Knight Furies

by C. C. Wiley

  He would win them over one by one, if only to prove that wenches still found him agreeable. The itch between his shoulders began creeping up his neck. Nathan frowned.

  “Good day,” Brother John’s voice broke through the silence. “You’ve finally risen from your bed.”

  Nathan swung his hand toward the empty spaces the women left behind. “Have the women promised silence? Or is it your pious presence that makes them hare off? If you would, carry the message that I mean them no harm.”

  The monk’s brows arched, cutting a ridge in his forehead. “That so? I’ve heard tales otherwise.” The keys at his waist swung, rattling against his side like skeleton bones. “They’re God-fearing people.”

  “Then they have nothing to fear from me.” Nathan cringed. He should have kept his silence.

  His stomach growled, surprising him with the sound. The desire to eat had been a stranger for some time.

  Brother John snorted, belying his thoughts. “The day has already begun. You’ll want to follow me.”

  The monk took them down the paths that led toward the garden he could see outside his window. “Why bring me here?”

  “’Tis the way that you’ll need to take.” His long strides carried them farther from the keep. The crash of the tide, kept pace. Its hypnotic rhythm mimicking their steps.

  They came to an orchard alive with activity. Nathan’s senses filled. The sweet scent of apples and pears coated his tongue. Tree limbs bent with the weight of their fruit. Bees swarmed around the orchard of fruit trees. They settled on flowers, tasting the pollen. Buzzing. Fluttering. He swayed on his feet.

  Brother John plucked a few apples from the tree. After pocketing several in the folds of his tunic, he tossed one to Nathan.

  Nathan caught it and bit into its crisp flesh. Juice ran down his chin as he devoured his first meal of the day. Heaven. The king had sent him to heaven.

  “Come, sir knight, there is more to fill your belly.”

  They came upon a garden filled with plants at different stages of growth. Nathan filled his hands with plump sun-kissed berries, gobbling them as fast as he could pick them.

  A maiden, swathed in a gauzy material, tended the neat rows of vegetables. She bent to examine a plant, pull a weed, and then tuck her harvest into the basket. Leafy green tops swung in her hand as she caught sight of them.

  Nathan’s pulse leaped in anticipation. And then it stuttered. This was not Lady Meg. “Lady Anna,” he called out.

  “She’ll desire to know of your health this morn,” Brother John warned. “Mayhap too many questions.” His gaze cut over Nathan, sharp as any knight’s sword. “She’s a good soul. You’ll remember to treat her as such.”

  “Sir Nathan,” Anna called out. She appeared to float over the garden toward him, like a milkweed seed caught on a breeze. “I see you have improved.”

  “I cannot thank you enough,” Nathan bowed over her hand. “Before I take my leave, I must know the recipe of your tisane.”

  Her cheeks bloomed with color. “So soon?” She looped her arm through his and left the monk to follow them. Her wary glance to the hills behind her gave away her true feelings. “But you have just arrived.”

  “’Tis true that I must make haste and return to our king’s side.” He shook his head. “But I fear that I shall be here for a while longer.” He took in a long, deep breath, and let his gaze travel over the landscape, then included the young maiden who clearly hoped he would ride out on his fine steed never to return. “Mayhap I will find a way to extend my stay.”

  “Tell me, sir knight, of King Henry. Do you ride with him? Is he as brave and strong as they say? And his court. Are there many dances and romances to keep you occupied?”

  “Lady Anna,” Brother John huffed.

  Nathan patted her hand. Though Anna might be skilled in the ways of healing, she would be eaten alive by the ladies of the court. “Aye, the king is as you say. I’ve ridden by his side since I was fostered as a young boy.” Too many battles. Too many wounds. Too many lives. Too many years he had ridden by him. He shook free of the dark storm threatening to form. “I fear there are not so many dances, for our king is a warrior and no longer has time for frivolity.”

  “And romances?” she pressed, batting her lashes at him.

  Although his throat became parched, he managed to answer without receiving the pointy end of the monk’s sword. “There is always time for romance.”

