Afton of Margate Castle (37 page)

“Good day to you,” he called pleasantly, then he cleared his throat. “I hope you and your child are well.”

She shook her head in gentle confusion. What brought him here? “We are well, as you are,” she finally answered. “What brings you here?”

“I wish to speak to you, Afton.” The sound of her name on his lips made her dizzy, and she fought to keep her voice under control. His voice had deepened, but still rang with the friendly and familiar tone he had always used with her. It was as if he had only yesterday ridden away to Warwick and had now returned to pick up the heart she had left at his feet.

“Then speak, sir,” she answered, more harshly than she intended.

“Can we sit somewhere?” He motioned toward the door of the house as if he would go into the hall, but Afton couldn’t bear to have him stand in the place where Hubert had paraded her as a trophy.

“No, the mill house,” she suggested, leading the way down the worn path. The babble of the stream seemed to come from far away, and for a moment she was sure she would turn and find him gone, that his approach had been a dream. But his heavy footsteps pounded the earth behind her, his shadow mingled with hers on the path, and the chink of metal from his spurs on the stone floor of the mill house assured her that he was real.

She motioned toward a wooden bench, but Calhoun waited for her to be seated. When she had taken a seat, he sank onto his knees before her. “My heart is too full to begin,” he said, his blue eyes searching her face. He reached for her hand, and she gave it in surprise, amazed at his gentleness. How tender his touch was! How could this hand wield a lance and sword?

“I have loved you for years,” Calhoun said, pressing her palm to his cheek, “and that love has grown to maturity. I must ask my father for permission to marry, of course, but I will ask him immediately if I know my plans meet with your approval. I cannot bear to see you alone, and would put you under my wing, for protection--”

She gasped in dismay and wrenched her hand from his as if from a hot flame. “You would have me
under your wing?
Under your foot, you mean!” she whispered intensely; her eyes blazing. “You say you offer protection? Nay, for power like yours corrupts, Calhoun! It has torn my soul to see you carry a sword--”

She had offended him; she could see honest hurt in his eyes. He pulled back from her, and the softness left his voice. “Obviously you do not value the mettle of a man who has undergone much to prove himself.”

“What have you undergone?” She spat the words contemptuously. “A jousting match or two? Wrestling tournaments? The trials of courtly dancing?” In one fluid motion she stood and turned away from him. “Keep your protection and your fine mettle, sir, for I will not have them thrown over me.”

She heard the metal creaking of his armor as he stood behind her. “Your behavior is not like you, Afton. It is quite unmaidenly.”

She turned then, and laughed at him. “I suppose killing the man in my courtyard was unmaidenly, too, so you had to cover my error. Or did it hurt your pride that I killed him before he attacked me and gave you opportunity for revenge? Is that why you let the sergeant attribute his death to your sword? Did it assuage your pride, noble Calhoun?”

He reached for her shoulders and pulled her to him so tightly that her elbows were pinned against his chest. “No, you little fool, I let them believe the kill was mine to spare you! Do you not know that my father and Hector would do anything to wrest the mill away from you? I talked to the servants, who overheard my father charge Hector to watch you carefully and find you in a fault. They covet your income and your property; that is why Josson comes here to spy upon your weakness. He would seize any excuse to remove you.”

She lifted her face to his. “Josson is not a spy!”

“He is!”

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, but then his lips were upon hers and her fury dissolved as he claimed the kiss she would have given a thousand times in her youth. She stood transfixed, locked in his embrace, and her reason swirled in a wild cyclonic rush. Hubert had subdued her, but Hubert’s kisses had never been like this. Hubert’s embrace had never tempted her to surrender, had never hinted that joy and wonder might be found in submission to the wondrous force that bore down upon her.

This maddening desire for Calhoun infuriated her. Emotions she had thought dead quickly sprang back to life. She felt his lips upon her throat, his hands in her hair, and she heard him groan. The sound awakened something vital within her, and she felt her resolve slipping away.

“Mama?” Ambrose’s shrill voice outside the mill house was like cold water in her face. Her hands shoved Calhoun away, and he fell back, panting, while his bewildered eyes searched hers. She closed her eyes and shuddered. A few moments more, and he would have had her under his control as Hubert had.

She turned from Calhoun and pointedly wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Leave my house,” she commanded.

“You would send me away? I’ll not come back if I’m not wanted.”

“You’re not wanted,” she replied, even though the words threatened to catch in her throat as a monstrous lie. She turned and left him in the mill house.

Ambrose wandered on the path, his forehead creased with worry. “Don’t fret, sweetheart,” Afton said, scooping him up into her arms. “Mama was only gone a moment. But I’m here now, and all is well.”

***

Calhoun’s heart was heavy, but resigned, as he knocked on his parents’ chamber door. When it swung open, he saw Endeline and Perceval at their table, enjoying a quiet supper. “Excuse me,” Calhoun said, coming into the room. “But I must ask a boon of thee, my lord.”

“What is it?” Perceval asked, smiling at his son.

“My daily routine here chafes on me, father. Fulk and I would like to join an expedition on the business of Christ in the Holy Land. We would welcome the chance to bring honor and glory to you and our king.”

Calhoun saw his parents look at each other, then Perceval cleared his throat. “We will discuss it, my son,” he said, “and give you our answer at dinner tomorrow.”

