Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 (13 page)

When her dressing gown parted to reveal a creamy rose
tipped breast, he hung his head in defeat.

Laying her down, he pulled the covers over her,
bending to place a lingering kiss on her lips. Supper was not the only thing
that would have to wait.

He stoked the fire before undressing.
 
Drawing the bed-curtains, he left the side closest
to the flames open.
 
Blowing out the
candle, he climbed in beside his sleeping wife to gather her in his arms.
Quicker than he would have believed possible, he joined her in sleep.

* * * *

Sometime later, Fulke woke to Reina’s gentle caress.
Fighting a smile, he watched her through slitted eyes.

With a frown furrowing her fair brow, she lightly
traced each scar marring his flesh before bending to lay a kiss on it.

Struggling to control his breathing, Fulke studied her
expression in stunned disbelief. Women looked upon his scarred flesh with
revulsion, never compassion. He held his breath when she came to the large
jagged scar marring the ridge of muscle on his side.

Tracing her fingers lightly over it, she caught him
staring at her. Her eyes shimmering in the dim light, she asked,
“Did it hurt very much, my lord?”

Fulke briefly recalled the French lance spearing his
side propelling him from his horse. “I do not even recall how it happened, my
lady.”

Reina kneeled back, a line of doubt creasing her
smooth brow.
  

Staring at the sliver of flesh revealed by the parted
dressing gown, he observed the flickering light of the fire turn the highlights
in her unbound hair into a shining mass of fiery gold.

Trailing his hands up her thighs, he parted the robe
further. “I do not wish for you to hear such unpleasant tales, Reina.” He
answered truthfully. “It is in the past. I am content to leave it there.” He
drew her forward. “Besides, I can think of more pleasurable things to discuss
at the moment.

He lifted her until she was straddling him. Pulling
her down to him, her hair enclosed them in a satin curtain as their lips
joined, gently at first, then more deeply.

Rising up, he trailed kisses down her neck, pausing to
suckle at each breast.

Her lips parted when he slid his hand between her
thighs, to work his fingers against her moist heat. Throwing her head back, she
began to rock against him, seeking more.

Lifting her onto his throbbing shaft, she slowly sank
down, fully sheathing him within her. Lost in her tight warmth, he felt the
sensuous slide of the silk robe caressing his thighs.

He moaned in pleasure as she began to move on him,
slowly finding her own rhythm.

Gripping his waist, she arched her back as he caressed
the fullness of her breasts.

Near to climax, she relentlessly ground down on him as
he wrapped his arms around her, driving into her harder and faster. With an
audible gasp, she collapsed sated against him.

Fulke rolled her beneath him.

Wrapping her legs high around his back, she clutched
his hips pulling him harder against her until with a loud groan of pleasure he
spent himself within her quivering warmth.

“You are mine, Reina,” he spoke against her lips.

The castle’s inhabitants settled into a comfortable
routine as the days grew shorter.
 

Fulke would go over the accounts or hold manor court
while Rowan recorded the outcomes on his tally stick.

Warin eased into his new duties as page, training with
the men, while Reina explored the castle or spent her time with Hylda in the
village.

Discovering their new lady was deaf, the villagers
were at first wary of her. Discouraged by their reticent manner, Reina refused
to give up.
 
Imploring Hylda to keep her
silence, she made the long walk down the hillside each day.

After explaining to the villagers Reina could
understand them, Hylda grew furious when they began to speak behind their hands
in her presence. It was only by Reina’s insistence that she returned to the
village.

Nearing the end of another unproductive day, two young
women hesitantly approached. Speaking softly, one cradled a hand against her
chest.
 
Noticing Reina’s look of concern,
she lowered her eyes.
 

With a resigned sigh, Reina studied the row of
thatched mottle and daub huts lining the dirt track on either side of her as
Hylda spoke to them.
     

Smiling at a group of children making mud cakes in a
puddle, she was surprised when Hylda touched her sleeve, gesturing to the
youngest of the two women. “Thea has badly burned her hand, my lady.
 
I know not what to do for her.”

“What game do you play, Hylda?
You were the one who taught me how to treat burns.”

Hylda exclaimed, “Alder bark? Tis for certain you are
wise, my lady.
 
Thea will lead you back
to her hut whilst I search the wood for some.”
 

