Candle in the Window: Castles #1

by Christina Dodd

  “I’m all right, they just knocked me down for sport. They didn’t recognize me as bein’ from Burke.”

  Saura massaged Alden’s neck and Bula’s ears with the same compassion, and they both relaxed under ministrations, at rest for the first time in two days. “William?” she called. “We must—”

  “He’s over wi’ th’ horses, m’lady, preparin’ them t’ go.”

  “Hm.”

  She thought about that, and Alden lowered his voice. “Did ye an’ th’ lord quarrel? He seems kinda stiff, if ye know what I mean.”

  “It matters not,” she said. “I’ll care for William, but first I must hear your story.”

  “Oh.” Alden was unconvinced, but obedient. “’Twas night before I got back t’ Burke, an’ I tol’ ’em what I saw. Lord Peter, he listened close, an’ then went flyin’ off an’ thar’ was the dog, pacin’ an’ whimperin’, an’ all the garrison organized an’ in place, an’ I thought, why not let the dog out? He’s got more sense than ten of these knights put together. So he an’ I went out yestermorn an’ we’ve been dodgin’ through the brush an’ down t’ un castle an’ then back t’ this place.”

  “Alden,” she said with infinite patience in her voice. “Where is your horse?”

  “Horse? Ye never thought I could follow that beast through the green wood on a horse?” Alden chuckled with the patronizing amusement of even the lowest man for a woman’s mind.

  “You’ve run all the way to Arthur’s castle and back?”

  “That’s why the dog’s so skinny, see?”

  “Devil take the stupid dog!” she erupted. “My dear fellow, you’ve done too much!”

  His voice trembled, and he rebuked, “I’m your man, an’ your lady mother’s before that. I couldn’t sit by an’ do nothin’ t’ save ye.”

  His sensitivity abruptly reminded her Alden no longer sat in the first blush of youth. “No other man could have done more,” she soothed. “Have you had any rest?”

  “Aye. Even the dog had t’ collapse last night, an’ he’d run ahead of me an’ then sit an’ wait an’ then take off again. If I was too tired he’d lay beside me an’ thump his tail an’ whine till I stood again.”

  “Oh, Alden. You’re too good, too good.”

  Alden shifted on his knees, embarrassed by his lady’s concern, and Saura tugged at his shoulders. “Up, you faithful fool, and give me a hand.”

  William spoke from behind Alden. “Aye. Lady Saura, if you can tear yourself away from your fawning slaves, we should move on to escape any pursuing force. I’ve readied the horses.”

  His blatant irritation recalled their quarrel, and she grimaced as Alden hauled her to her feet. “Lucky for me it wasn’t far to the ground,” she grumbled, brushing at her skirt.

  Stepping forward, William ordered, “Alden, your cloak,” and wrapped Saura in the swinging folds.

  “’Tis hot,” she fretted, but he tucked it closer around her.

  “You’re not decent. You wear no chainse.”

  “You hadn’t complained before.”

  “What’s fit for my eyes—”

  “Your eyes!” Alden exploded. “M’lord, ye can see! What miracle is this?”

  “’Tis a greater tale than we have time for now,” William replied kindly. “Save your queries. All will be answered at dinner tonight.”

  “William,” she whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “Alden.”

  “Alden, the Lady Saura is tired and sore, and she will ride with me,” William ordered. “You take her horse. Bula will run after.” Without waiting for a reply, he boosted her up with a hand supporting her foot. She settled herself, pleased with the proof of William’s thoughtfulness. He might be unhappy with her, but he would never take it out on her guard.

  He continued, “In that manner, you can watch our backs. I begin to feel an urgency to reach home.”

  Alden grunted as he eased himself into the saddle. “Thankee, m’lord. I find my weariness catchin’ up wi’ me now I’ve found ye. But I think ye’ll find Lord Peter put out a net of vigilance o’er the whole o’ Burke an’ beyond.”

  “Are we close, then?” Saura asked.

  “Ye’re at the headwaters of Fyngre Brook.”

