Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01

by A Knight of Silence

  “I shall look forward to it, my lord.”

  Finished dressing, he stood a moment watching Reina. Sitting before the fire with her legs tucked beneath her, she combed her hair dry. Dressed in one of his black silk dressing gowns, he swallowed the lump of emotion the tranquil scene evoked.

  Determined to keep his promise earlier than expected, he was crossing to her when he heard a commotion in the passage. Recognizing Hylda’s voice, he reluctantly changed course.

  Seeing Reina look up in question, he rolled his eyes, gesturing towards the door. “Hylda has arrived, my lady.”

  Without pausing in her task, she smiled.

  Flinging the door open, he found a wet, bedraggled Hylda in the midst of giving a blistering set-down to his flustered castellan.

  “What seems to be the trouble, Rowan?”

  The reed-thin elder man stammered, “Your lordship, this,” giving Hylda a withering glance, “woman, refuses to listen after I have repeatedly informed her that you are not to be disturbed.”

  Hylda poked a finger into Rowan’s lanky chest. “And I have repeatedly told you, that I will see my lady settled you thick-headed dolt.”

  Seeing Rowan puff up in outrage, Fulke stepped into the hall as Hylda slipped inside behind him. “All is well, Rowan. Return to the hall with me, whilst Hylda tends to her ladyship.”

  Rowan scowled at Hylda in the doorway, only to bluster at the smug smile she cast his way, before slamming the door in his face.

  Taken aback, he stammered, “Your lordship, that woman’s impertinence should be addressed at once.”

  Fulke clapped him on the shoulder. “It has been.” He grinned. “I released her from servitude.”

  * * * *

  Dining on sliced apples and pears, Reina waited for Fulke’s return. Peering around the chamber, she was determined to learn everything she could about her new husband. After the starkness of Kenwick Keep, she reveled in the plush comforts of Castell Maen.

  The lord’s chamber was large, boasting a hearth that took up most of one wall. Placed before it were two oak-hewn chairs, cushioned in garnet wool to match the bench in the window-niche.

  Deep blue damask which matched the coverlet, hung from a suspended frame, forming a curtained canopy around the bed.

  Three bench-sized coffers lined the wall where the screen concealed the wooden tub.

  Flemish tapestries covered the drafts that seeped between the thick stone of the castle walls. Standing before them, Reina marveled at the intricacy of the stitching. Reflecting mostly scenes of battle, she recognized a few representing King William. The largest of the four symbolized the conqueror’s victory over King Harold on Senlac Hill during the Battle of Hastings.

  Taking in every detail of the chamber, she decided the best part were the carpets covering the rough wood-planked flooring. Forced to walk on rush-strewn floors for so long, she was tempted to take her slippers off and go barefoot.

  Weary from the journey, she climbed into the comfortable window-niche. Snuggling beneath the blanket Hylda had stitched for her, she closed her eyes to rest a bit.

  * * * *

  Fulke half-listened as Rowan rattled on, waiting for him to arrive at the end of his long, detailed account. The tenants were generally content except for a few minor disputes.

  With his extended absence, Fulke was overdue to hold manor court to resolve the complaints of his people.

  Locking his hands behind his head, he absently stared at the ceiling as Rowan slowly went over suitable times.

  His patience came to an end when Rowan began to list the livestock birthed in his absence. Droning on, he faltered when Fulke stood to interrupt him. “As always, you have done a commendable job, Rowan.”

  He left the flustered man babbling as he reviewed his recording plank.

  Crossing through the hall, Fulke headed for the steps with a look that dared anyone to stop him. Serfs scurried from his path, afraid to be on the receiving end of one of his blistering tongue-lashings.

  His foot posed above the first step, he was not surprised to hear Hylda’s low voice behind him. “Will you be supping in the hall this eve, your lordship?”

  Withholding a snarl, he faced her. It was impossible to get mad at the irritating woman when she took such exceptional care of them. “Send up a tray Hylda, your lady looked weary.”

  Before she could say anything else, he whirled around to dash up the steps.

