A Knight for Love

by A. M. Westerling

  “Good day, Lady Alyna.” He winked at her from frost-rimmed eyes then pulled forth several branches laden with white berries he had kept hidden behind his back. “Everything and more.”

  “Mistletoe!” She clapped her hands. “How lovely!”

  “And bunches of holly, fir branches, ivy and a Yule log.”

  She peeked around him in mock surprise. “You hide them all behind you?”

  “Nay.” Bennet guffawed at her remark. “Fordwin comes with the log. His horse is much sturdier than mine. The rest is piled in the bailey waiting for your direction.”

  “It will be a fine Christmas, Bennet,” she exclaimed. “By the time Warin returns, the hall must be decorated.” She waved her arm about. “This morning he left a barren room, this evening he finds a forest.”

  “Warin is gone?” Bennet asked.

  “Aye, he hunts for a stag and a boar. We’ll eat well these twelve nights.”

  She kept Bennet and Fordwin busy the rest of the day festooning the keep with greenery. Ivy was pinned to the walls and laid on the tables, bunches of holly were hung from the wall sconces and fir branches were strewn about with the rushes. Even fir branches tied together with a leather thong hung from the door in the entrance turret. And, after much deliberation, mistletoe adorned both doorways of the great hall.

  “Is not one bunch enough?” Alyna giggled as Bennet struggled to hang the second bunch on the portal leading to the solar.

  “Nay,” Bennet replied with authority. “The mistletoe stops evil spirits and witches.” He jumped off the bench that he had pulled over to stand on. “Too, we must give ample opportunity for all to kiss beneath – it’s said to bestow fertility.”

  Alyna laughed at the flush coloring Bennet’s face once he realized what he had said.

  “Er,” he stumbled over his words. “I meant no offence, Lady Alyna.” In an effort to hide his discomfort, he yanked the bench back to the table, almost tipping it over in his haste.

  “Of course not, dear Bennet. And none taken,” she reassured him.

  Meanwhile, Emma, Hilda and Beatrice toiled in the kitchen and every available surface soon carried a tempting array of food. The mouth-watering smells mingled with that of the fresh evergreen, truly reminding Alyna of Christmases past.

  Sadness crossed her heart for an instant at the realization Hugh and David were not here but she chose not to dwell on that. Warin was here, and Bennet, Emma and Muriel, Gerard, Fordwin, all dear to her heart.

  She turned around to watch the Yule log being carried in, Fordwin struggling with Bennet and Robert to get it through the door. It pleased Alyna to see Fordwin’s leg had healed and hindered him not. She and Bennet had done their work well.

  “Bennet, it must be placed just so.” Alyna pointed to the middle of the fireplace.

  “Tomorrow is the first day, shouldn’t we wait until morning?”

  “Nay, it was my father’s wont to begin burning the log on Christmas Eve. It’s a tradition I wish to keep. So,” she ordered, waggling a finger, “off with you and attend to it.”

  “A sterner taskmaster I have yet to find,” Bennet said, feigning displeasure but unable to hide the cheerful note in his voice. “I’ve danced to your tune this entire day and still you have more for me to do.”

  “Bennet, it’s our first Christmas together.” She cocked her head. “The celebration must be grand.”

  “Agreed, this is my first Christmas on English soil in many a year.” His robust grin as he turned away to direct Fordwin and Robert provided ample proof of his pleasure at the upcoming festivities.

  Amid much groaning and mockery they rolled the huge log into place, scarcely leaving room for kindling.

  “It didn’t look that big outside,” Bennet commented. Arms crossed and with a rueful expression on his face, he tilted his head to one side to inspect the fruit of their labors.

  Robert stood to one side nodding in agreement. He opened his mouth as if to speak but Fordwin waved him off.

  “I told you, Bennet, did I not, but you refused to listen,” Fordwin complained cheerfully. “You insisted upon that one.”

  Bennet cuffed him. “It’s not my fault, it’s yours. You chose this one to prove the strength of your horse.”

  “Oho,” Fordwin responded, throwing a punch to Bennet’s shoulder. “So now it is the fault of my fine beast.”

