Once a Knight

  A sudden thought brought her to a halt, and she faced him. “You have a jealous mistress?”

  Slouched in his saddle, David smiled at her. Only a smile, but a thrill shot up her back. In a slow, teasing drawl, he said, “The only jealous mistress I have is Louis, and he cares not who shares my bed.”

  “I don’t care either.”

  Surprised, his brows shot up. “Nay?”

  “After all, I am a practical woman. I can’t expect that you would have gone without release before we met.”

  “Practical, indeed.” Leaning out of the saddle, he took her hand and worked it free of the leather riding glove which protected it. Slowly, he lifted her fingers to his mouth. He kissed each one, then turned her hand over and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. His whiskers tickled, his tongue caressed, and she closed her eyes to better absorb the sensation.

  “If we’d had a private moment on this journey, my lady, I promise you would not be bothered by such musings.”

  Practical, she repeated to herself. I’m practical.

  “’Twas a damned poor wedding night.”

  His thumb circled the pads beneath her fingers until her skin tingled. The sensation worked its way up her arm and caused a flutter in her heart.

  “When we get to Radcliffe, I promise to prove myself as devoted a husband as I was a lover.” Easing her glove back on her hand, he muttered, “Although I wish I had the opportunity to bind you to me ere we arrive.”

  Her eyes popped open. “What is wrong at Radcliffe?”

  “We’d best move on,” he said. “The carts will catch up with us and we don’t want them to have to halt so close to our destination.”

  “We’re close?”

  “Very close. Ride to the top of that rise and you’ll catch your first glimpse of Radcliffe. Although the keep is not up to your standards, I think you’ll find the valley a sight fit for royal eyes.”

  Seeing his fond, proud smile, she thought perhaps she comprehended all he’d tried to say. David’s mistress was not any woman, but this land which he had won with such difficulty and cherished with his every breath. That she would allow. That she would encourage. Spurring her mount, she rode forward. The trees thinned rapidly now, and at the top of the rise a vista opened up.

  The forest cupped the valley in its palm. Dark green fingers of pine reached out and separated the golden fields and emerald pastures. Here the air, scented with wild thyme and domestic flowers, smoothed her face with a gentle touch. A giant stone stood balanced on the side of the hill and around it tumbled a stream laden with its bounty. Birds escaped the safety of the forest and dove toward the valley to work the fields behind the plowmen. The track dove straight down from Alisoun’s feet, through the brown thatched village and to the small castle perched on a rocky outcrop.

  David turned Louis sideways and stared as intently as any man returning from a long absence. In a voice filled with awe, he said, “The crops are growing. God be praised, the drought is broken.” A grin broke across his face. “We’ll survive this winter!”

  Alisoun watched in stupefaction as he whooped and rode Louis in a circle. Then she realized her surmise had been correct. It was this he feared she would find unsatisfactory, for it was this he loved. Pulling up beside her, he leaned out of the saddle and with one arm around her neck, hugged and bussed her in one lightning-fast strike. Before she could reprove him, he skittered away.

  “Come on.” He started down the hill at a canter. Looking back, he saw her following at a sedate pace, and he rode back and slapped her mount on the rump. “Come on!”

  She didn’t want to gallop into her future home, her wimple loose and her clothes rumpled, but David gave her no choice. He harried her down the track, laughing maniacally and singing nonsense songs. She tried to reprove him, but he ignored her and at last she decided she would look more foolish if she struggled than if she joined in. Or perhaps he infected her with his delight. He had a way of doing that.

  She didn’t sing, of course, or laugh out loud, but she smiled and leaned into the ride, relishing the wind on her face and the sunshine which shone unfettered by the trees. And after all, she told herself, this was a small price to reassure David that she found his home acceptable.

  The villagers spotted them and ran in from the fields, and when they reached the little square, men, women, and children were waiting for them.

  Alisoun stopped, sure the villagers would wait respectfully while David spoke some formal greeting. Instead David stared at her as if she were the embodiment of beauty while the villagers shouted in a tumult of welcome.

