Page 10 of King’s Knight

He had left his sword in his bedchamber, knowing none would be permitted in the hall this night. But the dagger at his belt, a gift from the king, was no less formidable a weapon. He could kill with it and had. In the four years he had served William Rufus, Alex had ended the life of more than one man at the king’s command. It was a knight’s service and he accepted it.

Servants hurried into the hall, placing trays of meat on the tables and the trenchers that served to hold their food.

A kitchen wench filled his goblet with wine. Alex nodded his thanks and, ever hungry, filled his trencher with slices of venison, spooning over it the juices into which he would dip his bread.

Maggie had outdone herself with a fine feast of venison, roasted in a vinegar and pepper sauce, hare spiced with what smelled like rosemary and thyme, and a peacock skinned, roasted and redressed in its own feathers. The delicacy was not often served at Talisand. He had first tasted the peafowl’s rich, dark meat in Chester at the home of his foster father, Earl Hugh.

Biting into the chunk of peacock, Alex shot a glance at Guy, eating on the other side of Sir Geoffroi. The young knight was flirting with the young women at the tables, enjoying his new status.

Alex took a drink of his wine and looked up at the rafters. Where once, his mother told him, there had been bright ornamentation, now the images on the carved timbers were faded and darkened with soot from the central hearth fire. On his mother’s side, his roots were deep in England’s soil. But his father was a Norman, as were most of Talisand’s men-at-arms.

Turning to his father, Alex asked, “How many new men-at-arms do we have?”

“A score in anticipation of trouble in the north, but there may soon be more if the king is assembling an army to fight Malcolm.”

“He will be some time in doing that,” said Alex, “for he waits not only for the men who owe him service but for the ships he would take to Scotland.”

“Following in his father’s steps,” said Talisand’s lord. “Mayhap a prudent step. ’Twas what the Conqueror did when he invaded Scotland.”

Alex’s mother, apparently catching their conversation, leaned across his father. “War was averted then with an agreement and your father returned unscathed. We can only pray that Malcolm and William Rufus will have sense enough to do the same.”

His father took his wife’s hand. “Do not worry, my love. All will be well.”

She looked into his eyes. “It was my fervent prayer when I met with Father Bernard this morning.”

Just beyond Alex’s mother sat Maugris in his usual place, nodding in agreement. One never knew what vision the old man might have seen. Knowing the wise one advised his father gave Alex comfort. Whatever happened, he had to believe Talisand would stand.

Beyond Maugris, Alex glimpsed Sir Maurin with his dark head bent to his son, Rory. Like Alex’s father, Sir Maurin had outlived the Conqueror and helped to bring peace to England. Once, Sir Maurin, Sir Geoffroi and Sir Alain were young knights, who, along with Alex’s father, left Normandy to seek lands of their own. Now it was up to their sons to secure England’s future. Alex was glad he would have at his side men like Rory and Guy, as well as his brothers. Jamie, too, for the house knight who had once been page to the Red Wolf, was devoted to Talisand.

Alex let his gaze drift about the hall, watching the men and women enjoying Maggie’s feast. A long table had been added to the two they typically had in order to accommodate the crowd gathered for the homecoming feast. Because of the bachelor knights and new men-at-arms, the men outnumbered the women. But it was the women with their gowns and long hair that drew Alex’s attention, a feast for his eyes, as Maggie’s meal was a feast for his stomach.

Content, he reached for his wine just as a woman gowned in silk the color of dark violets slipped into the hall like a faint cool breeze. He set down his goblet, his senses coming alive as his gaze tracked her every move. Pale flaxen locks pulled back from her delicate face cascaded down her back, as her gown rippled around her. He imagined it rustling as she walked, the sound like leaves falling to the forest floor. Around her neck sparkled an intricate gold necklace. The queen of fairies walking among them.

Merewyn.

This afternoon she had appeared a diminutive Welsh archer. Now, attired like a lady of royal birth, she held his attention as no other woman in the hall.

He leaned into his father. “Have there been no suitors for her?”

His father followed his line of sight. “Merewyn?”

“Aye. She is one and twenty and not yet wed.”

“Well, to begin, Sir Alain has yet to give his daughter, Lora, to anyone and she is of an age with Merewyn. But the truth is the girl would have suitors aplenty were she to smile at any one of my men, but she holds herself apart. Above reproach, your mother believes, afraid to encourage any because of her mother’s fate. The men do not know what to make of her. Possibly they fear her arrows should their overtures not be welcomed.”

“For good reason, I understand. The men say she can shoot well.”

“Yea, she can. Tomorrow you will have to attend the archery contest.”

“I just might.” Normally, he would have headed straight for the sword matches but tomorrow he would begin with those testing their skills in archery.

Alex’s gaze continued to rest upon Merewyn as she took a seat next to Lora and Jamie. It was not difficult to see why she had sought out those two. Jamie had been an orphan, just like Merewyn, when Alex’s father made him his page. And Lora’s mother had once been leman to Alex’s English grandfather. In the eyes of some, Lora would be tainted by her mother’s former life just as Merewyn was marked as a child of rape. Such blots against a woman were rarely forgiven by the merciless.

Merewyn’s eyes scanned the hall before alighting on him. Her face bore a look of discomfort, as if she was reluctant to be here. Hoping to put her at ease, he smiled and dipped his head in greeting. Her eyes met his for only a moment before looking away.

* * *

Sipping her wine, Merewyn tried unsuccessfully to avoid looking at Alexander as she listened to Jamie recounting stories of his knightly pursuits while she’d been in Wales. He was generous in his compliments of Talisand’s lord and modest in telling of his own feats, as he always was.