  “Stop!” Alyna moved to stand between the two.

  Mayhap it was all in good fun now but Alyna had seen fights break out for lesser arguments. She smiled sweetly at the three of them.

  “Thank you, Fordwin, the log is perfect. It isn’t too big for see, it fits where it should. And Robert, thank you for your help in bringing it in. You may go now. I think there are dishes that need sampling in the kitchen. If Emma and Beatrice protest, tell them I sent you.” The three inclined their heads and made as if to leave.

  “Bennet, wait.” She stopped him, motioning the other two away. “I must thank you the most. How beautiful in here, enchanted, I think.”

  “Aye, Lady Alyna.”

  They stood in silence to admire the day’s handiwork then she hugged Bennet and dropped a kiss upon his nose for he was slightly shorter than she. “The Yule log is perfect,” she assured him. “We will sing, we will dance, we will eat until we burst—”

  “What goes on here?” Warin’s voice rang out, cold and commanding.

  She dropped her arms and backed away from Bennet but couldn’t wipe away the happiness as she turned to face him.

  “Bennet and I decorated the hall,” Alyna said, voice rich with pleasure. “Christmas is a time for feasting and merrymaking, a time to forego the tasks and duties of our days. But to do so requires preparation. Emma, Hilda and Beatrice work in the kitchen so that all will be ready for tomorrow.”

  Warin remained silent, arms folded across his chest, frowning. Red nipped his cheeks and nose, a testament to the chill winter air, a chill now also reflected in the ice blue eyes.

  “Did you find a stag? And a boar?” Her voice faltered. He had left this morning in a jolly mood, as excited as any within the castle for the coming Christmas celebrations. What had happened?

  “Aye,” he growled. “And a brace of pheasants. And you know what else I found?” He turned to glare at Bennet. “I returned to find my wife in the arms of another man. Have you no shame? And you—” he turned to look at Alyna. “I gave you my name and my protection. This is my repayment? You flaunt yourself in the great hall with any man who does your bidding?”

  “My lord?” The unexpected verbal attack stunned Alyna.

  Palpable anger sheathed Warin. Anger, aye, and more – did she imagine it or did disappointment lurk in his eyes?

  “Don’t tease me with idle words of respect. If I am your lord then you must properly comport yourself as my wife.”

  “Which I do every day.” She tried to reason with him at the misunderstanding.

  “If your actions with Bennet are an example, then I fear we have differing opinions on conduct befitting the lady of the manor.”

  She gaped at him, bewildered. What was he about now? Her actions with Bennet? A hug between friends, naught else. Did Warin trust her so little? Frustration replaced bewilderment.

  What could she do, how could she prove herself? She had gladly taken on the mantle of responsibility of chatelaine, a role to which she had been trained her entire life. She kept herself above reproach from all. She worked ceaselessly in the keep to gain his approval. Hadn’t he noticed her efforts? How could he not?

  “Close your mouth, you resemble the mindless hags begging by the roadside,” he sneered, lip curling in disdain.

  The comment stung her as intended.

  How dare he insult her? How dare he question her behavior? Her actions with Bennet had been innocent and above reproach and lewd only in Warin’s mind.

  “It’s only fitting then, my lord, for that is where you found me,” Alyna retorted. She hoped he noticed the contempt in her voice this tim
e when she called him ‘my lord’. Let him feel the bite of barbed words, let him feel how they wounded.

  He did for he flinched as if struck. “You have been naught but a trial to me,” he growled. “I should have left you there.”

  Anger swept through her and words spilled out of her mouth on that rising tide.

  “Then why didn’t you? What games do you play now? One day I am wooed with tenderness, the next I am scorned. Nay, my lord,” again she emphasized the phrase, “it’s not me who behaves improperly, it’s you. Don’t forget, this keep, these lands, are of my family. I was born and raised here. And you?” She stabbed her finger at him. “You gain a keep by the words of a king.”

  She marched over to the peacock blue tunic and grabbed it.

  “And seek to appease me by this?” She flung the tunic at him. “It is a fine bargain, is it not?” she added spitefully. “A piece of cloth for a keep?”

