The Christmas Knight. Michele SinclairЧитать онлайн книгу.
Ranulf a slight shrug, indicating he wouldn’t press the issue, but was still interested in understanding the truth behind Ranulf’s attempt at a jest. Instead, Laon returned to the original point he had been trying to make. “So the king wants a peacemaker, and I and your people desire a fair leader who will guide and aid them when times are tough, which have been many of late. But what do you want?”
Ranulf did not respond because he was not sure of his answer. To return to his life? That wouldn’t be fair to his men, and in truth, fighting was not fulfilling work, it was numbing. Ranulf was a good commander, some even claimed he was one of the best, but the feeling of reward and accomplishment with victory had long left him.
Laon waited for either an answer or an impulsive remark, but getting neither, he pushed on, refusing to allow Ranulf avoid the point he was trying to make. He gestured toward Ranulf’s missing eye and said, “You survived an injury that changed your perceptions, of both the world and those you encounter. You have felt life’s injustice and, for years, used your pain and anger to wield a sword in battle. Now you have the chance and the power to change people’s lives. You just need to decide what you are going to do. And remember, even doing nothing has consequences.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because four of those lives belong to myself and my three daughters.” Laon stood up, gave a brief nod of respect, and then disappeared into the rooms hidden beneath the platform. Ranulf stayed where he was, staring blankly out at the stormy sea.
Laon was right. By accepting the title, benefits, and responsibilities of being Lord Anscombe, he had assumed a position of power. And he had considered it from everyone else’s viewpoint, but his own. His men needed a home, his king wanted peace, the people whom he was to oversee needed a protector, but just what did he want to do with all that came with being a noble? For it mattered no longer that he didn’t want the power. He had it.
And just like the old man said, he could choose action or no action—but either would mean change.
The next morning began similarly to the others. Ranulf rose, ate enough stale bread and mead to steady his stomach, and then went to see about the keeping of his horse. He entered the stable area and the large black destrier swung his head around in welcome. In doing so, Pertinax revealed another visitor. Sir Laon le Breton. Yesterday, the old man had finally stopped trying to pry into Ranulf’s conscience and motivations, talking instead about himself, his family, and life in northwest England.
Ranulf approached Pertinax just as the boat unexpectedly lurched, causing him to take a quick couple of balancing steps. Laon, still unable to compensate for any sudden rise and fall of the ship, tumbled into the large horse, which snorted a loud and very cross whinny.
Laon steadied himself and huffed, “Your horse is quite unhappy.”
“He likes the sea even less than you.”
“Doubtful, but I am surprised you brought him. I would have thought the king would have supplied you with a dozen horses if you but asked.”
Ranulf arched the brow over his good eye. Laon was unusually cross today. “Maybe, but Pertinax knows me.”
Laon’s mouth formed a brief “oh” before closing. Over the past few days, he had begun to grasp the impact of losing one’s eye. Limited sight was not just a learning curve to be overcome and surpassed, but an impediment with daily repercussions Ranulf experienced in almost all actions, conversations, and activities. Without two eyes in which to pinpoint exact distance, reaching out to take what was offered or pour some ale into a mug was not as straightforward as Laon had initially perceived. After years of compensating for his injury, Ranulf could easily make those around him forget that these were indeed challenges he addressed every day. And his horse Pertinax was one of those supports enabling him to smoothly interact with the world.
“You’re right. I should have realized just what your horse means to you,” Laon grunted, rubbing his face vigorously with his hands. “I shamelessly blame lack of sleep for my thoughtless remark. I can finally keep my food down, but I like my bed to be firm and unmoving. My tired state is something you are quite familiar with, I suspect.”
Ranulf ground his teeth together and followed Laon back up on deck where, when not raining, they spent their mornings. Details of his sleep, or lack of it, Ranulf had been careful to keep to himself. No one, not even he, would be comfortable following the orders of a man who never slumbered more than a handful of hours a night. Almost all men could function tired, but after a while irrationality set in and emotional control eroded away. Each man had his limit, and Ranulf used to wonder when he would reach his. But it had been years since he had enjoyed more than four hours of sleep at a time, and even then he rarely went into a deep unconscious state. He wasn’t plagued by nightmares, just the inability to be at complete ease. To be vulnerable.
“Is that one of your men?” Laon asked, pointing to a young man with muscular arms built from months, if not years, of swinging a sword.
Ranulf twitched his jaw. “I did not think them obvious.”
“They aren’t, but too many times have I seen one of them glance your way, not in curiosity, but with desire for direction. That makes about two dozen on board, unless you have more traveling on the other ships making their way to England,” Laon remarked with a sigh of disappointment.
“You hoped for more?”
Laon hesitated. He had trapped himself and to deny otherwise would make all their previous conversations meaningless. “I had. Most of your neighbors, at least the English ones, will respect your assumption of Hunswick Castle, the waters of Basellmere, and its surrounding valley, but your closest neighbor I fear will not be one of them.”
“Don’t worry about my men, or lack of them. The ones you see could handle three times their number in battle, but almost a hundred more will be arriving in the spring.”
“A hundred?” Laon gasped. He had known more soldiers would be coming, but he had never dreamed the knight had so many loyal followers. “Good Lord, you will bring Hunswick to its ruin, not its glory.”
“My men seek peace, nor war. Most have families and are eager to become farmers, raise children, and live long lives.”
“They are married, then.”
“A good many. Why? Do you worry there is not enough land to support my men and their families?”
Laon shook his head. “Quite the contrary. The north still suffers from King William’s deadly campaigns to end the region of its Anglo-Danish independence and replace it with a Norman allegiance. After decades of sparse population, Cumbria needs more people. There is rich soil and its mountains are laden with ample coal, copper, tin—even iron.”
“Then why does fear hide in those blue depths of yours, Laon? Do you think if my men become farmers, they won’t respond to a military threat?”
“I do not fear for myself, but my daughters.”
“I will protect them from the evils of the world.”
“The evils of the world they have seen and felt. The evils of men, however…”
Ranulf finally grasped Laon’s concern, but his previous comment gave him pause. The evils of the world they have seen and felt…? Ranulf found it hard to believe the old man would allow any harm to even come near his daughters. He wondered just what Laon had meant. “You have spoken very little of them.”
“You have asked even less,” Laon countered simply as he moved to get out of several deckhands’ way. The breeze had shifted slightly and they were adjusting the large mast as best they could to ensure nature’s force was captured. Too many times in the past few days had the wind turned south, forcing them to bring down the sail until a northern gust returned.
Ranulf walked over to a less busy part of the ship and leaned against a stack of crates, temporarily piled high to provide more maneuvering room on the deck. Laon was right. Ranulf had not asked about his daughters. He had inquired about Hunswick, Laon’s keep,