A True and Perfect Knight (28 page)

She felt the pain of his refusal and tried to draw away. He grasped her arms to keep her in place. “Nay, hear me out. I felt that my love for you betrayed my promise to Roger, to protect his family. And you were so loyal to his memory, I feared you would hate me if I confessed my feelings. I worried that you would see my love for you as a further betrayal of my friendship for Roger. I can no longer deny what I feel. I can only pray that my love for you will be a stronger protection than any sword or influence I could wield.”

She stared at him, her mouth open in surprise.

“Gennie?” Concern colored his voice. “Are you all right?” He gave her a little shake.

Her mouth snapped shut, then open again. “You love me?”

“Aye, that is what I said.”

She launched herself at his chest.

His arms closed around her. Haven stumbled backward and landed on the bed.

“I love you too.” She thumped him on the chest with her fists. “How dare you have such feelings for me and not share them.”

He clasped his hands around hers. Her fingers uncurled and linked with his. “I told you as soon as I could.” He smiled.

She smiled back at him. “I never loved Roger.”

“Truly?”

“
Vraiment.
I was his wife, and I gave him the fealty that my marriage vows required. But I never loved him, and I don’t believe he ever loved me.”

“Really?”

“He never made me feel as you do.” She ducked her head, feeling shy and uncertain.

“And how is that?”

“Sick with dread that you might never love me. Giddy with passion that you do.”

“Passion, hmm?”

“Yes, passion, you knightly oaf.” She worked one hand loose of his grip and thumped his chest again. Then she rubbed the spot.

Haven produced a satisfied growl in response.

Gennie continued, “Roger’s touch never brought me pleasure, and his preference for whores gave me much shame. And I never wanted to caress Roger like this.” She pulled up Haven’s tunic, baring his chest. She stroked her hands over him and leaned across his torso to lave his nipples with her tongue.

Haven pulled her up onto his body, kissing her eyes, cheeks and nose. “Roger was a fool. Only a fool could want whores when he had you in his bed.” His lips settled on hers, plucking with tender nibbles, begging her to open for him. Their tongues twined. She tasted his unique flavor, licking at him, showing him what she wanted. She pushed away from him, straddling his hips as he lay there. “Father Jonas said that lust could lead to an everlasting love. I pray that this is what happened to us.”

“Gennie.” His voice hoarse, Haven began to remove her gown. “I promise that I will never dishonor you.”

Gennie’s heart soared at his declaration.

Much later, as Haven lay snoring softly beside her, Gennie found her mind not yet ready for sleep. She could hardly believe Haven’s actions this day. He had accepted her counsel, choosing to honor her promise to the Welsh, though it defied the king’s direct orders. The responsibility for his decision lay heavily on her shoulders. She knew Haven had made the right choice, but how would Edward see it? Would he brand his true and perfect knight a traitor? Would he think Gennie had led two men to treason? She moved closer to Haven. Was their fledgling love strong enough to withstand a king’s assault? She vowed it would be. For surely they had at last laid Roger’s legacy of treason to rest and could build on the love they had declared for each other.

Even several weeks after leaving his sickbed, Haven was exhausted. Each day he joined one or the other of the work parties, clearing rubble, hunting food, cutting timber: the tasks were endless. Gennie was no less busy. She organized the women, the laundry, the meals, the search for berries and roots to supplement the meat brought home from the hunt. She instructed young girls in the care of the children. She furnished the tower, now that it had solid walls. Haven marveled at her achievements and boundless energy.

In a few days the keep’s upper floor would be ready. Haven looked forward to sharing the new solar with Gennie. It had a stout door, which could be barred from the inside against untimely interruptions.

Each evening, after supper, they would sit by the fire with a few others and review the day, making plans for the next day’s work and watching Thomas play with the other children of the castle. The group around the fire included Soames, Owain, Pwyll, Gwyneth, and one or two others who would join from time to time as various needs and concerns arose among them.

Across the great hall, young people would gather to laugh and entertain themselves. It did not escape Haven that Watley and Rebecca often sat together. Nor did it escape Haven that his wife paid particular attention whenever Pwyll chose to speak.

This night she leaned close and argued fiercely with the Welshman over the best ways to expand the castle to provide for the coming English families. While Haven debated with his men ways of acquiring supplies for the winter, he listened with half an ear to Gennie and Pwyll. Their conversation had devolved to the complications of storing supplies for close to two hundred and fifty people or more.

Gwyneth, who still preferred Welsh to English, would occasionally look up from her knitting to interject a comment that Owain would translate about the medicines and herbs she needed and how they should be preserved. Unless some source of food could be found, Haven worried that all their planning would be moot.

The hunting parties were able for the time being to supply the current need, but almost all the food was consumed and very little preserved against the future.

Worse, Soames reported that someone had broken into the small stores they had assembled on the keep’s dungeon level. Nothing had been stolen, but a sack of precious grain had been split open and a few spare crocks tossed about and broken. Why anyone would do anything so senseless was beyond Haven’s ken. Still, he meant to keep watch himself for the next few nights.

“What think you, Sir Haven? Should we add to the outbuildings or should we increase the space in the dungeon? Many of the men who help construct walls and roofs are miners by trade. Excavation would prove fairly easy and a more effective use of their skills.”

Pwyll’s words pulled Haven from his thoughts.

“I favor expanding the space belowground in the tower.”

“But, husband,” Gennie objected, “we have so many needs for storage. Surely it would be best if supplies were stored by purpose near the buildings where they will be used. ’Twould reduce the amount of traffic and disturbance within the tower.”

