by Regan Walker
She gave Merewyn a perusing look, her eyes narrowing slightly.
He set up the board and they began to play. In between moves, he stole glances to where Rory was now playing against Merewyn. The knight was enjoying himself, a bit too much to Alex’s mind. His red-haired companion was fair good at chess and the two were having a rousing game. Not so with he and Lady Adèle, whose awkward moves were ensuring their game would be over soon.
Adèle’s gaze followed his to where the other two were now playing a second game, Merewyn having won the first. Alex chuckled to hear Rory sighing deeply.
Alex’s game with Adèle continued. Mercifully, he finished it, uttering the word “Checkmate.” The comte’s daughter did not seem at all disappointed. “Come,” he said offering his hand, “I will introduce you to my friends.”
They moved down the table and joined Rory and Merewyn. Guy, sitting nearby, expressed his desire to play against Merewyn since her game with Rory was just ending.
“See if you can do better,” Rory said to Guy. “She has twice checked my king. ’Tis enough victory for her at my expense.”
Merewyn smiled encouragingly. “You put up a valiant fight, Sir Rory.”
“Valiance alone is not enough to win a fight against an opponent with foresight and strategy,” he answered.
“I thank you for the compliment,” said Merewyn, winking at the redhead. “You lose with good grace.”
A servant refilled their goblets as Guy set up the board for his game with Merewyn.
“Want to play, Alex?” asked Rory.
“Do you mind?” Alex asked Adèle.
“Non. I will watch.”
Alex took a seat next to Guy across the table from Rory. Lady Adèle sat next to Merewyn, which seemed odd to Alex. What was the young Norman woman thinking? Did she sense the admiration in his voice when he spoke of Merewyn hunting with the men?
While Rory contemplated his next move, Alex’s gaze drifted to the game next to him. Intent upon the board before her, Merewyn reached for her goblet.
Maugris, who was just passing the table, leaned in to speak to her, accidentally knocking the wine from her hand. The liquid splashed onto the board. Merewyn brushed the few drops from her gown that had reached that far. Guy dabbed the wine from the board.
“Please forgive me,” said the seer, lifting the goblet, now empty.
“No matter,” said Merewyn. “There is more wine and you did no harm.”
“Allow me to pour you another,” offered Maugris. He lifted the nearby pitcher and filled Merewyn’s goblet.
“ ’Tis kind of you, Maugris, but I think I have had enough for tonight.”
The speaking glance the wise one gave Alex suggested his knocking the goblet from Merewyn’s hand had been no accident. Why would he intentionally spill the wine and want Alex to know he had done so?
He would not… unless the wine was… poisoned.
With Alex’s mind on Maugris’ “accident”, he managed to lose his game to Rory.
“Finally, I have defeated you, Alex!” Rory beamed from across the table.
“Aye, you have, and well played. My congratulations.”
Merewyn fingered the stem of her goblet, looked up and smiled at Alex, then bent her head to the game before her. Guy was playing well tonight.
When Maugris left the hall, Alex made his excuses to Adèle and followed after the seer.
There was no one in the bailey and the guards at the gate were far enough away they could not hear them. “You did that a purpose,” he said to the old man.
“I did,” Maugris confessed, a gleam in his eyes reflecting the light spilling from the hall windows. “The young woman from Vermandois placed something into Merewyn’s goblet. Even now, I cannot be certain she would not do it again. She was quick. Best to watch her closely. She is aware your eyes are often on the fair archer.”
Alex let out a long breath. “You have my thanks, Maugris.”
“Go now,” the wise one urged. “Before the night is done, warn Merewyn not to take food or drink from Lady Adèle.”
* * *
Merewyn looked askance at Alex. “But why would she, a noblewoman, give me aught to eat or drink?” They stood in the bailey where he had led her when the games were over and Lady Adèle had gone to the bedchamber she would share with Merewyn. “ ’Twould be more likely I would serve her. She is our guest.” An unwanted one, but a guest nonetheless.
