Page 10 of One Knight in the Forest

“Perceval,” she echoed. “Like Lancelot, ’tis a name taken from the old tales about the ancient King named Arthur and his loyal knights.”

“Guinevere and Galahad also were mentioned in those tales.” Borden gestured to the two wolfhounds lying side by side at the hearth. “Cyn—just like his late father—always enjoyed those gallant stories. They used to read them together, when Cyn was a boy.” The older man chuckled fondly. “I remember how impatient Cyn used to get; he could hardly wait for the evening meal to finish so he could coax his sire over to the hearth to read another tale.”

“You knew Cyn’s father?” Magdalen asked.

“Oh, aye. I was honored to serve as his steward for many years.” Sadness crept into Borden’s features. “What tremendous changes I have witnessed since those days that Cyn and his sire lingered by the fire, reading those stories time and again, and talking about what made the men worthy of their quests. At least here in this forest home, Cyn can be king of his own court—as he deserves.”

So much went unsaid in the older man’s words. Magdalen wished he’d elaborate, for she found herself longing to know more about the sheriff, but Borden brushed off his hands, while the kitten savaged the laces of his shoes. “Enough talk about long ago. You must be hungry, milady. How about some pottage? ’Twould be good to get some food in your belly.”

She was indeed hungry, and she needed to build up her strength if she intended to flee when the opportunity arose. “I will eat. Thank you.”

He left the room with Perceval scampering after him, and returned moments later with a steaming earthenware bowl. He adjusted her pillows so she could sit up. Grimacing, she shifted on the cot, keeping the blankets close to her bosom.

“How is that leg?” Borden asked.

“’Tis hurting,” Magdalen admitted, settling back against the pillows and taking the bowl of pottage that smelled of thyme and rosemary.

“Cyn told me you might need another herbal drink when you woke. I promised I would have one ready.”

“He is not here?” How ridiculous that she experienced a pang of disappointment.

“He went to check the forest roads. He wanted to ensure they were not blocked by fallen branches or trees from the storm.”

“I see.” Magdalen spooned up a mouthful of the broth laden with cabbage, herbs, onions, and lentils. ’Twas delicious, and she quickly downed several more bites. Borden left her to eat and when he returned, was carrying another mug of his special herbal brew.

With a pleased grin, he took the empty bowl from her and handed over the drink.

Curiosity welled inside her, for there was so much she didn’t know about the man who’d brought her to his home. ’Twould be good to determine if she could trust Cyn. She hoped to flee from here as soon as she was able, to get the missive into the hands of an official who could stop the murder. Yet, if circumstances made fleeing impossible, she might have to confide in Cyn.

A yawn tugged at her lips. Oh, mercy, but she was tired, and her leg throbbed. Any future plans would have to wait until she had more strength. For now, she was glad to have a means to take away the pain. “Have you been Cyn’s steward for long?” she asked, as she sipped the herbal brew.

“Nine years,” Borden said, “but not all of those in this home. Some I spent with him in London, after he returned from fighting in the East. He has been very good to me.”

Again, she sensed there was a great deal that Borden didn’t mention. It seemed both he and Cyn had endured difficult, life-changing experiences. She didn’t wish to pry—prying was most indelicate and unladylike, she’d been informed by a tutor years ago—but her curiosity deepened.

As she swallowed more herbal drink, Borden said, “Do not be afraid of Cyn. He has faced great challenges that would have destroyed lesser men. I have no right to share what happened to him with you. I can only hope that one day, he will tell you himself.”

Surprise rippled through her. She didn’t intend to stay long enough for Cyn to want to share his darkest secrets. “He will not divulge any such details to me.”

The older man winked. “We shall see, milady.”

Once she’d finished the drink, he took the empty mug from her and then helped her lie back down. He left with Perceval running at his heels like a puppy.

As the silence of the room settled around her, she stared up at the rough-hewn beams overhead. A gentle rain pattered on the roof, the sound blending into the lulling crackle of the fire.

How she hoped Edwina wasn’t upset with her. Before leaving Glemstow, Magdalen had penned a quick note and had given it to a servant to deliver to the sewing room; she’d written only that she had an unexpected and urgent matter to attend. To protect Edwina, Magdalen hadn’t dared to say more. Still, knowing she’d likely hurt her dear friend by not meeting her in the sewing chamber as promised brought tears to Magdalen’s eyes. She hated to think that Edwina would feel betrayed—and yet, even if she wanted to, Magdalen couldn’t tell her the truth.

How was precious little Timothy? She missed his giggle, his adorable toothless grin, and the sweet baby smell that clung to his skin.

She also hadn’t yet sent a reply to the recent, newsy letter from Aislinn—a friend who was as close to her as Edwina. There was no telling when Magdalen would have a chance to respond, especially when she didn’t have any parchment or a quill.

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. Drying her cheeks with the sheet, Magdalen fought not to give in to despair. What she’d done today was difficult, but ’twas right.

She could only hope that one day, her friends would understand.

***

“All went well, milord?” Borden took Cyn’s damp cloak and draped it on a wooden rack by the fire in the kitchen, alongside Cyn’s other cloak from earlier that day. Lancelot gobbled the scraps left in a bowl on the floor and then wandered away into the main part of the house.