The Knight and the Dove (7 page)

Many knights and servants alike spoke to Bracken, nodding their heads in respect as he made for the wide, main staircase. By the time Bracken entered his bedchamber, a hot bath waited before a freshly laid fire in the hearth. Steam rose from the copper tub, and Bracken spoke to his vassal, Kent, as he undressed.

“Have you been on the field much?”

“Yes, sir,” the ten-year-old replied proudly. “Every afternoon you were gone.”

Bracken smiled. “Your father will be proud to hear it. I saw your parents while I was in London, and they asked after you.”

Kent was bent over, scrubbing Bracken’s back with a hard-bristled brush, and did not immediately answer.

“How is my mother?” he said with a slight pant.

“She is well. I would say the baby is due soon.”

Kent nodded, his small face serious. “She promised to send word when the time came.”

“Would you rather be with her? I’m sure I could arrange it.”

The boy thought. He didn’t know any man, not even his father, whom he admired more than Bracken. Bracken was huge and black as a bear, but when Kent had overcome his initial fear of Bracken’s size,
he had found a man with a heart of gold. He then realized his great fortune in his father’s sending him to Hawkings Crest to serve as vassal. He cared more deeply about his mother than he could express in words, but even though he had only been there a few months, he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Hawkings Crest and its lord.

“I’ll stay here.”

“Very well.”

The subject was dropped then, but Bracken made a mental note to keep Kent just busy enough to leave him no time to think. Kent was one of many young vassals Bracken had had in the years he had been lord, and as with many of the other boys, he’d come to care deeply for him. He was certain that as soon as the infant was born, all would be well.

Back in the creamery the first churns were ready to be delivered, and for the first time all week, Megan stepped forward and spoke.

“I’ll take this for you,” she said softly, gesturing to the churn she had been working.

Eddie had not heard her speak since the first day and had forgotten the husky quality of her voice. The quiet authority he heard gave him pause, but he was still going to refuse her. Megan, however, had other ideas. She lifted the churn and held his eyes with her own.

“Thank you, Eddie,” she said softly, and before he could utter a word, she moved out the door.

Eddie glanced around, but no one else had heard the exchange, so he lost no face. He went after her then, but only to watch. He was not at all surprised to see Arik following her at some distance.

Bracken, bathed and now well-breakfasted, sat surrounded by his men in what was known as the war room of the castle. They had ridden for days, accomplishing a small job for King Henry without thought of personal comforts, and now that all were clean and well fed, they spoke of all they had seen. Arik was not among them. Bracken had sent for him, but he had not as yet made an appearance.

Hunting trophies of every size and type, as well as archaic weapons
of war, lined this large room. It was a place where Bracken felt most comfortable. The men had been talking for the better part of 20 minutes when Megan opened the door, left it open, and took several steps inside the huge room.

Bracken did not recognize this servant and sighed gently. All too often new female servants sought him out, out of sheer curiosity. He was large and dark, and the sooner they saw him, the sooner they could put their minds to rest that he was not half bear as so many claimed.

“We do not need anything at this time,” he said kindly to this scruffy-looking maid. “We’ll send someone if we do.”

“I need to speak with you, Lord Bracken.”

Bracken’s brow lowered. It was to be one of these; a servant girl who worked on her voice and mannerisms and who had visions of attracting the attention of the lord of the keep.

“Please leave us.” Bracken’s voice was hard this time, enough to put anyone off. To his amazement, this impertinent chit moved farther into the room. Each one of his men had turned now, and Bracken felt anger kindle within him.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lord Bracken,” Megan began, her voice humble and soft, her stance respectful. “I have wanted to see you for several days. I am Megan of Stone Lake. My father is Vincent. I did not know that you would be away, and I was uncertain what to do, so I stayed on here in your keep.

“While coming to you, my father’s men were attacked some miles back. They were killed while protecting me. I came here with a group of peddlers, but I fear that no one was expecting me. I would seek your counsel, my lord, as to what to do next. I will stay on here if that is what you wish. If not, then may it please my lord to provide an escort for me to return to my father’s castle.”

Bracken sat in stunned silence for a full minute. His men, including Arik, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway behind this girl, had been watching the maid in their midst. Now they turned their gaze to their lord and waited his reaction. It wasn’t long in coming.

He stood, his face a stony mask, and pointed a finger at Megan.

“Remove this creature from my presence.” Bracken’s voice was coldly furious, telling of his insult that she would attempt such duplicity. Bracken refused to believe that this scullery maid could be his future bride.

Unfortunately for Bracken, Megan’s anger matched his own. All humility fell away like a cloak, and her eyes shot daggers at the men approaching.

“Do
not
touch me,” she commanded with enough authority to stop the men in their tracks. Her eyes raked them before turning like hot coals onto Bracken.

“I am treated like a servant in your keep for five days, and if that isn’t bad enough you now treat me like a dog! There is no need for your men to see me out; I shall leave on my own.” Megan paused then, but even in her present filthy state she was magnificent.
“You,
Lord Bracken, can explain to King Henry why we will not be wed.”

With that Megan swept from a room that was so silent Bracken could hear his men breathing. He had judged her a fake, but now he doubted his own eyes and ears. He glanced up to see Arik still in attendance.

“Has she been here for five days?”

Arik’s head barely dipped one time in affirmation.

Bracken drew breath between clenched teeth. “I will check this story myself. We ride in five minutes.”

Five

N
O ONE AT
H
AWKINGS
C
REST
could have missed Bracken’s departure with his men, but Megan gave it little heed. Not knowing how she would get there, or even if she would be welcome, Megan was going home. For the moment that was all she could think of.

Deep in thought, Megan was standing near the smithery, her mind preoccupied, when she suddenly spotted Arik coming from the castle. Megan started. She had assumed he’d gone with Bracken. She darted around the side of the building, knowing somehow that he must not see her. The area inside the walls of Hawkings Crest was like a small village or Megan would never have gotten away with what she did next.

At the rear of the smithery an old cloak of substantial size had been discarded, and Megan bent to pick it up. Her own stench had been most offensive to her senses for days now, but the oversized cloak made her dress smell like a blossom.

Nevertheless, she was determined. Having to choke down a small gag, she placed the cloak around her, covering her head and letting the garment dangle on the ground. She then moved like an old woman from around the side of the building, walking an irregular path toward the main gate. She had been praying all the while and now sent up a word of thanks when the gate opened for a small group of merchants that included a shoemaker and several women. Megan didn’t know what the women did, but she hung behind them and as the door opened, adopted a gait that looked almost painful, and moved forward.

Arik had been standing stock still for many minutes and still hadn’t spotted Bracken’s lady. He knew well that Bracken didn’t see her as his own, but she was. He had known from the moment he laid eyes on her. Now she had managed to disappear. Arik had learned over the years that one found something much faster by thoughtful looking rather than mad dashing-about. On this occasion, however, it was getting him nowhere.

He was turning for the smithery and the creamery when he saw the gate open. No one stood out, in fact he’d have sworn Bracken’s lady was not among those leaving, but she had said she was going and something compelled him to follow this assorted group. He reasoned that if she was in the keep, he would lose nothing. If she was a part of this band, she was heading out into unprotected territory where no lady belonged.