How to Train Your Knight: A Medieval Romance Novel Read online

  Now free, his face broke into a grin. “Why, yes. Mayhap you’d join us and take prayers with—”

  “Where? Show me.” Marcus tugged on his wide sleeves and dragged him out the front door.

  “Over there. Beyond the square? She’s made a bit of thatch for a roof. See? There’s a large plank underneath.”

  The area was still hidden by long morning shadows created by the surrounding hills and woods. At the very edge of the common, people were leaving a tiny church and beginning to congregate. This was pure madness. “You may go.”

  Lifting his robes high, Brother John dashed away as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. By the time Thomas got downstairs, Brother John had already grabbed a bowl, meeting with the church-goers around the plank in a comradely manner. Bits of children’s laughter and snippets of speech spread over the land. If he didn’t know better, Marcus would’ve guessed it a High Holy Day.

  Before Thomas could ask, he said, “She feeds the town. Daily.” With a grand sweep of his hand, he mimed King Edward perfectly. “Prithee, take the men to dine. By my leave.”

  With a wide grin, Thomas recovered from his uncommon bout of silence and bowed with equal perfection. “Will you join us, Your Grace?”

  “I’ve no stomach for it right now. My brand new purse is aching from feeding the whole of God’s creation.” He muttered a short curse under his breath. She’d bewitched the town. The peasants should feed the lord who protects them, not the other way around.

  Picturing the missed opportunity for sweet jams and thick breads, he ascended the staircase. A young redheaded girl, no doubt her maid, was seated on the top step, sobbing.

  Women, he noted with a new awareness, were a tiresome breed. “Hush. Where’s your mistress?”

  The girl, barely into her teens, shoved back against the wall and looked up at him with puffy red eyes. “She’s within, but has locked and bolted the door. I fear that she’ll do grievous harm to herself.”

  “Who was supposed to watch my wife?” He scowled at the men who’d assembled at the door.

  His young squire, Bart, stepped forward. “Me, sir. I stepped outside to … ah …” He blushed. “She said she needed to change her clothes.”

  “Yes. Yes. Of course, she did. Away with all of you.” He waved them aside and pounded on the door.

  “Lady Ann, let me in. I am now your legal lord.”

  “Nay. I shall not.” Her shouts were muffled by massive stone walls and a thick oak door. It was exquisitely carved with idyllic scenes filled with sheep and hills, similar to the view outside the manor. He’d be damned if he’d destroy it to get to the wench.

  “Open the godforsaken door.” What was it about her that got under his skin? He’d need to find the answer to that question soon before she drove them all to hell.

  Her voice quaked a little. “I said nay. You may have wed me, but you won’t have me. I’ll die in here before I let you lay hands upon me.”

  “Then starve m’lady. It’ll save me the bother of hanging you.”

  He shouted down the stairs. “Bart, get your arse back up here. When she begs for food, come find me, but don’t let her out. I’m going to review my new estates.” By dinner time, she’d be mellow as a kitten and he’d magnanimously feed her from his own plate. They’d consummate the marriage, he’d beget a son, and all would be well.

  Stomping past his squire on his way down the stairs, he turned and headed toward the kitchen. Ten hands stopped in mid-air with faces tight. Five planks? Five women? An outside hearth the size of small building? His entire group of warriors had survived the crusades with one cook, a fire, and a long flat stone. Already he could see that major changes were going to have to be made.

  “Who’s in charge here?” He tried not to bellow, but wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

  A gray-haired, heavyset woman, with a round face and double chins, walked right up to him and said, “That would be me, Dame March, Sir Beast.” She crossed her arms over her massive chest appearing much taller than her five-foot height.

  Surely, something was prepared. All of the women’s hands were covered in dough. “I’d prefer to be addressed as Sir Blackwell, and I need something to eat. It’s been a long night and an even longer morning.”

  “Sorry. Everything went to the breaking-of-fast table. You can eat out there if there’s anything left. There’ll be nary a crumb until evening.” She waited for his response with hands on her hips. The rest of the kitchen help held their breath with eyes wide.

