by Regan Walker
Lady Serena gave Merewyn’s clothing a long perusal. “I expect you should have a bath. I will see that the lads bring hot water and a tub to your chamber. My maidservant, Nelda, can assist you with the gown when you are ready.”
* * *
Merewyn sank into the steaming water with a sigh, inhaling the flowery scent of the soap while reflecting upon her encounter with Alexander. She had noticed more than his towering height. No longer was his body that of a stripling lad. His broad shoulders that had once promised strength had gained muscle with his knight’s training and his face had lost its boyhood look, gaining instead a man’s strong jaw and high cheekbones. Together with his long black hair, they rendered him darkly handsome. She did not wonder the women spoke of him in hushed whispers.
She had expected her childhood adoration of him to fade with time and distance, that seeing him again would free her of the memories that had bound her to him during the years she had been away. But she had been wrong. The moment she had gazed into his piercing gray eyes and heard his voice, it had all come rushing back. Only the wave of longing that had washed over her was not a girl’s adoration of a remembered hero. It had been a woman’s desire.
She ran her fingers through the warm water and imagined running them through the waves of his long hair and touching the dark hair on his chest she had glimpsed from the neck of his tunic. He would pull her to him and her breasts would be crushed by his weight as he held her.
Her nipples formed tight buds and the caress of the water became his caress as her breathing became more labored. What would it be like to lie with him?
Her bow, leaning against the wall of her chamber, spoke a word of silent condemnation for her wild imaginings. “I know who he is and who I am,” she said aloud to the bow. “You do not have to remind me.” She shook her head, her wet hair splashing water over her face, waking her out of the fantasy and reminding her of Alex’s reputation and what she could expect from such a knight.
He was arrogant; a knight who’d had many women. Beyond that, he was Talisand’s heir and she a bastard of ignoble birth. He would wed a highborn lady, a marriage likely arranged by the king, and she would not marry at all. Having compared all men to Alex for so long, how could she wed another?
Her heart constricted at the possibility of Alex with a more worthy woman. Mayhap when that day came, she would be far away in Wales where Rhodri’s archers would welcome her bow.
Did Alex suspect his absence had been the cause of her interest in archery? Nay, he would not have guessed that when he left to become a squire, she had been alone and afraid, in need of a weapon to defend herself. But now things were different. The change had come with her first archery contest after her return home. The men stared in admiration and kept their distance.
She looked again at her bow. “You have gained me respect in men’s eyes. For that, I will always be grateful and, thus, I will heed your warning.” Her archer’s clothing had been carefully made to conceal her womanly curves. It was what she had wanted, this distance from men, mayhap even as to Alex, for were he to draw close and see her as a woman like the others, vulnerable to his masculine presence, she feared she would be helpless to resist him.
But tonight, for Lady Serena, she would don the gown of a lady.
* * *
Alex took his seat on the dais between his father and Sir Geoffroi, Guy’s father. He would have been happy to sit at the long trestle tables where his father’s men ate, but tonight he and his companions were in the place of honor, as sons being welcomed home from war. It was a stark contrast to the cold nights in Normandy and those on the way home from London when they had crouched before an open fire with only a few hares to share between them.
In battle and traveling the length of England, he and his men had been gray, dust-covered figures passing in a blur. Often they were coated with mud from the rain-soaked moors. But tonight, the men-at-arms had doffed their mail to don fresh linen tunics, the knights wearing woolen and velvet. Only the king’s court presented a more opulent display.
Because it was expected of the Red Wolf’s son, Alex had worn a fine woolen tunic of midnight blue embroidered with silver thread on the shoulders, a gift from his mother. The Lady of Talisand had expectations for her sons’ appearance, particularly Alex as the eldest. He was glad when she had taken no issue with his longer hair. His father had reacted to it with raised brows, but said nothing. All of William’s younger knights had grown their hair long to mirror their sire. Alex was happy to go along with the new fashion because it freed him from cutting his hair. It was enough that he must shave his face for he could not abide a beard.
