by Regan Walker
Pulling her still damp hair back from her face, plaiting the sides and tying them together at her crown, she let the rest of her hair hang free.
She shot a glance at her bow, leaning against the wall next to her quiver of arrows. The silent rebuke she heard in her mind was not so strong as it had once been. As Maugris had advised, she would control the bow and keep her own counsel.
After Nelda had come and gone, Merewyn went downstairs. Everyone was there save Alex. Her searching gaze did not go unnoticed. Rory strolled to her. “Alex has gone to the palace to let the king know Earl Renaud has arrived. He will bring back news of the barons’ meeting.”
Embarrassed that Rory should have been so quick to see her interest in Alex’s whereabouts, Merewyn thanked him and went to join Lady Serena where she stood with Earl Renaud and Sir Geoffroi on the other side of the room. She had just taken a sip from the goblet handed her when Alex appeared at the doorway, a frown on his face.
He darted a glance at her, then strode to his father. “The king has decided the barons will meet two days hence. Ranulf says nearly all have arrived. But William has called a hunt for tomorrow in Windsor Forest.”
A hunt. With a night’s sleep in a comfortable bed, Merewyn would enjoy racing through the woods after deer. Her brows lifted in question to Lady Serena. “Where is Windsor?”
“ ’Tis the closest of the royal forests, a morning’s ride away,” replied Lady Serena. Then she turned to Alex, “Will we be expected to join the king for dinner at Windsor Castle tomorrow eve?”
“Nay, he plans to return to Westminster where we will dine with him and the barons. ’Tis likely to be a large gathering with so many in London.”
The steward was good to his word and soon they were dining on roast duck cooked in wine sauce with cherries. The dish was a particular favorite of Merewyn’s and she ate heartily from the trencher she shared with Alex.
It was a happy gathering that evening as the men discussed the king’s hunt planned for the next day. Merewyn had never seen Windsor Forest, one of the king’s woodlands set aside for his pleasure. The men did not invite her to participate but she wanted to. A royal hunt!
That night, Merewyn lay in bed, listening to the rain pounding on the roof, the sound soothing and the breeze blowing in through the open shutters clean and fresh.
The next morning, awakened by the bells sounding the hour of Terce, she threw back the cover and walked to the window. In the distance, the Thames was a deep blue, the morning sun already turning the sky a paler version of the river. She inhaled deeply. The air, washed clean by the rain, smelled fresh. The rain had swept away the horrible stench, at least for a time.
Nelda stirred in her small bed on the far side of the chamber. “Oh, I am late rising.” She sat up, already replaiting her hair. “Do you require my service before I attend Lady Serena? I am certain she is awake and Earl Renaud may already be breaking his fast.”
“Nay, I am well able to dress myself, Nelda.” Merewyn’s voice was full of the excitement welling up inside. “I plan to join the hunt so ’tis an archer’s clothing I will be wearing today.” Then with a smile, she added, “No laces.”
Nelda returned her a surprised look and then, bobbing her head, splashed water on her face, slipped her simple tunic over her undertunic and left the chamber.
It took Merewyn only moments to dress and plait her hair she was so anxious to take part. Grabbing her bow and arrows and her brown felt hat, she quickly descended the stairs and crossed the entry into the main chamber. The men were seated at the table and, as Nelda predicted, eating their morning gruel, bread and berries. Cups of ale dotted the table.
Alex looked up and scowled, his hand poised with a piece of bread in front of his open mouth. “Where do you think you are going dressed like that?”
Rory coughed and sputtered, his gruel flying out of his mouth.
Guy beamed at her. At least he was pleased.
Merewyn’s gaze quickly took in the two older knights. Both Earl Renaud and Sir Geoffroi bore amused expressions.
In a fit of temper, Alex threw his bread on the table.
“I want to join the hunt,” she calmly stated. “I have my bow and arrows and Ceinder can soon be saddled and ready.”
Pounding his fist on the table, making the cups jump, Alex bellowed, “Absolutely not!”
