needful. Few wounds are as painful as those of the heart.”

  “Is Alex wounded?” she asked, concerned.

  “Should he return and find you gone, I have no doubt he will be,” the old man said. “Your future is here, Merewyn. I have seen it.” Without another word, he bowed and took his leave.

  Merewyn watched the old man go, his dark gray cloak blowing out behind him. He did not try and stop her from leaving. But the stab of sorrow she experienced at the prospect of causing Alex pain was enough to give her pause. Mayhap she had been wrong to consider returning to Wales and wrong about the depth of Alex’s feelings for her. Should she stay no matter the consequences?

  * * *

  Alex peered into the distance of the Lothian countryside, a mélange of colors, wide swaths of green bordered by stands of trees still bearing the autumn colors of gold and yellow. He rode with Duke Robert and Sir Duncan, heading north toward the Firth of Forth.

  King Malcolm must have been warned of their approach because three riders emerged from a copse of trees to appear before them.

  Alex had never met the King of Scots, but there was no doubt the imposing figure riding the white charger with his scarlet cloak thrown back from his broad, mail-clad shoulders and his dark hair and beard beneath his helm encircled by a gold crown was the man they had come to see.

  Two other men flanked the King of Scots, both warriors by their appearance, garbed in mail and helm and wearing both swords and long knives at their belts.