Heart of a Knight (A Medieval Romance Novella)

by Dana D'Angelo

  Now after five long years, he finally discovered where Pyers was hiding. Geoffrey’s hand shook with anticipation as he raised the tankard of ale to his lips. He planned to kill the coward that destroyed his dream. That was the least of what the bastard deserved.

  Draining the last of his ale, Geoffrey moved to get up from his stool. A shooting pain raced through his leg, and he slumped on the wooden table. Cursing under his breath, he sat back down in his seat. He had spent too much time at the tavern, and his hip and leg were now protesting at the long inactivity.

  Geoffrey’s struggle caused several men to look over.

  “He can’t even get up from the stool,” one man slurred. “I wonder if he can get it up for his woman.”

  Someone guffawed, spraying a stream of strong ale all over the table.

  But Geoffrey turned his back on them. With renewed determination, he placed both hands on the table and heaved himself up, knocking his stool backward. Everyone thought he was just a hilarious cripple, he smiled grimly to himself. Pyers would certainly think so too. But he, of all people, would discover that even a cripple could be dangerous.

  Chapter 5

  Geoffrey stumbled along, ever conscious that his disabled leg dragged slightly behind him. It was impossible to move quickly while the pain jabbed at his hip and radiated down to his leg. Leaning against a wall, he stopped to suck in a breath of air.

  He was about to push away from the wall and continue on his way when he heard a sharp cry, like an animal in distress. He wasn’t so far gone with ale that he could shut out a cry for help, even if it came from a stray animal. Stumbling ahead, he followed the noise. But as he got closer, he heard a low, threatening murmur from a man. Forget about it, he told himself. What could a weaponless cripple do against a strong, able-bodied man? He was only fooling himself if he tried to act the hero. Even the victim would not find any relief in having a cripple champion him.

  But then he realized that the disturbing howls weren’t coming from an animal, but from a child. And so the desire to assist the weak and helpless, a sense that was long ingrained into him, suddenly burst forth. He rounded the corner and found a man disciplining a youngster. The boy was crouched in a corner, his arms raised over his head in an attempt to protect himself from the raining blows. Splotchy, red welts formed on his forearms where the man had struck him.

  Another lashing, and the boy brought his arms down to the ground, trying to edge away from his attacker. It was that that moment that Geoffrey glimpsed the familiar mat of dirty brown hair. Eli. Leave them, he commanded himself. This was none of his concern. But the unmistakable look of terror on the young boy’s face was difficult to ignore.

  “Friend, surely the boy has learned his lesson,” Geoffrey said.

  The man turned at the sound of his voice. For a split second, Geoffrey was surprised to find himself looking at the guild master’s eldest son. At the same time, recognition flared in the other man’s eyes.

  “Watch out, Geoffrey!” Eli yelled.

  But the warning came too late. Osbert was already charging at him, the heavy stick in his hand pointed directly at Geoffrey’s torso.

  Although his legs didn’t move very fast, he trained for too many years to forget how to fight. Just when his adversary ran at him, Geoffrey stepped to one side, allowing the other man to rush past him.

  When the stocky merchant came at him again, Geoffrey grabbed the stick with his hand, stopping its momentum. He then clenched his fist, ramming it at the man’s face. The powerful punch glanced off the side of his attacker’s jaw, snapping his head back. The fat candlemaker stumbled back, his arms flailing helplessly in the air as he slammed into the side of a wooden house.

  Miraculously Osbert regained his balance, shaking his head from side to side like a disoriented boar. He stared at Geoffrey, his eyes red with fury. “You should never have come to Treville.”

  Then lifting the stick over his head, the guild master’s son charged another time. Once again, he tried to grab the stick to prevent it from crashing down on him. But this time it was ineffective. Possessed with a supernatural rage, the other man ripped the stick from Geoffrey’s hand. Then lifting the piece of wood in a high arc, he swung it down, aiming the weapon at Geoffrey’s leg. His leg collapsed underneath him, and as he clutched his limb, he fell forward, his head skimming across the pebbly earth. Closing his eyes, he gasped. The pain in on his head and legs shot through him like brilliant streaks of fire.