His father raised a brow and cocked his head toward his son.
“I think ’tis a grand idea,” said Guy.
“We know she can shoot well,” chimed in Rory, wiping his face with a cloth.
“And I have you to protect me,” she said to Alex, batting her eyelashes, “should I face a wild boar.”
Sir Geoffroi laughed. “Emma would be proud.”
From behind Merewyn, the voice of Lady Serena brought the discussion to an abrupt close. “Let her go with you,” she said to her son. “Ren and Geoff will look after her. And Rory has the right of it. Merewyn can shoot well. You have witnessed her skill yourself. It might prove entertaining to see her outshoot the Norman king’s men.”
Alex turned to his father as if seeking support, but Talisand’s lord remained silent in the face of his wife’s approval.
“I like it not,” said Alex, “but I can see I am outnumbered.”
In a typical hunt, the men raced their horses after the hounds and, when they had cornered a deer, dropped to the ground to render the killing blow. But she could shoot from her pony, which gave her an advantage. Merewyn could hardly wait to see how she fared against the king and his barons.
Lady Serena draped her arm around Merewyn’s shoulders. Having the support of the Lady of Talisand meant much. Alex might not like it, but Merewyn would go with them.
“I will wear my cap,” she said to Alex holding up the brown felt, “so everyone will think me your page.”
Alex let out a huff. “Indeed, that is just what I feared.”
* * *
Alex held his breath as they approached Windsor Forest, hoping no one would remark on Merewyn’s presence. Perchance he could keep her hidden among the others as they hunted in the thousands of acres set aside for the king.
Already, a group of more than a dozen men had gathered for the hunt, waiting beneath the tall beech trees that stood guard at the entrance to the dense woods.
Like his father before him, William Rufus was an avid hunter. Alex had hunted many times with him in the New Forest that the Conqueror had created southwest of London at the expense of nearly two score villages. It was close enough to Westminster for the king to spend a day away from court pursuing the beasts of the chase, the hart—the red deer stag he loved—and the wild boar. But most often, the king hunted in Windsor Forest because it was closer to London.
Only the king and his friends were permitted to hunt in the royal forests. Harsher than his father, William Rufus showed no mercy to anyone caught hunting without his permission. A man found taking one of the deer would be sentenced to death. To shoot at a deer would lose a man his hands and disturbing a deer would cost a man his eyes.
Alex considered the penalties cruel. The nobles complained about them and the poor cried foul, but the king remained unmoved, caring little about the ill will his harsh punishments brought him. The church also loathed the harsh forest laws and frowned on hunting for sport, but William Rufus gave little thought to the clerics’ protests.
Alex and his father had discussed the forest laws, glad no royal forest had been declared a part of Talisand’s lands.
His mother was quick to tell him the Anglo-Saxon kings had allowed the people to hunt freely. She argued it was beneath a king to care so little for his people and so much for his own pleasure that he would maim and kill those who hunted merely to feed their families.
Alex had agreed with his mother, but could do nothing, despite her urging him to raise the matter with William.
His father had sympathized, but in the end, shrugged. “Alex is the king’s knight, Serena, compelled to serve his sovereign no matter
his views on the matter.”
The knights from Talisand, joined by Earl Hugh and the “page” accompanying them, approached the waiting men. Talisand’s lord, Earl Hugh and Sir Geoffroi rode in front. Merewyn rode next to Alex where he could keep an eye on her. Rory and Guy moved up to flank them.
Glancing at Merewyn in her green and brown archer’s clothing with her brown felt cap, he was struck by how young she looked. The description of a page was not far off. He suddenly wished her pony was a dark bay and not white, for its color, a stark contrast to the muted colors of the forest, drew the eye. ’Twas the only white horse in the hunt and given the apparent youth and sex of the rider, the king was certain to notice. The possibility disturbed Alex greatly.
“You are scowling,” whispered Merewyn.
“I have good reason!” he hissed back.
