Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 Page 17

  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.”

  On his way to the knights’ quarters, he imagined what Talan would have to say about the matter. Holding his palms up in supplication, he stared heavenward with a martyred expression.

  * * * *

  In good spirits, Talan cut through the passages on his way to the barracks. Stepping through the archway of the common room, his face fell. Seated alone at a table furthest from the door, Albin viewed his approach with a look of dismay.

  Sliding onto the bench across from him, he asked, “What happened?”

  Groaning, Albin gulped down the rest of his ale before slamming the tankard down on the planked table.

  “What happened, Albin?” he spoke a little more forcefully.

  Avoiding his accusing stare, Albin recited the sordid tale.

  After he finished, Talan’s eyes narrowed in rage. “You let him live?” he asked so softly, it took Albin a moment to comprehend the words.

  Albin leaned forward, mindful of the fact they were not alon
e. “I have regretted the fact these hours past. Yet, all is not lost. I have formulated a plan which would not only bring justice to Reynold, it would see us returning to Castell Maen.”

  Talan propped an elbow on the table. “I’m listening.”

  * * * *

  Reina slept with her door barred, dressing herself in the morning. Catching sight of the bruises on her arms and knees, she drew in a quivering breath. Fearing Fulke would be provoked into championing her, she was determined to make light of the incident.

  When it was time to meet Talan, she stood before the door, taking several deep breaths. Pinning a bright smile on her face, she opened it.

  Her resolve waivered the moment she saw Talan’s look of concern.

  “Are you well, my lady?”

  “All is well, Talan. If Albin told you, then you are aware no harm came from it.”

  He waited for a group of nobles to pass, before saying, “Albin left before lauds for Rochester, my lady.”

  Her eyes flared in fear. “To tell Fulke what happened?”

  “Rest easy, my lady. Albin will ensure his lordship does nothing rash.”

  Worry roiling her empty stomach, she asked, “Did you at least enjoy yourself yester-eve?”

  Extending his arm, he smiled.

  * * * *

  Albin came stomping into the Wounded Stag, half frozen from the long journey. Dropping his saddlebag by the door, he headed to the bar where Gervase, Guy, Warin and Osbert were seated. “Where is Fulke?”

  Surprised to see him, their greetings came to a stuttering halt when they took in his agitated state.

  “He stopped off at the glazier’s on the way back from the tower,” Guy replied.

  Gervase leaned forward. “Is all well with you, Albin?”

  “Aye, all is well,” he absently replied. Catching the tapster’s attention, he called for a mug of ale.

  A huge brown mastiff came bounding from the back of the tavern to jump on him, nearly knocking him off balance. Scratching the dog behind the ears, he said, “Hey boy, where is your young master?”

  Lecie came rushing from the kitchen. “Tugger, get down this instant!”

  Albin felt his smile falter as he took in the tavern keep’s young wife. “No harm done, Lass,” he mumbled.

  Managing to get the dog directed back the way he had come, she straightened with a blush coloring her cheeks. “Hello, Sir Albin. His lordship said you were in London with her ladyship, shall I be expecting her?”

  Surprised Fulke would even mention him, he avoided Lecie’s gaze. “Her ladyship remains in London with Sir Talan.”

  “Shall you be staying long?” she asked hopefully.

  His mind was playing tricks on him. “I remain as long as his lordship.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” she returned shyly.

  Either he was losing it, or Lecie was flirting with him. Making the mistake of glancing into her mesmerizing golden-brown eyes, he sat for a moment dumbstruck.

  There was no way he could misinterpret the longing in her gaze. He was clearly losing it. “I do not see Edric about, is he unwell again?”

  “Aye, he is,” Lecie sighed. “I fear he grows more so by the day. The village leech said his condition is incurable. He does naught but bleed him when he comes.”

  “Blood-letting does naught for the ailment, lass. I have it on sound authority it weakens the body all the more."

  “I shall be sure to remember that, ” Lecie said in parting.

  He sat perplexed, even as he admired the gentle sway of her hips as she walked.

  Gervase joined him in admiring her.

  Gathering a handful of kirtle to climb the steps, they glimpsed a pair of slender calves. Clapping him on the back, Gervase quipped, “I believe the fair Lecie to be besotted with you, Albin.”

  “She is wife to Edric, dolt.”

  “Aye,” Gervase replied. “Excepting, he is much older than she.”

  “He has three small children, Gervase. I believe he sees to her needs just fine.”

  Gervase leaned close. “The tavern wench Betta, said he is gravely ill. He is certain not to be long for this world.”

  Albin stared at him in surprise. “Is there nothing sacred to you, Gervase?”

  He looked hurt. “Of course there is. All women are sacred to me.”

  Exasperated, Albin asked, “Just how many bastards do you claim, or are they too numerous to count?”

  “There are none that I know of.” He leaned in to whisper. “I plow my seed through the field, not in it.”

  “Something is seriously wrong with you, lad,” Albin breathed.