“You make good points, wife. But I must say you nay. The tower keep itself is our last defense against intruders. I would not provide enemies with supplies that they could use against us. Nor would I give cause for my own people to starve because an enemy prevents them getting to grain and meat. You know that ’tis for this very reason that we are making a well inside the keep.”

Gennie nodded at this reminder. “
Oui
, husband. I have felt so secure here that I had forgotten.”

Haven smiled, pleased that she had confidence in his ability to keep her safe. He firmed his decision to do everything in his power to increase that safety, even if he must give up a few nights in their bed. Once he had solved the problem of the intruder in the dungeon, he could celebrate for a string of nights behind the door of the new solar.

Gennie didn’t like it when he escorted her to the gate-house and told her that he would be busy for the next few nights. She wanted to know exactly what he would be doing and where. How could she be assured of his safety if he wasn’t in bed with her? Her concern touched him, but he refused to yield. This duty was his as Edward’s vassal and the guardian of Two Hills Keep. Gennie would simply have to trust him. She had sniffed and told him to take his warmest cloak and some food, if he wouldn’t accept her concern. He had nodded his agreement and left.

Now he sat in the dark dungeon, his blade drawn, his back pressed up against the wall opposite the stairs that led down from the keep’s first floor. That floor rested on a stone foundation that raised it a good ten feet from ground level. That way the wooden stair that led into the castle from the bailey could be cut away from the building, leaving intruders with no way to enter the main tower. Still, the chinking in some of the stonework was imperfect, allowing a small amount of light to penetrate the gloom during the day. At night the place was pitch black. Even so, Haven’s vision adjusted, and soon he could make out the difference between solid shapes and empty spaces.

As people retired, the sounds of the tower stilled. He waited, expecting that he would repeat the experience for several nights before his quarry returned. Haven sat in that cramped position, hidden by bags of grain, for a great length of time. He recounted in silence the exploits of Charlemagne and King Arthur, in order to keep himself awake.

A sound at the top of the interior stair rewarded his endurance.
The fool had returned early.
Haven put his hand to his sword and silently cautioned himself to patience. The stairs creaked under the person’s weight. A halo of light surrounded the figure that moved downward, pausing at the bottom of the stair. Even better, the intruder had brought a lantern. The man was overconfident.

Still Haven waited. As much as he wanted to catch and punish the intruder, he wanted more to know what the man sought. The fellow was moving now, headed for a spot on the wall at Haven’s left. The intruder set down his lantern and began to shift the sacks that topped a few ale barrels. When he had moved the barrels aside as well, Haven heard a scraping noise. Then the figure picked up his lantern and vanished from sight.

Silently, Haven rushed to the spot where he had just seen the man. There, behind the barrels, was a square opening in the cellar floor. A trapdoor was propped against the wall, and Haven could see the faint light of the intruder’s lantern. Haven debated whether or not to follow the man, when the light began to brighten. He was returning.

Sword at the ready, Haven crouched behind a barrel and waited for his prey to emerge fully from the hole. The man rose from the ground. He placed his lantern atop one of the barrels and reached for the trap door. In that moment, Haven stood, putting his sword to the man’s throat. “Hold and turn to me.” The knave complied.

“You!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“What are you doing down here, Pwyll?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“But you won’t because you know I am looking for you.”

“True. I thought it a stroke of good fortune when no one remarked on the broken crockery and spilled grain from my last two visits.”

“Well, your luck just ran out.”

“Maybe. But perhaps you would like to see what I’ve found.”

“Answer my question first.”

“As you like. I was looking for a silver mine.”

At this absurd response, Haven dropped his blade a few inches. It now pointed directly at Pwyll’s heart. “You jest at your peril.”

“Nay, sir, I can show proof.”

“Where?”

“Here.” Pwyll pulled a pouch from his belt and held it out to Haven.

“Empty it onto the barrel next to your lantern.”

Pwyll did so. Several rocks slid from the pouch to the barrel surface.

Haven sheathed his sword and picked up one of the rocks. “And you claim this is silver?”

“Aye, Sir Haven. You can have this sent to the king. He no doubt has metallurgists who can verify my claim.”

“Mayhap I will do so. Show me where this silver mine is.”

Haven slid into bed beside Gennie and reached for her warm body. Even in sleep, Gennie sidled away from his cold grasp.

He didn’t blame her, but he wanted to share his news with her, and he needed her warmth.

To look at the mine, Haven had followed Pwyll on a long and filthy walk beneath the bowels of the keep. From the way water dripped down the walls of the tunnel in places, Pwyll speculated that the tunnel ran under the river. Haven didn’t care. Once he had seen the cavern where Pwyll had found the rocks, all Haven wanted was to return aboveground and wash the stink of moldering earth from his body.

On his way back to Gennie, he had stopped at the cistern in the bailey, stripped and sluiced his entire body with clear water. That left him clean but cold. He had dried his feet, picked up his clothing and run for the gatehouse chamber where his wife dreamed.

Haven pursued her across the ticking. When she could retreat no farther, she finally woke.

“You are freezing,” she said, frowning, and blinked sleep from her green eyes.

Haven kissed her. “So warm me,” he requested when he came up for air.

“With pleasure,” Gennie purred.

Later, when Haven’s breathing calmed and they lay twined together, he told her of Pwyll’s discovery.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Nay, and they shall not, until we can determine how best to turn this discovery to our advantage.”

“You cannot keep this secret for long.”

“Long enough to get word to the king wherever he is and have him send a metallurgist and smelter to advise us.”