A True and Perfect Knight Read online

  They should have acted sooner. Haven’s mount halted at the top of the rise. Focused on her husband, she saw him lean forward and start to dismount. His movements lacked his usual grace. Certain that he had reached the last of his strength, Gennie pressed the animal beneath her into a canter. In the moment that her husband crumpled to the ground, she pulled her horse to a stop next to him and leapt down.

  “Non! You will not die.” She bent over his still form, listening for the beat of his heart. She heard it; faint, but there nonetheless. She lifted his shirt and tore aside the bandage. The wound was closed, but an angry red showed around its edges. It was hot to the touch.

  Next she checked Haven’s head. The swelling left by the impact with the hoof of Watley’s horse had gone down. A bruise remained, but the heat coming in waves from Haven’s forehead concerned her more. Her hand came away drenched in sweat and rain as the clouds burst over them.

  “How far is it to Two Hills Keep, Owain? We must get him to shelter.”

  “I believe that may not be possible, milady.”

  “Not possible?” she shouted over the downpour. “What do you mean?”

  “Look.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gennie folded her cloak and placed it on the ground beneath Haven’s head. Then she shifted to look where Owain pointed.

  “Mon Dieu.”

  “Yes. Daffydd ap Gryffudd got here before us.”

  The road divided the valley below from southwest to northeast. The river that had paralleled the road for most of their journey since Twynn veered off, splitting the valley from west to southeast. The road crossed the stream just in front of the two hills that gave the keep its name. On the taller rising sat the keep, or rather what was left of it.

  Gennie stared at the roof-to-foundation gap in the central tower’s wall. Piles of rubble littered various spots in the curtain wall. Through the holes she could see the burned husks of what she presumed were out buildings—stable, granary, kitchen and more. From her rainy vantage, the only undamaged part of the entire castle was the bridge and the small gatehouse towers that flanked the broken portcullis. “Owain, tell me it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “It isn’t good. But we cannot know how bad until we send men to see.”

  “Then do so immediately, please. My husband needs shelter.”

  Owain was already turning back to the men. “Aye, milady. Lindel, Blacksund.”

  “Yea, Owain.” The two men came forward from the ranks that formed a semicircle about their fallen leader.

  “Go scout the keep. Search first for remaining enemies, then look for a safe place where we may shelter Sir Haven. Signal with a white cloth when you are satisfied the place is secure. Do you understand?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Hurry, then. While you complete that task, we will assemble a litter for Sir Haven. I want to be able to move him as soon as possible.”

  The scouts left. The remaining men stood by silently. Gennie understood their silence. What could anyone say? She wished she might offer some comfort to the men whose leader lay so still in the rain. But she had none to offer herself, and so none to share.

  Owain’s voice broke into her thoughts. Soon all the men, even Thomas, scrambled to perform some small task, as if their very speed and diligence might save Haven. Six men dismounted and formed a roof of shields above his body, diverting the rain onto themselves. Humbled by their actions, Gennie choked back the urge to weep. As long as she had something to keep her occupied, she had been able to avoid fear and worry.

  With one hand she clasped Haven’s hot, damp fingers to her breast. Her other hand stroked the slick sheen of sweat and wet, matted hair from his face, while she watched the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Cling to that, she told herself. Cling to the fact that he breathes yet and pray that he recovers fully.

  Owain’s hand touched her shoulder. How long she had knelt there, praying in the mud, she didn’t know.

  “Milady, we are ready.”

  Gennie saw a white cloth waving from atop the gatehouse. She surveyed the ground nearby and found a makeshift litter at Haven’s other side. “Oui.”

  “You must let go of Sir Haven’s hand so that we may lift him.”

  It was silly, she knew, to fear letting go of Haven. Logic told her that her touch alone did little to keep him alive. She lifted bleak eyes to Owain and saw equal worry on his face.

