Fulke swung back around, pain consuming him. “What do you want from me, Albin? You, who know me better than anyone. Do you want to know the terror that gripped me when I saw her crumpled body believing her dead?” Dropping the reigns, he stalked forward to bury his fists in Albin’s tunic. “Do you want to know that if she were, I would have gone mad on the spot?” Shaking him, he ground out the words, “I am not strong enough to bear the thought of it. Do not ask it of me.”
“She deserves better than this, Fulke,” Albin said softly.
“I told you that from the beginning.” Shoving him away, Fulke picked up his saddle to fling it over the back of his horse. Tightening the girth with a yank, the horse neighed, swinging his head around to protest the callous treatment.
“Fulke, if you leave without paying respects to the lady, you shame the memory of your family. Leave for Rochester on the morrow, if you must, but do not bring dishonor on the woman that loves you.”
“Very well.” Gripping the pommel, he vaulted into the saddle. “We depart for Rochester at dawn.”
Spurring his horse, he took off in the direction of the village.
* * * *
Entering from the back of the castle, Fulke spotted Reina waiting in the entrance hall before the evening meal.
Talan extended an arm to ask, “May I escort you to the table, my lady?”
Coming up behind Reina, he said, “I shall escort the lady, Talan”
“Of course, my liege.” Dipping his head to Reina, he moved off.
Searching his face, she asked, “Is all well with you, Fulke?”
“All is as it should be, Reina.” Avoiding her pain-filled eyes, he stared at her lips.
“Is it true you are to depart on the morrow?”
“It is.” Extending his arm, he said, “The men are waiting to sup.”
Taking his seat, he presented his back to her. Reaching for the pitcher of ale, he met Albin’s glowering stare with one of his own.
Drinking his way through the meal, he frowned down on Reina when she lightly touched his hand. “Fulke, is anything amiss?”
“I am dealing with matters of import, Reina.” Turning his back, he refilled his tankard.
Gulping down the rest of his ale, Albin slammed his tankard down.
The men looked up in surprise, Gervase venturing, “Is something vexing you, Albin?”
“Aye, there is,” Albin glared at Fulke. “Thick-headed dolts who risk losing all, over nothing, vex me.”
Leaning over, Guy said, “Leave it be, Gervase.”
The men returned to their conversations as Fulke briefly returned Albin’s glare. Tipping his tankard back, he drained it before reaching for the pitcher.
Reina’s stifled yawn drew his attention. “If you are weary my lady, by all means seek your rest.”
“Will you be joining me my lord?”
“I must seek out Rowan to go over matters of import,” he slurred.
“Shall you be very long?”
“As long as it takes.” He stood with the men as she stepped from the table.
“With your permission, my liege, I shall escort my sister.”
“By all means, Warin,” Fulke replied drunkenly, draining another tankard of ale. The rest of the men shared a look of concern as he reached to pour more.
“Is there aught amiss, my liege?” Gervase ventured.
Fulke’s laugh was bitter as he sloshed ale onto the table. “Whatever would be amiss, Gervase? By night’s end I shall be rutting betwixt the creamy thighs of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
As the men stared on in surprise at his crudeness, Albin spoke, “Your coarse prattle borders on the offensive, my liege.”
Emboldened by the ale he had been consuming all evening, Fulke scoffed, “Offensive you say? Tell me Albin, do you not dream about my red-haired vixen with the rest of the men?”
Gaining his feet, Albin said, “I believe it is past time for you to retire, Fulke.”
Staggering to his feet, Fulke lurched away from the table. “Aye, it is past time. Past time I show the lustful wench who her master is.”
Before he reached the base of the steps, Albin stood beside Talan, blocking his path.
Gervase, Guy and Osbert stared uneasily at the scene unfolding before them.
“Get out of my way,” Fulke seethed.
“I have taken a vow to protect the lady, Fulke. I suggest you bed down elsewhere this eve,” Albin calmly replied.