He pulled her into the shadows and kissed her on her forehead. “Do not doubt me, little one. Maugris warned me the woman means you ill.”
“Oh.”
“I must go, but promise me you will be careful.”
“I promise,” she said and watched him enter the manor. Above her, the stars glistened in the night sky. She decided to look in on Ceinder before seeking her bed. As she walked to the stables, she worried over her predicament. It was not good she was coming between Alex and his future. Mayhap it would be best if she returned to Wales when Alex left to meet the king. Already, she may have lingered too long, for she was becoming accustomed to seeing his face each day and sharing his kisses at night.
Ceinder was glad to see her, nickering softly at her approach. Before she left the stable, she looked in on Azor, thinking of his master.
She opened the door of her chamber to see Lady Adèle sitting on the edge of the large bed combing out her long dark tresses.
After greeting the young Norman woman, Merewyn began to remove her outer tunic, turning toward the wall as she did. Her body was slim, modest in feminine achievement, whereas Lady Adèle possessed an ample bosom. A man like Alex could not help but notice the difference with approval.
“How long have you known Sir Alex?” the woman asked.
“All my life,” Merewyn said without turning. “But he was away much and so was I. I have only recently returned to Talisand.”
“Your parents are here?”
To Merewyn, the questions were asked in a manner so as to sound hostile, as if she were being judged and found wanting. She answered in the shortest way she could. “Both are dead.”
“Were they both English? With your fair coloring, I would have—”
“Nay, only one, like Sir Alex.” Merewyn did not like where the woman’s inquiries were leading. She would not discuss her sire, especially not with one who meant her ill. Merewyn spared one glance for Lady Adèle and then blew out the candle on the small table next to her bed and slipped beneath the cover.
The room was still bathed in a faint flickering light, for another candle burned next to the larger bed where Adèle sat plaiting her hair.
Merewyn stared at the ceiling.
“I assume you know,” Lady Adèle said, “the king means for Sir Alex and me to wed.” The words sounded like a warning.
“Yea,” said Merewyn, her voice trembling. “I think all of Talisand knows that.” She turned her back to the woman and faced the wall, tears silently falling to her pillow.
* * *
Alex was just coming off the practice yard when Lady Adèle walked up to meet him. “Good day, my lady.”
“And to you, Sir Alex.” When he headed toward the palisade gate, she said, “I was hoping we might walk a bit.”
“Of course.” He gestured toward the river, but away from the village. He did not need his people to see him walking with the woman and wonder.
The waters of the River Lune were tranquil, only a few ducks leaving ripples in the water as they swam along.
“ ’Tis very peaceful here,” she said as they walked along the riverbank, “but not as beautiful, I think, as my father’s lands in Normandy.”
“I have seen Normandy on many occasions. Its rolling green hills and pasturelands are, indeed, beautiful to the eye, but England is my home and always will be.” He hoped he had put to rest the woman’s ambition concerning him, but the set of her jaw and her lips pressed tightly together spoke of her resolve to proceed.
“I suppose one could spend some part of the year h
ere and the rest of it in Normandy,” she ventured.
“If one had a mind to do so, yea,” he said with indifference. How long would she talk around the real purpose of her seeking his company? He was certain it had not been in her mind to admire the beauty of harvest time in Talisand.
She stopped walking and turned to face him, her countenance no longer as sweetly pleasant as before. “Surely you must know, Sir Alex, William wants my father’s lands tied to a Norman noble who is loyal to England’s king. He means to see us wed and what the king wants, he will have.”
“Aye, my lady. William will certainly tie your father’s lands to a Norman loyal to him. But I would prefer that Norman not be me, for another lady holds my heart and Talisand will be my home forever.”
“Another lady?” She emphasized the last word and anger welled up inside him for he knew her intention to slight Merewyn for her commoner status.
