The Knight's Scarred Maiden

by Nicole Locke

  ‘See—it’s better,’ Rhain said. ‘Did I ride too fast? Your ribs, do they still hurt?’

  ‘I didn’t apply the bandages today. I don’t think it matters. It rarely stings now.’

  ‘Then your ribs are merely bruised. Your cheek looks like it’s healing.’

  It was the salve, always the salve, which had been part of her life since childhood. But now it carried a different memory. One of that night and how this quiet man had touched her as no one had before.

  She tried to distract her thoughts with the scenes around her. Many travelers had been to Tickhill, but none of them described it as it truly was. ‘Have you been here before?’

  ‘No, it’s simply typical for a castle town.’

  He was talking and, curious despite herself, she would take advantage of it. ‘You’ve travelled a lot?’

  ‘Many years, many countries. Castles can be built differently, but maintain most of the same features and layout. I lived in one as well.’

  He sounded wary now as if expecting her to ask more questions.

  Knowing she had a past to be cautious of as well, she didn’t say any more. For now, what he said was enough. His pleasant words didn’t ease her, but at least there wasn’t animosity lacing them.

  They continued on the wider road and the magnificent castle was always in view. When they arrived at the gates, the ramparts, which looked large from a distance, up close were formidable and intimidating. Probably more so because of the guards above looking down over the village. She could feel their eyes on them and she shifted in her seat.

  Her scars. In the bright sunlight, they’d see them. As they’d wound through the village, she’d forgotten them. The thought she could forget them, even for a few moments, surprised her. Her skin needed constant care with the kitchens, and with the changing seasons. She never forgot them.

  ‘Do not worry,’ Rhain said. ‘Their keeping the gates closed is customary, as are the men on the ramparts. The benefit to this castle is that it’s strategic and well maintained. A more protective fortress you’d be hard pressed to find.’

  The word fortress didn’t appeal to her, but Rhain’s puzzling attempts at conversation did. He was lauding the benefits of the castle, perhaps to put her at ease, but why?

  ‘It used to be privately owned,’ he continued, ‘but now it’s part of the King’s holdings, though he’s not in residence.’

  He was privy to the whereabouts of the King. ‘You know the King?’

  ‘I was fostered under his care.’

  The information didn’t surprise her since he was a wealthy knight, who once lived in a castle. Of course he’d be familiar with the King, but to be fostered under his care was something else altogether, and another reminder of the vast differences between them. ‘So they know we were coming?’

  ‘No, I could hardly announce my whereabouts.’ Rhain lifted a cord he wore around his neck. On the end was a ring. ‘This is my passage inside. Black Hawk is my family crest. There were only two made. The King’s steward will know it.’

  He dangled the great thick gold ring like it was merely a rock instead of something so valuable she never could have dreamed of before. It was beautiful in the sunlight and emblazoned with red and black stones.

  ‘It will also ensure you are well attended,’ he said.

  More than unease at Rhain’s remarks skittered up her spine. She was merely a visitor, and didn’t need attendance, but before she could address his words the door to the side of the closed gates opened and a lone man stepped through.

  Above their heads, the guards had notched their arrows, which now pointed to them. The man was very little, very old and quite sure of himself as he approached the mercenaries at his gate.

  The moment Rhain showed the ring, the man waved his thin arm in the air and the gates swung open.

  ‘Welcome, sir, welcome indeed. Your intended stay and care?’

  ‘Two days for me and my men.’

  The man nodded and ambled off at considerable speed through the side door.

  It was then she realized what should have occurred to her long before now. Rhain hadn’t said anything of her. ‘Where am I to stay?’

  Rhain urged his horse forward and they slowly entered under the gates. Helissent took in the numerous guards. The sharpness of the portcullis, its metal smell in the shade of the ramparts before they emerged in the outer bailey.

  She was in an outer bailey for the first time in her life. Though she’d asked questions from patrons, she wasn’t prepared for the chaos or industry. She couldn’t stop her eyes from taking it all in, but her ears heard Rhain and then heard nothing else.

  ‘I’ll find you a room. Only give me today. I’ve been to castles, but not this one. For your protection I cannot give you free rein. While I can guarantee a roof and food, I cannot guarantee your safety until I am apprised of the men here. There may even be a few I know.’

  There was censure in Rhain’s voice, but also caution. Too much caution. ‘Is there danger here?’

  He paused. ‘There is always danger and I need to ensure it is safe for you.’

  She listened to the creak of the heavy gates shutting behind her. They sounded as final as Rhain’s words. But she had to be wrong for he announced they’d be here only two days. Why would he need to ensure it was safe for her when she was surrounded by mercenaries?

  * * *

  Rhain didn’t like the way the conversation was going. He hadn’t been prepared to explain Helissent’s relationship with them. No doubt the castle inhabitants thought her his whore. He had warned her of that, but he could tell she didn’t understand. Which only confirmed for him she was an innocent, honest, hardworking woman, who sang terribly, but baked like none other.

  In all his travels he never met anyone like her. How could the other patrons have left her alone all this time? Because of a few scars? They were fools; all of them.

