If Not For The Knight by Debbie Boek (ebook reader below 3000 TXT) 📖

>The woman nodded fearfully at him. She answered Regan's questions reluctantly, her eyes continuously darting over to the fearsome warrior who stood with his massive arms crossed and an intimidating frown on his face, watching them from the doorway.

It was a similar situation with the other cottages they visited. Without Draco's presence, she would not have been allowed to even get through the door, let alone obtain the information that she needed. Regan tried to concentrate on the questions that she needed to ask, rather than on the cold, hateful looks they all bestowed upon her.

The last visit of the day was the most difficult. Alden was an elderly man, once a close friend of her father's, but no longer, because of her.

Alden was intimated by Draco, but that did not stop him from responding to her questions in a snide and hurtful way. Draco was about to step in when he made a particularly rude comment, but realized that Regan was handling the situation in her own way and remained quiet.

She let Alden's barbs roll off of her shoulders without acknowledging them, persistently and respectfully continuing with her questions.

When she had obtained all of the information that she needed, they turned to leave the cottage. Draco walked out first and, therefore, was unable to hear what Alden hissed in her ear.

“We all know you are the Norman's whore. You will burn in hell for betraying your own people like this.”

Regan had tears in her eyes as she turned back to face the old man. “I am no one's whore.” Her voice was shaky, but gained strength as she continued. “And it was my people who betrayed my son and me long before Lord Calder returned. For your part in that, Alden, you should look to the salvation of your own soul. I have no fear for mine.”

Draco saw the unshed tears in her eyes as she left the cottage, not knowing what the man said, but seeing how deeply he was able to cut Regan. He wanted to strike out at the man, but because of his age, just sent a threatening look in his direction and took her arm. He escorted her back toward the Manor in that way, with RadoIf skipping along behind them.

Regan was grateful for his support, feeling weak and totally drained after having to keep her composure all day as she faced these people. She was not sure how she would be able to find the courage to continue doing this day after day until she met with them all. It seemed a very daunting task indeed.

Thoughts of her own troubles disappeared as Skeet ran up to them. “Draco, come to the Manor quickly. Lord Aric has died and Lord Calder needs you.”

Draco released her arm and ran with Skeet toward the Manor. Regan stood still, filled with indecision for a moment. Then she grabbed Radolf's hand and led him toward her mother's home.

“Lord Aric has died,” she told Gayle when they arrived. “I'm not sure if anyone else knows yet. Please tell no one but Father for now.”

Her mother's face paled as a myriad of emotions crossed it, the strongest being fear. Now someone else would be Lord and none would know, until he arrived, whether he would be good or a tyrant. Their fate was once again in the hands of an unknown entity.

“Please watch RadoIf for me. I must go to the Manor.”

“Why?” Gayle asked nervously, always afraid when her daughter had to be around the beastly Norman warriors.

Regan paused, unable to explain that she felt she had to be there in case Calder needed her.

“I will see what information I can obtain,” she lied.

“Of course, Regan,” her mother said, hugging her tightly. “I'll take care of RadoIf. But, don't be gone long.”

“I won't, Mother,” she replied, returning the hug, and giving a quick kiss to Radolf's cheek as she admonished him to behave for his grandmother. Then she hastily left the cottage and headed for the Manor.

She was filled with trepidation as she entered the Hall. All of the knights were there, scowling and looking even more fierce than normal. Making her way to the front of the room, she saw Calder sitting at a table, speaking quietly with Draco.

His face was haggard, grief deepening the lines on it and making the scar appear even whiter against his tan skin.

She stood quietly to one side, not wishing to interrupt his conversation. Some of the knights glanced curiously at her, but none spoke to or bothered her. Calder rubbed his brow and glanced up around the room, but stopped when his eyes met hers across the Hall. Giving her a sad smile, he motioned her over.

“Milord,” she said, with a quick curtsy, “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Regan. The word has spread quickly then, has it?” he asked, his voice low and filled with restrained grief.

“She was with me when Skeet gave us the news,” Draco explained.

“Have you told anyone else?” he asked.

“Just my mother, and I asked that she tell no one other than my father for now.”

He nodded his satisfaction at her answer. “Draco, my niece and nephew are to arrive tomorrow morning. We will have his burial ceremony in the afternoon. Will you see to it that we have a priest and a proper coffin for him?”

“Yes, Milord,” Draco answered, wasting no time in seeing to his Lord's wishes.

“Is there anything that I can do to help, Milord?” Regan asked quietly.

Sorrow reflected in his dark blue eyes and she wished that she could reach over and hold him, to help somehow ease his grief.

“Yes, Regan, there is.” Coming around the table and taking her arm, he directed her toward the stairs. “My sister-in-law, Devona, is quite distraught, as is to be expected.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “She has no friends here and I do not know how to help her through this. Could you sit with her for awhile?”

“Of course, Milord,” she answered without hesitation.

“Thank you,” Calder said, brushing a curl away from her face, his voice was soft and filled with emotion. “And thank you for coming here. It is good to know we are not hated by all of your people.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I have no people, Milord. I do only what any decent person would.”

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” he asked suddenly, catching her by surprise.

“I'm not sure that would be proper, Milord,” Regan answered, somewhat nervously.

“I have matters I must attend to now. I was hoping you would join me for dinner, when I would have more time to hear of your progress with the tax information.”

“I see,” she responded thoughtfully, knowing his request was logical, but also knowing, in her heart, that it had more to do with their being together than with his interest in her progress. He needed her and she would not refuse him.

“Certainly, I will join you, Milord,” she said, smiling at the look of relief on his face.

“Thank you. Devona will be upstairs in the Lord's chamber. See if you can get her away from Aric, she still refuses to leave his side. She is exhausted and needs some sleep.”

“Yes, Milord,” Regan replied, her head spinning from his abrupt turns in the conversation.

Garrick called to him, tearing his attention away from the sight of her hips gently swaying as she went up the stairs.

“Word must have spread, M'Iord, the courtyard is filling with villagers.”

Calder stood quietly for a moment and then reached a decision. “Release the men from the pillories. Have all the villagers gathered in the courtyard. I will talk with them.”

“Yes, M'Iord.” Garrick and the other knights left quickly to do Calder's bidding.

He sat quietly in the empty Hall, his chin rested on folded hands and his eyes closed as he tried to collect his thoughts. He had seen death happen many, many times and realized that it was just another part of life, but, never had he let it cut to his heart before, as Aric's death was doing.

“Lord Cawer?” A small voice called from beside him. Calder opened his eyes and looked down at the little, red-haired imp next to him.

“What are you doing here, Radolf?” he asked gently.

“I sneaked in, my gramma don't know I'm here,” he whispered, as if to keep from being discovered.

“Why are you here?”

“The man tole us your brother died.”

“Yes, he did.”

“I didn't want you to be sad, so I brought you this.” Radolf held out his pudgy, little hand and in it was a small, carved figurine.

Calder looked at it in bewilderment. “What is this?”

“My grandpa made him for me. His name is Durwin and he is my friend. When I feel sad, I talk to him.”

“Have you no other friends?” Calder asked, touched by the boy's gesture.

His eyes clouded over as he responded. “The other boys are mean, they don't like me to play with them.”

RadoIf did not speak with any self-pity, just a matter-of-factness that was all the more touching to Calder because he was so young. He should not be forced to mature at such an