“You dare think to keep me from swiving my own wife?” Fulke asked incredulously.
“I shall keep you from doing or saying something that will bring harm to the lady.”
“We both shall,” Talan cut in quietly.
“To hell with you both.” Staggering towards the steps, the last thing Fulke glimpsed was Albin’s fist flying towards his face.
* * * *
Falling into an exhausted slumber, Reina had terrifying nightmares in which Fulke turned his back on her. Frozen in place, she begged him not to leave her as he walked away, yet he kept going because he could not hear her.
She awoke with the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end and her heart pounding. Seeing the bed empty, she gazed out the shutters at the lightening sky.
Barefoot, with her hair unbound, she hastened from the chamber. Reaching the landing, she looked below to find the men preparing to depart.
Rushing down the steps, she found Fulke waiting for her. His eyes were distant as he calmly looked at her. “May I have a word, my lady?”
Biting her lip to keep from weeping, she followed him to a corner of the hall.
“We depart for Rochester.” Running a hand lightly along his discolored jaw, he continued, “Albin and Talan are to remain behind to see to your welfare. If there is anything you need, you are to have Hylda go to them.”
Reina suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “When will you return, my lord?”
“I do not know.” He abruptly seized her shoulders to pull her against him, drawing a startled gasp from her and the surprised notice of his men.
Staring deep into her frightened eyes, he commanded, “You are not to do anything reckless whilst I am gone. Do you understand?”
Managing a weak nod, he released her.
She clutched his arm as he turned to leave. “Please, Fulke, have I done something to vex you?”
His face softened for a moment, before he glanced away. “You have done nothing, Reina. It is who I am. I told you from the onset not to expect that which I cannot give.” Pulling away, he walked off.
Tears of anguish slipped unheeded down her face as she watched him go. Her worst nightmare had just come true.
Struggling to conceal her sorrow, she followed the departing group to the courtyard to bid a sad farewell to the rest of the men.
After taking their leave of her, they mounted in silence.
The last to leave, Fulke reined around beneath the portcullis.
Standing on the steps, she raised a trembling hand.
Dipping his head in acknowledgement, he rode off.
She watched him until he was lost to the distance, oblivious of the cold rain soaking her.
* * * *
After Reina failed to return to the hall, Albin sent for Hylda.
Sitting alone before the fire, Hylda led a shivering Reina back into the hall. For as long as Albin lived, he would not forget the look of pain on his lady’s face.
He gulped down the rest of his ale with a curse. Staring morosely into the fire, he dwelled on things best left in the past.
“I thought you might need this.” Startled out of his musings, he looked up as Talan handed him a full tankard.
Accepting the brew, he mumbled, “Thanks.”
Sinking down in the seat beside him, Talan said, “I think we should tell the lady. She has a right to know.”
“It is not our place to tell her. Our allegiance lies with Fulke. If he wants her to know, he will tell her.”
&nbs
p; We owe allegiance to the lady, as well.” Talan stared hard at him. “You above all others know that Fulke will never speak of it.”
Believing himself Talan was right, Albin swore, “Very well, we breach his confidence. Yet, know you this, when Fulke comes looking to lay blame, you shall be standing right beside me.”
“You are a good man, Albin.”
* * * *
Reina spent the entire next day in her chamber foiling their attempts to speak to her.
Hylda passed them bearing a laden tray at meal times only to return with the untouched food a short time later. Storming past Albin and Talan, she slowed enough to scowl at them.
For once, Albin knew exactly how she felt.
It was not until the following day they had their chance.
Seeing Reina descend the stairs, Albin sighed, “You better be right about this, Talan.”
“It is the right thing to do, Albin,” coming to stand beside him.
Catching Reina’s attention, he asked, “Might we have a word with you, my lady?”
Nodding, she crossed to the table to take a seat.
Taking in her red-swollen eyes, he sat beside Talan, across from her. “We feel that there are some things you should know about Fulke’s past.” Seeing her brighten, he held up a hand. “You should know before we begin that what you are about to hear is not going to be pleasant. Knowing this, do you still wish to hear it?”