  “Oh, William!” she bounced a little as he leaped into the saddle. “If you’d known where we were last night, we could have woken this morning at Burke.”

  “Hm.”

  William ignored her remark, and with a jolt, she wondered if he had known where they were all the time. Perhaps he had wanted another night with her. The thought pleased her, and then worried her. Had he wanted to get his fill, or had he wanted to strengthen his claim on her?

  She sat back in the circle of his arms as he gathered the reins and spoke to the horse. She had to take herself in hand. She couldn’t marry William, he deserved better than that. Yet if she panicked, she’d never maintain the serenity to refuse both the man and her own profound desire. She had to think. She had to reason. It was, after all, one of her traits that most antagonized Theobald.

  Perhaps she fretted for naught. Perhaps William believed what he said about marriage. About how it was a business matter and her part included only obedience and good housekeeping. Perhaps he believed she was too old.

  She’d learned to curb her imprudence in Theobald’s house, his lash had taught her that; but at Burke the hard-earned lessons had fallen away. With Lord Peter and William, she no longer felt her every word should be examined for boldness before she spoke it. These men seemed so secure in their masculinity the false respect of a female seemed almost an insult to them. Now William demanded she return the bridle to her tongue and she didn’t remember how. With a blossoming poise, she assured herself his scathing comments were nothing more than the hurt reaction of a man whose suit has been rejected. Nothing more. Nothing more.

  William’s chest felt carved in stone, and he held himself erect as if his annoyance were a permanent, solid object. Still, she knew how men cherished their anger and responded to feminine blandishments, and so she snuggled close against him and placed her hand on his thigh, a long length of tempered steel it pleased her to touch. The muscle tightened beneath her palm.

  Alden rode abreast of them. “I’ve been out, an’ don’t know Lord Peter’s plans. Do your woodsmen have a signal?”

  “They’re an independent clan of people, older than the Saxons, and never conquered by anyone. My father leaves them to go their own way, and they serve us well. If they choose to show themselves, then we’ll see them. Until then, let’s hasten onto Burke land.”

  Urging their mounts forward, he set a rapid pace through trees and over rocks, protecting Saura from branches as they slapped at their faces. He avoided the roads, keeping to the thinly marked trails, and Bula trotted at their stirrup.

  They moved quickly through the sylvan silence, a silence that was too deep. The sound of their movement echoed in the quiet; they jumped as a stick cracked beneath a hoof.

  Puzzled, Saura twisted around to face William, and he stared down at her. Her rosy lips parted to reveal her white teeth. Her minty breath reminded him of the morning, of her body rising above his and all the glorious sounds and sights of love. Her face contained trust and a transparent affection he would nurture into love, but first he must return her safely to Burke. The back of his neck itched, the signal that someone observed them from a hidden post.

  “Why aren’t the birds singing?” Saura asked in a whisper.

  “There are men in the wood.” William glanced around, his fighting senses heedful. “But are they my father’s men, or the enemy’s?”

  Both William and Alden had the wary eyes of men on the alert, and when Saura warned, “I hear the pounding of hooves,” they pulled up in a wide spot in the path and listened to the far distant sound.

  Without warning, a short, dirty man clad in green materialized before them. Bula barked once and then sat in obedience to William’s signal. The man spoke the uncouth English of the peasants, and William s
trained to understand.

  “Your father’s acomin’, Lord William.” He watched solemnly as the lord’s face lit up, and then spoke the graver news. “We watched over ye last night an’ no un followed till this mornin’. Twelve fightin’ men grouped together at the edge of our wood. A great man directed them an’ they followed your trail till they caught un of my men.”

  “Is your man dead?”

  “Aye,” the woodsman said bitterly. “Like a worthless dog, they smashed his skull. He told them nothin’, but they pulled back.”

  “What did the cruel lord look like?”

  “All Normans look alike, an’ his face was concealed by a helmet.”

  “What did he sound like?”

  “He spoke little, an’ what he said, he said quietly.”

  William nodded to the little man. “Thank you, Aschil, for your information and your protection. Come to the castle. I’ll pay a death wage for the man you lost.”

