Knight Dreams

by C. C. Wiley

  Simon stepped forward and pressed the vessel to her mouth. He tilted it so that she might drink a small sip. As they learned each other’s silent signals, he allowed her to drink deeply. A trickle of watered wine slid from Terrwyn’s lips. It ran down her throat and under the leather jerkin. The coolness left her lips as he drew the jug away.

  Emboldened by the liquid fire, she licked the remaining drops from her mouth. Under a veil of lashes, she peered at Simon’s hands. There was a slight tremor where he gripped the wine jug. Her head still tilted back, she smiled languidly. “Many thanks.”

  At a loss for words, he simply nodded.

  Terrwyn pulled the pretty pout she had seen some of the women from her village use. “Oh, dear.”

  Simon dropped down, kneeling beside her. “What is it, Archer?”

  “Saints’ bloody bones,” James said, “our being chained together would be a good place to start.”

  “Not much I can do about that,” Simon said.

  Tears slid down Terrwyn’s cheek. She sniffed loudly to cover up anything James might say. Once again drawing Simon’s attention, she let a little sob escape. “Not to fear. I’ve trusted you since you gave your vow as my protector. I know if there were something you could do, you would have already done it. I was only thinking of the time in the woods, when you and I first met. How you gave me your word and how well you’ve kept it.” She sighed deeply, a hiccup of a remaining sob followed. “I had so wanted to serve in our king’s army. ’Twould do a body good to teach the shiftless French a lesson.”

  The sound of Simon scuffing his feet like an errant child filled the quiet of the tent. “I can speak with William. Let him know your intentions are pure.”

  “Oh, would you?” she simpered.

  He turned to leave, the jug of wine forgotten beside James and Terrwyn.

  “Simon?”

  He stopped at the tent flap when Terrwyn called out to him once more.

  “Oh dear. How do I ask this of you?”

  “For the love of all that is holy,” James snapped. “The woman needs to use the bushes. To make water.”

  Simon rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “I suppose—”

  “You suppose nothing. She’ll have to relieve herself some time. It might as well be now. Besides, I could use a bit of a stretch myself.”

  “Really, Sir James,” Terrwyn said over her shoulder, “you could give me a moment of privacy.”

  Simon returned and bent down to unlock the chain around Terrwyn’s ankle. With the first task completed, he pulled out a dagger from his belt. He hesitated as if questioning his decision. Seeing a look of concern cross his face, Terrwyn smiled and did not move. Her breath caught in her chest as she watched the blade cut through the rope tied around her wrist. The freedom to move her legs and arms at will sent a thrill across her flesh.

  “Hold your hands together,” Simon ordered.

  Terrwyn was swift to do as he bid. Her hopes dipped as he tightened the knot around one of her wrists. He bunched the tail end of the rope in his hand and motioned for her to stand.

  “Wait,” James yelled. “You cannot leave me. I demand a word with Sir William.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Terrwyn swallowed the surprised yelp when her cramped legs took their first step outside Sir William’s tent. Refusing to show any signs of weakness, she flexed her shoulders, straightened her back and stood as tall as her small frame would allow. With a flick of her free hand, she dusted off her leggings and tugged on the hem of her leather jerkin.

  “Many thanks, Simon.” She flipped her braid over her shoulder.

  She cringed at James’s next curse aimed at their backs. She stopped, nearly forgetting the task she had given herself. Thoughts of retribution, thumbscrews and flames hurled through her mind.

  Simon cast a tense look around before drawing her away from the tent. “Best get moving.”

  After a few failed attempts to keep up with Simon’s long legs, she soon realized she could never match his strides. Her boots scuffed the dirt as she simply trotted along.

  Before she knew it, her legs and shoulders began to loosen up. Despite her concerns for James, each step brought a renewed joy of freedom. Even the rope swinging between her wrist and Simon’s fist failed to dampen her spirits. Catrin always said it was a poor soul that did not see the blessings in front of their nose. Intent on following her sister’s advice, Terrwyn filled her lungs with the cool evening air. Her nose twitched from the smell of pine and smoldering wood. The air was so thick with the scent that it rested on her tongue.