  “Just for a moment, Lady Genvieve. We will be careful and take him to the keep slowly. You will be able to walk by his side, and you may hold his hand again as soon as we raise the litter.”

  “Oui.” Gennie rose. Thomas came and hugged her. The small embrace warmed her as nothing had since Haven’s horse had topped the rise.

  “Will Sir Haven die?” The boy’s question echoed her own.

  “I don’t know, Thomas, but we must pray very hard to God that he will not.” She looked into her son’s worried face and felt her own fear lessen a tiny bit. Surely God would not disappoint such unconditional love as Thomas bore for Haven de Sessions. “Come walk with me. We will keep each other company.”

  Thomas nodded and took her hand.

  The men lifted Haven onto the litter. He neither shifted nor groaned, but lay still as death save for the small movement of his chest.

  The men squeezed themselves and the litter into the small, chilly room atop the gate tower. Designed more as a lookout post than a chamber, the room held only enough floor space for two armed men to turn around. But it was dry and could be made warm.

  Haven was shifted from the litter to a mound of ticking that one of the men had salvaged from a dry corner of the main keep. Gennie asked Lindel to bring the few tapestries she had kept as Thomas’s inheritance and use them to cover the arrow slit and two doorways.

  She sent Bergen away with a plea to find a braiser or some other fire-safe container that she could use to heat the makeshift chamber.

  One by one, the men left with her requests, each of them eager to help his master and grateful that they had something to occupy them. At last only Owain remained.

  Gennie twisted water out of a rag and arranged the dampened cloth across Haven’s brow. Did all men taken with fever lie so still? Those few times that illness struck Thomas, he had thrashed and moaned. But he was a boy. Gennie didn’t know what to expect of a man’s sickness.

  Beside her, Owain shifted from foot to foot.

  “What bothers you, Owain?” She kept her eyes focused on Haven.

  “I…I am uncertain of my authority.”

  “You swore fealty to my husband and are therefore his man, non?”

  “Aye, I did that.”

  “You are the most experienced warrior here?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you think I would question your loyalty?”

  “Not to yourself, milady, nor to your son. Because I am newly come to Sir Haven’s service, some of his men question my loyalty to him.”

  “You proved your loyalty in battle and by your care of my husband afterward. Whoever says otherwise speaks false. I will be happy to correct them, should you wish me to do so.”

  “Nay, lady. You are needed here.”

  Gennie spared a brief glance at Owain’s concerned expression.

  “I believe I may speak for my husband when I say that until Soames arrives, you must act in my husband’s stead. Those who dispute you may come to me for reassurance.”

  “Thank you, Lady Genvieve.”

  “You are most welcome. Before you leave, perhaps you would share with me your plans for our defense.”

  “I would be most happy to do so. What do you wish to know?”

  “Rebecca, Thomas and the servants will reside in the opposite tower, I assume?”

  “Aye.”

  “How will you occupy the men?”

  “Those men who are not on guard or hunting will work to rebuild the curtain wall.”

  “I know my husband expects Soames to bring a castle builder with him. Wo
n’t the wall have to be rebuilt then, and if so, why do it now?”

  “Even poor defenses are better than none, milady.”

  “Oui. Where will you quarter the men and horses?”

  “The men will sleep in the driest portions of the keep proper. We shall picket the horses in the bailey.”

  “And what of supplies? Hunting will fill our bellies, but a rabbit cannot provide medicines, nor can a quail make us mortar.”

  “I have two men scouring the countryside for the local peasants. If they know we intend to defend the keep, rather than loot and destroy, they may be willing to help us.”

  “I pray it is so. You have much work to do, Owain. I will not keep you from it.”

  The warrior left, recognizing dismissal when he heard it.

  Gennie frowned in thought. Owain shared his plans with her out of courtesy. He needed neither her approval nor her permission to act in Haven’s stead. She had asked because of the concern she had read on the man’s face. She hoped her questions would give the sergeant-at-arms time to absorb the extent of Haven’s condition and come to terms with the temporary necessity of filing his place with the men. At least she prayed it would be temporary.

