The Virgin, the Knight, and the Unicorn (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Lindsay Townsend

  Ale and pancakes, I paid for her, and after today she and her kin will never need to fear the hungry times again. If all goes well. That is the key. If all goes well.

  Feeling the customary prickle at the back of his neck and the itch in his armpits pre-battle, Gawain tossed his reins to a groom and stalked for the keep. Now for my lord and lady…

  Lord John he found in the mews, fretting over a molting hawk. His lady was still in her solar. Gawain was glad that it was his lord alone whom he must treat with. Lady Petronilla disliked him because he did not flatter her.

  Lord John scowled over the perches and hooded birds at his knight. “I see no horn,” he snapped. “And where is my dairy maid?”

  “Safe, sir,” Gawain replied, adding quickly, “I have found traces of the unicorn. Pearls. As we all know, sir, unicorns do not void waste like less magical creatures, they pass pearls. I found these in the woods, close to the tracks of the creature.”

  He offered Lord John a handful of pearls—pearls he had acquired over the years and his lord had never known about, or he would have demanded Gawain hand them over. Lord John smoothed his beard and took the pearls, closing his fist rapidly about them. “Pearls, eh?” he said, “What else?”

  He has forgotten Matilde. Good.

  “I caught glimpses of the creature,” Gawain went on. He hated lying but told himself that Lord John had surely lied to them all, without shame. “Pieces of mane.” He lifted the lock of hair that Matilde had given him, allowing the sunlight to catch and glitter in the deep gold. Will my lord remember she has such golden hair? No, clearly he does not. He does not think of Matilde at all.

  “Well and good.” Taking the long, trailing skein of hair with a look of satisfaction, Lord John left his hawk drooping on its perch and motioned Gawain to the threshold of the mews. “We should share this news with my lady.”

  “My lord, I have another, less fortunate tale—”

  “Tell it in the solar.”

  “Of outlaws and brigands in your woods,” Gawain went on, determined to have his say and keen, now he had an audience with his lord, to speak of what truly concerned him. “Brigands who are less than clean, who have no honor but who are well-fed and well-armed, like the Coterels.”

  “Already?” his lord began, a shadow of alarm flitting across his round, soft face at the mention of the Coterels, notorious brigands who were also mercenaries for hire, but then he shook the pearls within his hand and clapped Gawain on the shoulder. “The solar, Gawain. Did you not hear me?”

  Do you ever listen? whispered Matilde in Gawain’s head. Her mental warning gave him the sense to smother his building anger, to dip his head and follow his lord in silence to the solar. This will be a telling before his lady and her women that Lord John may regret, but that may work to my advantage.

  Gawain could only hope so. And Matilde is safe. She is safe and out of Lord John’s reach. May God above grant that she remains both.

  * * * *

  Matilde lowered the hood of the cloak over her head and dropped to her knees, a maid mopping the narrow stone casement and floor. Her sister had lent her the gown and cloak and she was certain Gawain would not recognize her—no one ever looked at maids.

  She had guessed that Gawain and her lord would come here, to the solar behind the great hall. Lord John never stirred in any way without his lady, without her support and approval. Everyone in the castle knows that. Lady Petronilla and her womenfolk were still at prayer within, so a fellow maid had told Matilde earlier in exchange for a cold oatcake. After a hectic run from the church to her family’s hut, Matilde had already positioned herself in the corridor outside the solar, ready to creep closer when Gawain and the lord arrived, ready to listen in.

  I did not promise Gawain that I would remain in church. I know it is wrong to listen in and spy, but I have to know what is happening.

  It had been easy to evade the priest and easier yet to enter the castle. Then she had kept her cloak hood down and, recognizing her, the guards assumed she had returned to be a dairy maid. But have I? Do I want to remain a maid forever? Her brother Robert had escaped serfdom by entering the church. Such a way had never appealed to her, but another life had been offered to her now, as a knight’s wife. As Gawain’s wife.

