An Earthly Knight Read online

  Dedication

  For Pam because she is my sister,

  and for Barbara Rieti,

  intrepid charter of the fairy realms.

  Epigraph

  I forbid you, maidens a’

  That wear gowd on your hair

  To come or gae by Carterhaugh

  For young Tam Lin is there.

  —From the ballad Tam Lin

  There was an elf knight come from the north land,

  And he came a-courting me;

  He said he would take me unto the north land,

  And there he would marry me.

  —From the ballad Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight

  Contents

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Historical Note

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Janet McNaughton

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  “Isabel, look to your king. You left him exposed to my bishop again.” Jenny drew her sister’s attention back to the chessboard, careful to keep any hint of frustration from her voice. She had spent most of the morning coaxing Isabel out here into the sunlight. The slightest misstep would send her sister back to her endless, useless prayers in the family chapel.

  Isabel sighed. “My heart is not in this, Jenny. One of the stable lads would have given you a better game.”

  “I care nothing for the game, Isabel. Your company was all I wanted.” But Jenny kept her eyes on the chessmen as she spoke. It was painful to look at Isabel now. Her long dark hair was uncombed. Purple smudges marred the skin under her gentle brown eyes. Her feet were dirty and bare. Worst of all, she wore the clothing of a penitent, a shapeless garment of coarse brown sackcloth, tied at the waist with a piece of rope. The sister who had delighted in beautiful clothes seemed gone forever. Again, Jenny silently cursed the man who had left Isabel in such a state. After two months, her store of curses was running dry.

  Isabel finally made her move, blocking the white bishop. When Jenny looked up to praise her, she saw a stranger behind Isabel, coming toward them. That he was a stranger was no surprise. Certain types of men were freely admitted to her father’s bailey. Young knights with no land of their own found a place in her father’s great hall for as long as they chose to stay, bedding down on pallets on the floor each night among the servants. Every such knight added to the prestige of the household. Peddlers and travelling entertainers of every kind were also welcome, the acrobats, jugglers and musicians who earned their keep by enlivening the dull days of noble families. Jenny guessed this man fell into the last group. His clothing marked him as someone without rank, but the linen-wrapped bundle on his back was too small for a peddler’s poke.

  He would have to be a stranger to approach Isabel now. Most men avoided her. Jenny knew they blamed her sister for everything that had happened, as men will blame women, always. The stranger looked more and more bewildered as he tried to make sense of what he saw. Because everyone had their place on this earth. The lord of a bailey, the neyfs who belonged to the land, the brothers in their abbeys—it should be possible to tell who and what anyone was at a glance, to read them, as Jenny herself had just read this stranger. That was no longer true of Isabel. She had become something without a name.

  Jenny could see the man struggling to understand what someone like Isabel might be doing at a chessboard with a lass of noble birth, as Jenny plainly was. She had worn one of her best robes today to cheer herself, made of fine red cloth from the Low Countries. This, the soft leather belt at her waist, even the yellow silk ribbon Galiene had braided into her fair hair that morning, all declared her rank.

  From his gait and the dust on his clothes, Jenny could also tell that this man had travelled many days before reaching her father’s bailey. His brown eyes betrayed a sharp wit, a desire to understand everything he saw, which Jenny and her sister had thwarted. The man responded, as most men did, by simply pretending Isabel was not there.

  “Would you be a daughter of this house, my lady?” he asked Jenny. He spoke the Scots English of the common folk, but with a lilt. This was not the harsh, guttural accent of the Low Countries, or the round inflections of Norman French. Jenny guessed his native tongue was Gaelic, the language spoken in the lands to the north and west, a language she did not understand, for it was rarely heard in Teviotdale.

  “Aye, I am the lord’s daughter. My sister also,” Jenny said, nodding toward Isabel. She had fallen into the habit of trying to make Isabel visible to those who pretended she did not exist.

  The man looked shocked. “This is not the noble lass who . . .” he caught himself. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”

  So news of Isabel’s disgrace had spread far enough to reach this traveller’s ears. The story must be told all over Teviotdale by now. Jenny made no reply.

  “Can you tell me where your lord father would be?” the man said.

  Jenny looked around. From the shade of the family bower she had a good view of this side of the bailey, with its wooden palisade and buildings. Her father often spent time in the stables, kennels and mews she could see from here, but she had not noticed him today. “He might be out hunting.”

  “No, my lady. The man at the gate said he is within.”

  “Seek him in the great hall, then, on the other side of the bailey. I have not seen him this afternoon. But first, please, tell us who you are. We have not had a visitor these many weeks.”

  “My name is Cospatric. I come from Girvan on the western sea.”

  Jenny drew back before she could stop herself. He was from Galloway. In all the stories she heard, Galwegians were murderous savages. But this man seemed peaceable enough. If he noticed her reaction, he only shifted the bundle on his shoulder gently. “I am a harper . . .”

  “Oh, Isabel, a harper! How delightful. My sister . . .” Jenny would have told the harper of her sister’s beautiful voice, but Isabel would not raise her eyes from the chessboard. Jenny sighed. It would be best to let the man go now, but her curiosity got the better of her. “What news do you bring?”