  “I heard the townspeople say you’re debilitated on one side,” Osbert said, his breath coming out in short rasps. His rasping voice penetrated into his mind, and Geoffrey opened his eyes. The stout man stood, leaning on the stick with a satisfied expression on his face. He nudged Geoffrey with his foot. “But I think I should maim your other side too.” Laughing harshly, he spat on Geoffrey’s left cheek. “That would show you to mind your own business.”

  Slowly, Geoffrey reached over and wiped the spittle away with the back of his hand. It was true that he was damaged, but it was also true that he wasn’t as helpless as he looked. Some inner strength took possession of him. Then quick as a striking snake, he reached for Osbert’s ankle and yanked at it. The expression on the candlemaker’s face would have been comical if it was in any other context. Osbert came crashing down, landing on the hard earth with a heavy thump. He rolled over, groaning.

  Geoffrey grabbed the stick from the ground and used it to push himself up to a standing position. He pinned the other man with a stare. Osbert cringed as if Geoffrey had delivered a physical strike.

  “I should smash your legs, and let you experience how ‘tis to be immobilized.”

  “Nay, don’t hurt me!” he cried. “I paid this boy to do a simple job, and he never delivered. ‘Tis my right to exact punishment on him.”

  As Geoffrey advanced, the plump merchant pushed himself back with his hand and feet until he was pressed against a wall. Then like a trapped animal, he looked wildly about him. When he saw no escape, he crouched low to the ground, raising his arms to ward off the coming thrash.

  Clenching his fists tightly, Geoffrey tried to calm his outrage. He hated bullies, but he feared that if he didn’t let this one go, he would do something that he would later regret. Lifting one foot, he shoved at the man’s shoulders, knocking him over.

  “Get out of my sight,” he said, unable to hide his disgust.

  His shoulders sagged with relief when the candlemaker realized that he was being released. Slowly he inched away from his opponent, and when he was far enough, he shot up and ran as fast as his fat legs would carry him.

  All at once, the energy drained from Geoffrey’s body, although the pain in his leg returned with a vengeance. He leaned heavily on the stick, glad that he had something to support his body. The bastard had rammed him in the same spot as his old injury. Pressing at the tender spot with a finger, he winced. Unbelievably the area was swelling up again.

  “Are you all right, Geoffrey?” Eli asked, crawling over to him. His young face was battered with bruises and scratches. “I was afraid that he was going to kill you.”

  He grunted. “Here I was thinking he was going to do the same to you.” Taking a step forward, his leg buckled underneath him. “I might need assistance getting back to the widow’s house.”

  “Stay here,” Eli said. And not waiting for his answer, he dashed off to get help.

  ***

  Geoffrey hobbled over to the wall and leaned heavily against it. He could feel his leg throbbing and he reached down to gently rub at it. That bastard really knew where to hit. If he had aimed at his hip as well, Geoffrey would have been in trouble. He raised his forearm to brush the sweat from his eyes. But when he brought it down again, he was surprised to see a streak of blood on his skin.

  “Damn,” he muttered. Tilting his head up, he stared at the blue sky that peeked through the two houses in the alley and twisted his lips. What a fine mess he had gotten himself into. His leg now worked less than before, and his he
ad was bleeding. Pyers would no doubt love it if Geoffrey showed up at Baltroham, looking as if he were already defeated.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long before he heard voices echoing in the alley way.

  Karina broke into a run when she saw him. “Eli told me that you were hurt,” she said.

  He grunted in answer. In all actuality, his ability to speak coherently left him. Karina stood close enough that he caught a whiff of lavender and honey, and something else as well. Unable to help it, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Perhaps the ale had loosened his guard. Usually, he avoided the little widow, but now that she was here, all the feelings he had for her came rushing forth. No doubt she intrigued him, but he had little chance with a woman like her. She had beauty, wealth, intelligence…what would she do with him, a mere shadow of a man?

