A True and Perfect Knight (3 page)

Thomas nodded, light shining in his eyes, eager for the adventure she offered.

Gennie took his small hand in hers “Good. I must speak with some of Sir de Sessions’s men; then we will go hunt for eggs.”

With Soames and half of the men sent off to hunt, Haven told those remaining to picket the horses, build a fire, and erect a shelter. He tethered his mount. Deciding to wash the mud from his person before he questioned the widow, Haven headed for the river, with Watley, his squire, in tow. As they walked, Haven observed the other side of the clearing, where the widow directed her small retinue. What was the woman up to?

She had ignored his order to rest on the log, when other women would have complained about the lack of a cushion. His mother would have commandeered half of his men to see to her comfort and that of her family. The widow Dreyford neither complained nor added to his men’s work.

She marched off and spoke quietly to her family and servants. She sought no assistance from him or his men. She took on a difficult task for a noble lady, two children and three servants, none of whom were trained to survive out of doors for very long. But she had, he reminded himself, survived for weeks, when circumstances forced her to it.

His thoughts still on the widow, Haven proceeded to the stream. He found her appearance and demeanor…unexpected. She did not seem the type of woman to incite a man to treason either for greed or power. Her attention to her son, her sister-in-law, even her servants bespoke a sober woman who cared too much for the wellbeing of others. Such a woman did not fit with the picture of the scheming temptress that he and the king believed her to be.

With Watley’s help, Haven removed his mail, tunic and breeches, and then plunged his body into the stream. The rushing water loosened the aches of several hard days’ ride. The tension resulting from the woman’s hands on his belt washed downstream.

Oh, it was not the widow’s fault, he assured himself. Place any woman’s hands at any man’s waist and he would suffer similar consequences. He felt again the surprising jolt of desire that consumed him at the sound of the widow’s voice, and heat flushed through him.

He scrambled for mental control before the water would boil and steam around him. He should not feel such heat for his best friend’s widow.
This is ridiculous
.
She’s much too independent and probably not as pretty under those bruises as I imagine.
He stood, allowing the evening air to shiver away what the water could not.

Watley handed him a cloth. Haven stepped from the stream. He dried himself and then donned the dry clothing that the squire held ready.

Could the widow truly possess such an alluring voice and not own a body to go with it? Mayhap he had misjudged her. Who could tell what lay beneath that shapeless, sodden exterior? Nor should her shape matter to him. She was a traitoress. Who was behind this conspiracy to kill the king? What did she know about her husband’s activities? As he rubbed water from his own countenance, he promised himself that he would ask those questions and more of her when he returned to camp.

The widow was nowhere in sight. But what Haven saw at the campsite stopped him in his tracks. The men went busily about their preparations. However, nothing was as he had expected.

The fire blazed on the opposite side of the camp from where it belonged. The horses were tethered too close to the trees and thus vulnerable to attack from wild animals. The low profile and poor location of the shelter showed all too clearly the inexperience of the new men in his troop. Edward had ordered Haven to take every able-bodied man he encountered into service against the Welsh. Since the best warriors were already with Edward’s army, most of the men Haven found were green youths or ham-handed slackards.

Haven stalked to where a fellow named Bergen put the finishing touches on the shelter. “Did I not tell you to set the tent nearer to the bluff?”

Bergen jolted upright. “Aye, sir.”

“What then is it doing here?”

“The widow, sir, she said you would be displeased if your tent were too far from the water.”

Haven held his temper. It was not
his
tent, but Bergen could not know that.

“She is wrong. The oilcloth will provide greater shelter for more people if it is attached to that rock overhang on the bluff, thus giving at least one solid wall and a roof, as well as providing some dry ground on which to sleep.”

Bergen darted an anxious glance across the camp.

“Did the widow say anything else, Bergen?”

“N-nay, Sir Haven.”

Precious time would be lost correcting the widow’s mistake.
She should have consulted me.
He nodded to Bergen. “Move the tent, then continue with your work.” Haven walked off to solve the problem of the fire while he contemplated what to do with the horses.

“Cook.” Haven eyed the thin man who tended a pot suspended over the fire. “What is your name?”

“Rene, sir.” He stirred the pot’s contents.

“Did you order the fire built here, Rene?”

The cook cast a quick glance at Haven. “Nay, sir.”

“Who did?”

“Milady Genvieve wanted the cook fire placed where the wind would not blow smoke and sparks back toward your shelter.”

Haven felt his temper jab at him again. Why did the widow seem to think he would let her sleep in the cold and wet while he stayed warm and dry? Still he bit his tongue on the sharp words that pushed to be said. Rene had no knowledge of his intentions.

Rene continued, “When she saw your men also building a fire but in a different place, milady suggested they stop. One fire is enough for the whole camp and will conserve wood.”

Haven could not fault the widow’s intent to help. Yet, in trying to save wood and effort, she had created a problem. The horses could not be moved closer to the river until the fire was moved elsewhere. More wasted time and effort. All because the widow chose to give orders without asking him. Just who did she think was in charge?

“The tent will be placed against the bluff. I want that fire moved across the clearing before my men return with meat. When they do, you will take a fair share for your lady and allow my man to cook for us. I will not have my needs or those of my men increase your work.”

Rene raised his eyebrows. “Aye, Sir Haven.”

Haven stalked away. Why should the cook be surprised that he be shown consideration?
I have every right to be as thoughtful of others’ needs as the widow.
More than a little cross at the widow’s misguided intentions and failure to ask his permission, Haven approached the men tending the horses. None of this would have happened if the men had been seasoned warriors. Warriors who knew that women, especially women suspected of treason, did not give orders in camp.