  Aware no man enjoyed being manipulated, she held her pleasure from view and ducked her head. Simon could have ignored her pleas and turned his back on her.

  The army was indeed in a state of transformation. Soldiers moved about, their attention on the activities needed before leaving a campsite. Terrwyn saw the glances cast toward her, the down-turned corners of their mouths. Apparently her presence did not sit well with the men.

  Simon skirted one of the campfires lit for the evening meal. Smoke swirled into the magenta sky. The scent of meat cooking over the flames permeated the air. This was yet another sign that Sir William intended to move his men. The soldiers traveled quicker on well-fed stomachs.

  “Here.” Simon pointed sourly down a path leading away from the campsite, just outside the camp perimeter. Vines wound up tree trunks, draped over their limbs. A canopy of shade trees swayed as one. Their green leaves, empowered by the setting sun, gave the illusion that the forest floor undulated in waves. Nature’s chorus, birds and insects, stilled when they heard Simon’s deep voice. Though the men’s voices were muffled, it would not take much for someone to hear a warning shout.

  Terrwyn looked down at her wrist and then up at Simon. Silence grew between them. Simon’s face began to blossom into a rosy hue. His mouth remained set in a firm, hard line.

  Terrwyn jiggled her wrist. She waited, determined to win this war of wills. Now that the opportunity to relieve her bladder was available, her body rebelled. She could not do this with Simon in easy sight. Her need grew with each passing minute.

  She shivered as she listened to the camp sounds and searched for James’s angry voice. Relief, bitten with a trace of guilt, flooded her thoughts. Though thankful he had finally quieted, she hated to think on what means it had taken to silence his demands to see Sir William.

  She nearly jumped out of her boots when Simon touched her elbow and motioned her to the little patch behind a scraggly-leafed bush. Terrwyn eyed the lack of privacy afforded her. When the day came that she forgot her position as a Welsh lord’s daughter, she would then know her end had come. Today was not that day.

  Lifting her chin, she let her nose drift into the air, her lip curled in disdain. “If you think to stand and sneak a peek while I’m about my private business, you best think again, Simon of Norwich.”

  “You know I cannot cut you loose. William would have my hide sent home to our mother.”

  “I did not ask you to cut the rope. Just loosen your hold so that I might scurry behind the bush. Besides, it will make my task go much quicker if I have the free use of both my hands.”

  Simon let go of the rope leading to her wrist. “Make haste,” he grumbled. “I’ve spent too much time away from camp as it is.”

  She walked sedately past the bush Simon had indicated, squashing the desire to scamper away. Although her impulse was to run as fast as she could, she knew the truth of it and could not fool her heart. She could not leave James behind. And she needed to find those sketches.

  Finished, she returned to where Simon stood, a hard glint in his eyes, a tightness around his mouth. His patience taxed, she hoped he held a bit in reserve to deal with her next request. She held out the end of the rope. “How does Cook fare?”

  The length of rope swung between them as they moved away from the clearing. “He lives.”

  “Has the poultice been changed?”

  He answered with a sh
rug.

  “’Tis imperative a new one is placed every hour or two. Or all manner of troubles will befall him and the members of the king’s army.” Since Simon did not speak, she decided to press her point. “Stink of putrid flesh.”

  Simon grunted and turned his head away slightly.

  “I cannot think what your brother would say if we lose another man. Someone else will have to take his place. I’ve spent but a few days traveling with the army and see they need to eat. Aye, they value their cook, they do.”

  The encampment loomed closer. Simon brought their steps toward Sir William’s tent, closer to where James awaited her return. Terrwyn’s heart beat heavily against her ribcage. Her steps slowed.

  Simon turned to cast an impatient look her way. The lines around his mouth deepened. The shadows grew as the sun began its descent for the evening.

  “You’ll need to know how to mix the herbs,” she continued as if oblivious to his impatience. Her thoughts drifted at the sound of hooves pounding against the ground. They came in a rush, skidding to a stop at the other edge of the camp.

