Page 66 of King’s Knight

“ ’Tis the son of the Red Wolf, Sir Alex.”

He paused to consider for only a moment. “The eldest son who is away on the Norman king’s business?”

“Aye.”

“Do you expect he will wed you?”

“He has said… Nay, it can never be. The king has chosen another woman he would have Alex marry. But it does not seem right to leave now. I carry Alex’s child and only learned of it after he had gone. He knows naught of it.”

His cheeks reddened and his brows drew together, his nostrils flaring in anger. “This knight has seduced you?”

She did not want to discuss what happened between her and Alex but she could not allow Owain to think the worst of him. “Nay, Owain,” she said, meeting his disquieting gaze. “He did not.”

“I see. You carry his child but he will not have you for your lowborn status. Can you really be that foolish to love such a man? I care not that you may have agreed to lie with him, Merewyn. You were innocent and he took advantage. How can you stay to face the shame of a fallen woman when in Wales you could be the wife of a prince?”

She remembered the seven sins vividly portrayed on the walls of the stone church. Which had been hers? Surely not lust. Nay, it was love. And that was no sin. The vow she had spoken to Alex had been sincere. I would have you be mine.

Owain believed he was doing right by her, but a marriage should be based upon more. If she could not have the man she loved, she would have no one.

He leapt to his feet and grabbed her arm, wrapping his fingers tightly around her sleeve. “Come, we are leaving.”

“But Owain, I told you I would not go!”

His jaw was set, his eyes dark pools. “I know what you said, but in time, you will see, I am the one who cares for you. I am the one who is looking out for your welfare. Not him.”

He pulled her along behind him toward a copse of oak trees. For the sake of the babe, she did not struggle. Owain was so much stronger than she was it would have availed her little.

They arrived in the copse where Ceinder stood saddled next to his pony. “You were planning to take me to Wales were I willing or no?”

“I did not intend to leave without you,” he said, quickly tying her wrists together and lifting her to the pony’s back. Gathering up Ceinder’s reins, he mounted his own horse and headed south, leading Merewyn’s pony behind him. “I will go slowly for the sake of the babe.”

“What about my clothes?” She had worn a simple gown of dark green wool and her heavy cloak to meet him, but she had nothing else.

“I have your archer’s clothing. You can change whenever you will.”

“And my bow?”

“That, too.” And then she saw it, tied to the back of his horse. Her bow and her quiver of arrows tied with his. Owain had planned this well. He had spoken truly when he said he had come for her. He had always meant to take her with him when he returned to Wales.

* * *

“It was probably best William settled on terms,” Alex told Rory and Guy when he returned to camp and they were gathered around the fire, chewing on what remained of their dried venison. “The Scots were ready for us. Malcolm’s army appeared strong and eager for a fight.”

“And William without his ships,” said Rory.

“Aye, and little food for his men,” Guy put in. Alex shot him a glance, thinking the youngest knight among them was looking rather wane. They had not had a good meal in weeks.

“We leave at dawn for Durham,” encouraged Alex. “Mayhap the townspeople will see fit to sell us some of their winter food stores this time.”

The king drove his army hard, but none of Alex’s men complained as it meant returning sooner to better weather and, hopefully, better provisions.

The barons had not been unhappy to turn away from war. Sir Nigel had told Alex his men were as cold and hungry as the rest of the army.

When they arrived in Durham three days later, the king supped with William de Saint Calais, Bishop of Durham, who had returned to the city in September, the day after William had marched his army north. Alex had been invited by the king to join Sir Nigel and the barons to hear the old bishop’s explanation as to what had happened to the king’s ships.

Alex was impressed by the simple manner of Bishop William’s attire, his long green robe over white linen and his brown tonsured hair threaded with gray. He was obviously aged but his dark eyes reflected a keen intelligence.

As the men around the table grew quiet, all eyes focused on the bishop. “My understanding,” he began, “is that your ships arrived at the mouth of the Tyne a fortnight after you left Durham. With you gone, My Lord, the seamen decided to plunder Tynemouth.” The bishop cast a disapproving glance at the king. “They took many goods and precious items. They even robbed an old woman of a cloth she was weaving.”