Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 (21 page)

Mesmerized by her smile, he could not think of a
response.

Caine interjected, “We heard rumor that her ladyship
is deaf. Surely that cannot be true?”

Talan reluctantly turned away from Mylla. “Aye it is,”
he replied proudly.

“How can that be?” Edmund scoffed.

“You would be amazed at how well her ladyship copes
with her disability,” Talan grinned.

“It sounds like you care for her very much,” Mylla
said softly.

Talan gazed down at her. “In truth, I admire the lady
very much. She has come to mean a great deal to me.”

“You are friends with her ladyship?” Edmund queried in
disbelief.

“Aye.” Talan replied, “Never before have I met a lady
that treats all so fairly.”

“She sounds very kind.
 
It is my hope to meet her one day,” Mylla said.

“It would please me greatly to introduce you,” he
responded softly.
 

Clearing his throat loudly, Edmund stood. “It grows
late. I shall escort you to your chamber, Mylla.”

“Ease up Edmund.” Leofrick laughed. “She is well
chaperoned.”
 

Glaring at his brother, Edmund excused himself.
 

Leofrick leaned across the table. “Sorry about him.
Being the eldest, he tends to look at Mylla as his baby.”

The brothers laughed as Mylla blushed.

“Do you have siblings, Sir Talan?” Caine asked.

“My father passed on many years ago. My mother joined
him shortly thereafter.”

“How did you come to be in Baron Erlegh’s service?”
Caine continued in a voice that promised more questions to come.
 

Resigned to the unrelenting barrage of questions,
Talan eased back into his seat. “The knight who fostered Baron Erlegh and Sir
Albin happened to be kin to my mother. I pestered his lordship until he agreed
to take me with him after his training.”
 

Before Caine could ask his next question, Mylla placed
a hand on his sleeve. “It must have been a very difficult time for you, Sir
Talan.”

He swallowed the feelings stirred in him from her
light touch. “Do not feel sorrow on my behalf, lass. The men I serve with have
become my family.”

“Mylla, Sir Talan. Please call me Mylla.”

Talan smiled. “Thank you, Mylla.”

Caine rolled his eyes. “It is getting a bit stuffy in
here. I will stand you a drink at the bar, Frederick. Leofrick can play
chaperone.”

Talan did not notice the late hour until Leofrick
began to yawn. Reluctantly, he stood. “I shall depart so that you may seek your
rest, Mylla.”

“Must you go, Sir Talan?”

Leofrick cleared his throat as Talan grinned. “Aye, I
am afraid I must. May I be so bold as to call on you when I return to
Rochester, Mylla?”

“I would like that very much,” she breathed.

Standing, Leofrick gripped Talan's shoulder. “I would
say you owe me one.”

“I would say I agree,” he replied.

* * * *

Reina stepped from her chamber, surprised to find
Albin waiting to escort her.
 
Pleased to
see him, she smiled.

“Shall we, my lady?” he asked, extending his arm.

As they made their way through the crowded passages,
she felt him stiffen in anger.
 
Accustomed to the disparaging looks directed at her, she no longer paid
attention to them.
    

He bowed when they reached the double doors to the
hall. “I shall be here when you return, my lady.”
 

She observed the king in the midst of a quarrel with
his daughter as she approached the dais.

“We shall discuss the matter of Geoffrey at a more
opportune time, Matilda,” Henry snapped when he spotted her.
 

Reina reluctantly took her seat as the empress turned
her small, dark eyes on her. “Of course father, your whore is here to attend
you.” With a brief curtsey, she left the hall with her attendants following.

Hurt by the harsh words, Reina’s face flushed with
color.
 
Taking note of it, the king
leaned close. “You must refrain from showing emotion, your ladyship. This is
not the first time you have erred.”

She fought a shudder at the coldness in his eyes
before giving a slight nod.
 

The remainder of the night progressed like all others
before it. With the exception of Baron Reynold, who leered at her every time
she happened to glance his way, no one paid her any attention.

It became a rare instance if she had anything of value
to communicate concerning Geoffrey.
 
At
five short a score, he cared only for himself. Reigning over his entourage of
sycophants, he scorned everything English or Norman.

