Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 (14 page)

“She deserves better than this, Fulke,” Albin said
softly.

“I told you that from the beginning.” Shoving him
away, Fulke picked up his saddle to fling it over the back of his horse.
 
Tightening the girth with a yank, the horse
neighed, swinging his head around to protest the callous treatment.

“Fulke, if you leave without paying respects to the
lady, you shame the memory of your family.
 
Leave for Rochester on the morrow, if you must, but do not bring
dishonor on the woman that loves you.”
  

“Very well.” Gripping the pommel, he vaulted into the
saddle. “We depart for Rochester at dawn.”
 

Spurring his horse, he took off in the direction of
the village.
 

* * * *

Entering from the back of the castle, Fulke spotted
Reina waiting in the entrance hall before the evening meal.
 

Talan extended an arm to ask, “May I escort you to the
table, my lady?”

Coming up behind Reina, he said, “I shall escort the
lady, Talan”

“Of course, my liege.” Dipping his head to Reina, he
moved off.
 

Searching his face, she asked,
“Is all well
with you, Fulke?”

“All is as it should be, Reina.”
 
Avoiding her pain-filled eyes, he stared at
her lips.

“Is it true you are to depart on
the morrow?”

“It is.” Extending his arm, he said, “The men are
waiting to sup.”

Taking his seat, he presented his back to her.
 
Reaching for the pitcher of ale, he met
Albin’s glowering stare with one of his own.
      

Drinking his way through the meal, he frowned down on
Reina when she lightly touched his hand.
“Fulke, is anything
amiss?”

“I am dealing with matters of import, Reina.”
 
Turning his back, he refilled his tankard.

Gulping down the rest of his ale, Albin slammed his
tankard down.

The men looked up in surprise, Gervase venturing,
 
“Is something vexing you, Albin?”

“Aye, there is,” Albin glared at Fulke. “Thick-headed
dolts who risk losing all, over nothing, vex me.”
 

Leaning over, Guy said, “Leave it be, Gervase.”

The men returned to their conversations as Fulke
briefly returned Albin’s glare. Tipping his tankard back, he drained it before
reaching for the pitcher.

Reina’s stifled yawn drew his attention.
 
“If you are weary my lady, by all means seek
your rest.”

“Will you be joining me my
lord?”
  

“I must seek out Rowan to go over matters of import,”
he slurred.

“Shall you be very long?”

“As long as it takes.”
 
He stood with the men as she stepped from the table.
     

 
“With your
permission, my liege, I shall escort my sister.”

“By all means, Warin,” Fulke replied drunkenly,
draining another tankard of ale.
 
The
rest of the men shared a look of concern as he reached to pour more.

“Is there aught amiss, my liege?” Gervase ventured.

Fulke’s laugh was bitter as he sloshed ale onto the
table.
 
“Whatever would be amiss,
Gervase?
 
By night’s end I shall be
rutting betwixt the creamy thighs of the most beautiful woman I have ever
seen.”

As the men stared on in surprise at his crudeness,
Albin spoke, “Your coarse prattle borders on the offensive, my liege.”

Emboldened by the ale he had been consuming all
evening, Fulke scoffed,
 
“Offensive you
say?
 
Tell me Albin, do you not dream
about my red-haired vixen with the rest of the men?”
  

Gaining his feet, Albin said, “I believe it is past
time for you to retire, Fulke.”

Staggering to his feet, Fulke lurched away from the
table.
 
“Aye, it is past time.
 
Past time I show the lustful wench who her
master is.”

 
Before he
reached the base of the steps, Albin stood beside Talan, blocking his
path.
 

Gervase, Guy and Osbert stared uneasily at the scene
unfolding before them.

“Get out of my way,” Fulke seethed.

“I have taken a vow to protect the lady, Fulke.
 
I suggest you bed down elsewhere this eve,”
Albin calmly replied.

 
“You dare think
to keep me from swiving my own wife?” Fulke asked incredulously.

“I shall keep you from doing or saying something that
will bring harm to the lady.”

“We both shall,” Talan cut in quietly.

“To hell with you both.” Staggering towards the steps,
the last thing Fulke glimpsed was Albin’s fist flying towards his face.

* * * *

Falling into an exhausted slumber, Reina had
terrifying nightmares in which Fulke turned his back on her.
 
Frozen in place, she begged him not to leave
her as he walked away, yet he kept going because he could not hear her.

She awoke with the fine hairs on the back of her neck
standing on end and her heart pounding.
 
Seeing the bed empty, she gazed out the shutters at the lightening
sky.
 

Barefoot, with her hair unbound, she hastened from the
chamber.
 
Reaching the landing, she
looked below to find the men preparing to depart.