  Terrwyn gasped as Simon grabbed her arm and drew her out of sight. Keeping to the widening shadows, they made their way to Cook’s tent.

  “What worries you, Simon?” Her rush of questions was silenced when he shoved her head through the tent flap and hustled her inside.

  Terrwyn stumbled in the gloomy dark. A meager candle flickered on the table beside Cook’s cot.

  “Who’s there?” Cook called out.

  Simon strode up and placed the rope in the old soldier’s hand. “You need to return to your duties. I brought someone to help you get there.”

  Cook’s watery eyes flashed in the gloomy tent. “So you bring me Archer? Where’s young Gilbert? He serves me just fine.”

  Simon moved to leave. “Most of the camp leaves at dawn. I would have you strong enough to go with the men.”

  “You think I cannot fend for myself?” Cook asked.

  Simon smiled. The shadows danced around his high cheekbones and candlelight caressed the waves of his pale hair. “The Archer informs me that you need your wound tended. I’m told you will heal quicker if it is.” He motioned Terrwyn to move closer. “There’s plenty of rope to play out if you need it. Don’t think to move past this tent. I’ll come for you when ’tis time.”

  Terrwyn nodded. Her mouth set in a placid line, she kept her thoughts hidden from Simon’s examination. She found it a relatively easy task as she could see his attention drift to the commotion outside. Was it her imagination? Did his skin pale considerably?

  “You will not stray from here,” he ordered as he turned to leave.

  The tent flap swung open. Little Gilbert stuck his head in. Flaxen-haired ringlets bounced in excitement. “Sir William is in a fit. Says I best find you yesterday.”

  “He does, does he?” Simon ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, I best not let him stew himself into another boil.”

  Gilbert hung back, an uneasy look about his face.

  Simon clapped a wide hand on the child’s thin shoulder. “Remain here. Archer will teach you the fine art of poultice making. I hear an army runs as much on a fine poultice as on a slab of meat.”

  Terrwyn watched Simon’s back retreat from the tent, then turned to question young Gilbert about Sir William’s latest reason for shouting. She hated not knowing how her village fared. Although James had threatened to raze it, he had yet to show the temper to do so. Saints’ dry bones, had Sir William discovered she was not tied up next to his other prisoner?

  Before Terrwyn could ask her questions, Cook had put the first question to the child. “What stirs the young commander?”

  “Don’t know. He’s unhappy.” Gilbert’s tears glittered under the flickering candlelight. “He doesn’t want me to draw his bath or lend a hand with anything.”

  “Well,” Cook said gently, “’tis a good thing for me that you have some extra time on your hands. I’ll need your muscle to help me with the horses when the commander says time to mount up.”

  Gilbert nodded and stood back to watch Terrwyn mix the herbs. He absently twirled the coil of pale hair around his small finger. His full lips were a smaller version of Sir William’s wider, larger mouth.

  Terrwyn paused from uncoiling the binding from Cook’s ribcage. Has Sir William noticed the resemblance as well? Her thoughts gathered, rushing, forcing her worries to the forefront. She nearly forgot to apply the herbal poultice before wrapping a clean bandage over Cook’s wound. Her task completed, she sat back and stared blankly at the mess as she sorted through her predicament.

  A smile slowly began to drift over her mouth. She would see to it that things were set aright. Simon would explain her absence. Cook needed her care. That would buy her time to find what she needed in James’s tent. If luck were her friend, she would be back at Cook’s side before anyone knew she left.

  Terrwyn wadded up the bandage she’d removed from Cook’s side. “If ’tis to be used again, I must wash it out. Might you loosen your hold so that I may do this for you?”

  Cook eyed her cautiously. “Simon’s orders were for you to stay where he left you.”

  Terrwyn dipped her cleaning cloth into a bowl of tepid water. “True. Yet he knows not of the difference between clean water and putrid water.” She shrugged, gesturing as if it was a simple fact of life. “His station wouldn’t understand these things. There are others to do for him. You and I, we are aware and value the difference.”