“Welcome, Earl Renaud,” said one of the barons from the midst of the hunters. Alex recognized the man. ’Twas Robert fitzHaimo, baron of Gloucester, one of the king’s loyal subjects. Like the Red Wolf, fitzHaimo had served the first William and now served the second. The baron was slight of frame and his chestnut hair nearly the color of Alex’s father’s, only longer. The Red Wolf might be a decade older, but to Alex his father was somehow more virile, his presence more dominating than the other men.
“Do you wait for the king?” asked Alex’s father.
“Aye,” replied fitzHaimo. “His huntsman has been here with his scent hound so that we now know the path the deer will take. He is stationing the hounds ahead along the expected route.”
“A messenger arrived some time ago,” said a man Alex did not recognize, “advising us the king would be late. We expect him any moment.”
Altogether a score of men waited for the king. The sun was now strong in the sky and the rain of the night before was causing steam to rise off the damp vegetation where the sun’s rays reached to the forest floor.
“Go on,” Alex told Rory and Guy. “Greet the others.” Then frowning at Merewyn, he said, “I will stay with my page.”
Merewyn raised her eyes to the trees.
Rory and Guy chuckled as they walked their horses around Alex’s father and Sir Geoffroi to greet the knights with whom they were acquainted. Earl Hugh had already wandered off to converse with one of the barons.
Azor was restless beneath Alex. Neither of them liked to wait. Then, too, the stallion might be sensing his master’s anxiety. He walked the horse in a circle, then brought it alongside Merewyn. She had not moved at all, her mare standing serene and seemingly content.
“Say nothing unless you are asked a question,” he cautioned in a low voice. “If a question comes to you, short answers are best. In truth, I would have no one hear your voice.”
She nodded. But he was not fooled. Now that she had what she wanted, she appeared compliant. But the glimmer of defiance in her blue-hazel eyes told him once the hunt began, he could not be assured she would remain at his side.
A horn sounded from behind them. In the distance, hounds bayed.
The king.
* * *
Merewyn’s stomach clenched as the king and his guards arrived. She had never met this William but she knew the Norman knight who had raped her mother had served the first one. She straightened her back, tugged her cap down on her head and stiffened her resolve. I will not cower.
Alex tossed her a look of caution, his gray eyes stormy. “You have nothing to worry about if you remain silent.”
Of what does he worry? But she nodded all the same.
She knew instantly which of the approaching riders was the king. His resplendent attire captured her eye: a bejeweled, scarlet tunic over blue silk undertunic, the sleeves extending to his wrists. On his thick fingers were many rings, each displaying a different jewel. He had long yellow hair, a small red beard and florid cheeks. The horse he rode was a magnificent Spanish chestnut stallion. She was surprised to see how short the king’s legs were, but his upper body was powerfully built. Yet the king had a protruding belly, like the richly attired man with dark hair who rode beside him.
She trembled as William Rufus fixed his eyes upon her. The color of his eyes was somewhere between green and brown, and they contained glittering specks like small fires. His intense scrutiny was unsettling.
Shifting his gaze to Alex and his father, the king said, “My wolves ride together. Excellent!”
“Sire,” said Talisand’s lord, bowing his head to the younger man as Sir Geoffroi and Alex did the same. Merewyn bowed her head and said nothing.
“Bonne chasse!” The king proclaimed, bidding them a good hunt, and left them, walking his magnificent stallion toward the front of the party.
“Who is the one who rides beside him?” she asked Alex, noting a certain resemblance except for the dark hair of the king’s companion.
“Duke Robert, the king’s older brother. They are currently at peace since their treaty at Caen. The duke intends to accompany William’s army to Scotland because he knows Malcolm.”
She accepted that it was a knight’s duty to serve his king, but she did not like to think of Alex riding to war. Dismissing her fears about Scotland, she watched the king and his brother riding off.
When the king was a dozen feet away, he turned in his saddle to look back at her before resuming his path to the front of the party.
“Was it my pony that drew the king’s attention?” she whispered to Alex.
