Bride for a Knight

She told herself not to make too much of that. He might be tired, or anxious to find a night’s lodging. As for not conversing, it could merely be that he was a naturally reticent man who wasn’t used to having a wife, just as she was no more used to having a husband. And if a tendency to silence was the worst that could be said of him as a husband, that was no great hardship.

As the afternoon wore on, however, she began to wonder if he had another fault—a disinclination to consider that if he was not weary, others might be. She was very tired and her back was starting to ache. The soldiers behind her, even Arnhelm and Verdan, had long since ceased talking, too.

Yet whenever they passed an inn or monastery where they might take shelter for the night, he continued past.

Just when she had decided that something must be said lest they be benighted on the road, they arrived at an inn with a large yard surrounded by a willow fence. This time, Roland raised his hand to halt their cortege.

A plump man wearing an apron immediately appeared at the door and bustled toward them, shooing geese and chickens out of the way, flapping his arms as he went.

“Greetings, my lord, my lady!” he cried, gesturing for them to enter. “Welcome! Welcome!”

“We seek shelter for the night,” Roland replied without dismounting.

“Of course, sir, of course. My wine and ale and beds are the best for miles, and my wife the best cook for miles, too!”

“How much?”

The innkeeper ran a swift gaze over Mavis, the soldiers and the wagon that came creaking to a stop behind them, then named a price that struck Mavis as extravagant even if Roland was obviously a man of means.

Apparently Roland agreed with her assessment. “That is far too much for one night’s lodging.”

The innkeeper ran his fingers over his upper lip. He named a somewhat lesser fee.

Roland shook his head.

The man quoted another price, lower still.

Roland raised his hand as if to signal the cortege to move on. Surely he couldn’t be in earnest, she thought with desperation. It would be dark soon!

“Wait!” the innkeeper cried with a look of panic. He named another price, lower by several pence. “And that is truly the best I can do, sir!”

“Acceptable,” Roland replied, “provided there is a separate chamber for my lady and me.”

“Of course!” the innkeeper cried, and finally Roland swung down from his horse.

“We are honored to serve you, my lord!” the innkeeper enthused. He gave Mavis a broad smile. “Anything you need, you have only to ask, my lady! This way if you please, my lady!”

He waited while Roland, his expression unreadable, raised his arms to help her down. Holding on to his broad shoulders, she slid to the ground and, given the company, tried not to be aware of his powerful body. “Thank you, my lord.”

He only nodded.

Nevertheless, she tucked her hand under his arm as the innkeeper bustled ahead of them into the largest building made of wattle and daub, with a roof of thatch. She could also see a large barn and stable behind the inn.

Meanwhile Arnhelm, Verdan and the soldiers of their escort dismounted and servants appeared from inside the stables to help them with the horses, the wagon and the ox.

The taproom of the inn was a low-ceilinged chamber, the beams dark with age and smoke from the fire in the central hearth. Tables and benches were arranged about it, and rushlights added a little more illumination to the dim room. Sawdust and rushes were on the floor to soak up any spills of food or drink, and she could smell the fleabane sprinkled on them, too.

“The wife’s made a fine beef stew, my lord,” the innkeeper said as he pulled out the bench at the table closest to the fire.

The aroma wafting through the door across the room proved that beef was cooking somewhere.

“Bring some for my wife and me, and the men, too,” Roland said as they took their seats on the bench.

“Aye, my lord, aye!” the innkeeper exclaimed, and he hurried through the door that must lead to the kitchen.

Despite the man’s assurances, however, it seemed his wife was not so willing to guarantee the stew.

“Are you mad?” a woman exclaimed. “Stew for twenty? We’ve not enough meat, you great lummox!”

“But it’s a lord and a lady,” the innkeeper replied just as loudly, either unaware or too upset to realize they could be heard in the taproom as easily as if they were standing beside the hearth.

“So of course you insist they stay and you play the happy host while it’s up to me to feed them!” the woman retorted.

“It seems we’ve caused a spat,” Mavis remarked, untying the drawstring of her cloak. “Obviously he sees some profit flying out the door if he can’t provide enough stew and she doesn’t think they can. Fortunately, such a meal can be stretched with more vegetables and gravy, as she ought to know. I suspect, then, this is the sort of repeated argument that husbands and wives sometimes have.”

When Roland didn’t reply, Mavis folded her hands in her lap. “I could be wrong, of course.”

“I have little experience of husbands and wives,” Roland admitted, albeit with cool dispassion. “My mother died giving me birth, and the women who took her place in my father’s bed were not wives.”

Although this wasn’t pleasant information, Mavis was glad to hear it nonetheless, because Roland chose to share it. “My mother died when I was little, too. I don’t remember her at all. And my father, for all his faults, never brought his mistresses into the household.”

If Roland was going to reply to that, he never got the chance, for the innkeeper returned with their wine, and he was not nearly so merry. “Forgive me, my lord, but my wife fears that we aren’t going to have enough stew for all your men.”

Mavis didn’t want to be the cause of a quarrel, nor did she wish to travel any more that day, so she rose from the bench. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, and if you don’t mind, innkeeper—”

“Elrod’s the name,” the innkeeper blurted, then flushed even more.

“Elrod, I will have a word with your good wife. Perhaps I can offer some suggestions to help with the meal.”

Elrod’s eyes grew as round as a wagon wheel. “Thank you, my lady, but I don’t think—”

“I’m sure there’s something that can be done, and I’ll try not to upset her,” Mavis assured him as she swept her skirts behind her and headed for the kitchen.

The innkeeper, half aghast, half impressed, looked warily at the tall, grim knight sitting in front of him.

The man might have been made of wood for all the emotion he displayed.

“I’ll, um, I’ll get more ale. It’s in the buttery,” Elrod stammered before hurrying away through another door.

* * *

Roland would willingly have laid out good coin to see what was happening in the kitchen, although he would never admit it. This had truly been a day of surprises, and finding out his wife was willing to offer her aid in the kitchen of an inn was the least of them.

Far more interesting was her assertion that she hadn’t married him out of duty, but because she wished to.

It seemed Gerrard had been wrong, and he had found a woman who wanted him...if her words and her smiles and her passion were to be believed.

Yet how had he responded? Like some lust-addled oaf, taking her with no more gentleness than if she’d been a camp follower on a long campaign.