One True Knight (The Knights of Honor Trilogy) (13 page)

Rowena reached the top stairs. She crossed over to the heavy wooden door, and slipped into the private solar. There, she found a small stool that was placed near the window and sat down, suddenly feeling as if the weight of her thoughts were crushing her.

She let out a small sigh. As she looked out of the window, she saw the green open field and the wooded area beyond that. A man stood in the field not far from the castle walls, arm stretched and looking heavenward as if he were trying to communicate to the falcon that circled above him. Its shrill cry pierced through the air, echoing faintly in the small chamber. It dove down and landed gracefully on the leather glove of its trainer.

She felt like that falcon, she thought. From a distance, it looked free and happy, flying through the air on its own accord. But at the trainer’s call, it returned to its master. That freedom, she knew was only an illusion. One moment you were given freedom to choose what you wanted out of life and the next moment it was taken away from you.

Her hands on her lap clenched as if she could feel the invisible chain that kept her in her place.

She knew that her father would choose a husband for her if she didn’t make a decision soon…

“Lady Rowena,” a soft voice said, cutting sharply into her thoughts.

Rowena spun her head around, and found Lorena sitting quietly at the far corner with her embroidery on her lap. She was unable to hide the pained look that crossed her face. The day’s harassment wasn’t over yet. “Forgive me, my lady. I was not aware that you were here.” She got up. “I shall leave you to your privacy.”

“Nay, please do not leave,” Lorena said. “I have been meaning to speak with you.” Then she added, a smile playing on her lips. “Also, I would appreciate the company.”

With some reluctance, Rowena sat back down, wishing that she had chosen to go to the garden instead. She forgot that her father’s new wife sometimes spent her time in the solar.

“As you wish, my lady. I shall be glad to join you,” she said, trying to interject some enthusiasm in her voice, although to her own ears, the attempt failed miserably.

She looked around her stool and found an unfinished piece of embroidery on the ground. It was sprinkled with dust so she tapped it, allowing the small particles to dance in the sunlight that streamed through the narrow window. She cast a sidelong glance at Lorena and saw that her head was bent over her work. She didn’t seem in any hurry to discuss whatever was on her mind.

With a slight grimace, Rowena plucked the needle, and began pushing it through the delicate silk, and soon got into the rhythm of doing the fine needlework. Minutes passed by and then unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she asked, “What is it that you want to speak about, my lady?”

Lorena looked up from her work. “I am to speak to you about your marriage prospects.”

Noticing a dark shadow crossing Rowena’s face, Lorena’s expression turned embarrassed and apologetic. “Your father insists that I speak to you about it,” she confessed slowly as if she was afraid that she might offend Rowena. “I am told that your mother wanted you to choose your own husband.”

“‘Twas her dying wish,” Rowena said.

Lorena’s mouth opened in surprise, momentarily speechless. But then she recovered and said, “You are still fortunate that you have a choice in the matter. ‘Tis definitely more than I ever had.”

“I am fortunate to have a choice,” Rowena shrugged, “but there is no guarantee that I will find love and love is what I desire most. I am beginning to doubt that it can exist in a noble marriage,” she added, unable to hide the bitterness that crept into her voice.

“Love is what every young maiden craves,” Lorena said, nodding sagely as if she knew from experience. “However you are correct. Love is a rare factor in noble marriages. If you trust in God, however ‘tis possible to find love with your mate.”

Rowena frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

Lorena shrugged. “I was young once and understand how you feel. I am compelled to help you avoid the pain and suffering that I went through in my first two marriages.” She paused and pushed a fine needle into the white silk. Lifting it up, she examined her work. “‘Tis not easy being a woman, I vow,” she added. “You are married not because of who you are as a person but because of the wealth and power that you bring to the union.”

Rowena looked at her with some surprise. Not many people spoke about marriage with such candor. She watched Lorena silently for a long moment. Making up her mind, she confessed, “My time is running out for finding a suitable husband.” She looked down wistfully at the cluster of silken flowers that she had created. “Everyone knows that I have not found the man I wish to marry and Father has become impatient. If I do not find a husband soon, I am afraid that he will marry me off to some toad that I have yet to meet.”

