The Christmas Knight. Michele SinclairЧитать онлайн книгу.
demeanor and expression solemn. “Your temperament is obvious for the world to see.” He paused for a moment as if he were trying to decide whether he should refrain from further explanation or continue. The latter was chosen. “You are neither kind nor giving, and your manner can best be described as impersonal. When you do engage, you are rather gruff, although I wonder how much of that is habit or intentional. However, you are fair and respectful, even to those you know little or not at all,” Laon finished, pointing at the young deckhand Ranulf had assisted earlier.
Ranulf discerned no animosity in the comment reflected back. Such frankness, and from a virtual stranger, was most unusual and yet it was also refreshing. The exchange and its tone almost resembled that of a father-son conversation, the kind Ranulf always coveted but never received.
The old knight had actually looked at him when he spoke. Even some of his own men typically preferred to converse to his profile rather than face-to-face. There were many ways to disguise discomfort and over the past decade Ranulf no longer considered it an insult. But he wasn’t prepared for a stranger to speak to him and address him as if he were a whole man and not the damaged figure he knew he appeared to be. As a consequence, Ranulf found himself responding to the sincere request with atypical candor. “Your perception is correct. I am what you describe.”
“Which one? The gruff fool or the fair wise man?” Laon inquired, simultaneously releasing a half smile.
Ranulf cocked his right brow. It had been a long time since he had done any self-examination, and last time he had, the conclusion had been unsettling. “I do not know myself. I probably have the capacity to be either…depending on the conversation.”
“Fair answer. I think I might like you yet, my lord.” The half smile morphed into a full grin.
Ranulf stared incredulously at the older gentleman. In principle the knight was his vassal, and as such, his demeanor should be submissive, if not reverent. Instead, the old man emitted a presence of one who expected and deserved respect. And surprisingly, Ranulf was beginning to. “I see now how you persuaded the duke to your cause.”
“Ah, I didn’t sway him, but his wife…our new queen is incredibly lovely and quite perceptive.”
Ranulf chuckled and shook his head. He couldn’t help it. He only wished he could have been there to witness the encounter. “Yes, she is a much better choice of ally. She’s powerful, not to mention influential. It is a shame neither of you realized that you were damning a lot of people by forcing this title upon me.”
“Your predecessor didn’t think so when he bade me to find you and neither did the king.”
“My predecessor didn’t know me. My elder brother was the one groomed since birth for the role of Lord Anscombe. Not me. War was what I was made for. I belong on a battlefield. Trust me, that is where your people will wish I had remained.”
Laon shook his head. “You are no tyrant.” Then suddenly realizing what Ranulf meant, he stopped and asked, “Because of your missing eye? Its absence doesn’t bother me. Nor will it bother anyone else at Hunswick. What you will bring weighs of far more importance.”
Ranulf clinched his jaw and then forced it to relax, resuming a detached expression. “Either you are blinded by sight or by naïveté. Either way, it is not I who’ll be disappointed. I told Henry, and now I’m telling you. Be satisfied that I am going. Don’t be hopeful.”
Ranulf emerged from the ship’s innards. His horse was faring, but like the rest of the living, Pertinax would be far happier once they reached the solid grounds of England. Ranulf scanned the back of the deck, saw the man he was looking for, and expressed a small smile before meandering through the maze of crates and barrels tied down to the wood planks. “Can you see the horizon from there?”
“I can and you’re right,” Laon answered, keeping his eyes focused on the water. “It does help, but I’m old and not made for sea travel. Like war, it’s a young man’s passion, and at eight and twenty, you should now be wishing for more.”
Ranulf took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he took a giant step up onto the rear platform. The philosophical tenor of the old man’s comment announced that he intended once again to challenge Ranulf’s perception of himself and the world. Whether Laon was trying to prepare him for his new responsibilities or convince him that he would be a good lord, Ranulf could not discern. Regardless, the attempts so far had been unsuccessful. But Ranulf secretly had to admit, their discussions over the past few days were some of the most engaging and frank ones he had had in some time. Maybe that was why he constantly found himself drawn to the man and yet rebelling against the very words Laon had to say.
Ranulf looked down at his unpredictable companion, who was sitting on one of the stacked crates, in view of the sea’s undulating horizon and yet out of the way of the water’s freezing spray. “I’m learning that a man has only so much control over his destiny. I doubt even Henry would disagree.”
Laon took a deep breath and then, after a few seconds, exhaled. “I do find it curious your consistent reference to our new king as Henry or the duke.”
“He’s not the king yet.”
“True, but King Stephen is dead and the coronation will take place soon after our arrival. Very few continue to refer to him as the duke, and with the exception of Her Grace…and you, no one calls him by his name.”
It was a gentle reminder that the duke’s status had changed, and consequently, he should no longer be referred to so familiarly. The old man was right, but it would still be a hard habit to break. “I have known King Henry for many years, more than most realize. We have a”—Ranulf paused for a moment as if to decide just what to say and settled on—“unique history.”
“But you are now a noble and he is a monarch. Your relationship must change.”
“It did. The moment he thrust my desires aside and bade me north.”
“He must have believed you would be a good leader to convince you to go.”
Ranulf’s mouth transformed into a firm, unyielding line. “I am loyal to Henry, but that does not mean I am blind to his…personality traits. The man is cunning and intelligent, but he is far from generous and only a half-wit would think him benevolent. He had his own reasons for ‘convincing’ me, as you put it, to assume my latest role.”
“And they were not for the good of his people?”
“Not exactly. More like I am to bring and keep the peace. And if that helps those that live there, then good, but more importantly, Henry seeks stability…and William a throne.” England had been suffering from a civil war for almost nineteen years and its people were longing for a strong government. Most of the English noblemen would support Henry, but altruistic peace was not what the new king sought. His brother also desired a throne and Henry intended to give him Ireland, and to do that, he needed his armies free, not fighting to maintain his sovereignty.
Laon twitched his mouth and after a moment agreed. “Making William lord of a conquered Ireland would occupy him, at least for a while. Of course, the king will need to get the newly elected Pope Adrian to agree.”
“Henry will get the blessing. The Pope’s English born and quite aware of who the duke is and just what power he wields.”
“It seems you have a great understanding of just what the king seeks and why. Does such understanding extend to yourself?”
“I know myself well enough,” Ranulf clipped, instantly regretting the rash response.
“Then just what power do you yield, Lord Anscombe?” Laon asked, turning to look Ranulf directly in the eye. “More importantly, just what do you intend to do with your authority?”
There they were. The first of today’s several probing questions. Looking inwardly and analyzing one’s own psyche was not a pastime Ranulf indulged in and he did not intend to start now. “Besides get some sleep?” Ranulf quipped back.
A bushy gray