High Warrior

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Then, he looked at Eiselle. She was looking at him in much the same way his friends were – with hope, encouragement, and support. But glimmering in her pale eyes, he could also see a love that ran deeper than the ocean. It was a love that embraced him, filled him, and touched him like nothing else ever had. He was strong, and he was invincible, but the love he shared with Eiselle was stronger than all the men in all the world, now and forever more. It was that love that gave him the confidence to do his duty and to be the knight he was born to be.

  It was time to reclaim who he was.

  “I will lead the army,” he finally said. “And the French will be very sorry they ever came to England.”

  Everyone heard him, but he was looking at Eiselle as if she were the only person in the room. Eiselle, too, was gazing into his eyes as if nothing else on earth existed.

  “I am so proud of you,” she whispered. “You are fierce, and you are mighty, and who else but you can lead the de Winter army to victory? It will be your shining moment.”

  He put a hand up, cupping her sweet face. “Nay,” he murmured. “This is my shining moment. With you.”

  As Eiselle wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, the men around the table grinned at each other. Bric was the strongest man they knew and he was proving it now. He’d worked hard, they’d all worked hard, and the end result was a man who had managed to find some of what he’d lost. He wasn’t perfect yet, but he would be. He wasn’t the man he was before the injury but, as Bric had said, he didn’t want to be.

  He wanted to be better.

  The next day, Eiselle, Bric, Manducor, and Daveigh returned to Narborough while Sean, Dashiell, and Bentley headed out to rendezvous with their own armies, all of whom were heading across England to converge in Kent where the French fleet would have quite a welcoming committee. It was the build up to something big, as Sean had stated, a battle that would perhaps decide the future of England herself.

  When Bric rode out of Narborough at the head of the de Winter army two days later, it was as a proud and strong man who held his head high. He felt as confident as he looked. The sight of him bolstered the de Winter men, men who had seen him at his lowest not long before, but his transformation had been astonishing. Not one man disbelieved that the High Warrior hadn’t returned to lead them all to victory, and they had faith in the man whose well-established reputation long outweighed whatever brief failing he might have had.

  They had to believe.

  As Bric departed from the gray-stoned castle, his last sight was of his wife, standing by the gatehouse, and waving to him. No tears, no weeping, simply complete faith and confidence that he would return to her. She had even packed for him. But the one thing she didn’t need to pack for him was strung around his neck, the lock of dark hair with a pale-green fabric chain that he kept close to his heart.

  The talisman that would be with him in this life, and beyond.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  October

  “Do you remember this lad, Eiselle?” Keeva asked. “The majordomo from Bedingfeld seems to think you do.”

  In the great hall of Narborough on an unseasonably warm October day, Eiselle found herself looking at Royce. The child was dirty and red-eyed, indicative of his emotional state, and simply by looking at him, Eiselle could see that something terrible had happened.

  “We met during our stay at Bedingfeld,” she said, going to the child and peering at him with concern. “Royce? What has happened, lad? Why are you here?”

  Royce’s lower lip began to tremble, and he wiped at his eyes, smearing more dirt across his face. “He… he was going to take me to the priests,” he said, pointing to the cloud-haired old servant from Bedingfeld. “I don’t want to go! I want to fight and Sir Bric said I could be a soldier!”

  The old man didn’t have much patience for the boy. “He’s a foundling now, m’lady,” he said, stress in his tone. “His mother was killed when a cow kicked her last month, and we’ve no use for a foundling at Bedingfeld. I am taking him to the priests at St. John’s in King’s Lynn. I have heard they have a foundling’s home, but he insisted on coming to Narborough to see you first. I am sorry if this angers you, m’lady, but he would not go quietly until I brought him here.”

  Now, the boy’s red face was starting to make some sense. It was a sad turn of events for young Royce. Still, Eiselle wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t as if she could take on the burden of the child. She had a child of her own on the way and the pregnancy was exhausting her, so she knew she wasn’t capable of watching after a lively little boy.

  Still, looking into that sad little face, she knew she couldn’t send him to the priests. She’d heard horrible things about foundling’s homes and she couldn’t subject Royce to such terrible treatment. That sweet little boy who only wanted to fight.

  Torn, she put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I am sorry about your mother, Royce,” she said. “Do you not have relatives anywhere? A grandmother, mayhap?”

  Royce shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Not even an aunt or an uncle?”

  Again, Royce shrugged, still wiping his eyes furiously of the tears that wouldn’t seem to stop. “Can’t I stay with you?” he begged. “I will be no trouble, my lady, I promise. My mam told me to be good, and I will be. I will be good for you.”

  The plea from the child was weakening Eiselle but she seriously wondered what Bric would say if she chose to accept responsibility. As she pondered the problem, she glanced up and saw Manducor sitting at the end of the feasting table, eating what was possibly his fifth or sixth meal of the day. He was a man who had no responsibilities whatsoever, and as she watched the man eat, a thought occurred to her.

  She turned back to Royce.

  “You and the majordomo will sit down and wait for me,” she said, looking to the harried majordomo. “Sit at the end of the feasting table and I shall have food brought out to you. Lady de Winter, may I have a word with you?”