Fighting a smile at Hylda’s daring, Reina faced the
two women. Left with no choice, they led her to their home. Stepping aside,
they meekly waited for her to precede them.

Her eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, Reina
opened the lone rickety shutter to let in more light.

Dragging a small stool by the window, she beckoned to
Thea. At her hesitant approach, Reina smiled to reassure her.
 
Perched on the stool, Reina knelt in the dirt
at her feet.
 
Paying no heed to the look
of surprise on Thea’s face, she unwound the soiled linen from her badly
blistered fingers.

Inspecting the degree of burn, Hylda entered to stand
beside her. “We shall have to tend this often to keep it from festering.”

“There is an abundance of alder trees in the wood, I
shall instruct them both in its use.” Flicking an eye to Thea, she asked, “How
did this come about?”

“Our bread fell into the fire,” Thea replied softly.

Noting the sparsely appointed hut, Reina realized they
would most likely have gone hungry had she not. Treating the burn, she tilted
her face to Hylda without taking her eyes from her task.
“We need
clean linen to bind it.”

Searching the meadow grass-stuffed pallet beside the
hearth, Helewys returned holding a soiled rag.

Fearing infection, Reina shook her head to refuse it.
Hiking up the hem of her kirtle, she reached to tear a strip of linen from her
chemise.
 
Without touching her, Helewys
reached out a hand to stop her. “You cannot, your ladyship.”

“Tell her Thea’s hand is more
important to me than a chemise, Hylda.”
 
Tearing a long ribbon of material, she
lightly bound the injured hand.
 
Finished
with her task, she stood to shake out her skirts.

Thea shyly reached out to touch her hand. “Is it true
you can understand me, your ladyship?”

Reina nodded.

“I am most grateful.”
 
She looked briefly at her sister. “We both are.”

Dipping her head in acknowledgement, Reina smiled.

Outside, Hylda bent a smug look on her. “We shall see
how standoffish they are after this day.”

From that day forth, the villager’s eagerly sought her
out to tend their ills.
 
Their
whole-hearted acceptance made Reina miss her own village a little less.

Just as work filled the days, laughter and passion
filled the nights.
 
Gathered around the
table, they spent their evenings in the Great Hall.
 
The more the men drank, the taller the tales
became of their exploits on the battlefield.
 

On the nights the men played backgammon, coins were
wagered on the outcome.
 

Discovering a chess set on one of her explorations of
the castle, Reina challenged a surprised Fulke to a game one evening.
 
Setting up the pieces, she exchanged a
mischievous grin with Warin.
 
They had
been playing together since a long ago guest of Kenwick explained the rules to
them.
  

Making wagers amongst themselves, the men gathered
around to watch.
 

When Reina had Fulke in check, Albin let out a low
whistle. “It seems our lady is full of surprises, my liege.”

Studying the board, Fulke tried to figure a way out of
the impossible position he found himself. “You have no idea, my friend.”

Capturing Fulke’s king, Reina sat back with a
self-satisfied smile.
“Care to have another go,
my lord?”

“Aye my lady,” he mouthed. “Yet it is not chess I am
thinking of.”

He leaned back laughing when she blushed.

Gervase stepped up. “Mind if I have a go, my liege?”

Fulke stood abruptly.
 
“As a matter of fact, I do mind.” Scowling at Gervase, he assisted Reina
to stand.

Puzzled, Gervase questioned Guy, “Does one have to be
married to a woman to play chess with her?”

“There are times Gervase, when I wonder how you
survived this long,” Guy replied, shaking his head in exasperation.

* * * *

Standing in the middle of the split-rail practice
yard, Fulke made another attempt at training a quad of charger colts for future
battle. A time consuming process, it would take some time before the horses
were prepared to take the place of the knights ageing chargers.

Retrieving a short-handled billhook, he approached a
dapple gray.
 
From a few feet off to the
side, he simulated an enemy attack.
 
Swinging the fierce weapon in an arch, the skittish colt bucked, rearing
away from it.

“By the Saints, every last one of them is still
green.” Throwing the billhook in the dirt, Fulke glanced in frustration towards
the men.
 

Reina caught his eye as she passed. “Settle them down,
Guy,” he called.
 
Striding over to the
rail, he smiled. “Off to the village, my lady?”