“Yea, a lady.” He would say no more. “I must take my leave of you now, for I have a meeting I must attend to.” He did not say the meeting was with his horses. Bowing, he left her frowning. So be it. He cared little if she was not smiling. He only hoped Merewyn remembered his caution based upon Maugris’ warning.
* * *
Merewyn was gathering her new arrows with the gray feather fletchings when the door of her chamber opened. Lady Adèle entered, shutting the door behind her with a loud “thump”. On her otherwise lovely face was an angry frown.
“Is something wrong, my lady?”
“Indeed!” she exclaimed, eying Merewyn as if she were a piece of discarded clothing. Her manner was haughty and disdainful as she said, “Have you given Sir Alex the impression he has aught to say about the king’s intention to see us wed?”
Merewyn straightened from where she had been bent over the arrows, pausing to stare at the furious woman before her. “Whatever made you think I have done so? Nay, I have always encouraged Sir Alex to abide by the king’s wishes.”
“Well, it is best he do in this matter of our marriage or some ill may befall you both. When a king orders a wedding, a wedding there shall be!”
Tired of the woman’s ill-tempered speech, Merewyn asked, “Has the king ordered a wedding?”
With that, the woman turned on her heels and quit the chamber. Merewyn stood looking at the closed door. Sill angry, she remembered the woman’s threat of harm and trembled. Would she hurt Alex?
* * *
Days later, Alex stood with his parents by the open gate, watching as the guests from Normandy disappeared over the hill. The comte and his daughter had stayed for several days and were only now taking their leave. It was not soon enough for Alex.
“Well?” his father asked, “What say you to William’s choice?”
“He is scowling,” Alex’s mother put in. “I told you he would. Alex likes her not.”
“Herbert’s daughter is comely enough,” his father offered. “And her father is enthusiastic about the match and his lands in Vermandois are extensive.”
Alex’s scowl deepened. In his mind, he saw only the woman he had come to love: Merewyn racing through the forest on her white pony as she raised her bow to shoot; Merewyn smiling at him over the chessboard; Merewyn walking along Fish Street in London, laughing with his mother. “I would choose my own wife. And you are correct, Mother, ’twould not be Lady Adèle.”
“There, you see,” said his mother, giving his father a knowing look.
“A king’s knight does his sire’s bidding,” his father calmly reminded her.
His mother pursed her lips, but said nothing.
They began to walk back to the manor.
“What about Sir Geoffroi?” Alex asked, raising the one exception he knew of, a knight respected by his father for his defiance of the Conqueror. “He defied his king.”
His father’s brow furrowed. “I admit there are times when honor requires a man to take his own path. But is this a question of honor? You could be more than the heir of Talisand. You could have lands in Normandy and the favor of your king.”
The words Maugris had spoken came to him. Honor is revealed in the face of temptation. “It is a matter of honor to me.” He had claimed the woman he wanted and would do right by her. The temptation for more lands or a woman of noble birth would not lure him from his intended course.
His father shrugged. “Then it falls to you to find a way to appease your sire if you are one day to choose your own bride.”
They arrived at the door of the manor and his mother asked, “Do you go to the practice yard?”
“I have no choice. Our visitors took up my time when I should have been preparing the men to meet Malcolm’s warriors. I have heard the Scots are fierce and fight like wild men and there are but a few days to prepare before we must leave.”
“You distress your mother by such talk, Son.”
Indeed, his mother’s face was full of worry.
“Forgive me. I would not have you anxious for my sake. But I would have your prayers while I am gone.”
“You will have them,” his mother replied. “Father Bernard has agreed to say prayers each day for your return and a peaceful outcome.”
He smiled at his mother and nodded to his father, then left them as he headed toward the armory where he was to meet Rory and Guy.
Ahead loomed William’s plans to deal with the Scots and after, Alex’s future with Merewyn. He must step carefully.
* * *
Merewyn retrieved her arrows from the target with the help of Cecily and her two companions. Behind the round disk, the leaves in the woods were rapidly changing color from summer’s green to September’s yellow, gold and crimson. Soon, Alex would leave for Durham.