  Rasping his hand across his beard, he reined in his temper. “I’ve endured all the arguing with foolish women I can suffer for one day. Next time I ask, you will provide or heads will roll.”

  Damn it. He swiveled, exited the kitchen, and circled the manor. Thomas was sitting on an iron bench beside the great arched doorway, munching on a massive loaf of bread.

  “That went quickly. Was she so easy to bed?”

  Marcus scowled. “No. She locked herself in her room.”

  “Since when has a locked door been more than an amusing diversion for The Beast of Thornhill?” He had the audacity to snicker.

  “The door matters. It’s a great work of art. Move over.” Easing his frame onto the seat, he let the spring sun warm him, and the lush grasses of the green assault his senses.

  His friend raised his eyes, way too amused, but said nothing.

  “Remember that gilded church just north of Rome on the top of a hill in Umbria?”

  “Aye. That place was beyond miraculous. Funded by the Templars, was it not?”

  “I don’t recall. But the carving on her door? It rivaled, and I’m tired of destroying beautiful things. Frankly, I’m just tired of warring and arguing in general.”

  “You could’ve just removed the door.” He took another bite.

  With stomach growling, he grabbed for the loaf, but his friend was faster. “Well, there was that story the Brother mentioned.” The moment the words came out of his mouth, he wished to take them back. Especially when Thomas nodded sagely, eyes merry.

  “Ah, the mare comparison. It’s become a fine jest among the men. But, never having been wed myself, I couldn’t advise you, except mayhap in matters of a horse. I doubt the young monk had much experience bedding, either.” His mouth quivered, then laughter exploded in one mighty guffaw. Breadcrumbs spewed from his mouth.

  He couldn’t help, but join in until his stomach complained with a grumble. “The cook refuses to feed me. She’s loyal to a fault.”

  Thomas pulled a second perfect brown bread from under his tunic and held it high in the air. “Seems the town eats better than you. We’ve made enemies this day. The hearts of all lie with the lady.”

  A quick snatch and the loaf was his. “Good God, thish ish worthy.” After he’d swallowed several bites, he said, “I’ve a long road ahead of me. I need loyalty from my people, not fear. The Beast must go.”

  “Cheer up. At least we’re no longer in the Holy Lands.”

  “Aye. There is that.” He finished eating, stretched out his legs, and yawned. The great green stretched out for almost a furlong. Behind that, a small barracks of homes stood sheltered by hills dotted with sheep. All of it was now under his protection. If he couldn’t maintain some semblance of peace, he’d lose everything, including the king’s favor. The burden lay heavy upon his shoulders. “What a day. I tell you, I’d have preferred to have had some time relaxing in my father’s manor before being ordered here to wed the harpy.”

  Thomas emulated the relaxed stance. “What happened? Every time I ask, you change the subject.”

  “It gives me no cheer in the telling, but I suppose, in that you’re still stuck with me, I’ll share more of my father’s fondness for me, or rather lack thereof.”

  He sighed and closed his eyes. “Two weeks ago, he asked to have words with me. He was fully armed and mailed. My God, you should have seen him. Over his armor? A plumed hat, his best-printed tunic, and gold chains. A peaco
ck ready for war.”

  Thomas chuckled appropriately.

  “So, there I was, sitting and drinking in front of the fire, minding my own affairs. I’d promised myself not to be baited by him again. Unlike my father, I care not for battles unless they are forced upon me. He says, Take your men and get out. I can’t feed the hoards you returned with. They’re a troublesome lot.”

  “I believe I’m insulted.” Crossing his arms over his breasts like a virgin, Thomas fluttered his eyelashes.

  “Do you want to hear this or not? I told him, Ten tired men with their squires? That hardly qualifies as a hoard. Mind you, we’d been back, but a week. So, I gave him the deadly stare. You know the one.”

  He nodded. “Aye.”

  “That should have ended the subject right then. Instead, the great Earl of Thornhill, goes on to say he expects my men to earn their keep. And me as well. Can you imagine the audacity? Who was the son that fulfilled our duty to the king? Saved Edward’s life, didn’t I? In return, all I asked for was a few moments of solitude. Instead, I found myself fetching my weapon and readying for his attack.”