  Her mouth drew into a pretty pout. “But not love.”

  Long fingers clamped his shoulder, pulling him away from Lady Anna. “Bees. Sir Nathan. Are you afraid of bees? If so, mind your step when we enter the apiary. ’Tis where we will find our Lady Meg.”

  “Ah, look, there she is.” Lady Anna tugged on his hand. “Come! You must bid my sister good morn.”

  Relieved to be steered away from talk of love and romance, he happily followed into a veritable wall of beehives. Smoke swirled around a woman swathed in gauzy white linen. She squeezed on the bellows, puffing it around the skeps constructed of bent willow and mud.

  “Lady Meg?” Nathan said as he swatted at a pollen-laden bee that came precariously close to his face.

  “You’ll want to keep your distance,” the old monk warned.

  Anna stepped back. “There are some who do not react well to their sting.”

  “Yes,” Nathan said, “I remember well a soldier who swelled from the venom.” It was a sight he wished never to witness again.

  “She’ll be here for hours if we do not force her to rest.” Anna squeezed his arm. “Mayhap you can draw her from her tasks and entertain her with your harrowing tales of battle.”

  “Be grateful, child,” Brother John admonished. “The bees are God’s gift that makes your gardens produce greater crops than those who live to the north.”

  “There is no reason to keep it all to ourselves. We could teach them the ways, just like you did when you came to Fletchers Landing.”

  “’Tis not the time to discuss this, child,” he snapped.

  “Forgive me, Brother John.” Anna dipped her head, her jaw firm as she fought the bit of censure. “I should not have spoken to you thusly in front of our guest.” Her slender fingers balled into fists. “Excuse me.”

  Nathan followed Anna’s retreat. There was anger in her steps. All families had their difficulties. But there was something they were hiding. A secret that might break them apart.

  Lady Meg motioned for them to wait and set the smoker on a bench. She began unwinding the veils from her head. A smile curved her sensuous lips.

  The revealing of her curves distracted him from the hum of the busy hives. There must have been a bolt of material wrapped around her body. He leaned in as if to bring her closer. Finally she stood before him and he could not bring himself to tear his gaze from her mouth as she tugged the last glove off her hand.

  “Sir Nathan?” she said.

  He shook his head, lost in the vision. Had she addressed him once already? She was as beautiful as she had been drawn in his memory.

  “My lady.” Like a foolish boy at his first attempt at flirtation, he dipped a rushed bow. “I must speak with you. Privately.” He cleared his clogged throat. “To thank you.”

  “Brother John,” Meg said. Her voice as smooth as the honey dripping into the hive pans. “I think ’tis time for the children’s lessons for the day. Sir Nathan and I shall join you in the stables anon.”

  “Take caution,” Brother John puffed. “Our land has many places that allow for someone to disappear.”

  “Why, Brother John, I do believe you think I have no manners with the sweeter sex. I assure you, I’ve plenty of practice within the king’s court.”

  “That brings me precious little comfort.”

  Meg tucked a curl behind her ear. “Sirs, I believe we are wasting time. There’s no need to posture
like roosters on my account.”

  Nathan grinned. “See there. Nothing to worry your gray head about.”

  “You’ll find that I have little patience for puffery.” Her hand slid close to her hip. A flash of metal caught the bright sun overhead. The little dagger used to cut away the honeycomb swung at her belt.

  “Do you intend for us to challenge the other to prove whose weapon is bigger?” Nathan grinned.

  The old monk angled his sword out from the folds of his long tunic and had the temerity to smile in that man-of-God way that promised to infuriate.

  “Brother John,” Lady Meg snapped.

  His nostrils flared, hardly representing a man of the cloth, particularly that of a repentant monk. “As you wish.” Brother John whipped around, a full-blown badger dressed in monk’s clothing.

  Nathan had seen that imperious countenance before. The itch between his shoulder blades had returned.