Alex gave out a frustrated sigh. “William has seen white horses before. Likely even Welsh ponies. Nay, ’twas not your pony. He may be wondering why I would bring a page to a hunt. Too, he will have noticed your bow and arrows. But more likely ’twas your womanly features that made him turn to study you further. I’ve no doubt he considers you a most winsome lad.”
Her cheeks heated at the compliment Alex had paid her no matter she was disguised as a boy. “But I did naught to draw his attention.”
“In truth, I fear you could not have avoided it. William likes lads, especially feminine ones.”
What did Alex mean? Before she could ask, the horn sounded and the hounds bayed loudly from deeper into the forest.
The score of riders were suddenly off, cantering after the king. The earth trembled at the pounding hooves. Merewyn forgot all and charged forward, thrilling at their swift pace as they dashed through the forest, following the sound of the baying hounds.
At first, the path was straight and wide and Ceinder held a steady gait. But soon, the riders spread out and the path she was on narrowed and took a tortuous turn through the woods. Merewyn tried to hold to Alex’s left side.
“Stay close,” he cautioned, keeping pace with the others.
How could she stay close and still take a deer? She could not!
They raced on for a while, a daring chase, winding through trees while trying to stay clear of the other riders.
Ahead, the men’s shouts told her some of the deer had changed course, doubling back. With the dogs barking loudly and scrambling to keep up, a deer darted into the meadow she had just entered, heading straight toward her. Seeing the horses, the deer leaped to the left, hurtling toward the cover of the woods.
Her eyes never leaving the deer, Merewyn laid her knotted reins on Ceinder’s neck and galloped in pursuit, guiding the pony with only her legs. Keeping the deer in sight as it headed into the woods, she nocked an arrow, pulled back the bowstring and let the arrow fly.
Ahead, the deer dropped to the ground, the sound a heavy crash echoing through the trees.
Merewyn slowed as she neared the kill. “I got him!”
Alex rode up behind her, a frown on his face. “I suppose I should congratulate you on a great shot but I cannot be happy for the attention it will bring you.”
As if his words were prophetic, the ground shook with the pounding of many horses coming toward them.
“Look! The page has taken a deer,” a man’s voice shouted. “A stag!”
Merewyn dropped from her horse to check on her kill
, to be certain the hart was dead. The men gathered around her.
“Parfait. ’Tis a clean kill, master page,” said the man she recognized as the king’s brother. “A worthy display of skill, shooting from your horse. ’Tis few who would attempt such a feat.”
“A page skilled with a bow?” queried the king riding up beside his brother to study her. “Most unusual. My brother has great skill at archery, young page. ’Tis high praise he gives you.”
Merewyn bent her head and went down on one knee before the king and the duke, but remembering Alex’s caution, said nothing.
“Rise, page,” ordered the king.
Merewyn managed to stand, but her knees were shaking.
“I would have a name,” the king said to Alex.
Alex hesitated, then spit out, “Mer… Merry.”
“Meriwether,” the king said, apparently reaching for the name he associated with the nickname. “A fitting English name for one who hunts on a day when the sun shines. Bring your page to the feast tonight, Sir Alex. I would see more of this Merry.” And with that, the king ordered one of his servants to take the deer back to the palace and add it to the others the hunters had taken. “Tonight,” the king pronounced as he rode away, “we dine on venison!”
When they were gone, she stood, looking up at Alex, who was frowning down at her from his horse. “Now you have done it.”
“Whatever do you mean? I but shot a deer. Surely you deemed it possible? And tonight, I can go disguised as your page, can I not?”
Before Alex could answer, Rory and Guy rode up. “What happened?” asked Guy.
“I felled a deer,” she informed him.
“And drew the interest of the king who wishes the page he now knows as ‘Merry’ to join the feast tonight.”
Rory let out a whistle.
Guy’s frown joined Alex’s. “Oh, that does pose a problem.”
Merewyn surveyed the faces of the three men, her gaze finally resting upon Alex. He ran his fingers through his long black hair. “Just so,” he said.