Heart of a Knight (A Medieval Romance Novella) Read online

  Heart Of A Knight

  A Medieval Romance Novella

  Dana D’Angelo

  Copyright Information

  Copyright © 2013 Dana D’Angelo

  http://www.dana-dangelo.com

  All rights reserved. This book, in its entirety or in parts, may not be reproduced in any format without expressed permission. Scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book through the Internet or through any other type of distribution or retrieval channel without the permission of the author is illegal and is punishable by law. Please purchase only legitimate electronic versions of this book and do not engage in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  The characters, places and events portrayed in this fictional work are a result of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real events, locales, or people, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  To My Readers

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  More Titles By Dana D’Angelo

  Chapter 1

  Town of Treville, England 1359

  “I desire to speak with Widow Karina.” Geoffrey de Servian said, shifting onto his good leg. The walk to the widow’s house, and now the weight of standing still for even a minute caused a dull, stabbing pain along the side of his hip. “I heard that she’s seeking a new stable master.”

  The small woman who opened the door was slightly stooped. Peering up at him, her dark eyes assessed him from underneath her linen headpiece. She was obviously a servant although the fine woolen tunic she wore was not typical of her class. Standing on the other side of the threshold, her dismissive eyes went down the length of him and narrowed slightly when she noticed his hand rubbing lightly at his hip.

  “Ma dame might be in, or she might not, I won’t tell you,” she sniffed loudly and scrunched up her nose as if she smelled something offensive. Then in an arched tone, she continued, “But what I’ll tell you is this — she has no use for your kind here.” She flicked a hand in the air. “Now go away. I have too much to do as ‘tis, and I have no time to waste talking to the likes of you.”

  Having said her piece, she gave a satisfied grunt and started to close the door. But Geoffrey stuck out his foot, preventing the door from closing. He needed money, and a place to stay. And he had come too far to have a mere servant turn him away.

  “I would hear it from the widow herself,” he said, his voice low and carefully measured. “I suggest that you get her.”

  The woman’s eyes bulged, the small wrinkles around her eyes vanishing. She looked quickly behind her as if to see if anyone would come to her rescue. But she saw no one. Then gripping the door more firmly, she fought to close it.

  In spite of her efforts, he kept his foot in place and continued to calmly regard the woman.

  The servant gave up and took two steps back. When she was comfortable with the distance between them, she spoke again, although this time her superior tone was muted. “I tried to spare you the trouble, but you’ll find out for yourself when ma dame sees you.” With that, she turned and retreated into the house.

  Geoffrey scanned the tidy dwelling as he waited for the servant to return with the widow. The structure resembled the dozens of merchant houses that lined the main street. The only thing differentiating it was the wooden board hanging on top of the door. There was no mistaking the widow’s occupation. The plank was worn from the elements, and bore an image of a candle. In his travels he rarely came across craftswomen, although he knew that certain circumstances allowed them to own a business. In this case, the woman likely inherited the workshop from her dead husband.

  This place would do, he thought. It didn’t matter where he worked. All that mattered was that he found employment and shelter — at least until the time came for him to leave for Baltroham Palace.

  The distant ringing of hammer on steel made him turn his head and look longingly across the street. The door to the blacksmith’s workshop was opened, although he couldn’t see inside the shop. The craftsman was no doubt working hard to forge the sword and suit of chain mail that Geoffrey had ordered. He had already paid for the goods, but the blacksmith needed a couple more months to finish the work. It was unfortunate that the man charged such a hefty fee for his services, but it was a necessary expense. As soon as the weapon and protective suit were completed, he would confront the man who ruined his life.

  The sun was directly over head, and he felt the sweat trickling down his back. Within the house, he could hear two women talking, though their words were muffled. He turned his attention back to the task at hand, while trying hard to ignore the stabbing ache in his joints.

  Geoffrey craned his neck as he heard the soft voices approaching.

  Straightening his spine, he braced himself. He wasn’t sure how he was going to persuade the old widow to hire him. Most prospective employers closed the door on him as soon as they discovered his handicap. In the short time here, a dozen doors had already closed on him. He was almost ready to give up in frustration when he had overheard the talk at the local tavern.

  So he was hopeful. He heard that no one in town wanted to work for the woman. She was likely an old, wrinkled hag who was difficult to please. But that didn’t matter as long as she hired him. It would be nice to have some coins in his pouch again. The thought crossed his mind that he could have easily solved his money dilemma by contacting his sister. But he was determined not to involve Clarisse in his affairs.

  Geoffrey’s ears perked at the sound of rustling fabric, and he put on his most disarming smile — a smile that was so useful a lifetime ago, and which he rarely used until now. But when the door opened wider, the smile on his lips died. For a moment his mind went blank, and all he could do was stare at the vision in front of him.

  Instead of a bent up old crone, a young maiden appeared at the door. She possessed a round, pretty face, a face that any noblewomen would surely envy. Her sodalite-colored eyes were fringed with long, dark lashes. Her nose was slightly upturned, and her ruby, kissable lips were perfectly formed. There seemed to be something sweetly innocent about this woman, like the reminiscence of a summer breeze. Perhaps she was the old widow’s daughter, he thought hopefully.