  Keeva followed her to the far end of the feasting table where Manducor was chewing loudly on bread and cheese. He was also drinking his fill of wine, burping loudly, something he was trying to cut down on because the sound of it, and the frequency, made Eiselle sick to her stomach these days. Any burp had her gagging so, as she approached, Manducor turned his head and struggled not to burp loudly in her presence.

  “What is it, Eiselle?” Keeva asked. “How well do you know the lad?”

  Eiselle paused at the head of the table, making sure to include Manducor in the conversation. “All I know of the child was that he was sweet and helpful when Bric and I stayed at Bedingfeld,” she said. “But the child had more interaction with Bric because he very much wants to be a knight. I believe Manducor had some interaction with him, too.”

  Manducor looked down the table where the skinny little lad was sitting rather sadly. “That little monster,” he grunted. “I know him. He is the devil.”

  Eiselle pursed her lips wryly. “He is not the devil,” she said. “Bric seems to think well of him.”

  “He pinched me.”

  “You deserved it. You tripped him.”

  Manducor didn’t reply, mostly because she was right, but he let her know his displeasure by emitting a burp that made her frown. All the while, Keeva was listening closely, looking at the boy every so often as he sat with his head lowered.

  “So… what does he want?” Keeva finally asked. “Does he want to stay here? He is far too young to be used in any capacity as a servant.”

  “He is the devil!” Manducor hissed.

  Eiselle shushed the man sternly before answering Keeva. “I feel a great deal of pity for the child,” she said. “He should not be sent to the priests at the foundling’s home. If someone can simply watch over him and make sure he is fed and taken care of, I am sure that when he is a little older, he will make a fine servant or even a soldier. He is very bright.”

  She was looking at Manducor when she said it, who
immediately took her meaning. “Nay!” he boomed, standing up. “I will not be that devil’s keeper.”

  Both Eiselle and Keeva put their hands up to silence him. “Be still,” Keeva hissed. “You do nothing else around here except eat my food and drink my wine, and once in a great while you decide to help Weetley with his patients. But even so, I would not entrust a child to you. With your appetite, you would probably make a stew out of him.”

  Manducor knew better than to snap back at Lady de Winter, so he simply lowered his head and sank back into his seat, returning to his wine and ignoring the women standing near him.

  But his reaction was a disappointment to Eiselle. In truth, she had been hoping that Manducor might offer to mentor the boy and see to him, but that was not to be. Keeva was right; he didn’t do much at Narborough other than eat and drink, and look after Eiselle on occasion because he felt some fatherly obligation towards her, but that was the limit of his service. Perhaps it was for the best that he refused to look after Royce; she wasn’t at all sure the man had the patience to deal with a child, and especially not a child he carried a grudge against. Without Manducor as an option, she looked to Keeva.

  “Bric seems to think something of the child, but I cannot accept such responsibility without his consent,” she said. “Besides, we have our own child coming in the spring and I must focus on my baby.”

  Keeva nodded seriously. “That is true.”

  “But you have no such obligations, Keeva. What about you?”

  Keeva looked at her in shock. “Me?”

  Eiselle smiled faintly. “You,” she said. “As I said, Royce is a bright child and I found him sweet and eager. Look at him; he is not un-handsome. He is well-formed and I am sure he will be stronger with a regular diet. I am quite sure he would become a fine young man under your strong and steady hand.”

  Keeva grunted hesitantly. “Eiselle, I cannot. He is a servant.”

  “That makes no difference, does it?”

  “What in the world will Daveigh say?”

  Eiselle grasped her gently by the arm. “He is just a little boy, Keeva,” she said. “Tiny, even, and his only choice will be to go to the foundling’s home where the priests will probably starve him and work him to the bone. I could not live with myself knowing he was being abused like that, and given that you are a kind and caring person, I do not believe you could allow the child of one of your servants to be mistreated.”

  Keeva was staring at the young boy, shocked by Eiselle’s suggestion. But the more she looked at the child, the more she could feel herself considering it. A little boy, Eiselle had said. That was true – he was quite small for his age. The obvious consideration was that such a child could replace the children she never had, but Keeva couldn’t go that far. No one could replace what she had lost. But could she take care of the boy? Of course she could. Could she nurture him and ensure he grew up obedient and strong? Absolutely.

  Eiselle seemed to think well of the lad and it was true what she’d said – that foundling’s homes could often be brutal places. To send the boy there would be condemning him to a terrible life. Perhaps Keeva was getting soft in her old age, but she found herself relenting to Eiselle’s suggestion.

  Perhaps she could, indeed, help a lost little boy.

  “Very well,” she said. “I am not sure what Daveigh will think about all of this, but I can watch over the boy and make sure he is taken care of. I will tell the majordomo to leave him here.”

  With that, she headed over to the end of the table where food was just being brought around to the hungry child and the old man. Eiselle watched, her heart happy, as Keeva began talking to the pair. Eiselle knew that Royce would be in very good hands.

  As Keeva took Royce by the hand and led him away, Eiselle felt proud of herself. What could have been a terrible circumstance had ended up for the better, and she was satisfied. She was about to leave the hall and return to her chamber when she heard Manducor’s voice behind her.