  “He would draw his sword against you?” Thomas cursed and stood.

  “Aye. His eyes held that glint. The one he’d held just before he would strip me down and lash me as a child. But instead of striking with sword, he dealt a blow much worse. He proposed this farce of a wedding with an alleged witch. Said she’d killed her first husband, a noble knight, with magic.”

  “You jest, right?” As if waiting for the raven-haired woman to fly down from her chambers, he glanced up the wall.

  Marcus snorted. “Not you, too? That’s how my father reacted, yet with the same breath commanded I wed her. What would any sane man do? I told him I’d not. I even slammed the hilt of my sword on the table until it cracked down the middle. But when he offered up her lands …”

  “Aren’t these lands entitled to your older brother?”

  “That’s what I said, but he vowed that nothing would change when he dies. Stay, that I’d pay taxes to my brother. I knew he was up to something and decided to work his scheming to my advantage. That’s why we stopped in London. I called in a favor with Edward. I like my arrangement much better. Our king has granted this small parcel of land to me outright.”

  “Very clever.”

  “I never would’ve usurped my brother’s inheritance, except for my father’s insistence on this lunacy.”

  Thomas stood and brushed the crumbs off his Templar colors. “You deserve the reward. You were the one who fulfilled your family’s duty to the king while your brother lazed about.”

  “It was my choice. My brother has the responsibility of producing the family heirs. I’m, but a second son. This does feel righteous, however.” He stretched once again and stood upon his new soil.

  “Indeed, Sir Alternate. Mayhap your father will eventually live to regret his heavy hand with you as a boy. But that fact matters not right now. Come. Where would you have us start our exploration of your new estates? And what do I call you now? M’Lord of the Green Meadows?” Lord Green? Lord Meadows? Lord Beast?”

  Shaking his head side to side, Marcus laughed and strode toward the stables. “Shut it. Let’s be off to the northern grazing fields.”

  Thomas fell into step right behind him. “This could actually be amusing. What of your new quarrelsome neighbor?”

  “Don’t get too excited. I can’t imagine Abernathy will give us much of a fight. Find the men. Tell them to follow the stream north and to the west, then let’s be off. They can catch up.”

  Chapter 2

  Ann pulled back the wool tapestry and moved her ear closer to the cold slit in the outside wall. The two knights were conversing, but she couldn’t catch the meaning. She’d always wondered why the Romans never considered that one might want to see the enemy sitting directly below, as well as shoot arrows into the distance. If she’d been the builder, she would’ve made both.

  Warhorses stamped and whinnied, and The Beast said something. Charles, her stable boy, answered the men with a higher, shaky voice. Orders, more horses, the clanging of armor, and the creaking of saddles. Within minutes, her new husband’s small army of men clomped out to the north road toward her fields with all the pageantry of a joust.

  He must be the one in the lead; the one with the broad back and a thick mane of dark hair. She waited for him to turn so she could see his face. Waited until the bright red and white livery of his knight’s colors disappeared into the forest. And then he was gone.

  She hummed the troubadour’s song about the man as she considered her next options.

  Fa la something strong The Beast stood.

  The rivers ran red with the infidel’s blood.

  Something fa la long live the king.

  Of The Beast’s deeds, forever we sing?

  Grabbing a long thin cloth, she wrapped her breasts until the bindings pinched flesh. From a tattered sack, she found an old, padded shirt, so worn it no longer worked to keep mail from chafing. Over that, she donned a short stained tunic and cinched it to her waist with a small, leather braided belt. She stuffed her tangled mess of hair into a ridiculous-looking winter cap. She’d work a comb and oil through it later.

  There. Surely I look like a lad now. She swaggered about the room in the silly way that men parade. Still snickering, she pressed her body against an inner section of the cold stone wall. Hidden gears creaked and groaned. With one more solid push, the wall swiveled on its axis and opened to reveal the familiar staircase.