  “Glad ye could come back, m’lord.”

  “Pretty lady, m’lord.”

  “No wonder he didn’t return sooner.”

  “I wouldn’t either, if that were me company.”

  The people seemed respectful enough, but Alisoun stiffened. Surely they didn’t always treat their lord and his visitors with such impudence. To David, she said, “Aren’t you going to reprimand them?”

  David stopped staring at her and glanced around at the smiling faces below. “Reprimand them? They seem to have the right of it.” Waving his arms, he commanded their silence and they gave it willingly enough. “Good people of Radcliffe, I bring you Lady Alisoun of George’s Cross to be your new mistress and the guiding light of our village.”

  Mouths dropped in unison.

  Dismayed by their reaction, Alisoun greeted them. “How do you do, good people?”

  Someone—one of the unkempt men who’d run in from the fields—said, “Ye’re jestin’, m’lord. Ye married Lady Alisoun o’ George’s Cross?”

  David took her hand. “I have her here.”

  Every eye examined her from head to toe.

  One of the women said, “Are ye sure ye have th’ right one? We’ve heard o’ Lady Alisoun, an’ she’s all stiff an’ mannerly an’ crotchety.”

  Alisoun tried to tuck hairs back under her wimple.

  David grinned. “So she was—before she met me.”

  The villagers, Alisoun noted, laughed with unnecessary vigor at David’s poor jest.

  He pointed a finger at them. “She’ll have every one of you behaving in a proper manner before the summer’s over.”

  Someone groaned.

  “You especially, Alnod.” David didn’t even need to look to know the groaner. “And you’ll all cooperate with your new lady.”

  “What if we don’t want t’ be proper?” the man called Alnod asked.

  “Her villagers do as they’re told, and she’s brought them great wealth. They didn’t starve, not even last winter.”

  The villagers glanced at each other. Every one of them was too thin, and none wore much more than rags.

  No longer laughing, David stated solemnly, “She is the lady of my heart.”

  Alnod nodded, as did the others. “Then we’ll treat her as if she were one of our own.”

  “I can ask no more,” David replied.

  “I will do my best to be the lady you deserve,” Alisoun said, and if her phrase carried an undertone of anger, no one seemed to notice.

  Beaming at her, David started toward the castle. This time she ignored his urgings and rode with dignity and grace. Her experience in Radcliffe Village proved that, should the nobles abandon their pride, the common folk would fail in their proper homage.

  To her surprise, David respected her wishes and led her horse while she made the necessary repairs to her appearance. Yet he glanced constantly at the castle. His chatter died away; he rode like a man restrained, yet in a hurry.

  Someone must have been watching from the castle walls. As they neared, the drawbridge began to drop. It didn’t creak, the chains didn’t squeal. It slid down easily, cleanly, like a gate in perfect repair. This was the home of a mercenary, and it gave Alisoun the first indication of the kind of repairs David had deemed important. Whatever conditions she found in the keep, the outer walls would be invulnerable to siege or attack.

  Maybe th
at explained why the villagers, despite their hungry appearance, displayed an almost cocky confidence. It certainly explained why David insisted that they come to Radcliffe for her safety.

  “There.” David let go of her bridle. “Look.”

  Alisoun saw a little boy running down the lowered drawbridge. A man ran after him.

  Alisoun shaded her eyes. “Who is it?”

  King Louis danced in what looked like equine excitement.

  “That’s not Guy of the Archers, surely. No man of his mastery would run after a child in so undignified a manner.”

  David vaulted from the saddle.

  “Unless the child was…”

  David began to run in a manner equally as undignified.

  “…yours.”

  18

  David ran toward Bert, and the thump of her small body against his brought tears of joy to his eyes. He lifted her high, then brought her close, absorbing love and warmth, feeling her squirm and knowing the ecstasy of holding his healthy, active, stubborn daughter once more.

  “Daddy.” She used her hand to push his head away. “I wanna see you.”

