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

“What is it? Are you upset about this evening’s proceedings?”

“Oh, no, Milord,” she replied softly, blinking away her tears. “You handled the situation very well. I think Radolf is doing much better now and I owe you my thanks. I was wrong, you can make a difference. And I owe you an apology, as well, for doubting you.”

“You owe me nothing, Regan. Just honesty. Please tell me why you are so upset.”

She lowered her gaze to the table, unable to tell him how confused and unsettled she was.

“I need to find some answers, Milord, and I don’t know where to look for them.”

“Can you not look to me?”

A wistful smile appeared on her face, but she shook her head. “No, Milord, this is a problem that I must find the answer to myself.”

Calder suspected that the issue of his being Radolf’s father was what distressed her, but he could not understand why she felt she could not tell him the truth of it. Edgar was gone now and could no longer harm any of them. It made no sense to him. But, he respected the fact that it was a battle she felt she must fight alone and acquiesced to her wishes.

“Just know, Regan,” he said softly, “that I am always here for you. I will help you through anything. And I will never, ever allow anyone to hurt you or Radolf again.”

Regan wondered if he realized that it was he, himself, who could hurt them most. Calder was the only one who could cut her so deeply that she might never be able to recover from it.

“Thank you, Milord,” she whispered, lifting her hand from his and running it gently along the scar on the side of his face. She searched his eyes and hoped that she would know what to do when she saw what they held. Although tenderness and affection shone from them, she was not sure if that was enough.

“I must take Radolf home now,” she said, removing her hand and standing up. He grasped it in his own and held her in place.

“We need to talk further, Regan. I will give you some time to work things out in your own heart, but then, we will talk this through. You will not leave here before we do that. Promise me.”

She gazed down at him for a moment, his handsome face so confused and unsure, and knew that she could not refuse him. “I promise, Calder. We will talk again, when I have had a chance to think things through on my own. I will not leave before doing so.”

“Thank you, Regan,” Calder did not know what to say to make her realize how important she was to him and how much he needed her in his life. He was not sure if this was the time to tell her such things anyway and watched silently as she took his son by the hand and led him away.

CHAPTER 17

With the end of summer and the beginning of fall, harvesting began in earnest. Filbert brought that to Calder’s attention each night when he gave his report.

“The people worry, Milord,” he said, once again. “If the crops are not brought in by the time the ground begins to freeze, much will be lost and people will go hungry this winter.”

“Enough, Filbert,” Calder responded brusquely. “I understand the need to get the harvest in. Tell your people that they need not report to work on the castle again, not until the crops are brought in and the beasts butchered and cured for the winter.”

“Thank you, Milord,” Filbert said with relief.

“And, Filbert,” Calder added, “at the end of the harvest season, we will have a festival to celebrate. The people, most of them anyway, have helped a great deal on the castle and I wish to reward them for their services.”

“Thank you, Milord, that is very kind of you.” Filbert could not hide his surprise. There had not been a fair or festival held in the village since the Normans arrived.

“That’s the good news,” Calder said with a wry grin. “You might as well also tell them that the tax calculations are almost complete. Once the harvest is in, they will become due immediately and I will expect payment in full. Anyone not paying their taxes will be banished from the village.”

Filbert looked at him coldly. “Surely, you would not put out a family just before the winter snows.

“Surely, I would,” he answered firmly. “They did not pay their proper taxes to my brother and he almost lost these lands because of it. I will not allow that to happen to me.”

“As you wish, Milord,” Filbert said, his eyes narrowed as he turned and left the Manor.

One evening the following week, Regan made her way to the Manor to meet with Calder to discuss the taxes. She had left word with Garrick several days before that the figures were ready and had been waiting apprehensively to be summoned.

She had made sure to keep Radolf close by for the last couple of days because she wanted him to attend with her. Regan wanted no opportunity to be alone with Calder, in truth, she could not trust what she might do.

Late that afternoon, however, shortly before her summons, Draco had arrived to take the boy fishing. They would be out late, he had told her, as they were fishing for pike, and those could best be caught at dusk and afterward. Seeing the excited look on her son’s face, Regan could not deny him, and so the two left a short time later.

It was not long after that when Garrick arrived with her invitation to dine with Calder. She suddenly became suspicious of the last-minute fishing trip and paced nervously around the small cottage.

Regan still had not decided what to do about the situation with Calder and her indecision was tearing at her as deeply as her guilt over Edgar had. She was afraid to have Calder confront her before she knew for sure what her response would be.

Nevertheless, she carefully plaited her hair and dressed as well as she could, considering the frayed clothing that she had to choose from, and slowly made her way to the Manor.

Calder was near the door when she arrived, speaking with one of his men. His face lit up when he saw her and he took her arm and escorted her to his table.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Regan,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

“Thank you for the invitation, Milord. I only wish Radolf could have joined us,” she added casually.

Seeing the corner of his mouth curl up in a slight smile, she realized her suspicions were correct. Calder had instructed Draco to make sure Radolf would be busy that evening, so he could not interrupt the conversation that Calder intended to have with her. Regan’s heart pounded furiously against her chest as her nervousness increased.

“Where is he this evening?” Calder asked, his voice was serious, but a mischievous sparkle lit his deep blue eyes.

“Draco came by earlier to take him fishing. Had I known you would be summoning me here this evening, I would have denied the request, as I’m sure Milord must know.”

“A miscommunication on my part, I fear,” he said, his eyes smiling into hers as he pursed his lips and shook his head in mock regret.

“Now it will have to be just you and me,” he added, his face turning more serious, passion flaring in his eyes as he took her hand in his. “I hope you do not find that too disagreeable.”

“I imagine that will depend, Milord,” she answered softly, unable to tear her gaze from his, “on how you choose to comport yourself.”

With a devilish smile on his face, he replied, “I will do my best to be nothing other than honorable, Milady.”

They were interrupted then by servants bringing in the food. Regan was impressed at the richness of the fare and genuinely did regret that Radolf could not be there to sample the delicacies.

Usually when she dined at the Manor, there was a simple meat dish served with bread and, occasionally, a small dessert. This evening’s meal seemed more like a feast. The servants brought trenchers, hollowed out loaves of stale bread, piled high with food and cut in half, to be shared by two people.

She savored the taste of the venison, which had been basted with a verjuice marinade and cooked over a spit in the great fireplace in the Hall, its aroma lingering still. The meat was accompanied by a frumenty, the wheat milk pudding which was a common dish in her own home. But this frumenty was different, much richer and spicier than what she as used to, and Calder seemed pleased when she mentioned the fact.

Regan particularly enjoyed the white bread that was being served, helping herself to several pieces. It was a very rare occurrence when she was able to enjoy it, being used to dark bread or, occasionally, some made of wheat or rye.

Although the knights had no trouble keeping up a loud boisterous conversation while they ate, Calder and Regan remained quiet, with just occasional comments about the food. Both felt the need to ease into this evening slowly, neither knowing which direction it would take, each of them having their own idea of how it should end.

Picking at the boiled apples and cheese curds that completed their meal, Calder leaned back in his chair, unable to keep from watching Regan. It had been a long time since they were together and his body craved hers. Having her so close pushed thoughts of anything, other than holding her in his arms, from his head.

Feeling the weight of his stare, she nervously picked up her pewter cup to take a sip of