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

“No,” Radolf answered, a smile lighting his face, his worries over his mother suddenly forgotten at the thought of the new adventures to be had inside the Manor.

“You’ll have to sleep on a pallet here in the Hall with my knights.”

“I can do that,” Radolf answered happily.

“And I will take you to see your mother as soon as she feels better.”

Radolf’s smile faded a little as he thought of his mother, but brightened again at Calder’s next comment.

“I have a gift for you that I brought from London. Would you like it now?”

“Yes, I would,” he answered, unable to continue sitting still in Calder’s lap in his excitement and jumping down to stand beside him.

“Garrick,” Calder yelled, “where is Radolf’s gift?”

“Taken to the kitchen, Milord. Shall I go get it for you?”

“Yes, and quickly, Garrick. Poor Radolf is getting quite impatient.”

A few moments later, Garrick arrived holding a fluffy, wiggling bundle in his arms. He released it onto the floor and the puppy ran in circles around the room, barking shrilly and wagging its tail in happiness.

“He’s for me?” Radolf asked in wonder and, at Calder’s nod, scampered over to the puppy.

“He is not just to play with, Radolf. You must also feed and care for him.” Calder had to raise his voice so that the boy heard him, so engrossed was the child with his new friend.

“Yes, Lord Cawer,” he answered absently, rolling the puppy onto its back and tickling its belly. The puppy squirmed out of his grip and leaped onto him, retaliating by knocking Radolf onto the ground and licking his face unmercifully, while the boy giggled and tried to escape.

Calder could not help but feel some of the tension leave his body as he watched Radolf and the puppy disrupt the entire room. His knights were kept busy trying to prevent any serious injuries. Radolf managed to trip over his own feet often enough, but now made several extra trips to the floor as the puppy ran between his legs or grabbed his tunic with its sharp little teeth and caused him to lose his balance.

Calder’s mighty knights stood at the ready, making sure there was no contact with any of the large heavy pieces of furniture.

The smile Calder was wearing as he watched their antics dropped from his face when he saw Draco approaching with an old woman. Her white hair and bent frame were covered by a heavy mantle. Her wizened face was set as she approached, and he could see the hate and mistrust in her eyes when she glared at him.

“Garrick, take the boy and his puppy to the kitchen for a bit,” he ordered, not wanting Radolf to hear what was about to be said.

“You are Esme?” he asked, after he was sure Radolf was gone from the room.

“Yes,” she answered sullenly.

“You are the healer of the village?”

“Yes,” she answered again, knowing why she was there, but feeling no compulsion to make excuses to this man for her actions.

“You were asked to help Regan, but you refused?”

“Yes,” she answered, this time somewhat arrogantly.

“Why?” Calder could feel the anger growing inside of him and tried to subdue it.

Esme studied him for a moment, then shrugged, deciding that she was the one with the power at this moment and that she had nothing to fear from the Overlord. He needed her and she knew that he would not harm an old woman, not when she was the only one who might possibly be able to save Regan.

“She is a whore and a traitor to her people. She deserves to die.”

Calder’s face froze and his knuckles turned white with tension as he gripped the tankard of ale. He had to wait a moment before speaking, until the red haze of fury cleared from his head a little and he was able to voice words in a reasonably calm manner. “You will leave my lands this day, old woman, and never return.”

His voice was cold and his eyes were chips of blue ice. The scar along his cheek was a vivid red against his skin. He felt no remorse for banishing the hag, in his eyes, he was being as merciful as his anger would allow. The old woman was lucky that he did not run her through with his sword at that very moment.

The wrinkled skin on her face sagged as she stared at him, her mouth open in astonishment.

“You cannot do that, M’lord,” her voice came out no louder than a whisper.

“Yes, I can and I have. Now leave my sight before I do you harm.”

Everyone in the room watched silently.

“Graeham,” Calder yelled, when the woman made no move to leave, “escort her home. Do not leave her side until she has left my lands.”

“But,” the old woman whined, “I will freeze to death. I have nowhere to go. Please, Milord, have pity.”

Calder stared at her coldly. “I show you the same pity that you showed Regan.”

“She deserves no one’s pity,” the woman cried shrilly.

“Graeham,” Calder said, with a nod at the woman. Graeham took her arm and dragged her toward the door.

Yanking her thin arm from his grip, she turned back toward Calder with narrowed eyes. “Your whore dies as we speak, as it should be. Whether I live or die once I leave this place, I will not rest until I see you and your bastard son join her in hell.”

Graeham roughly grabbed her arm again and dragged her through the door before she could say anything further.

“Post more guards this evening, Draco. I fear there may be some trouble.”

“I believe you may be right, Milord.” Draco replied dryly, as he walked over to advise the men.

CHAPTER 21

Gayle returned to Regan’s room at daylight. She had gone home to sleep for a few hours, but it was difficult in coming. Between her worry for Regan, and the comings and goings of the villagers all night, she had gotten little rest.

She found it ironic that the people came to Filbert for help in dealing with the Overlord, when it was Esme’s treatment of their own daughter that had started the wheels in motion for this particular situation.

Esme and her husband had been escorted off the lands, but some members of the village were making plans to sneak them back and hide them without Calder’s knowledge.

Filbert had warned them not to do so, at least not until he had a chance to try and reason with Calder. They had agreed to wait one day before taking matters into their own hands, but the anger and tension against the Normans was palpable. Nothing good would come of this, Gayle feared.

She would not speak to the others or involve herself in their mischief. She was consumed with fear that her daughter might die. And it was because of Esme and the others that it might happen. Gayle had tried to maintain a healthy relationship with the other villagers, even though she was well aware of how they treated Regan and her grandson.

It broke her heart, but what could she do? There were so many of them and she was afraid that they would ostracize her as well. But now they had gone too far. Her daughter’s life was in danger and she would no longer forgive and forget. She was filled with shame that it had taken something so extreme for her to be able to place her daughter’s well-being above her own.

Gayle hesitated when she opened the door to Regan’s room and found Calder asleep in a chair next to the bed. His face was relaxed while he slumbered, but then his brows creased and he began to mumble incoherently. The only word she was able to make out was her daughter’s name.

“Mayhap, I have been wrong about this man,” she thought. He was an enigma to her. She held him responsible for violating her daughter and causing all that had befallen Regan since, and blamed him for the death and destruction that had come to their village with the Normans arrival. Yet, there he sat all through the night, unable to leave her daughter’s side in his worry.

“Mayhap, Regan was the only one of us that was able to see what his heart truly holds,” she thought, a slight smile gracing her lips.

She roused herself from her thoughts when she saw that he was awake and studying her as closely as she had been him.

“Good morn to you, Lord Calder,” she said nervously. “Has there been any change?”

“No,” he replied sadly, gently pushing a curl back from Regan’s flushed cheek. “I fear the fever may be worse now. She tossed and turned restlessly all night. Nothing seems to help. Will Bernia return?”

“I hope so, Milord. But,” she hesitated, unsure of how much she could trust him, “feelings are running very strong right now amongst the villagers. If she returns to the Manor, they will make her suffer for it.”

“I created those feelings and may have killed Regan in the process.” He felt so disheartened and guilty that he buried his head in his hands. “I was so angry at the old woman that I did not consider the repercussions of my actions.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Gayle’s eyes, which were brimming with unshed tears.

“I can see how much you care for my daughter, Milord, and I know that you would never do anything to deliberately cause her harm. Her father and I failed her. Edgar failed her. This whole village failed her. But you have not. We will see her through this.