How to Train Your Knight: A Medieval Romance Novel (13 page)

Chapter 11

When Ann woke up the next morning, their new double-sized pallet was half empty. Fearful what rules her new lord may have decided upon today, she ran down into the kitchen. Just as she’d thought, he was talking to Dame March.

She pulled on his arm. “Please, I beg you, don’t cease feeding the families. I can show you in the ledgers where it is all paid in full.”

He chuckled. “Calm yourself, dearest. I saw yesterday the wisdom of your accounting. If the families are making goods instead of trying to cook for themselves, they have more time for their own labor. That turns into more goods to sell at the fair. You trade those goods for food during the course of the year and it all balances out. In fact, you make good profit.

Her wise husband finally understood. She gave him her best and brightest smile. “That’s exactly the right of it. So what are you discussing?”

Dame March interrupted, sounding a bit ruffled. With arms crossed over her large chest, she said, “Your husband wishes to discuss the breaking-of-fast menu.”

Ann checked his countenance. He seemed mostly unperturbed so she continued. “But we always have breads and—”

He put a finger to her lips. “My men and I need a little more sustenance in the morning. Children, too, would have more energy with less breads and more meat. It’s also less work for the kitchen women. They can focus on the evening meal and have some time for resting.”

Her mouth dropped open. Who would have guessed? Her domestic beast discussing meals, of all things. “Oh, well. Thank you. You can imagine my surprise—”

“Mayhap I can imagine that, and a lot more.” He eyed her night dress, patted her derriere, and pushed her back up the stairs. “Some clothes?”

“Oh, dear me.” She turned bright red and ran from the kitchen. Over her shoulder, Marcus’ men in the great room smirked with eyes upon her form. She was unused to so many men underfoot.

Marcus shook his head and raised his eyebrows at his men. “Out with you. Break your fast with the rest of the town. Make sure thou art battle-ready at all times.”

He put his hand out to stay Thomas, walked him back into the kitchen, and said in a quiet voice, “I think we’ve not heard the end of Abernathy.”

“He has no rights on The Meadows, does he?”

With a frown and a shake of the head, Marcus said, “I’m not sure of the legality of any of this, at the moment. He’s her most nearly related male heir.”

“God’s blood. That puts a different spin on everything, doesn’t it?”

“Not to me, but it may in his mind.” He looked longingly upon a pastry and grabbed it when the Dame’s hawk eyes were diverted.

“Legally, the land would belong to him if my father had not made other arrangements. Also, I must have her first marriage annulled.” He waited, greatly amused while Thomas caught the full meaning of his words and tried to grab a biscuit from the pottery bowl. This time, Dame March caught the action and swatted his hand with a wooden spoon. She shooed them both out of the kitchen.

Marcus’ small army of men had not yet made their way out the door. Several young ladies of the house giggled while they cleared the tables, catching his men’s eyes. Thomas glared when the Lady Meredith flirted with one of the squires.

“Cupid’s arrow went amiss?”

“I can address that right now.” Thomas whistled through his teeth once and the men rushed out. The maidens blushed and giggled all the way back into the kitchen. Meredith scowled in their direction.

His friend sat down at a now-empty table and put his feet up on a chair. “Back to your problem. You say your wife was pure as snow?”

“I felt the muscle give. I saw the blood on the sheets. Heard her gasp and tighten.” He nodded righteously, pleased with his good fortune; lands and a wife whose passion had no end when the door was barred.

“No one would believe it.”

“Her confessor would.”

“You’ve the king’s blessing for her lands. What more matters?”

“Popular opinion would do me well. They held no love for Underhill and I think it’d go a long ways toward the good will of my wife.”

He snickered. “I believe from the pie-eyed look upon your face, you already have that.”

“Mock me not. I’ve seen how you moon over the Lady Meredith.” He raised his eyebrows.

Thomas put his hands to his heart and closed his eyes. “Never has a fairer maid been under the sun . . .”

Marcus guffawed and pushed him out of his chair, toward the kitchen. “Spare me the verse. Go find her. Waste your breath on wooing her. I need to find my wife.”

Ann appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in her newly cleaned yellow tunic. The matching ribbon was woven tightly into the braid down her back.

The small gesture warmed him like a fire in winter. “Come. Sit with me and dine. The rest are outside on this fine morning. Today, it is just the Lord and the Lady at table. Mayhap we can talk more about your skills with the estate.”