While she watched him arrange a late liaison with a
courtier’s young daughter, a wave of nausea nearly doubled her over.
 
Clenching her teeth, she wrapped her arms around
her abdomen.

The king leaned down to get her attention. “Are you
still feeling ill, your ladyship?”

Forced to swallow the gorge burning the back of her
throat, she nodded weakly.

“Seek your chamber. I shall send my personal physician
to you at once.”

In reply, she managed a weak curtsey by holding her
arm across her abdomen. Following his direction, she slipped through the king’s
private door behind the dais.

The queasy feeling passed as swiftly as it had come as
she entered the cool air in the empty passage.
 
She wiped the back of her hand across her beaded brow before heading off
in search of Albin.
 

When she couldn’t find him by the doors, she worried
how she would get word to him. Still pondering the problem, she made her way
through the empty passages leading to her chamber.
 

A slight movement off to the side caught her
attention. Turning midstep to look back, someone roughly seized her from
behind, pinning her arms to her sides, as she struggled to free herself.
 
Forcefully shoved into a curtained alcove,
face first against the rough-hewn stone wall, she gasped in terror.

Hot, rank breath huffed in her ear as she bucked to
loosen the hold on her arms.
 
Feeling her
aggressor’s rigid arousal pressed against her lower back, her mouth opened in a
silent scream.
 
Finding her waist seized,
her suddenly free hand reached back to find purchase. Cupping the sac of her
assailant’s manhood, she squeezed, only letting go when he viciously shoved her
forward causing her head to strike the wall.
  

Dazed, she felt the slide of her skirt against the
back of her legs. Struggling to remain conscious, she leaned as far forward as
the wall would allow, before forcefully throwing her head back.
 
Striking her assailant’s nose, she felt the
satisfying crunch of broken bones.

Raising a slippered heel, she brought it down on his
instep.
 
Lifting her foot to kick back at
his shin, she lost her balance when he abruptly released her. She managed to
grab the woolen curtain to curb her fall, tearing it from its iron hooks.

Splayed in pain on the polished wood flooring, she
scrambled away on her hands and knees,
 
refusing to answer the darkness that called to her.

Believing Reina safe in the hall, Albin slipped away
to the garderobe.

He had not been away long when a footman approached
him. “You serve the Baroness Erlegh?”

“I do.” he nodded.

“Her ladyship has quit the hall,” the footman intoned
stiffly.

“Of course she has,” he muttered. “How long since she
departed?”

“It has not been but a moment, sir.”

“My thanks.” Anticipating the inevitable
tongue-lashing from Talan, he took off at a run.

It took a moment for Albin’s mind to comprehend what
he was seeing when he turned a corner in the passageway. On her hands and
knees, Reina dragged herself across the floor.
 
His nose spouting blood, Baron Reynold lunged to grab the back of her
hair dragging her back towards him.

Bellowing in rage, Albin’s sword rang from its
scabbard. Closing the distance, he slammed into Reynold knocking him away from
Reina.
 
Falling hard to his knees,
Reynold glared his hatred as Albin whisked the blade up to his neck, drawing
blood. “Give me one reason why I should not kill you,” he snarled.

Casting a nervous glance at the shining steel, Reynold
replied, “You forget yourself, knight.”

“And you forget her ladyship is under the king’s
protection, as well as mine.” Putting pressure on the tip, he twisted the
blade, his bloodlust cooling as Reynold whimpered in pain. “The king shall have
your head for this.”
  

“Lowered to defend an impaired whore,” Reynold
wheezed. “What would your father say if he were to see you now?”

Taken off guard, Albin stepped back. “What would you
know about my father, you bastard?”

Visibly pleased his words had the desired effect,
Reynold replied, “I know all about Erlegh and his band of misfits.”

“You lie!” Lunging forward, he forced Reynold to
withdraw.

“Whom shall I touch on first?
 
You perchance?” With a leer at Reina cowering
in abject terror on the floor behind Albin, he warmed to his subject. “I know
you are the third son, all but overlooked by your powerful father.
 
He feels no more for you than he does the son
turned traitor.”

Albin’s heart slammed against his ribs at the mention
of his brother, Glenbard.
 