  But the guards and villagers here were worldly. They’d been exposed to the King’s court and to nobility for generations. They were used to debauchery and to excess. He hadn’t introduced her as an innocent maid and they would think nothing of Helissent as his whore.

  While he was here, it would give her some protection, but when he was gone, it would cause her only harm.

  Unintentional harm. He hadn’t been thinking when he approached the gates. He only thought of the few days they had left together.

  As if they would share those days. As soon as she realized what the residents here thought of her, she wouldn’t talk to him again. She wouldn’t talk to him as soon as he told her he would leave either.

  He still had two days to remedy his mistake. Then it didn’t matter if she ignored him. He would do what he must. Ensure Tickhill was secure for her and leave.

  Except he didn’t like it. Foolish perhaps, dangerous most definitely. When the steward came out to greet him and he gave his request for a stay, he noticed the steward’s questioning glance to Helissent. He hadn’t liked that either.

  Rhain dismounted, acutely aware he did it in public, under the scrutiny of men and of her future home. Consequently, he displayed all the manners he had long set aside. Helping her down, attempting to appear courtly, he was assailed by her scent, felt the warmth of her hands clasping his forearms for support. Became aware of her height. Always her height, which only made him think of her legs...and how she would fit him.

  When he didn’t release her, she looked at him questionably.

  ‘Are your legs hurting?’ he said, trying to cover his response.

  * * *

  Rhain wasn’t frowning, but she sensed his distracted concentration. Was it concern? She didn’t know.

  Her legs did pain her, but not like yesterday, yet Rhain held her steady. His hood was on, only she could see his eyes, how they searched hers as if pu
zzling something and not liking it. It was a look he’d given her before that she couldn’t comprehend, because it never had anything to do with her scars. He stilled this way when he looked into her eyes. As he was doing now.

  She didn’t understand his sudden concern or attempts at conversation. She didn’t understand how his kindness warred with his anger and frustration. Were the shadows him, or the light? Why did her breath hitch in some breathless way when he clasped her elbows more firmly?

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she lied. Her body hurt, as did her skin. But the ache inside her was growing. They were here for two days, and this was only part of the journey to York. She should have no ache.

  The men had already dismounted and were following servants towards a smaller wall’s archway. The steward returned and he and Rhain engaged in conversation.

  She still felt his touch as they walked to a smaller courtyard surrounding the keep. A castle, her first, and it was an impressive sight. The curtained wall alone was nothing like she’d ever seen. After taking the stone bridge into the inner bailey, she could see the full grandeur of the giant circular keep that jutted out on top of the hill.

  There were many buildings inside the walls, smells and sounds she recognized. Another blacksmith’s with several fires blazing and carts of charcoal nearby. Some fletchers were making arrows and dozens of servants and soldiers were busily milling about. Voices surrounded her in dozens of pitches and tones, underneath, the sounds of stables and mews reverberated.

  Everything familiar, but grand. Despite how she arrived here, despite the fact she rode with strangers, with mercenaries, this was what made her realize she was no longer home.

  If it wasn’t for Rudd, she might have never done this. Would have spent her entire life in her village. She should have been scared, or at least wary, but maybe because she rode with mercenaries she experienced none of that. Instead she wondered at the beauty surrounding her.

  And she noticed the stares. Some more polite than others. Brushing her hair aside, she slowed her pace so Rhain didn’t block her and everyone could see her.

  It was best to get this over with. To let them see her or else she’d be plagued with furtive gazes the two days she was here. The questions would come later, but the stares, the horror and pity, she wanted them out of the way.

  Probably because of her pace, Rhain, who was whispering to Allen, looked over his shoulder, his eyes darted over her features and flashed. He grabbed her elbow and moved her hurriedly towards the Hall.

  ‘There is no need for that,’ he said low, but heatedly.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Subjecting yourself to their scrutiny as though you’re some...aberration.’

  She deserved to be some aberration. ‘But I am. Why do you pretend otherwise? People need to see, and I simply make it easier for them.’

  * * *

  Rhain felt every emotion and none that he should. Such as reason, objectivity. Impassiveness.

  He saw her do this with his men when they first arrived at the inn. Watched as she did it for every new traveler. At first he thought it was merely her mannerisms. But now that she slowed, and brushed her hair aside, he couldn’t deny she was putting herself on display. He didn’t like it.

  A foolish idea when she was most likely used to stares and knew how to confront them to make it easier for her. Yet, he knew it didn’t make it easier for her. There was a tenseness to her body like she was bracing herself, and he watched the pain travel through her eyes before she nodded as if in satisfaction.

  But he wasn’t satisfied. He was certain she hurt when she did it. Damning the consequences, he pulled her more protectively towards him.

  ‘This way.’ The steward pointed to the stairs on the outside of the keep that led to the Hall above. ‘I hope you’ll find all that you need for your stay.’

  They had travelled from London, with all its opulence and amenities. He grew bored there. Tickhill was a fine castle, but in his travels he had been to warmer climes and as much as his home country brought him the greenery, it had stopped being his home somewhere along the way.

