Fallen Knight

by Dana D'Angelo

  “He is a knight who offered us protection on our journey to Stanbury Castle. Imagine how fortunate ‘twas to run across a good friend of Sir Derrik.”

  “Indeed,” Hervey said. The acid in his tone caused her to look at him in surprise. It was then that she discovered that he studied her. But then he looked across the room, his eyes narrowing.

  “Well, that is a relief to hear,” her mother said, missing the exchange between Clarisse and Hervey. “We must allow your lord father to regain his strength. ‘Twas very inconsiderate of you to make us come after you with such haste. “ She looked like she wanted to say more, but she stopped and broke out into a sudden smile. “Come, my lord,” she said to Lord Servian, “Let us greet my sister and her husband first before we retire to our bedchamber.”

  With that they made their way toward the dais, but Hervey and his page remained behind.

  Edith touched her sleeve. “By your leave, my lady, I would like to speak to my cousin over there,” she said. “I have not seen her for many months.”

  Edith’s cousin looked over at them, a hopeful look on her ruddy face.

  Clarisse nodded her head. “You may go. I will join my parents in greeting my kin.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Edith said, beaming.

  Watching her nursemaid go, she breathed a sigh of relief. This meeting with her parents wasn’t as bad as Edith predicted. Clarisse started to make her way to the dais when Hervey gripped the base of her elbow, squeezing it hard. She winced at the pain. His page stood slightly behind him, staring up at the rafters, pretending that nothing happened.

  “You are hurting me,” she gasped.

  “I will do more than hurt you,” he said, his tone low and menacing. “When we are married, I will have none of this running off. And you will not humiliate me in front of my peers.” He shook her arm. “Do you hear me?”

  “Aye!” she said, unable to keep the panic from creeping into her voice. “’Twas never my intent to shame you.” She glanced over at Edith, but her nursemaid was engaged in a lively conversation with her cousin.

  His hand was still on her arm, and she suffered his punishment since there were too many people in the room. Her parents had great admiration for Hervey, and she hated to embarrass them with any outbursts.

  “Please let me go, sire,” she pleaded and blinked back the tears. “T — the reason I left early was because I was eager to see my cousin before she married,” she said, desperately trying to find a reason that would mollify him. “You had not yet arrived at Laventon Castle, and I was impatient to see Lady Amelie. She — she is like a sister to me.”

  He loosened his grip on her arm and dropped his hand as her explanation seemed to satisfy him. A flood of relief filled her body and she carefully took a step back. His face was dark, and if she had a choice, she would have fled from him.

  “Make sure that this does not happen again,” he said, his eyes boring into her. “I do not appreciate being made a fool.”

  “Sire?” a voice said from behind him.

  He spun around. “What?” he snarled.

  The young servant jumped back as if the force of Hervey’s words terrified her. She blinked rapidly, her eyes shifting from the knight to Clarisse. Wringing her hands nervously in front of her, she said, “I’m to show you to your bedchamber, sire.”

  Hervey tugged at the sleeve of his tunic and bent his neck in a stretch before he said, “Lead the way.”

  “Follow me, sire,” the servant nodded, her face pale.

  He and the page followed the girl. Hervey was finished with Clarisse, and made his way to the apartments as if he was the lord of the castle. He walked with long strides, his dark cloak flapped behind him, and not once did he glance back at her.

  This was the sort of treatment that she had to look forward to, she thought miserably. When he had gripped her arm, a streak of panic coursed through her, a panic that she thought that she had mastered. Yet it was the same sort of horror that had plagued her for all these years — only a different man conjured it. And just like before, the terrible fear grabbed her by the throat, choking her as if it knew that it had the power to destroy her once again.

  But now that he was gone, she reflected on what had just happened. His forceful behavior had taken her by surprise. He had always seemed lukewarm toward her, and until now, she had never witnessed his violent nature. A cold finger of dread streaked down her spine. Was this a glimpse of how Hervey would treat her once they married?

