Once a Knight

“Grave.”

  Puzzled, David shared a glance with Alisoun.

  “I don’t know what you mean. Grave trouble?” she suggested. “Grave wounds?”

  The breath Sir Walter took came up through a windpipe so battered it scarcely functioned, but he lisped, “The grave.”

  Suddenly alert, Alisoun bent so close her lips almost touched the injured man’s ear. “The grave? In the churchyard?”

  “Open.”

  David observed the appearance of bluish veins in Alisoun’s forehead as the color washed out of her face.

  “Is that where he found you?” she demanded.

  A tear squeezed out between Sir Walter’s swollen lids and trickled down his cheek. “Stupid.”

  Some great shock held Alisoun in its grip, then she started as if she woke. “Nay, you’re not stupid. We weren’t expecting that he would be suspicious. Sleep now, and heal. I’ll have need of your services when you are better.” After giving his hand a light pat, she placed it on the covers. Then she turned and surveyed the room. No one except she and David had heard Sir Walter’s words. They’d been spoken in a low tone and his injuries had rendered him almost inarticulate. Nevertheless, she examined each servant and maid, requesting their discretion without saying a word. Clearly, she held their complete loyalty.

  Near the door, Philippa and Edlyn huddled together, victims of the fear this violence had brought. To them, Alisoun said, “Warm sand in the sandbags and brace it against Sir Walter on both sides. Bring blankets and keep him covered. Don’t let him get chilled this night, and if his condition worsens, call me.”

  “Where are you going?” Philippa questioned her sharply, as if she had every right.

  “I’m going to order added patrols and find some way to return security to George’s Cross.”

  “What did Sir Walter say?”

  Alisoun wrapped her arm around Philippa’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of it. You take care of Sir Walter.”

  She walked toward the door and Philippa followed her, but David grabbed her before she could jerk Alisoun around. Gruffly, he said, “I’ll take care of her.”

  Philippa stared at him and gulped audibly, then nodded.

  “Alisoun.” He caught up with her when she was halfway across the great hall. “Lady Alisoun, we need to talk.”

  She kept walking with a serenity that belied her intentions. “I have to go instruct the men-at-arms to watch for strangers, to be more careful.”

  “That’s for me to do.”

  Without looking at him, she asked, “You’ll stay?”

  His hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. Spinning on his heel, he used her forward motion to turn her toward his bedchamber. “You couldn’t drive me away.”

  Trying to jerk out of his grasp, she said, “I need to set watches.”

  “And have them beat, too? Anyone who tries to protect you is in danger.” The horror on her face proved everything he could have desired. “Every person in George’s Cross knows what happened to Sir Walter by now. They’ll be cautious, I have no doubt, and I wouldn’t want to be a new merchant come to visit the market this night. He’ll find himself without a place to stay.”

  “Aye.” The door of his chamber loomed before them and she grabbed the sill and tried to hang on. “This will be bad for our prosperity, but what can I do?”

  He stuffed her through the entry and shut the door behind them. Leaning against it, he said, “Come with me to Radcliffe.”

  She whirled on him. “What?”

  “Radcliffe,” he repeated. “It’s small, there’s no market, and any stranger who visits is noted and marked and treated with suspicion.”

  “I can’t come to Radcliffe with you.”

  “You could if you married me.”

  She turned away. “We’ve already had this conversation.”

  “It wasn’t a conversation, it was a shouting match.”

  She moved her shoulders uncomfortably. “Nothing’s changed since this afternoon.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, Alisoun.”

  “Except Sir Walter!”

  “I can’t keep you safe here. I can’t keep your people safe here. You have a market, and a busy town center. Peddlers come through, and country people and farmers who’ve heard about your prosperity and seek some for themselves. I can’t keep track of every stranger every moment he’s here. Neither can your men, and this vicious attack on Sir Walter is going to put your villagers at odds with the very people who come to trade with them.”

  “I know that.” She placed one hand on her stomach and one on her head. “I don’t know what to do.”

