Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1)

by Cassidy Cayman

  Oh, right. The curse. That was certainly something she needed to be serious about but, just like in her own time, she was positive she would eventually fall in love. She just needed to be patient.

  She realized Batty and Marjorie were in the middle of a heated argument and she turned to Anne. “What did I miss?” she asked.

  Anne smiled. “Oh Fay, off in your own world again, were you? I wish I could do that, but I’m always stuck here.” She shook her head at the girls, but didn’t intervene. “Marjorie said all knights, including their squires, were filthy animals, and Batty’s hotly disputing it.”

  “Filthy degenerates,” Marjorie corrected, making a medieval talk-to-the-hand gesture at Batty.

  “I’ll have you know you’re speaking of our lord Sir Walter when you say such things,” Batty hissed. “He’s never been a thing but kind and generous to us.”

  “Excellent point, Batty,” Anne said, putting an end to it with a simple lift of her brow. “We must remember that our lives are the way they are because others choose to protect and care for us, at the expense of their own comfort and safety.”

  “Seriously, Anne, sometimes I just want to applaud when you’re done speaking,” Fay said, getting choked up.

  Anne snorted a laugh. “Goose.” She took her turn in front of the mirror and pinched her cheeks again. “Now, let’s go make them want to lay siege to something.”

  Batty and Fay exchanged slack-jawed looks at that, while even Marjorie had to cover her mouth to hide her shock. Then they all burst into uncontrollable giggles and went down to supper. Fay only hoped she could make Sir Tristan speak to her, let alone lay siege to anything.

  Chapter 8

  Tristan buried the axe into the post, causing a deep furrow to run halfway down it. He turned and looked at the lads, nodding once. “That is how you throw an axe,” he said.

  They all scrambled to pick up their little training weapons, eager to try it. He held up his hand while he retrieved his from the post, not wanting to get one in his back, they were so itching to get started with their lessons.

  He sighed with the most contentment he’d felt in days. He liked teaching the pages, and though he could already tell only one from this group would ever get anywhere close to being a knight, it didn’t matter. It was important they know how to defend themselves, their families and land if they ever got either. It was the first time he thought he might be all right with retiring, starting his own family.

  “You’re going soft,” Brom said, startling him.

  “Can you read thoughts now?” he asked, horrified.

  “No, but I could tell by that moon-eyed look on your face that you were thinking you could stay at Dernier Keep, give up campaigning, teach the young ones, perhaps have a few of your own.”

  “Bloody hell,” Tristan said. “How embarrassing.”

  “Was it true then?” Brom asked. He laughed and slapped his thigh. “I was only jesting.”

  Tristan grumbled at Brom and rolled his shoulder. The castle physician was a fine one and had managed to keep it from becoming a flaming, septic mess, but it was still stiff and achy. He saw Sir Walter heading their way and nodded a greeting.

  “Fine work you’re doing here with the boys,” he said. “I can tell they enjoy your training a might bit more than old Sir Knobby who usually teaches them. If only they knew how he got his nickname, they might show him a bit more respect. But I remember well when I was a boy how exciting it was when the knights came back, battered from battle.” He sighed, a faraway gleam in his eyes. “It’s quite a bit different, of course, when you’re the one getting battered.”

  Tristan nodded accommodatingly, unable to agree in his heart. Yes, he’d just been thinking about retiring, but it was gone from his mind as soon as Brom ribbed him about it. He’d go mad if he couldn’t bash and slash regularly.

  “Sir Tristan and I were just speaking of him settling down,” Brom said.

  Tristan made a mental note to beat the living hell out of his squire at the first opportunity, and hoped his look conveyed that. Brom only laughed and bowed, excusing himself after lighting the fire.

  “Is that so?” Sir Walter asked, clearly interested.

  They’d danced around the subject of joining their lands, not only through his fealty but something more permanent. That was before he’d almost criminally wronged the man’s younger daughter, though. Tristan was still so full of shame over that, he couldn’t make himself look in Sir Walter’s eyes.