  No, he knew the exact moment this country had stopped being his home. When he discovered who his mother was and what ran through his veins. Then he knew he belonged nowhere.

  Chapter Nine

  When they reached the top of the stairs and entered the Great Hall, Helissent suddenly stopped and gasped.

  The steward smiled proudly, then continued further into the Hall to direct the servants who were setting the table and bringing in food piled on platters.

  Helissent continued to gaze around the Hall when Nicholas passed with an amused look. Rhain shrugged and put his hand to the small of her back, but her feet were firmly planted, her expression in raptures.

  Unable to comprehend what held her attention, he tried to look at the Hall through her eyes. As expected the vaulted ceilings and large tables were heavily decorated. This had always been a wealthy man’s home and now it was a king’s.

  The rushes were fresh; the furnishings were all for the greatest comfort. The amount of sconces anchored in the stone walls provided plenty of light. The ornateness, polish and size of the floor candelabras was immense.

  Having come from her village, Helissent would never have seen such a sight before. For a brief burning moment, he wished he could show her some of the homes he had seen. Show his own home of Gwalchdu, which was three times as large and of a newer construction.

  He leaned down to whisper, ‘Impressed?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘When the King is in residence, I’m sure it is more opulent than this,’ Rhain said.

  Helissent’s expression turned from raptures to puzzlement as she looked at the tapestries he pointed to.

  Then he realized. ‘You weren’t looking at the room, were you?’

  She had been staring fixedly at the tables. The tables that were now heavily laden with meats, cheeses, fruits and nuts. His men were sitting around grabbing anything that they could reach as the servants brought in steaming bowls of soup.

  He chuckled and Helissent glanced at him then. ‘It’s the food that garners your attention, isn’t it?’

  Helissent gestured in front of her. ‘I know your men are hungry, but how did they suddenly serve all of this? And how do they make the presentation of it look effortless?’

  She looked astounded, but also designing, as though she was taking it all in, yet at the same time already making changes on how to improve it. He stood next to her, watching her, watching the men eat until the flustered steward came over and asked if anything was wrong.

  ‘No, it’s lovely,’ she said.

  Then the steward looked to him. ‘Will she be eating at the table with you?’

  He felt Helissent’s stare and cursed himself that he could not address with the steward her position just yet. He’d requested Allen to gather the information on the residents here. But that would take at least a day.

  ‘She’ll dine with me.’

  The steward glanced at her again before he directed a few servants, who scurried to do his request.

  Helissent didn’t move. ‘I may be from a village, but there’s only one reason he needed to ask if I was to dine with you. That is, if I didn’t have a rightful place at the table. He thinks I’m your—’

  ‘Wait.’ Rhain would have rather had this conversation elsewhere, but at least his men were too busy to overhear. Nicholas would never forgive him if he knew he’d put Helissent in this position. ‘I will correct their assumptions when I deem the castle safe. Until then, I can provide you a certain protection.’

  She stood staring at him, a myriad of expressions on her face, but he could decipher none of them. Aware they were garnering stares, he said, ‘Let’s sit at least and I can give my apologies for the next hour.’

&nb
sp; * * *

  Helissent sat at a table with nobility and the residents thought her his whore. She should be outraged, but what she felt was far from that emotion.

  She was obviously not cut from the same cloth as the men here. Not only regarding their skill or their reputation. But their clothes and manners were fine. Before they approached the castle, Nicholas and Rhain donned their spurs to indicate their status. She could now see the other men were equally garbed with some finery.

  The Flemish mercenaries had metal strappings on their legs that were polished to a high sheen, and they wore curiously long tunics with different symbols. The Spanish wore studded blue vests that were thick and yet looked soft.

  Only she stood out in her overly mended clothes with burns along the sleeves. She was much taller than either innkeeper, and their spare clothing was given away. But she wished she’d kept a few of their nicer pieces now.

  ‘How is it even possible?’ she whispered.

  ‘Is what possible?’ he said.

  ‘That he would think I was your whore?’

  ‘We rode together. I should have had you ride, while I walked beside—’

  ‘No, that’s not what I mean.’

  Burns on her sleeves, scars on her face. She’d forgotten again in the moments she’d gawked at the food being presented. Forgotten, and she couldn’t grasp it. A few hours with these men with their scars, burns, and slices to their skin and she had felt almost normal with them.

  But here in the finery of the castle, with the steward’s words and Rhain’s response, she was again reminded of her hideous visage. The fact she clothed herself in pauper’s clothes was of little import. Still she removed her hand from the goblet and placed it in her lap. Ran her hand down her clothes to check for newer stains or something she might be able to repair.

  But there was nothing she could do. Stains, tears, frayed threads mocked her. She was no woman to any man, let alone this one of utter perfection.

  ‘Are you saying you believe no man would want you?’

  Of course that was what she was saying. She knew how deeply deformed she was. She also knew her shame, and while this man might not know it, everyone in her village did. Nobody there ever asked for her as a man would a woman.