Chapter 10 #2
Turning back to his friends, he said, “Leave the banner, Rory. Let us water the horses and then see what lies beyond these woods.”
By the time the three of them left the camp, the sun was low in the sky but still provided ample light for the mission Alex had in mind.
Not knowing what they might find, they had donned their helms and carried their shields, their weapons at the ready.
The land they scouted bore the marks of the season, spring crops ready to harvest, winter seed not yet sewn. Sloping, gorse-covered hills and scattered leaf-strewn woodlands surrounded all.
Rocky outcroppings sometimes slowed their progress, but eventually they crested a hill to look down upon the city of Durham to the east. Around the elevated walled city meandered the River Wear. Dense vegetation grew tall on either side of its banks.
They were just heading down the slope when Alex spotted a large group of mounted warriors to the north, as many as two hundred.
The riders wore mail, but then, both Normans and Scots did.
Narrowing his eyes and scanning the group, he spotted the familiar banner of Nigel d’Aubigny, a white lion rampant on a bright red field.
“ ’Tis Sir Nigel,” he said, urging Azor down the hill to where the baron sat on his horse surrounded by his knights.
Alex and his friends posed no threat to the large group of knights but they were closely watched all the same, heads turning at their approach. Since he carried no banner, neither his father’s nor his own, they were not recognized until they drew close.
Sir Nigel rode out to meet him. “I’d know that stallion anywhere. Greetings, son of the Red Wolf! How is your father?”
Alex grinned, pleased to find a friend when he could have so easily encountered an enemy. “He is well at Talisand and sends his regards and his eldest son to carry the message.”
Sir Nigel chuckled, took off his helm and extended his arm to Alex. His gray-streaked brown hair was still thick and framed a lined face.
Alex doffed his helm and accepted the arm of friendship. “Cainhoe and Bedfordshire are a long way from Durham. Do you ride with William’s army?”
“Aye, the king asked me to take a strong force ahead to chase the Scots north. Word of our arrival had its effect. Malcolm must have mistaken us for William’s full army. When we got here, the city was caught between the remnants of the Scots fleeing north and our knights advancing from the south.”
“And the people of Durham? We’ve seen none.”
“Holed up in the city,” Sir Nigel said, looking over Alex and his two companions. “How many of you are there?”
“A score of knights and men-at-arms camped in nearby woods. We only just arrived. Do you expect William soon?”
“Tomorrow, I should think. He rides with his brother and Duncan, King Malcolm’s son. Even Ranulf has come. The man’s no warrior but mayhap William feels in the need of a priest.”
Alex laughed. They both knew Ranulf had few, if any, duties as the king’s priest.
“Tonight you and your men must join my camp,” insisted Sir Nigel. “Many of the knights with me are of an age with you and the conversations around the cook fires will no doubt have them telling outrageous tales of their valor.”
“Thank you,” said Alex. “My men might enjoy that.”
* * *
Merewyn stood behind Cecily, helping her student to square her stance. “Keep your feet apart the distance between your hips.”
Cecily dutifully adjusted her legs. The morning sun filtered through the trees to fall on the leaves that had drifted to the ground forming a cinnamon-colored carpet beneath the girl’s feet.
The two boys, ever with her, watched from a nearby rock as the lesson proceeded. It was not her first and the boys were slowly losing their interest.
“It feels awkward to stand this way,” Cecily protested.
“I know. It did for me as well, but you will get used to it. And once you find the right stance, you must do it every time the same way.”
Cecily squared her shoulders in a determined manner and placed her toes so they just touched the arrow Merewyn had laid across the ground as a guide. “When do I get the bow?”
Merewyn reached for the small bow that had been the one she used for her own training. “How about now?”
Without moving her feet, Cecily beamed up at Merewyn. A year younger than Tibby, Alex’s brother, at nine summers, Cecily already had a will of iron.
The lesson continued as Merewyn showed Cecily how to hold the bow, how to keep her arm almost straight and how to hook the bowstring with her fingers and pull it back to her chin. “You must practice every day until it is as natural as breathing and the bow becomes an extension of your arm.”
Several minutes of practice later, Merewyn called a halt when she detected Cecily was tiring. “Tomorrow we shall begin again.”