  Haven felt the hot winds of the desert blow across his face. The moving sand whispered, ominous before the battle to come.

  “So you find my wife irresistible?” A chuckle followed the words.

  “Roger?” Haven called out. Where was his friend? “I can’t see you.”

  “I am here, at your back. Saving your life, just as you saved mine.”

  Haven could smell blood and sweat. He tried to turn his head and couldn’t. There were so many dead, falling on him, crushing him back. If he could just push enough of them away, perhaps he could find Roger. “Where are you?”

  “Here. Inside your heart and soul.” The voice chuckled some more. “Where all good friends reside.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. I am right here, along with all the lies you tell yourself. I always thought that you weren’t as true as you wanted to believe. Now that I am dead, I know it. Of course,” the voice breathed, “I am not surprised, since you were less than true to our friendship.”

  “What do you mean? I kept my vows.”

  “Yes, you kept your vows,” the voice hissed and spat. “At the cost of the best friend you ever had. And look what those vows got you. A wife, a son and a holding. Not bad for a Judas like you.”

  “’Tis not so. I wanted none of that!”

  “Oh, you know better. Remember how we talked of our children’s marriage? Of you gaining lands near my holding in Yorkshire? You betrayed me out of jealousy, admit it. Your vows, your duty were just excuses.”

  “You lie.”

  The voice mocked him. “You lie. You, Haven. You are the one who is false.”

  Shadows danced just beyond Haven’s vision. He threw his arms outward but found nothing. How could he hear Roger so clearly and not be able to see him, touch him, find him?

  That taunting voice echoed in his mind, endlessly repeating, “Lies, lies, lies, lies…”

  Haven gripped his head and sat up. If the chanting didn’t stop soon, he would go mad.

  “Tell the truth now, Haven. How does it feel,” the leering tones inquired, “to know that you love a woman more than your precious honor?”

  “Nay!” Denial exploded hot and fast, like a killing blow. “I don’t love her. I don’t love Gennie.”

  “Yes.” the voice said, dying. “You do…you do love Gennie…”

  A hand pushed Haven down. He offered no resistance. He heard weeping but couldn’t feel the tears on his cheeks.

  Gennie wiped her eyes and prayed that she would never again have to hear her husband admit that he didn’t love her. She had known he did not, and still she was unable to guard her heart against him. His lack of feeling for her should not hurt so much. She must take greater care with her heart. But she feared it was already too late. The best she could hope for was to keep her feelings from Haven so he could not use them against her.

  She had watched over Haven for two days. Taking her meals with him. Leaving only when absolutely necessary. When exhaustion demanded, she slept on the floor beside his makeshift bed. She had known he didn’t care deeply for her, but hearing it from his own lips hurt much more than she expected.

  Was this how Roger had felt when Haven arrested him, choosing duty to king over love for his friend? Would the pain of Roger’s execution gape ever wide between herself and her husband?

  In the early hours before the third dawn since their arrival at Two Hills Keep, she had wakened to Haven’s shouts and thrashing. What demons he fought she could not tell, for he spouted nonsense and argued with phantoms. But despite his illness, he had more than once tossed her across the small room. She had been forced to summon Watley and two other men to help her hold him down.

  Owain had come some time later. With him, he brought an old beldam. “Milady, this is Gwyneth. She has herbs and other potions that may help Sir Haven.”

  Gennie fell on her knees before the peasant woman and clasped her hands in a fierce grip. “Merci, merci. Pour grace de Dieu, aidez mon coeur.”

  A string of rapid Welsh issued from the woman.

  Gennie looked to Owain. “She speaks so quickly. Please, what does she say?”

  “She says that in exchange for her help, she wants a place by Sir Haven’s fire for the rest of her life.”

  Lady Genvieve didn’t hesitate. “Anything. Anything I have.”