  He moved closer and pressed her hard for a decision. “Can you take a chance with them?”

  She didn’t move.

  “I’ve seen robberies and beatings on the road less vicious than the one inflicted on Sir Walter.” Laying his hand over the one she pressed to her belly, he asked, “Can you take a chance with the babe?”

  She looked up at him, and for the first time, her every emotion showed on her face—fear, distress, anguish. And he wished he had his old Alisoun back. He wanted that serenity for her. He wanted her to have the time to relish her accomplishments, her skills, her pregnancy. But he wanted her to do it with him, and she had to understand their marriage was no longer just an option. It was a necessity.

  He hadn’t intended to comfort her until she’d given in, but he couldn’t bear to see her so upset. Wrapping her in his arms, he rocked her against him.

  Turning her head into his chest, she wailed, “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?” He moved her back a little. “Why embarrassed?”

  “I failed in my responsibility to care for Sir Walter.”

  “Corpus Christi.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Setting her down in the middle, he leaned close and told her, “If there’s something keeping Sir Walter awake tonight, it’s that he failed in his responsibility to you.”

  “Nay, I—”

  “Alisoun.” He kissed her.

  “I should have—”

  He kissed her again.

  “I didn’t—”

  He kissed her again. And again. Soft, gentle kisses that cradled her senses and finally brought her relief from the endless round of self-recriminations. Then he tasted her tears and used his sleeve to wipe them from her cheeks. “You’re the best lady any demesne could have. You know you are.”

  She pressed her lips together and sniffed.

  “Admit it.” He kissed her. “Admit it.”

  “I am.”

  He wanted to grin at her reluctant confirmation, but more than that he wanted to kiss her. She needed his kisses now, needed solace and security. With his tongue, he outlined her lips. When they parted, he ran his tongue along the bumpy ridge of her teeth. She lay there, limp, and he thought she was doing nothing more than absorbing peace of mind from his embrace and affection, but when he thrust his tongue into her mouth she met him.

  He pressed harder, sealing their lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He climbed onto the mattress next to her.

  The pillows lay above them, and the blankets lay below. Their feet banged the footboard. He’d done this all wrong, but he hadn’t planned to do more than console her. He hadn’t planned on his rush of desire or her ready response. He still wanted to console her, but with his touch on her cheek, his kiss on her breast…and when she pushed her wimple off, he perceived she wanted it, too.

  He lifted each individual lock of hair to his lips, then arranged it around her face like rays of the sun. Quiescent, her eyes half-closed, she let him do what he would. Some men might have been offended. He himself might have remembered his long-dead wife and the way she had lain like a limp fish when he touched her. But with Alisoun, her very lack of motion was a confession. She’d ceded her power to him and trusted him to not abuse that power.

  “So you like to talk to me.” With his finger, he curled the short wisps of hair in front of her ears. “You think I enchant you wh
en I tell you what I think.”

  She stretched, adjusting her shoulders. “You don’t say the things other men say.”

  “Like?”

  “The other noblemen always talk about themselves and how strong they are and how they killed a boar with their bare hands.” She blew a puff of air out and rolled her eyes. “Like I’d believe that.”

  Putting his fingers under her neck, he massaged the taut muscles. “They just want to impress you.”

  “Why? What makes a man think he can impress a woman by telling lies?”

  “Some women aren’t as discerning as you are.”

  “Some women pretend to believe.”

  He grinned and imagined the scene. A respected warrior, fabricating his strengths to impress the cool woman beside him. And the cool woman questioning him until he stumbled in his tale. No wonder she’d remained unmarried.

  He looked down to see her staring at him. “You don’t tell tales,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I haven’t killed any boars with my bare hands lately.” He trailed those hands down the front of her and loosened the laces that held her gown together.

  As he widened the gap in her gown, his hands brushed against her breasts, still covered by her shift. She shivered, and goosebumps tightened her skin. “I doubt you’ve wasted time on something so trivial. You were too busy—”

  He cupped her and she took a big breath.

