Once a Knight

by Christina Dodd

  “David.” She wanted his flesh, and she bit his shoulder. It tasted salty.

  He jerked, laughed under his breath, thrust harder.

  She wanted everything about him in the selfish, greedy way of a child. She wanted because she wanted, because he made her move and clench and feel…and shudder and cry out and…she fell backward and he caught her, lowering her to the table. The cool surface arched her back up toward him. She tried to grasp something, to make sense of sensation, but there was only David and, ultimately, herself. She cried out his name. She came up off the table in one giant convulsion that rattled her world.

  She lost control.

  He leaned over her, urging more.

  But she couldn’t do more. She didn’t understand what she’d just done.

  Then he said it. “More.” And the rusty sound of his voice in her ear, the caress of his breath and the touch of his lips made it happen again. “Please.” She whimpered, trying to escape the ecstasy and find more at the same time.

  He climbed on the table with her, and up on his knees he rose above her. He held her hips as he thrust harder, then gave an exultant roar when he finished.

  She didn’t understand it. Not any of it. But she didn’t have time to think. He pulled her close against him. His chest rose and fell as he gasped, and hers did the same. His heart galloped beneath her ear, an echo of her own.

  In her life, she had come to believe men and women were nothing alike, yet it seemed they reacted in a similar manner to this one act.

  Mayhap that was why the Church sanctified marriage. To celebrate this one time men and women found accord.

  Then slowly, he released her and rose on his knees again. She looked at him above her, felt him inside her, and knew somehow power had shifted.

  “Did you think I could fail in everything and never move to regain my losses?” Determination bit hard lines beside his mouth and anger brought fire to his gaze.

  “I don’t understand,” she stammered.

  Thrusting his hands into her hair from her neck, he turned her face up to his. “Don’t think you can resist me again. When you come to my bed, be prepared to surrender control—or I will wrest it from you.”

  “I don’t have to come to your bed!”

  He laughed with a touch of maniacal amusement. “Then I will come to yours, my lady.” He let her go so suddenly she slid backward. The table rocked as he climbed down. Grabbing an armful of his clothing, he opened the chamber door, turned and promised, “And you will welcome me.”

  13

  The night before, I’d fallen asleep a miserable, unhappy boy. In a brutal demonstration of his ineptitude, my hero had failed to defeat Hugh. Lady Alisoun had gone into Sir David’s chamber, and no one had let me retreat there to sleep. The great hall—indeed, the whole castle—was quiet, waiting for the outcome of some momentous event, and I feared my lady planned to discharge Sir David.

  Then when I rose in the morning, every servant in the great hall was laughing! I didn’t understand, so I asked Hugh. He hugged my shoulder and told me everything was fine. I asked Andrew. He grinned and ignored me. At last I asked Jennings. He turned his fourteen-year-old, superior face on me and said, “Stupid cur! Your precious Sir David bedded Lady Alisoun last night, and he just tossed the bloody sheet out the window to prove it.” His wide eyes narrowed. “And you’re his squire.” Cuffing me on the ear, he muttered, “It should have been me.”

  I was stunned. Sir David had bedded Lady Alisoun? I had schemed for Sir David, aiding and abetting his suit, but this seemed all wrong. I had thought it would be like one of the stories the minstrels sang of. I thought Sir David would woo Lady Alisoun, save her from danger, and they’d be the living celebration of a pure love. Stained sheets and sweaty bodies never existed in my mind. But before I could stumble back and hide in a corner, Sir David stormed out of his chamber and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Everyone cheered. The previous day’s defeat might never have happened. In their eyes, he’d done the impossible; he’d conquered Lady Alisoun.

  The hurrahs stopped him in his tracks. His gaze swept over the smiling assemblage, and he glared with enough fury to halt the demonstration. The servants ducked their heads and hurried to their tasks. He pointed his thumb at Philippa, then at his chamber. “She’ll want you,” he said.

  Philippa handed her baby to one of the other maids and with head bent and shoulders slumped, she hurried to obey.