  “Ah, well, erm,” he stuttered.

  Sir Walter clapped him on the back. “I know you haven’t gotten to see more than a glimpse of my dear girls, since Anne fell ill that first night. But she’s as good as new now and they’ll be down again tonight. Of course, nothing was wrong with my Fay, she’s as strong as an ox, but she dotes on her sister. A proper caregiver, that one.”

  Tristan had been looking for an opening to bring up Fay’s health as he’d continued to worry about her. Now, here it was. “She likes to read, I’ve been told?” he asked.

  When the physician had treated his shoulder, he’d plied him with questions. The elderly man had looked at him like he was the one whose mind was disintegrating and told him not to concern himself with such mysteries.

  “I treat burns, cuts, coughs, and the like,” he’d barked. “If a young lady wants to read herself to death, there’s little I can do about it.”

  Which had led him to believe a lady could read herself to death, and he hadn’t slept a wink that night.

  Sir Walter beamed. “Devours books,” he said. “My late wife, my darling Lady Tess, taught her. Fay knows three languages.”

  “And your wife? An illness took her?” He wished he could take the question back when the formidable Sir Walter’s eyes misted with unshed tears. “I’m sorry if it causes you pain, please don’t answer.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “You’re going to be as close as family now, isn’t that right? The new lord of Dernier Keep? Yes, it was a sudden illness, terrible and swift. Fever and coughing, which is why I was so fearful when sweet Anne came down with it again this year. Thankfully, she’s well now. She’s a fighter, my Anne.” He looked behind him, waving up at a window. “The girls sometimes watch the training from up there,” he explained.

  Tristan swiveled his head around and saw a tiny figure in the high tower window. Was it Anne or Fay? Had Fay been watching him this whole week? He tried to remember everything he’d done. Had he boxed any of the boys’ ears? She probably wouldn’t like that. God, he was going crazy, caring and wondering about what that girl would or wouldn’t like.

  “Well, as I said, they’ll be in the great hall again for supper. Would you like me to seat you by a certain one?” Sir Walter smiled and waited for his answer.

  He was going to say it didn’t matter, then tell him both his daughters were lovely or something else benign and meaningless. Because it didn’t matter at all to him who he sat next to at supper.

  “You have every reason to be proud of both your lovely daughters,” he started out well enough, “but if it pleases you, Sir Walter, then … Lady Fay,” he finished, cursing his traitorous mouth.

  *

  Fay wished she’d been the one to enter the great hall while Sir Tristan was already seated. It seemed more dramatic to her, even though there wasn’t a staircase she could pause on. In her mind, she’d pause at the doorway, looking about coyly before continuing on to her place.

  But she was already seated at the high table with only her top half showing. He wouldn’t get to see the way her gown clung to her body, the graceful fall of her sleeves, or those amazing embroidered slippers.

  Instead, he came in from the courtyard, covered in dirt and sweat from his day of training. He didn’t pause coyly so she could admire him, but barreled over to where his squire sat. It looked like he gave him a rather large piece of his mind, and Fay found herself leaning over to try and hear what he said.

  That’s when he turned and saw her, lea
ning across the table and gawping. At least her sleeve hadn’t gone in the gravy boat. Damn it. It had. She hurriedly wiped it and resumed her casual pose, turning and striking up a conversation with Roric, the chamberlain. She sensed Tristan sitting down beside her, but refused to look his way. She thought she had this, thought she was locked and loaded. But now that he was less than a foot away, she found she was a dud.

  You’re not a dud, she thought furiously.

  For the millionth time, she wondered why she cared about that boorish, horrible man anyway. She tried to drudge up the memories she’d been working so hard all week to squash, confused and frustrated all over again. Who in the hell was she supposed to fall in love with? Yes, the castle was crawling with males, but they were all young boys, elderly, gross, or related to her in some way.

