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

our way through the gardens. They were magnificent,” she said, her voice filled with awe at the splendor of everything that she had seen since arriving.

“I ran into Devona, your sister-in-law, in the gardens. She was quite surprised to see me and I didn't really know how to explain why I was here,” Regan said, gazing into his deep blue eyes, gaining strength and confidence just from having him back at her side.

“It is none of her concern why you are here and you need offer no explanations to anyone. I didn't realize that she was still in London though,” he replied, his voice thoughtful as he considered what repercussions Devona's presence might have, especially if she was still petitioning to get his lands back for her son.

Regan ate little of the opulent meal that was presented. Her stomach was a tight knot of nervousness as she tried not to show how unrefined she was. Watching all of the people in the room carefully, she tried to mimic their actions, so that she would not look too out of place.

The array of glorious colors and rich fabrics of the tight, form fitting kirtles worn by the other women amazed Regan, and she was left feeling self-conscious about her own clothing. She was wearing a dark green, silk kirtle which, fortunately, still fit since her pregnancy was not yet showing. Her long hair was plaited and hung down her back, covered by a linen wimple.

Regan had other tunics made of rich fabrics, thanks to Calder, but she owned none of the jewels or fur trimmings that adorned the nobles' attire. She felt like a peasant.

But, she could not help but feel proud to be at Calder's side. He was resplendent in his dark blue tunic, which was decorated with gold etching and hung to just above his knees, drawn tightly around his waist by a belt with a wide gold buckle. His muscular legs were shown off in all their glory in his tight-fitting hose, and she could not miss the lascivious glances of the other women at their table as they tried to catch his eye.

As if sensing her mood, Calder reached for her hand under the table and squeezed it lightly. “Is there something wrong with the pheasant, love?” he asked tenderly. “You do not seem to be enjoying it much.”

“It's delicious, Calder. I just haven't much of an appetite this evening.”

“Is it the baby?” he asked, his voice so low that only she could hear. He found her to be the most brilliant jewel in the room and had no idea of the insecurity she was feeling amidst these people. He had also noted looks in their direction from the romantic young swains waiting to pounce on a beautiful, single woman, and he determined that he would not let her out of his sight to be at the mercy of these randy knaves.

There were other looks cast in their direction, as well, more malevolent and directed solely at him. Most were from Roderick and his men, but there were others that harbored naught but ill-feelings toward him and his men. Being one of the King's favorites did have its accompanying problems.

After dinner, the tables and benches were cleared from the room and King William took his position on a dais overlooking the crowd.

“Who here has a petition for the King?” cried out his steward.

Several people rushed to the front, all wanting their few moments of the King's ear. William was not an especially attractive man, but his bearing was proud and regal, and power emanated from him, making him more attractive than he might have been.

As they rushed through their petitions, Calder was in a quandary as to what to do about Regan. Should he allow her to stay and hear his own petition, and the arguments that would flow forth because of it, or send her back to her room? To do so would embarrass her, as she would feel that he did not believe her good enough to stay and participate in the festivities later that evening.

He was absolved from laboring any further over a decision when he heard his name mentioned a few moments later. Curiously, he looked over toward the dais and saw that Devona was fervently making an appeal to the King.

“Stay here,” he said brusquely to Regan, as he shouldered his way through the crowd to reach Devona.

“My husband was one of your most devoted servants, Sire.” Her high, mousy voice was almost shrieking in her enthusiasm, and Calder could see the King wince as he listened. “You gave him lands after his great support for you in your conquest of this barbaric country. In return, he gave his life for you, living amongst these savages and being poisoned by them after trying to acquiesce to your wishes. Then, rather than let his son, Harlan, inherit, as was the right and just thing to do, you gave those lands over to his brother. To Calder, who is a simple soldier, not a nobleman, and who has no right to them.”

The King's displeasure, at her tone and her turn of phrase, was evident on his face, but she was so carried away by finally having a chance to speak her mind to him that she failed to notice.

