The Fifth Knight(17)
“Remount, men,” called Fitzurse. “If we press on, we’ll be there before nightfall.”
Theodosia stood by Sir Palmer’s horse, bracing herself for his hand at her leg to boost her up. Here it came again. She grasped for the saddle pommel and pulled herself up. With a swift movement, he was behind her once again, arm tight about her waist.
She offered up yet another confession. Being touched by him, over and over, as she had over these last interminable days brought her sin after repeated sin. Her purity, her holy noble vows, were in shreds from him, as surely as her precious clothes had been from his cruel knife.
“Forward,” said Fitzurse. He led off and the line of mounted horses fell in behind him, one after another. Palmer’s place was in the middle, with two before and two after, as if she were being guarded from harm instead of being delivered to it.
On the horse immediately in front, de Morville looked around. “We’ll soon be at my castle, Palmer.” He gave Palmer a hideous wink. “I’ll have to find you another maid to hold to your crotch.”
“That would be pleasure,” came the quick reply. “This one’s only work. But I thank you.”
Theodosia’s face burned at their base talk.
De Morville grinned. “She’s near the same color as you now. It’s not just her blushes, neither. A few days on horseback and the air has her fine skin as rough as a peasant’s.”
Palmer leaned over her shoulder to look at her face.
She stared resolutely ahead.
“Nah, de Morville. It’s only travel dirt. She’s still indoors-pale.” He settled back.
“Well, she’ll be paler. I have a cell ready for her, and it’s properly underground, not like at Canterbury. Sister, you’ll never see another soul. Or light. Or anything at all. Ever.” He smiled, his gapped teeth green-tinged and revolting.
Her insides turned over.
“See how I look after her, Palmer, and yet she gives me no thanks?”
“I’m sure that will come in time, de Morville,” came the deep-voiced reply behind her. “As lord of Knaresborough, you’re due it.”
“Time is something she’ll have plenty of.” De Morville faced forward again with a coarse laugh.
Theodosia clutched at the saddle pommel for support as de Morville’s words sank into her soul. Take me, dear Lord. Take me. Before this horror comes to pass.
No. She had started to pray for her own death. She clutched still harder at the saddle pommel to contain her anguish, her disbelief.
Satan was surely close by.
CHAPTER 5
“It wobbles like a whore’s titty. That it may taste as good!”
Seated with the other knights in Knaresborough Castle’s great hall, Palmer joined in the roar of laughter at de Tracy’s loud jest.
Dressed in red-and-yellow livery, the sewer and his two grooms carried the quivering blancmange before them on a wide platter. They took careful steps as they made their way from the screened-off kitchen door toward the top table on the raised stone platform.
“Are your whore’s teats usually striped, de Tracy?” Palmer raised his full goblet to the red-bearded knight sat to his right, to more roars and hoots.
The servers climbed the steps to the raised stone platform. At the center of the long table, de Morville sat in his place as lord of Knaresborough, Fitzurse to his right. The servers placed the huge domed pudding before de Morville, and he nodded, then raised his hands and applauded. At his signal, a group of four minstrels struck up in the gallery set high in the wall at the opposite end of the hall.
Along with de Tracy and le Bret up the table beyond Fitzurse, Palmer joined in with the applause. The pudding, with its layers of white, pink, and yellow topped off with a nub of rich pale green, made his mouth water, full as he was.
Though the feast had been for the five knights only, Palmer had never eaten so well in his life. Broiled venison, each thick steak coated in rich gravy and sweetened with cinnamon. Wine-stewed mutton, the tender meat and its yellowed fat melted into the savory sauce. Roasted chicken stuffed with eggs, lard, and spices, its skin crispy and glistening fresh from the spit. Fluffy white bread, the first he’d tasted, easy to chew as a cloud compared with the tough rye bread he was used to. Spiced hot fruits cooked in honey. He stifled a hiccup.
The sewer used a curved spoon to divide the pudding up with swift, neat movements while his assistants laid fresh trenchers and spoons before each of the knights.
Palmer caught the slight tremor in the hand of the younger server and smiled inside. He’d hated this duty as a squire, waiting on lords and knights, carving fine meat with all noble eyes on him, while getting only the scraps and leavings to eat. Worse had been the ladies, many old enough to be his mam, who’d run their glance over him as he bent to serve them. He’d had more than one whisper about his strong fingers and his well-filled breeches.