Page 59 of King’s Knight

It had been stormy and cold as they left Durham. Alex was only vaguely aware of Rory and Guy riding beside him, their heads tucked into their hooded cloaks. Nor was his mind on the dark clouds that promised more rain, the brown and green hills that seemed to go on forever, or the heather trodden down by their horses. He took it all in but his mind was focused on the golden-haired archer he had left behind.

He imagined Merewyn warming herself with a cup of wine in front of Talisand’s hearth fire as she and his mother fashioned fletchings for their arrows. He saw her as she looked the night before he left when he had kissed her goodbye.

He had not seen her for a month. Did she think of him often as he did her?

“Does my wolf brood over the cold?” asked the king as he rode up beside Alex. Guy pulled back on his reins, dropping behind to make room for William’s chestnut stallion.

“Nay, Sire, though ’tis a brutal autumn. But I do worry about feeding the men. We could have used the corn and other food the ships would have brought us.”

William’s face grew red with his increasing anger. “By the face of Lucca, I will have an explanation for their delay!”

When they had reached the River Tyne, the fifty ships William had expected were nowhere to be seen. The king had waited two days and then, cursing and red-faced, ordered his army to push on.

Since then, they had passed the crumbling stone wall built by the Emperor Hadrian to separate the Romans from the barbarians, a symbol of the Romans’ might much as the Conqueror’s timber castles were a symbol of the Normans’ military strength. As they’d pressed on toward Lothian, Alex could not help but think of the Roman legions of a thousand years before. The Scots William would face were no less formidable than the Picts the Romans faced then.

Later that day in the king’s tent, William shouted to his senior knights and nobles. “Our seamen had best be there when we reach the Firth of Forth!”

Alex hoped William was right but he had his doubts. Moreover, William, too, was worried. Judging by his ruddy cheeks and the sparks shooting from his eyes, his anger was replacing his concern.

Alex and his men made camp to the sounds of the red deer rutting. The loud bellowing of the stags echoed through the glens, sometimes broken by the sharp clash of antlers, as the males fought each other for control over the hinds. With their food stores running low and the few people they had encountered hostile, Alex knew they must hunt.

After he had watered and rested his horse, Alex had approached the king to seek his guidance. In response, the king sent his best archers into the woods to search for grouse, hares and small game. But to feed the army, they would need to set upon larger prey. The king called for three hunts for the red deer. William proposed to lead one group himself and the other two would be led by his barons, each setting off in a different direction.

At the king’s request, Alex and his men joined William. As they cantered behind the king, Alex’s thoughts turned to the days ahead. They would soon cross into Scotland. Would Malcolm’s army be waiting for them or, as the king had suggested, must they lay siege to Malcolm’s fortress at Dun Edin?

* * *

Merewyn and Owain rode their horses along the bank of the River Lune, the trees’ autumn colors of yellow, gold and red reflected in the waters. Gentle breezes rustled the leaves, causing some to fall.

A golden leaf drifted down to the water, hovered for a moment on the surface, and then was carried away downstream. Soon, all the colored leaves would fall, the trees would be bare and winter would be upon them. She could be like that leaf and allow the flow of her life to carry her and her babe back to Wales.

Owain might take her.

Would Rhodri and Fia welcome her? Or might they rebuke her for the predicament she had gotten herself into? If she were to bear a child with no father to raise it, she would know her mother’s shame. Yet she would have Alex’s child to love, mayhap a son that looked like him, and that would be reward enough for loving a man she had known from the beginning could never be hers.

The air was colder than she would have expected for this time of year, but she had worn her woolen cloak and it warmed her.

Owain broke the silence. “When I first arrived, you said you missed Wales.”

“Aye. I was many years among your people and I made friends. I could hardly leave and not miss them.”

“Do you ever think to return?”

“Yea and recently.”

“Your captain, Sir Jamie, thinks me a spy for the Welsh who would throw off the Norman yoke. I have seen it in his eyes. ’Tis true, we wish them gone and, in time, my father, Cadwgan, will see to it. But that is not my purpose in coming. I was speaking the truth when I told your captain I came for you, Merry.”

“For me?”

“Yea, I came to bring you back to Wales. Does that surprise you?”

“I suppose it does.” She had wanted to leave so that Alex would be free to pursue the future his king intended for him. Here was her chance. She shut her eyes tightly against the painful thought of leaving the father of her child, the man she loved. But it had to be done.

Owain glanced at her from where he sat on his Welsh pony. “I had begun to think of you as always being with us. Your absence did not sit well.”

She looked into his dark eyes. What she saw there was different from what she remembered from their time together in Wales.

“There are things you do not know about me, Owain. My beginnings, for one thing. Then, too, much has happened since I left Wales.”