Chapter 7
Kallen wondered how she could have been so wrong. She watched Sir Rodger as the day progressed, and his aura shone totally different than what she’d been privy to the day before. Did all of these Mangeron men change like the wind?
No. The others in the escort party had not.
She began to learn names today and instead of questioning Sir Griffith incessantly, she’d paid closer attention to those surrounding her.
For the most part, they rang true to her previous experiences.
A single shade or perhaps two wound about each man, the hues varying, but none changing as radically as Sir Griffith’s did.
As for Sir Rodger, his aura all day seemed in keeping with his position and responsibility. It showed him to be good with the men and solicitous toward her, very unlike the bands of red and black she’d witnessed yesterday. Mayhap she had been overtired and misread the shades entirely.
She must be more wary now that she was out and about in the world. She might experience these difficulties more frequently. Kallen wished at times that the auras would be gone, and then she wouldn’t have to worry as much.
Still, they provided her some comfort. All except Sir Griffith’s, that is.
His aura was ever-changing, despite his steady outward appearance.
The man proved a constant challenge to read.
Savina had long said that still waters ran deep.
Kallen believed this phrase applied to Griffith Sommersby like no other being.
“We shall stop for the night,” he announced. The escort party slowed their steeds and dismounted, shaking out their limbs.
Sir Rodger came over to her. “My lady, be sure and stretch your back. Sometimes people forget to do so and regret it later.”
“I shall. Thank you for such good advice. Do you have any more for me?” Kallen hoped to draw him out and discover more about this man.
He laughed. “Nay, unless ‘tis about horses. They are my life. It will serve you well to learn to ride once you reach Mangeron. Lord de Mangeron has fine stables. You’ll like it there, though I fear life will be quite different than that of your peaceful convent.”
Kallen frowned and the knight laughed again. “You will find happiness there. Mangeron ‘tis a safe place, with good people.”
Sir Rodger turned and studied the motions of the men a moment. Then he said, “I neglect my duties.” He bowed to her and walked away.
Kallen moved about after their brief conversation, speaking to several of the men. One called out, “Will you tell more stories ‘round the campfire tonight, my lady?”
“If it pleases you, I shall.”
She heard many of the men murmur their approval. She had always possessed an active imagination, according to Savina. She enjoyed telling her tales to these men the previous evening.
Sir Griffith approached her. “Are you adjusting to life on the road?”
Kallen shrugged. “As best as I can, I suppose. I haven’t much to do except ride and watch the men. Everything’s so orderly and disciplined, I fear I contribute little to the proceedings."
“And the men? Are you comfortable around them now?”
Kallen knew he spoke of her aversion to Sir Rodger, but she answered in a general way.
“Yes, I do like the men a great deal. They’re plainspoken and mean what they say.”
He frowned. “Why wouldn’t they say what they meant?”
She shook her head, trying to hide a smile. “Spoken like a man who lives mostly among men. Oh, my lord, if you only knew of the hidden whims women possess.”
“Even nuns?”
Kallen laughed. “Especially nuns.”
He nodded. “I gather your life among so many women might be more like life at court than I’d first thought.”
She shuddered. “I hope not. The nuns, for all their piety, could be quite disapproving and vindictive. For all their supposed Christian charity, there were times aplenty when Satan took hold of their tongues and let them play havoc. Begging pardon to your own Satan, of course.”
“Of course.” He smiled, and her heart thumped rapidly. “Yet I must defend my own sweet sister while we speak evil of women as a whole. Deva is not a typical woman, such as you describe. She is full of grace and light.”
“And she is with child. You said she will soon be delivered?”
Sir Griffith cracked his knuckles loudly. Kallen noticed the gesture that he seemed unaware of and wondered about it.
“Yes, we are all most happy this time.”
“This time?” she asked, puzzled by his choice of words.
He hesitated a moment and cracked another few joints. “Yes. Deva lost a babe before. It devastated her and Crispin. ‘Tis why your uncle wished to remain at Mangeron with her while I was sent to fetch you.”
“He loves her,” Kallen mused. “’Tis a love match then?”
Raking a hand through his dark hair, he nodded. “Yes. They both told me on separate occasions ‘twas love at first sight for each. Crispin indulges Deva in her every whim. Deva waits on her husband with adoration shining in her eyes. They are good for each other.”
Kallen sighed happily. “I like that. I know I shall like them.”