Lorena let out a startled laugh. “Well, we cannot let that happen,” she said. “Perhaps we should convince your father to expand the list of suitors.” A bright smile crossed her face as if an idea just occurred to her. “What of Sir Jared’s nephew? He seems quite taken with you. We can add him to the list.”

Rowena laughed in disbelief. “I have known Derrik all my life. I would never dream of marrying him. He is like a brother to me, although an annoying one at that.”

“Then what sort of man do you wish to marry?” Lorena asked. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat when her question was met with silence. “‘Tis fine if you do not wish to tell me.”

Rowena shook her head. “I was just thinking of my knight,” she confessed. She looked off to the far wall, almost seeing the image of her perfect knight there. “He is tall, handsome and intelligent. Compassion and honor is what he stands for. He has true valor and strength as a warrior, but above all else, he is devoted to me.”

“A truly noble knight,” Lorena said, nodding her head in agreement. “Is he someone I know?”

Rowena gave her a sheepish smile. “Aye, you know him well. He is an Arthurian knight. Sir Lancelot is his name. I once heard the minstrels describe him and to my mind’s eye he is the epitome of what my husband should be.”

“A knight from the Round Table,” Lorena said, tapping a finger on her chin. “He is the stuff of legends and he is unlikely to exist any longer. Indeed did he ever exist?”

“I do not know,” Rowena admitted. “I admire the noble qualities that he possesses. There must be at least one man in this modern age that has similar qualities.”

“What if you do not find this knight?”

“I will find him,” Rowena said with determination.

Lorena looked at her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you need not look too far. ‘Tis my opinion that you are describing my cousin. Jonathan is and can be all of those things that you describe and more besides.”

She placed her embroidery down beside her, all pretenses of working on her embroidery cast aside. “‘Twas I who recommended my cousin as a possible suitor for you,” she said, clasping her hands. “I know he will be a good husband for you.”

“Your cousin?” Rowena repeated, unable to hide the doubt that crossed her face. “Sir Jonathan is a fine knight as far as the stories go, but he does not look anything like my Arthurian knight. Besides, ‘tis obvious that he is not interested in me, as he is the last suitor on the list who has not come courting.”

Lorena waved her hand impatiently as if she were trying to shoo away Rowena’s words. “You are quite mistaken about his interest. I saw him speaking with you after the wedding ceremonies. He is very interested. I’m quite certain of it.”

“And I am quite certain that any impression made was superficial. ‘Tis probable that he has forgotten about me by now.” Rowena shrugged. “I know Sir Jonathan has no shortage of admirers,” she added.

Lorena quirked a delicate eyebrow at her. “Including you, I hope?” she asked.

Rowena fought down the blush that was rising to her cheeks. “He is the Iron Hawk after all,” she said, her tone a little defensive. “His heroic feats are renowned throughout the land.”

“I assure you, he is not affected by all of his admirers, charming as they can be,” Lorena said, placing a hand over her mouth, hiding a smile. “However I still maintain that you have captured his eye.”

Rowena became quiet. Why not consider Jonathan? She couldn’t deny that despite his looks, she was attracted to him. There were many nights that she lay awake thinking about him…

Mistaking her frown, Lorena continued. “However Jonathan shouldn’t be your only choice. We need more knights for you to choose from.” Suddenly she sent Rowena a wide smile. “What we need is a tournament,” she said, her excitement mounting. “We are so isolated here that ‘tis hard to meet anyone new. We can entice Jonathan and all other skilled knights of Christendom to Ravenhearth. You should then have no problem finding your heart’s desire by the end of the month.”

“Do you think we can have a tournament set up with such little notice?” Rowena asked, her voice full of doubt. She hadn’t been to many tournaments but even she knew that tournaments had to be announced and organized months in advance.