  The little man faded without a word into the forest, leaving no trace of where he stood.

  Saura tugged at William’s wrist. “Is the strange man gone?”

  Remembering how he’d longed to know the subtleties of the scenes played before his face, but with details not obvious to the blind, he described his woodsman with words that built an image for her. “He never stirred a leaf as he left,” he concluded.

  The galloping horses sounded closer, and Saura asked, “Is it the knights?”

  William shook his head and chuckled. “No one else but my father would ride at such a breakneck speed through this rough terrain.”

  Bursting around the bend, Lord Peter leaned over his horse’s neck, and William shouted a warning. Lord Peter pulled up so abruptly his gelding reared and he slid off the back in one easy motion. Plunging toward them, he yelled, “William!” and his son vaulted off to yell, “Father!”

  They met with a collision that rocked the forest, embracing and laughing while Bula pranced around them and barked until the leaves shook in the trees.

  “We thought we’d lost you this time,” Lord Peter roared, pounding William’s back. “Who was it? How’d you get away? Did you kill the bastard? But no, how could you, you’re….” His loud delight trailed off as he stared at his son. “You’re….” He moved his head back and forth, watching William as William watched him. The fire of his joy died completely, replaced by a slow and fearful hope. “William?”

  “Aye, Father,” William agreed gently. “I can see.”

  Lord Peter wrapped a hand around each side of William’s jaw. “Is it possible?” he whispered. “How could such a miracle happen? Have you been to paradise?”

  “And back, Father. And back.”

  Lord Peter’s hug was restrained this time, not jubilant but thankful in the deep and quiet way of a sire whose deepest prayer has been granted. He spoke a vow, all the more powerful for being spoken in God’s wood. “I’ll go on a pilgrimage to Compostella and thank the Apostle James for his blessing to you.” Father and son stared at each other for one strong, emotional moment, and then Lord Peter broke away and strode toward the horse. “Lady Saura! ’Tis glad I am to see you alive and well.”

  He reached up to help her down, and she smiled at him in open satisfaction. “Aye, my lord. When you came to me at Pertrade Castle and asked me to help your son, we never foresaw such an ending, did we?”

  She slid down, her hands on his shoulders, and he examined her face with care. But whatever miracle had visited William hadn’t touched her, and he smiled gently into her beautiful violet eyes. “That we didn’t. I have stern instructions not to come back without you.”

  “Maud?” she guessed.

  “Maud has been—”

  “In a frenzy?”

  “In a pitiful state,” he confirmed.

  “Then let us return.” She grinned in the direction of the exhausted knights straggling onto the path. “Before my maidservant loses any more sleep.”

  Her hand was wet.

  William walked through the village clustered beneath the protective walls of Burke. He led their mount, and she sat alone in the saddle, but the crowd around them slowed their progress to a crawl. So many of the loyal folk had kissed her knuckles in their passionate welcome that it warmed her heart. But her hand was still wet and she still very much wanted to get to her chamber and rest. If she just made it across the drawbridge, she promised herself she could collapse.

  William responded to his castle, his people, his home with an unfeigned pleasure. He called to the men by name, kissed the old women and hugged the young ones.

  She was happy to hear the joy in William’s voice, but her head ached from thinking. Hands reached up and snatched at her, wringing her tender fingers until the bones ached. The horses’ hooves created a hollow sound as they clopped over the wooden drawbridge. Her feeling of being exposed to the great open spaces gave way to the more protected feeling she experienced when in the bailey. If she just made it to the stairs, she promised herself she could collapse.

  The rumors of the miracle that cured William’s sight had raced ahead to the castle folk and it added to the babble that assaulted her ears. Questions shouted from every direction confused her, and she wanted to cringe from the rampant curiosity.

  “Father!” Kimball’s shout echoed up to the battlements.

  William uttered, “Kimball,” in a choked voice and dropped the reins.

  A hush fell over the pressing humanity, and then the whispers floated up to her.

  “See how they hug.”

  “See the boy’s tears.”