  Then he saw my horrified stare, and he seemed to comprehend just how I felt. “Well,” he asked, “are you still my squire?”

  Did I have a choice? Clearly, I did, and I knew better than to abandon my knight for any reason. I answered, “Aye, Sir David.”

  Snatching a loaf of bread off the sideboard, he tore it and tossed me half. “Then let’s break our fast and go to work.”

  He strode from the great hall with me on his heels, and behind I heard the footsteps of Hugh, Andrew, and Jennings.

  Hell was about to begin.

  “Where did he hurt you?”

  Philippa’s voice intruded on Alisoun’s daze, and she turned her head slowly to stare at her friend. “What?”

  Philippa rushed toward her as she rested on the table. “Where did he hurt you? He was so angry, and I’m sorry I suggested…but he never even slapped Susan when she poured boiling stew in his lap while she was trying to entice him.”

  The hard table hurt Alisoun’s tailbone, so she sat all the way up. “That’s not a very clever way to do it.”

  “She wasn’t pouring it into his lap to entice him, she was leaning over the table and showing off her udders and accidentally—good Saint Ethelred, that’s not important!” Philippa took Alisoun’s hands and chafed them. “Did he put you on the table to beat you?”

  Alisoun dragged her drooping shift up over her shoulders. “Nay!”

  “Then, did he use you roughly?”

  “Not exactly.” Gripping the edge of the table, Alisoun slid off and stood on wobbly legs. “He was just rather…forceful. He was angry about something.”

  “What?”

  “I just told him that we’d spent too much time in bed and he’d ruined my schedule.”

  Several expressions crossed Philippa’s face, and in a tone of voice Alisoun couldn’t comprehend, Philippa said, “I don’t know why that would bother him.”

  “I don’t, either.” Philippa “tsked” in disgust and this time Alisoun recognized exasperation. “Why would that bother him?”

  “Men are funny that way.” Philippa turned Alisoun around and spread the shift’s gaping neck yet wider.

  “What are you doing?” Alisoun demanded.

  “You have no bruises.”

  Craning her neck to look at Philippa, Alisoun said, “I told you I did not. Why would I lie?”

  “Because sometimes it’s embarrassing to admit that the man you picked is so…careless.”

  “The word is brutal.”

  Philippa flinched. “Perhaps. Would you like a clean shift?”

  “And my work clothes. I am determined to continue the day as if this never happened.” Alisoun’s mind had returned to its orderly functioning. As Philippa hurried back to Alisoun’s chamber to retrieve her costume, Alisoun resolved to shove Sir David’s odd behavior into the background of her thoughts. She couldn’t allow him to disrupt her schedule both day and night. But when Philippa returned, arms full of clothes, Alisoun immediately spoiled her resolve by blurting, “He’s angry about the child.”

  “I was afraid of that.” Philippa laid the clothes on the bed and poured water in a basin for Alisoun to wash. “Men don’t like having you distracted from their needs by a child.”

  “Nay, I mean he says I wouldn’t know how to raise his child.” Alisoun leaned over the basin, waiting in suspense to hear Philippa’s verdict.

  “That’s nonsense,” Philippa said stoutly. “You love as deeply as any other.”

  Encouraged, Alisoun splashed in the cold water.

&nbs
p; “You simply aren’t demonstrative.”

  Alisoun stopped and waited in dread.

  “And of course children do thrive with holding and kissing.”

  Alisoun accepted the towel Philippa handed her. “Do you mean you encouraged me to bed Sir David with the intent of getting myself an heir and you don’t believe me capable of acquiring the skills to raise a child?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just remembered how Sir David entertained Hazel and didn’t complain when she drooled all over the front of his shift.”

  “Why did she drool on him?”

  “Because she’s teething,” Philippa said patiently.

  “How long has she been doing that?”

  “Since before he got here.”

  “All that time for one tooth?”

  Philippa stepped back and looked Alisoun over as if she were none too bright. “Hazel has four teeth now. I’m weaning her to a cup.”

  “But she’s just a baby!”

  “That seems to be the best time for people to acquire teeth.”