  She lightly brushed aside his hair. The gentle gesture caused him to open his eyes. His gaze locked with her blue ones.

  “I — I need to take a look at the wound,” she said.

  A powerful desire overtook him, and he wished that he knew what she was thinking.

  “I noticed some blood here,” she said in her soft, melodic voice.

  He breathed in through his nostrils. He loathed to break the spell that she wove around him, but he reached up and gently removed her hand from his visage. “I know.”

  With Eli supporting him on one side, and Karina on the other, he pushed himself from the wall. But the sudden shift in weight caused him to groan just as the pain dug its nasty claws into his limb.

  “Move quickly, Eli,” Karina said, her face turning white “We need to get Geoffrey home.”

  Chapter 6

  Alays turned at the sound of the door opening, pausing in her task of stirring a pot of stew. She took the wooden spoon out of the cast iron pot and held it in her hand. “What happened?” she asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

  “There was a fight,” Karina explained briefly. “Fetch some clean cloth and water. Also, I need you to go pick some herbs from the garden and prepare a poultice. When you have all those things, bring them to my bedchamber.”

  The servant bobbed her head and moved quickly to do her mistress’ bidding.

  When they led Geoffrey to the side room, he balked.

  “You can’t be taking me to your bedchamber,” he said.

  “Of course I am. Your wounds need tending.”

  “But ‘tis not proper for me to stay in your bedchamber, ma dame,” he said, his voice strained. “Take me back to the stable, and I will rest there until I’m better.”

  “Are you mad, Geoffrey?” Karina asked, her eyes flashing impatiently. “You’re badly injured.”

  “Think about your reputation, ma dame.”

  She opened her mouth to counter his plea, but then snapped it shut. “Nay, I refuse to allow you to lie on the dirt floor while you still bleed,” she said finally. She gestured to the boy. “Eli, help me get him into the chamber.”

  “I’m fine…”

  But she disregarded his protest and firmly led him into the small room. They eased him onto the straw filled bed. And when his body touched the mattress, he closed his eyes and let out an involuntary groan.

  “Do you think he’ll be all right, ma dame?” Eli’s face was pinched with worry. He searched Geoffrey’s countenance, his eyes shifting to the ghastly scrape on his forehead. Wringing his hands together in nervous tension, he said, “He saved my life, you know…”

  “He’ll be fine,” she said, forcing herself to sound positive even though she had her doubts. Geoffrey had already lost so much blood.

  Karina glanced at the door and nervously bit her lip when Alays still had not returned with the items she requested. She had little experience in healing people, but even she knew that Geoffrey’s cut needed urgent attention.

  Scanning the chamber, she tried to search for something to stem the blood. Unfortunately the only useful thing that she could find was the linen bed covering. Grabbing the sheet, she brought a corner of it to her teeth. And just when she was about to tear the cloth, Geoffrey’s hand rose, stopping her.

  “I don’t need that,” he protested.

  Karina was saved from responding when the servant entered the room. “Hurry, Alays,” she said, beckoning her over.

  The servant rushed to the bed. “The wound on his forehead is swelling up,” she observed. Dipping a cloth in the basin that she brought, she began to wipe away some of the dried blood that bordered the cut. “What prompted this?”

  “He was trying to save me from Master Osbert,” Eli said mournfully.

  “Master Osbert?” Alays asked, looking at the boy with surprise. “Since when does he interfere in the affairs of young boys?”

  “He interferes in the affairs of many people,” Karina said.

  Eli nodded and lifted a worn sleeve to wipe at his eyes. “No one has ever helped me like this before. If anything happens to him —”

  “Nothing will happen to him,” Karina interrupted. “Eli, you go see to the horses.” She gestured for Alays to hand over the cloth. “And you can go back to finish up the supper preparations, Alays. I’ll take over from here.”

  “I don’t understand what all this fuss is about,” Geoffrey said, raising himself up on one elbow and appearing groggy.