She decided to ask this nobleman about himself. His auras confused her—the deep sadness lingered about him today—yet his inner layers showed great spirit and a carefree nature lighter than air buried far within him.
“Why are you so sad, my lord?”
The knight flinched as if she’d slapped him. “’Tis neither happy nor sad am I,” he snapped. “Nor ‘tis any of your concern. I simply do the task at hand.”
He stormed off without another word. Kallen realized what seemed an innocent question to her held far more significance for him.
She wondered what could have wounded him so, for him to act in such an abrupt, rude manner.
It upset her that seeing auras once again had her in trouble, and she questioned Savina’s wisdom in thinking this talent was a gift from God.
She wished fervently her troublesome second sight would vanish once and for all.
It might help her exercise more control over her tongue.
Sir Rodger hurried over. “Shall I try to smooth things over, my lady? I’m sure Sir Griffith did not mean to bark at you so. I will speak to him if you so desire.”
She saw the men glancing from her to their leader and back again.
She looked into Sir Rodger’s warm, brown eyes, full of concern, and relaxed.
Mayhap she had been wrong about him, after all.
She hadn’t really lived much before these last two days.
Besides, his manner seemed gentle enough, and his aura stayed consistent as they spoke.
“I am fine, sir. I’m sure Sir Griffith is simply tired. Please, leave him be. Tend to your duties, and I thank you for your kindness.”
Griffith didn’t know the last time he’d been such an ass to a woman.
Usually, a glib comment rolled from his lips with ease.
So why did Kallen de Mangeron seem to get under his skin?
Her question startled him, as she gave no warning in advance.
He figured it only natural that she would ask of his own background since she’d proven so curious about those with whom she would soon live.
Yet he assumed she would eventually ask where he currently lived, whom he’d fostered with as a boy, what battles he’d seen as a soldier. She might ask what his relationship was like with her uncle or if Crispin intended to spoil his new niece or nephew.
Instead, she’d shocked him with her penetrating stare.
Those steady gray eyes seem to see all, know all, as she asked him why he appeared sad.
Of course he was sad, damn it all to Hell and back!
He’d lost his beloved wife and a son, so tiny, so perfectly formed, every finger and toe precious to him.
He’d lost his will to live, his zest for life.
Even his poetry fled his soul. Only a shallow husk existed now where Griffith Sommersby once dwelled.
He’d stumbled alone through the world ever since, appearing calm and capable to everyone, yet withering inside. He went through the motions, did what others expected, but life held no real pleasure for him.
Until this woman-child from a convent came along. Kallen pulled Griffith toward her in a way no words could explain. His physical attraction grew by the hour, so drawn was he to her beauty.
But it was her spirit that beckoned him even more.
Her eagerness as she drank in the world.
Her curiosity and questioning nature. Her excitement in being caught up in a new world and new experiences.
It intrigued him, and he wanted to know her.
He found himself captivated in a way completely foreign to him.
Griffith thought he’d never find another like Carina, one that would cause such a spark in him. He stayed loyal to his wife’s memory to this day. But Kallen was nothing like Carina. They were different as day from night.
He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, knowing nothing would ever change his love for his wife.
Yet Kallen continued to attract his attention.
He forced himself to push all thoughts of Kallen de Mangeron aside and returned to the camp. The men’s eyes dropped to the ground as he approached. No one referred to his strange outburst.
“Stew’ll soon be ready, my lord,” he was told. “Venison and a bit of vegetables. Still a bit more of the bread the good sisters sent, as well.”
“Very good,” he replied.
He kept his distance from Kallen as they ate, but as he sat directly opposite her, she was never far from his vision or his mind. He smiled to himself as the men begged for more of her stories and watched the pretty flush that came to her cheeks.
Kallen began with a tale of pixies, ones who strayed far from their course and caused more mischief than they should.
As she spoke, Griffith lost the meaning of her words and simply stared at her animation.
She used her hands a great deal, and her facial expressions caused her to resemble the different characters in the tale she wove.
She was breathtaking to watch.
Her voice grew to a mere whisper, and the story ended. The Mangeron men sat spellbound for a moment then began to babble at once, arguing as to the story’s close, fascinated by its unusual ending. Griffith watched Kallen sit back, satisfied, glowing more brightly than the fire before them.
A sudden boom filled the air, and the men quickly took up their arms, encircling Kallen as they peered out into the black night.