Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 01 Read Online Free

taken a turn for the worse, his body weakened by the fever that held him in
its deadly grip.
    Since his mother found her in the woods, Reina had labored to cool his
overheated skin. Seeing the fear in Eddiva’s eyes, she trickled water past the
lad’s cracked, blistered lips. Rolfe’s father died of an illness the previous
winter. She feared what it would do to Eddiva if she were to lose her only
child.
    She motioned for more water with composed features.   When Eddiva stood to retrieve it, she closed
her eyes to send up a quick prayer.  

 
    * * * *

 
    Built of stone in the Norman fashion, Kenwick Keep sat high on a
sloping hill, overlooking the village below.   The large single structure, boasted watchtowers at each of its four
corners.   As the group approached, serfs
were busy lighting torches set in iron brackets on the curtain wall surrounding
it.
    Warin waited beside the gate leading into the courtyard. As the men
drew near, he reined his horse around to lead them to where Sir Everard waited
beside Osbert at the base of the steps.
    Sir Everard’s cold green eyes briefly shifted from Warin to the village
beyond, before coming to rest on Fulke.   “You are most welcome, your lordship.”
    Dismounting, Fulke tossed the reins to a stable-hand.   “Thank you, Sir Everard. We were pleased to
make it before vespers.”
    Attired in somber black, Sir Everard stood in silence while the rest of
the men dismounted.   As serfs led the
horses away, he returned his gaze to Fulke. “Please follow me, your lordship.”
    Walking behind the brusque elder knight, Fulke found his gaze returning
to the village below.   A hint of a smile
touched his lips as he envisioned a proper introduction to his future bride.
    Sir Everard gestured towards the hearth once they entered the Great
Hall. “Warm yourself while refreshment is brought, your lordship.”
    Fulke selected one of the two oak throne-like chairs set before the
large hearth in the center of the hall as Sir Everard sat beside him to watch
Warin lead the rest of the men to one of the two trestle tables lining the
sides of the hall.  
    Once the men were settled, he came to stand beside his father’s chair
as serfs rushed from the upper kitchen level.    Laden with large platters of steaming meat, loaves of crusty bread and
large foaming tankards of ale for the road weary men.
    Accepting a pewter tankard of the cool brew, Fulke took a long
drink.   Surveying the dark hall, his eyes
burned from the smoke. Rushes soiled with animal excrement covered the filthy
slate beneath his feet.   The offending
hounds barking from the corner where they were currently chained.   What little fresh air there was came from the
ventilation shaft, high above the hearth.   Narrow arrow slits spaced along the outer wall cast slivers of light,
doing little to alleviate the gloominess. Without so much as a tapestry to keep
out drafts or brighten the soot-blackened stone, the only welcoming feature the
hall boasted was the fire blazing before him.
    A man of few words, Sir Everard sat in silence while Warin questioned,
“Is it true my liege that you fought in battle with the king?”
    “Aye lad, that was some years ago.”
      “I would have given much to have
been there with you.”
    Seeing a glimpse of himself in Warin, Fulke replied, “The church frowns
upon those who covet battle, lad.   I have
lost many a friend in pointless skirmishes with France.”
    Sir Everard shifted his cold gaze to Fulke.   “You count them as pointless? Has not the
king rewarded you richly for your service to the crown?”
    Recalling the battlefields littered with the bloodied gore of broken,
dead or dying men, Fulke frowned.   “Only
a just cause would warrant the death of a loyal man’s life, Sir Everard.   I have yet to take part in such a battle.”
    “It is a well known fact that in one of those pointless skirmishes you
saved the king’s life,” he persisted.
    “Leave us a moment,