  Alisoun couldn’t comprehend such a rush. It seemed only yesterday when Hazel had been born. She’d been helpless, unable to sleep all night or eat without a bellyache. Now she was sitting up and rolling around and getting teeth. While Alisoun wasn’t looking, Hazel had become more than an infant. She had become a babe, and for the first time Alisoun realized David’s concern. She was ignorant of children, and what if she made a mistake? What if she was too busy for the baby, or disciplined it at the wrong time, or rewarded the wrong behavior? All adults started out as babies, innocent and sweet as Hazel, and look what a mixed bag of villains and saints they became. Undertaking child rearing was a chore of unspeakable magnitude, with results that echoed far into the future.

  Alisoun sank onto a stool.

  And she had thought to raise a child alone. It couldn’t be done. She pressed her hand to her womb. Who knew what horrors might result?

  “Don’t look so stricken,” Philippa said. “If nothing else, I’ll help you raise your child.”

  “Aye.” Alisoun released her breath in relief. “You’d know what to do.”

  Alisoun knew herself to be a woman of good sense. She could learn how to raise a child if given enough guidance. Only…how did one become proficient? It seemed to Alisoun that if she practiced on her own babe, she’d not realize her mistakes until the child was grown. But on what babe did one practice? Without a doubt, Philippa wouldn’t allow experimentation on Hazel, and did Alisoun really wish to possibly ruin her dearest friend’s child with her own ineptitude?

  “Look, Alisoun, we must face facts. I may be forced to leave here some day.”

  “Nay, you won’t,” Alisoun said automatically.

  Philippa smiled, but her lips trembled. “Sometimes I wish I could go back.”

  Alisoun surged to her feet. “But why?”

  “Not for lack of hospitality in you,” Philippa assured her. “But because…oh, sometimes I think it was all my fault, and if I went back, I could—”

  “Die,” Alisoun interrupted flatly. “And leave your baby alone for as long as she survived.”

  Now Philippa sank onto a seat, her complexion several shades paler. “In sooth, you’re right. But I may be forced, and neither one of us will be able to do anything about it.”

  “I know.” Of course Alisoun knew. She had nightmares about being helpless in that situation. Walking over, she put her hand on Philippa’s shoulder.

  Philippa patted it, then looked up. “So. Sir David has many good qualities and he’s right about a lot of things. Did he say anything about marriage?”

  Alisoun didn’t want to discuss that, not even with Philippa, so she stared at the clothing laid across the bed. “Why did you bring the yellow cotte? That’s not my work dress.”

  “Because your people believe you simply celebrated the wedding night before the ceremony. It’s common among the villeins, and quite a few of the noble people I’ve known have done it as well. I think they expect to see you in something besides that gloomy old brown work dress.”

  Alisoun stuck out her lip and removed her old shift.

  “Did he mention marriage?” Philippa snatched the clean shift away before Alisoun could don it. “And you’re not getting dressed until you tell me.”

  “Very well! I’ll tell you.”

  Philippa handed her the shift.

  “He mentioned it.” Alisoun dressed as quickly as she could and headed for the door with Philippa on her heels.

  Philippa didn’t say another word, and Alisoun thought she had escaped easily until she stepped into the great hall. Then the impact of a dozen pair of eager eyes hit her, and she almost staggered from the weight of expectation that descended on her shoulders. She glanced back at Philippa and saw that her shoulders shook as she suppressed her amusement. Alisoun whispered, “This isn’t funny!”

  The outer door blew open and slammed against the wall. Sir Walter stomped into the great hall and glowered around him, and Philippa abruptly straightened. “You’re right. This isn’t.”

  So much confused Alisoun now, but she knew one thing. She’d told Sir Walter to stay away from her, and now he stalked toward her, totally ignoring her command.

  She didn’t care what had happened in the night. She didn’t care that David had tossed her sheet into the vegetable garden. She only cared that Sir Walter disobeyed her. She marched to meet him, calling across the gap, “Why are you here when I told you—”

  “Did he hurt you?” Sir Walter wrapped his arm around her shoulders as if he thought she couldn’t stand alone. “Did that mercenary force you? For I vow, my lady, if he did, I don’t care who he is, I’ll kill him.”

