How to Train Your Knight: A Medieval Romance Novel (3 page)

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “All is lost, then.”

“God’s ways are most mysterious.” As he’d done since she was a small child, he patted her hand, but this time she found no solace.

“Do you suppose I could have the marriage annulled?”

He shook his tonsured head. “A second son like Blackwell craves land and title.”

“But what am I to do? I won’t survive another marriage.” Grabbing her confessor’s simple brown sleeve, she choked back a sob.

His rough robe met her cheek when he took her into a hug. “Not all marriages are like your first one. Give the joining a chance. The knight may surprise you. I’ll speak to him on your behalf and I’ll pray to God.”

She tossed her head side to side vehemently and her hair escaped the cap. “But God hasn’t been on my side recently. I think He tires of my cursing. My un-ladylike behavior. Oh, I believe He hath finally washed His hands of me fully.”

Brother John rose and walked behind the altar. “There, there, don’t be silly. Finish your penance. I’ll have something new to show you when you’re done.”

“Did the mechanism book arrive?” Her heavy heart was put aside.

“Aye, dear. It did. After your prayers. Would you like me to have it brought to your chambers?” Reappearing, he held a treasure of bound parchment.

“Umm, no. I’ll take it with me. It’s not well known amongst The Beast’s men that I’m out of my chamber.” She squirmed under his stern stare.

“About the manly attire . . .”

“Yes?” She batted her eyelashes and feigned innocence. It hadn’t actually worked for years, but the look was all she had as defense against his keen insight.

“You forgot to list that amongst your many sins today. Say twenty
Our-Fathers
for that alone.” He sighed mightily and brushed the book dust from the front of his robe.

“Yes, Brother.” Her folded hands hid her smirk. Mayhap she’d just join these prayers to tomorrow’s batch and get both done at once. God would applaud her efficiency.

After she’d finished her prayers, well, most of them, she ran back into the village. It took a full day to assure her town’s people that they should continue with their labors as was the norm. When the sun began to sink low into the sky, she entered the bathhouse and pushed on the geared wall.

With heavy legs, she climbed up the steep stairs and into her room. Once there, she collapsed onto her pallet. Her empty stomach made a rude noise to remind her that she’d forgotten to stop for supper. How in the world was she going to extricate herself from this mess when she couldn’t even remember to eat?

She dropped to her knees and prayed, this time in earnest, for God to save her.

Chapter 3

Marcus pulled back on the reins and came alongside Thomas as they exited the forest. Below them, a spring green valley, dotted with pools of violets, opened up as far as the eye could see. Sheep, startled by their appearance, ran in foolish circles, not one of them wanting to take the lead. Lost little ones bucked and bleated and tried to follow.

“It’s hard to believe how fertile the lands and how well-kept the town,” Marcus said.

“Aye. You’ve done well. Plenty of wooly beasties, too. Tell me more about this Abernathy fellow. What’s the fuss?”

Midnight nickered, then decided to munch, so Marcus shifted back in the saddle. “You know my father. No doubt he hath turned molehill into mountain. My understanding is that for centuries, the north fields have been shared. He says that Abernathy has been stealing the Lady Ann’s sheep from this common ground. That needs to stop. Hold. I see a shepherd.”

“Ho, there.” He reined in beside a young man with a bright green wool cap and a brown tunic tied with leather cord. His legs and feet were bare.

The boy backed away slowly and put his arms high in the air. “Ho, there, yourself. Who are you, good sirs?”

“I’m Sir Blackwell, second son of your liege lord and now wed to Lady Ann. These are my men. We’re here to protect what is mine.”

“Really? I didn’t know she’d wed, I’ve been in the fields for so long. I’m sorry, but I didn’t recognize you. I’m Sam, son of Mary and Bartholomew.” The boy lowered his arms and bowed somewhat awkwardly at the waist. “I thought maybe you were Abernathy’s men come for the whole of my herd.”

“Why? Have you had issues with him?”

“Issues? No issues. Just plain stealing. Last night, twenty more were taken.”

Down in the valley below, dozens of sheep grazed. Mayhap even a hundred. “How can you tell them apart?” Marcus asked. “They all look identical.”

The boy appeared stricken. No, more like appalled. “You jest?”

Marcus’ horse shifted, sensing his ire. Digging deep within to find his most patient demeanor, he leaned over and lowered his voice, “Yes, by the blood of all the holy saints, they all look the same. Please explain.”

Shaking his head side to side, the shepherd tsk-tsk’d. “They’re nothing alike. See the yellowish color of their coat? That is theirs. The ones with the whiter fleece? Thems is ours. You can see how the herd on the field yonder looks like yellow with white dots? The white dots is ours.”

“Why don’t you just go get them back?”
Maybe I’m a little slow today
. It seemed all her people spoke in riddles. Maybe she
was
a witch; though a damned beautiful one.

“Well, that’s just it. They got armed men and well, we have naught.”

Again, Marcus cocked his head and looked upon the boy as if he was dull of mind. He grunted. “Where are these armed men?”