Lorena got up from her bench. “It should not be a problem,” she said. “We are between tournaments now. And I imagine the knights are restless. With your father’s influence, we should be able to bypass the normal procedure for setting up tournaments and send out the heralds quickly enough to announce the games in a fortnight. I am quite certain that the unmarried knights and noblemen will not object when we tell them that this tournament is held in your honor. What man would pass up on the opportunity to showcase his fighting skills and have the chance to win the hand of the very lovely Lady Rowena in the process?”

CHAPTER 14

Jonathan paused at the entrance to Richard’s chamber, wrinkling his nose slightly as the smell hit him with a force that almost made him gag. The servants scattered rushes laced with fresh herbs throughout the room, however no sweet smelling herb could mask the smell of sickness that hung in the air like a thick ominous cloud.

It reminded him too much of another bedchamber where Amelia was murdered. His room, he remembered, was adjacent to Amelia’s so when she had screamed, he was the fist to respond. With his heart in his throat, he crashed into her chamber only to see a knight clad in full grey armor bent over her with murderous intent. The knight turned on him then, slashing his face before escaping. Jonathan rubbed the scar on his face, a constant reminder of that fateful day. He should have gone after the killer except Amelia was mortally wounded. And although he knew he couldn’t do anything for her, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her while she was reaching out for him, gasping for her last breath. And because of that unfortunate decision he made, the cowardly knight had eluded him ever since.

He took a deep breath, and forced the memory from his mind. It had been years since he had been in this particular room though.

Richard’s chamber had one small window at the far end, its shutters closed tightly, barring the chilled night air from entering. The walls were bare with no tapestries to lend color to the large room.

And although the blazing fire in the hearth burned hot, several candles surrounded the room, lit with the intention of chasing away the dark spirits lurking there. But instead of chasing away the entities, the light cast dark shadows on the whitewashed walls, allowing them a place to hide while they waited to collect another human soul.

Jonathan looked over to the right, and noticed Raulf leaning against the wall, staring at his boots.

As if he sensed Jonathan’s eyes on him, he looked up. “I was wondering when you would arrive,” Raulf said, pushing himself away from the wall. He walked over to join him. The usual color in his round cheeks seemed duller and his face was carefully blank.

Jonathan nodded at Raulf in acknowledgement, and walked to the four poster bed set in the middle of the chamber. All furniture was pushed aside, allowing for the small cluster of people to surround Richard’s bed.

A tall, thin servant wiped the sweat from Richard’s brow with a cloth. Another younger servant moved to the fireplace to add more wood and for a moment, the room grew bright, the warm flames licking, crackling. The light chased all darkness away before it diminished and the chamber was once again cast in cold flickering shadows.

There was a pudgy priest at the corner of the bed, nervously clutching his rosary and murmuring prayers in a droning voice. Not far off, a physician worked, his face peering into a flask that was in his hand.

The physician looked up when Jonathan found his way to the group, but then turned his attention back to the flask, holding it up to the candle light. He examined the contents, and continued to mutter under his breath.

The thin servant moved aside to make room for Jonathan. “Sir Jonathan is here, sire,” he said quietly to Richard as if speaking any louder would send him to his death.

Richard’s eyes opened and then he promptly closed them again as if the dim light hurt his eyes. He looked like a small child in the big bed. His face was as pale as the sheets, making the dark shadow under his eyes more prominent. He was propped up with large pillows at his back, and a dark fur coverlet covered his bloated stomach, revealing only his bare chest and thin arms.

Apart from the occasional snap from the fireplace and the quiet tones of the priest, the room was quiet, so when the physician coughed out loud, all eyes turned to him.

The physician dumped the flask into a basin and was now preoccupied with looking at his astrological charts, all the while muttering under his breath. He didn’t seem aware that the others were watching him.

He frowned. “‘Tis not good,” he said to himself. The man wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. “Not good at all.”

“What is wrong with him?” Jonathan asked the man.

The physician jumped as if he suddenly remembered that there were other people in the room with him.

He smoothed down the sparse hair on his head. “The stars indicate that there’s an infection in the lungs,” the physician answered before going back to study his chart. Running his finger down the parchment, his frown deepened as if his fears were confirmed. “He has the sweating sickness.”