She hiked her skirt, jumped down two stairs, and arrived just at his height. She kissed him on the cheek. “What more would you have me tell?”

He hugged her before lifting her to the floor. “Tell me, have any of Underhill’s relatives come claiming the estate?”

“Claiming my estate? Why? It’s mine.” She sat down in a normal-sized chair.

The throne-sized one held more comfort, given his stature. “Stay mindful, if you would. Were any here after his death?”

“Honestly, our marriage didn’t involve conversation. Why do you ask?”

He scraped the seat forward until their knees touched. She blushed but didn’t move away. Instead, she leaned forward and his heart skipped a beat. Taking one of her hands in his, he said, “By law, your lands became his when you married him and when he died, they passed onto his family. I’m going to have your first marriage annulled.”

“Annulled? How in Hades could that be claimed?”

How could a widow who had endured so much be so damn innocent?
He patted her hand. “He didn’t have you as his own, in chambers.”

Turning bright red, she recovered and said, “Oh. Of course. But how did
you
come to claim my lands?”

“By edict of the king.”

Ann paled. “Edward gave up my lands to you?”

“And you.”

“And me?” She stuck her pretty lower lip out in a pout and stood.

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her neck. “Thou art my bounty, m’lady, for ten years of my life spent in servitude to his highness. I sold my soul and got you. It was a bargain.”

“Don’t joke about such things. God may be listening.” She frowned more fully and squirmed, but he held her tight.

“I’m not.”

When she turned, he willed her to see how serious he was. Her perfect arse was delightful upon his pintle. He brushed the tendrils of hair out of her eyes and sucked that pouty lower lip into a kiss until she moaned. When she passionately kissed him back, he considered finishing the interrogation upstairs on the pallet.

He moved her just a mite off his swollen interest. “How about Abernathy? What dealings have you had with him?”

She thought for a while. “Well. He has been rather insistent lately, about paying him for protection.”

“How much?” Conversation halted as a young maiden came out of the kitchen and dished out eggs, figs, and breads.

“Last month he raised the price again. I didn’t have enough to pay, I had to . . .” She stopped, turned bright red, and took a big bite of biscuit.

“What did you do?”

Jutting out her chin, she crossed her arms over her chest and remained silent. He was sure of her virginity. What else could the man have insisted on? He sighed and bit into heavenly sweet bread. “I need some answers to help protect you.”

“You know. I was doing just fine until I married you.” She squirmed off his lap and back into her own chair while tearing into a fig mercilessly.

“Really, m’lady? Really? I believe you were about to be hanged for murdering your first husband or possibly witchcraft.”

“Well, before that.” She waved her hand as if that explained everything and stood.

He tamped down his temper. “Sit back down. My men’s lives are on the line and you’re still lying to me. It’s a simple question. Exactly what did you have to do to secure your lands?”

She dashed out from the table and up the stairs. The bolt slid across her chamber door.

Sighing, he slowly followed after her. That devil of a bar had to go. Also, she had to learn not to run whenever she didn’t fancy a conversation. “I could easily take this door down,” he said with infinite patience.

“Go away.”

“We need to see to our estates.” He hated to shout, but it was the only way to converse through the damn thickness of the door.

“They’re your estates, now. You’ve made that painfully clear to me
, m’lord
. Good luck with them.”

“We’ve work to do. Come out and stop being a child.”

“A child? A child? Nay, sir. I was never allowed to be a child. Honestly? It feels good to give the reins to you. I’m going to lie on my bed and let you manage everything from here on end.” He heard the pallet of straw crunch as she flounced upon it.

He pounded on the door. “The devil take it. Open the damn door and work with me.”

“Nay, you mean for me to tell you all my secrets so you can hang me.”

“I’ve sworn that I won’t hang you, you ungrateful wench.”
The woman was an impossible shrew.

She shouted back. “Good. Go away. I’ve nothing more to say to you.”

It was as if she wanted him to end her miserable life. He sighed. That was just it, wasn’t it? What if she was going to give up like her mother? Women were only so strong, and like a mighty oak, could give way to break in two. He tried to shake off the notion and couldn’t imagine running this manor without his black-haired gypsy-witch. Not only that, he liked the way she felt curled up next to him. He liked the way she exploded passionately into his hand, and how tightly she could sheath him. Dammit all. Come to think of it; he liked her very much.