  Her words disturbed him for his face turned red and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

  She continued on the offensive, scarce drawing breath.

  “I’ve had more than enough of your moods. In France, you disregarded me, during the siege you disregarded me, even on our picnic you attempted to foul the air with your temper.”

  Haughty, she drew herself up and crossed her arms. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her.

  Mayhap she could clear the air by offering an apology but she wouldn’t – she had done nothing wrong. Nay, if anything, he should apologize to her for his unfounded accusations.

  “No more, I say.” Let him answer, she thought. She had said all she wanted to. Aye, had said more than enough. She glared at him, daring him to offer rebuttal.

  Yet he offered no rebuttal.

  The red subsided from his cheeks and still he said nothing. His eyes upon her were icy shards, cold, unfeeling and they stabbed her heart. She swallowed hard against the unbearable ache, fighting the tears. She didn’t want him to know how much his words had hurt her.

  “You have naught to fear on that score,” he snarled. “I tire of your shrewish tongue and will seek my comfort elsewhere.” He turned on his heel and stalked out, pushing his way through the crowd gathered in the doorway at the sounds of their fight.

  She hurried up the stairs to the solar and slammed the door behind her, throwing the latch bar. Warin was not welcome this night.

  But she had naught to fear for he did not come to her.

  Instead, only her tears and troubled thoughts kept her company. Once again her impetuous actions had brought her nothing but trouble. An impulsive gesture of friendship had been misinterpreted by Warin. Yet he must care for her for weren’t his words spurred by jealousy?

  “Fool.” She yanked off her scarf and plopped herself on the stool. Resting her chin on her fists, she stared into the fire.

  What did she know of men? Senseless creatures, professing to cherish the fairer sex but in reality interested only in hunting and fighting. The minstrels and poets knew naught of grand passion, fabricating emotion where none existed.

  Aye, that was it. Love proved to be an illusion. For her to chase it, to wish it from Warin, was a fruitless pastime.

  She shivered with cold and leaned over to tumble a log into the fire. Flames sprang to life, filling the room with golden light and gilding the furs on the bed. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the tiny sprig of holly Warin had given her that she kept on her pillow. She reached for it and brushed it against her cheek.

  “So speaks my head,” she murmured, “But how to quell my heart?”

  As much as it pained her to admit it, it was lost, lost to one who had none.

  *****

  Cold air cloaked the bailey. Warin paused to glance at the colorless winter sun lying low on the horizon then resumed his pacing.

  Soon darkness would fall. The warmth of the hall beckoned but he ignored its siren call, preferring the frigid solitude. Two more steps, then turn at the stables. Past the stables to the carpenter’s hut then across to the stairs. Turn around and retrace his steps. Again. And back.

  He kicked at one of the dogs to vent his frustration. It scuttled away, tail between its legs. If only he could bring Alyna to heel as easily. His temper rose with every step. How could she betray him like that?

  The jealousy of Bennet that he had been denying pushed its way forward. Bennet, one he considered a friend.

  However, in all honesty he had to admit Bennet’s behavior to Alyna was always respectful, guarded, as befitted her station.

  He shook his head. The fault lay with Alyna. The more he thought on it, the more he concluded Alyna was the thorn, not Bennet.

  Inside he mourned. This is not how it’s supposed to be. Alyna was supposed to save him but instead she had betrayed him.

  Leaving him alone again.

  He slept in the stable that night, his anger keeping him warm.

  *****

  The next morning, Alyna stayed in the solar until hunger pangs forced her below.

  To her relief, Warin was nowhere to be seen. Fetching bread and cheese from the kitchen, she returned to the hall seeking Bennet’s counsel. It did occur to her that mayhap it wasn’t wise to do so but defiance pushed her – she and Bennet had done nothing wrong. Warin had misread the situation.

  Choosing the table closest to the fire, she sat down and waved Bennet over.

  “He doesn’t love me, Bennet.” The words burst from her before Bennet even had a chance to sit. “He loves what I brought him, but I am naught to him.”

  “Aye, he loves you but he must learn to love himself first.”