  She could hear him approaching, stepping lightly up the staircase behind their lord. For an instant, her heart soared, but her nerves jangled. If Gawain recognizes me, he will be hurt and angry. I do not want that.

  He moved so nimbly, so swift and sure. Lord John plodded, but Gawain was like a dancer. She sneaked a glance at him, but after a moment, she forced her head down again and began scrubbing anew at the hard floor. He looked so weary, his clothes travel-stained, his mouth and eyes grim, his brown curls straggling around his creased forehead. She wanted to kiss his frown away, take him to the bath house, ease him into a hot bath and bring him ale. Only when the solar door closed behind him did she actually think again of her land and her family’s lands, and the threat her lord and lady posed to them.

  Gawain says they have broken faith with all of us. I doubt Lord John sees it that way.

  Checking no servant was on the prowl close by, she rose from her aching knees and put her ear to the door.

  “I do not ask for the freedom of the bondswoman Matilde, I demand it,” she heard Gawain saying, proud as any knight in Christendom. “Her freedom, and surety for her land and for the lands of her kindred. You know already, my lord, that her kin’s land is theirs by right of church law.”

  “Such rights are not certain,” said Lord John at once.

  “I doubt the king’s justice will agree,” said Gawain. “Matilde’s land rights and those of her family are recorded in the accounts of the church.”

  “And why should you say that?” asked Lord John.

  “Because Matilde remembers them, remembers seeing the very records when she visited the church with her grandfather.” There was a pause and Matilde could imagine Gawain smiling, that half smile of his when he was sure of himself but fighting down his anger. “You know my Matilde’s memory, my lord.”

  My Matilde. It was sweet to hear.

  “Where is my dairy maid?” demanded Lady Petronilla.

  “I left her at the Abbey of Saint Denis, with my signed and sealed account of the outlaws in the forest,” Gawain answered. He paused another moment, probably for emphasis, before adding, “The brigands bearing your lord’s escutcheon and badge. In my written, sealed and witnessed account I have included such a badge as proof.”

  “Nonsense!” declared Lady Petronilla. “They are not due —”

  Abruptly she stopped, but Gawain, warrior as he was, was onto her mistake at once. “The outlaws are not supposed to be in the forest until later, my lady? Perhaps in winter, when travel is already hard? But these are outlaws. They will not always move at your direction or convenience.”

  “Beware of what you say,” countered the lady.

  “No matter,” Gawain hit back. “I will undergo trial by combat to uphold the truth of what I saw and who I captured in the woodlands.”

  He has guessed about the badges. Matilde found herself breathing fast as she considered the risk of making such a claim. They had agreed that he would say she was at the abbey with documents in order to assure Gawain’s safety, but for Gawain to claim now that the outlaws of the forest actually wore Lord John’s livery and badges and were in some way in Lord John’s service—these claims were both new and recklessly bold to her. What if he is wrong?

  But her headstrong knight clearly understood tactics—already Lord John was speaking over the gasps and exclamations of the womenfolk inside the solar.

  “If I consent to your terms, man, what surety will you give me?”

  “You admit the outlaws are your men?” Gawain shot back in return, clearly determined to wrest that vital point from Lord John.

  “Yes, yes, but what surety?”

  Desperate to hear Gawain’s reply, Matilde pressed her head and face ha
rd against the wood.

  “You will draw up, in writing, that Matilde’s lands and her family’s lands are theirs? And place that document in the safekeeping of the Abbey of Saint Denis?” Gawain pressed home his advantage.

  “You already have that from the church,” Lord John argued.

  “And now I need the same written proof and assurance from you, too, sir.”

  Lord John sighed. “Or?”

  “The Abbey will uphold the rights of Matilde and her family publicly. Would you wish that? And as for the king and the bandits, should the king’s justice learn what you and the outlaws intended, your scheme to rob innocent travelers?” Gawain had no need to say more, the threat was as sharp as a blade.

  Lord John snorted his irritation. “Very well, I will. What do I have from you, man?”