“What about your dye vat? I think it may be empty again? And yesterday, I heard rumor that the plow broke in the field, and no one has yet repaired it.”

He smiled as he made up some more outlandish lies. “Also, the miller’s sons have decided not to take up a trade, after all. It seems, but one day and your town begins to fall apart.”

“No, no, that can’t be so.” Her pallet screeched across the floor. “I’ve to get out there and get everyone working. All will be lost.”

The wooden bolt rubbed against wood, and she emerged. He held back his grin, but his eyes must have given him away.

She laughed when she realized what he’d done. “You liar.”

“Aye. That I am. But who knows what really is amiss. Let’s go to our people and see to them, together. They need you and I do, too.”

“Truly?”

He shuddered when he realized it was true. “Aye, in more ways than I can count. I find I’m rather fond of you.”

“Will we try again for heirs, soon?”

If he had his way, they’d never leave chambers. Chuckling, he nodded and kissed her soundly.

Chapter 12

Late one afternoon, after several days without incident, Marcus left Ann with their people in the village. He’d made it a habit to spend a few hours understanding her strange set of accounting written on her parchments. The top of the repaired turret held perfect lighting and offered a good vantage over the whole area. She wasn’t too far into the town, talking to a spinster while rocking someone’s baby in the crook of an arm.

Relaxed fully, he settled down on a tall stool with a glass of fresh mead. He’d start today by again reviewing the miller’s page of debits and credits.

The pounding of horse hooves on the north road brought him to attention and he stood, squinting. An emissary of the church paraded south, pennants blowing, with at least twenty knights in full battle armor.
Damnation
. Neither he nor his men had love of the priests that carried out the inquisition. Best to put an end to it before it could get started. He sounded the alarm with one, long shrill whistle and two short.

Thomas and the men assembled in the green.

He shouted from above, “Take them down but kill them not.”

“If you insist.” Thomas drew his sword. He gave a small yawn with two pats to his mouth and winked at the men who hooted and banged their swords on their shields. When the skirmish ended, only the Bishop and Abernathy remained unharmed, sitting upon their mounts.

Marcus grinned with pride. Most of the bishop’s knights were smart enough to yield and the ones who didn’t, lie moaning, lucky to be alive. The two who yielded without a fight surprised him not.

Weapons were collected, Thomas escorted the bishop to the front door, and Marcus climbed down the toe-holds. He ran along the hallway, then vaulted to the main floor.

Stephen, out of breath, met him at the foot of the stairs. “There’s a bishop here to see you.”

Glowering at the young man, he said, “I believe I may have noticed. Could you quickly run into the village and ask Ann to stay out of sight? Her life may well depend on it.”

“It’s too late. When last I looked, she was already halfway across the lawn and nigh through the door.”

He cursed when he heard her voice greet the devil incarnate. “I’m so sorry. Are you hurt? My husband is still, no doubt, irked with you. And what a surprise. The Bishop of North Cumberland. I don’t believe we’ve met, although I’ve heard that miracles abound in your presence. How is it that my humble manor is worthy of your esteemed visit?”

“Move aside, woman. Where’s your husband?”

Marcus crossed the large room and stepped through the double doors. The fat bishop already had a vice-like grip on his wife’s soft shoulder. He gave him an evil stare and wished the man to hell. “I’m here, sir. And unlike my wife, we
have
met.”

She started to speak, but he unclamped the bishop’s fingers and shoved her into the arms of the waiting Thomas, who chastised her as he all but dragged her up the stairs. “For once, stay quiet lady and let your husband negotiate. You’ve no idea what that man is capable of.”

His heart stopped pounding and his breath settled when her chamber door slammed tight and he heard the bolt slide into place.

The bishop struck his miter to the ground, like the devil’s own fork. “I’d like to discuss some things with your wife.”

“No doubt you would, but I won’t have it.” Marcus moved his right hand to his sword.

His visitor’s fat face turned apple red. “Excuse me? Are you forbidding me?”

Gripping the hilt, Marcus made a grand gesture of sliding it out a bit. “Aye, sir. I believe I am.”

“Mayhap you don’t understand how much peril your soul is in at this moment.”

Marcus counted to ten while considering how much force it would take to behead the bastard. “It’s not my soul that currently concerns me. It’s my wife.”

