If Not For The Knight, Debbie Boek [electronic reader TXT] 📗

She and Radolf spent most of their time out of doors and away from the village. It was a lonely life, but at least they had each other.

Sometimes, when he looked at her through Calder's eyes, Regan would forget herself and drift back to the short time they spent together. She could not forget how it felt to be with him and clung to the memory. It was her only consolation in this hell that had become her life.

A sudden, loud thundering roused her from her reverie. She looked up and her gaze fell upon an army of mounted knights, approaching at a breakneck speed. Regan’s eyes darted around the clearing in search of Radolf. He had tripped again and was laying in the path of the fast-moving steeds, unseen by the charging knights.

Regan broke into a run. She screamed and waved her arms, spooking the horses in the front and causing them to rear back as she dove on top of her son. One large, deadly hoof landed within inches of her head.

She heard the clink of steel and the creak of leather as they drew their swords and dismounted. Grabbed roughly by the arm, Regan was pulled to her feet. Her eyes blazed with fury as she whirled to stare into Calder's face. His eyes rounded with surprise, and something else that she could not fathom. Regan wrenched her arm free of his grip and knelt beside her sobbing son.

“Radolf, love,” she whispered, “are you hurt?”

“No, Momma,” he said, crying even harder and hugging her close.

She sighed in relief, knowing it was just fear that made him cry. Picking him up and hugging him tightly in return, she turned back to Calder. Her emotions ran high and she let them explode on him.

“You almost killed my son, you Norman bastard.” She spoke softly, but with such intense fury that Calder's surprise kept him speechless for a moment.

One of his men, Davis, used the moment to lay the flat side of his sword against her back. The blow, combined with the weight of her son, brought Regan to her knees.

Calder was beside the knight in seconds. He struck the man with such force that Davis flew backward onto the ground. “Do not ever touch this woman again or, I swear, you will not live to regret it.”

“But, M'lord, the wench had no right to talk to you like that,” he replied nervously, from where he still lay on the ground.

“I have no need for you to defend me against a helpless woman,” he gritted through clenched teeth, trying to restrain his anger. “Draco, take the men to the Manor. I will be right along.”

“Yes, Milord,” Draco replied, waving his arm and spurring his horse forward. Calder turned back to Regan and helped her to her feet.

“Are you badly hurt?”

She shook her head, afraid to trust her voice for fear the sobs that clogged her throat would escape with the words. It was not the sting of the sword that nearly reduced her to tears, but rather the realization of who stood before her.

“I do apologize, Mistress, for my man, but for the past several years we have done naught but fight Saxon rebels who had but one desire, and that was to see us dead. I fear he overreacted and I beg your pardon.”

Taking a deep breath, she was finally able to speak in a fairly steady voice. “I am glad to see that the rebels were not successful, Milord. And I must apologize, as well, for I should not have spoken as I did. I was just so frightened for my son.”

“Tis of no account,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You look well.”

He was unable to take his eyes off of her. She was even lovelier than he remembered, possessing a face and body that would rival any woman he had seen. Her deep green eyes were open wide, her copper curls blew softly in the breeze, and her skin was like porcelain with a slight pink blush to her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she answered shyly, nervously patting Radolf's back as he continued to cling to her. “What brings you back here?”

“I am vassal to Aric, here to do as he bids,” Calder replied.

“Will you be with us for long?” she asked, wanting to prolong the conversation and gaze at him for a few moments longer. He was as strong and handsome as she remembered. The lines on his face were deeper now, not so much from age, she surmised, as from what he had witnessed and experienced since she had last seen him. The scar seemed less noticeable on his tanned face, and his eyes were still such an intense blue that she had trouble tearing her gaze from them.

“I do not know exactly,” he replied, staring at her lips, wanting to taste them again, as he had dreamed of doing on so many lonely nights. He quickly realized that the next weeks and months would not be easy, to be so near to her and not be able to touch her. Time had not diminished his desire in the least.

Radolf started to squirm, and Regan did her best to keep the boy from turning around. Surely, Calder would see himself in the child's eyes. He could not know that Radolf was his son, only trouble could come from the knowledge.

“I'm pleased to see you again, Milord,” she said quickly, “but, I must get my son home now.”

She put Radolf on the ground and took his hand, leading him away from the knight as she picked up her clothes basket and headed toward their cottage.

Calder stood and watched the gentle sway of her hips as she walked away, feeling a stirring inside of himself the likes of which he had never known before.

“Calder, what a great surprise,” Aric said, as Calder approached his bedside.

“But, I fear I am unable to give you a proper reception,” he added shamefacedly. Calder shook his brother's hand, felt the weakness in it and looked at the other man in concern.

“What is it, Aric?”

Aric had never been as physically strong as his brother, but now his face looked sallow and ill. His body appeared to have shriveled beneath the blankets, except for his left leg, which was swollen to twice the size of the right one.

“It's silly, really,” he said with a weak laugh. “it started when I swung myself up onto my horse. There was some sort of thorn or pin protruding from the saddle. The stable hands were never able to find out exactly what it was, but it scratched along the inside of my left leg. Just a little scratch, mind you.” The fear showed in his eyes as he spoke. “That was three weeks ago. Each day it grows worse and I become weaker and more ill.”

“Poison?” Calder asked, his heart gripped by an icy chill.

“I see nothing else that it could be, brother. They have bled me and drained the leg many times, but whatever pricked me got the poison in deep. I can feel it spreading through my body as we speak.” He raised his cold, pale hand to Calder, who took it in both of his own.

“Do you know who is responsible for this?”

“No. There are many here who continue to hate and mistrust us. The hills are overrun with Saxon outlaws who plot against me continuously. I am glad you are here.” His voice faltered and his eyelids sagged with fatigue.

“Talk to my master stableman, maybe he will know.” Aric closed his eyes, as if the lids were too heavy to hold open any longer.

“I will, brother, and don't worry. I will set all to the right.” Calder's brow furrowed in worry and in anger as he swiftly left the room.

CHAPTER 5

He passed his sister-in-law, Devona, as he left the room. She was barely recognizable, having aged a great deal since he had seen her last. Her brown hair was streaked with gray, there were tight lines surrounding her mouth, and her brown eyes seemed dull with the overwhelming fear and grief that she felt. “Calder,” she cried, her high, mousy voice as annoying as always, “I am so glad you are here. What will we do? Whatever will we do?”

He hugged her tightly, loving her only because his brother did. “I will make things right, Devona. I will write to the King and have him send his best surgeon. I will take care of things until Aric is better.”

“Thank you, Calder,” she said in a high whisper, tears forming in her eyes.

“How are your children?” Calder asked.

“They are as worried as I am,” she said, shaking her head in despair. Her son, Harlan, would be about twelve now, Calder thought, and the girl, Eadda, several years younger than that.

As was the custom of noblemen, once their children reached five or six years of age, they were sometimes sent to either a monastery or another nobleman's home to stay. Both of Aric's children had been sent to live with their cousin, Wallace, The Earl of Monterey, for their schooling and preparation for adulthood. There, Harlan would learn what he needed so that he could take over his father's lands and possessions one day.

With their being so young at the time, Devona had not wanted to bring them to this country, which she considered barbaric and unsophisticated, and Calder had not seen them in many years.

“Have faith, Devona, all will be well,” he said, with a confidence that he did