  Damp air rushed out of the tunnel, hitting her face like a wet rag while goose bumps danced up and down her arms. After ducking through the hole in the wall, she turned and shoved hard with her shoulder. The wall swiveled back into place with a resounding thud. Then there was only heartbeat and blackness.

  She said a short blessing to the Romans for the escape tunnel and added on a brief prayer for her father in purgatory for showing it to her. At the thought of him, a thin wisp of light appeared and hovered. It morphed into a knight riding upon a charger, covered in full battle armor. The visor raised and her father’s dead eyes stared with accusation. She crossed her fingers, squeezed her eyes shut, and when she reopened them, he was gone.

  “Haunt me as you will, but I’ll never forgive you. Go rest, but not in peace.” This time, she skipped the part about rot in hell. Brother John would be well pleased at her great strides toward charity.

  Slipping her fingertips across the familiar bumps on the stone wall, she descended. Her heels worked to find the steps’ edges until she reached bottom. Above, muffled footsteps and muted voices sounded through the heating holes.

  She ran along the perimeter of the long room, turned at the fork, and met three narrow stairs. Once on top, she reached deep into the wall for the hidden lever and pushed with her fist. Metal groaned, the wall opened forward, and she crawled up through the body-sized hole.

  Bright light clogged her vision and she blinked it clear.

  Something’s off.

  What day is it? Monday?

  The manor’s bathhouse should be filled with unmarried women.

  Ten massive marble columns stood guard over three sparkling empty pools. The water gurgled as it fell from the top pool into the lower two.

  Where is everyone? Why aren’t the fires lit?

  This isn’t a good sign. Not good at all.

  She had to go out and reassure her people. Get them back on plan. I’m not going to let my carefully ordered list of duties fall apart just because of him.

  When her stomach growled, she turned into the courtyard, and into the manor’s kitchen.

  “Good Morning.” She was surprised how bright and cheerful her voice came out.

  “Good heavens, you startled me.” Dame March jumped up from tending her pies on the long kitchen table and Ann fell into her ample bosom. Thick arms embraced her, like they had since she was a small child. Tears threatened to fall, but she blinked them back and swallowed
hard.

  Dame March cleared a small spot on the table, then set down sweetbreads, cheese, and dried fruit. “Thou art dressed as a lad. I haven’t seen those clothes since the time of your last husband, may his black soul rot forever. Are you unharmed?”

  “Except for a few bruises.” She put one hand against her aching jaw and grinned. “The Beast’s man grew tired of the point of my knife.”

  “When I heard how he treated you, I’d not feed him. But his hoard found the breakfast meal in town. I told him the coffers were empty to them after this.” Her wooden spoon splayed the air.

  Ann’s grin spread more widely and she moaned when her jaw throbbed. “We can’t have hungry warrior knights in our lands. Deprivation will drive them to do harm out of necessity, but I do truly appreciate your loyalty.”

  Stuffing a sweetbread into her mouth, she chewed, swallowed, and wrapped her arms about Dame March’s wide girth. “Worry not. You did no wrong, but we must feed them. They’re the Earl’s men and thus here by his bidding. It won’t bode well for us to maltreat them.”

  “What are you going to do?” Her brow furrowed, cracking the layer of flour on her face.

  Ann reached up and smoothed away the wrinkles. “Don’t fret. First, I’m going to stay clear of The Beast. Then I’m going to talk to Brother James about getting this farce of a marriage annulled. You don’t think a holy man would have agreed, do you?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but he must’ve known. He sent Brother John to do the dirty deed, did he not? Just a moment …” She ducked outside, lifted a wooden paddle, and shifted pies in the hearth. Then she eased her frame down onto a sturdy tripod stool. “There, now. Where were we?”

  “I was saying that I can’t imagine why the old earl sent me a new husband. How did he find out the first died? He was supposed to believe I was tending the lands for my husband. Haven’t I increased profits tenfold since the time of my father? Haven’t I been the best of tenants?”

  Mary reached across the plank table with hands dusted thick with flour. “Of course. But—”