  Chapter 8

  Heat flushed Meg’s cheeks as she stared after Brother John. What set him off on an angry tear this time? Was it Anna or their visiting knight?

  “My lady.” Sir Nathan held out his arm for her to grasp. “If you grant me but a moment of your time, I vow to escort you safely to any destination of your choosing.”

  He smiled down at her. Even though Duncan Graham and the monk stood head and shoulders above Sir Nathan, she felt safe in his presence. An odd way to think about a stranger.

  Laying her hand upon his sleeve, she nodded for him to proceed. They walked past the outbuilding and the meadery. A cache of barrels waited in the cave for delivery. It would be another long night for her. At least Brother John would be there to lend a hand in loading them onto the skiff and sailing them across the firth. The coin they would receive would buy them another month of protection.

  The silence stretched as she searched for something interesting to say. It was easy enough to argue with the thieving Graham. Fighting over how much she could afford to pay for the village’s safety from reivers. She couldn’t very well speak of her concerns.

  They slowed to weave their way past the rocky path that led to the caves. She did not intend to bring him that direction. Apparently her feet had followed that well-worn path too many times. They paused to rest beside the large boulder that blocked the light at night.

  “How did you find your bedchamber? Did it suit to your liking?” Oh, God, his forearm tensed. He paused turning her into his arms. “I did not mean to offend.”

  “On the contrary.” His breath caressed her skin, over the nape of her neck. “I could think of only one thing lacking.”

  Her breath stalled as she waited for him to ask her to join him. How would she respond without breaking her vow? Perhaps a simple kiss. If he should ask. One kiss might not break her promise. “Yes?”

  He cupped her chin, tipping it to look into his moss-green gaze. So soft, caring, and penetrating. Her secrets began to feel like weights.

  “I would have you tell me of the lights that whisper under cover of the night. Of whom you meet and why you take that chance.”

  “Why, Sir Nathan, what a mystery you ask. I’m unaware of any lights over the gardens outside your window.”

  “I saw them. Last night.”

  She bit her lip. “From…from your window,” she stuttered. “There are no windows in that direction. Only the crop fields and the herb garden. Mayhap it was a trick of the moon.”

  “’Twas nothing of the sort.” His arms tightened, and then released.

  Cold seeped through her sleeves despite the summer sun. Please don’t tell me your attention is a mistake. Not again.

  “I’ve had plenty of time. To wonder. How did you happen to hear me call out, my lady? You are on the other end of the keep. Are you not? And yet, you came to me in only your chemise.”

  “I could not sleep. And I thought to check on the children’s safety.”

  His hand slid up her arm, over her shoulder, to rest on her jaw. “Tell me, is there another that I must vanquish before I am allowed to taste the honey clinging to your lips?”

  “Sir Nathan, I…” Meg trembled, fighting the need growing inside. She could not give him what he wanted. A name. A reason. “No. No one,” she whispered.

  Her voice sounded to her ears like someone else: Someone who had never vowed always to protect. One who never allowed her heart to love and dream and feel the thrill of passion.

  Jealousy welled for those who had the choice to love or not. Hope shriveled like a rotted blossom on the vine.

  She twitched her skirts away from a thorny shrub. The delicate yellow flowers had faded and fallen away, leaving behind rigid spines to bedevil a careless passerby. The gorse needed clearing from the path. She muttered a curse when one nasty spine caught under her surcoat, scraping skin and tearing the woolen threads.

  “My lady. Wait before it does further damage.” Sir Nathan bent down to release her from the offending plant.

  “I can do this myself,” she muttered. Fire raced through her limbs as he picked up her foot and placed it upon his thigh.

  He smiled up at her. The sunlight reflected in the amber hues hidden in his hair. “I trust you are able. But then I would still be in your debt.” His golden lashes brushed his high cheekbones. “And it would be a shame to lose such an opportunity to improve your opinion of me. Would it not?”

  Did he just have the temerity to give her a lazy wink? Her skin heated where his fingers brushed against her stocking. She glanced around to ensure no one nearby was watching. Flames crept up her neck. Her bodice became too tight. She plucked at the material overheating her chest. “I assure you. I keep no ledger.”

