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

gently. “What happened between you and I when we first met was not your fault. You did not betray him then.

Anything that happened after that was not a betrayal of that man, either. He was a thief, a criminal. We would have caught him eventually, but it’s possible that I would have lost even more men in the meantime. You helped prevent that, Regan. You did what was honorable and necessary.”

“No,” she said, burying her face against his chest, “I cannot relieve myself of my guilt that easily. We both know what I’ve done.”

Running his hand over her hair, he murmured, “We both also know the evil that he did to you, and to your son. He was treating you that way long before I returned. Are you going to accept the responsibility for that, as well? Was it anything that you did that caused him to mistreat Radolf as he did?

“Yes,” she answered silently, “I bore your son and he knew it.”

“Keep your memory of him as he used to be alive in your mind. As Radolf grows older, tell him of the goodness that was inside of Edgar. There is no need for him to remember the bad.

You cannot feel responsible for his death, he chose his own path and knew what the consequences would be if he were caught. Let him go in peace, Regan, don’t allow him to continue to torment you.”

She did not answer, just wrapped her arms around his waist. She felt the steady thudding of his heart beating against her ear and drew comfort from it.

“How is Radolf?” he asked, breaking the silence a few minutes later.

“I think he will be all right. He cried at the funeral, but he doesn’t really understand anything other than that Edgar won’t be coming home again. He wasn’t around much anyway, so it won’t be so different for Radolf.”

“Would it be agreeable to you if I stop by to see him occasionally?”

Regan lifted her head to look at him. “Why would you want to do that?”

“A boy needs a man in his life,” Calder replied brusquely, feeling a little embarrassed. “Some things a woman just doesn’t know how to teach a boy.”

“I see,” she said with a sad smile. “By all means then, feel free to visit anytime.”

“Come along,” he said, standing and taking her hand. “We should get back.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d rather stay here for a little longer.”

Calder knew she did not want to be seen with him, particularly on the day she had buried her husband. “I will walk with you until we get near the village. No one will see us. It’s getting dark and I would not feel comfortable leaving you out here alone. Come with me.”

Regan took his hand and he trailed Alerio’s reins behind him in the other. They walked in silence toward the village, both lost in their own thoughts.

 

            

The next few weeks passed quickly and quietly. Calder left for the castle site at dawn each morning and did not return until well after dark each night. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of foreboding that caused him to push the workers hard, and himself even harder, to get as much of the castle done as possible before winter arrived and halted the work until spring.

During that time, Regan found herself spiraling downward into a deep depression. Her guilt about Edgar ate at her continuously. She spent her mornings doing the tedious figures for taxes, grateful that focusing on them kept her mind so fully occupied that, for a few short hours at least, she had no time to think of Edgar, or of Calder.

For the remainder of the day, she listlessly went about her own chores. Besides tending to the cottage and laundry, she picked vegetables from her small garden and preserved them for the coming winter. She and Radolf frequently took walks through the woods, where they would pick berries, wild herbs and vegetables that she would put up for the barren months ahead.

Food was more plentiful this time of year, and she and Radolf were able to eat much better than they had been. Draco came by once or twice a week. Sometimes he took Radolf hunting or fishing, always leaving half of their booty with the boy at the end of the day. If he did not take Radolf, he would stop in to visit for a few minutes and drop off a hare, or a venison loin, or some of whatever he had been hunting that day.

Regan was grateful to him for his kindness and tried to give him some coin to compensate him. But, after he showed how insulted he was by the gesture, she never offered again.

As if they knew that Regan was responsible for the death of Edgar and his men, the townspeople were now even more openly hostile to her and Radolf. It was seldom that they were able to make their way through the small hamlet without snide, hurtful comments being yelled at them. Sometimes they were even struck with small stones or mud.

Radolf was unable to understand what was happening and suffered even more than Regan. If he wandered outside alone, he was inevitably set upon by the boys of the village and returned home in tears, their words cutting him even more than their fists.

Regan’s depression deepened as she saw the effects these incidents were having on Radolf. She struggled to find a way to make his life better, but realized that the only true solution was to take what little coin that they had and leave the village; take Radolf and start over where no one knew them. She accepted that, but was unable to bring herself to do it just yet.

She had not seen Calder since the day of Edgar’s funeral. He was working at the castle during the times she was at the Manor doing the figures for the taxes. Although he had summoned her for dinner several times, she always sent Skeet back to Calder with some flimsy excuse as to why she could not join him.

Her emotions were all tangled up inside of her and she needed to work them out by herself. Regan knew that if she allowed Calder near her, she would weaken. Her body would take over and she would willingly give herself to him. It was their relationship that caused Radolf’s life to be pure hell and she could not allow it to continue.

Besides, she would be leaving soon and it would do no good, to either her or Calder, to allow their feelings to deepen at this point. It would just cause that much more pain when the time came for them to separate permanently.

 

            

“Please, thank Lord Calder for the invitation,” Regan said to Skeet one evening, “but I fear I have a touch of the ague and dare not eat at the Manor with him. Besides, Radolf is off fishing with Draco and I must wait for his return.”

“Yes, Milady,” Skeet said respectfully, backing away from her door.

“Skeet?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Milady?”

“Is all well with Lord Calder? I know he drives himself hard to finish the castle.”

“He is well, Milady, just tired most evenings. He will be very disappointed that you are unable to join him.”

“Please give him my regards,” she said, biting her tongue to keep herself from withdrawing her refusal to join him. She felt so lost and alone. Calder’s comfort and strength would do much to help her get through this bad time, but that same strength might also make her lose her resolve to leave and she could not allow that.

A short while later Regan was startled by a loud banging on her door. She jumped, and the dirk that she had been using to chop leeks for soup slipped and cut deeply into her finger.

The relentless pounding continued, so she stuck the bleeding finger in her mouth and crossed the room. She stood motionless when she opened the door to find Calder’s broad frame filling the opening.

“Are you injured?” he asked brusquely, the anger on his face swiftly changing to concern as he saw the blood on her lips.

“Just a slight cut,” she answered, after removing the digit from her mouth. “Your visit is an unexpected surprise, Milord.”

“I’m sure that it is,” he said dryly. “I have been very lenient with you these past weeks, Regan, but I cannot allow your insubordination any longer.”

Calder strode angrily into the room.

“My insubordination?” she asked nervously, wrapping a cloth around her bleeding finger.

“When your Overlord summons you to his table, it is insubordination when you refuse. You have done so thrice in as many weeks.”

“Milord, I do apologize, it is just that…” Her words faltered as she looked into his angry blue eyes.

“Do not attempt to deceive me, Regan. I can see that you are not ill. A little too thin,” he said eyeing her from top to toe, “but not ill.”

Sighing heavily, she sat down at the small table. “In truth, Milord, I think it is best if we do not see each other and are not seen together.”

“Why?” he asked, his eyebrow raised. “Have things gotten worse for you?”

She looked at him silently. Even without words, her anguish and despair were evident. Calder walked over and took her hand, lifting her to her feet. He stared deeply into her eyes. The spark, the light that was Regan, no longer shown through those green orbs and, seeing that, he felt more pain than any wound had ever caused. He watched in dismay as tears began to swim in her eyes.

Regan longed to feel his arms around her, longed to let him hold her and take her burdens from her. She felt her own strength draining as she saw the depth of concern shining through his eyes.