A True and Perfect Knight (32 page)

A cheer arose as Watley retreated before Cyril’s first rush.

“Are you certain you wish to do this, wife?”

“’Twill be easy money, Haven. Look how much larger Cyril is than Watley.”

“’Tis not always size that decides a contest, Gennie.”

“I understand this.”

Groans and cheers mixed together. Watley had ducked under the Welshman’s longer reach. The heavy Welshman could not check in time and crashed through the scattering crowd into the wall.

“As you will, then.”

Cyril shook himself and turned, rushing Watley, who once again retreated before the huge man.

“Sire what terms do you offer?”

Edward’s eyes gleamed. “Would a groat be too much, milady?”

“Seems a paltry sum to me.”

“Ah, but what if a promise to be named in the future comes with the groat?”

Cyril had backed Watley to the opposite wall.

“A king’s promise and a groat too. ’Tis a splendid wager. I agree. Haven, you will stand witness to the terms.”

“Aye.”

With a nod, Gennie joined in the shouting for Cyril to crush the squire. The king voiced equally loud encouragement to Watley. Indeed, had Watley been slower, Cyril would certainly have triumphed. But Haven had to smile when he saw Watley once again duck and Cyril once again dust the wall with his face.

The contest took some time, but that Cyril’s size outmatched his brains soon became apparent. Time after time, Watley would lure the fellow to embrace the walls. The damage Cyril sustained from close and repeated impact with stone was greater than any that Watley could have delivered on his own.

Eventually, the Welshman defeated himself, crashing to the ground. Winded from the prolonged chase, Watley sat himself on Cyril’s chest. Haven counted five and declared Watley the victor.

“Have you your groat ready, milady?” asked Edward.

“I can get it, sire.”

“Do so. I would reward yon squire. Haven, call him forward.”

Gennie went to the solar to get a groat from a pouch kept in one of the chests. While his wife left on that errand, Haven motioned Watley to come to the head table.

Watley climbed the dais, then knelt. “How may I be of service?”

“Rise, good Watley,” said Edward.

Watley stood. “Sire.”

The king continued. “I would reward your victory with the sum of two groats wagered on the outcome of your contest. To that I add my hearty thanks for your courage. I also ask that you consider leaving Sir Haven’s service for service in my household. If Sir Haven will free you from your oath to him.”

Watley’s mouth gaped.

Haven smiled.

The king laughed and lifted his cup from the table.

“But I am not yet a knight.”

“That can be remedied,” Haven said dryly.

Edward chuckled and slapped his arm around Watley’s shoulders. “Here, lad, have a drink while you think it over.”

Watley tipped the kings cup to his lips and drank deeply He placed the empty cup on the table before him. “’Tis little enough to think about, sire. As long as Haven is willing to let me go.”

“I will not hold you back. In fact, had the king not suggested it, I would have petitioned him to give you a place in his household.”

“You are all that is kind, sir.”

“Nonsense. If you are determined to have Rebecca Dreyford, you must first earn lands. And there is no better opportunity for that than in service with our liege.”

“Do…does this mean you approve our marriage?” Watley blinked and rubbed a hand across his eyes.

“I approve your betrothal as long as you gain lands and Rebecca spends the years until your marriage in a convent, learning humility and thoughtfulness.”

The squire’s face flushed. “With your permission, Sir Haven, sire, I shall go and tell her.”

The king nodded.

“Get you gone, pup,” Haven growled. He watched the young man stumble the length of the great hall.

“Love seems to have done what Cyril could not,” Edward remarked.

“Aye,” Haven agreed, watching his squire’s unsteady gait.

Watley had just reached Rebecca’s side when he doubled over.

“Watley?” Rebecca shrieked.

Haven leapt from the dais. Behind him Edward roared for silence.

Haven reached his stricken squire three strides before the king. “What’s wrong?”

“Something tears at my belly,” Watley gritted out. “And my sight dims.”

Haven frowned and helped Watley to a bench. “Here, lad, lie down.”

Watley moaned. “I am going to be sick.”

Haven shifted the squire’s head away from the watching crowd. Watley heaved, but nothing came up.

“Sir, where is your healer?’ The king’s voice came over Haven’s shoulder.

“You there.” Haven grabbed a nearby Welshman. “Find Gwyneth.”

The man looked at him in puzzlement.

“Gwyneth. Gwyneth,” Haven shouted. “Find Gwyneth.”

“Aye, Gwyneth.” The man nodded.

Gennie returned at that moment. “Haven, what has happened to…
Bon Dieu
, Watley.”

“Owain, Soames, to me,” Haven shouted again. The men came at the run.

“Clear those people out of this room.” He swept his arm toward the onlookers. “But keep them together within the bailey.”

“Aye, sir.”

The room emptied, and Watley continued to clutch his belly.

Soames and Owain returned.

The squire curled his body and moaned about stabbing pains in his stomach.

Before Gwyneth arrived he had begun to tremble. His face began to redden. Saliva dripped from his mouth, and he struggled to breathe.

When the old woman approached, Haven pulled Gennie aside, holding her by the arm.

Gwyneth examined Watley, muttering in Welsh. She paused, then nodded and continued babbling over the squire.

“Owain, what says she?” Haven ordered.

“Hot as hare. Blind as a bat. Dry as bone. But not yet red as beet. Nor mad as hen,” the sergeant-at-arms translated.

“What witchery is this? Remove that crone.” Edward’s order nearly drowned the last of Owain’s translation.

“’Tis nightshade,” Owain repeated Gwyneth’s words In English.

The fearsome word whispered off the stones in the great hall.

“Nay,” came Haven’s protest. “By your leave, sire, this woman saved my life. Let her by to save my squire.”