  “Hush,” Karina said, setting aside the cloth. She pushed him gently back onto the bed. “You need your rest.”

  The two servants seemed rooted to their spots and Karina shooed them out the door. There was nothing that they could do for Geoffrey, and the chores still needed tending.

  When she returned to the bed, she saw that his eyes were closed. Even though she demanded that he rest, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed when he slept. He was an honorable man, a man very different from her dead husband. And aside from his handicap, he carried himself in a way that suggested that he was more than a commoner. He spoke differently as well, and showed respect to her even though she was a mere woman. Aldous never did that. Her late husband had put on a show to win her hand in marriage. But once they married, it was only too apparent that he never loved her. In fact, he used her as an outlet to vent his frustrations and anger — inside and outside of the bedchamber.

  But some inner instinct told her that there was more to Geoffrey than she knew. At times he seemed dangerous, but for some reason she wasn’t afraid of him. When she looked into his eyes, she knew instinctively that he suffered from a deep pain. And of all people, she understood internal and external pain. She suffered through enough of it in her marriage to Aldous.

  Karina brought over a small stool and set it beside the bed. Leaning back, she took in his full length. He seemed so large on her bed. No man had entered this room since Aldous, and suddenly she felt as shy as a maiden. She shook her head at her silliness.

  Picking up the damp cloth again, she wrung out the water and carefully traced the linen around his temple. And even though she wanted to fight it, she felt an urge to trail her fingers along his jaw. Most men she knew preferred to sport beards. But with no hair to obstruct her view, her eyes caressed every angle of Geoffrey’s visage. In his relaxed state, his triangular face had almost a boyish, innocent quality to it. There was a small ridge on his nose, indicating that at one time it had broken. Instead of the flaw marring his masculine features, she found that it added character to his rugged looks. He wasn’t exactly handsome, she decided, but there was something about him that was compelling, attractive.

  And although he was physically impaired, strength emanated from him, drawing him to her, and making her feel a mixture of pleasure, excitement and fear. Even now, she was conscious of a faint stirring deep within her belly. She blushed at the direction of her thoughts, thoughts that had never occurred to her until now. She let out a slow, deliberate breath. It was fortunate that Geoffrey was asleep, and had no idea about what was going through her mind.

  Karina forced herself to focus on her current task. There was an injured man to attend to, she r
eminded herself. Leaning over to the side table, she reached for the poultice that Alays had prepared. Placing the moist packet on the wound, she was just about to remove her hand when she paused.

  “What harm will it do?” she whispered to herself. It wasn’t as if he was conscious, or even aware of her strange urge to touch him. Then giving into her curiosity, she allowed her bare fingers to skim along his jaw. His skin was warm and her fingertips brushed at the stubble on his chin. When his breathing remained deep and even, she felt safe, and her exploration became bolder.

  Lightly tracing his high cheekbones, her questing fingers trailed over to his sensual mouth. A sudden heat sizzled through her body as she imagined locking her lips with his, and possibly doing more. Aldous was the last man she was with, and she derived no enjoyment in their joining. But with Geoffrey, she sensed that it would be extraordinary.

  She shook her head, suddenly feeling guilty. But when she looked around the chamber, she realized that there was no one around to censure her wanton thoughts. Little by little, her shoulders began to relax. She knew how things were between a man and a woman. What harm would it do to fantasize just a little? It was better than thinking about reality, and knowing that the few suitors she had desired her only for her perceived wealth.

  Karina moved to adjust the poultice when curiously her gaze fell upon his lips once again. But then she saw those same lips twitch. He was awake? Her eyes flew up and met his hazel ones.

  “Do I meet with your inspection, ma dame?” he asked, his voice husky.

  “I — I thought you were still sleeping,” she said, her neck beginning to feel warm. She moved abruptly to get up, but his hand snaked out and gripped her arm.

  “Nay,” he said quietly, although there was no mistaking his commanding tone. “Don’t leave.”

  Karina’s eyes dropped to his hand and he loosened his hold.