Clasping her hands, she nodded.
Albin took a deep breath. “When Fulke was in his seventh summer, his family lived off the southern coast in Dorsetshire. His father was a vassal with a large fiefdom. They lived in a large keep, built of wood in the Saxon way. Our fathers had been friends since childhood. Fulke and I were also inseparable as lads, so they arranged to have us fostered to the same knight, Sir Hewett. Fulke had three older sisters who adored him and a baby brother.” He took a large swallow of ale before continuing, “Late one night, a fire started in the hall.”
Shaking her head, Reina breathed, “No.”
Albin glanced down at his folded hands, unable to continue. He recalled riding up with his father the morning after the fire. They found Fulke staring at the pile of cindered rubble that had once been his home and family. Not once, from that moment, through the years that followed, had he seen Fulke shed a single tear for his tragic loss.
Grown men broke down at the memorial service for Fulke’s family, their home serving as their funeral pyre. He stood beside Fulke, his own heart heavy as his best friend remained silent and unapproachable.
Sometime during the night as he stood alone, watching the fire destroy everything he held dear, Fulke closed his heart to the pain. He closed his heart to everything.
Talan lightly touched Reina’s sleeve to finish the tale.
She stared at him with fearful eyes as he picked up where Albin left off. “Fulke’s father carried him to safety. Rushing in for the rest of the family, the timbered roof collapsed. Fulke’s entire family along with five serfs perished in the blaze,” he finished softly.
Reina was standing, repeating more forcefully, “No.” Shaking her head in despair, she screamed, “Please God, no!”
She thought she wanted to hear what they had to tell her, yet no one should hear such heartbreak.
Giving into her tears, she fled the hall for her chamber.
Albin cleared his throat loudly, before shifting his gaze to Talan. “Feel better now?”
* * * *
Fulke rode the men hard to reach Rochester. With only a few short stops to rest the horses, they cut hours from the full-day journey.
Each time Reina’s pain-filled eyes seeped into his mind, Fulke would spur his horse. The men’s slower chargers struggled to keep up with the larger destriers ground-eating pace.
Cold wind whipped his face as he rode on blind to everything around him. He willed himself to think of nothing. He forced himself to feel nothing.
Slowing his lathered horse, he dismounted in the yard of the Wounded Stag. He lashed the reins to the rail outside the stall to unbuckle his saddlebags. Running a hand through his wind-tousled hair, he headed for the tavern.
* * * *
Riding into the yard the men began to dismount.
Gervase followed Fulke as Guy held back. “Our liege is a good man, Warin. To me, he is the best of men.”
“Why did he do it, Guy? ” Warin asked, staring after Fulke.
“He did it to protect himself,” Guy replied sadly.
“That makes no sense. Reina is his wife.”
“Perhaps when you learn of his past, you will understand. Have Osbert enlighten you when you are rubbing down the horses.” Clapping him on the back, Guy headed for the tavern.
After seeing to the horses, Warin entered the dim, crowded tavern with Osbert. Seeing Fulke flanked by Gervase and Guy, he led the way to one of the last available tables.
Discovering what happened to Fulke’s family explained everything. If anyone could have found a way into his heart, it would have been Reina.
Osbert elbowed him from his gloomy thoughts when a woman with long chestnut hair and striking golden-brown eyes came over to their table. To be heard over the din, she leaned close. “We have stew for supper, if you care for some.”
Scanning the length of her with his eyes, Osbert leered, “It is not food that interests me, lass.”
“Then I suggest you find a tavern wench, you lecherous lout,” she snapped, drawing chuckles from men at the adjoining tables. Osbert stared wide-eyed as she weaved her way through the tables.
His mouth watering at the mere mention of food, Warin demanded, “Cannot you tell the difference between an alewife and a tavern wench?”
