Eliza Knight - The Rules of Chivalry (12 page)

“And I want you too.” Her face turned serious.

He wanted more than anything to take actions on his words. His flesh hardened, flooding with intense
yearning
. “Oh, Elena, don’t tempt me with the forbidden.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “I know
’
tis a sin. But I can’t help it Michael. I decided when I was a child I wanted to be with you. We handfasted, made promises that nothing on this earth would part us, and then the devil came and made it so. I want you for my husband, and if I can’t have that, then at least let me have you as my lover.
My one and only.”

“’Tis a sin that
would be worth an eternity in P
urgatory.”
He caressed her plush lips again with his own.
Good Lord, he wanted to take her right there on top of his horse, but Elena needed to be wooed. She’d been through so much as it was, he wouldn’t take her in a fit of lust.

They both shook with need and
desire surged through his blood, but it had to stop here. If they took much longer, someone would come search to see that they were all right—and he wasn’t sure he could last much longer without pulling up her skirts and tasting the sweet honey that dripped between her thighs.

“We must go back,” he whispered between fervent kisses on her cheeks, nose, eyelids and forehead.

“Oh, would that we could stay here forever.” She was just as urgent in her own kisses upon his skin.

He sighed, the pain searing in his chest. “One day. One day, even if it is in Heaven, we will be together as man and wife. No spies in the shadows, no magistrate waiting to pass judgment on the sin of being together.”

“I wish time would speed up and we could be there now.”

“Me too, my love.
Me too.”

He held her in his arms for a few moments longer, her head pressed against his chest. Then he placed her back on her horse, and led her silently through the woods and back to the road. No one stared overlong,
and he was pleased to see that it did not appear anyone was the wiser to what had
gone on in the woods.

When they were once again on the move toward Kent, safely shielded between the maids, knights, various servants—and the weasel eyed Arthur—Michael turned to Elena. “Tell me about your home.”

“I fear you will be sorely displeased when you see it, Michael. Trust that I have tried my best to keep it cheer
ful
, but when you live with my husband and his men…
Well,
’
tis a difficult task.”

“I’m sure your presence brightens any room.”

She shifted on the saddle, tightened the reins
, and offered him a wan smile
. “I try to keep it clean, but we go through servants like linens. Most of the women seek marriages outside of Kent or they make sure their husbands keep them with child so they may stay away for a time. Sometimes the castle reeks of waste. The servants who stick around see how Kent disrespects me and so they in turn do not heed my words. They believe me partly responsible for all the horrors he puts on them. They are lazy and disobedient. When I try to clean up the rushes, Kent becomes angry, hostile. He doesn’t believe a lady should be cleaning, thinks it is beneath my birth station—even though I feel he treats me less than the very people he abhors so much.”

Michael pictured the shadowed eyes of women as they hurried through the great hall, heads down in submission, bruises covering their skin. He’d change the place all right. He couldn’t imagine living in filth and not being allowed to clean it up.

She continued on, her voice barely above a whisper. “When dusk descends on the castle, no one is safe. The men who are meant to protect us are one and the same with the demons we fight to get away from. Even the male servants and children aren’t safe.”

She shook her head. “So much abuse have the people endured, they are not loyal. They sell secrets, even lies to get away, to get paid. Sometimes the money they accept in bribes they use to pay off their lord. I go into the villages often, I feed the people, help them with the sewing,
bring
them herbs when they are sick. But there are times when—” She bit her lower lip. “There are times when even I cannot go out of my room.”

Michael’s gut twisted at the horrors she revealed to him. Was it too late for him to help?
Too late to change the ways of these brutal men, their lord?
Would the people be willing to accept him into their lives to help?

“Kent has many spies. Do watch your back
, Michael
.”

“Kent is not the only one. There are those who seek to make their own fortune.”

“You have had others follow you?”

He told her about the lad Arthur. She didn’t seem surprised.

“’Tis like I told you. His people hold no loyalty to him. The boy may have professed to be from Yorkshire, but
’
tis most likely he was born, raised and worked in Kent. What do you know of Thomas Devlin?”

Her question took him by surprise. His gaze raked over her face, trying to see what she hid from him. “He is a friend.”

“Can he be trusted?”

“Aye, he is a good man.” His conversation with Thomas had told him as much. He owed a great debt to the man.

She nodded. “He is in love with
my maid
Raelyn
.”

Michael
smiled,
this he knew.
“Aye.
The man is besotted.”

“So she tells me. I’d like to see them married. She deserves happiness.”