He had left his sword in his bedchamber, knowing none would be permitted in the hall this night. But the dagger at his belt, a gift from the king, was no less formidable a weapon. He could kill with it and had. In the four years he had served William Rufus, Alex had ended the life of more than one man at the king’s command. It was a knight’s service and he accepted it.
Servants hurried into the hall, placing trays of meat on the tables and the trenchers that served to hold their food.
A kitchen wench filled his goblet with wine. Alex nodded his thanks and, ever hungry, filled his trencher with slices of venison, spooning over it the juices into which he would dip his bread.
Maggie had outdone herself with a fine feast of venison, roasted in a vinegar and pepper sauce, hare spiced with what smelled like rosemary and thyme, and a peacock skinned, roasted and redressed in its own feathers. The delicacy was not often served at Talisand. He had first tasted the peafowl’s rich, dark meat in Chester at the home of his foster father, Earl Hugh.
Biting into the chunk of peacock, Alex shot a glance at Guy, eating on the other side of Sir Geoffroi. The young knight was flirting with the young women at the tables, enjoying his new status.
Alex took a drink of his wine and looked up at the rafters. Where once, his mother told him, there had been bright ornamentation, now the images on the carved timbers were faded and darkened with soot from the central hearth fire. On his mother’s side, his roots were deep in England’s soil. But his father was a Norman, as were most of Talisand’s men-at-arms.
Turning to his father, Alex asked, “How many new men-at-arms do we have?”
“A score in anticipation of trouble in the north, but there may soon be more if the king is assembling an army to fight Malcolm.”
“He will be some time in doing that,” said Alex, “for he waits not only for the men who owe him service but for the ships he would take to Scotland.”
“Following in his father’s steps,” said Talisand’s lord. “Mayhap a prudent step. ’Twas what the Conqueror did when he invaded Scotland.”
Alex’s mother, apparently catching their conversation, leaned across his father. “War was averted then with an agreement and your father returned unscathed. We can only pray that Malcolm and William Rufus will have sense enough to do the same.”
His father took his wife’s hand. “Do not worry, my love. All will be well.”
She looked into his eyes. “It was my fervent prayer when I met with Father Bernard this morning.”
Just beyond Alex’s mother sat Maugris in his usual place, nodding in agreement. One never knew what vision the old man might have seen. Knowing the wise one advised his father gave Alex comfort. Whatever happened, he had to believe Talisand would stand.
Beyond Maugris, Alex glimpsed Sir Maurin with his dark head bent to his son, Rory. Like Alex’s father, Sir Maurin had outlived the Conqueror and helped to bring peace to England. Once, Sir Maurin, Sir Geoffroi and Sir Alain were young knights, who, along with Alex’s father, left Normandy to seek lands of their own. Now it was up to their sons to secure England’s future. Alex was glad he would have at his side men like Rory and Guy, as well as his brothers. Jamie, too, for the house knight who had once been page to the Red Wolf, was devoted to Talisand.
Alex let his gaze drift about the hall, watching the men and women enjoying
Maggie’s feast. A long table had been added to the two they typically had in order to accommodate the crowd gathered for the homecoming feast. Because of the bachelor knights and new men-at-arms, the men outnumbered the women. But it was the women with their gowns and long hair that drew Alex’s attention, a feast for his eyes, as Maggie’s meal was a feast for his stomach.
Content, he reached for his wine just as a woman gowned in silk the color of dark violets slipped into the hall like a faint cool breeze. He set down his goblet, his senses coming alive as his gaze tracked her every move. Pale flaxen locks pulled back from her delicate face cascaded down her back, as her gown rippled around her. He imagined it rustling as she walked, the sound like leaves falling to the forest floor. Around her neck sparkled an intricate gold necklace. The queen of fairies walking among them.
Merewyn.
This afternoon she had appeared a diminutive Welsh archer. Now, attired like a lady of royal birth, she held his attention as no other woman in the hall.
He leaned into his father. “Have there been no suitors for her?”
His father followed his line of sight. “Merewyn?”