“How was I to know, Warin? She is a wench, she is in a tavern, hence tavern wench.”
“Thanks to you, we are bound to go hungry,” Warin continued.
Osbert threw up his hands. “The village in which I was born did not even boast a tavern. Guy and Gervase are oft bragging about their sport with the wenches at the Wounded Stag.”
“Therein lays your first mistake, listening to Guy and Gervase. Moreover, have you not stayed here on numerous occasions?”
“No,” Osbert replied sulkily. “I remained behind at Castell Maen, polishing armor until my hands were raw.”
Warin was distracted by the comment. “Then why does he have need of a page to tend him?”
“He did not have one, before he found me,” Osbert replied softly. “Although, he has become accustomed to my close shave,” he suddenly brightened. “That is why he was willing to accept a replacement.”
Warin stood with a sigh. “Aye. A replacement that will soon starve, unless I can smooth things over with the alewife.”
Scanning the tavern, he spotted the woman scrubbing down a vacated table. At his approach, she straightened. “There is no need to apologize. Just give me a moment and I shall fetch you both some stew.”
Warin grinned, “Thank you, ah...”
“Lecie. My name is Lecie.”
“Thank you Lecie. I shall ensure my lecherous friend behaves henceforth.”
She glanced towards the bar. “May I ask you something?”
Surprised by the request, he asked, “What is it you would like to know?”
“I see you wear Baron Erlegh’s coat. Is there aught amiss with his lordship?”
“I regret that I am not at liberty to say.”
“Forgive my asking. I meant no offense.”
“It was very kind of you to ask. My name is Warin.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Warin. I shall go see about your supper.”
Reseating himself, his stomach began to rumble as Lecie returned from the kitchen with their meal. Balancing the tray on a slender hip, she set stale bread bowls of stew before them. Taking in Osbert’s flushed face, she said, “Enjoy your meal, lad.”
Barely meeting her gaze, Osbert mumbled his thanks. Whisking his knife from its sheath, he dug in.
Withdrawing his o
wn knife, Warin inhaled the appetizing aroma.
They had finished eating by the time Fulke stumbled his way to the garderobe at the back of the common room.
Staggering back into the bar a short time later, a trio of tavern wenches sauntered in after him. Following the loose women’s approach, Warin frowned, amazed Osbert could have ever mistaken Lecie for one.
Well into their cups, Guy and Gervase were laughing as the women rubbed up against them, hoping to sell a tussle to the handsome knights.
Fulke ignored the women altogether. Propping an elbow on the planked bar, he continued to drink himself into oblivion.
Deciding they were the real thing, Osbert stood. “We must now part, my friend. Unless you care to join us?” He lowered his voice, “They may not be much to look at, yet I wager they could make a man of you.”
Noting their stained woolen kirtles, Warin fought a grimace. “I shall forego the pleasure.”
Osbert gripped his shoulder. “As a future landed knight, you have something to entice the comely ladies. The rest of us cannot be so selective.”
Joining the men at the bar, Osbert appraised the women surrounding Fulke.
Warin bridled to see a wench boldly run a hand down Fulke’s back. Holding his mug high above his head, his arm swayed as he bellowed for more ale.
He moved closer as the boldest of the three wenches wrapped her arms around Fulke’s neck. Shoving her away, he slammed his empty mug on the bar, loudly shouting for more ale.
The tapster reached him just as he pitched towards the bar.
Osbert broke away from the woman he was haggling with as Warin leapt forward. Before either could reach him, Fulke’s forehead struck the wood with a resounding thunk.
Belatedly realizing he was no longer upright, Gervase slurred, “My liege, it is too early to turn in.”
Leaning close to Gervase’s ear, Guy shouted, “He has passed out, lack-wit!”
Warin and Osbert hefted Fulke’s dead weight between them. Slipping ahead of them by the steps, Lecie led them to a chamber.
Struggling up the narrow passage, Warin huffed, “If our liege cannot handle his drink, perhaps he should not drink so much.”
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