 
Rushing down
the steps, she found Fulke waiting for her. His eyes were distant as he calmly
looked at her.
 
“May I have a word, my
lady?”

Biting her lip to keep from weeping, she followed him
to a corner of the hall.

“We depart for Rochester.”
 
Running a hand lightly along his discolored
jaw, he continued, “Albin and Talan are to remain behind to see to your
welfare.
 
If there is anything you need,
you are to have Hylda go to them.”

Reina suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
“When will you return, my lord?”

“I do not know.” He abruptly seized her shoulders to
pull her against him, drawing a startled gasp from her and the surprised notice
of his men.

Staring deep into her frightened eyes, he commanded,
“You are not to do anything reckless whilst I am gone.
 
Do you understand?”

Managing a weak nod, he released her.
  

She clutched his arm as he turned to leave.
 
“Please, Fulke, have I
done something to vex you?”
     

His face softened for a moment, before he glanced
away. “You have done nothing, Reina.
 
It
is who I am.
 
I told you from the onset
not to expect that which I cannot give.” Pulling away, he walked off.
  
 

Tears of anguish slipped unheeded down her face as she
watched him go.
 
Her worst nightmare had
just come true.

Struggling to conceal her sorrow, she followed the
departing group to the courtyard to bid a sad farewell to the rest of the
men.
 

After taking their leave of her, they mounted in
silence.
 

The last to leave, Fulke reined around beneath the
portcullis.

Standing on the steps, she raised a trembling
hand.
 

Dipping his head in acknowledgement, he rode off.
  

She watched him until he was lost to the distance,
oblivious of the cold rain soaking her.

* * * *

After Reina failed to return to the hall, Albin sent
for Hylda.

Sitting alone before the fire,
 
Hylda led a shivering Reina back into the
hall.
 
For as long as Albin lived, he
would not forget the look of pain on his lady’s face.

He gulped down the rest of his ale with a curse.
Staring morosely into the fire, he dwelled on things best left in the past.

“I thought you might need this.”
 
Startled out of his musings, he looked up as
Talan handed him a full tankard.

Accepting the brew, he mumbled, “Thanks.”

Sinking down in the seat beside him, Talan said, “I
think we should tell the lady.
 
She has a
right to know.”

“It is not our place to tell her.
 
Our allegiance lies with Fulke.
 
If he wants her to know, he will tell her.”

We owe allegiance to the lady, as well.” Talan stared
hard at him. “You above all others know that Fulke will never speak of it.”

Believing himself Talan was right, Albin swore, “Very
well, we breach his confidence.
 
Yet,
know you this, when Fulke comes looking to lay blame, you shall be standing
right beside me.”

“You are a good man, Albin.”
 

* * * *

Reina spent the entire next day in her chamber foiling
their attempts to speak to her.
  

Hylda passed them bearing a laden tray at meal times
only to return with the untouched food a short time later. Storming past Albin
and Talan, she slowed enough to scowl at them.

For once, Albin knew exactly how she felt.
 

It was not until the following day they had their
chance.

Seeing Reina descend the stairs, Albin sighed, “You
better be right about this, Talan.”

“It is the right thing to do, Albin,” coming to stand
beside him.
 

Catching Reina’s attention, he asked, “Might we have a
word with you, my lady?”

Nodding, she crossed to the table to take a seat.
 

Taking in her red-swollen eyes, he sat beside Talan,
across from her. “We feel that there are some things you should know about
Fulke’s past.”
 
Seeing her brighten, he
held up a hand. “You should know before we begin that what you are about to
hear is not going to be pleasant.
 
Knowing this, do you still wish to hear it?”

Clasping her hands, she nodded.

Albin took a deep breath. “When Fulke was in his
seventh summer, his family lived off the southern coast in Dorsetshire.
 
His father was a vassal with a large fiefdom.
They lived in a large keep, built of wood in the Saxon way. Our fathers had
been friends since childhood.
 
Fulke and
I were also inseparable as lads, so they arranged to have us fostered to the
same knight, Sir Hewett.
 
Fulke had three
older sisters who adored him and a baby brother.”
 
He took a large swallow of ale before
continuing, “Late one night, a fire started in the hall.”

Shaking her head, Reina breathed,
“No.”

Albin glanced down at his folded hands, unable to
continue.
 
He recalled riding up with his
father the morning after the fire.
 
They
found Fulke staring at the pile of cindered rubble that had once been his home
and family.
 
Not once, from that moment,
through the years that followed, had he seen Fulke shed a single tear for his
tragic loss.

Grown men broke down at the memorial service for
Fulke’s family, their home serving as their funeral pyre.
 
He stood beside Fulke, his own heart heavy as
his best friend remained silent and unapproachable.