He pointed out several oaks on top of the hill, past the field. “See that tree? Two archers are stationed there.” He moved his arm toward a small hut deep in the grasslands of the valley. “And over there are men with swords.”

The situation just became more than amusing.

Thomas turned to the boy and winked. “Oh, ho. I know that look. It is said when The Beast smiles like that, the devil himself stands aside.”

The men cheered and the boy’s eyes widened.

“Pay him no mind,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “Just be ready to see to your flocks and retrieve your little beasties.”

He raised one arm, pointed toward the archers, and gave a shrill whistle. The other arm motioned toward the fields and back again. His men broke into two groups, dispersed, then returned later, not even winded. Two of Abernathy’s warriors lay upon the field, wounded and moaning.

Marcus dismounted and shooed the boy. “Well. Go get ours back.”

The shepherd found the tallest mound on the hill, climbed upon a boulder, and sang. The sheep bleated back toward his sweet, soprano voice. One brave ram finally took the lead and the rest wandered behind him. They joined the flock of the same shade of white that rested in the opposite corner of the valley. The yellower breed ignored everything and continued to munch on the grasses as if nothing was amiss.

“Clearly, I’ve much to learn about sheep,” Marcus muttered under his breath.

“Aye, magical smelly beasties, they are.” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Marcus pointed to Adam and Zeke, the strongest of his men. “You two, stay put until I relieve you. There may be more trouble.”

To the rest, he shrugged with a grin. “Sorry, I’m afraid that’s all the fighting we have today.”

His men moaned in unison until Thomas lay back on the saddle. The front legs of his charger pawed the air. “Come now, stout hearts. I’ll set up practice in the green later, where you can beat each other black and blue. I’ll even put a purse on the winner.”

Swords beat upon shields in approval. After they’d exited the hill and crossed into the valley, Marcus pulled up next to him. “Just where did you get money for rewards?”

Thomas chuckled, tugged his charger’s reins, and their horses nickered in disapproval. “Ho. I expect to spend some of your coin—. Stop. Do you hear that?”

Marcus paused and patted Midnight’s neck until her breath calmed. “Aye. The church bells. Mayhap someone died?” He pictured his lively young wife laid out still and pale, and groaned.
I should’ve never left her alone.
He rushed them along the fields, back toward his new estates, and came upon two men with oxen. Stopping in front of the first, he asked, “Tell me, good sir, what does the ringing signify?”

“When it sounds like that, it means all is well.” The farmer heaved back hard on the plough and one ox bellowed, tossing its horns all about.

Midnight whinnied and shied from the creature and Marcus agreed. The black beast’s eyes bulged with the fierceness of a dragon. “All? What all?”

“Millie, behave.” Frowning, the farmer swatted the animal’s behind with a slap, and the ox settled, mild as a cow. “It means the Lady Ann fares well.”

At those words, the tight knot in Marcus’ chest relaxed and his breathing calmed.
Remarkable.
No doubt, he’d been overly concerned because he’d never had a wife before. Turning to Thomas, he said, “Should we see just how well the lady bodes?”

“‘I hope she’s not overly well. Next time, her knife might nick something more vital than an arm.” Laughing, Thomas put his hand bawdily over his groin. With a flick of the reins, they headed south, toward town. “Let’s take the river road. I here-say there’s a mill.”

“How’d you find that out?” Marcus caught up so as to ride alongside.

“One hears a lot at the breakfast table.” Thomas maneuvered his horse where the road had washed away, then raised his eyebrows up and down, and snickered.

“Aye, no doubt. Free food breeds a loose tongue.” Marcus had to fall behind, single file, so his scowl was for naught.

“What matters it to you? I thought you brought the whole of Aladdin’s wealth home to England.”

“And I intend for it to stay that way. At the rate you and my wife are spending my purse, it’ll hardly last out the year.” He kicked a bit of spur into Midnight and raced ahead.

Not more than a mile down the river, a well-tended mill wheel sloshed, turning in a mild current. A small man, his wife, and son all poked their heads out a window.

“Hello, sir knights. What brings you here?” The miller glanced about nervously and held tight the shutters.

“Hello, good sir. We’re out surveying my new lands.”

Their faces paled as if struck down with grief. The woman crossed herself. “
Your
lands? The Lady Ann, she’s dead?”

Never before had he witnessed such loyalty. “Nay. Calm yourself. We’ve just now heard the bells. The lands are mine because we’re wed.”

“Oh, well then, that’s different. Congratulations. A fine, fine wife she’ll be, sir. Would you and your men like to stop in for refreshment and celebration?” The miller disappeared, reappeared at the door to the mill, reached up, and pumped Marcus’ hand.

“We can share, but a quick glass of mead. I’m anxious to get home to her.”
I need to see her with my own eyes.

The man gazed fondly at his wife. “Ah, newlyweds. I fully understand. I wish you as much happiness in her arms as I’ve found with mine.”

The miller’s elderly wife blushed like a maiden and giggled. The small gesture gnawed at Marcus. What man would not relish a lifetime with a woman who gazed upon him with adoration? Jealousy tugged at him, like the chafe of an unfamiliar armor, and he shrugged it away.