  Gervase grinned. "Aye. The ladies love that about me.”

  Staring after him, Albin slowly shook his head.

  FOURTEEN

  Chilled to the bone from spending the day in the freezing cold, Fulke tarried on his return to the tavern by stopping at the glaziers to pick up a gift he had commissioned for Reina.

  Not looking forward to another restless night, he dismounted and froze when he recognized Albin’s horse in one of the tavern’s stalls. Thinking the worst, icy fingers of fear stole his breath as he charged into the common room.

  Albin stood with raised hands before he could speak. “Your lady is well.”

  Fulke felt the knot in his stomach unclench as he slowed his pace. His racing heart would take longer to slow. “What brings you from her side, Albin?”

  “It is best said in private.”

  “Follow me.” With a worried frown, Fulke led the way up the steps. He allowed Albin to precede him before closing the door to his chamber. “Tell me.”

  “I need you to hear me out on this to the end, Fulke,” Albin said, sinking down into a chair. “Some of the things I have to say will not be pleasant to hear.”

  Fulke set the parcel aside before perching on the edge of the bed. “Have your say, my friend.”

  Albin began to outline a plan that would free Reina from the king’s clutches. Halfway through the story, Fulke stood to pace by the fire. By the time Albin concluded, he was so unnerved, he was raking his hands through his hair.

  “Henry has outlined the necessity for using Reina to prevent all out war with France.”

  “You know as well as I the lady can prevent no such thing,” Albin scoffed. “All she has learned thus far amounts to no more than innuendo and gossip. Nothing will change once the emissaries from France arrive.”

  “He threatened me with the charge of treason were I to even think of challenging him on this matter. If we do this, it will put us all in peril.”

  “I say put it to the men. The decision is theirs to make. Talan and I are both willing to do whatever it takes.”

  “I do not understand what has come over you, Albin. You are asking me to break vows I live by in order to make my life easier.”

  “No Fulke,” Albin said softly. “I am asking you to break yours vows in order to save your lady.”

  “You said Reina was safe,” he accused. “What has Henry done to make you believe otherwise?”

  Albin sighed. “I was hoping I would not have to be the one to tell you.” Going into detail of Reynold’s assault in the passage, he left nothing out.

  Before he finished, Fulke stood with hands fisted, trembling with suppressed rage. Clenching his teeth, he ground out, “You give me your word he did not cause her harm?”

  “Not in the way you are thinking, Fulke,” Albin said reassuringly. “She was bruised and understandably distraught, but otherwise unharmed.”

  “Summon…the…men, ” he forced the words out.

  Moments later, crowding into the small chamber, the men waited for Fulke to speak.

  He glanced at each in turn, still struggling to control his rage. “Albin is going to lay out a plan for your consideration, after which, you will have a decision to make. If you join us and we fail, you will most assuredly face the charge of treason. If you choose not to join us, I release you from my service with no hard feelings. Either way,
the choice is yours.”

  He paused on his way out. “I look at each one of you as my brother. Know that nothing will ever change that fact.”

  Returning to the tavern, Fulke sank into a seat by the fire. Ignoring the crowd of peasants relaxing after a hard day of toil, he waged an internal battle with his fury. If he did not fear what the repercussions would do to Reina, he would already be on his way to kill Reynold.

  As the men filed back down the steps, he felt relieved the decision was no longer his to make.

  He stood to face them as they solemnly lined up before him. To a man, they each placed a fist over their heart.

  Swallowing hard at their loyalty, Fulke gave a nod of acknowledgement. He would get Reina back, or die trying.

  Albin stepped forward. “Gervase is prepared to leave at lauds, my liege.” He smirked. “I vow there is no better man among us to carry out such a delicate mission.”

  Gervase flushed red as the rest of the men laughed, breaking the solemn atmosphere. Heading for the bar, Fulke blocked Gervase. “Spare me a word in private, lad?”

  “Of course, my liege.” Winding through the tables, Fulke led him up the steps.

  Closing the door to his chamber, Gervase spoke up, “I shall not disappoint you my liege.”

  Fulke held up a hand. “Be at ease lad, I know there is no man better for this task. I merely wanted to see if you would deliver something to your lady for me.” Handing him the wrapped bundle, he paused a moment. “Tell her I hope to give her the real thing, come spring.”

  “I shall guard it, and your words well, my liege.”

  He was stepping through the door, when Fulke called, “Gervase?

  “Aye, my liege?”

  “Guard yourself as well, lad.”

  “Aye, my liege,” he replied solemnly.

  * * * *

  Ascending the narrow steps to speak to Fulke, Albin ran into Lecie, descending. Brushing up against the front of her, he instinctively pulled her to him.

  Surprised, her eyes scanned his face, waiting.

  His eyes moved to her lips as she parted them in her nervousness. Before he knew what he was doing, he lowered his head only to jerk away when loud wracking coughs came from an upper chamber.