Glaring his
contempt, he scoffed, “You believe yourself privy to old news, Reynold.
 
My father disowned my brother when he joined
Clito’s ranks. If you think you can use the information against me, Henry is
well aware of that fact.”

“It must be difficult for you during battle, never
knowing if you are about to smite down your own flesh and blood.
 
Tell me,” he continued, “Is that why he
selected Erlegh for entitlement above you? Whereas you held back, Erlegh
willingly smote all who stood in his way?”

 
“Shut your
mouth,” Albin snarled, his hands shaking with the restraint it took to keep
from driving his sword through Reynold’s black heart.

Reynold smiled wickedly, relishing the rise he
provoked. “Erlegh is the benevolent master of strays. Sir Guy, bastard waif
from the shores of Normandy.
 
Gervase, unclaimed
whoreson found living in squalor outside a tavern.”

Albin glanced back at Reina, stricken by her horrified
expression. The lads deserved better than to have their sordid past announced
by such vermin.

Raising his sword, he drove it forward, stopping only
when blood ran on the blade from a wound over Reynold’s heart. “You do not
realize how close to death you are,” he said in a deceptively calm voice.
 

Flinching in pain, he replied, “Oh?
 
I know you are not fool enough to slay a
noble.
 
It would not only mean your
death, but Erlegh himself will be subject to the king’s wrath.” He continued,
unperturbed. “Besides, I have yet to finish.
 
Sir Talan would be a beggar if not for the grace of an uncle.
 
Erlegh plucked his squire from the fields
where he was being beat near death by his whore mother’s current lover.” He
paused, an evil leer lighting his narrow bird-like features.
 
“My favorite by far, is the lady cowering in
fear behind you.
 
Instead of tossing up
her skirts for a quick swive, Erlegh takes her to wife.
 
I am sure his slight against the king by
taking a lackwit to wife has not escaped Henry’s notice.”

Lunging forward, Albin dropped his sword. Folding his
hands around Reynold’s throat, he squeezed.

Reynold clawed at his wrists, struggling weakly as his
face began to turn a dangerous shade of red.

Only Reina’s hand yanking on his sleeve brought Albin
to his senses.

Dropping his hands, he shoved Reynold away from him.

The wall stopped his momentum as he slid down its
length.
 

Sprawled on the floor of the passage, Reynold coughed
and sputtered.
 
Raising his hands to his
bruised throat, he drew air into his deprived lungs.

Albin faced Reina, still struggling for control.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he mouthed.

Her eyes wide with fear, she nodded.
 

Gaining his feet, Reynold croaked, “You are weak like
Erlegh, knight. If our roles were reversed, you would be dead.”

Sweeping up his sword, Albin pressed the tip against
Reynold’s heart. “And you are mad. The king will have your head for your assault
upon the lady.”

“The king is too busy currying favor with the barons
to take me to task for what she willingly gives him. A whore is after all, a
whore,” he replied with false bravado.

Albin widened the gap in Reynold’s ruined tunic. “You
would know all about whores, Reynold. You are married to one, are you
not?”
 
He sneered, “From what I hear, the
fair Arabella will swive any man with a prick.”

“Whore she may be, yet I am assured my heirs are
legitimate. What she does now means naught to me.”

“If that were so, you would not seek reprisal against
Fulke for bedding her,” Albin coldly replied.

A vein popped in Reynold’s temple, as he fumed,
“Erlegh is not noble-born. She may as well spread herself in the gutter, than
give herself to the likes of him.”

Twisting his sword until Reynold shrieked, Albin
scoffed, “You sniveling coward. There is nothing noble about you. Even gutter
scum would not treat a lady in such a way.”

“When I am finished with Erlegh, he shall be returned
to the gutter from whence he sprung,” Reynold wheezed defiantly.
  

“You are fortunate that you live for the assault on my
lady. Say one more word against my liege and nothing will stop me from killing
you,” Albin snarled.

Sidestepping the sword, Reynold wiped the blood from
his face with the sleeve of his ruined chainse. “After the king fails in his
attempt to name Matilda heir, we shall see how he bows down before those of
noble blood.” He pointed a boot to pick an imaginary piece of lint from his
skirted tunic. “I should bring your insolence to his attention. I will,
however, let it slide this one time and agree to keep the matter solely between
us.”