  Her depressive thoughts overtook her as she knew that her parents favored the knight; they were simply biding their time before they discussed her dowry with Hervey. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly chilled even though the fire in the hearth roared away.

  She turned and walked slowly toward the high table, wishing that she was somewhere else, somewhere far away from her impending prison.

  Chapter 8

  “Look, sire, a bear!” Leofwin cried excitedly.

  Gareth regarded where the boy pointed just as a woman squealed like a small child, and a man in colorful tunic came through the entrance, leading a tame bear on a rope. It wore a ruffled collar of white and green. They meandered their way to the front of the dais, and when they got there, the man loosened the tie on the creature. He tossed a ball at the animal, and the bear dutifully went onto his hind legs, balancing the ball on its nose. Young and old clapped their hands and cried with delight.

  Two musicians were setting up their instruments at one side of the room. Meanwhile there were five other musicians along the balcony, three of them blasting their trumpets to indicate the start of the feast. The explosive sounds however merely mixed with the excited chatter and noise of the guests below.

  “I have never been to a noble wedding before,” Leofwin said, taking everything in with one sweeping glance. “The ceremony was grand, and now we have the celebrations.” He lifted his nose and sniffed the air. “There should be enough food here to feed my entire village.” He turned and grinned at Gareth. “One day I’ll own a castle and have wealth like this.”

  Gareth grunted in response to the boy’s enthusiasm. Long ago, he would have been just as impressed with this grandeur. He had taken meals in the royal hall, and knew what the boy experienced. While the event was not as great as a royal banquet, this wedding feast was not a paltry one. Sir Gordon spared no expense for the wedding of his only child. All around them was a lavish display of wealth. Right above the high table, the Calmette standard spread across for all to see: the image of a mountain goat on its hindquarters, its horned head reared back while its front legs raised in the air.

  The great hall had torches placed in sconces along the walls, casting the room in a warm glow. In strategic areas of the great hall, Gareth could see evidence of the family’s affluence. Images of unicorns, flying dragons and scenes from a far away land adorned the massive tapestry that hung on either sides of the chamber. And on the high table was a generous display of gold and silver platters, goblets and utensils — all items meant to impress.

  A ray of light from a side window above beamed down and struck the precious cups and platters, causing the light to scatter and dance upon the table. Right behind the ornate table display was a large oak chair, which was already occupied by Sir Gordon. With a satisfied smile, the lord of the castle scanned the crowd of people who entered the great hall. Lady Edeline sat to his right while Derrik and Amelie were seated next to her. More honored guests were stationed at the dais, including Clarisse’s parents.

  The two lower trestle tables were lined all the way to the back of the room, indicating that hundreds of attendees were expected. And one by one, the guests found their places according to their social ranks.

  The trumpeters had stopped their music and now began to play a lively tune on their recorders. The sweet, cheerful strains of the instrument lifted, and swirled around the guests below, causing some to look up.

  Others watched a juggler who was dressed in bright colors. Points we
re cut along the edges of his clothes and tiny bells sewn on the tips. As he tossed colorful scarves in the air, the tiny bells on his costume jingled along with him. The fabric’s descent was slow and graceful, somehow moving to the rhythm of the minstrels’ recorders.

  In another corner, a group of acrobats jumped and tumbled over each other in an attempt to gain the favor of the wedding guests.

  Everywhere a person looked, there was entertainment. But even with all the distractions, Gareth knew that some of the people noticed his presence.

  “Those knights are looking at you as if they know you,” Leofwin said, his tone hushed. “Are you acquainted with them, sire?”

  “Aye,” he said shortly. “Some I know by sight and others I know by name.” And all had witnessed his humiliation at the king’s court, although he didn’t say this aloud. As soon as they saw him enter the chapel, they whispered to one another, watching him curiously as if he was a bug crawling across the table. Yet there were some who after one glance, turned their heads away in disgust. None of this should have mattered to him. He shouldn’t even care what they thought of him. But he did. At one time he was respected and even admired. But now he was a fallen knight. That was what he was. God at least had some pity on him in that Jonathan d’Abelard wasn’t here. He knew that Jonathan would never voice his opinions aloud, but the censure would always be in his eyes.