  “Very little. I spent the last five days walking through that endless forest across the glen.” He gestured past the wooden palisade that enclosed the bailey, beyond the small village of Langknowes that lay in the valley beneath them.

  Jenny stared at the man. “You came through that forest alone? And you still have your wits?”

  He laughed. “I hope so, my lady. Why do you ask?”

  “Those woods belong to the fairies. The folk say . . .” Jenny stopped herself. Her father’s men always laughed at her for speaking of the fairies. She waited for this man to mock her now, but he did not.

  Instead, he let out his breath slowly, as if he just discovered he had escaped great harm. “I could believe that place to be haunted by the wee folk, or any unearthly spirit,” he said. “At first, I feared wolves or robbers, but the forest was as empty as a tomb, and as quiet, too. By this morning, I thought myself lost. I was fair glad
to be out of there.”

  “Most travellers follow the river path. It adds a few days to the journey, but there are fermtouns all along the way. The folk in those touns would gladly have fed and sheltered you for your music.” Jenny knew her father’s farmers in those small settlements would have welcomed him like royalty. Their lives were filled with hard labour and they could not travel without their lord’s permission.

  “I wished to come here directly. When I asked the townsfolk on the other side for the quickest route, they sent me through the forest. No one warned me of the wee folk. It must have seemed a fine joke to them.” He shook his head and gave her a rueful smile.

  “You do not disbelieve me? My father’s people, the Normans, laugh, and our priest, Brother Turgis, scolds me for speaking of the fairies. They say it is wrong for me to hold such unchristian beliefs. But the folk about here have always believed.”

  “I disbelieve nothing, my lady. Galloway was one of the first lands in Scotland to embrace the Christian faith, but my people have always told stories of the wee folk, too.” He looked puzzled. “But, you are not Norman?” This was, after all, the household of a Norman lord.

  “My father is as Norman as any of the Conqueror’s men were. Our brother, Eudo is a knight in the household of Comte Robert de Burneville at Lilliesleaf. My sister, also, is a true Norman lady.” Jenny knew it might seem strange to call someone dressed in sackcloth a lady, but she hurried on without pausing to consider. “Eudo and Isabel lost their mother when they were but small, and my father took a wife, my mother, from a highborn family near here. But she also died. I am half Norman, but it is said that I am the child of my mother’s folk. I can speak the Norman French, but I have not been raised to make a fine marriage with some Norman lord, as Isabel . . .” Jenny stopped in confusion. The pleasure of speaking with someone who did not scorn her beliefs had caused her to forget the sadness of the past few weeks. Her face burned with shame, for Isabel more than herself. She lowered her head.

  “My tongue, I am told, is always two steps ahead of my brain. Forgive me.”

  The harper gave her a look of sympathy that was not marred by pity. “You need never ask forgiveness of me, my lady,” he said. “Now, I will find your lord father.” And he was gone.

  Jenny was profoundly grateful for the man’s tact. It was true that she need not excuse herself to someone of his rank, but, in fact, few freemen could bear to admit that any woman might be above them. Most swaggered to show they were better than Jenny, regardless of her rank. A few fawned over her until she felt sick. The man who could give proper respect without seeming to lower himself was rare. She felt herself warm to Cospatric. Perhaps he had also meant to say he did not dislike her for her clumsy tongue. That eased Jenny’s feeling of shame.

  Until she looked at Isabel. To hide her discomfort, Jenny began to babble, saying whatever entered her head. “I do hope that man is clever with his harp. Isabel, do you not think you would sing with him? Your voice is a gift from the angels.”

  Isabel said nothing. Jenny saw that the harper’s arrival had driven her sister back into complete silence. Or rather, the thoughtless words from her own mouth had. The little ground she had gained with Isabel this day was lost. Tears stung Jenny’s eyes.

  “My move,” Jenny said. She picked up a rook without thinking and set it down again.

  Jenny knew she spoke too often and too soon. In happier times, her father often joked that she could do more damage with her tongue than a man could do with a broadsword. She knew this made her seem clumsy, even stupid. But she was not stupid. She could look at anyone and see past the rank, into a heart, and know its worth. Her one skill, Galiene called it. And Jenny felt sure that this man, Cospatric, was more worthy than most. In spite of everything, his arrival had lifted a little of the weight from her heart. Isabel loved music. If Jenny could somehow find a way to persuade her father to let the harper join their household, it might be possible to coax Isabel out of the shadows of the chapel, back into the land of the living.

  Jenny sighed. Her skill had failed her only once, with Bleddri, the knight who had brought Isabel to disgrace. For he had kept his heart hidden while he won Isabel’s trust and then her love. Jenny’s misgivings had come far too late.

  Jenny looked up to see her father coming from the stables. So she had misguided the harper. Her father must have passed earlier, without notice. He looked angry, but that was no surprise. Isabel raised a pawn to make her move, unaware that he was bearing down on them like a warship. Jenny saw him take a deep breath to launch into a rant, but it was too late to whisper a warning.

