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

not feel. Walking hurriedly down the to the Great Hall, he called for paper, ink and quill, which were promptly brought to him by one of the servants.

He wrote a note and sealed it, then called Draco over. He explained what had happened to his brother and asked Draco to take his missive to London.

“I fear you will get no sleep for awhile longer, my friend. I need this to get to the King as quickly as possible. Hopefully, he will allow his surgeon to return with you. I fear my brother does not have long to live, and I do not think you will let any of the King's minions prevent you from getting an audience with him.”

“That I won't, Milord.” He placed his hand on Calder's arm. “I will ride as if all the devils of hell are on my tail. I will get the surgeon back here in time to help your brother.”

“Thank you, Draco, Godspeed.”

Draco gave him a quick nod and left to remount his horse, which had not even been unsaddled yet.

Calder and his men rode over to the stables to unsaddle and feed their own mounts. Loosening the girth on Alerio, he asked one of the stable hands to fetch the Avener.

“Yes, Milord,” the pock-faced, young man stuttered, as he ran toward the back of the building.

He had Alerio unsaddled and in a stall and was throwing him some hay when he heard the man approaching. Turning to find Edgar standing in front of him, Calder's body tensed and he felt tight as a coil ready to spring.

“Milord,” Edgar said respectfully, although he could not keep the hatred from showing in his eyes, “can I be of assistance?”

“I need to know where my brother's saddle is and how he came to be poisoned by something stuck in it. Have you any knowledge of it?” He watched as Edgar's face flushed in anger.

Looking defiantly at Calder, he replied, “My men and I went over the saddle, but could find nothing. I fear your brother was mistaken and was cut somewhere else.”

Calder stared thoughtfully at Edgar, the only evidence of his own anger was the narrowing of his eyes and the whiteness of the scar against his tan face. “Bring me my brother's saddle.”

“Alan, bring the Lord's saddle here,” Edgar called to a young stable hand.

"No," Calder's voice was low and firm, "I told you to bring it to me."

Edgar stood stock still, his hands clenched in fists at his side, his eyes glaring into Calder's. Without a word, he turned abruptly and walked into the stall containing the tack.

He returned with a large, ornate saddle and thrust it toward Calder. Taking it from Edgar, he carefully examined every inch of it, but was unable to find anything to indicate what might have cut his brother.

"Who has access to the tack?"

"Myself, the three stable hands and anyone else who wanders in here," Edgar replied smugly.

“My men and I will saddle and feed our own horses." Calder's tone was brusque as he looked suspiciously at Edgar. “No one else touches them, or the tack, understood?”

“Yes, Milord,” he responded, his voice laced with sarcasm. Calder hesitated, then determined that now was not the time to teach Edgar a lesson in respect. Soon, he promised himself, very soon.

With one last scathing look at Edgar, Calder and his men returned to the Manor. After they had a chance to refresh themselves with food and ale, he stood to address them.

“We have a great responsibility here and dangerous conditions under which to accomplish what needs to be done.”

All of his men were quiet and attentive as they listened to their leader.

“My brother was poisoned by a thorn or pin which was stuck in his saddle. We must inspect all of our clothing and tack carefully, to ensure the same does not happen to us. These people wish us as much harm as those we have been fighting since we landed on these shores. Have a care when dealing with them.

I will be riding out tomorrow to look over the lands and decide where best to build the castle. What Aric has begun is useless and will be dismantled.

We will split into groups of four. One group will ride the fields and forest to rout out the thieves and renegades that are stealing the livestock. The others will stay in the village and make sure that the necessary work is done and punishment rendered when it is not.”

“Will we determine the punishments, Milord?” Garrick asked eagerly.

“For the time being, I will try to be here in the village as much as possible. I will make those determinations and I will need you men to assist me in carrying them out. Initially, we cannot be lenient with these people. They must learn to obey us. I am hopeful that the lessons will be learned quickly, so that we can relax the severity of the punishments imposed.”

The men shook their heads in silent disagreement, knowing how stubborn and inflexible these Saxons could be, and that things seldom resolved themselves quickly where they were concerned.

“At dawn tomorrow, have the entire village brought to the Courtyard, I will give my terms to them then. Rest well tonight men, tomorrow begins a new kind of battle for us. One I will not lose.”

 

 

Regan hummed softly as she boiled the mutton and turnips that she and Radolf would have for dinner. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.

She knew it was because Calder had returned. She also knew nothing could, or would, happen between them again. But, just the knowledge that he was here and she would be able to see him from time to time, even if from a distance, filled her heart with a quiet peace, something she had not felt in a very long time.

She noticed then that Radolf, who had been running around the kitchen playing with a small, wooden figurine his grandfather had whittled for him, suddenly quieted. Her heart jumped in her throat as she turned and saw Edgar standing in the doorway.

“Good evening, Edgar,” she said, nervous at his unexpected arrival. “Is there something you need?”

“This is my home, is it not? I am here to enjoy my family.” His voice was pleasant enough, but Regan did not care for the look in his eye. Radolf ran over and clung to the back of her skirts.

“Of course, Edgar,” she replied at last, “will you be joining us for dinner?”

“Yes, I would like that,” he said, pulling a chair from the table and sitting down. “More Normans arrived today and I fear for your safety. I think it best that, for now, I stay nearby to watch over the two of you.”

So that was it, she realized. He plays games with Calder, trying to make it seem as if all was well between the two of them, and Calder's son. Her stomach twisted with fear as she worried how Edgar might try to use Radolf to get even with Calder. Of all the Normans, it was Calder that he hated most. Edgar would not rest until he had his revenge on him.

The three spent an awkward and uncomfortable evening together. Edgar tried to be pleasant, to her and Radolf, but neither of them trusted him enough to relax when he was around. She slept with Radolf in her bed that night, while Edgar chose to sleep in a chair by the fire, much to her relief.

 

 

The following morning, the entire village was gathered in the Courtyard. Calder stood on the top step of the Manor, so that he could look down on them. He let his eyes drift over the crowd until he found the one he was looking for.

His eyes met Regan's and he felt a small jolt of excitement run through him. She stood with her young son, back away from the rest of the crowd. She had no other children with her, so he had to assume the boy was her only one, and for some reason that pleased him.

He studied her face, which looked pale and haggard, and wondered what could have happened since he had seen her the day before to distress her so.

Of their own volition, his eyes then sought out Edgar, knowing he was the reason that Regan looked so scared and unhappy. He found him standing with a small group of men and a short, buxom, blonde woman.

“I am Calder Wyndym, vassal to Lord Aric,” he spoke in a voice loud enough that all could hear him well. “During his illness, I will take his place as Lord and Castellan of these lands. You will serve me as you would serve him.”

He paused, watching the crowd as they whispered nervously amongst themselves.

“There is a castle to be built,” he continued, “and your labor is required to complete it. You have sworn fealty to my brother and, as his vassals, you owe him your services in return for the use of his lands.”

The whispers turned to disgruntled murmurs throughout the crowd now. His men had taken up positions every few feet along the outside perimeter of the group. They were looking tense and uneasy and Calder worried that there might be trouble.

“You will be divided into groups and every third day you will work for me, all of you, even the women.”

“And our children, as well?” came a loud, brash voice from the crowd.

“If you cannot handle the job, then yes, your children also.” He tried not