  “You were too busy becoming the legendary Sir David.”

  Rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, he said, “Not much of a legend anymore.”

  She smiled. “Your lance strikes ever true.”

  He froze and searched her face for an explanation.

  “What?” she asked. “What?”

  “You made a jest.”

  “So?”

  “A bawdy jest.”

  A spark of indignation made her stiffen. “I am not without humor!”

  “Aye, it’s been there all along.” He slipped the gown over her shoulders and down, stripping it from her completely, and as he worked on divesting her of the rest of her clothing, he said, “But you do make me think I’m a wizard.”

  Sir David’s face loomed above me where I slept on my pallet in the great hall, and his hand shook my shoulder. “Get up, Eudo. I need you.”

  It never crossed my mind to question his command. I stumbled to my feet, rubbing my eyes, and pulled my short cape over my clothes. I think he had to help me—no one wakes an eleven-year-old boy after a strenuous day without having to fight the lingering consequences of sleep.

  The others in the great hall rolled away from us, but no one grumbled. Sir David had reestablished himself as a legend once again, and we all knew our safety depended on his experience.

  The rush lights on the wall flickered eerily as he led me by the hand to the outer door, then we stepped outside into the darkest night I’d ever beheld. The cool air slapped me awake and Sir David asked, “Can you walk now?”

  I nodded and stifled a yawn, and we moved toward the drawbridge. The men-at-arms challenged us before we even knocked, and Sir David mumbled, “Good. They’re nervous.”

  His whispered instructions took only a moment, then two of the men-at-arms disappeared and the chains that held the drawbridge rattled. The sound carried through the still night like the clatter of a corpse’s bones, and my skinny knees knocked in sudden alarm.

  The drawbridge was never lowered at night, certainly not after an attack like the one that had occurred that day. But without hesitation, Sir David strode across the planks and I followed. I had no desire to leave the castle, but if I had to go, I wanted to keep nigh to my lord.

  “Not so close, lad.” Sir David craned his neck and looked at the starry sky. “Don’t you want to know our destination?”

  I did, but I didn’t think I would like the reply.

  “We’re going to the churchyard.” Sir David looked down at me and I thought I saw him grin, although his mouth was nothing more than a black hole in the dim glow of his face. “What do you think of that?”

  I thought he was mad, but wisely kept my own council. Instead I tentatively suggested, “If you have need to pray, Sir David, there’s a chapel in the keep.”

  “I don’t want to pray. I want to visit the graves in the village church.”

  I crossed myself and with a boy’s hysteria wondered why Sir David’s eye sockets appeared empty.

  Set on a rise above the village, the church stood apart from the other buildings, and the graveyard sloped off to the side toward the forest. I hoped in my deepest heart Sir David jested, and he would lead me somewhere, anywhere but there.

  But nay, the damp grass beneath our feet made squeaking noises as we cut a straight line across the meadow.

  Sir David seemed utterly at ease in the darkness, moving with the poise of a cat and speaking in a cheerful tone that eased a little of my paralyzing fear. “Are all of Lady Alisoun’s family buried there?” he asked.

  “Some of them. The older graves are there. The more recently dead were laid to rest within the church under the altar.”

  “Are the villagers still buried there?”

  “Aye, sir, although not close to Lady Alisoun’s family.”

  “The countess’s family is set apart?”

  I nodded, although I knew he couldn’t see me. “By a fence, aye.”

  “So no one has been buried in the family plot for years?”

  “No family has been buried there for years, but if a visitor is taken sick and dies, we bury them with honor in that place.”

  “Ahh.” Sir David’s exhale sounded like he’d had a revelation. “Has anyone died and been buried there recently?”

  “Oh, nay. The last time anyone was buried there was clear last winter.”

  “That is a very long time ago,” Sir David agreed. “Who was it?”

  “My lady’s friend and her babe came to visit, but they sickened and died within two days.”