“I will eagerly await your decision,” Calhoun answered.

***

Endeline did not know what brought about Calhoun’s sudden fervent desire to travel to the Holy Land, but his change in attitude delighted her. It would be good for Perceval’s castle to send a contingent on the business of Christ. The king would appreciate Perceval’s effort, Calhoun would be away from Margate Castle and whatever haunted him, and perhaps the still unmarried Charles could be goaded by competition into doing something about his calling in life. She did not once consider that her son’s life might be in jeopardy. Jerusalem had been held by the Christians for nearly thirty years, and Endeline did not think it possible that Calhoun would be in any real danger from infidels.

At dinner the next day, Perceval stood and held up his hand for attention. When all had quieted, he spoke clearly: “Our beloved son Calhoun has been led of God to journey on the business of Christ to the East. We have granted him our permission, along with any knights in our service who wish to join him on this expedition. You will remember that the pope has promised complete absolution and certain salvation for any who die while engaged in this venture, and we trust that your efforts will continue to keep the Holy City safe from infidels.”

Perceval paused and looked out across the tables of knights. “If you would join him, would you please stand now by his side?”

Calhoun dropped his napkin and stood to his feet. The other knights looked at each other, and several dropped their napkins enthusiastically and sprang to their feet. Endeline noticed that Fulk stood slowly, and as he rose, he raised an eyebrow in Calhoun’s direction as if he would ask a question. Endeline wondered why the elder knight had hesitated.

***

The next month was spent in preparation. Fulk led the small contingent of knights in training exercises and cautioned them of the heat they would experience in the harsh deserts. Every night the knights sat around the hearth in the tower and listened to Fulk’s tales of the Saracens’ bravery and cunning. “They are worthy opponents,” he surmised. “He who underestimates them will die.”

Calhoun went about his preparation with a sense of resignation. At Warwick he had dreamed of the glory of going into battle for the king, and going into battle for God certainly would bring even greater glory. But the only image in his mind when he closed his eyes to sleep was that of Afton, her eyes blazing as she pushed him away. She had changed from the girl he had known, and as a woman he found her infinitely more desirable. But now he also wrestled with her mysterious reluctance to love him, and he had failed in his best attempt to win her. Very well. It would be better to fight for God in the heat of the desert than fight against Afton in the cool of England.

***

Perceval allowed the villeins to come in from the fields to see the knights off on their journey. The parade of knights promised to be splendid, with knights and their horses alike fully dressed in the best armor Perceval could procure.

Before mounting his horse, Calhoun found Gislebert outside the stable, and drew him close. “I charge you,” Calhoun whispered roughly, “as long as I live, you must continue to check on her and do what you must to meet her needs. Swear it!”

Gislebert blinked and threw up his hand. “I swear it.”

Calhoun released him and gently smoothed the boy’s tunic. “Go in peace, my friend. I hope all is well with you.”

“You talk as one who rides to death,” Gislebert answered as Calhoun swung himself into his saddle. The boy’s eyes were wide with fear, and Calhoun knew he thought of the bloody tales from Warwick’s campfires. Gislebert gulped. “You will be back.”

“Perhaps.” Calhoun stood in his stirrups and Fulk pulled up alongside him. They raised their swords in salute to Perceval as the trumpeters blew a resounding flourish, then the company of knights spurred their horses and rode out of Margate Castle.

The procession of twenty knights traveled slowly along the castle road as the villeins and villagers cheered them on, and paused at the village church for Father Odoric to offer a prayer of blessing for their journey. With drops of holy water cool upon his face, Calhoun directed his company to mount up for the long ride ahead.

He could see the miller’s house as they approached the edge of the village, but no one stood in the courtyard to note their passing. Calhoun knew Fulk’s somber eyes were upon him as he struggled to keep from frankly staring into the windows of the house, and he made a poor show of nonchalance as they slowly passed. Calhoun laughed loudly and called out to his fellows, but the noise roused no one in the miller’s house, no woman appeared, no girl ran out to beg from him a parting word.
Why should she come?
he rebuked himself.
She told you to leave. She does not want you near.

Calhoun turned to his companion and teacher. “Fulk, today we undertake ventures at great expense,” he said, reciting from a well-worn memory.

“Aye, that we do,” Fulk agreed. Fulk held the horses to a slow walk until they had passed the miller’s house, then he signaled the riders to spur their horses and make haste on their journey.

Fulk

1126-1130

C
alhoun’s company of knights grew with every passing day. Whether they journeyed or rested in a roadside hospice, invariably other travelers were drawn to their formidable company. Though personally Calhoun would have chosen not to be slowed by so many pilgrims, many of whom traveled on foot, when he heard their earnest entreaties and looked into their eyes, he could not refuse them.

In their eyes Calhoun read one of three reasons for their flight--religious fanaticism, unspoken dreams of life in a better place, or naked fear. One of the first to approach him was a dignified nobleman who might have been a contemporary of his father. The reason for his travel from England was apparent in his humble manner and slightly frayed dress. “I would welcome you to my home in return for your kindness,” the man told Calhoun, bowing low, “but of late I have been dispossessed. Somehow my actions have displeased the king, and my lands seized by another lord. I find I must leave England at once, for I know not how the royal wind blows . . . ”