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

Regan, and Radolf, was to marry her. As the Lady of the Manor and the son of the Overlord, no one would dare insult or hurt them any longer for fear of serious reprisal.

Calder was honest enough to admit that this was not something that he was doing solely for their benefit. He wanted his son near him. He wanted to spend time with Radolf; to teach him to hunt, to fish, to sit a horse properly, to watch him grow and help him along on his journey into manhood.

And he wanted Regan always near his side. He wanted to hold her in the dark of the night, wanted to see her bright smile and let it lighten his heart as he went through the rigors of daily life at the castle. He wanted to be able to take her into his arms whenever the mood struck him and not have to worry about who might see them and what repercussions she would suffer because of it.

Calder smiled as he thought of how their life together would be and spurred his horse on, barely able to contain his desire to be back at the Manor with the two of them.

 

            

 

As soon as they arrived at the village, he impatiently instructed his men as to what should be done with the items on the wagon and left Alerio for Skeet to tend as hurried toward Regan’s cottage. The smile disappeared from his face when the door was opened by an attractive older woman, not Regan.

“Who are you?” he asked gruffly.

“I am Gayle, Regan’s mother, Milord,” she replied, with a slight curtsy.

Looking over her shoulder, Calder saw Regan lying on a pallet by the fire. He brushed past the older woman and went to her. Kneeling down next to her unconscious form, he placed his hand on her burning face and looked up at Gayle.

“What has happened to her?”

“Regan is very ill, Milord,” Gayle replied, her eyes filling with tears. “She has not been well for several weeks. She did not come to our home last night to join us for our evening meal. When I came to look in on her, I found her like this. I cannot get her to wake, Milord.”

“Have you no healer in the village?”

“Yes, but she will not come.”

He looked at her sharply. “She refuses to help Regan?”

“Yes, Milord.”

“Where is Radolf?” Calder asked, looking around the spartan cottage.

“He has been staying with Filbert and me. Regan refused to.”

“Tell me the name of the woman who would not help Regan,” he demanded.

“Esme,” Gayle answered reluctantly, seeing the anger in his eyes and fearing what he would do.

Calder realized that there was not enough time to send to London for Gideon. By the time he got the message and returned to the village, Regan could be dead.

“Is there anyone else in the village who knows of healing?”

“Bernia,” she answered hesitantly, “but she is young and just an apprentice.”

A tendril of fear crawled up his back and panic threatened to overwhelm him as the reality of the situation registered. He could not, and would not, allow Regan to die.

“I am taking Regan to the Manor so she can be properly cared for. Go to your home and get Radolf. Bring him to the Manor, he will stay there, as well.

Gayle frowned, not feeling at all comfortable with her grandson staying amidst the Normans. All she knew of Calder was that he was her grandson’s father, and that he was a strict, and sometimes heartless, Overlord whom most of the villagers hated and feared. She also knew that it was because of this man’s violation of her daughter, that Regan had come to be so mistreated by others in the village.

“I do not believe that would be proper, Milord.” She said it quietly, but her voice was filled with determination.

“You worry about Regan’s reputation?” Calder asked incredulously.

“Of course.”

“What good will her reputation do her if she is left here to die?” he asked angrily. “Get Radolf and bring him to the Manor immediately.”

There was no misinterpreting the tone of his voice and Gayle quickly donned her mantle and headed for the door. Before opening it, she turned back to Calder. Tears filled her eyes and worry lined her face, as she asked softly, “May I come to the Manor and help with the care of my daughter?”

Calder softened a little and, with an apologetic smile, said, “Of course. You may spend as much time with her and Radolf as you wish.”

He turned back to Regan then, and covered her with the threadbare blanket. Listening the wind howling fiercely outside, he realized the meager covering would not be enough. Removing his own heavy cloak, Calder wrapped that around her also. He quickly made his way back to the Manor with Regan held tightly in his arms, trying to use his own body to block her from the wind.

Draco frowned as he saw the limp, lifeless body that Calder held in his arms. Their eyes met in mutual concern as the Overlord carried her rapidly upstairs to his chamber. Draco began bellowing orders and had servants scurrying around in their haste to obey. Then he made his own way to the bedchamber.

“Seems we’ve been here before,” Draco said in his deep, gravelly voice, recalling the first time they had come across Regan.

“Let’s hope we have not come full circle, my friend. She is very ill and I am not sure that this time she will be able to walk out of here.”

Calder removed her clothing and placed her under the heavy quilts. Her face was flushed and her skin clammy with the sweat from her fever. Calder tenderly wiped her face with a cool cloth as she tossed and turned restlessly.

Several servants arrived then, some with ewers of water, others with armloads of wood. After the fire had been stoked and they left the room once again, Calder turned to Draco.

“I need you to fetch two women from the village. One is called Esme and the other Bernia. Esme is to wait in the Hall until I come down. Send the other to me as soon as possible. Regan’s mother will be bringing Radolf. See that he is taken care of and allow Gayle up here if that is her wish.”

“Yes, Milord,” Draco replied, and quickly left to do his bidding.

Calder continued to use cool water on Regan’s face and body. She moaned and writhed on the bed as her fever raged. He preferred that actually, over the way she had been in the cottage, completely still, as if she were already dead. He could not bear to see her like that.

He sighed in relief when he saw Gayle enter the room, followed by a young woman.

“This is Bernia,” Gayle said, glancing worriedly at her daughter, who looked so small and fragile lying beneath the covers of the huge bed.

The girl with her watched Calder in fear and confusion, unaware of why she had been called to the Manor. She was thin and not unattractive, with light brown hair and pale blue eyes. Calder looked at her pointedly.

“You are a healer?” he asked, trying to keep his emotions, which were running rampant, from his voice as he spoke.

“An apprentice, Milord,” she said in a shy, quiet voice, lowering her gaze to the floor.

“This is Regan,” he said, waving toward the bed, “and she is very ill. Will you help her?”

The girl glanced at the bed and then back in Calder’s direction. “As I said, Milord, I am just an apprentice. If she is very ill, you should have Esme look to her.”

“I have asked if you will help her. Will you or not?”

“Of course, Milord,” she responded nervously.

“You harbor no ill feelings that would keep you from doing your best for her?” He was hesitant to ask anyone in the village for their assistance in this matter, but realized he had no other choice.

“No, Milord. I will do all I can for her, I swear.” She spoke sincerely, looking him straight in the eye.

“I will hold you to that,” he answered, in a soft but threatening tone of voice. “Gayle will be here to assist you. If there is anything that you need, just ask and you shall have it.”

“Thank you, Milord. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to Regan.” Bernia hurried over to the bed and started examining her patient with shaking hands. She could not concentrate with Calder watching her every move and turned back towards him.

“Mayhap, you could go down to the Hall for a short while, Milord. We will call you when we have finished examining her.”

Calder stood by the door, feeling inadequate and useless. Anger and fear boiled up inside of him as he realized that he could do nothing for Regan. “Of course,” he answered hesitantly, afraid to leave her side. “But call me if there is any change.”

“Yes, Milord.”

He reluctantly left the bedchamber and made his way downstairs. He had no sooner sat down and taken a healthy draught of ale than Radolf jumped on his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Lord Cawer,” he said excitedly, “you’re back.”

Calder returned his hug, having to restrain himself so he did not hurt Radolf, as he engulfed the boy in his arms and held him close.

“I missed you. Have you been well?” His voice was tight, strained with worry.

“Yes, Lord Cawer, but my momma is sick.” Radolf blinked back tears as he spoke.

“I know, son. That is why I brought her here, so that we can help her get well. I would like