Fighting back the tears that suddenly filled her eyes, she turned to her young shadows. “My practice is done for today.”
“Can I shoot, Merewyn?” pleaded Cecily. The redheaded vixen was adorable in the boy’s clothing she donned whenever she followed Merewyn to the archery field.
“Not unless we can shoot, too,” insisted Alex’s youngest brother, Tibby. “Else ’tis unfair.” There were times—and this was one of them—when the boy’s frown reminded her of Alex, making her smile.
“Me, too!” shouted Ancel. Only eight summers, Lora’s young brother had a head of brown curls that made him appear even younger. But somehow, he always managed to keep up with the other two.
“I will agree to this,” Merewyn said, looking into the three young faces staring back at her with eager anticipation. “First, each of you must gain the approval of your parents. If Father Bernard assures me you are doing your lessons, I will begin your training. At Sir Geoffroi’s manor, I have the bow I trained with.” She held up her bow. “ ’Tis smaller than this one. If your parents approve, you can use it and I will make you arrows with wooden tips until you are ready for metal-tipped ones. ’Twill serve for your lessons like the wooden swords the pages use in practice.”
The three grinned widely, nodding their heads. Cecily jumped up and down.
“But I will not begin your training without Lady Serena’s approval and only after Sir Alex and the men have gone to meet the king. There will still be archers at Talisand who can assist me with your training.”
The three ran off and Merewyn watched them, reminded of their youth. They had begged her all summer to teach them the way of the bow. Reluctant at first, she had finally decided that if their parents and Lady Serena agreed, she would do it. To help the children realize their dream of learning archery would bring her great pleasure. And she would need something to do after Alex was gone.
But she still thought about returning to Wales. It would make it easier for Alex if he did not have to face the choice of acting honorably toward her or obeying his king. To shun the marriage the king intended would gain Alex the wrath of his sovereign and the disdain of his people. She could not allow that to happen.
Another glimpse of the changing leaves convinced her the time was short if she were to teach the children befor
e she had to travel to Wales.
CHAPTER 10
The crisp edge to the wind Alex encountered as he stepped into the bailey reminded him autumn would soon be upon them. Already the winter wheat and rye had been harvested in the fields beyond the village and his father’s villeins would soon turn to the crops of peas and beans.
The bailey was crowded with villagers who had come to see him and his men off, knowing they might be going to war against the Scots. Jamie and some of the house knights stood near the gate.
He walked to where Azor waited, saddled and ready, his squire holding the reins. The stallion’s intelligent eyes bore an alert expression as he raised his head and pricked his ears toward his master. Alex tightened the girth. “I know you are anxious to leave, boy.”
Azor was not the only impatient one. Alex, too, wanted the business with the Scots behind him and he hoped if William Rufus’ dealings with Malcolm were successful, the king would be in a mood to grant him his desire.
Alex and Merewyn had said their goodbyes the night before, the last moments still clear in his mind.
“I know you must go,” she had said with stiff resolve. “ ’Tis your duty.” But the tears she fought to hide had spoken more loudly.
Kissing her forehead, he had assured her he would return. He had not told her of his intention to speak to the king. He had plans, too, if William Rufus did not agree to the match, but he would not have her worry over them now. He did not like to think he might not return but every warrior had to consider the possibility. The letter he had left for his parents, hidden in his chamber, would be discovered if he died and Merewyn would be provided for with the accord due her.
Azor snorted, bringing Alex’s attention back to his stallion. He accepted the reins from his squire, who went about securing Alex’s shield and helm to the saddle.
Rory rode up beaming his pleasure. “See what your lady mother has given me!”
Alex tilted his head back to see the long, narrow banner affixed to a wooden pole Rory carried. Stretched the length of the crimson silk was a rampant black wolf, its bright red tongue thrust out from its open jaws. Alex smiled. His father had seen to this. “My mother might have made it but this is a gift from my father and, with it, he gives me his blessing.”