The bishop grew a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and his body signs read of a wild dog in heat.

Impatient with the farce, Marcus fully freed his sword, causing the bishop’s color to deepen, turning an extraordinary shade of violet. “Abernathy claims she’s a witch. I need to pursue the possibility.”

Turning, he shook his ornate Bishop’s crosier at the villagers gathering in the square and shouted, “I’ll have you and your town excommunicated.”

The simple townsfolk dropped to their knees and crossed themselves.
Damnation
. Making sure he could be heard across the green, he said, “Be calm. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

“What do you have to bargain with? The church always has need of donations. Why not invite me in? Or would you rather His Holiness know how I’ve been treated.” His eyes began to gleam, he licked his lips, and spittle drooled out of the side of his mouth.

“Edward is much closer in proximity than His Holiness. Be that as it may, let’s be off to the abbey where we can talk about matters of God, under His roof.” He held back a curse, led them both toward the church, and made a point of marching through the bishop’s men. Thomas grinned, stepping in behind him, with sword drawn. He waited in the green with the archers, whose bowstrings were still taut and well-aimed.

“I suggest we start by setting a truce, lest my men tire and let arrows loose.”

Waving his scepter, the bishop nodded at his men. Marcus followed with a shrill whistle. The archers relaxed their bows, but fingers stayed upon strings. All eyed each other with mistrust.

Brother James and John watched the whole scene warily, meeting them at the well. To Marcus’ intense displeasure, both his holy men knelt and kissed the ring of the bishop. Then he saw, under their cloaks, they were mailed and heavily armed. He smiled.
Trust in God. Better yet? Trust He will hold your arm strong in battle.

James threw him a quick nod, then turned toward the bishop. “What brings you to our humble estates, Your Excellency?”

“I suspect you already know.” He slammed his staff upon the first stone step of the church with a clunk.

Marcus considered breaking the damn crosier over the man’s head.

James, however, rested against the stone wall of the abbey, his eyes sharp, and his hand ready. “Nary has a word reached me as of late. I’m afraid we’re rather remote, here in the bowels of England.”

The bishop pointed a gnarled finger back toward the manor. “Nonsense. You know who I’m here to take. The Lady Ann is an accused witch and an unholy murderous wench. The church will need to intervene and take on these lands as our own in order to cleanse the evil.”

Marcus’ hand itched as he began to move toward his sword’s hilt once again.

James stopped him with an almost imperceptible shake of the head and motioned them all into the church. “Mayhap you would pray with me while we talk. It would not be seemly to discuss such evil things while not under God’s watchful gaze.”

Without waiting for an answer, he led them down the center of two rows of ten pews. On a raised rectangle of white marble, a stone altar was draped by a pristine, white wool cloth. A simple, yet perfectly carved wood cross of the Savior hung on the wall behind. Four green marble columns, leftover from a pagan temple, framed the four corners of the altar.

He turned to stare across the pews and over the entry door from whence they came. Marcus bowed his head
. What was James up to?

“Oh, Lord.” The holy man raised his arms ever-so-slowly causing wide sleeves to slide down to his elbows. In that glorious moment, the interior of the church lit miraculously in hues of blue and red. The rose window above the arch glowed in holy splendor.

The bishop gasped. “Dear God, almighty!”

How had he not noticed before?
Marcus exhaled, enchanted by the sight.

It was some time before the bishop regained his senses. “Where did you get that . . . that glass? Stained glass in your mud-hole of a church. It isn’t right. There isn’t anything of such worth in all of London.”

“Sir Marcus, here, donated it.”

“Never.” The bishop stood with his mouth all agape, displaying holes where teeth should be.

James nodded with a holier-than-thou smile, folded his hands piously, but turned a grand smirk for Marcus’ eyes only. “Oh, yes. He brought it in pieces from the holy lands. We assembled it here.”

Following the lead set by James, Marcus affected the same noble, somewhat bored, tone that he had practiced with Abernathy just days before. Opening both hands in a small gesture of supplication, he said, “It wasn’t anything, really, a small token.”

“But certainly a gift such as this should be in a bigger church, a holier place.” The bishop walked further down the aisle to stare and the rest followed.

“Mayhap such as
your
church, Your Holiness?” Marcus covered his mouth to hide the wide grin.

“Well, now that you say so.” He turned so abruptly, such that they almost collided. “Yes. Like mine.”

