Page 53 of King’s Knight

“Aye, and I know no more now than the last time he spoke of it, save a wolf rampant flies on my banner.”

“Whenever he speaks like that,” said Rory, “it brings up bumps on my skin. ’Tis eerie the way he sees things.”

“Aye.” But Alex had no more time to think on it. His men were mounting their horses. “If we are to arrive in Durham before the king, we had best be going. ’Tis at least two days’ ride even with favorable weather.”

Alex slipped his foot in the stirrup, launched himself into the saddle and walked the black stallion to the head of the column. Rory, holding the banner in the leather sheath affixed to his saddle, rode behind him. Alex’s squire, leading the destrier, rode with the other men.

Beneath him, Azor was restless, but Alex could not leave until he bid his parents goodbye and glimpsed the face of the woman he would miss the most.

His parents stood together at the door of the hall, along with his friends’ fathers, Sir Geoffroi and Sir Maurin and their wives, Lady Emma and the redheaded Cassie. Jamie had come from the gate to stand next to Lora. As captain of the house knights, however reluctant he was to remain behind, his priority was to guard the demesne.

Alex raised his hand to acknowledge his parents.

Not far away, Merewyn stood in the shadows of the manor, her cheeks glistening with tears. It tore at him to see her so. He wanted with all his heart to call her to him for a last kiss, but he could not allow the others to think she was more than a friend. Not for her sake. Not yet.

With his shouted command, the score of men followed him out the gate.

* * *

Merewyn hastily looked down at her feet, brushing away the tears, unwilling for any to see the pain she kept hidden in her heart. When she looked up, Alex was already through the palisade gate. Would she ever see him again? She vowed to remember always the way he sat so erect upon his great stallion, his long raven hair flowing over his mail-clad shoulders and the long sword sheathed at his hip.

There was no banter, no teasing, with his men this time, only the somber faces of knights going to war, determined to face the king’s enemies without fear.

Behind Alex, Rory carried proudly the new banner, proclaiming to all the Black Wolf now rode in his own right. No longer merely the son of a legend, Alex was becoming a legend himself.

She choked back the tears.

Every step he took away from Talisand was a step away from her.

How long might he be gone? Would it be months, as Jamie expected? Would he survive the coming battle? In that instant, cold fear lashed at her insides. Losing him to death would be far worse than losing him to a wife chosen by the king. At least with the latter, he would still live.

He had to survive. A legend could not die before his time. Comforted with the thought, her mind raced to what would happen when the fight with the Scots was over. Would the king Alex so loyally served betroth him to Lady Adèle? The Norman woman had been so sure she would wed Alex. Mayhap it would be so. Merewyn could not bear to see again the smug smile on the woman’s face were that to happen. Nay, she must be gone before that day arrived.

She turned and slipped into the manor to change her clothes. In her chamber, she donned the archer’s tunic, hosen and leather jerkin that cloaked her femininity. Her bow spoke a word of rebuke for her past sins. She ignored it. Picking up the bow and quiver, she set her course for the stables. This time, she would practice her shooting with Ceinder.

As she would in her new home—in Wales.

* * *

Night was falling as Alex stared into the fire his squire had built and thought of Merewyn’s tears. Once this campaign was over, he vowed never to see Merewyn cry again. He would fill her life with laughter and her belly with their sons and daughters.

Above him the sky was as dark as his mood. The night air was cold, making the fire welcome. He held out his palms to warm them in the heat of the flames. Thus far, they had been spared rain, for which he was grateful. Rain made a knight’s travel miserable.

He and his friends had caught three hares now roasting on a spit stretched over the fire between two forked branches thrust into the ground. His stomach rumbled at the smell of the meat. “Are the men settled in?” he asked Rory who sank onto the log beside him.

“Aye, and cooking their own suppers. Your squire and mine are seeing to the horses.”

Guy approached with a leather flask he thrust at Alex. “Here, warm your bones with some of Normandy’s wine.” Alex accepted it gratefully and took a drink before passing it to Rory. The red wine was welcome after a hard day of guiding his men across vast open spaces, then picking his way through rocky outcroppings and sparse vegetation.

“Tomorrow should see us in Durham,” he told his companions, “well before the king is expected to arrive.”

“ ’Tis best we arrive afore him,” said Rory. “William waits for no man.”

* * *

Alex held his fist in the air to halt his men as they emerged from the woods a short distance from Durham. The countryside spread out before him, golden fields dotted with scattered woodlands. But that was not what had sent a chill crawling up his spine.

“What is it, Alex?” asked Rory coming alongside him on his right at the same time Guy appeared on his left.