“When do I get to shoot an arrow?” the young redhead asked.
Merewyn smiled, remembering when she had been just as impatient. “In a day or two. The better your form, the more likely your arrow will hit the target.”
The young girl sighed. “All right.”
“Come on, Cecily!” shouted Tibby, who had been shifting about on the rock, apparently desirous of playing another game.
Once the boys had seen how much work learning to be an archer required, they had decided to wait to see what their friend’s lessons produced.
So far, Cecily was doing well, but the lessons had only begun.
Cecily ran off to join her companions.
Snatching up the girl’s practice bow and her own, larger bow, Merewyn headed back to the manor.
Before she had gone very far, her stomach lurched and her mouth filled with saliva.
A sudden urge to spew up the meal she had eaten an hour before took hold of her.
Ducking behind a tree, she leaned over and heaved.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve, she leaned against the tree, feeling weak.
She was never ill, but mayhap there had been a touch of mold in the grain used in the gruel.
A moment later, feeling better, she pushed away from the tree. By the time she got back to the manor, it was as if it had not happened. How strange.
The next morning after Cecily’s lesson, Merewyn went to see Ceinder and the same thing happened. Only this time, she was in the stable when the urge to spew came over her.
Jamie, who had been in the stable, hearing her retch into the straw, came to her aid. “Merewyn, what is it?”
“ ’Tis nothing,” she said. “ ’Twill pass.”
“You are ill?” His concern was evident.
“Nay. It happened yesterday, too. Mayhap my gruel of late does not suit my stomach.”
“Come, sit on this stool.” He gestured to a stool in the corner and she sat. “Your face has no color.”
“Thank you,” she said with a half-hearted smirk. A few moments later, she began to feel better. Jamie still stood beside her. “See,” she said, rising from the stool, “I am now hale and, I trust, no longer without color.”
“Merewyn, I am no stripling lad, nor even a young knight. I have observed many women act as you have and always the cause is the same. Forgive me for asking, but could you be with child?”
Merewyn stared at the beam of light falling onto the straw.
Yes, I could. They had come together only a few times but in her mother’s case, it had taken only once.
Merewyn’s flow was often irregular, but it had not come this last month.
Yes, she could well be with child. Alex’s babe!
Excitement for the babe and fear for her future warred within her.
Turning her face to Jamie, she nodded. “Promise me you will say nothing.”
“I will say nothing, but I must know, ’tis Alex’s child?”
“If I am with child, Jamie, it could only be his, for I have known no other.”
“I thought as much. You two were very close before he left to meet the king. I have long suspected there was more than friendship between you. You need have no fear. Alex will wed you, I am certain.”
She shook her head vigorously. “You know as well as I that Alex must wed a noblewoman, most likely the daughter of the comte de Vermandois. Lady Adèle is the king’s choice for Alex, not a woman like me.”
“But he cares for you, I know it,” insisted the blond knight. “He would never have allowed this to happen otherwise. He is honorable.”
“Oh, Jamie, I know that. But you must understand, I cannot let Alex take me as his wife. Do you not see what would happen if I did? The king would be very angry with him and, in time, Alex would hate me for robbing him of his king’s favor and the lands a marriage to a noblewoman of Normandy would bring. Even Talisand might suffer.”
Jamie let out a sigh. “You care for him, I see.”
“I do, too much to see him give up his future for me.”
“Well, if not Alex, you must wed another.” Raising his chest, he declared, “I would be your husband, Merewyn, should you have me.”
His blue eyes were earnest, his words true. He would do it and she loved him for his noble offer. But she could never allow him to marry her when he loved another, as she did. She smiled at him, grateful for the man he was. “Nay, I will not have you, dear Jamie.”
He returned her a puzzled look.
“You love Lora, Jamie, I have always known it. It is Lora you should wed, not me.”
His gaze suddenly shifted to the straw at his feet, confirming her assumption.
“But what about you?” he asked, raising his head to meet her gaze.
“Do not worry about me, Jamie. My mother bore me alone and I can bear this child the same way if I must. I am not without friends. In Wales, I have many.”
His brow furrowed. “Alex will not like it.”
She picked up her bow and quiver of arrows. “Alex will never know.”