If Not For The Knight - Debbie Boek (reading eggs books .txt) 📗

her with all of the depth of the emotions coursing through him. “Thank you,” he said in a low, choked voice. “No one has ever given me a greater gift.”

“You are not angry?

“How could I be angry with the one woman who is able to fill my whole being with such contentment. And now she tells me that, by some miracle, one of the most extraordinary boys I have ever known is my son. God has truly smiled on me this day.”

With a cry of relief, Regan kissed him repeatedly between sobs, then stilled when he pulled her tightly against him. Calder rolled her over, until his body lay on top of hers.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly once again. He gently nudged her legs apart and, finding her ready, thrust deep inside of her.

As she arched her body against his, welcoming him, Regan realized that there was much more for them to resolve. Tonight though, just having his love, for both her and their son, was enough.

 

 

CHAPTER 18

 

 

Calder’s heart was much lighter after his pleasant romantic evening with Regan and her subsequent honesty about their son. Still though, he did not have much time to sit back and savor the feelings that night had created. With the majority of the villagers working hard at the harvesting of their crops or the preparation of meat for the winter, he and his men were left to do what they could themselves on the castle.

After a long week of hard labor, and a particularly brutal day lifting large blocks of stone for the wall around the bailey, Calder dragged his exhausted body back to the stables. He wanted only some food and a soak in a tub of hot water to ease his aching muscles before bed and, hopefully, a peaceful night of rest.

Brushing down Alerio before releasing him into his stall, he realized that, even more that those basic things, he wished he could share his bed with Regan. Not for the sex, although that would also have been welcome, he mused with a wry grin, but just to have her close by his side. He longed to rest his weary head against her chest and hold her throughout the night, her warm body molded against his, comforting him when those inevitable dark dreams sought to overwhelm him. Yes, he thought with a sigh, she would be my greatest comfort this night.

Calder slapped Alerio on the rump and closed his stall door, leaving the animal to munch eagerly on the oats and hay, as he wearily made his way towards the Manor.

His mood darkened when he entered the building and found a variety of villagers inside the Hall, all apparently waiting to discuss their troubles with him. Pinching his brow and trying to rub some of the fatigue away, he took a deep breath and made his way to the Lord’s table.

He refused to speak to anyone until a large tankard of ale had been placed before him. After taking a healthy draught of it, Calder looked up and saw Filbert sitting at the front of the crowd, an ominous look on his face and his hands twitching nervously in his lap.

“What is it, Filbert?” Calder asked impatiently.

“Milord,” the old man said quickly, coming to stand before him, “your knight, Draco, has been visiting my people’s homes and giving them the amounts that they supposedly owe for taxes.”

“Yes, I know. I asked him to do so. And those are the amounts your people owe. The figures have been carefully calculated and the taxes in arrears included.”

“Well, that is the problem, Milord. No one anticipated that the amounts would be so high. Our crops were not so good this year, what with all the time we had to spend on the castle.” He added the last in an attempt to gain a little sympathy. “Many of us will not be able to pay so much. I ask that you grant us a reprieve, Milord. Let us pay a little to you now and more next year, when we can better afford it.”

Calder leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at Filbert and drinking the remains in his tankard before answering. “We have been through this before, Filbert. Why do you continue to make me repeat myself?”

“Milord, you cannot expect so much from these people. Why, you take more than half of what they have. It is not right.”

“Enough already.” Calder’s voice boomed across the room, quieting the disgruntled murmurs of the villagers who had come to hear his response to Filbert’s pleas. “I will not continue to have this conversation with you time and again. Listen well, because this is the last time I will say it. Most of what I collect will be given to the King as his heregeld. These lands rightfully belong to him and those taxes are his due.”

“I will be damned,” he continued, his voice cold and angry, “if I will dig into my own pockets, as my brother did, for monies that have been due from your people for the past several years. They were well aware of their responsibilities and, in their stubbornness and disrespect, refused to pay.

Your people must learn to accept that they are now my people. I am here by order of their King. They are able to live on and farm these lands only because I allow them to. They will not do so freely. Their taxes will be paid in full or they will leave immediately.”

The insolent look on Filbert’s face infuriated him further and he could hear the murmurs of the crowd increasing again.

Filbert’s voice was hard and his anger almost matched Calder’s when he replied. “These people will starve or freeze to death if you put them out.”

“Then they should pay their taxes.”

“That is easy for you to say, Milord. It is not your child whose belly will be empty this winter. Not your wife who has not enough to eat and cannot fight the cold and sickness that will come.”

Calder was silent a moment, the scar on his face a livid red as he sought to control his anger. “I have suffered much from you, Filbert, for your daughter’s sake. But do not think that my patience is infinite or that, because of your daughter, I will not have you punished for your insolence. Think carefully the next time you open your mouth in my presence, for it may be your last time. You are relieved of your duties for me. Now leave the Manor immediately.”

Filbert’s face was as pale as his flowing white beard when he walked, with as much dignity as he could muster, from the room. Many of the villagers in the Hall began to raise their voices and move toward Calder. For a moment, he feared there might be trouble, until his men, led by Draco, quietly pulled their swords from the scabbards and, holding them with the points to the ground, formed a line in front of his table.

The villagers slowly backed away, only muttering once again, as none wanted to be singled out. Many of them followed Filbert from the building.

Calder sighed with relief, hoping that the rest would leave as well and let him get some sleep. But then Kenny appeared at his side and whispered in his ear.

“Bring them to me,” he said resignedly, realizing sleep would have to wait a while longer.

The two boys that had thrown rocks at Radolf appeared in front of him. They had witnessed his conversation with Filbert and could not keep their knees from knocking together in fear.

“Has it been two weeks already?” he asked them.

They nodded, keeping their heads down, afraid to look him in the face.

“Kenny, have they fulfilled their requirements?”

“Aye, Milord, the avener says they shovel shit as well as a grown man,” Kenny responded with a laugh.

Calder looked them both over carefully and decided to speak to the older boy first. He was probably only about eleven or twelve years old, but was burly already, with thick arms and torso, and dark brown eyes sunk in his chubby face.

“You, boy,” he said, nodding to the older one when they both finally looked up at him, “what have you learned?”

“That I don’t want to work in the stables, M’lord.”

Using his hand to smother the grin that threatened, Calder nodded. “Didn’t enjoy the shoveling?”

The boy shook his head emphatically in the negative.

“But, did you learn anything about the man that you do want to be?” he asked more seriously.

“I watched the smithy shoe the horses. He let me help and said I did real good and can apprentice with him next year.” The boy’s eyes were shining and his voice rose in excitement.

“I’m glad for you,” Calder said sincerely. “But what of throwing rocks at small children and hiding your deed. Did you learn nothing about that?”

The boy lowered his gaze to the floor and said quietly, “It was wrong and I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Do you swear it?”

“Yes, M’lord.”

Calder stood and walked over to him, clapping his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You have done well, son. I look forward to seeing how you do as the smithy’s apprentice. You go now, but remember, I will hold you to your word. If I find you have lied to me, your punishment will go much worse for you the next time.”

“Yes, M’lord,” the boy said, bobbing his head and backing swiftly toward the door.

Calder turned his attention then on the younger boy, smaller than the other, wiry and thin. His sandy brown hair was thin and straggly, his clothes torn and dirty. Obviously, his family did not have