the topic, Fulke abruptly changed the subject. “Do you visit
Kenwick long, Father?”
Resting his pudgy hands on his belly, Father Godfrey laughed. “Not near
as long as I would like, your lordship. We depart for the convent in Rotherham at lauds.” Glancing shrewdly at Sir Everard, he
murmured, “I do have enough time to hear the Lord and Lady’s confessions before
I depart, however.”
Surprised, Fulke asked, “Are your visits often of such short duration,
Father?”
Before Father Godfrey could answer, Sir Everard gestured to the steps.
“In that case, I believe it best we seek out Lady Baldith before supper,
Father.”
Nodding agreeably, Father Godfrey beamed at Fulke. “It has truly been a
pleasure, your lordship. Perhaps the next time we meet, you shall recall me.”
Fulke dipped his head. “You may count on it. I wish you a safe journey on the morrow.”
With a curt nod at Fulke, Sir Everard led Father Godfrey to the kitchen
level.
Fulke briefly watched them a moment, perplexed, before striding to the
door.
He stood outside on the top step as a cold wind gusted through the
courtyard. Staring off towards the
village, he wondered what would become of Reina after Warin left. Unable to free his mind from thoughts of her,
he cursed aloud for his weakness.
Envisioning all the harm that could befall her, he convinced himself
her sorrowful plight had weakened his rigid control.
Approaching the chapel in the hopes Reina would be alone at prayer, he
mulled over the cause of the broken door resting alongside the small
building. Seeing no light coming from
within, he contemplated a trip to the village when he heard loud laughter
coming from the stables. Following the
sound, he found his men lounging on piles of hay.
Seeing them so at ease with each other, Fulke relaxed. “I warrant
Gervase and Guy to be familiar with the stables, having swived their share of
maids in the hay. Yet I would have taken wagers against finding you here,
Talan.”
The men laughed, even Talan cracked a smile.
Osbert scrambled to his feet to fetch him a tankard of ale from the keg
propped in the corner.
Accepting the brew with a nod of thanks, he took a long drink. Lowering his tankard, he spoke into the
sudden silence. “Tell me, why have you chosen the reek of the stables over the
warmth of the hall this eve? Would it have anything to do with a visiting
priest?”
The men exchanged wary looks before busying themselves with their
drinks. Confused by their behavior, Fulke frowned. When they continued to avoid
his gaze, he grew impatient. “Zounds, spit it out lads. Since when have we ever
stood on ceremony?”
Glancing briefly at the others, Albin stood. “Might I have a word in private,
my liege?”
Surprised by the formality of the request, Fulke set his tankard aside,
leading the way outside.
Reaching the rail to the lists, he turned to lean upon it. Crossing his
arms over his chest, he quirked a brow, waiting.
Joining him, Albin stood silent, staring at the sun setting beyond the
village. With a sigh, he looked at Fulke. “I know the king has commanded you to
take a wife. I am also aware that time
is running out for you to do so. Yet, I
cannot stand by without saying my piece. I believe you would be making a grave mistake if you were to marry the
Mistress Sibilla. We all do.”
When Fulke remained silent, he went on, “I saw you with Mistress Reina,
Fulke. Until this day, I have never
before seen you laugh like that.”
Staring into the distance, Fulke swore, “Egad, what have we had to
laugh about Albin? We journey from
England to Normandy fighting battles with Louis to defend Henry’s Dukedom. In so doing, we are commanded to take
prisoners in order to fill his coffers only to finance the next campaign. My intent has always been to find a battle
worth fighting. I have yet to do so.”
Albin gripped Fulke’s shoulder. “There is more to life than
Kenwick long, Father?”
Resting his pudgy hands on his belly, Father Godfrey laughed. “Not near
as long as I would like, your lordship. We depart for the convent in Rotherham at lauds.” Glancing shrewdly at Sir Everard, he
murmured, “I do have enough time to hear the Lord and Lady’s confessions before
I depart, however.”
Surprised, Fulke asked, “Are your visits often of such short duration,
Father?”
Before Father Godfrey could answer, Sir Everard gestured to the steps.
“In that case, I believe it best we seek out Lady Baldith before supper,
Father.”
Nodding agreeably, Father Godfrey beamed at Fulke. “It has truly been a
pleasure, your lordship. Perhaps the next time we meet, you shall recall me.”
Fulke dipped his head. “You may count on it. I wish you a safe journey on the morrow.”
With a curt nod at Fulke, Sir Everard led Father Godfrey to the kitchen
level.
Fulke briefly watched them a moment, perplexed, before striding to the
door.
He stood outside on the top step as a cold wind gusted through the
courtyard. Staring off towards the
village, he wondered what would become of Reina after Warin left. Unable to free his mind from thoughts of her,
he cursed aloud for his weakness.
Envisioning all the harm that could befall her, he convinced himself
her sorrowful plight had weakened his rigid control.
Approaching the chapel in the hopes Reina would be alone at prayer, he
mulled over the cause of the broken door resting alongside the small
building. Seeing no light coming from
within, he contemplated a trip to the village when he heard loud laughter
coming from the stables. Following the
sound, he found his men lounging on piles of hay.
Seeing them so at ease with each other, Fulke relaxed. “I warrant
Gervase and Guy to be familiar with the stables, having swived their share of
maids in the hay. Yet I would have taken wagers against finding you here,
Talan.”
The men laughed, even Talan cracked a smile.
Osbert scrambled to his feet to fetch him a tankard of ale from the keg
propped in the corner.
Accepting the brew with a nod of thanks, he took a long drink. Lowering his tankard, he spoke into the
sudden silence. “Tell me, why have you chosen the reek of the stables over the
warmth of the hall this eve? Would it have anything to do with a visiting
priest?”
The men exchanged wary looks before busying themselves with their
drinks. Confused by their behavior, Fulke frowned. When they continued to avoid
his gaze, he grew impatient. “Zounds, spit it out lads. Since when have we ever
stood on ceremony?”
Glancing briefly at the others, Albin stood. “Might I have a word in private,
my liege?”
Surprised by the formality of the request, Fulke set his tankard aside,
leading the way outside.
Reaching the rail to the lists, he turned to lean upon it. Crossing his
arms over his chest, he quirked a brow, waiting.
Joining him, Albin stood silent, staring at the sun setting beyond the
village. With a sigh, he looked at Fulke. “I know the king has commanded you to
take a wife. I am also aware that time
is running out for you to do so. Yet, I
cannot stand by without saying my piece. I believe you would be making a grave mistake if you were to marry the
Mistress Sibilla. We all do.”
When Fulke remained silent, he went on, “I saw you with Mistress Reina,
Fulke. Until this day, I have never
before seen you laugh like that.”
Staring into the distance, Fulke swore, “Egad, what have we had to
laugh about Albin? We journey from
England to Normandy fighting battles with Louis to defend Henry’s Dukedom. In so doing, we are commanded to take
prisoners in order to fill his coffers only to finance the next campaign. My intent has always been to find a battle
worth fighting. I have yet to do so.”
Albin gripped Fulke’s shoulder. “There is more to life than
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