  Expecting the tantalizing vision of Reina in his bed waiting for him, he swung the door open. With a smile of anticipation on his face, he looked towards the bed, and frowned. It was empty. Glancing around the room, he spied Reina curled up by the window, fast asleep.

  Disappointed, he pulled back the coverlet on the bed. Crossing to his sleeping wife, he gently cradled her in his arms.

  When her dressing gown parted to reveal a creamy rose tipped breast, he hung his head in defeat.

  Laying her down, he pulled the covers over her, bending to place a lingering kiss on her lips. Supper was not the only thing that would have to wait.

  He stoked the fire before undressing. Drawing the bed-curtains, he left the side closest to the flames open. Blowing out the candle, he climbed in beside his sleeping wife to gather her in his arms. Quicker than he would have believed possible, he joined her in sleep.

  * * * *

  Sometime later, Fulke woke to Reina’s gentle caress. Fighting a smile, he watched her through slitted eyes.

  With a frown furrowing her fair brow, she lightly traced each scar marring his flesh before bending to lay a kiss on it.

  Struggling to control his breathing, Fulke studied her expression in stunned disbelief. Women looked upon his scarred flesh with revulsion, never compassion. He held his breath when she came to the large jagged scar marring the ridge of muscle on his side.

  Tracing her fingers lightly over it, she caught him staring at her. Her eyes shimmering in the dim light, she asked, “Did it hurt very much, my lord?”

  Fulke briefly recalled the French lance spearing his side propelling him from his horse. “I do not even recall how it happened, my lady.”

  Reina kneeled back, a line of doubt creasing her smooth brow.

  Staring at the sliver of flesh revealed by the parted dressing gown, he observed the flickering light of the fire turn the highlights in her unbound hair into a shining mass of fiery gold.

  Trailing his hands up her thighs, he parted the robe further. “I do not wish for you to hear such unpleasant tales, Reina.” He answered truthfully. “It is in the past. I am content to leave it there.” He drew her forward. “Besides, I can think of more pleasurable things to discuss at the moment.

  He lifted her until she was straddling him. Pulling her down to him, her hair enclosed them in a satin curtain as their lips joined, gently at first, then more deeply.

  Rising up, he trailed kisses down her neck, pausing to suckle at each breast.

  Her lips parted when he slid his hand between her thighs, to work his fingers against her moist heat. Throwing her head back, she began to rock against him, seeking more.

  Lifting her onto his throbbing shaft, she slowly sank down, fully sheathing him within her. Lost in her tight warmth, he felt the sensuous slide of the silk robe caressing his thighs.

  He moaned in pleasure as she began to move on him, slowly finding her own rhythm.

  Gripping his waist, she arched her back as he caressed the fullness of her breasts.

  Near to climax, she relentlessly ground down on him as he wrapped his arms around her, driving into her harder and faster. With an audible gasp, she collapsed sated against him.

  Fulke rolled her beneath him.

  Wrapping her legs high around his back, she clutched his hips pulling him harder against her until with a loud groan of pleasure he spent himself within her quivering warmth.

  “You are mine, Reina,” he spoke against her lips.

  EIGHT

  The castle’s inhabitants settled into a comfortable rout
ine as the days grew shorter.

  Fulke would go over the accounts or hold manor court while Rowan recorded the outcomes on his tally stick.

  Warin eased into his new duties as page, training with the men, while Reina explored the castle or spent her time with Hylda in the village.

  Discovering their new lady was deaf, the villagers were at first wary of her. Discouraged by their reticent manner, Reina refused to give up. Imploring Hylda to keep her silence, she made the long walk down the hillside each day.

  After explaining to the villagers Reina could understand them, Hylda grew furious when they began to speak behind their hands in her presence. It was only by Reina’s insistence that she returned to the village.

  Nearing the end of another unproductive day, two young women hesitantly approached. Speaking softly, one cradled a hand against her chest. Noticing Reina’s look of concern, she lowered her eyes.

  With a resigned sigh, Reina studied the row of thatched mottle and daub huts lining the dirt track on either side of her as Hylda spoke to them.