  “So the little devil has a keeper now,” he said. “When Lady Angela left with her husband, God rest his soul, she took her little monster with her. Now you have brought another monster into Narborough.”

  Eiselle looked at him. “I could not permit him to go to the foundling’s home,” she said simply. “I thought you would make the generous decision to watch over him, but it seems as if you have no generosity.”

  With that, she stuck her tongue out at him and Manducor snorted. “The boy and I would not get on,” he said. “It would be like water and fire.”

  “You do not know that. Besides… I think Narborough is missing something without Eddie’s screams echoing off the walls. It will do us all good to have a child about, as Keeva’s ward.”

  Manducor simply lifted his shoulders. “She will cool the fire in him, to be sure,” he said. “She is a fearsome lady. Besides… I do not need a child to watch over, but she does. She has not had her own children, but I have.”

  Eiselle heard the sadness in his tone when he spoke. Or perhaps it was simply resignation – a man resigned to his past. He wasn’t one to mention his children, or even speak of personal things, not even his identity, which truthfully drove Eiselle mad with curiosity. Manducor kept himself quite removed personally from everyone, including Eiselle and Bric. The smelly priest with the penchant for farting had attached himself to them, as an advisor or a companion or even simply an annoying presence, and when Bric had been struggling with his battle fatigue, Manducor had been with him constantly.

  To Eiselle, that meant that the man was nearly part of their family and she knew almost nothing about him. As he sat at the feasting table with a distant look in his eye, perhaps thinking on the children he had lost, Eiselle sat down across the table from him.

  “You have much to offer a child,” she said. “What about my child? When he comes, will you simply ignore him?”

  Manducor looked to his wine, unable to meet her eye. “Mayhap,” he mumbled into his cup. “He will probably be a devil, too.”

  Eiselle fought off a smile as her hand instinctively moved to her gently rounded belly. She was only four months along, but her belly was growing nicely and she was certain she could feel the baby kick from time to time.

  “He will not,” she insisted. “With Bric as his father, would you truly think such a thing?”

  Manducor chuckled, setting his cup down. “I would not,” he said. “Bric would not allow it.”

  “Nay, he would not. But I do want to ask you something.”

  Manducor cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Nay, I will not be his godfather. He already has one in de Winter.”

  She shook her head. “It was not that,” she said. “But there is something else I have been thinking on. Whether or not you realize it, I have known you as long as I have known my husband. You performed our marriage mass and when Bric was suffering with his loss of confidence, you were always there to speak to him if he needed help. You are annoying, and quite disgusting at times, but you have also meant a good deal to Bric and me. It is for that reason that I should like this child to bear your name as one of his own, but I refuse to name my child Manducor. Won’t you tell me your real name so that I may honor you?”

  Manducor stared at her, startled by her request. He wasn’t quite sure how to react, or what to say, and he’d spent so many years denying anyone who wanted to know his identity that to think of revealing it left a bad taste upon his tongue.

  “I do not need to be honored,” he said after a moment. “You provide me with food and drink and, on occasion, pleasant companionship. You do not need to add my name to the long list of names you intend to saddle your son with. I do not belong with the others.”

  That wasn’t the answer Eiselle wanted but it was the one she had expected. “Then you offend me,” she said. “You offend Bric by not allowing us to show you what you have meant to us. I have spent the past four months coming to know you and while I have seen a man of uncanny wisdom, I have also seen a man who is selfish and c
areless. And now you offend me by denying my wish to give my son your name.”

  She was building up a righteous rage and Manducor stood up, moving away from the table because he didn’t want to get into a verbal confrontation with her. The woman was pregnant, and her moods had been volatile, so it was best to simply leave her and let her stew.

  But even as Manducor moved away from the table, he was hesitant to leave completely. He had grown fond of Eiselle, and of Bric, and in truth, they were the only real family he had, even if he had practically forced himself upon them. The knight who tried to drown him when they first met, and the lady who had been so very timid at the beginning of her marriage to the big Irish knight had grown into people who were everything Manducor had ever wanted to be.

  In fact, he saw much of his own wife in Eiselle and perhaps that was why he’d grown fond of the woman. His wife had been sweet, and soft, and he’d adored her deeply. Losing her and their children had left him empty inside, and he’d been empty all of these years until meeting Bric and Eiselle.

  Now, they had a child on the way, a child Eiselle wanted to bear his name. She had been wrong; Manducor wasn’t honoring her by allowing her to use his name. She had honored him simply by asking.

  Perhaps it was time for him to open himself up to people he genuinely cared about. It wasn’t as if he’d ever given them any choice; he’d latched on to them the moment he’d come to Narborough and even though they could have chased him away, they hadn’t. They’d permitted him to stay, and his life was the better for it. He’d taken about ten steps away from the table before coming to a halt, turning slowly, and retracing his steps all the way back.

  Eiselle was sitting there, looking at him with a displeased expression. He sat back down again, facing her.

  “You must understand that I ceased to become the man I had been born as the moment I joined the priesthood,” he said quietly. “You ask for my name… I do not even know who that man is any longer.”