“Aye. She is one and twenty and not yet wed.”
“Well, to begin, Sir Alain has yet to give his daughter, Lora, to anyone and she is of an age with Merewyn. But the truth is the girl would have suitors aplenty were she to smile at any one of my men, but she holds herself apart. Above reproach, your mother believes, afraid to encourage any because of her mother’s fate. The men do not know what to make of her. Possibly they fear her arrows should their overtures not be welcomed.”
“For good reason, I understand. The men say she can shoot well.”
“Yea, she can. Tomorrow you will have to attend the archery contest.”
“I just might.” Normally, he would have headed straight for the sword matches but tomorrow he would begin with those testing their skills in archery.
Alex’s gaze continued to rest upon Merewyn as she took a seat next to Lora and Jamie. It was not difficult to see why she had sought out those two. Jamie had been an orphan, just like Merewyn, when Alex’s father made him his page. And Lora’s mother had once been leman to Alex’s English grandfather. In the eyes of some, Lora would be tainted by her mother’s former life just as Merewyn was marked as a child of rape. Such blots against a woman were rarely forgiven by the merciless.
Merewyn’s eyes scanned the hall before alighting on him. Her face bore a look of discomfort, as if she was reluctant to be here. Hoping to put her at ease, he smiled and dipped his head in greeting. Her eyes met his for only a moment before looking away.
* * *
Sipping her wine, Merewyn tried unsuccessfully to avoid looking at Alexander as she listened to Jamie recounting stories of his knightly pursuits while she’d been in Wales. He was generous in his compliments of Talisand’s lord and modest in telling of his own feats, as he always was.
Jamie had been a knight for several years when she had gone with Rhodri to Wales. Now, just into his third decade, he was a well-favored man with a head of sun-bleached curls and a winsome smile. He often aimed that smile at Lora whose exotic beauty drew admiring glances from many men. But Lora’s eyes seemed focused on the dais where Alex sat between his father and Sir Geoffroi.
Did Lora long for Alex? Merewyn hoped not, for her friend could have no claim on the heir of Talisand any more than she could.
“Tomorrow there will be tests of strength and contests,” said Jamie, the sparkle in his eyes conveying his eagerness for the coming day. “Will you be attending the matches?” He had posed the question to the two of them but Merewyn was certain ’twas Lora’s answer he awaited.
Lora returned him a small smile. “Yea, all of Talisand will be there.”
“I will look for you then,” he said. “And you, Merewyn, will you compete against Talisand’s archers?”
She let out a breath, acknowledging to herself the mixed feelings she had about competing against the other archers. Though she disliked being on display, she could not resist the thrill of the competition. “I will. I was hoping Lady Serena might shoot. ’Tis been long since I have witnessed a demonstration of her skill.”
“She does not often compete against the archers anymore,” Jamie said. “Young Tibby and her work in the village keeps her occupied most days.”
Lora chuckled and directed her next words to Merewyn. “My brother, Ancel, and Tibby follow that little vixen, Cecily, around like puppies.”
“Aye, I have seen the three of them tormenting the chickens,” Merewyn said.
“You should have seen them this afternoon,” said Lora. “Their faces were smeared with the remnants of Maggie’s tarts. Cassie had gone home to change and Maggie was in the hall directing the servants. The three imps found the cooling tarts sitting in the kitchen and apparently could not resist. I could hear Maggie’s shouts to the front door of the hall when she found them.”
“That must have been a sight,” said Jamie, shaking his head.
“It would have been amusing,” Lora said, smiling, “had not Maggie informed them they had just had their sweet for the day and would get no more. Their loud protests for what they considered a great injustice echoed through the hall as Maggie chased them from the kitchens.”
Jamie laughed, as did Merewyn, trying to picture the scene. There had been children in Wales, dark-haired little ones she had adored, including those belonging to Rhodri and Fia. They had returned her affection, calling her “Merry”. For as long as she remained among them, the name had described her well. In Wales, she had forgotten the shame of her youth. But always in the back of her mind was the memory of the raven-haired lad who had saved her in the woods.