“You mean solely between us and Fulke, do you
not?”
 

Reynold scoffed, “I doubt Erlegh would lift his sword
over one more man betwixt his wife’s thighs.”

With a sneer of contempt, Albin lowered his sword. “We
shall see what Fulke has to say about it.
 
If I were you, I would not be around when he learns of this.”

“I am privy to the fact Erlegh will not be summoned
until the Barons assemblage at Windsor for Christmastide.” He leered at Reina.
“Her two faithful dogs cannot guard her all the time.”
 
Limping down the passage, he looked like a
man on the losing end of a vicious battle.
 

Sheathing his blade, Albin frowned.
 
In the past, they laughed off Reynold as no
more than a jilted husband.
 
His sheer
audacity to attack Reina and the knowledge that he plotted against them, gave
him reason to be concerned.

Intent on getting word to Fulke, he had one issue to
be grateful. Thanks to Reynold’s slip, he knew when the king would summon him.

He was turning to check on Reina when she flung
herself at him. Gripping his forearms, tears streamed from her eyes as she
looked up at him.
“I was so afraid, Albin.”

 
“My lady,
forgive me. I cannot understand you.”
  
Wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders, he said, “You are safe.
Reynold will do you no further harm.”

Reina nodded with frightened eyes, before biting her
lip.

Albin cursed himself for not paying more attention
when he had the chance.
 
If Talan could
learn to communicate with her, then he bloody well could.

Escorting a trembling Reina down the passage, he
looked up in surprise to see the king’s physician standing outside her chamber.
“What now?” he mumbled.

Flicking his gaze over Albin, the portly man pompously
said, “I have been made to wait.”

Confused, he replied, “Wait for what?”
 

Ignoring the question he looked down his bulbous nose
at Reina. “She does indeed look ill.” Pushing open the door to Reina’s chamber,
he called over his shoulder, “Do not tarry.”

Turning to Reina, Albin mouthed, “Are you unwell, my
lady?”

She shook her head slightly, following the physician
into her chamber.

Rudely assessing her, the physician mimed sitting in a
chair. Shaking his head, he murmured, “It would be a kindness to do away with
the infirm at birth.”

“What did you say?” Albin roared behind him.

“My opinion is shared by many,” he rudely replied.

Taking Reina’s pulse, he brushed her hair aside to
probe her glands.
 
Noting the swelling
bump near her hairline, he roughly pressed against it, drawing a gasp of pain
from her.

“The slight contusion appears to be the root of her
illness.” He peered over his shoulder at Albin. “She seems well enough. I shall
bleed her to be sure.”

Turning to retrieve the lance and bowl from his
leather satchel, Reina stood.
 
Glaring at
the physician, she adamantly shook her head.

Taken aback by her insolence, he called, “She must be
seated for the procedure, hold her down.”

Infuriated by the physician’s callous comment, Albin
stepped forward to stand protectively before Reina. “It is quite apparent the
lady is opposed to blood-letting.”

“A woman cannot think for herself,” he huffed. “I am
the king’s physician, therefore, prescribing treatment under his name and at
his command.”

Closing in on the arrogant physician, Albin snapped,
“I have been sworn to protect her ladyship.
 
Therefore, I shall tell you one last time, your services are no longer
required.”
 
Narrowing his eyes, he let
his hand fall to the hilt of his sword.

The physician staggered back, stunned. “I shall report
this incident to the king at once, sir.”

“Of course you will,” Albin grumbled.

He sighed as the physician gathered his instruments.
Of all the nights he could have told Talan to go swive himself, he had to pick
this one.

Turning back to Reina, he was about to speak when she
wrapped her arms around his waist, sobbing hysterically into his chest.
 
The reality of the situation crashing into
him, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders to comfort her. His thoughts
dwelling on what would have happened had he been a few moments later, he held
her a little tighter.
  

After a time, she pulled away, wiping the tears from
her cheeks. Braving a smile for him, she gestured to the door.

Reluctant to leave her in such a state, he paused with
his hand on the latch. “I regret not being able to understand you, my lady. You
deserve better.”