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

“In what way?” Calder had not spoken to his brother since he left the estate and had no idea of its condition.

“I directed my Barons to build castles on the lands which I granted to them.” With the continuing revolts by the Saxons, the fortification of the castles had been the telling factor in defeating them since William became king. “Your brother has made a half-hearted attempt, but has not even completed the ground floor yet. I find that unacceptable.

Owning properties in Normandy, he has sufficient knowledge, and is capable of enlightening his people as to better and more productive ways to farm the lands. But, the vassals do well, while your brother does not.”

Calder looked at him in confusion, so the King continued. “He is not used to governing a defeated people. He is too lenient with them, Calder. He does not dictate to them with a strong hand. They do not pay the required levies to him, but he must still pay me and has not the gold to complete the castle.

He has allowed his lands to be overrun by vagabonds and thieves, who steal his cattle and livestock and trample the fields. It is an unacceptable state of affairs.”

Calder knew that the King's strength depended on the strength of his Castellans. Aric was creating a weak spot for the King. He could not dispute what William was saying.

“What is it that you need me to do?” That was one of the reasons the King admired Calder so much. He was quick to see a problem and quicker yet to try and resolve it.

“I wish you to take over as the Baron of your brother's lands.”

Calder took a deep breath, knowing he was about to tread a very thin line. One did not usually defy the King and live to tell of it. “Sire, your confidence in me is gratifying and I am humbled that you would feel I am fit to take my brother's place, but I must decline.”

Keeping his voice firm, even after seeing the King's eyes narrow at him, he continued. “I fear that the time my men and I spent away from my brother may have contributed to his problems. Although I have no wish to be a Castellan, a keeper of farmers and their farms, I would request that you allow my men and me to return to my brother's estate. We can stop the raiding and thievery. I will help him get the castle completed with due haste. I have been his vassal, Sire, and could not now make him mine.”

The King appreciated Calder's loyalty to his brother but could not allow a weakness in such a volatile part of the country.

He turned back to the dark streets once again. Being a fair man, he did not feel comfortable turning the two brothers, whom had each shown their loyalty to him time and again, against one another.

“I will allow you to return to Aric's estate,” he replied at long last. “But, Calder,” William looked him straight in the eye, wanting no misunderstanding “if you cannot assist your brother in making the necessary adjustments, I cannot guarantee that Roderick will not eventually acquire those lands. By taking them yourself, you could ensure that they at least remain in your family.”

“Thank you, My Liege,” Calder said solemnly and with all due respect, “but I could not do that to my brother.”

The king smiled at him and clapped him on the back. “You are a good and loyal man, Calder. I will miss you.”

“It has been my pleasure to follow so brave and noble a leader such as yourself, Sire. I am always at your disposal, should you have further need of my services.” He spoke the words with the utmost sincerity and, with a low bow, left the King and the festivities.

The long ride to his brother's estate gave Calder plenty of time to think. His brother was five years older than he. Aric had always been a nobleman, never a fighter. How would he react when Calder tried to tell him how to run his properties? Would he welcome the help, or banish him for overstepping his bounds? Would the fear of losing his lands be incentive enough for him to give Calder a free hand? There was much work to do and little time to squabble over it.

Try as he might, he was unable to keep his thoughts from turning then to a certain green-eyed Saxon wench. One who had given her virginity to him in the deep recesses of the night and had taken a piece of his soul along with her in doing so.

Since leaving the village, he had returned to Normandy with the King for a short while, fought battles for William in Southern Italy, and had then returned to England, where he and his knights spent their time putting down insurrections throughout the country.

Most nights he was so sore and exhausted that he slept as soon as he lay down, but on some of those cold, lonely nights, he would watch the stars overhead and remember Regan. The look of her, the smell of her, the sound of her voice, the feel of her body against his. All were so vivid in his mind that it was as if she were there beside him. In particular, he liked to recall the details of the night they had spent in each other's arms.

Perhaps the memory grows sweeter as time goes by for lack of a better one to replace it, he thought with a rueful smile. Or, perhaps she is one different than all the others I've had been with, both before and since.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of her. After all, she would be married now almost four years. Probably fat and carrying yet another babe. Even so, he spurred his horse on faster as they neared the village.

Not because of his need to see her, of course, but because there was so much work to be done.

It was a bright, sunny day as Regan carried her basket of wash back from the river. Radolf ran ahead of her, his reddish-gold curls bouncing as he went. He tripped frequently, usually over his own feet. He had lost most all of his baby fat now and was fast becoming a little man.

Her heart swelled whenever she looked at him and the love she felt for the boy threatened to burst out of her at times. Life was not easy for either of them. Poor Radolf, she thought, as she watched him try in vain to catch a butterfly, I wish you could know your father.

From the day Edgar saw those deep blue eyes staring up at him from the cradle that he carved with his own two hands, he had known the baby was not his son. Regan could not fault him for the way he had acted since then, some men in his circumstances would have treated her and Radolf much worse. She felt sorry for Edgar. He was never the same after the Normans came. In his youth, he was a good man, eager to do what he could to help people. Now he was bitter and resentful, always plotting for the revenge he would have one day.

He had never forgiven Regan for her night with Calder. He was cold and distant and rarely came home anymore, which Regan found to be a blessing. If he spoke to the boy at all, it was only to find fault with him.

She tried to love Radolf even harder, to make up for the lack of love he got from Edgar. A sharp pain pierced her heart, however, as she watched the boy cringe and cower each time Edgar walked through their door.

She never allowed Edgar an opportunity to be alone with the boy since the time he tried to beat the child for some inconsequential deed. Edgar had delivered only one blow before Regan had her dirk at his throat.

“Touch the boy again and I will slit your throat before his eyes,” she had threatened softly.

Edgar backed away from her, daggers of his own shooting from his eyes. “One day, whore, you and I will have this out, and it will not be my throat that ends up being slit.”

She did not answer as he walked out the door and slammed it behind him, but her entire body trembled uncontrollably for quite some time afterward. There were few times that he came home after that. On those rare occasions when he did, it was usually late and he was very drunk. Sometimes, when he was able, he would take her, as roughly as he possibly could. She never fought him. This was her penance for what she had done with Calder. But, never would she let him touch the boy.

Edgar was the Avener now, his job was to oversee the grooms and stables. Lord Aric was completely fooled by Edgar and did not realize his true feelings toward the Normans.

Edgar spent most of his time with Maida, a pretty, young widow. Her husband was killed during the battle with the Normans and their mutual hatred fueled their passion. Their relationship didn't matter a whit to Regan, as long as Edgar continued to provide her and Radolf with enough food to eat and wood to keep warm.

Maida initiated the rumors that were circulated about RadoIf being Calder's son. Word spread quickly, and it was soon after Maida and Edgar started to spend time together that the villagers attitude towards Regan changed. Their comments became rude and hurtful, if they spoke to her at all. The anti-Norman feelings still ran strong and the fact that she had slept with one made her no longer one of them.

Regan still occasionally spent time with her parents, who doted on Radolf, but even they felt the scorn of the villagers after her visits. Consequently, she did not see them often. Her father was an old man and there was nothing he could do to help her, although