  Startled at Bennet’s words, Alyna glanced at him. She tore the cheese into several chunks and started to eat, alternating it with bites from the bread. It gave her time to collect her thoughts.

  “Past events and actions weigh heavily on his mind,” he continued.

  “What do you know of Warin’s past?” Curiosity replaced hunger and she threw the half-eaten food to the dogs, scarce noticing the growling and tussling as they fought for it.

  “I know he suffers from the loss of a family he held very dear.” Bennet settled in on the bench across from her as if readying himself for a lengthy conversation.

  “All about us lose loved ones, it’s a fact of our times.” Although her voice was matter of fact, her eyes grew wet with tears. Of late, the littlest things would bring her to tears and irritated, she dashed them away.

  “Aye, you speak true, Lady Alyna.” Bennet nodded

  “What happened?” Her fingers played with the ivy on the table.

  “Warin’s family was killed in a raid while he was away hunting. His father, a lesser knight, held a respected position in a noble household. His mother served the lady of the manor and a younger brother served as page. The battle was fierce and death did not come easily for any of them.” His shrewd brown eyes watched her closely.

  “How do you know?” Warin had never mentioned a word to her of his background. A twinge of envy pierced her that Warin had been forthcoming with Bennet but never with her.

  “We spoke often while travelling after you were abed,” Bennet replied. “I confess, Lady Alyna, you’re a sound sleeper for naught can rouse you from your slumbers. And naught could dissuade Warin from the task of watching over you so I kept him company.”

  “He watched over me?” The admission surprised Alyna. Her heart began to race and she drew in several deep breaths to steady herself. He had watched over her every night. She pulled that thought close to her to cherish later.

  “Aye, like a wolf watches his kill. To pass the time, we talked of many things. The cloak of darkness easily loosens the tongue.”

  She considered what Bennet had just told her. “Does he hold himself responsible? Is that it?”

  “Aye, I think so,” Bennet replied. He hesitated as if considering the wisdom of his words then continued. “There is more you must know, my lady.”

  “What is that, Bennet?”

  “Warin is an uncommon man. M
any, many others have followed the path to the Holy Land and returned filled with even more hatred. Not Warin. He is one who sees both sides to the conflict, one who sees we are all men under one God. His thoughts are tortured with cruelties that others would brush aside. One day he will recover but not yet. He feels himself unworthy of the life flowing through his veins.”

  “Oh.” That could explain his moodiness and unexpected changes in disposition.

  She leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes to think on Bennet’s words.

  “Muriel’s ma sent this to you this morning with Muriel.” Emma’s voice interrupted Alyna’s reverie as the maid placed a cloth-covered pitcher on the table beside Alyna.

  Alyna nodded her thanks.

  “How festive – like Christmases past.” Emma wiped her hands on her apron and looked about the hall, pink faced with pleasure.

  “Aye, that was my intent.” Alyna lifted the cloth and peered inside. “What is it?”

  “Goat’s milk,” Emma replied. “Her ma remembers it was your favorite when you were little.”

  “How thoughtful. Her mother is well?” Alyna remembered the woman, always cheerful, always surrounded by the village’s little ones for she loved children but had been blessed with only Muriel.

  “Aye, she’s well but the cold and damp cripple her.”

  “Winter chills can beset the elderly.” Alyna pushed back the bench and stood, steadying herself against the table as dizziness overcame her. She swayed slightly.

  “Lady Alyna?” Emma reached over to steady her mistress.

  “Lady Alyna, is aught amiss?” Bennet asked, eyes warm with concern.

  “It’s nothing, already the dizziness passes.” It wasn’t quite true but Alyna had no desire to alarm the two. She clutched the edge of the table. “Fresh air will help. Emma, fetch my cloak and bring it to the kitchen. I’ll bring a small basket of food to Muriel’s mother to thank her.”

  “Aye, my lady.” Emma bobbed and hastened off to the solar.

  “Shall I accompany you, Lady Alyna?” Bennet hovered over her.

  “Aye.” She nodded then changed her mind. “Nay, the village is only a short distance. It’s safe, Muriel walks it every day with her babe.”