  Except the physical evidence in front of him diminished his hope. It was common knowledge that only maidens allowed their hair to flow freely. This woman wore a headpiece, indicating that she was no longer an innocent maid. And while she was pretty, there was no denying the confident way she held her shoulders, or the fine quality of her woolen gown — all sure indications that she was at the top echelon of this household.

  “Widow Karina?” he asked uncertainly. He looked briefly past her shoulder, scanning inside the dark room just in case he was wrong.

  “Aye, I’m she,” the dark eyed beauty said, waiting for him to continue.

  Geoffrey gaped at her, his worst fear fully realized. And unable to control it, he could feel himself reddening. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect you to be so young.”

  He shifted on to his good leg when a d
elicate eyebrow rose at his comment. Closing his eyes briefly, he felt his face heat up even more. This was not the kind of impression he wanted to make with a potential employer.

  The widow continued to politely wait for him to state his business, although a guarded expression now settled over her face. Upon closer inspection, he saw that she wasn’t really as young as he had thought. She was likely about a year or so younger than his twenty-six years.

  Geoffrey forced a smile to touch upon his lips, recalling his manners. Clearing his throat a second time, he tried again. “I understand that you’re seeking a new stable master.”

  “’Tis true.” She stared back at him, her dark blue eyes unwavering. “Our last stable master had gotten too old to care for the horses, and left to live with his daughter.” Her eyes went down the length of him, and fixed on his legs. “Alays tells me that you have certain…difficulties.”

  He crossed his arms reflexively over his chest. “Aye, I’m crippled.”

  Her mouth twisted to one side as if she was mulling over what she would say next, and he braced himself for her rejection. But he relaxed slightly when he saw a flash of sympathy in her eyes.

  When the widow spoke again, her tone was brisk and business-like. “Stable work is very difficult even for an able-bodied man.” She studied his visage. “What do you know about horses?”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, the servant jumped in.

  “’Tis likely he doesn’t know anything, ma dame,” the woman said, almost sneering. With her mistress at her side, she allowed contempt to show on her leathery face.

  Geoffrey could feel his features hardening in a protective mask. “I’m as capable as the next man,” he said. “I promise you that you will not regret taking me on.”

  “You might look big and strong, but none of that matters if you’re debilitated.” Alays dismissed him with a wave of her hand, as if it was she who was the lady of the house. “He won’t serve our purposes at all, ma dame. I say you tell him to leave. We’ll find someone else —”

  “All I need is a chance to prove that I can do the work,” he interrupted. Clenching his fists at his side, he stared hard at the servant. Her judgment of him was typical, and even though he didn’t want her words to affect him, they stung nevertheless. The latent anger that he kept buried inside him began to churn in his belly.

  The servant must have seen something in his eyes because she cringed. She reached for her mistress’ arm, but the widow brushed her hand away.

  The widow cupped her chin in her hand, stroking it while a tiny wrinkle creased her brow. “No one has inquired about the work,” she said finally, dropping her hand. “We put out word days ago to find someone to replace Old John.” She bit her bottom lip as indecision clouded her dark blue eyes, and her gaze once again drifted to his legs. Then almost speaking to herself, she added slowly, “Alays and I cannot continue to do our chores as well as care for the horses. Still, stable work is difficult and demanding.”

  Geoffrey opened his fists, flexing his fingers and forcing himself to relax. He curled his lips into a tight smile. She was going to reject him. “I’ve worked in a noble household before. I understand horses, and they understand me.”

  The servant stared at him, a doubtful look on her visage, but he ignored the woman.

  He would have to make-do, and wait out the two months it took for the blacksmith to finish with his order. He survived before without employment so he would find a way to survive now. Geoffrey started to tell her that he didn’t need the work after all. He would have turned away, except he hesitated. She was looking past him, her countenance suddenly ashen.

  “Are you all right, ma dame?” he asked.

  All of a sudden the widow seemed young, vulnerable and scared. Some protective urge filled his heart, and he was hard-pressed to stop himself from reaching over, and drawing her in his arms.

  “’Tis Master Warin,” she said, her voice sounding faint.

  He twisted his head around to look over his shoulder. A short, plump man was making his way toward them. His graying hair flowed past his double chin, while his features seemed diminutive upon his puffy face. Hard, beady eyes stared out at them, and the grim set to his lips indicated to all that he wasn’t here on a social call.

  Geoffrey knew peasants normally didn’t have fabric to spare. Clearly this man was a rich merchant, for he wore a freshly dyed blue tunic that came up to his mid-calf. He carried a wooden staff, and grounded the stick into the dirt path as if he was a man of great importance and power.

  At his side was a younger version of the man. The merchant’s son was three inches taller, and fast gaining the girth of his sire. And fittingly, he possessed the same sneer and hard look on his features. Geoffrey glanced back at the widow’s face. But by that time, the anxiety he glimpsed earlier was almost gone, and a bland smile played upon her lovely lips.