  Another spate of Welsh, and Gennie looked again to Owain.

  “She asks that you remain here with her. She wants you to learn what has happened to their people as well as how to use the potions that will heal Sir Haven.”

  Gennie smiled. “She could not make me leave. I will be happy to learn all I can from her. In turn, I will teach her English.”

  Owain left one of the Welsh bowmen to act as interpreter for Gennie. Then the sergeant-at-arms went off to get the items Gwyneth said she needed to heal Sir Haven.

  The next day and a half sapped every ounce of Gennie’s reserve. The treatment of Haven’s fever required reopening the wound; draining and cleaning it, stitching it shut and applying a poultice. The beldam insisted on alternating hot and cold compresses.

  Haven tossed, shouted and fought with distressing randomness. They had to wait until he exhausted himself before feeding him, or he would spill more food than he ate.

  During the few moments when he slept, Gwyneth told Gennie of the horrors that had visited Two Hills Keep since Daffydd had decided to rebel against the English. If Gennie hadn’t expended all her tears on Haven, she would have wept over Gwyneth’s tales of orphaned children, families burned alive and women raped.

  All the folk in the area had lost their homes. Crops had been destroyed, and there was no money to purchase replacements for the winter. Worse, it seemed that both the English and the Welsh rebels visited these horrors on the people of the region.

  Two mornings after the beldam arrived, Gennie had slipped into a weary doze. Loud voices from the bailey roused her from the only rest she had gotten in more than a day. She glanced to the corner near the braiser where Gwyneth had taken up residence. The woman nodded, and Gennie rose. She stretched the kinks out of her back and legs, then descended to the courtyard to discover what the yelling was about.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In the bailey she found that Soames had arrived with two strangers. They stood in the open with Owain. All four men shouted at once.

  From the top of the stairs, Gennie used her firmest tone and said, “Stop that yelling this instant.”

  The effect was minimal. Obviously stronger measures were called for. She marched straight up to the group, elbowed her way between the two strangers into the middle of the bellowing males and knelt in the mud. She folded her hands and began.

  “Our Father…”

  A groan fell into the stunned silence, but no one interrupted her. “Amen.”


  A chorus of Amens rumbled over her head.

  She smiled and made to rise. Four hands shot out to assist her.

  “Milady, that was unnecessary.” Owain actually looked hurt.

  “Was it? I disagree. My husband rests peacefully for the first time in almost a week, and you can find nothing better to do than shout down the walls below his chamber.”

  Soames and Owain had the grace to look embarrassed. The two strangers chattered in Welsh.

  “Now what is this all about?”

  “Soames says the Welsh cannot…”

  “Owain doesn’t realize the harm…”

  Welsh words came from the other two men. Gennie put her hands over her ears. “Antez! One at a time. Please, Soames, you fist.”

  “But…” Owain objected.

  “Non, you’ll have your turn. Now be silent until Soames finishes.”

  “We have a serious problem, milady. Owain has allowed the Welsh to work and trade at the keep. I understand some of them even live here.”

  “The Welsh hereabouts have been much abused. In exchange for our protection, they help us to rebuild and secure supplies. I do not see a problem.”

  “King Edward gave Sir Haven specific orders not to let the Welsh anywhere near this place.”

  “Did he so? I wonder why?”

  “That 1 do not know, Lady Genvieve. But Sir Haven will be angry if he recovers to find the Welsh have overrun the keep.”

  “My husband may prove more reasonable than you expect.” Gennie hardly believed her own claim. She offered it nonetheless, knowing that the men needed to hear it.

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “We shall have to see. Is there anything else?”

  “The walls and keep must be reconstructed. We’ve not the laborers nor the supplies with which to do it. Then, there’s this fellow and his assistant.” Soames gestured with his thumb at the two Welsh strangers.

  “What is the difficulty with these men? We have little, but we can offer what hospitality we may.”