“Look at me, Elena.” He wanted to grasp her chin, gently tilt her face toward him, but he dared not touch her. When she looked at him, he was taken aback by what he saw in her eyes. “Do you not think you deserve happiness?”

“I learned long ago,
’
tis not mine to have. My duty is to my people first. Seeing how much they suffer, how could I ever wish for happiness for myself?”

He couldn’t risk pulling her into his arms, and so instead her took her small hand in his and squeezed.

“You have a kind soul. If you will not see to your happiness, I vow to see to it myself.”

They rounded a corner on the dirt road. Down a short hill lay a valley dotted with small wattle and daub houses. Smoke rose in spirals from several small chimneys.

“We’re nearly there,” Elena
said,
her voice void of emotion.

A chapel sat in the middle of the small village, a large wooden cross
cresting its peak. The fields surrounding the houses were filled with herb and vegetable crops, animals and workers. More dirt roads weaved between the houses and led to one main road through the middle of the small town
which
ended at a large wooden and iron gate. Twelve foot high stone walls surrounded a bailey and keep that stood on a hill overlooking the small village. Workers on the edge of the village appeared to be building a wooden wall.

Even from the distance the dejected stances of the people could be seen. Backs bent and hunched permanently. They glanced up at the approaching party and then returned to work. Not in the least concerned with a group of riders descending upon them.

The townspeople ignored their procession as they rode through the village.

Thoughts of what Elena had said ran rampant through Michael’s mind. The people did not respect their lady, blaming her for Kent’s doings.

He chanced a glance in her direction.  She held her head high, but stared straight ahead. Her pain was obvious. His guess was the hurt stemmed not so much from the disrespect of her people, but from what they thought her capable of.

“Lady Elena has arrived home. Bow to your lady. Bow to the woman who has showed you kindness, when no other would,” Michael hailed to the people.

Several of them did in fact stop what they were doing and turned. They lowered their heads in
respect,
some bent their knees in submission.

“Michael
don’t
.” Her voice shook with unshed tears.

An elderly woman marched toward them,
then
abruptly turned to the gathering crowd. “Have ye no respect?
I watch this poor lady come to
yer
homes and feed
ye
. Wipe
yer
brow when
yer
sick, and this is the welcome ye give her?” The old woman then turned and dipped into an awkward curtsey. The crowd followed, some grumbles were heard loud and clear.

Michael’s eyes widened in surprise.
He turned to Elena, and quirked a brow in question.

Elena inclined her head at the woman. “Thank you, Mercy.
’
Tis pleased I am to be home again.” She gestured toward Michael. “Mercy is our local herbalist. Meet his lordship’s new Captain of the Guard, Sir Devereux.”

“Pleased to meet
ye
, sir.” Her head bobbed again, and this time Michael caught a flash of even white teeth—odd for a woman of her age.

Michael nodded. “Your appreciation and respect of your lady is noted.” His words were loud enough for the crowd to hear what he said—and what he didn’t say.

Chapter
Nine

E
lena stood to the side of her window, the curtain pulled back just far enough to gaze down on the fields where Michael and
the
men practiced. Just over two weeks had gone by and already he had them in tow. They were
his
men.

She hadn’t had a chance to see him or speak to him, but she’d watched, and she’d heard the whispers.

Michael was a harsh trainer and leader. The men were denied the eve meal if they did not complete their training or obey his list of over a dozen chivalric rules to adhere by. The rules had to be memorized by each man and they listed them off after the
morning prayer
. To gain the men’s respect, any man who was denied food kept company with Michael who also forwent the evening meal. That being the case, he’d neglected all the evening meals since they’d arrived. He didn’t appear to be thinning out from all the missed fare, quite the opposite. His arms were thicker, as were his legs.
Limbs,
corded with sinew
,
flexed as he trained. She gulped just thinking about the play of his muscles as he moved.

She’d made it part of her morning ritual to watch him from her window. As it always did when she gazed at him, her stomach clenched and fluttered. Her heartbeat pulsed erratically and her mouth went dry.

She licked parched lips and let the flap drop. At this rate, if she continued to stare at him she’d be a blithering heap on the floor. She grasped a cup of watered ale and sipped to soothe her cracked throat.

From what Beth told her, several—fourteen to be exact—of the men had challenged Michael.
Refusing to bend to his rigorous training and chivalric code.
He’d beat them sorely—even after allowing them to go at him two at a time.
A couple were
not able to walk for more than a day after
challenging their new captain.  The men were going to morning mass every day before they could break their fast, and if they missed it—the punishment was to pray on their knees for
the remainder of the day, sometimes into the night
. Several walked away with a limp, others stayed so long their
breeches
had holes worn in them, the skin on their knees rubbed raw.