“Nightshade? How…?” Haven heard Gennie choke on the words.

“Poison?” The king cut her off.

“How could that be?” Haven completed Gennie’s thought. “He was fine during the wrestling.”

“Bring a full bucket of vinegar and a ladle,” Owain translated Gwyneth’s orders.

“
Certainment
, Gwyneth.” Gennie started to leave, but Haven held her in place.

“Soames, you go,” Haven ordered.

“Aye, sir.”

Haven’s second-in-command returned with the requested bucket.

Gwyneth muttered and Owain interpreted. “Hold him down.”

Soames and Haven bent to that task.

The king moved into place behind Gennie.

Gwyneth pinched Watley’s nose. When the squire opened his mouth for breath, she poured a ladleful of vinegar into his mouth and let go of his nose. He was forced to swallow the vile stuff or suffocate.

Gwyneth repeated the procedure as soon as he swallowed the first dose. She stopped whenever Watley’s stomach would rebel and cast up the vinegar it had just received. Then the pinching and ladling would begin again.

A second bucket of vinegar was brought. Gwyneth did not cease her treatment of Watley until his stomach no longer rejected the vinegar. Even then, she would force a portion down his throat if he started trembling or complained of stomach pains.

When he had gone for some time without showing symptoms of the poison, Gwyneth put down her ladle. She spoke to Soames. “She wants us to move him to his bed,” said Owain.

“Soames,” Haven spoke before the man did Gwyneth’s bidding. “Send a few men back in, Lindel and Sutherland I think.”

“Aye, Sir Haven.”

Now that the crisis was past, Haven turned to the king, still standing behind Gennie. “I know what you must be thinking, sire.”

“Do you?”

“Aye.” Despairing, Haven looked at Gennie. “There must be another explanation.”

Gennie’s eyes widened. “Surely you cannot think…” She turned to Edward. “Sire, I assure you…”

But the look in Edward’s eyes froze Gennie to silence. “What is it that you assure me of, Madame Dreyford?”

She didn’t seem to notice the king’s lapse of memory in using her widowed name. “Why, I could not, would not arrange to have Watley poisoned simply because I lost a groat to you, sire.”

“A groat and a promise, remember, Madame Dreyford?”

Haven ground his teeth, knowing that Edward already condemned Gennie, and her protests did nothing to mitigate that condemnation.

“Well,
certainment
.” She twisted her hands together.

“A groat and a promise. But what has that to say to anything? I would hardly poison my husband’s squire over such a piece of folly. I wasn’t even in the room.”

“No you would not harm Watley. I believe that, madame. But you might well seek to harm the king who executed your first husband.”

Gennie’s hand flew to her throat. “
Non.
”

“
Non
, say you.” Edward turned and snatched his cup from the table. “Then explain why Watley fell ill when he drank from my cup and not before. My cup, which came from the kitchens you supervise, Madame Viper.”

Gennie looked from the cup to the fury in Edward’s face and back. “I-I cannot.”

The king put his face a palm’s width from Gennie’s. “Of course you cannot. To explain this, you would have to confess that you tried to murder the King of England.”

“I did not.”

Edward’s lip curled, and he straightened to his full height. “A moment ago, madame, you lost a groat and a promise to me. I would claim that promise now.”

“
Oui
, sire.”

“Promise me that without regard to consequence you will always tell me the truth.”

“
Certainment
, sire, but will you believe me?”

“Let us find out. Did you poison my cup?”

Gennie squared her shoulders. “
Non.
”

Edward clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. “Haven, have you at Two Hills Keep a room that can be locked from the outside?”

Haven felt fear, solid and cold, in his belly. “No, my liege, but the solar has a stout door. A bar can be added, and I can place a guard.”

Edward opened his eyes, holding Haven’s gaze with his. He spoke clearly, loud enough for all in the hall to hear, “Then take this lying viper from my sight, e’er I order her hanged on the spot.”

“Sire, you cannot…” Haven objected.

“As you love me, Haven, obey me now.”

“Aye, sire.”

Haven took hold of Gennie’s arm. With rigid steps, he escorted her from the room.

“Haven, don’t do this,” she pleaded.

He refused to meet her gaze or give ear to her entreaties.

Behind them he heard Edward order, “Send for Michael. I would have my strongest knight guard my back from this evil.”

The solar door shut behind Gennie. She sank onto the rug near the braiser. How could this happen? She had never in her life spoken a word of treason. Curse Roger and the long shadow of his traitor’s death.

She no longer feared for Thomas. Haven would do all he could for the boy. Her husband was too good a man to cover a child with the mantel of suspicion that cloaked her.

But it was Haven’s silence that hurt most. Could he believe her capable of such evil? Maybe when they had first met, but surely not now? Doubt wormed its way into her mind, If Haven did repudiate her, what would become of her and the child she carried?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Haven opened the solar door. His heart skipped when he saw the empty bed, then steadied as his gaze swept the room and found Gennie asleep on the rug. The tray of food he had sent up earlier lay untouched by her side. He closed the door and swept a hand across his face. It was nearly afternoon. He had not slept since leaving Gennie last night. He could not have done so had he tried.

He walked to where she lay and sat down beside her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Gennie.”

She started up. Sleep blinked horn her eyes, replaced by hurt and accusation. “What do you here? Have you come to gloat, now that my treason is confirmed?”

“Nay.” He reached to stroke her cheek.

Gennie jerked away, turning her back to him. “Do not touch me.”

Concern twisted Haven’s heart. She had every right to be bitter. So he fisted his hands in his lap. “Edward’s accusation was unjust. Anyone could have poisoned the king’s cup.”