  “Who was this lady?”

  “The duchess of Framlingford.”

  Sir David stumbled and almost went down.

  I grabbed for him. “Are you ill, sir?”

  His hand found my shoulder, and he pressed it. “Afraid you’ll be left alone out here?”

  I saw no reason to lie. “Aye, sir.”

  “The moon is rising. See?” Sir David pointed toward the eastern horizon, and indeed, I saw a white glow on the mountain tops. “You could find your way back, even by yourself, but to tell you the truth, I doubt anyone is mad enough to come out so late.”

  “Except maybe the man who hurt Sir Walter and tried to hurt my lady.” My low voice wavered abominably, but Sir David heard.

  “So you think he’s mad, too?”

  “I hope so, sir,” I said fervently. “I hope he’s obviously raving mad, for I don’t want to think he’s someone who walks among us undetected.”

  “Well said.” Sir David didn’t offer any reassurance, however.

  I noted that, and started walking close on his heels again.

  “Tell me what happened with the duchess of Framlingford.”

  I searched my memory. I hadn’t really paid much attention, and at that time in my life, the previous winter seemed eons ago. “The duchess was a friend of my lady’s, I recollect, and apparently had come for a visit to Beckon. That’s one of my lady’s other castles.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “I thought you might have heard gossip.”

  “There’s not much gossip about my lady. Never before has she given us anything to gossip about.”

  “Before me, you mean.”

  I knew better than to answer that, but Sir David didn’t seem to require a reply.

  He pondered, then asked, “Why did Lady Alisoun and the duchess come here? Were you expecting Lady Alisoun?”

  “Nay, sir, we were surprised that she would travel so deep into the winter, and the duchess and her babe arrived already ill.”

  “A b
abe?”

  “So they said. I never saw either one of them. My lady feared they had brought contagion to the castle, and she tended them alone, putting only herself at risk. When they died, she prepared the bodies and placed them together in the coffin.”

  “Completely alone? No one helped her in any way?”

  “No one.”

  Sir David walked now in silence until we reached the churchyard. A short wooden fence surrounded all the graves, and the gate creaked when Sir David opened it. At the heart of the cemetery, a smaller rock wall surrounded the family of my lady. I lingered outside the wooden fence until Sir David called, “This ground is consecrated in the name of our Lord. Suicides and heretics only are buried outside the fence.”

  I found myself standing at his side before he’d finished the sentence.

  The rising moon caught in the tops of the trees from the nearby forest. The white light it delivered showed an assortment of gargoyles and saints atop the stones that marked the family’s individual graves. In the stark shades of night and moon, the saints leered and the gargoyles hunkered, waiting for unwary prey to pass. I clung to Sir David’s surcoat as he trod the narrow path through the older graves to the place where the visitors were buried.

  One of the graves stood open.

  If I could have moved, I would have run. When my long legs started pumping, no one could have caught me.

  If I could have moved.

  As it was, I stood there and stared with mouth gaping wide as Sir David dropped to his knees and peered down into the ground. He grunted. “Nothing here.” Dusting his hands, he stood and looked around.

  I knew what he sought. I even spotted it before he did, but I shut my eyes tight to avoid my duty to inform him. It didn’t help. He marched toward the coffin with sure strides and I scampered in his wake, wanting to stay close to him even while I longed to be away from that half-open wooden box.

  I thought my prayers had been answered when he halted partway there, but he only handed me his knife and said, “That madman we discussed might be out there now, so I want you to watch my back.”

  My teeth chattered too much to reply.

  Sir David moved closer to the coffin, and as he did the moonlight sneaked down the trunks of the trees, creeping ever closer, as if it wanted to illuminate the body within the box. I heard the scrape of wood on wood as he moved the lid completely to the side. The odor of decay wafted to my nostrils. I fixed my gaze on the trees and the area around the churchyard, staring so hard my eyeballs ached while I wondered if I would disgrace myself and puke from fear and horror.