“
I am my lord.”
 
She gestured to the horses circling the
yard.
 
“It appears
you have an eventful day ahead of you.”

“Aye. The colts are proving to be like their new owners,
a difficult lot to train.”
 
Reaching over
the rail, he reached to pull her into his embrace.

“Perhaps you should get back to the task at hand, your
lordship,” Hylda quipped.

Reluctantly dropping his hands, Fulke stepped back.
“Thank you, Hylda,” he responded dryly.

Pulling a disappointed Reina along behind her, Hylda
dropped into a mock curtsy. “I live to please you, my lord.”

He followed Reina’s progress with an admiring eye
until Albin called, “Perhaps you should heed Hylda’s advice, my liege.”

Leaning on the rail, the men chuckled.
 

Snatching up a long, iron-tipped quarterstaff, Fulke
reluctantly returned to work.
 

* * * *

The sun was high overhead by the time Fulke felt
pleased with the day’s progress.
 

Simulating men-at-arms on foot, Osbert, Guy and
Gervase, jabbed sharp-tipped pikestaffs towards the flanks of the restless
colts.
 
Fulke stood off to the side with
Warin, Talan and Albin.
 

“They are no longer rearing, my liege,” Talan
observed.

Fulke nodded, pleased to see the horses finally settling
down. “We shall see how they do against a mounted threat.”

Heading towards the stables, his mind occupied on the
next task, he left the gate unlatched.

Osbert jabbed his pikestaff forward, just as the horse
before him reared, driving the iron spike deep into its hindquarter.

Screaming in pain, the colt bolted towards the gate of
the railed yard as the rest of the panicked horses followed.

To the sound of splintering hinges, they crashed
through the unlatched gate stampeding towards the back of an unsuspecting
Reina, returning to the castle.

Unheard shouts of warning from the men rent the air as
Fulke turned to stare in horror at the unfolding scene. Knowing he was too far
away, he sprinted forward as Warin vaulted the rail in an attempt to reach his
sister in time.

About to turn for the path leading through the curtain
wall, Reina felt the earth tremble beneath her feet.
 
She stopped to glance behind as the horses
thundered past, forcefully driving her back into the rail.
 

Fulke’s anguished cry rent the air, as she crumpled to
the ground. “No!” Staggering to a halt, he fell to his knees.

Sliding to a stop on the grass beside Reina, Warin
scrambled up to gather her in his arms.
 
Looking back, he called to the approaching men, “She is unharmed.”
 

His eyes focused solely on Reina, Fulke stood as Warin
helped her to her feet.
 
Seeing her
slight reassuring smile, he briefly met Albin’s worried gaze before turning
away.
   

Entering the dark of the stables, he clenched his
hands around the top of the nearest stall.
 
Hanging his head, he fought to control his reeling emotions.

“The lady is unharmed, Fulke.”

Albin’s low voice from the doors had him shoving away
from the stall.
 
“No thanks to me.”
 

“It was an accident, nothing more,” he said softly.

Fulke led his horse out of its stall. “Leave me be,
Albin.”
 

Albin blocked his path.
 
“Do not do this, Fulke.
 
Do not shut her out over something that was
not your fault.”

“It was my fault,” he shouted.
 
“Cannot you see?
 
I left the gate unlatched.”

 
Albin shook
his head. “You are looking for an excuse to shut yourself behind a wall of
indifference, and you know it.”

Fulke stood back with a bitter laugh. “I do not need
an excuse, Albin.
 
Every woman who has
ever loved me is dead.
 
It is only a
matter of time for fate to smite down Reina.”
 
He shoved Albin aside.
 
“Do not
expect me to wait around to see it.”

“So you bring her dishonor by fleeing?” Albin asked in
disbelief.
  
“She is your wife, Fulke.”

Fulke swung back around, pain consuming him. “What do
you want from me, Albin?
 
You, who know
me better than anyone.
  
Do you want to
know the terror that gripped me when I saw her crumpled body believing her
dead?”
 
Dropping the reigns, he stalked
forward to bury his fists in Albin’s tunic. “Do you want to know that if she
were, I would have gone mad on the spot?”
 
Shaking him, he ground out the words, “I am not strong enough to bear
the thought of it.
 
Do not ask it of me.”