“Sutherland, Lindel, why did you not picket the horses nearer the river?”

“Sir.” The two dropped their curry brushes and snapped to attention.

“Well?”

The men looked at each other, then faced Haven and spoke in a rush.

“It was the widow…”

“The widow Dreyford, sir…”

“Wait.” Haven held up one hand, palm outward. “One at a time. Lindel, you first.”

“The widow, sir. She told us that you would be unhappy if the horses were placed above the level of your tent. She said they would make an unappealing mess and might interfere with your sleep.”

Haven’s mouth thinned. By the Rood. As soon as he finished here, he would find the widow. He would inform her that he was in charge. That he was not a selfish, overbearing ogre who left women and children to sleep in the rain when shelter was to be had. She would sleep safe and cozy inside that tent if he had to sit on her to make her do it.

In that instant the memory of her slender arms wrapped around his waist popped into his mind. Again he felt the softness of her skin as he touched her face. What if she was just as soft all over? His body hardened. What would it feel like to
sit
upon that pillowy form? Haven groaned. Why must he think of such things now? He did not want to ease the tightness in his groin on the widow. He absolutely did not.

“Sir, sir, your face is red. Are you ill?” Lindel shook Haven’s shoulder. “Sutherland, run. Find Lady Genvieve. A woman will know how to soothe Sir Haven’s pain.”

“Nay!” Haven’s tone knocked away Lindel’s grasp and halted Sutherland in his tracks.

’Twas the last thing he wanted to think of—having the traitorous woman soothe what ailed him. She was his best friend’s widow and a suspected traitor. “Nay, I am not ill.” He gritted his teeth against the need surging through him. “As wise as the widow is in ordering the horses down slope from the tent, they are much too close to the forest. Move them.”

Haven pointed to a flat grassy area a few paces from the running water. “That spot is flat enough, and the horses will be neither too close to the fire nor the woods. Do you understand?”

“Aye, sir,” Lindel agreed.

Sutherland nodded.

“Good. When you have done with the horses, get Bergen and post yourselves at guard. Sutherland, I want you on the bluff. Lindel, patrol the perimeter at twenty paces out. Bergen can patrol the edge of the clearing. Is that understood?”

The men nodded. Haven set off to find the widow. As before, she was nowhere in camp.

He asked his men if they had seen her.

Bergen answered. “I thought I saw her take the boy into the trees earlier, sir.”

“What direction?”

“Over there, by that fallen log.”

Haven’s jaw tightened on his thanks. “You mean they left alone?”

“Nay, sir. They left together.”

Perhaps I should just slit my own throat and save Edward the trouble. Not only must I bring the king a pack of bumbling fools to add to his army, but also the widow must endanger herself and her son by wandering about a strange wood, alone.
Frustrated beyond patience, Haven plunged into the trees and cursed his oath to protect Roger Dreyford’s family.

Chapter Three

Gennie limped a bit as she and Thomas stepped out from among the trees opposite the side of the camp from which they had left. She held the hem of her kirtle lifted in both hands and cradled two dozen or more quail eggs within the fold. Thomas too had formed a sack from the folded-up hem of his tunic and carried a load of berries. Juice stained his little mouth red. Gennie had pretended not to see him sneaking the plump tidbits. The two laughed as they approached Rene, and Gennie called out, “Sir cook, we bring you eggs and berries. We’ll have a fine dinner tonight.”

“My thanks, milady.” He took the eggs from her.

“Thomas, will you help Rene to put the eggs and berries away?”

“
Oui
, Mama.”

Gennie looked out over the camp and saw the horses had been moved once again. She nodded, approving the change to her instructions. Her feet felt numb and cold, and as she saw no work that needed to be done, she headed for the fallen log. She was in the midst of dragging the log closer to the fire when Marie ran into the clearing.

“Milady, milady. Come quickly. Rebecca has slipped and fallen in the muck. She’s having a terrible fit. I cannot calm her enough to see if she’s hurt.”

Marie tugged at her arm. Gennie dropped the log and clasped the nurse’s hand.

“Just a moment, Marie. I must see that Thomas is taken care of before I can go to Rebecca.”

“I will stay with the boy.”

“
Non.
You must lead me to Rebecca. Give me a few moments. I will have all settled. In the meantime, calm yourself.”

Gennie looked about the camp for Therese, but the maid had disappeared. Rene was busy preparing supper. de Sessions and his squire were gone, like most of his men. All that she saw were Rene at the fire and Bergen, walking along the tree line. As quickly as her sore feet would allow, she marched up to the man. “Bergen, I am in need of your aid.”

The warrior looked warily from her to where he walked his post and back. “I cannot leave my post, milady.”

“I see. I do not ask you to cease your guard duty, only to add my son to it.”

Bergen’s brow wrinkled.

“I must aid my sister-in-law. Thomas is too tired to come with me. Please watch over him while lam gone.”

“I must watch outside the camp, lady.”

“
Oui.
Could you not carry Thomas on your shoulders? He would think it great fun, and you could teach him how to be a proper guard.”

Bergen nodded and stuck out his chest. “Aye, milady. I can do that.”

“Thank you, Bergen. I will be back very soon.” With Thomas settled happily on Bergen’s shoulders, Gennie followed Marie into the woods.

Once more Haven pushed his way into the forest. After a fruitless search, he had returned to camp, to find that the widow had come and gone in his absence. She had much to answer for, and he began to think she eluded him a purpose. During the short time he spent looking for her, she managed to turn Bergen from a guard into a nursemaid. The big man had been rolling on the ground, tickling Thomas, instead of guarding the camp.