“Enough, Devona,” he said sharply. “You have made your thoughts on this matter perfectly clear and you need add no more insults. Calder became a nobleman when I made him such. What is it that you are asking of me?”

“Sire,” she said a little more contritely, “I know Calder has been invaluable to you, but these lands should go to Aric's son. If you do not see fit to return them to him, please allow me to marry Calder, then Harlan will inherit them after his death. It is the only fair and just thing to do.”

The King tried to smother his grin as he glanced askance at Calder, whose face had suddenly paled. He looked almost panic stricken at the thought of having this woman as his bride.

“What say you, Calder?”

“I cannot marry, Devona, Your Highness. In fact, I intended to bring a petition myself, to get your permission to wed one called Regan.”

The King looked at him in surprise, caught off guard at such a request from his most respected knight.

“But she is a Saxon,” Devona screeched. “Will you now let the conquered once more take over these lands that your men fought so valiantly for, Sire?”

“Is this true?” the King asked Calder.

“Yes, Your Highness, it is. That is why I came to you.”

“Why do you believe that I would allow one of my nobles to take a Saxon as a wife?”

“I believe, Your Highness, that ultimately the decision of whom a man will marry is made less because of whether they are Norman or Saxon and more because of what lies in each of their hearts.”

“That is foolishness, Milord,” Roderick called out loudly as he stepped forward, eager to add his own opinion. His hawkish features were even more pronounced as he strode toward the small group. He moved with the imperiousness that came from having power and knowing how to use it. Not as tall as Calder, he was almost as broad and muscular, his physique leaving no doubt as to the number of hours he spent on the practice field with his men.

Roderick's dark brown eyes swept arrogantly over Calder before he turned back to the King. “Calder obviously has not learned what it means to rule these people. He chooses instead to bed them and let them run the lands themselves.”

“Sire,” Calder replied forcefully, “when we first conquered this land, you admonished all of us to do several things. The most important, you said, was to try to work with these people, to develop an agreeable relationship with them, so that the country could prosper and flourish.”

“Sire,” Devona interrupted shrilly.

“Be quiet, Devona. I will give you further leave to speak. For now, Calder is entitled to explain.”

“I have done as you asked, Your Highness. Our castle is almost completed, more lands have been cleared and fields harvested, merchants and tradesmen are clamoring to join our community, which will enrich not just the people of the area, but you, as well. How can we continue to maintain any relationship with these people if we treat them as lesser men, or women, than we are? How can we live amongst them every day and not allow friendships, or more, to develop? How can we ever become one as a country until all are treated as one?”

King William stared pointedly at him, nodding his head at the wisdom of Calder's words. “You make a strong argument, Calder.”

“Your Highness,” Roderick interjected, “you cannot allow these lands to return to the peasants. The blood of your knights allowed Calder to have them, and you cannot shame their memory by now giving it back to the ones who killed them.”

The scar on Calder's cheek was a livid red as he turned toward Roderick. His hands were clenched in fists at his side as he fought to control his anger.

“This woman did not kill any of our men. I lost many myself and would never dishonor their memory. The war is long since done and it is time now to strengthen this country. My marriage to Regan will help bind two peoples together into one, to make us all stronger when the next enemy arrives at our shore.”

“Poppycock,” Roderick stated disdainfully. “You lust after a young village woman. Take her, Calder, but do not embarrass the rest of us by marrying her.”

“Enough,” the King said sternly, seeing that Calder was ready to do physical harm to Roderick. “Is the woman here?”

“Yes.”

“Come forward, Regan. Let me meet the young woman who has my knights in such an uproar.”

Regan had been trying to hide herself in the back of the room as she listened to the arguments. Her face was pale and her hands trembling. She had never expected this and, although pleased that Calder wanted her as his wife, she was dismayed that he must now suffer the wrath of his peers because of his feelings for her.

She walked slowly toward the dais, feeling the curious stares of all as she did so. “Your Highness,” she said quietly, with a low curtsy as she arrived in front