Page 46 of King’s Knight

By the time the weary travelers had drunk their ale and wine and Alex and his companions had hied off to the river to bathe, the afternoon was fair gone. On his way back, he stopped in the stable with Rory and Guy to check on their horses.

As he entered Azor’s stall, the stallion was nibbling on oats while the young groom combed briars from his tail.

Alex stroked Azor’s neck. “See anything I need to attend?”

The groom stood, one hand on Azor’s buttock. “Nay, except he needs a new shoe. I’ll see the blacksmith fits him tomorrow.”

“And the destrier?” The horse Alex kept for battle was fierce in a fight but too difficult to manage for long rides over the countryside. But he would have his squire bring him to Durham.

“Your squire has seen to him while you were away. The destrier was restless this morning, so I turned him out for a bit of exercise, but you might want to run him through a few paces before you go.”

“Aye, I have been remiss,” admitted Alex. Unlike Azor, the destrier needed constant training in order to respond in battle to his commands using changing leg pressure. “Tomorrow, I will wear my spurs and bring Rory and Guy. Their warhorses also need the practice. My squire can assist with some distractions.”

“Some screeching chickens and straw bales for the horses to jump over are readily available. ’Tis sure your brother, Tibby, will be there to add his shrieks.”

Alex laughed. “Just like a battlefield, aye.” He patted Azor and thanked the groom.

In the hall, his mother and Merewyn were sitting by the hearth, a bench between them covered with a stack of materials. “Heads bent to stitchery?” he inquired as he strode toward them.

Merewyn’s head popped up and she rolled her eyes. “Look closer, Sir Alex. ’Tis not stitchery, but a fletcher’s work we are about.”

His mother smiled but kept working and did not look up as she carefully fitted part of a feather into the shaft.

“Gray goose feathers?”

“Have I ever used anything else?” his mother asked, finally raising her head. “ ’Tis not the first time you have seen me fit a feather into an arrow shaft.”

“Have you ever considered using the peacock’s feathers?”

“I have used them,” Merewyn said. “Sets my arrows apart in a contest.”

“A bit bright for me,” his mother said, “but Merewyn had need of new arrows so we are making some using the feathers I prefer.”

Merewyn kept glancing at his mother’s actions, appearing to copy her in the distinctive way she had of placing the feathers.

“Alex,” Merewyn said, “can you hold the shaft for me? It keeps slipping.”

He took a seat next to her on the bench and reached out his hands. “What do I do?”

“Here,” she said, offering the shaft. “Just hold it in the middle while I attach the feather.”

He held the shaft still while she worked at the end, biting her lip as she tried to do what his mother had done. He could not take his eyes off her lips. Her delicate scent of flowers wafted to his nostrils and he had to fight the sudden urge to kiss her.

“I have never been very good at this,” she said. “Rhodri taught me to make them, but the fletchings he made were always better than mine, more like Lady Serena’s. ’Tis why I brought a supply of them from Wales.”

“In time, you will be an expert, like my mother,” Alex encouraged. “Like many things, it just takes practice.” He smiled and she blushed. He was certain she had discerned the kind of practice he had in mind.

“My son speaks the truth,” his mother said, setting down her finished arrow. “And it takes patience. I did not have much when I was your age. That, too, comes with time.”

“There!” Merewyn said with a look of satisfaction as she took the shaft from him and held it up. “ ’Tis done!”

“The best one all afternoon,” his mother remarked.

Alex liked that Merewyn took pride in small things, laboring to get something right she cared about, even if it was an archer’s arrow and not embroidery. But for his mother’s presence, he would have reached out and pulled her into his arms. Ah well, he would see to that this night.

* * *

Merewyn had just hung her gown on the peg and was about to blow out the candle when there was a soft knock on her chamber door. Wearing only her undertunic, she set down the candle and went to open the door, peeking around the oaken panel.