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

The aroma from the food on the trencher in front of Calder caused his empty stomach to roil and growl, his embarrassment at it fueling his anger. Calder appeared not to notice and casually popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. He chewed it slowly and washed it down with a large draught of ale. Then he raised his head slowly and stared into Edgar's eyes.

“My brother will be here shortly. If you do not swear fealty to him, you will be executed immediately. I assume you know that?”

Edgar just stared back at him, wishing he had a knife with which to cut Calder's throat at that moment.

Calder shrugged. “It's your choice. My brother is a good man and will do much to help you and your people, if you give him the chance.”

“Like the chance you gave my father and brother and the others when you cut them down?” Edgar spat.

Calder looked intently at Edgar, wishing this one was not the betrothed of Regan. Given the choice, he would put this man to death immediately. Edgar was young and impulsive. The hatred inside of him would just continue to grow and fester until he finally did something stupid, causing his own, and perhaps others', deaths. But Calder could not leave Regan to fend for herself. Because of what had happened between them, he would have to let this man live, so that she could be properly wed and cared for. Calder hoped he would not end up regretting his decision.

Edgar felt a tremor of fear go through him as Calder continued to study him. His face was still as stone, his expression giving away nothing. Most disconcerting were his eyes, so blue that they appeared almost black, piercing into his very soul it seemed. Edgar could see death in them, and feared it might be his own.

“Grow up, boy,” Calder said in a low, cold tone. “The only men killed were those that fought against us. If a man takes up a weapon, he must be prepared to die. Those men fought with courage and died with honor. They would not want a sniveling coward like you crying on their behalf.”

“You bastard,” Edgar yelled, as he lunged toward Calder. He stopped abruptly as Draco's enormous war axe struck the table with a loud thud, vibrating where it was buried, just inches from his extended hands.

He backed away, his face pale and his hands trembling. He wanted to weep with frustration and anger but would never allow himself to do so in front of these men.

“You will be released to return to your home now.” Draco looked over at Calder in surprise. “And tomorrow you will wed Regan.”

Edgar narrowed his eyes at Calder. “You cannot force me to take your seconds.”

Calder vaulted over the table and, in the blink of an eye, had his large hand wrapped around Edgar's neck.

“Your woman was hurt and unconscious.” His voice was so low that none but the two of them could hear. “She was not responsible for being here, nor for anything that occurred while she was under this roof. Do you understand that?”

Edgar's face turned a bright red and the pressure being exerted on his throat made it difficult to breathe. He barely managed to squeak out a 'yes' in response to Calder's question.

Leaning his face even closer, but not yet releasing his grip on Edgar's throat, Calder said quietly, “Whatever anger or hatred you bear toward me, you will not take out on her. Do you understand that? Not tomorrow, not next week, not next year. For I will never be far away and for every harm that you do to her, I will revisit it on you tenfold.”

Calder threw Edgar away from him and returned to the table. Edgar lay on the floor, coughing and gasping for breath.

“Take him to his home, Kenny, and see that he stays there. He has a wedding to prepare for and the sight of him disagrees with me.”

After Edgar was taken from the Hall, the rest of Calder's men sat down to eat.

“I want all of you to keep a close eye on that man,” Calder advised them. “I will warn Aric about him, as well, but do not allow him to start any trouble while we are here.”

His men all nodded their heads as they shoveled food into their mouths. “Shall we knock him around a bit, if it's called for?” Garrick asked eagerly.

“No,” Calder said, “if anything is called for, bring him to me. I want to take care of him personally.”

He could feel Draco's questioning gaze on him, but when he turned to challenge him with a stare, Draco just shrugged his shoulders and grabbed another piece of venison.

“We will let the wedding festivities take place as they would normally. You men will keep your distance and not interfere unless you have to. There could be some trouble if they bury their heads in those kegs of ale I saw. Let them have their fun, just don't let it get out of hand.”

“No drinking and dancing for us then, eh, M'Iord?” Holt yelled from the end of the table.

“That's right,” Calder answered.

“Damn, I haven't held a woman in my arms in a month of Sundays.” He shook his massive head in disappointment.

The men all laughed. Holt was a formidable warrior, but in no way could he be termed a ladies’ man. With his bald head and what looked like one long, bushy, black eyebrow across his face, combined with a large, bulbous nose and a loud booming voice, he frightened women away more often than naught.

“We'll be back in London by month's end, Holt. You can make up for lost time then.”

The conversation turned ribald as the men took turns describing the looks of the women Holt might encounter once they reached London, and the rest of their morning meal passed quickly.

Calder did not join in the conversation, his mind instead filled with thoughts of Regan and Edgar; frowning as he worried about what might happen to her once she was married to Edgar and he was gone.

That afternoon, after a rigorous practice with his men, which was meant more to instill fear in the villagers than because it was necessary, Calder decided to take a ride and maybe do some hunting. He set out alone on his great steed, Alerio.

Draco wanted to come with him, but he needed to be alone. It was a beautiful spring day and he felt himself relaxing for the first time since he had arrived as they slowly wandered through the fields and then the woods. The sun was shining brightly and the cool breeze blew pleasantly across his face as he rode.

He enjoyed the freedom of the outdoors and dreaded the trip to London. He hated the pomp and ceremony of Court. His older brother, Aric, loved it, had been born to it as the first son. When their father passed away, Aric became The Earl of Marlboro, as was his due.

As the second son, Calder was not entitled to inherit his father's land. His only options were to become a soldier or join the clergy. Envisioning himself as a clergyman made him smile, knowing the vow of celibacy would have proven very difficult, more likely impossible, to keep.

That, in turn, led his thoughts to Regan as he let Alerio carry him along a meandering trail near the river. She was a pretty young thing, with long copper curls and deep green eyes. Like a wood nymph, he thought fancifully, glancing around at the canopy created by the large fir trees above him.

Why had she turned to him that night? He would have expected a shy, young virgin to scream and leap from the bed when she found herself lying next to a naked stranger.

Why had she turned in his arms and offered herself to him? He was not able to come up with a reasonable explanation, so instead, dwelt on the more intimate details of that evening; her soft moans and sighs, her sweet, full lips and smooth, silky skin. The feel of her body pressed against his.

Alerio stopped suddenly and Calder roused himself from his thoughts. Looking up, he saw her sleeping under a tree. He blinked and looked again, to make sure that it wasn't some vision he had conjured up with his thoughts.

He dismounted and slapped Alerio on the rump, sending him off to graze as he walked over to her sleeping figure. Regan lay on her side, long tresses partially covering her face. He knew it was her though, that particular shade of reddish-gold hair could belong to no other.

He squatted down next to her and gently moved the hair from her face. There were stains on her cheeks from the tears she had been crying before she fell asleep. Calder frowned, feeling the weight of his responsibility for them. Tomorrow was her wedding day and, because of him, she would have to explain to her new husband why she was no longer a virgin.

He did not regret the time they had shared together, in fact, he had found it to be one of his more pleasurable experiences. But he did feel guilty for the position it had left her in. For a Saxon woman to have relations with a man out of wedlock was sin enough, but when that man was a Norman, Calder couldn't even imagine the extent of ridicule and scorn that she might have to bear.

It was not fair to her and he would do all he could to see her properly wed, so that she would not have to face any disgrace or embarrassment.

Marrying her himself was not something that occurred to him. He was a knight, one who could not, and would not, even try to see himself as a husband or a father. It