  There was a small, shocked pause within the chamber. Listening, clenching her teeth together to stop herself from arguing with the lord and lady through the stout wood, Matilde could picture Lord John and Lady Petronilla, both thwarted and sour, both hunched in defeat, and then she thought of Gawain, tall, tanned and confident, striding and stalking about the solar with his thumbs thrust through his belt. He is so sure. How well he knows them.

  She heard him take a breath and leaned even harder against the door, determined to hear.

  “If you do all this, Lord John, then I promise I will forever keep silent on what we have discussed and agreed here today. I will also sign a parchment to that effect and set my seal to it. You will have one part of the parchment, the abbey another, and myself a third.”

  “So be it,” said Lord John and Matilde marveled at how neatly Gawain had resolved the matter. And now my family will be safe.

  Safe and secure. Oh, if only I could see this moment! But the lie that I am at the Abbey is the only thing that is stopping Lord John from calling for his guards to take Gawain. He and his lady fear that their schemes of stealing land from their peasants and of hiring outlaws to prey on travelers and splitting the profits with such brigands will be uncovered if Gawain is harmed. They know that, for as long as I am not in their clutches, I would speak out and they would be undone.

  Abruptly, with a dreadful clarity, Matilde understood her vulnerability and appreciated how her curiosity and her need to know might have betrayed Gawain—the man I love. If I am discovered here, I have betrayed him.

  The rush of shame was so great she felt lightheaded, yet horrified that a servant might pass and know her. Undone, she cowered against the door, helpless as it creaked under her weight. Fool! Step away! Do not alert them inside.

  “Husband!” cried Lady Petronilla, shifting in a rustle of clothes. “Husband, is there someone spying outside?”

  What do I do? Frozen in horror, yet sweating with dread at being discovered, Matilde felt pinned to the door. If she budged so much as a hand’s breadth, she knew she would stumble. Her heart was raging and black spots danced before her clouding sight. In another instant, Lord John would stride to the door and fling it open and she would be discovered.

  She flinched, but no one in the chamber was moving yet. She heard Gawain crack his knuckles together and say, quite coolly, as if remarking on the weather, “Do not seek to change the subject, my lady. My lord agrees with me, but do you?”

  “It seems I must,” replied the lady with a sniff, “though I do not understand why we should trouble with parchments and such. My lord’s word is his bond. Is yours not?”

  Matilde’s fingers clenched into fists at Lady Petronilla’s question. She longed to burst into the chamber and warn Gawain. Without documents to back their claims, Lord John and his lady could easily argue later that the meeting had gone differently. Please, Gawain, remember that and do not allow your knightly honor to overwhelm your good sense.

  Lord John said, “A handshake should be enough. Do you not agree, Sir Gawain?”

  Please, Gawain, remember!

  Frustrated almost beyond bearing, Matilde thumped her forehead against the heavy wood, causing explosions of color behind her eyes and instantly cramming her fingers into her mouth in renewed panic when she realized what she had done.

  But no one had noticed. Behind the door a new argument raged.

  “For shame!” cried Lady Petronilla, even before Gawain had answered Lord John. “Have you no honor, Sir Gawain?”

  “I have as great an honor as you, the Coterels, and any knight turned brigand,” came the steady, growled reply. “Since your lord agrees, I will not speak of this outside this chamber. Once the document I spoke of is drawn up and signed, I shall quit your service and go, with no ill will, to another lord.”

  “Agreed,” said Lord John heavily, finally admitting defeat. “Let me send for the scribe and get this thing done.”

  Gawain remembered. He has done it. It was what she had planned and hoped for, but Matilde felt no sense of satisfaction.

  Gawain, leaving. She knew that he had no choice, that this was what they had agreed, but the enormity of the change put a new chasm between them. I will never see him again.

  Yes, you shall, ninny, said a cool, deep voice within her, the voice of her foresight that so often waged war against her temper. If you marry him, you leave, too.

  “I can be his mistress and leave with him,” Matilde whispered, forcing herself to take a step away from the door.