“But I don’t suppose that a gift from a man, who was married to a witch, would be acceptable to a man of God such as you?” He lowered his gaze, clasped his hands together, and knelt down to face the altar. The whole bizarre scene was more than amusing. He bit into his praying hands, but his body began to wrack with laughter.

“Mayhap I was a bit over-zealous in my haste to speak with the Lady Ann.” The Bishop laid his hand upon Marcus head, obviously thinking him tearful in remorse.
God almighty, the farce was funnier than hell.

James joined them at the back of the church and tapped him on the shoulder. “Stand, my son. Weep no more. God has shown us the way. I believe that the Lord of the Meadows has even more of this glass that he brought with him from his travels. Is that not true, m’lord?”

James nudged him hard, but it only caused him to break out in a mighty guffaw. At the last minute, he managed to turn it into an anguished cry. Coming off his knees and wiping off real tears, albeit ones of mirth, he nodded and found a voice. “I may have more.”

“A full windows worth?” The piggy man’s eyes widened.

James nodded. “Surely, he would.”

Marcus stuck his hand out before he’d have to laugh again. “It’s agreed upon. We’re at peace. I’m sure your men would like to refresh themselves. Then feel free to be our guests for the evening meal tonight. I’ll ask my steward to see to your needs.”

After the bishop waddled happily away to meet with his men in the square. Marcus asked James, “How say you that I could give that wretched man a glass window?”

“You’ve a glazier in your town.”

“But a piece like that window might take a lifetime to complete.”

“I suggest you bring it to him, a piece at a time.” James snickered.

“Aye. That I shall.” Marcus laughed but stifled it when the bishop glanced back. He quickly put his hands to his lips, as if in holy prayer.

When the arse’s behind finally made his exit, Marcus continued, “Tis good to have you at my back. I can’t wait to have those dung beetles out of my town.”

“I’ll do my best to hasten their leave.”

“Just a moment.” He whistled, Thomas looked up and Marcus indicated with a hand signal to stay at readiness. Then he shouted, “Send me Stephen!”

Thomas waved back, indicating he understood.

“Sorry, James. You were saying?”

“The guest rooms have no fresh hay, having not been in use for over a year. I suspect one night on the cold floor with beetle-infested thatch will rush them out. I’d also suggest you delay your breaking-of-fast until mid-day. As one final added incentive, I can make morning matins dreadfully long and tiresome.”

“Oh, dear God. Mayhap the rack would be more welcome. With your help, we should have them running from our lands by the time the sun reaches its peak.”

He sobered when he thought upon Ann and their last encounter. “Will you walk with me?

They meandered to the front door of the church. The style was familiar, but instead of shepherds, the carvings were of saints.

“Many nights, the Lady wakes with dream terrors.”

“Not too unusual in a woman who has come to extreme misfortunes.”

They walked down the three stone steps toward his manor. The sun had again ducked under clouds and for a second time, he had to marvel at James’ timing of the window scene. “Did her father really mean for her and her mother to starve when he left?

“Only God knows the knight’s true intent. He went through the small town, house by house, taking everything, but thatch.”

Marcus shook his head. “I can’t imagine.”

“That’s not the half of it. When winter came and she looked to find food in the cellars, there was none. He’d even removed the roots and dried meats. The peasants pounded on her door, demanding that she feed them. At one point, I thought I’d take her in as a novice, just to protect her, but then the miracle happened.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Come now, surely you’re not saying—”

James held up a hand. “Stay that thought. I suspect you’ve seen the worst of the world through the eyes of a hardened soldier, as have I.”

“Aye, war can beat the soul to dust.” They greeted Barnabas, stationed to guard the well. A knife stood ready in one hand, and his other rounded about the hilt of his sword.

“Good man.”

Most of the Bishop’s men had found the bathhouse so that’s where their feet took them. James continued once they were in private. “When I came back to England after my duties in the Holy Crusades, I decided I’d do my penance by making peace. Hoping God would forgive the atrocities I’d performed in his name.”

He looked to Marcus as if expecting him to agree, but he only shrugged. “Being a man of God, you’d know better than I.”

“No matter. When I tell you of a miracle, you know my life is hewn from similar stone as yours. I’d not believe God capable of intervening.”

“She said she found coin in the bathhouse.” This story was taking way too long in the telling.