  She finally found the nerve to turn to him. She was going to coolly greet him and then return to harassing Roric. Poor man, he was a victim in all this. He only wanted to enjoy his supper, not answer her inane questions. Well, he had Sir Tristan to thank for it.

  “Good evening, Sir Tristan,” she said, not smiling. Oh, it was no use. He was so handsome. She smiled.

  He smiled back, so genuine and kind, it struck her straight in the chest. “And to you, Lady Fay. May I compliment you on how lovely you look tonight?”

  “You may,” she said. So far, so good.

  “I was concerned you may have fallen ill since I haven’t seen you since—” he stopped abruptly, clearly aghast at bringing up that night. Which meant he remembered.

  Of course he remembers, she hissed at herself. “I was not ill, but yet I didn’t feel well,” she said cagily, unable to not say something.

  He’d treated her horribly after all. If she wanted them to be friendly, it had to come out in the open. She wasn’t a big enough person to up and forget being treated like a—like a village whore. Not even! She was extra pissed off, because if he had, then at least she would have gotten to have sex with him. All of the insult and none of the fun.

  She slumped in her chair. She was the horrible one, continuing to think of him like he was nothing more than a big, delicious hunk of meat. “I’m sorry,” she blurted.

  At the precise same time, he said, “I must beg your pardon for how I acted.”

  “Wait, what?” she asked, only hearing half of what he said since she spoke at the same time.

  He took a deep breath and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I treated you abominably and I’ve been suffering remorse ever since. I longed to find you and apologize, but didn’t want to force myself on you like I did that night.” He hung his head. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I pray you’ll give it anyway.”

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely, though she was still confused. “But I thought you didn’t believe me.” Their heads were practically touching but it wasn’t a conversation they could have in any louder tones.

  “Believe you?” he asked, looking as confused as she felt.

  “When I said I’d never done that before.”

  His blue eyes grew round. “Of course I believed you. Did you think otherwise? How you must have suffered. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you.”

  “You were so … disgusted,” she said.

  “With myself,” he told her, his voice rising in his dismay. He lowered it, taking another breath. “Only with myself, for acting such a depraved animal.”

  She was so glad it was all a misunderstanding. It was still an awkward, awful memory, but she could forgive him now. Really forgive him and maybe get to know him.

  He ducked his head and she could swear a blush rose in his cheeks. “It’s no excuse, but I find you exceptionally attractive.”

  Should she? Did she dare? What would Anne do? Oh, to hell with it, she’d never be as proper as Anne should she live a thousand years. “I find you exceptionally attractive, too,” she whispered.

  He blinked. “Are you playing with me, Lady Fay?”

  She held up her hands and laughed. “I wish I was,” she said, overflowing with mischief now that she didn’t think he was a jerk anymore.

  His eyes darkened and she realized she was on a dangerous cliff. If he wanted her half as much as she wanted him in that moment, things were going to get uncomfortable for the other diners soon. He didn’t answer, but turned away, looking worried. “I don’t know if I can fulfill your wish,” he said slowly.

  Of course, she was still Sir Walter’s daughter and it was still 1398, but surely they could come up with some sort of arrangement. She hoped so anyway, but she was determined not to act untoward or do anything that might scare him off. Even though her hands ached to run up and down his chest, she had to think of more than just his body. His amazing, gorgeous body.

  Out of the blue, she thought of her aunt and uncle, who’d been married more than thirty years. Shortly before she died, her aunt had shown her pictures of Uncle Randolph when he was young and fit, and though he was then an old, paunchy bald guy, she insisted she loved him more than ever. Because he was kind and helpful and they watched the same shows, because he made her the perfect cup of coffee every morning, just the way she liked it. He remembered birthdays and her favorite color, and laughed at the same recycled jokes she always told. She knew he’d be with her when she closed her eyes for the last time, never to open them again.