  Smiling at a group of children making mud cakes in a puddle, she was surprised when Hylda touched her sleeve, gesturing to the youngest of the two women. “Thea has badly burned her hand, my lady. I know not what to do for her.”

  “What game do you play, Hylda? You were the one who taught me how to treat burns.”

  Hylda exclaimed, “Alder bark? Tis for certain you are wise, my lady. Thea will lead you back to her hut whilst I search the wood for some.”

  Fighting a smile at Hylda’s daring, Reina faced the two women. Left with no choice, they led her to their home. Stepping aside, they meekly waited for her to precede them.

  Her eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, Reina opened the lone rickety shutter to let in more light.

  Dragging a small stool by the window, she beckoned to Thea. At her hesitant approach, Reina smiled to reassure her. Perched on the stool, Reina knelt in the dirt at her feet. Paying no heed to the look of surprise on Thea’s face, she unwound the soiled linen from her badly blistered fingers.

  Inspecting the degree of burn, Hylda entered to stand beside her. “We shall have to tend this often to keep it from festering.”

  “There is an abundance of alder trees in the wood, I shall instruct them both in its use.” Flicking an eye to Thea, she asked, “How did this come about?”

  “Our bread fell into the fire,” Thea replied softly.

  Noting the sparsely appointed hut, Reina realized they would most likely have gone hungry had she not. Treating the burn, she tilted her face to Hylda without taking her eyes from her task. “We need clean linen to bind it.”

  Searching the meadow grass-stuffed pallet beside the hearth, Helewys returned holding a soiled rag.

  Fearing infection, Reina shook her head to refuse it. Hiking up the hem of her kirtle, she reached to tear a strip of linen from her chemise. Without touching her, Helewys reached out a hand to stop her. “You cannot, your ladyship.”

  “Tell her Thea’s hand is more important to me than a chemise, Hylda.” Tearing a long ribbon of material, she lightly bound the injured hand. Finished with her task, she stood to shake out her skirts.

  Thea shyly reached out to touch her hand. “Is it true you can understand me, your ladyship?”

  Reina nodded.

  “I am most grateful.” She looked briefly at her sister. “We both are.”

  Dipping her head in acknowledgement, Reina smiled.

  Outside, Hylda bent a smug look on her. “We shall see how standoffish they are after this day.”

  From that day forth, the villager’s eagerly sought her out to tend their ills. Their whole-hearted acceptance made Reina miss her own village a little less.

  Just as work filled the days, laughter and passion filled the nights. Gathered around the table, they spent their evenings in the Great Hall. The more the men drank, the taller the tales became of their exploits on the battlefield.

  On the nights the men played backgammon, coins were wagered on the outcome.

  Discovering a chess set on one of her explorations of the castle, Reina challenged a surprised Fulke to a game one evening. Setting up the pieces, she exchanged a mischievous grin with Warin. They had been playing together since a long ago guest of Kenwick explained the rules to them.

  Making wagers amongst themselves, the men gathered around to watch.

  When Reina had Fulke in check, Albin let out a low whistle. “It seems our lady is full of surprises, my liege.”

  Studying the board, Fulke tried to figure a way out of the impossible position he found himself. “You have no idea, my friend.”

  Capturing Fulke’s king, Reina sat back with a self-satisfied smile. “Care to have another go, my lord?”

  “Aye my lady,” he mouthed. “Yet it is not chess I am thinking of.”

  He leaned back laughing when she blushed.

  Gervase stepped up. “Mind if I have a go, my liege?”

  Fulke stood abruptly. “As a matter of fact, I do mind.” Scowling at Gervase, he assisted Reina to stand.

  Puzzled, Gervase questioned Guy, “Does one have to be married to a woman to play chess with her?”

  “There are times Gervase, when I wonder how you survived this long,” Guy replied, shaking his head in exasperation.

  * * * *

  Standing in the middle of the split-rail practice yard, Fulke made another attempt at training a quad of charger colts for future battle. A time consuming process, it would take some time before the horses were prepared to take the place of the knights ageing chargers.