  “I didn’t expect to see you and your son in these quarters, Master Warin,” the widow said in a pleasant tone, the slight tremor in her voice barely detectable. “To what do we owe your visit here?”

  “I’ve come to inspect your workspace.” He stretched his neck to look beyond the widow, to catch a glimpse of the interior of her home. “I also demand to see those candles that you’re selling.”

  Karina clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “As you’re well aware,” she said, shaking her head slowly and licking her dry lips. “I’m not a member of your guild. As far as I know, I’m exempted from your inspections.” She brought her arms up and nervously crossed them over her chest.

  “I have word that you’re going to Baltroham Palace to sell your wares,” Warin said.

  “Aye,” Karina dropped her arms to her side. “There is no crime in that. If the nobility choose to buy my candles, then ‘tis their business, and not the guild’s.”

  The stout son advanced at them. He lifted his arms so that his upper body expanded, causing him to appear larger and more intimidating. Geoffrey held no respect for men who took pleasure in frightening women. Annoyance began to form in his chest, but he forced himself to remain still.

  “You’re encroaching on our territory, Karina,” the son said, leaning in, his voice low and menacing. He abruptly straightened his back, thrusting out his chest once again. “If you’re as intelligent as everyone believes, you’d cease making candles, and close up your shop — permanently.”

  “This is ludicrous,” she said, placing her hands to her hips. Anger flashed in her eyes. “Osbert, you know that I’m breaking no laws by selling my candles.”

  “Yet,” Warin cut in, his pupils constricting to tiny dots. “You haven’t broken any laws yet. The fact of the matter remains.” He jabbed his walking stick to the ground for emphasis. Then pointing the stick to the center of Karina’s chest, he continued, “Your goods are shoddy, and they’re affecting the livelihood of honest men. We cannot have inferior candles circulating in this town.”

  “My candles are not inferior!” Karina cried furiously. She took a step toward them. “How dare you come here and — and accuse me of making shoddy goods!” A flush rose to her cheeks and she stared at the plump man. The fear and nervousness that she displayed earlier were forgotten. “My candles are made from the finest ingredients, and no one has ever complained about their quality.” She took in a shaky breath, clearly trying to hold herself back from attacking her accusers.

  “The complaints I hear tells me otherwise,” Warin insisted, his voice steely and unforgiving.

  “Then you’ve heard lies.” This time her eyes flashed with defiance. “As I’m not a part of the guild any longer, you cannot tell me what to do. I have every right to sell my wares to the nobility, or whoever else that wants to buy my candles. I suggest that you leave the premises. Or,” she glanced quickly over at Geoffrey as if she just remembered that he stood there. “I’ll have my stable master remove you forcefully from here.”

  Karina’s words shocked Geoffrey for a moment, but
he recovered quickly. “You heard my mistress,” he said, straightening to his full height.

  The two men turned to Geoffrey, seeing him for the first time. Osbert’s jaw dropped open and he retreated to stand next to his father.

  Geoffrey moved toward them, and for once his leg didn’t give him away. He narrowed his gaze, pinning them to their spots. “You need to leave now.”

  Warin looked angrily at Geoffrey before placing both hands on his walking staff. He then glared at Karina. “I discovered your dead husband’s cheating practices, and exiled him from the guild.” He gripped the stick tightly as if he wished that it was Karina’s neck that he held. “It will be only a matter of time before I uncover your deceitful tactics. Once I do, I’ll have you groveling for the king’s mercy.” His eyes bulged with the force of his words. “This is not an idle threat. Osbert,” he barked. Pivoting on his heels, he marched away from Karina’s house, not even bothering to see if his son followed.

  When the duo rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight, Karina let out a long sigh of relief.

  “He’ll be back,” the servant shook her head. Her eyes landed on Geoffrey. “I take back what I said earlier,” she said, her voice gruff. “’Tis fortunate that you scared away those dreadful men.”

  “I agree,” Karina said, reaching over and rubbing at the tension in her shoulder. She dropped her hand and blew out a distressed sigh. “They come here too often, and with each visit, they grow more aggressive. ‘Tis doubtful that we can hold them off much longer…”

  “Why not appeal to the royal warden for help?” Geoffrey asked.

  “The royal warden,” Karina gave a mirthless laugh. “Appealing to him would do little, I’m afraid. Master Warin is one of the most powerful and influential men in Treville. Very few people are willing to cross him.” She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “He’s made it his mission to convince everyone that I’m cheating my customers. But I’m not. ‘Twas Aldous that did it —” She paused when she saw Geoffrey knit his brows. “My late husband,” she explained, giving him a tight smile. “Curse the man. The things he did in the past still haunt me to this day.” She took a deep breath, and then she stopped as if she suddenly realized that she had revealed too much. She looked over at Geoffrey. “As I was saying earlier, the position of the stable master is difficult, and I don’t want to overburden you if you aren’t capable. I only said —”