  “A pity. I rather enjoy improving the balance where you are concerned.” His gaze lingered where her hand hovered over her breasts.

  She snapped it down and did her best to glower where his hand encircled her ankle. “I insist you release me, Sir Nathan. ’Tis improper.”

  “I fear the thorns have done harm to your flesh.” He frowned at the stain of blood on his fingertips. “Does no one tend to the gardening outside Lady Anna’s domain?”

  She stiffened, lifting her foot out of his grasp and stepping out of reach. “We’ll do so when ’tis time to harvest the gorse.”

  Sir Nathan dusted his chausses as he rose. “Fodder for the beasts of the field may be all well and good, but there is such a thing as human comfort.” He lifted his arm for her to take.

  Mayhap he was used to the ease of royal life and did not understand one’s duty of providing for your people and the keep. “To trim it back just for comfort of the path is wasteful when there are so many uses.”

  They arrived at the stables. As far as Meg was concerned, it was none too soon. She stifled a sigh of relief. “I shall leave you here. ’Tis certain you’ll wish to see to your horse. You’ll find my sister Phillipa will have ensconced him in the finest of stalls.”

  “Please.” He caught her fingers before she could rush past him. “’Tis customary for the lady of the keep to show her guests about, is it not?

  “Oh, but I’m certain you know your way to a stable yard.” She could feel him reeling her in. How was she to accomplish everything by nightfall if she must entertain this king’s man? A shipment of wool was expected. Why could he not just leave? She bit the inside of her lip. “Mayhap you will wish to exercise him.”

  “Madrigal. ’Tis his name.” He smiled at her raised brows. “Yes, I’m aware ’tis a different name for a charger. But,” he shrugged, “how could I change it? ’Twas his name before he was gifted to me and I did not desire to offend my friend.”

  A twinge of jealousy pinched. “A gift from a female, I presume.”

  He shook his head with what should have been a chuckle, but it came out in a huff. Indeed, a rusty chuckle. “No, had that been the case, I would have changed it within the first hour. I’ve found that o
ur king has a sense of humor when he wills it.”

  They arrived in front of a stall and the steed in question nickered and lifted his head over the gate. Nathan produced an apple and held it out for Madrigal to partake. He ran his hands over the horse’s powerful neck.

  “A gift from the king,” Meg whispered under her breath. He was more than the king’s knight. “You are his…friend?”

  A corner of his mouth kicked up. Shadowy thoughts drew his attention, shuttering them away where she could not examine anything closely. “Does a king ever have friends among his subjects? There is always the blurred line between friendship and duty.” He cut his eyes to meet with hers. “As a subject of the realm, I’m certain you are aware that a day will come when our king will expect you to do your duty and serve his wishes.”

  Meg fisted her hands at her side. She swallowed past her dry throat. “And what would those wishes be, Sir Nathan?”

  He shrugged and poured out some grain for Madrigal. His muscles rippled under the jerkin. “It remains to be revealed. Mayhap there are secrets that would serve him?”

  She turned from watching the graceful movement of his shoulders. He was the king’s friend. And his loyalty would always remain with the king. Should he discover their means of financial support he would be honor bound to report them in his next missive.

  A chill skimmed up her neck. “I fear I am but a simple lady from England’s North Country. We have so little to offer the king in the way of intrigue.” She ran her hands over Madrigal’s sleek coat. The animal’s muscles shivered under her caress.

  “Everyone carries a secret that they wish to keep to themselves.” He returned the empty bucket to the bench. Then refilled the horse’s water trough. A brush in one hand, he braced his palm beside her hand. The difference of size and strength was striking.

  The stroke of his strong hands over Madrigal’s coat brought another nicker. “Even a country miss observes things that they might wish to share among family and friends.”

  “Ah, but once it is shared, there is no turning back.” Meg shook her head. “For then there is always the temptation to share it with another and then another.”