Mayhap she and her ladies should take to the main chapel for morning mass. They always did so privately in the past, but now things were starting to change.
While the men still appeared to be animals—they were being tamed.

A smile lifted the corner of her mouth,
then
faded. What did Lord Kent think of all this? He would never say anything to her, but she was certain he must have an opinion. Surely he was upset to be losing hold of his men. For
,
if all of his men were to become as good as Michael, it would be shown that Lord Kent was indeed jus
t as evil and heinous as rumor
had it.

She set down her mug and walked to one of the chests in her sparse bed chamber. The place was cold, dreary. Never felt like home. The corners had shadows, the bed—disgusting. She stopped in her tracks and yanked the curtains surrounding the bed closed. Although it had been some time since her husband visited her, she’d still rather not gaze on the bed, for it only brought out memories she’d just as soon forget.

“O Lord, Father in Heaven,” she said a prayer for her sinful thoughts and ill will she wished on Lord Kent and reached for the rare black pearl rosary beads she kept tied inside a secret slit in her skirts.

The pearls were once her mother’s, who’d given them to her on her death bed.

She opened the small, ordinary chest and pulled out her sewing basket. At home in Ireland, she’d never been fond of needlework. But here at Kent
,
she needed
the
calm and
soothing work with thread and needle to create a masterwork. She headed to the attached solar where her ladies awaited her. They were working on a special tapestry project together. The idea had struck her as they rode home from the tournament. She hoped one day to present the tapestry as a gift to Michael, but she wasn’t sure that would ever happen. As it was, when they completed it, she would hang it on her own wall as a reminder. Mayhap one day she’d be blessed enough to show him what they’d created.

“There you are, my lady. We were beginning to worry,” Mary said, rifling through a basket of fabrics and silk threads.  “Behold!” She pulled out a shiny gold spool of thread. “Do you like it, my lady? My aunt sent it from France.”

“’Tis beautiful, Mary.”

“I think it should do well for the lettering. Beth will be running a little late. I think she’s found a beau in one of the new captain’s men.” A teasing smile lit her face.

They settled down
and began on their prospective parts.

Sometime later, the door to the solar burst open and in raced Beth, her face flushed. “My lady, you must see this.”
Her maid
rushed to the window and flung back the curtain.

Below shouts could be heard. Elena leaned over the edge to get a better view. In the bailey
,
Michael fought against five of Lord Kent’s men. They circled him like wolves, licking their chops for an easy meal. She sucked in her breath, forcing herself not to shriek. Her hand clasped over her mouth.

“They’ll kill him!”

“I’m not so sure, my lady. Look closely.” Beth pointed toward the men.

Elena did as she instructed and sure enough, the men who circled Michael each held some mark from where Michael had bested them—a couple with bloody lips, one with a bruised and swollen eye, one limped, another held his
arm. Was it possible the Black Knight could hold his own against five venomous warriors? He barely had a scratch on him.

“Some of the men had enough of the Captain’s rules. One, bold enough to challenge him lays unmoving over there.”
Beth
pointed to a prone body. “The Captain asked if anyone else wished to challenge him.”

One of the five turned for a moment as if searching for someone.

“Rule fourteen, never turn thy back upon a foe,” Michael shouted. His fist jabbed out and connected with the warrior’s jaw. The man fell back, at once asleep.

“Are you louts still wishing to disobey rule three?”

They turned to glance at each other, quickly noticing their error and returned their gazes to Michael, who only laughed.

“
Wh
—what was
ru
—
rule number three again?”

Michael threw his head back and laughed. The crowd that had started to
gather,
pointed, hiding behind their smiles. They’d warmed to Michael, and those that challenged him would be the subject of ridicule for some time.

“Rule”
—
his foot shot out, knocking the legs of one knight out from under him, he fell to the ground
— “number three.
”
A
gain he lashed out, this time smashing two heads together.
“’Tis simple.”
He advanced on the last knight standing who promptly dropped to his knees. “Ah, I see you understand. What is rule number three then?”

“Obey your leader.” The man’s voice was shaky, his hands held out for mercy.

Michael stopped about a foot away from the kneeling knight. “Lesson learned. Stand up. Shall we continue with training today, or are there any others who wish to challenge me?”

Not a one came forward. Elena smiled. He truly was making good on his promise. Perhaps
there would be a day
when
she and her ladies need not fear for their safety within the walls of Kent.