  Why delude yourself? You want to be his wife.

  “But only for love,” Matilde answered herself, inching back along the corridor. “If I am to marry him, I have to know he loves me.”

  Her inner voice fell silent, offering neither counsel nor hope. The voices inside the solar were quieter, calmer, bargaining murmurs. Gawain and Lord John seemed to be deciding what words should go on the document they would both sign. They will agree and come to terms. I must be gone before they send for a scribe and parchment to set down all in writing. Walking slowly, on unsteady legs, she crept away.

  It is a long walk back to the church, and I have to be there, ready for when Gawain comes. Surely he will come? I must make what haste I can.

  But why was relief, why was victory, so exhausting?

  * * * *

  Riding away from the castle, Gawain half expected an arrow in his back right until the final ramparts of the stone keep vanished behind the gentle hills of this rich countryside. When at last he was out of range of archers and the Lady Petronilla’s malice, he sagged in the saddle. It has been many years since that lady gave me any kind of sugar, or even a smile, and certainly after today she does not wish me well.

  “Thank God above I am free of her, and her lord,” he said aloud, checking behind one last time to see where he had lived and served since a lad. He would not miss the place, not even the stews.

  Behind him his old war-horse, carrying his weapons, chest, and stuff, snorted and shook its mane, resentful of the leading rein.

  “Bear up, old boy, and you shall have some garlic in your feed tonight,” Gawain promised, turning in the saddle and looking forward. The church he was making for was nestled in a small valley, a tiny old place, forgotten by Lord John. Forgotten and safe. I wanted no church where the man might go looking for Matilde.

  Matilde should be pleased, he told himself, flicking the reins lightly against his palfrey’s neck to urge it on. Her family was now free in law and its lands assured. The lord and lady must wait a while longer for their deer park. Squinting into the hard noonday sun, impatient to spot the church with its crooked wooden spire, keen to embrace his girl again, Gawain chuckled at the thought.

  A flicker of movement in the open field away from the track alerted him. Wrapping the reins around one arm, he half drew his sword. A bird turning soil in a row of flowering beans was no danger, a possible creeping footpad merely an annoyance. Lord John cannot have got a man or men out here to attack me so quickly.

  “Well met, friend,” he began—and almost swallowed his tongue in astonishment as Matilde rose out of the bean rows and shook the hood from her head.

  �
�I came out of the church to gather flowers,” she said quickly, trying and failing to pluck a nodding bean flower. “Is that your charger?”

  Bad little liar! Even though he blazed with happiness to find her safe, he would see that she wore a different-colored gown and cloak, both crusted at the hems with dust. Leaving that for the moment, leaving everything else but Matilde, Gawain stopped his horses and dismounted.

  He opened his arms and she stumbled into them.

  * * * *

  Gawain swung her up two or three times, roaring something that she could not catch. He carried her to the other side of the track, sitting down beneath a boundary tree with her cradled on his lap.

  She cradled his bristly face with her hand.

  “I will shave when we reach the town,” he said, sucking her fingers.

  “But you said you would seek service with another lord,” Matilde started, before she realized that what she had just admitted was too revealing. Now he will know I was listening.

  Gawain smiled at her, his eyes lighter than the sky above them. “Towns have a need of knights, too,” he said. “I intend to visit the under-sheriff and present myself as a guard, guardian, knight-in-arms and free for service. I thought the town of Thorndyke, yes? It has a market and a charter from the king.”

  Matilde hesitated, still anxious that he would know she had sneaked out of the church and followed him to the castle—exactly what he had told her not to do.

  He fingered the fastenings of her cloak. “Towns have a need of clever wenches, too. Think of it, Matilde!” His eyes glowed with anticipation. “So many trades and skills, so many people and places to learn from, for both of us!”

  “Thorndyke, I agree,” Matilde nodded hastily, recognizing the good sense of his plan, touched by the way he had considered her and what she might wish to do. And perhaps he has not noticed my admission.