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

  Never before had he witnessed such loyalty. “Nay. Calm yourself. We’ve just now heard the bells. The lands are mine because we’re wed.”

  “Oh, well then, that’s different. Congratulations. A fine, fine wife she’ll be, sir. Would you and your men like to stop in for refreshment and celebration?” The miller disappeared, reappeared at the door to the mill, reached up, and pumped Marcus’ hand.

  “We can share, but a quick glass of mead. I’m anxious to get home to her.” I need to see her with my own eyes.

  The man gazed fondly at his wife. “Ah, newlyweds. I fully understand. I wish you as much happiness in her arms as I’ve found with mine.”

  The miller’s elderly wife blushed like a maiden and giggled. The small gesture gnawed at Marcus. What man would not relish a lifetime with a woman who gazed upon him with adoration? Jealousy tugged at him, like the chafe of an unfamiliar armor, and he shrugged it away.

  When they arrived back at the manor at the hour of dinner, he grimaced and his stomach growled. The cook had been clear about what to expect; there might be food with one of the peasants or mayhap the hens would have eggs. His men would not be happy. He’d promised them, once they’d arrived home in England, they’d never go hungry again.

  He cursed. Nothing was going as he’d hoped.

  The stable boy jumped out and took Midnight’s reins. “They’re waiting for you, m’lord.”

  Aromas of roasting meat thickened the air when they entered the great hall. Young ladies, dressed in their country finest, led them to table and waited on them as if royalty. He recognized the same lasses who’d aided the cook this morning.

  Pulling on the hand of the oldest, he took her aside. “How is it that we have a warm meal waiting?”

  “M’lady ordered it so, sir.” She looked down and curtsied politely.

  Where was that raven hair of his new wife? He searched each of the tables. Hadn’t he instructed Bart to come find him? “She gave orders to feed us?”

  “Yes, sir. And your rooms to be freshened and tended. You will find all in order.” The young girl, giggled, blushed, curtsied again, and eyed Thomas. She skipped off to the kitchen, no doubt to fetch more ale.

  “Did you hear that? How in hang did the woman direct her staff if she’s still locked in her room?”

  Thomas was busy ogling the maiden. He picked up a plate of pickled egg and cucumbers, and stuffed his mouth full while his eyes gleamed with devilishness. “You don’t suppose she intends to poison you? You should look into it, but I’d suggest after sup.”

  “For that remark, you can be my taster.” Marcus grabbed a leg of chicken out of his hand and dug in. Savory spices exploded in his mouth. “Wonderful.” After a few more bites, he pulled another young maiden aside. “Did you prepare a plate for the lady of the house?”

  “Nay, I’m told she’s starving herself, sir, and I’m to tell you so.” She made a tiny pout, bobbed her head in denouncement, and sounded quite righteous when she added, “She won’t eat nor drink until you leave the manor.”

  “But, of course.” He rolled his eyes to heaven. After years fighting for all things holy, was it too much to ask for a dutiful wife?

  He gathered more food onto his plate and trudged up the stairs. His way was lit by a wall torch, which caused his shadow to crouch, hang behind corners, and grow enormous in the dim light. The mock warrior drew back when he strode down the long dark hall and knocked on the door. “Would you have some food?”

  “Nay, I’m not hungry.” The door muffled her tone. Was that defiance or was she beginning to give?

  He tried a gentle, soothing voice. The tone was easy to feign while he fingered the pastoral carvings on her door. Sheep and shepherds lingered everywhere, with nary a sword to be found. “I’d not have you starve.”

  “What matters it to you? It’ll save you the effort of hanging me.”

  “True. I’ve been given that responsibility, but only if I find you guilty of murdering your previous husband. Or mayhap if I find you’ve taken up witchcraft. Let me ask you. Did you kill Sir Underhill?” He held his breath. Did he really want to know the answer?

  “I’d have liked to. He was an evil man,” she whispered so softly he was forced to put his ear to the door.

  “He had a temper, then?”

  “The like I’ve never seen before, nor hope to experience again. He died here in my bedchamber.”