  When Gareth had killed the Grey Knight, he had no thoughts about anyone except for the miscreant cowering in front of him. But he made his choice to kill the bastard, and even if he lost his friend, he knew that he would do it all over again if the situation presented itself.

  He dropped his gaze to the table. Now that he was back in society, the unwanted recollections flooded him, and no amount of drink, it seemed, could fully erase those memories. He was now starting to regret that he agreed to come here in the first place. Leofwin had looked over at him ever so often, his young face pinched with worry. But there was nothing the boy, or anyone else could do. It was a demon that he fought for so many years. Usually he managed to keep it at bay by drinking and numbing his senses. But he knew that he shouldn’t drink a copious amount of spirits, at least not today.

  At last all of the guests were seated. The ladies at the high table clapped in delight as two more jugglers appeared, and began to do tricks with their balls, tossing them in quick succession in the air.

  But Derrik and his bride didn’t seem to notice all the activity that surrounded them. Gareth watched his friend with a touch of envy. Even he knew that this was a rare public display of affection. Most married couples were distant with one another, but these two seemed as if they enjoyed each other’s company. Even in his hazy vision, he knew that they were in love.

  He took a step forward and somehow lost his footing. Fortunately he managed to steady himself on the wall before he fell flat on his face. Looking around, he was relieved to discover that no one had noticed his near slip. There was no need for him to lose his footing since the ground was flat, and there were no obstacles in his way.

  “Are you all right, sire?” Leofwin asked.

  “I’m fine.” Straightening up, he took another step forward. He shook his head to try to clear it. He only had two cups of wine before the wedding ceremony, so he wasn’t exactly drunk. If he wanted to be inebriated, he would have had a lot more than that. But good graces prevented him from getting too intoxicated, especially since today was Derrik’s wedding day.

  The minstrel continued to play the recorders as if their lives depended upon it. The cheerful strains mixed in with the happy chatter and laughter of the guests. But the merry sounds that surrounded him made him feel sick to his stomach. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to feel happy; he just knew that he could never obtain the kind of happiness that Derrik enjoyed. Not after what he had done. He had a made a choice that day, and now he had to live with the consequences. He chose to throw away his life, and he had no right to bemoan the loss. Only he was envious of his friend. While Derrik was a rising star, Gareth was going the opposite direction, and was headed straight to hell. There were times that he wished that he hadn’t pulled the knife on Raulf, but as soon as he thought that, he immediately stamped out the idea. Raulf deserved to die. That was a fact. Even Jonathan wouldn’t deny it. But Gareth knew that it took months, if not years for a prisoner to face his judgment. He had already searched for the bastard for ten years, and to have him so close in his clutches, and have him live…this idea was enough to drive him insane. But there was also the possibility that the Grey Knight would die of disease in the dungeon. And if that happened, then Gareth would be denied the justice of witnessing the scoundrel’s death. So he took things into his own hands, and killed Raulf on behalf of Rueben and all the other people that the snake had killed or tormented.

  But why was he being tormented for making the right decision? Many knights shunned him, and made him feel less than a man for what he did. Knights like Jonathan. In the battlefield, Gareth had killed men without reason other than to protect the king’s honor. For his part, he was given acclaim and declared a hero. But when he took vengeance upon a royal prisoner, a man who was worse than the scum of the earth, he was ostracized. He closed his eyes as he felt himself spiraling further into the past…

  “Sire?” Leofwin said, interjecting into his thoughts. “You don’t look fine to me. In fact, you look a little green.”

  He shook his head, not wanting to discuss it any further. He needed something to numb the pain of the past. A servant was about to pass with a jug of wine for the high table. And spying the jug, he grabbed it.