When they arrived back at the manor at the hour of dinner, he grimaced and his stomach growled. The cook had been clear about what to expect; there might be food with one of the peasants or mayhap the hens would have eggs. His men would not be happy. He’d promised them, once they’d arrived home in England, they’d never go hungry again.

He cursed. Nothing was going as he’d hoped.

The stable boy jumped out and took Midnight’s reins. “They’re waiting for you, m’lord.”

Aromas of roasting meat thickened the air when they entered the great hall. Young ladies, dressed in their country finest, led them to table and waited on them as if royalty. He recognized the same lasses who’d aided the cook this morning.

Pulling on the hand of the oldest, he took her aside. “How is it that we have a warm meal waiting?”

“M’lady ordered it so, sir.” She looked down and curtsied politely.

Where was that raven hair of his new wife?
He searched each of the tables.
Hadn’t he instructed Bart to come find him?
“She gave orders to feed us?”

“Yes, sir. And your rooms to be freshened and tended. You will find all in order.” The young girl, giggled, blushed, curtsied again, and eyed Thomas. She skipped off to the kitchen, no doubt to fetch more ale.

“Did you hear that? How in hang did the woman direct her staff if she’s still locked in her room?”

Thomas was busy ogling the maiden. He picked up a plate of pickled egg and cucumbers, and stuffed his mouth full while his eyes gleamed with devilishness. “You don’t suppose she intends to poison you? You should look into it, but I’d suggest after sup.”

“For that remark, you can be my taster.” Marcus grabbed a leg of chicken out of his hand and dug in. Savory spices exploded in his mouth. “Wonderful.” After a few more bites, he pulled another young maiden aside. “Did you prepare a plate for the lady of the house?”

“Nay, I’m told she’s starving herself, sir, and I’m to tell you so.” She made a tiny pout, bobbed her head in denouncement, and sounded quite righteous when she added, “She won’t eat nor drink until you leave the manor.”

“But, of course.” He rolled his eyes to heaven. After years fighting for all things holy, was it too much to ask for a dutiful wife?

He gathered more food onto his plate and trudged up the stairs. His way was lit by a wall torch, which caused his shadow to crouch, hang behind corners, and grow enormous in the dim light. The mock warrior drew back when he strode down the long dark hall and knocked on the door. “Would you have some food?”

“Nay, I’m not hungry.” The door muffled her tone. Was that defiance or was she beginning to give?

He tried a gentle, soothing voice. The tone was easy to feign while he fingered the pastoral carvings on her door. Sheep and shepherds lingered everywhere, with nary a sword to be found. “I’d not have you starve.”

“What matters it to you? It’ll save you the effort of hanging me.”

“True. I’ve been given that responsibility, but only if I find you guilty of murdering your previous husband. Or mayhap if I find you’ve taken up witchcraft. Let me ask you. Did you kill Sir Underhill?” He held his breath. Did he really want to know the answer?

“I’d have liked to. He was an evil man,” she whispered so softly he was forced to put his ear to the door.

“He had a temper, then?”

“The like I’ve never seen before, nor hope to experience again. He died here in my bedchamber.”

What was he hearing, a guilty conscience? Regret? He peered into the slit, but all was dark.

“What happened that night? Rumors abound. It’s said you stabbed him in the stomach and watched him until his blood sat in a cold puddle beside him. Speak carefully, for your life may well depend on it.”

“I don’t remember stabbing him.”

That was a disturbing turn of phrase. “But the servants say he was covered in blood.”

“That he was, but the gore wasn’t his, ‘twas mine.”

He paced the hallway and needed to bring his voice up a notch to carry. “Speak plainly, girl. I’m tired of your word games.”

She raised her voice to match his in both level and haughty tone. “The night my husband died, I remember that he grabbed at his chest, screamed like a woman, and fell to the floor. His face turned ashen, like the cinders in my fireplace. Then all was quiet and the breath was out of him. That is the whole of what I remember of his death. So do I swear.”

“And what of the blood?’

“I won’t speak of it. You can question Brother James, who laid him in the ground. He told me there was nary a mark upon him. Go away now. I find I’m tired. If you must hang me, please be about it soon. Wasting away is not nearly as convenient as I had first thought.”

He pounded his fist upon the door. “Damnation, wife. I need to know the entirety of the tale.”

“But I thought the Earl commanded it?” Instead of fearful, she sounded a little brighter in spirits. “I heard your man say so. You were to marry me for my lands, learn my witch ways, then hang me for murdering my husband. You could have it all and with no troublesome wife.”

“I won’t hang an innocent woman and I desire heirs. It seems you’re strong and young enough in body to carry children. You’re also of noble blood.” And for some godforsaken reason, he cared for her well-being.

He envisioned her as she’d been this morning. Was she in there in the same night-clothes? He sorely wanted to take that mass of hair into his hands, pull those pouty lips to his, and thrust his sword into her sweet shaft. Then he would say his wedding vows again, with meaning.