“No one?
Something I fear you all have forgotten, rule number eight, to live with honor. Live for glory, both on and off the battlefield. Let us be great, respected amongst our peers and women.  Training your minds and your bodies is one way to always be prepared both physically and mentally for the challenges that lay before you. Prepare yourself for a life worth living.”

Shouts rang out through the crowd. The five men who had once lain on the ground now stood, heads bowed as they headed back to the fields for training.

“Halt! There will be consequences for breaking the rules. You will not return to
my
training field until you’ve been properly punished. Not only will you lose your evening meal, you’ll learn the true meaning of work. All six of you will work in the fields—alongside the peasants—until the sun goes down. Change out of your armor.”

A gasp went out through the crowd and within the women’s solar. Eyes widened, mouths twittered. Elena stared in shocked silence as the six
—the unconscious one had regained his senses—
stripped from their armor and walked to the fields. A small young man, beady eyes and long nose like that of a rat, scurried to the piles and collected pieces of the armor, running off and then returning again. She’d never seen him before. Perhaps he was one of Michael’s servants.

Michael watched until the men were gone, their armor taken and put away. Then he glanced up at the keep. Elena’s breath held as his gaze caught hers. She pressed her hand over her heart, hoping that would still its pace, but if anything it ached and beat faster. The new captain of the guard, Black Knight, Sir Devereux, was the one and only man for her. A man filled with such raw power, emotion and a sensuality that she’d only ever dreamed of, and had once been within her grasp.

He bowed low to her and then turned. Those in the crowd who witnessed his actions turned their faces upward to her window. They too bowed, and curtsied. Pride welled in her heart. Never before had the people showed her such respect without grumbling. Michael had done that.

Was it a sin to wish that Michael and not Chauncey de Bourg, was Earl of Kent?

*****

Putrid air hit her nose as she entered the great hall. The scent was so strong, she could taste it. Bile rose in her throat.

“Enough!” Elena’s hands went to her hips and she surveyed the dozen or so loitering servants in the great hall. Male and female servants lounged about as if they belonged to an Eastern harem. Lazy eyes turned toward her, a few smirks were made in her direction.

If Michael could whip the brutish soldiers into somewhat of an order within two weeks, she would to the same. High time these lazy servants actually did their duties. She’d spent enough time cowering. With Michael here, she somehow found a power within she’d not possessed for a long time.

When
not
one asked if they could be of assistance to her and instead went back to picking lint off their soiled tunics, digging up their noses, drinking ale and whispering behind closed fists, Elena stalked forward.

“Did not a one of you hear me? I said enough!” She grabbed an upturned mug from one inebriated female servant and tossed it into the bare, dark, cold hearth. What little ale was left splattered on the ground, running into the creases between the
stones.

Heads snapped toward her, their attention now fully focused on their mistress.

The drunken woman tried to stand taller as she confronted Elena. “Ye can’t
juss
throw out me ale.” Then she hiccupped and teetered to the left.

Elena grasped her arm to steady her. “What is your name?”

“Maven.”
The woman
yanked her arm away.

“You will address me as ‘my lady.’”

“
Aye
, my lady,” she said a bit grudgingly.

“I have lived nigh on
six
summers with you all, as you sat around slovenly shirking your duties, drinking ale until you could no longer walk
. A
ll the while this keep smells l
ike the dregs at the bottom of a
cesspit.”

A few servants stood taller, defiant.

“Your duty to your lord, your family and yourself, is to maintain this keep. But you haven’t, and I wouldn’t send my worst enemy to sleep with the lice and rats festering within the piles of rotting rushes strewn about.” Her arms spread wide, indicating the moving and rustling
weaves upon the floor
. They seemed to be alive, and likely it was because they were. As if on cue a fat rat ran out from the corner and disappeared within a particularly heavy pile
of…something foul
.

Insolent eyes turned on her. She wouldn’t let them intimidate her. If it was the last thing she’d do, she’d get them to clean.

A male servant sauntered over to her, his sharp shoulder bones poked through the top of his tunic. He was in need of a good scrubbing or two and a hearty meal. He stopped short when her lady’s maids moved to stop him.

“I
ain’t
meanin
’ the lady
no
harm.
Juss
want to know what his lordship thinks of all this?”

These servants needed to be put in their place. No longer would she take their abuse. She didn’t care what Lord Kent thought. He might just improve his temper if he didn’t dine in the foul atmosphere the great hall held. Then again, his evil and contempt were so deeply rooted, she wasn’t sure there was anything that would ever make Lord Kent not
despise
the very air he breathed.