  “You cannot —” the servant began. But the glare that Gareth gave him stopped him short. The servant then stuck his nose in the air. “The steward will hear about this!” he said in a huff.

  Leofwin sniggered as the servant did an about turn, and headed back toward the kitchen to get more wine

  Tipping the vessel to his lips, he took a big gulp, allowing the cool, sweet liquid to run down his throat.

  But when the boy turned back to face Gareth, the smile on his face slipped. “Didn’t you have enough drink earlier, sire?” he muttered. “What will Lady Clarisse think? The wedding ceremony has just finished, and the festivities haven’t even started.”

  “Festivities?” He held the jug tightly in his hand, glad to hold onto something concrete. He just needed a few more sips, and then the negative emotions would go away. Lifting the vessel, he tipped it to his mouth. “As far as I know, you’re supposed to drink at festivals.”

  “Aye,” Leofwin said. “And you’re supposed to be merry too.” The concerned look that was on his face earlier was replaced by relief, as if he was glad to see Gareth was back to normal. He would have said more, but he looked past Gareth’s shoulders and grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t look now,” he hissed. “Lady Clarisse is heading this way!”

  Ignoring the boy’s warning, he lowered the vessel and turned around. He didn’t know if it was the wine, but seeing Clarisse again caused him to suck in his breath, making him painfully aware of his heart thumping in his chest. How was it possible that she was even more beautiful than he remembered? A small portion of her hair was braided to form a circlet around her head, while the rest of her long silky tresses flowed over her shoulders. At her crown was an intricate netting of emeralds that reflected the light from the sconces that hung along the walls. The gems sparkled as if tiny stars surrounded her head. When she saw him, a side of her mouth lifted slightly. But no matter how small the smile was, it had the gargantuan effect of spearing straight through to his gut. He set the jug on the table. Never, ever had he felt this way before about a woman, and he could only attribute it to the strong spirit that he drank. He had better stop otherwise he would have to deal with a more physical need, and one that couldn’t be satiated in a room full of people.

  But he didn’t have a chance with her. That much he knew. She already had a suitor, and from what he heard, they were going to marry soon. Still he entertaine
d just for a moment that her smile was more than a polite greeting. He couldn’t remember the last time that a fair maiden had bestowed favorable attention to him. He forced his heart to slow down. He was acting like a fool. Of course Clarisse had to acknowledge him. After all, she was going to find her seat, and she had to pass him. Her seat was likely near the front, since that was where the more important guests sat. And she would likely sit near her suitor. Unable to help it, a streak of jealousy struck him. That bastard didn’t deserve her.

  Just when she was about to pass him, she stopped, and his heart almost stopped along with her. He caught the faint smell of summer roses. Catching Leofwin’s eyes, he gave him a surreptitious nod. Understanding what he wanted, the boy got up from the bench, and placing his hand on the old nursemaid’s arm, he steered her toward the front of the hall. All the while he chatted inanely about the antics that he witnessed earlier in the courtyard.

  Clarisse watched the boy and her nursemaid go, but she didn’t seem in a hurry to follow them. “The ceremony was wonderful, was it not?”

  She folded her hands in front of her and continued to smile at him demurely. She was only being civil, he knew, but her gentle voice felt like a caress on his skin. His gaze lingered on her soft lips, wondering how her luscious lips would taste. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to draw her near and enfold her in his arms. He never felt this urge before. It had to be the strong wine. He normally drank the cheap ale so the quality of the spirits was likely affecting him. Either that, or he was getting old. After all, he was thirty-two, and perhaps he was starting to lose his faculties.

  “I do not care for weddings,” he said mildly, “I prefer to be in my farmhouse, far away from people.”

  “Then why are you here?” she asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  It was a worthwhile question. Why was he here? He could have insisted that Leofwin accompany Derrik back to Stanbury Castle. There was no need for Gareth to go as well. But Derrik had caught him by surprise. The knight had no family now. His uncle Jared had passed away two years ago.