  What was he hearing, a guilty conscience? Regret? He peered into the slit, but all was dark.

  “What happened that night? Rumors abound. It’s said you stabbed him in the stomach and watched him until his blood sat in a cold puddle beside him. Speak carefully, for your life may well depend on it.”

  “I don’t remember stabbing him.”

  That was a disturbing turn of phrase. “But the servants say he was covered in blood.”

  “That he was, but the gore wasn’t his, ‘twas mine.”

  He paced the hallway and needed to bring his voice up a notch to carry. “Speak plainly, girl. I’m tired of your word games.”

  She raised her voice to match his in both level and haughty tone. “The night my husband died, I remember that he grabbed at his chest, screamed like a woman, and fell to the floor. His face turned ashen, like the cinders in my fireplace. Then all was quiet and the breath was out of him. That is the whole of what I remember of his death. So do I swear.”

  “And what of the blood?’

  “I won’t speak of it. You can question Brother James, who laid him in the ground. He told me there was nary a mark upon him. Go away now. I find I’m tired. If you must hang me, please be about it soon. Wasting away is not nearly as convenient as I had first thought.”

  He pounded his fist upon the door. “Damnation, wife. I need to know the entirety of the tale.”

  “But I thought the Earl commanded it?” Instead of fearful, she sounded a little brighter in spirits. “I heard your man say so. You were to marry me for my lands, learn my witch ways, then hang me for murdering my husband. You could have it all and with no troublesome wife.”

  “I won’t hang an innocent woman and I desire heirs. It seems you’re strong and young enough in body to carry children. You’re also of noble blood.” And for some godforsaken reason, he cared for her well-being.

  He envisioned her as she’d been this morning. Was she in there in the same night-clothes? He sorely wanted to take that mass of hair into his hands, pull those pouty lips to his, and thrust his sword into her sweet shaft. Then he would say his wedding vows again, with meaning.

  “How do you know? That I’m innocent?” Her voice cut through his daydreams.

  “If what you say is true, the man’s heart gave out. I’ve seen it myself and heard it described many times. It is not unusual for the elderly when engaged in …” He struggled to find more modest words, but at that moment only the most vulgar came to mind.

  “Are you still there, Sir Beast?”

  “Aye.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking what the hell am I to do with you? Will you open the door? We can’t delay much longer the consummation of this marriage.” He needed her loyalty. Craved it. For if he could not win his new wife, how would he win his people?

  “I believe I won’t. What profit would there be in it for me?” From behind the wall, straw rustled and the wood of her sleeping pallet creaked.

  “Be it so. Goodnight, wife. You can’t ignore me forever.”

  “Goodnight, Sir Beast.”

  Lady Ann woke with a start. Instead of being curled in the wools of her pallet, she was standing at one of the slits to the outside wall and shivering. She crossed herself and prayed away the demon who took over her body while she slept. She’d have to ask Brother James to exorcise it again, permanently. God help her if The Beast found out she walked in her sleep. He’d hang her for certain.

  Strange noises floated eerily from outside. More horses than she’d ever heard in her life. And hi
s men, on alert, paraded the grounds. She walked across the room and put her ear to the slit to the adjoining wall. Those snores were most definitely not Sally. Where was she? She was supposed to watch over her and prevent her from wandering away whilst asleep.

  She lit a small candle, peered into the room, but to no avail, so she put it out. A man moaned, shouted, and she heard him stand. The moon took that instant to come out from under a cloud and bathed his naked form. Like a god, he held his sword high, ready to do battle. A moment passed, he cursed softly and lay back on the pallet.

  The stone chilled her cheeks when she leaned into the slit. “Excuse me?”

  Would he speak? “What is it, m’lady?”

  “Are you vexed with bad dreams?” In her narrow view of the darkened room, she saw the outline of his form sit up.

  “Forgive me. The battle rages on in my head. Give me a moment.” The man rose, approached the gap, and the wee bit of light went dark. It was replaced by warm breath on her face. The moment felt inappropriately intimate.

  “Where’s my maid, Sally?”