  He leaned back so she could see him, and he could see her, and for the first time he absorbed her amazing transformation. The gold he had sent had obviously gone to feed the child, for she looked healthy and far from starvation. But her brown hair had been cut to a stubble all around her skinny face. She had a scab above her eyebrow and one on her chin. “What have you done to yourself?” he demanded.

  “I’m going to be a warrior like you.”

  Lifting her away from him again, he stared at her while her feet kicked uselessly. “What are you wearing?”

  “A page’s uniform.” Her brown eyes sparkled. “I can practice my swordwork in it.”

  “That’s your sword?” He nodded at the wooden stick hung from a belt at her waist.

  “I made it myself.” She whipped her head around and glared at Guy, who stood off to the side. “Uncle Guy wouldn’t do it. He said I had no business being a warrior, but I’m going to be a mercenary like my Daddy.”

  Guy met David’s gaze with a rueful shake of the head. “I beg your pardon, David. She cut her hair with a kitchen knife. I heard the cook squalling and—”

  “’Tis I who am sorry, Guy.” David brought Bert close once more. She wrapped her skinny arms around his neck and her skinny legs around his waist, and beheld the rest of the world with the air of a princess. “I should have known better than to think anyone could control this terror.”

  “I’m not a terror!” Bert exclaimed.

  “You’re no warrior, either,” Guy said.

  “Am too!”

  Before David had to interfere, Alisoun brought her horse closer and distracted the child. “Who is that?” Bert demanded.

  “Let me introduce you.” Proud of them both, foreseeing trouble yet facing it head-on, David walked up to Alisoun’s stirrup and said to Bert, “This is Alisoun, countess of George’s Cross and the lady who graciously became my wife four days ago.” To Alisoun, he said, “This is Bert.”

  “So I see.” Alisoun nodded gracefully in acknowledgment of the introduction. “You never told me you had a son.”

  David could have groaned, and his pugnacious child stuck her chin forward and her lip out. “I’m a girl.”

  “Her name is Bertrade,” David told Alisoun.

  If she had been a lesser woman, she would have gasped and exclaimed. As it was, her eyes narrowed as she inspected the child. “A girl. You’re a girl?”

  Bert wiggled out of David’s arms and stood close to him. Sticking out her skinny chest, she placed her scabbed fists on her hips and spread her feet in an imitation of manly confidence. She examined her new stepmother as critically as Alisoun examined her. “A countess? You’re a countess?”

  Alisoun said nothing, but to David her still expression expressed much. She was shocked by such blatant impudence, shocked by Bert’s appearance, shocked that he hadn’t informed her of her role as stepmother earlier. And he really should have. But Alisoun had been so stunned by her own pregnancy that he had feared to give her more reason to doubt their union. In his mind, he’d imagined Alisoun meeting a clean, well-behaved Bert and being charmed out of her distress.

  Instead, Bert couldn’t look worse or sound more sassy. When had she grown so spoiled?

  Stepping firmly into the breach, Guy suggested, “Perhaps this would be better continued inside.” With a gallantry he had learned on the tournament circle, he introduced himself to Alisoun, took her bridle, and led her across the drawbridge.

  She went easily, chatting with him, putting him at ease as she had been trained to do. David watched, torn between jealousy that Guy performed the duty he should perform and discomfiture that his child had so embarrassed him.

  He had wanted to show Alisoun the castle himself. He had wanted to point out to her how the smaller perimeter of his walls made defense easier, that his men were constantly on alert and every weapon always at the ready. He wanted to show her that although he’d spent most of his time and his insignificant income on fortification, the castle still boasted a few amenities. Although his stable could use whitewashing, the roof structure remained sound and her horses would be well housed. A stone wall surrounded his herb garden, and the woman who tended it mixed ointments and elixirs, and when necessary she worked a bit of healing magic.

  His keep…David squinted as he considered the difference between her keep and his. The chapel in his keep was small and dark. The great hall, the undercroft, and the gallery in his keep were equally dismal. Only the solar came close to Alisoun’s standards, and there, he hoped, he would charm her out of the consternation he feared she must be experiencing.

  As he gazed after Alisoun, a small, repentant voice spoke from below. “Daddy?”

