Page 63 of King’s Knight

She met his dark gaze. “Have I delayed my move overly long?”

“I do not speak of chess. We must be on our way.”

“Tomorrow, Owain. I will give you my answer tomorrow.”

He dipped his head. “As you wish, but I believe you will be going with me, so prepare.”

The next morning, Merewyn rose early, dressed warmly and walked through the village, heading toward the stone church. There was a chapel in the castle, but she rarely went there. She preferred the stone church set amidst the oak trees with its weather-beaten doors and small arched windows. It was the only stone structure in Talisand and Lady Serena had told her it had given the old thegn much pride to build it.

As she entered through one open door, her attention was drawn to the walls, painted in bright red, blue and yellow, depicting scenes from the Bible that reminded the people of their faith. One wall depicted the seven deadly sins she had been warned about as a child.

“Did you come to see me, my child?”

She turned to see Father Bernard standing behind her, his white hair and well-trimmed beard rising above his gray cowl robe. “I was hoping you might pray with me… for Sir Alex and his men.”

“Of course. We will kneel together.”

The priest’s words comforted her as he asked God to protect Talisand’s warriors who rode with the king. And he prayed for peace in the land that had known so much war.

When she got to her feet, she felt much relieved. “Thank you, Father.”

“I am always here, my child.”

Outside, she pulled her cloak tightly around her against the wind and tugged her hood over her head. Hunched down as she walked, she nearly ran into Maugris.

“Oh!” She gave a start, looking up. “Please forgive me.”

“It is nothing, Mistress Merewyn. You come from the chapel?”

“Yea.”

“That is good. You do well to seek direction from the Master of the Heavens.”

“I was praying for protection for Sir Alex and his men. We have heard nothing.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “That, too, is needful. Few wounds are as painful as those of the heart.”

“Is Alex wounded?” she asked, concerned.

“Should he return and find you gone, I have no doubt he will be,” the old man said. “Your future is here, Merewyn. I have seen it.” Without another word, he bowed and took his leave.

Merewyn watched the old man go, his dark gray cloak blowing out behind him. He did not try and stop her from leaving. But the stab of sorrow she experienced at the prospect of causing Alex pain was enough to give her pause. Mayhap she had been wrong to consider returning to Wales and wrong about the depth of Alex’s feelings for her. Should she stay no matter the consequences?

* * *

Alex peered into the distance of the Lothian countryside, a mélange of colors, wide swaths of green bordered by stands of trees still bearing the autumn colors of gold and yellow. He rode with Duke Robert and Sir Duncan, heading north toward the Firth of Forth.

King Malcolm must have been warned of their approach because three riders emerged from a copse of trees to appear before them.

Alex had never met the King of Scots, but there was no doubt the imposing figure riding the white charger with his scarlet cloak thrown back from his broad, mail-clad shoulders and his dark hair and beard beneath his helm encircled by a gold crown was the man they had come to see.

Two other men flanked the King of Scots, both warriors by their appearance, garbed in mail and helm and wearing both swords and long knives at their belts.

As the three drew close, Alex could see Malcolm was no longer young, but his weathered face bore the proud look of the warrior king Alex had heard so much about. He had led his people for decades, outliving the Conqueror. He had the air of a man confident in his abilities, a king worthy of being followed.

Malcolm’s long legs suggested he possessed a height not shared by either Duke Robert or England’s king, both of whom were men of small stature. When standing, the Scottish king would tower over them.

On King Malcolm’s right, rode a man Alex had never met, but who had to be his Uncle Steinar from his resemblance to Alex’s mother. Once they arrived in front of him, Alex glimpsed his mother’s violet eyes. Forced to flee England as a rebel, fighting against the Conqueror, Steinar had been welcomed in Scotland where his fortunes had risen. He now appeared more a Scot than an Englishman, his blond hair long with small plaits on the sides. On his face, both a mustache and a small beard.