  “She’s sleeping in Dame March’s area. Probably more soundly than the two of us.”

  “Why? She wouldn’t willingly leave me. I might have just wandered off and—” She stopped just in time. Had the man caught her misspeak?

  He sighed. “She’s well, I assure you. Mayhap she was feeling nervous with all the men in the house?”

  “Oh, that could be it. You’re one of The Beast’s knights, then?”

  A long pause ensued. “You could say that.”

  Odd how her lips craved to meet the ones on the other side of the slit. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course. Pray do.” His breath warmed hers. How close must his lips be?

  She drew her mouth tighter into the hole and whispered, “What is he like?”

  “He’s a fine knight, m’lady. Honored by the king.”

  “No, no. That’s not what I meant. Is he kind?”

  His warm breath disappeared and his voice became more distant. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  She strained and squinted, but the moon ducked back under a cloud, leaving the opposite room black again. Raising her voice so it would carry, she asked, “Good heavens, ‘tis a simple enough question, is it not? Besides being a knight, have you ever seen him expose a more gentle nature?”

  His voice surprised her by its close proximity again and she jumped. “He survives by his wits, loyalty, fast sword, and intelligence. The rest, I’m sorry, but I truly don’t know.”

  “Oh. Could I ask one more question, then we should let the night encompass us back into a more gentle landscape. Have you ever seen The Beast torture anyone?” Her heart beat wildly while she waited for his answer.

  The straw crunched when the knight resettled on his pallet. He sighed loudly and a cuckoo cried incessantly, indicating dawn wasn’t far off. The longest of time passed, then he said, “Aye. I’m afraid I have.”

  A small cry escaped her lips, unbidden. “Then pray for me.”

  Chapter 4

  The rooster crowed, the sun rose, and Marcus’ cot shook. In his dream, the drawbridge began to rise with the grinding of gears. Standing, he grabbed his sword and readied for battle. When the threads of the dream dropped away, he opened his eyes, the grinding sounded again. He peered through the slit. Her room was empty. A red-faced Bart jumped off the floor in the hall and stood at attention.

  “Did you hear that noise?” Marcus pounded on the ornate door.

  “Aye. The sound was a mechanism noise.” The good lad met his stare straight on.

  “And did she leave?”

  “By God, no sir. No, sir. I’ve been guarding this door as you’ve ordered. I’ve stayed awake all night, I have. It was just now, as the sun came up, that I even sat down.”

  “I well believe you.” He sighed. “As soon as I get dressed, you can go. There’s no sense in guarding an empty room.” He raised his eyebrows and waited for the intelligent boy to catch his drift.

  “Empty?” The knight’s face lit up. “Yes, sir. No doubt it’s empty. She escaped through some kind of sprung door, didn’t she? Would you like me to round up the men and search for her?”

  “No. She’ll be easy enough to find. Hurry, come help me with my clothes.”

  What in the world was she up to now? Was there any truth to what she’d told him last night? A woman capable of sneaking out of a manor and feigning to starve to death could lie about anything. After Bart helped him don his boots, he said, “Change tunics with me.”

  “But sir, m-m-mine is quite ordinary and much smaller.”

  “Aye, that’s the point. In the meantime, here. Take mine. If you meet up with Thomas, explain to him before he tries to gut you.”

  The coarse red tunic barely fit over his head and when he buckled his sword, the side seams split. He cursed as he handed Bart a coin. “This won’t do at all. Make haste. Go out and get me a large, hooded cloak. Make sure you pay well for it, then find me in the square.”

  “Aye, sir.” The boy jumped the stairs two at a time.

  Marcus dashed down the long hall until he found a steep upward flight of steps. At the top, a solid door stood sentry with a rusted iron lock. He shoved hard, it opened, and he spilled into a mess of pigeon shit. The doves cooed, complained, and fluttered their wings about his head.

  After he finished wiping his soiled hands on his arse, he decided that this turret was going to the top of his repair list, followed by pigeon pies. While they flapped around his face, he thrust his hands and toes into the small holes hewn into the rock tower until he reached the topmost ledge. A full view of the grounds was his reward.