  He waited.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  Bert scuffled her feet in the dirt. “She thought I was a boy.”

  “I don’t blame her. You’ve got no hair, you’re dressed all wrong.” Pinching the edge of her short tunic between two fingers, he shook it and dust flew. “By Saint Michael’s arms, you’re unclean.”

  “So?”

  Smothering a sudden smile, he realized how like Alisoun he had become. Before, he would not even have noticed Bert’s filth. “So you can’t become a warrior!”

  “I want to. I want to.” Tears hovered close now, and she flung her arms around his leg. “I want to go with you next time you go away.”

  “Ahh.” Now he understood. Peeling her off his leg, he knelt before her. “You don’t want me to go away anymore?”

  “Nay.” She sniffed.

  “Didn’t Guy take good care of you?”

  “Aye. I like Guy.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Most of the time. But he’s not you.”

  “That’s why you must be polite to Lady Alisoun,” David said. “I’ve married her so I won’t ever have to go away.”

  The tears that swam in Bert’s eyes dried at once. “Why not?”

  “She’s rich and no one in Radcliffe will ever go hungry again.”

  “You married an heiress.” A gaminlike grin spread across his daughter’s face as she immediately grasped his unspoken reason. “You married her for her money!”

  “Not just for her money, dear. Alisoun is warm, kind, giving—”

  Bert snorted and punched his shoulder. “I saw her, and you’re not supposed to lie.”

  “I’m not lying.” He stood and held out his hand. “You’ll see. You’ll like her a lot.”

  “I hate you.” Bert faced off with Alisoun over a steaming tub of water while David’s serving folk watched with avid interest. “I’m sorry my Daddy married you!”

  “And I’m sorry to hear that.” Alisoun rolled up her sleeves while Philippa and her other maids set up screens around the open fire in Radcliffe’s great hall. “But you still have to have a bath.”

  Torn between explaining his da
ughter and supporting his wife, David took a step off the dais, then back up again, then back down.

  Seated on a bench at the trestle table where they had eaten their afternoon meal, Guy warned, “Leave them alone.”

  “But I’ve got to intervene before they come to blows.”

  “I’d say your Lady Alisoun has the matter well in hand,” Guy said.

  Bert shrieked at Alisoun, as if in defiance of Guy’s assurance. “My daddy doesn’t want you here.”

  “Well in hand,” David muttered. He stepped down again and walked toward the fire. In the stern voice he so seldom used on his daughter, he said, “Bert, Lady Alisoun is correct. I told you—”

  “David.” Without looking at him, Alisoun spoke in a clear, cold voice. “You’ll not interfere with me.”

  David’s mouth dropped and he halted.

  “Bertrade and I will deal with each other well when we have taken each other’s measure, I am sure.” This time her gray eyes flicked in his direction. “For that, you should leave us alone. Set the last shield, Philippa. We don’t want a draft to chill young Bertrade.”

  David was left staring at a tall screen. Retreating, he sat once more at the trestle table on the dais. Guy poured him a mug of ale and pushed it in his direction, and he sipped it in what he hoped was a casual manner—but he kept himself free of any entanglements in case he had reason to rise.

  His servants moved closer to the screens, raking the rushes off the floor, and in a desultory manner swabbing it with a mixture of urine and vinegar, all the while listening to the quarrel.

  The keep had not been the disaster of filth David feared—after all, he’d been gone less than three months—but Alisoun had set to work at once to destroy the fleas that hopped everywhere. She’d given the orders and when David’s servants proved slow in responding, she’d set her own people over them.

  Lady Edlyn had proved herself capable as she harried his servants and ordered the cooks, all at the same time. Philippa acted as an enforcer, making sure her lady’s orders, once given, were followed.

  Now it irritated David to see his staff awaiting the results of this altercation as if it would have any effect on whether they would have to obey their new mistress. He wanted to say something, to order them on their way, but Lady Edlyn put her finger to her lips and nodded with a smile. She seemed certain her mistress would triumph. He just wished he were as certain.