  Cook nodded and patted Terrwyn’s hand. He placed the end of the rope into her palm. “Fetch it quick. I imagine ’tis not so far that anyone will notice you wandering about.”

  “Are you certain ’tis wise?”

  “Perhaps young Gilbert—”

  “Nay,” Terrwyn interrupted. “He should stay here. Keep you company while you instruct him on the tasks ahead.”

  Draped in one of Cook’s old woolen cloaks, Terrwyn slipped out and threaded her way through the encampment. She skirted past the area where most of the soldiers milled around awaiting their next meal. Although their cook lay abed, the soldiers’ need for food could not be ignored. Every Welshman who ever came in contact with the army understood their need for sustenance. They left behind a clear path as they marched across the Welsh countryside.

  In her village, many a field once full of sheep now stood nearly empty. In fact, the night before she left home, she dreamt of the fields. She could still hear the cold wind whipping through the tall grass. The meadow, barren of the life it supported, warned her of their future.

  Hearing a familiar laugh, Terrwyn stumbled over her own feet. Maffew, one of Isolde’s sons, stood amidst the throng of men. His shock of hair bristled around his ears. She could barely see his compact body because of the men crowded around him.

  “Aye,” he said, “‘you’ve helped me see reason. ’Tis my duty to take my rightful place as one of King Henry’s finest archers.”

  Terrwyn heard his nervous bray again. It was one that few could forget—laughter blending with his rasping breath made it sound like he choked on a wad of mutton. Lord knows there had been many a meal stopped to ensure he remained alive.

  Worry gripped her stomach. Edgar Poole’s threats echoed in her head. The king’s army had returned to her village. If they did not gather the number of able-bodied men required for a long battle, they would return again.

  James’s tent loomed before her. She moved swiftly and slipped inside. She blinked, working to adjust her eyes to the gloomy shadows. Her ears pounded, echoing her rapid pulse. Drawing in a shaky breath, she braced her legs as the makeshift room tilted.

  She blinked again. She had hoped everything would remain as they’d left it. Finding James’s drawings depended on it. Her eyes focused on the shadows as she listened to the camp sounds. Not only had James’s contents been tampered with, the camp atmosphere had changed as well. She could almost feel the tension building with the change outside.

  Hunkered down, Terr
wyn dropped to her hands and knees. She ran her hands over the canvas floor and along the corner of the woolen rug placed in the center of the tent. A chest stood in her path, its contents spilled out. Chausses, jerkins, undertunics littered the floor. Using broad sweeps of her hand, she moved the clothing out of the way. A small part of her mind, the whimsical side, searched for a way to gather up a few extra pieces for their trip. Her practical side won out. They would make do with what they had on their backs.

  With little natural light left from the day, the shadows deepened as evening poured over the sky. She was spending too much time searching and very little finding what she needed. Simon would have a fit if Cook did not produce her. Lord, she would hate to be the cause for his discomfort.

  Terrwyn scrambled to search the last heavy chest in the corner. Relieved to find it unlocked, she lifted the lid and peered inside. Empty. All its contents were removed. Her hopes deflated, she sank to the floor. Even her bow was missing.

  The scraping of boots drew near. The sound pulled her from her dejection. She shook herself free. Her thoughts skittered to James. He would be furious when he heard she went out without telling him her plans. They needed those sketches as a bargaining tool. Now the proof of his innocence was lost to those who wished him harm. Fate resisted her desires, blocking her path from all sides.

  Pushing herself up on her hands and knees, she paused. The edge of the rug bunched as if it had been kicked. A lump similar to the size of the journal formed under the woolen material.

  Her hand stilled.

  Angry voices carried into the tent. “Edgar Poole—”

  The men paused outside. Their conversation dropped as they spoke in hushed urgency.

  “How is this possible?”

  “—broke through the guards—”

  “—spies plot against the crown.”

  Her heart thumped against her ribcage. She flipped over the edge of the rug, slid the packet out and shoved the leather-bound drawings inside the folds of her jerkin.