  “I forbid you both to come or go by Carter Hall!” he said, his voice a roar. Jenny ducked her head. Isabel’s graceful white hand hovered over the chessboard for an instant, then plummeted like a dove caught in mid-flight by a falcon, knocking half the chessmen onto the grass. The game was ruined.

  Before, Isabel had always been the one to calm their father. Now, she sat unmoving, and the job fell to Jenny. She took a deep breath to calm herself and decided to speak French. She preferred English, but knew it would please her father to hear her speak the language of his people.

  “Why Papa, what do you mean? Carter Hall is promised to me as my—my—tocher.” Her French failed, forcing her to use the Scots word, but Jenny met her father’s eyes steadily. She knew he valued her boldness, her ability to challenge him.

  He almost smiled and answered in her own language. He had been born in Britain, but, like all Normans, French was his first language, and it flavoured his English heavily. “Jeanette, the word is dowry. I ask you not to cross me, little one. This is no small matter, since I value your virtue . . . and what might remain of your sister’s.”

  Isabel flinched as if struck in the face. Their father had not spoken directly to her since her disgrace.

  “But please, Papa, tell us why,” Jenny said. She was more upset than she liked to show. Carter Hall was a ruin, but the old house was the only thing of value she had to take into a marriage. She stole away to visit it whenever she could.

  Their father sighed heavily. The strain of the past few weeks showed in his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and bleary from sitting too close to the fire and drinking too much ale. “They say young Tam Lin is back from Roxburg. He has been seen at Carter Hall,” he said.

  Jenny’s chin went up. “No one can live there. The roof is fallen in.” Ruin or not, the place was hers.

  “This land was his father’s once. But that was twenty years ago. The king himself granted me this fief. No one can challenge that.” His voice rose in outrage. “If he be fool enough to lay claim to my land, my men will hunt him down like a beast of prey.” He paused to let the anger drain from his voice. “So be good, little one, and keep clear of that place until this is settled. And your sister, too.” He began to walk away, then turned. “Jeanette, you know Brother Bertrand, the almoner from Rowanwald Abbey, is bringing that cripple today. I expect you at my table tonight, dressed to suit your rank. No brooding about with your sister.”

  As soon as he was gone, Isabel rose. “Isabel,” Jenny cried, but her sister’s eyes never left the ground as she walked away. Jenny did not follow. She had been no help to her sister at all today. It would be best to let Isabel shed her tears alone.

  Chapter Two

  As soon as Isabel was gone, Galiene came bustling through the door of the family bower. Jenny knew there was no need to tell the old nurse anything. Eavesdropping was one of the chief joys of Galiene’s life.

  “Your lord father still has no good word for your sister, my honey,” Galiene said, gathering the fallen chessmen. “Once, he thought the moon and stars shone in her eyes.”

  “Not so long ago, either,” Jenny said, “though it seems like years. Every day of my life, I curse Bleddri’s grave.”

  Galiene crossed herself. “That one has no grave,” she said with satisfaction, and Jenny noticed her making another sign that had no place in a Christian church, the sign to ward o
ff evil.

  Jenny sighed. “Isabel’s marriage was always meant to bring my father power. I was never raised to have her graces. My father cannot overcome his disappointment.“

  Galiene straightened her stiff back with difficulty and slammed a handful of recovered chessmen down on the board. “Your father should be pleased to find a Scottish husband for either of his daughters. The Normans may be conquerors, but we are not the folk they conquered, hen. Old King David only invited them here out of fondness for the English court where he spent his childhood.”

  Jenny sighed. “I fear no man will marry Isabel now, Norman or Scot.”

  A gleam came into the old nurse’s eyes. “Will her tocher not come to you then, my honey?”

  “Of course not! Isabel’s tocher will go to the Church when she takes the veil. My sister’s money is not for me.”

  “Well, no harm in hoping, is there, hen? You could catch a fine husband with the rich tocher set aside for your sister.”

  Jenny knew there was no point in scolding Galiene. She had come into the household with Jenny’s mother when Isabel was a small child.

  Galiene was fond of Isabel, but the old woman’s loyalty was to Jenny alone, and she made no effort to hide this.

  “Isabel’s tocher is bound for the Church,” Jenny repeated firmly. “Brother Turgis says the sisters at Coldstream are waiting to receive her.” Jenny tried to ignore the pain she felt in her heart when she said this. She could not imagine her sister spending the rest of her life in an austere priory as a Cistercian nun.

  Galiene scowled. “Brother Turgis! It may be a sin, but I cannot like that priest. These new clerics come here from across the sea and suddenly, everyone is supposed to abide by their rules. I liked the old ways better. When I was a girl, the priests and brothers took wives if it suited them. It goes against nature for a man to live without the warmth of a woman and children.”

  “Well, that is the way of the world now, Galiene. King David invited the new orders here to make Scotland more like other Christian countries. They will not be leaving,” Jenny said, but secretly she agreed. Brother Turgis seemed to have no love for any earthly thing. Surely a man who could love a woman would have a kinder heart.