  That was true love, and she wished she could find the person who’d cursed this castle and rub it in their selfish face. She found she had tears in her eyes and smiled sadly at Tristan, who looked more befuddled than ever. One second she’d been leering at him, the next she was blinking away tears.

  “Are you well, Lady Fay?” he asked, voice full of concern. “Have you been reading much today?”

  “Not today, no,” she answered, finding her composure. “What about you? Do you like to read?” The first step in finding love was to see if they had anything in common. Get to know one another.

  “I do not,” he answered firmly, looking almost offended.

  She choked back a laugh. What an odd man. “I’d like to speak more with you,” she said. “Away from this noise?” She waved at the lower tables, with all the clinking and chatter, then looked meaningfully at Sir Walter, Anne, and Roric. Did people date in this time? She was pretty sure she was asking Sir Tristan on a date. Before he could answer, someone called for quiet so the entertainment could begin. “Oh, that’s right, Brom’s supposed to sing.” She beamed and looked around for Batty. “My maid has a little crush on him, I think.”

  “Crush?” he asked.

  “She likes him.”

  He nodded wisely. “Is your maid the one with big doe eyes?”

  “That’s her, yes.”

  “Brom likes her as well. In fact, he will not shut up about her many attributes. I fear you may lose her by the way he’s been speaking.”

  She didn’t want to lose Batty, not at all. But she wouldn’t stand in the way of her happiness, either. She looked searchingly at Tristan and he raised his eyebrows, seeming to remember something.

  “Tomorrow, before training begins? It’s quiet in the courtyard then.”

  Brom’s voice rang out, a clear, sweet tenor, while someone played what she thought was a lute. Goosebumps traveled up her arms as she nodded at Tristan. It looked like she had a date.

  Chapter 9

  Fay awoke at the crack of dawn, not sure how she did that without an alarm clock, but ever since she became a member of the medieval ages, she rose and fell with the sun. She wanted to get ready on her own, so she told Batty the night before she didn’t feel well and not to come until she was called. She could have used the help getting dressed, but didn’t want Batty to know about her rendezvous with Sir Tristan. Batty would get excited and, as excited as she herself was, she still wasn’t sure.

  Her heart beat as hard and fast as if she’d run the tower stairs six times in a row as she hurried to lace up her gown. She would have given just about anything for toothpaste that morning. Instead, she chewed s
ome of the dried anise the cook gave her. Better than nothing, definitely better than morning breath after a huge, fish supper the night before.

  She stood by the window, watching the sun slowly creep into the front courtyard, and wondered if Tristan was already in the back by the training field. She envied Anne her view, and her mirror, but didn’t want to risk waking her by taking a peek at either one.

  “Stop panicking,” she quietly told herself. She shook her head and returned to her pep talk. “You are not, absolutely not, desperate.” She clasped and unclasped her hands, not quite believing her words, but trying to. “You’re in a strange situation, but you don’t need to freak out. You’re meeting a man you may or may not like, but it is definitely not the end of the world if things don’t work out.” She sighed. Time to go or she’d be late and she didn’t want to start out with little power games like that. That was way too twenty-first century.

  At least she already knew how attracted she was to him. “Oh yes, about that,” she stopped and did an addendum to her pep talk. “It’s obvious you both want to throw down, and that would be amazing if it could happen. But there’s plenty of time for that if you fall in love.”

  There, that covered everything. Feeling more giddy now than nervous, she skipped down the stairs, winding her way stealthily through the castle until she came to the back exit, taking a deep breath of the freshly baked bread smell since she was so close to the kitchen. She wondered if she should pop in and get something to bring, perhaps have an impromptu breakfast picnic.

  As much as she loved the idea of that, imagining them sitting on a cloth, their knees almost touching … maybe he’d feed her a bite or two … no, the cook would ask too many questions. She knew this about him because she’d been hungry more than once in the middle of the night since she got here and he always caught her foraging for a snack. He always let her have whatever was on hand but, God, the third degree he gave her along with the food. It wasn’t worth it this morning.