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

“You have no reason to apologize. I would feel the same in your place.” He lightly brushed a damp curl away from her cheek and Regan lifted her face, leaning into his hand, grateful for his understanding.

Just as he was about to take her into his arms again, they heard a voice shrieking, “Momma, Momma,” from somewhere nearby.

Calder saw the color drain from Regan's face and realized that something was terribly wrong. He turned and sped off into the woods in the direction of the voice. Ignoring the branches slapping at his face, he quickly reached a clearing where he believed the sound had come from, but little Radolf was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, he saw two large wolves circling around an old hollowed out log that lay on the ground. The wolves were whining in anticipation, one digging under the log in a frenzy, the other trying to squeeze its body through one open end.

Hearing another shriek from Radolf, coming from inside the log, Calder let out a blood-curdling battle cry, pulled out his dagger and ran straight at the wolves. His cry scared one of them off into the brush, but the large, black male turned to face him. The hair on its neck was bristling and its deadly yellow teeth gleamed as it snarled.

As Calder charged, the wolf leapt into the air toward him. The knight grabbed hold of it but was forced to drop his dagger in order to grip the beast's thick neck and keep the strong, snapping jaws away from his face.

They fell to the ground and rolled. Calder tried desperately to keep the beast's deadly teeth away his face and neck. Legs thrashing, the wolf's knifelike claws sliced through his skin as it attempted to get Calder to release his grip. The knight grimaced in pain, but, ignoring the burning sensations, rolled the wolf again. This time he brought the animal closer to where the dagger lay. Pushing the beast away from him with all his strength, Calder dove for the knife and turned just as the wolf launched itself into the air for a second time.

Calder plunged the dagger into the animal's heart. The heavy body landed full on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Calder shoved the beast onto the ground beside him and watched as its legs continued kicking in the final throes of death, and its life's blood trickled into the earth.

Calder stood slowly, his body heaving with the exertion of the battle. The second wolf seemed to have disappeared, for now at least. Regan dashed breathlessly into the clearing just as Calder was bending over to help the sobbing Radolf out of the hollow log. Calder hugged the boy close as he cried noisily against his shoulder. The knight patted him awkwardly him on the back, trying to reassure him.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she paused for a moment to stare at the dead wolf. Taking Radolf into her own arms, she buried her face against his shoulder, squeezing him tightly.

“Calder,” she managed shakily, “thank you. I don't know what we would have done.” Her voice broke at the realization of what might have happened if he had not been there.

The adrenaline from the fight was fading now. Calder walked over and wrapped his strong arms around the two of them, holding them while they cried.

Releasing his hold as they quieted, Regan looked deeply into his eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered again.

He longed to take her back into his arms again but, instead, he put his hand under RadoIf's chin, forcing the boy to look up. “You're alright, son. No more need for tears,” he said tenderly.

Radolf looked at Calder with a tremulous smile and adoring eyes. Regan's face blanched when she heard Calder call Radolf son, despite the fact that he did not realize the truth of what he said. That one simple word caused a sharp pain to blossom in her chest. Suddenly she felt dreadful for not telling Calder that Radolf was his son, appalled that, because of her, Radolf would never know his true father.

But what will happen with Edgar? How much more will he be able to hurt us if Calder knows the truth? Regan's head spun, filled with disjointed thoughts and questions regarding Calder and Edgar; and still trying to recover from the fear of Radolf's close call.

“I have to go,” she mumbled woodenly, her emotions in turmoil.

“I'll walk back with you,” Calder insisted.

Regan needed to be alone with her thoughts and doubts, but was still afraid after what had happened with the wolf, so she acquiesced. They had not gone far when Calder saw how difficult it was for her to carry the boy and offered to take him.

It was then that Regan noticed the blood seeping through his tunic and hose. “Calder, you're hurt,” she said worriedly.

“Just scratches, cheri, nothing to worry about. I'll clean them up when I return to the Manor.”

Holding Radolf in his arms put the thought of his injuries out of his head. Never having spent much time with children, he was pleasantly surprised at how comfortable and natural it felt carrying the boy. Radolf eventually laid his head against Calder's broad shoulder and fell asleep. Calder drew Regan close with his free hand, and they walked together back toward the village in a comfortable silence.

Though outwardly calm, Regan's mind was reeling. On top of her worries about Radolf and Edgar, she also struggled with her feelings for Calder. She was a married woman and was allowing him to be as familiar with her as her husband was. Should anyone see them, she would suffer severe repercussions at Edgar's hands, of that she was sure. But, she could not find it in herself to step away from or refuse Calder's touch. With all of her being, she wanted to be near him and to feel his strength and warmth engulfing her.

Having the presence of mind to split up as they neared the village, Regan and Radolf took a circumventive route around the Manor to get back to their cottage. But before Calder would let her go, he turned her toward him.

“You are sure the both of you will be alright with Edgar?”

With a sad smile, she nodded her head. “Yes, Milord, we'll be fine.”

“Have a good evening then,” he said reluctantly, lines of worry etched in his brow. He felt the need to say much more to her, but knew he could not. “Regan, you know where I am if you need me.”

She touched his arm lightly. “Please don't concern yourself about us. You must tend to your brother now, and yourself. Good evening, Milord.”

A heaviness returned, enveloping his heart, as he watched them walk away. It did not leave him as he made his own way back to the Manor.

Filbert arrived at the Hall after Calder and his men finished their evening meal. Garrick removed himself from the table, so that the old man could sit across from Calder while they discussed their business.

“Milord,” Filbert said, nodding to him as he sat down.

“Filbert.” Calder looked intently at him, wondering how honest the man would be.

“We made good headway on the foundation for the Keep, but I fear we had not enough men to accomplish as much in the woods as could have been done.”

Calder nodded his agreement. “You have the names of the villagers who did not show to do their part?”

He saw the indecision on Filbert's face. The elder was torn between his newfound relationship with Calder and longstanding loyalty to his own people. “I do, Milord. I ask only that you be lenient with them.”

“You have no right to ask that of me, Filbert. They must learn to obey my commands, or they could end up forfeiting their lives for their insubordination.”

“Yes, Milord,” he replied dejectedly, knowing it was the way that it must be, but hating his own part in it.

He listed the names for Calder and was given instructions for work to be done the following day. After Calder dismissed him, Filbert stood as if to leave, but then turned back to the table. “Tomorrow is the day we would come before the Lord of the Manor to have him settle our problems and disputes. Can I let my people know that it will proceed as usual?”

Calder was thoughtful for a moment, a frown gracing his face. He did not have the time, or the patience, to deal with these people's petty problems, but realized it was a necessary part of his new responsibilities. “We will halt work early in the afternoon and I will hear their grievances then.”

“Thank you, Milord,” Filbert responded and took his leave of the Manor.

“Have the pillories been completed?” Calder asked Garrick when he returned to his seat, referring to yokes of wood with indentations for a man's neck and hands. The punishment, he knew, was not especially painful, but rather very uncomfortable, particularly when a person must spend a lengthy period of time in it. They would serve their purpose without causing any serious injury to the villagers.

“Yes, Milord. They are rough, but will do fine.”

Calder slid a piece of paper across the table. “Here is a list of the men that I want placed in them at first light tomorrow. Each day, when one of them ignores my commands and does not show for work as required, he will stand in the pillory the next day. Understood?”

“Yes, Milord,” Garrick answered, “but what of the women?”

“They will stand in it, as well. These people must learn that I will not allow any of them to disrespect