  Alisoun staggered, off balance both mentally and physically. “Of course he didn’t force me.”

  “You can tell me, my lady. After all, you have no brothers and no father to protect you.”

  “I don’t need protecting,” Alisoun said firmly. “At least, not from Sir David.”

  “How did it happen? Did he hold you down, or did he—” he choked with what looked like embarrassment, “—seduce you?”

  “I think I…seduced him.”

  His arm dropped away from her. They glanced at each other, eyes wide, but for the first time in months, no hostility existed between them. Both were uncertain; both struggled to comprehend the sweep of changes in George’s Cross.

  Alisoun couldn’t conceive of a George’s Cross without Sir Walter, not even after their disagreements. He had been a valuable servant; it would behoove her to try and understand his discontent rather than go through the trouble of training a new steward. She said, “If it would please you, we could talk.”

  “There.” He pointed to a bench in the corner.

  Together, they went and sat down. They looked out at the great hall, and the servants who stared so curiously turned away as if to give them privacy. In actuality, of course, they wanted to hear, and all lingered as close as they dared.

  Sir Walter didn’t seem to notice them. He sat stiffly, could hardly speak. “Sir David was…your choice?”

  She found herself similarly afflicted. “I have to have someone to…ah…” How to tell him what she thought when she didn’t know for sure what she thought herself? She tried to think how to present this in a manner he could comprehend. “I want an heir. Or…I wanted an heir, but Sir David demands that I marry him if I conceive, so…”

  Sir Walter leaned back and sighed in relief. “At least someone is thinking clearly.”

  Surprise moved her beyond embarrassment. “You wish me to marry Sir David?”

  “My lady, you have no choice! The deed is done. You’ve mated with him, and the news has by now no doubt reached London.”

  “You exaggerate.”

  “Do I?” He leaned toward her, his fists on his knees. “Do you know what they’re saying in the village? That you’re the reason for the drought for the last two years, because your womanhood was drying up and the saints disapprove
d of the waste.”

  Stunned, she stammered, “They…they’ve blamed me for the drought?”

  “Not before. Not until now. That wretched reeve Fenchel started it, I trow. He’s the one who always watches the signs, and he says that it started raining the day Sir David arrived and has rained just the right amount since. No heavy downpours have broken the crops or washed away the soil. No dry spells where the plants struggle and show yellow.”

  “So it’s Sir David who broke the drought.”

  “Nay, he says ’tis you. You’re the lady, the one they worship as the spirit of George’s Cross. They say that Sir David’s coming has renewed your youthfulness and turned you once again from a withering crone to a fruitful goddess.”

  “That’s pagan.”

  “Aye, they are half-pagan, you know that.” He harumphed and looked out at the busily working servants. “The virgin has been sacrificed, the blood sacrifice has been made, and now prosperity is guaranteed to George’s Cross.”

  “Saint Ethelred save us,” she said faintly.

  “If Fenchel is right, then the child is conceived and my lady, you must marry Sir David!”

  “I thought you disapproved of Sir David. You’ve certainly done all you can to ravage his good standing.”

  “I fear my dislike had little to do with Sir David. I couldn’t sleep last night, and during the dark time I thought long and deeply.” Sir Walter hung his head. “I apologize for showing his incompetence to George’s Cross. I was so blinded with fury that you’d brought him to replace me, I never thought you would have a plan, and that that plan depended on something as simple as his reputation as a legend. It was a stroke of genius, my lady, and I should have known you better than to think you would hire a mercenary without testing him.”

  “Look at me,” she commanded. Searching his face, she looked for proof of sincerity and found it in the worried lines of his brow and the clench of his chin. “I accept your apology, but I must tell you—I, too, have been angry.” She spoke slowly, trying to negotiate through this unfamiliar maze of misunderstanding and old allegiances. “You have known me for many years. Have I ever given you reason to think me volatile or emotional?”