  Retrieving a short-handled billhook, he approached a dapple gray. From a few feet off to the side, he simulated an enemy attack. Swinging the fierce weapon in an arch, the skittish colt bucked, rearing away from it.

  “By the Saints, every last one of them is still green.” Throwing the billhook in the dirt, Fulke glanced in frustration towards the men.

  Reina caught his eye as she passed. “Settle them down, Guy,” he called. Striding over to the rail, he smiled. “Off to the village, my lady?”

  “I am my lord.” She gestured to the horses circling the yard. “It appears you have an eventful day ahead of you.”

  “Aye. The colts are proving to be like their new owners, a difficult lot to train.” Reaching over the rail, he reached to pull her into his embrace.

  “Perhaps you should get back to the task at hand, your lordship,” Hylda quipped.

  Reluctantly dropping his hands, Fulke stepped back. “Thank you, Hylda,” he responded dryly.

  Pulling a disappointed Reina along behind her, Hylda dropped into a mock curtsy. “I live to please you, my lord.”

  He followed Reina’s progress with an admiring eye until Albin called, “Perhaps you should heed Hylda’s advice, my liege.”

  Leaning on the rail, the men chuckled.

  Snatching up a long, iron-tipped quarterstaff, Fulke reluctantly returned to work.

  * * * *

  The sun was high overhead by the time Fulke felt pleased with the day’s progress.

  Simulating men-at-arms on foot, Osbert, Guy and Gervase, jabbed sharp-tipped pikestaffs towards the flanks of the restless colts. Fulke stood off to the side with Warin, Talan and Albin.

  “They are no longer rearing, my liege,” Talan observed.

  Fulke nodded, pleased to see the horses finally settling down. “We shall see how they do against a mounted threat.”

  Heading towards the stables, his mind occupied on the next task, he left the gate unlatched.

  Osbert jabbed his pikestaff forward, just as the horse before him reared, driving the iron spike deep into its hindquarter.

  Screaming in pain, the colt bolted towards the gate of the railed yard as the rest of the panicked horses followed.

  To the sound of splintering hinges, they crashed through the unlatched gate stampeding towards the back of an unsuspecting Reina, returning to the castle.

  Unheard shouts of warning from the men
rent the air as Fulke turned to stare in horror at the unfolding scene. Knowing he was too far away, he sprinted forward as Warin vaulted the rail in an attempt to reach his sister in time.

  About to turn for the path leading through the curtain wall, Reina felt the earth tremble beneath her feet. She stopped to glance behind as the horses thundered past, forcefully driving her back into the rail.

  Fulke’s anguished cry rent the air, as she crumpled to the ground. “No!” Staggering to a halt, he fell to his knees.

  Sliding to a stop on the grass beside Reina, Warin scrambled up to gather her in his arms. Looking back, he called to the approaching men, “She is unharmed.”

  His eyes focused solely on Reina, Fulke stood as Warin helped her to her feet. Seeing her slight reassuring smile, he briefly met Albin’s worried gaze before turning away.

  Entering the dark of the stables, he clenched his hands around the top of the nearest stall. Hanging his head, he fought to control his reeling emotions.

  “The lady is unharmed, Fulke.”

  Albin’s low voice from the doors had him shoving away from the stall. “No thanks to me.”

  “It was an accident, nothing more,” he said softly.

  Fulke led his horse out of its stall. “Leave me be, Albin.”

  Albin blocked his path. “Do not do this, Fulke. Do not shut her out over something that was not your fault.”

  “It was my fault,” he shouted. “Cannot you see? I left the gate unlatched.”

  Albin shook his head. “You are looking for an excuse to shut yourself behind a wall of indifference, and you know it.”

  Fulke stood back with a bitter laugh. “I do not need an excuse, Albin. Every woman who has ever loved me is dead. It is only a matter of time for fate to smite down Reina.” He shoved Albin aside. “Do not expect me to wait around to see it.”

  “So you bring her dishonor by fleeing?” Albin asked in disbelief. “She is your wife, Fulke.”