  “See Lord William. He can’t stop lookin’ at Master Kimball.”

  “Look at them twirl.”

  The last was said with such affection, tears pricked at Saura’s eyes, and the tension that had held her in its coils for the last two days relaxed its hold. She held herself erect with a combination of good manners and stubbornness, and some of her weariness must have shown in her face. A large warm hand wrapped around her thigh, and William called, “Come down, my dearling.” Her arms trembled as he lifted her off the saddle and set her on her feet.

  “Saura?” Clare said timidly. “Are you angry?”

  Her brother stood next to her, stroking her hand and worrying, just as he used to at Pertrade Castle when Theobald rampaged about in one of his drunken rages.

  “Why should I be angry?” With less than her usual grace, she reached out and stroked his cheek.

  “Because I didn’t save you from those men!”

  It was a cry from his sore heart, and for the valiant little boy she could pull herself together for a few more moments. “Didn’t you run to Lord Peter at once and tell him we were captured?”

  “Aye.”

  She smiled at him. “Just as you should.”

  Two skinny arms wrapped tight around her hips and his grubby head dug into her ribs. She hugged his neck and then as his embrace loosened, she rumpled his hair. “My own knight-errant.” She chuckled. “Will you wear my token into battle?”

  A sunny laugh answered her, and he stepped away as if he were embarrassed to be caught cuddling with a woman.

  Her knees wobbled, deprived of his support, and she wondered if this unstructured ceremony would ever cease. If she could just make it up to her room.

  “Saura!” Maud’s cry cut through the babble. “M’lady!”

  Saura plunged toward that beloved voice, and it seemed a path opened for her. Those motherly arms enfolded her, that motherly voice scolded, “What have ye been doing? Ye’re white as a ghost, your eyes as big as a full moon.”

  “She’s tired,” William said from behind her. “She’s not used to such adventure, to playing the part of warrior queen. Take her to her room and put your little lambkin to bed so she’ll be fresh for the celebration tonight.”

  Maud watched him, watched his eyes that crinkled at the edges. He looked at her and nodded, and she backed away from him as if she’d gone mad. Bumping into Saura, she wrapped her sturdy arm around her a
nd led her to the stairway.

  William stood staring after them. With a fierce scowl wrinkling his brow, he vowed to Lord Peter, “That is the woman I’m going to marry.”

  Kimball said, “Oh, good,” and Clare crowed like a rooster.

  Glancing down at the boys with their identical grins plastered on their dirty faces, William’s intense determination broke down into relief. “So you like that, do you?”

  They nodded with huge up-and-down motions, their enthusiasm bolstered by the optimism of youth.

  “Then make sure you wash before dinner, or Lady Saura will find out water hasn’t touched you since we left, and you know what will happen then.”

  The nods this time were subdued, and Clare groaned, “Horse trough.”

  “Exactly.” Catching Lord Peter’s eye on him, William asked, “And what do you think of my mate?”

  Lord Peter shrugged and queried with a straight face, “Are you sure she’s not too strong for you? She’s ordered this household like the Queen of Heaven these last few months, and she’ll order you, too.”

  “Well, she’ll think she does, anyway.” William guffawed in a superior, masculine way, and Lord Peter slapped his shoulder and joined him.

  Climbing the stair, Saura heard them and stiffened.

  The dinner that night was splendid. The great hall of Burke shone with the light of torches, and the open fire at the center leaped toward the ceiling. Every trestle table had been pressed into use. The benches were so closely packed with men and women the serving folk had difficulty reaching between them. All the knights sworn to Lord Peter and William attended, worn out with hurried preparation for war or siege. The men-at-arms and villeins who had searched for their lord crowded the benches, their voices loud with relief and speculation. Among them sat Alden, a simple man whose loyalty to Saura had earned him the place of honor. William sat at Lord Peter’s right hand, Saura at Lord Peter’s left, and beside Saura lay the supine form of Bula, sleeping the slumber of the just. Grinning in mindless jubilation, Clare and Kimball performed their duties as pages, serving the high table with an alacrity seldom seen in such young men.