Fulk The Reluctant. Elaine Knighton

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СКАЧАТЬ found its way through the wooden slats at the window, and now seethed with dust on its way to the floor.

      At the thought of his last encounter with Jehanne he shook his head. What in hell had possessed him? I can be very convincing. Lord God. He had smiled, knowing full well how it would affect her. Or how it affected most women. Fulk groaned inwardly. He was not treading lightly, nor taking steps to remain disentangled from this woman and her miserable keep.

      And whose fault was it?

      Hers. Hers entirely. He wanted nothing to do with her. Not with her, her haunted eyes, her eloquent, chewed-upon hands, nor her lithe, hungry body that cried out to be touched—Fulk’s groan turned into a growling yawn.

      He stretched and went to the window seat. Pushing open the shutters he looked out upon the tidy village, fields and white-clad forest now under his protection. The rising mist caught the sun and diffused its light, veiling the harsh reality of lingering disease and starvation below.

      Just what he needed—more responsibility, when worrying about Celine was already an all-consuming occupation.

      An energetic rap sounded at the door, adding to his foul mood. “Come.”

      Malcolm entered sideways, glancing left and right, checking for potential assassins behind the bed curtains and the door, as was his wont.

      “I am quite alone, Hunterson.”

      “In your present state, Fulk, any number of malefactors could be hovering, daggers at the ready, and you would pay them no heed.” Malcolm stepped to the window. “’Tis a lovely dawn.”

      “Aye. And with the coming of this day the yoke of Windermere falls securely about my neck. I will never get free of this place. It is a pit of quicksand, I know it.”

      “Why should you wish to be free? ’Tis every man’s dream handed to you gratis, both lady and land.”

      “Nay, Malcolm. I have already paid too dear for it—with every last one of my books, and to buy what? A ransom in fine horseflesh and foodstuffs. Land and warlording are not how I had thought to live my life. And now I’ve been tethered to the likes of a mermaid. She will take me down with her, to depths beyond my capacity, until I drown in a sea of tears.”

      “What rot! This is what comes of your bookishness, Fulk. You wax morbidly poetic instead of forging ahead.” Malcolm sat opposite him and propped one booted foot on the window ledge.

      “Leave me alone. I am unwell.” Fulk leaned his aching head against the cold stone of the embrasure.

      “Lovesick, you mean.”

      “You are the plague that ails me.”

      “Nay, Fulk. I know what cure you will be needin’, right quick.”

      “Not another word. Why don’t you find out if the girl intends to show me round, or if I should look for the bailiff?”

      “Ah, ’tis ‘the girl’, now. You’re so pitifully transparent, Fulk. You cannae hide your longing behind such disrespectful forms of address.” Malcolm waggled an elegantly gloved and beringed finger at Fulk.

      God have mercy on me should I strike the man dead. Sometimes Fulk would like to have forgotten that Malcolm was of noble blood, and related to the Viking Earls of Orkney. He gazed at his friend’s grinning, feral face.

      “You, Hunterson, tread upon thin ice. And if my goodwill means aught to thee, you had best retreat to shore.”

      The Scot paled a shade but his voice ground out low and steady. “You’re a bloody fool. Treasure in your grasp and you would toss it aside over a dead man.”

      “Watch yourself, sir.” Fulk’s heart lurched with regret. As ever, he was tortured by the image of Rabel, dying. Rabel, drowning in his own blood. “You know what I mean.”

      “Aye, Fulk, I do. But you are that blind, if true love were to clout you o’er the head, you would fight it off instead of embracing it.”

      “I cannot concern myself with love. I must find Celine a refuge, to keep her safe from the Hurler. I thought of bringing her here, but this place is not yet stable.” And, he did not add, there were far too many men about. One look at his sister was often enough to bring lovelorn suitors crawling to him, begging for her hand. But none that he cared to have as a good-brother.

      Malcolm did not reply.

      Fulk stared at his friend. His silence was heavy. Full to bursting. “Oh, Lord. Nay, Malcolm. Not you, too. Not Celine. You have never even spoken to her!”

      The Scot’s eyes only burned more intensely.

      Fulk stood. Blood roared through his chest and into his head. Nay. Such a thing could never be. Celine was fragile. Delicate. Not a maid for the likes of Hengist, nor even for Malcolm, wild and fierce as a northern gale. While his honor and bravery were unimpeachable, his passions ran too hot.

      Fulk could not think of a single man of his acquaintance who would be suitable for his sister. It would only be a matter of time before she fell into the clutches of some unscrupulous varlet, if she were not close by that Fulk might guard her himself. Even were her dowry intact, the search for a properly civilized groom might take a long time.

      Malcolm rocked on the balls of his feet. “You will not stand in my way, Galliard. Not you nor any man.”

      “I will protect her at all costs. Even against you.”

      “Nay, Fulk. My heart is set and no turnin’ back.” Malcolm took a belligerent stance, his thumbs hooked through his sword-belt.

      Fulk took a deep breath. “I will see you dead ere I allow you to cause her an instant of pain.”

      Malcolm raised his chin. “And I would see to my own demise should I ever be guilty of harming her.”

      A terrible surge of deadly anger threatened to engulf Fulk. He struggled for control, shoving at the crimson wave until it began to subside. “Ah, Mac Niall. But to have you as good-brother? Who could imagine it and not tremble at the thought?”

      “I may have to slit your throat for you one of these nights, and save you the fretting.” Malcolm grinned wolfishly, accepting the truce in his own way.

      “Don’t be making promises you will not keep.” Fulk gave his friend a wry look. “Let us not allow women to get in the way of our comradeship.”

      “Perish the thought, Fulk. And that of a warm, willing lass in your arms at night. The lady Jehanne is fair to beggin’ for a good cuddle.”

      “Oh, indeed, Malcolm, so you have finally noticed. Never mind that, come with me on the tour of Windermere. Give me your worthy opinion.”

      “Aye, flatter me, Fulk. You know damn well you cannae do without me.”

      “Well do I know, Malcolm.”

      With a wink, the Scot slipped to the door. “I’ll order up the horses.”

      Fulk strode into the bailey. The sharp, clear air made everything in sight appear unnaturally vivid, whether animal, human or the СКАЧАТЬ