My Lord's Desire

Wiltshire, 1204 "Keep your eyes open, Bert," the burly foot soldier ordered his younger comrade-in-arms at the gate of Ludgershall Castle. "I don't like the looks o'this fellow." Bert, skinny and with spots on his youthful face, stopped watching the approaching rider to regard Godwin with surprise. "He's all by himself, ain't he? He can't be thinking o' attacking this castle singlehanded. He'd have to be mad when we're up to our arses in soldiers with the king stayin' here." "Fools and madmen have caused trouble before this," Godwin warned, "and this knight looks like he could finish off a dozen men before he fell." "How d'you know he's a knight?" Bert asked. "Where's his men? His squire? His page? He's got no servants or baggage. He's probably another one of them routiers the king's hired." Bert spat in disgust. Like most soldiers bound to his lord by land and loyalty, he detested mercenaries, and those King John employed were the worst of the lot. Godwin shook his head. "Not him. Look at the way he's sittin' that horse. The nag ain't much, but only a well-trained knight rides like that, as if he's as comfortable in the saddle as a lady at her sewing. And he's got mail on, ain't he? And a sword, and unless I'm going blind, that's a mace tied to his saddle." "Plenty of men carry maces," Bert replied, "and sit up straight when they ride. Besides, what kind of horse is that for a knight? It ought to be pullin'a hayrick. His surcoat's seen better days, too. And look at his hair" what knight has hair down to his shoulders? Fella looks more like aViking or one of them Scots from the north." "Trust me, that man's a knight or I'm a nun." "Well, supposin' he is," Bert allowed, "what's the worry? We've had plenty o'knights coming and going." "Not like this one," Godwin replied, stepping out of the overhang of the massive barbican to call out a challenge. As the stranger obediently drew his sway-backed nag to a stop, Godwin studied the man's stern, angular visage and the grim line of his full lips. No, this was no ordinary man, whether mercenary, knight or lord. "It's Godwin, isn't it?" the stranger asked, his voice deep and husky. At the sound of the familiar voice and a closer look at the man's lean face, Godwin gasped with recognition. He immediately lowered his spear and a wide grin split his face, making the scar on his chin curve, too. "Forgive me, my lord!" he cried with both joy and relief. "What a surprise"a good one, mind. I was right happy to hear you wasn't dead." "I am happy not to be," Lord Armand de Boisbaston replied as he swung down from his horse. He eyed the second guard, who still had his spear at the ready. "Am I to be allowed to enter Ludgershall or not?" Godwin gestured for Bert to out up his spear. "This is Lord Armand de Boisbaston, a good friend of the earl's. He was last here, what? Three years ago, my lord?" As the knight nodded, Bert did as he was told. "Sorry, my lord. That was before my time." "No matter," Lord Armand replied. "You were wise to deny me entry until you knew I wasn't an enemy, especially if our beloved sovereign is within." Godwin's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Beloved? If what he'd heard was true"and he had no reason to doubt it"Lord Armand de Boisbaston had no reason to love the king, and every reason to hate him. "Which way to the stable?" the nobleman inquired. "It's along the west wall inside," Godwin answered. "Bert here can fetch a." "No need," Lord Armand interrupted as he reached for his horse's bridle. "I'll tend to my horse myself. The last time somebody else tried to brush him down, he got a kick for his trouble." "Will your squire and servants be coming along with your baggage, my lord?" Bert asked. "We ought to know in case they don't get here before the changing o' the guard."[read more]