Page 62 of King’s Knight

Having lost the supply ships to the sea and with the unexpectedly harsh weather descending upon them, William’s men often huddled around the night fires still hungry. The king’s stubborn determination had brought them this far. But what now?

Alex wanted to put the battle behind him so he could go home, but he knew it would not be so easy as that. The time it had taken William to raise his army had given Malcolm months to prepare. And they would now be fighting the Scots on their own land.

The next morning, Sir Nigel came to Alex’s tent. “Would you take a few of your men and go with me to scout out the land? William wants to know if Malcolm’s army draws nigh.”

Alex nodded and mounted Azor as Rory and Guy swung into their saddles. The three of them followed Sir Nigel and two of his men north toward Dun Edin. Cresting one hill, they looked into the distance beyond the valley below and saw thousands of mounted warriors riding in their direction, covering the ground like a cloud of dust.

“We have what we came for, lads,” said Sir Nigel. Turning his horse, he shouted, “Make haste to the king!”

They galloped toward the glen where William’s army was holed up. Soon, they were inside the king’s tent, where the tension hung thick in the air.

“Well?” demanded William of Sir Nigel. “Did you see Malcolm’s army?”

“Aye, My Lord. He leads an army to match ours, possibly more numerous, and they are not far.”

“Since we know of them,” offered Alex, “we must assume they are aware of us.”

Duke Robert, his dark eyes and hair a contrast to his younger brother, stepped forward. “Our father agreed to terms with the Scottish king and Malcolm once swore loyalty to me as well. We could seek terms now. Should you agree, William, I would ride to meet him and ask for his fealty on your behalf.”

“What terms?” demanded William.

“The same terms he gave our father.”

William huffed his displeasure. Clearly unhappy to be considering a negotiation rather than a battle, his hand moved to his sword hilt, and his fingers flexed over it, itching for action. “I will give you leave to try. Take Duncan, Malcolm’s son, and Sir Alex with you.” Then to Alex, he said, “Your uncle is one of Malcolm’s chiefs, is he not?”

“Aye,” said Alex. “Steinar is Mormaer of the Vale of Leven.”

Duncan came forward and nodded his willingness to try to convince his father to agree to terms. “I, too, met Steinar long ago. He is a good man, a Northumbrian, loyal to my father.”

And so it was that Alex, along with Duke Robert, who had known Malcolm for years, and Sir Duncan, Malcolm’s son, rode out alone to meet the King of Scots and his army.

CHAPTER 12

Merewyn glanced at the yellow leaf blowing in the wind, adjusted her aim accordingly, and pulled back the string, focusing her eyes on the distant target, before loosing the arrow. It flew across the field to land with a resounding “thwack” in the center of the target.

Cecily and her two companions, watching from where they sat on their favorite rock, clapped their hands with glee. Merewyn paused to give them some advice on shooting when the wind was up and how difficult it could be to hit the target if they did not account for it.

Owain tossed Merewyn a smirk, stepped to the line and carefully took aim. With his greater strength, he brought the string of his longbow back to his chin and released his arrow in one smooth stroke. In a “whoosh”, it flew through the air and split her arrow.

The three children stared in wonder.

“Now you are making a show of it,” chided Merewyn, but she tossed him a smile. She had seen him split an arrow once before in Wales. Not many archers could match the feat.

“For your benefit, aye,” Owain said, his smirk back.

He had taken to spending his afternoons with her on the archery field. The archers that remained behind when Alex had gone to meet the king seemed to accept her Welsh friend, often admiring his skill. But Merewyn had observed them watching Owain closely whenever he went off by himself. She suspected one of them followed, mayhap on the orders of Talisand’s lord.

Owain was never without his weapons. Even when he shot arrows from his horse, his wicked axe hung from his hip, an intimidating sight.

October was nearly gone when Owain began pressing Merewyn to leave Talisand. He was right in thinking they could delay no longer. And why should she not go? Would it not be best if she were gone when Alex returned? She had not yet felt the child moving in her belly, but she was keenly aware it was growing. Her body was changing, her breasts swelling. She often thought of the babe’s father. Her mother had to bear alone the child of a man she abhorred and, while Merewyn might be alone, she would bear the child of the man she loved.

With her palm on her belly, she would sometimes speak to their child as she lay in bed or was alone in her chamber. This afternoon as she changed into a gown for supper, she told the babe, “Your father will live, do not doubt it, young wolf.”

That evening, after supper, she and Owain played chess in one corner of the hall. With Alex and his men gone and no news from Northumbria, most evenings the mood of those gathered was somber. Everyone waited for news. Maugris had told Lady Serena her son would return, but he did not say he would be without a wound.

This night, a minstrel played his lute softly as the candles burned and men played games on the trestle tables. Lady Serena and Lora stitched by the hearth fire. Bea and Alice had returned to their homes with their parents. There had been no dancing. Any celebrations would have to await the return of Talisand’s men.

She looked at Owain across the board as she considered her next move. He was a good chess player, though not as good as Rhodri or Alex. Still, his skillful moves sometimes required her to consider carefully what she would do next. She returned her attention to the board and reached for one of her knights when he said, “ ’Tis time, Merewyn.”