* * *
Alex stabbed a slice of venison with his knife and brought it to his trencher, listening to Sir Geoffroi with only half an ear, as he watched Merewyn. Lady Emma stopped by Merewyn’s table to speak a word to her and he was reminded that she had once lived with Sir Geoffroi and his wife. When Merewyn laughed, men turned their heads to glimpse her. Did she know how attractive they found her? How attractive he found her?
“Has the king mentioned an intention to betroth you to a woman from one of Normandy’s noble families?”
His attention roused, Alex faced the knight whose dark blond hair was now gray at his temples. “What?”
Sir Geoffroi’s stark blue eyes took on a serious mien. “Surely the possibility comes as no surprise. Now that he has gained new lands in Normandy from his brother, I expect William will want to bind his young nobles to those lands.”
“The king has said naught of it to me,” Alex replied contemplatively. Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, “I would prefer to choose my own bride when the time comes.”
“ ’Tis not likely you will have the freedom. You know how your father came to wed your lady mother.”
“Aye, I know the story. Neither was given a choice. But that was the Conqueror.”
“ ’Tis possible his son might feel differently. I do not know William Rufus well enough to say. But if you think to take a bride from Talisand, consider my daughter, Beatrice.”
Alex looked to where Bea sat with Rory’s sister, Alice. “She is very comely,” he said half-heartedly. At eighteen summers, Guy’s sister was living up to the name “Beautiful Bea”. With her silken light brown hair and gray-green eyes, she was every bit the child of her mother, Lady Emma, who sat close by her daughter. But that was just the point. To Alex, Bea was a child and a compliant one at that. He looked beyond her to the woman who fascinated him.
“If you are gazing at Sir Alain’s daughter, Lora, you may have competition from Sir Jamie. ’Tis why he is still unwed.”
“Aye, I can see he is attentive to her,” said Alex. He had not missed the attention Jamie paid to Lora and was not unhappy she was the one who garnered smiles from the captain of his father’s house knights and not Merewyn. Why had Sir Geoffroi not suggested Merewyn? Was it the circumstance of her birth, her
orphan status, or her unwomanly choice of pursuits?
“Well, there is also Alice, Rory’s sister,” Sir Geoffroi went on, “but I’m told the redhead is difficult.”
Alex’s brows drew together in a frown. “Marriage is not on my mind.” He reached for his wine.
Sir Geoffroi lifted his goblet, giving Alex a sidelong glance. “Taking after your father? Until he met your mother, the Red Wolf was not his only name. The Conqueror’s men called him ‘the warrior priest’.”
Alex laughed, covering his mouth to keep from spurting his wine on the table. Breaking off a piece of bread, he sopped it in the juices in his trencher. “There are many things they might call me, Sir Geoffroi, but ‘priest’ is not among them.” He took a bite of the tasty juice-soaked bread. “Still, I thank you for the warning about the king’s intentions. I have seen enough of Normandy to last me a long while. I have no desire to bind myself to it. There is no peace to be had in that nest of vipers.”
Sir Geoffroi laughed heartily. “Now you know why your father and I were happy to accompany Duke William to England. The rewards came later.”
After that, Alex turned to his other side and spoke in low tones to his father about the king’s court and all he could expect to find there. “ ’Tis not like that on campaign,” Alex assured his father, “but in the king’s palace at Westminster, his favorites wear their hair longer than mine and mince about gowned and perfumed like women.”
“I do not look forward to that,” said his father, “and your lady mother, who has no love for Norman kings, will have yet another excuse not to like this one.”
Alex knew well his mother’s opinion of the Conqueror for he had heard her expound upon it numerous times. With William Rufus’ strange proclivities and his disdain for the church, she would like this Norman king even less.
Once the honeyed fruit tarts were served, conversation in the hall died as two minstrels in colorful robes of green, gold and scarlet approached the dais, carrying lyre and pipes. Candles flickered and the fire in the hearth slowly faded to embers as the minstrels’ music lifted enchanting sounds into the air.