  Just off to the right, behind him, stood the ancient bathhouse; to the front, the great square lawn where breakfast sat ready. Beyond that, mounds of thatched roofs lined up in a tidy village order. To the right of the green, in front of the baths, lay the abbey. The road out of town lined the left edge of the square.

  A young male, in a yellow tunic with brown cap, dashed across the green and into the church. The rest of the town was already there except for a few of his most able men. Damn his father. Was it too much to ask for a moment of peace in life? And where was the raven hair of his little witch? She must be at Mass. She must have a bit of faith about her, even if she cussed worse than most his men.

  But last night, her demeanor was sweet and her voice velvety. For the first time ever, he’d been able to go back to sleep without battles raging until dawn. He’d like to know if she could cure him, forever. What would it be like to wake up with her asleep in his arms? The bell in the tower gonged twice, and his well-fed, well-dressed people poured out of the church to break their fast.

  The same young man who was late to prayers hurried behind the bathhouse and manor. What was this? A stable hand bowed to the boy and helped him mount as if—

  That’s it. As if he were really a she, of noble birth.

  Thrusting fingers and toes into the handholds, avoiding birds’ nests, he climbed down. In three leaps, he descended the staircase. Several bounds more, a vault over a table, and he was out the front door. Bart waited with a cloak which he threw over a shoulder as he ran toward the stable. On the road that led north, his lady in men’s clothing, was almost out of eyesight.

  He mounted his charger with a thick blanket instead of saddle. His stomach growled, reminding him he’d miss breaking-of-fast yet again. By God, if she had a lover, this would be the end of it. He wouldn’t be guessing the lineage of his sons. This was her gratitude for the infinite patience he’d shown her? Damn the woman.

  Lady Ann paused and glanced over her shoulder. She had the oddest feeling of being pursued, but that was ridiculous. She’d used this ruse with her previous husband for months without issue. The sun rose higher and warmed her face, chasing away fears. When the path narrowed into the woods, she took off her silly cap. Her hair blew around her head and into her eyes. She laughed and brought Nellie to a
cantor.

  Today, she was scheduled to check the fields, the glazier, and the miller. The tradesmen would do their accounts with her and they’d make plans for the next few weeks. These tasks could’ve been left for Stephen, but her people needed to be assured. Life had to continue as normal until she could figure a way out of this mess.

  Small white and purple violets dotted the sides of the road, infusing the air with their scent, along with mud, lilacs, and spring grasses. I wonder if purple violets can be crushed into dye. The new vat in town needs to be full if we’re to make any real coin come fall.

  She passed by thatched roofs where the wool was stacked to stay dry. Several men were already outside working on separation and she waved. They’d need to pre-dye the wool to intensify the color before they spun it. She sighed and hummed. The whole town had work to do, and this morning Brother James’ sermon had been so uplifting. He spoke of God’s bounty. Her thought’s wandered to the strange knight in Sally’s room as the forest thickened again. Something was familiar about him. His voice when he spoke softly, it sounded like—

  Lord Thornhill’s son!

  The Beast!

  And she’d been so nice to him.

  But last night, he wasn’t at all beastly. In fact, he was almost a gentleman. “He’s neither kind nor gentle,” she argued out loud. He’d said the words himself. Admitted to torture.

  Her good mood passed as quickly as the warm, spring weather. A storm thundered in the west, she shuddered, and the wind blew through her. She paused despite the weather, to enjoy the rolling of the great mill wheel. Water whooshed in the giant cups, filling over and over. What a thing of wonder.

  A drop of rain reminded her of her duties. “What ho,” she shouted from atop Nellie.

  Old gray Josiah limped down the stairs of the stone mill. He grabbed Nellie’s reins, gave her a pat, and met the nag, cheek to cheek. “What ho to you. I heard you’re wed again?”

  “Aye, I suppose.” She tried, unsuccessfully, not to show her feelings.

  He looked over her attire. “Hiding already?”

  “Aye.” She slipped one leg around and he helped her dismount.