Knight Secrets

by C. C. Wiley

  “Come. You must leave before they return.”

  Clarice took her cloak, pausing long enough to look around the room. She had formed memories she would cherish in her old days. She wondered if she would ever return. A part of her wished she would, another reminded her that she should not wish for what she could not have.

  Chapter 29

  Clarice prayed the path, with its twists and turns following the country terrain, did indeed lead toward Margrave land. She listened to the slow, rhythmic sound of Buttercup’s hooves hitting the earth. Her thoughts drifted to the deep track cut into the tall grass. Who were these travelers who left behind their mark? Where did they go? Why had they never stopped at the Margrave keep to seek refuge for the night?

  She blinked, ducking her head to avoid hitting a low-hanging branch. The mishap narrowly averted, she resettled her attention on her surroundings. She had long given up on measuring how much further she would have to ride. The stretching shadows had already begun to blend into the night. Soon she would not even have the sun to give her guidance. With her resolve in place, she ignored the nagging fear and kept her face pointing to the northeast.

  Hamish’s final instructions had become a chant that buzzed in her head like the hum of an annoying fly. “Ride until the sun sets,” he had ordered as he led her through the hidden tunnel. “Find shelter when darkness falls.”

  How well she already knew this. Her ride from Margrave had been in the dawning hours and still she had had difficulty making her way. Had the heavy fog not addled her, she would have missed the Sedgewic lands and found herself in London. She might even have found her way to the king’s court. On the other hand, now that she understood the accusations against her family, her own neck might have been stretched on the block. Indeed, the king could still demand it.

  Fate had brought her to Sedgewic. This she had come to accept. In Sedgewic, she had found a glimmer of what she always believed existed. Life was not all sugar-coated figs and sweet almonds. ’Twas a wise person to watch for a molded fig or rancid nut in a handful. Nevertheless, one hoped the sweet outweighed the bitter.

  Her thoughts drifted to the last she had seen of Hamish. His eyes had danced with anticipation of adventure. Had she not held her ground and refused him, he would have found a way to join her.

  She shook her head. That child gripped hope with both hands. One day he would make a grand squire for some deserving knight. If only he would learn to listen and follow orders without mishap.

  Recognizing the crossroad where first she had encountered Hamish, Clarice pulled on the reins and stopped. How much had changed since she first crossed this road? With a simple tug on the reins, she could retrace her steps back to Sedgewic and into Ranulf’s arms. She yearned to do just that. But then, what would become of them afterward? He still had his duty to the king and she still had Father’s good name to restore.

  “Come, Buttercup.” She nudged her with her heels. “We’re almost there.”

  * * *

  High above Margrave Manor, Clarice watched for movement about the bailey. ’Twas midday and she had yet to see a single sign of life moving across the lawn.

  She deposited a handful of grain on the ground and tied Buttercup to a small tree. After whispering softly in the velvet-fringed ear, she gave the horse a final pat before leaving her hiding place.

  Skirting the main gate, she walked along the outer wall and followed the narrow path that led to the small passage cut into the curtain of stone. She bent to clear the vines covering the path tangling about her feet. A streak of white peeked out from the undergrowth. There, by the wall, lay another stone she had never noticed before. Clarice brushed the leaves away.

  Curved wings and a flowing robe spanned the smooth surface.

  Clarice traced the edges of the angel with a dirty fingertip. “You must be Father’s angel.”

  A tight smile tugged at her lips. She lifted the latch, shoving against the unyielding door. Locked. Her smile slipped into a firm line of determination

  An oak tree grew near the wall, its gnarled branches stretched over the stone partition. One particularly sturdy branch spread out as if offering a chivalrous hand to assist her.

  She hitched up the hem of her skirt, tying the folds of material with the ribbon from the peddler, and began her climb up the great tree. Perched in the deep V formed by the trunk and branch, she paused, eyeing the branch. It seemed much closer when looking at it from the ground. Taking a deep breath, she swung out.

  The weight of her dress was too much for the bits of ribbon and the skirt’s hem dropped to her ankles. The bark bit into her flesh as her grasp slid from the limb and she hit the ground on the other side of the wall with a jolt.

  Snagged by a rambling rosebush, the traitorous scarlet ribbon whipped in the wind. Clarice caught the bit of satin and stuffed it back into the pocket of her skirt.

  The overgrown bushes provided cover as she crept into the neglected garden. Her steps faltered. A plain stone marked the solitary grave of a sinner. She kissed the tips of her fingers and pressed them to the marker.

  “I have not forgotten my promise, Father. You will be vindicated.”

  * * *

  Outside the threshold of Maud’s room, the patch of herbs lay in disarray. Weeds grew with abandon. Vines wrapped around feathery leaves, strangling the life from the rosemary.

  Heady perfume broke through the air as Clarice grabbed the vine and ripped it from the pungent plant. With a tentative turn of her wrist, she opened the door.

  “Maud,” she whispered to the old woman lying on the cot.

  Gray strands, soft as the silk inside a milkweed pod, hung loose around her friend’s face. Cheeks once smooth and round were now hardened by the edge of bone beneath her skin.

  “Oh, Maud,” Clarice said, “you cannot leave me now!”

  Maud stirred. She caught Clarice’s fingers. A single word floated up. “Child.”

  Clarice lifted Maud’s shoulders from the thin straw mattress and pressed her to her heart. “You scared me so.”

  A chuckle deep inside the old woman’s chest rose. “My dear, I never doubted you’d return.”

  Mindful of her friend’s frailty, Clarice cradled her in her arms.

  Maud’s brow furrowed in thought before she spoke. “Did you succeed in finding the wolf?”

  “I don’t believe ’twas what my father intended. I fear I may have wasted so much time.”

  “A waste of time? Your father wouldn’t have urged me to pass the message on to you if it were so.”

  “The wolf I came across protects no one but the king and no doubt has more secrets than my father. Was there not another message?” Clarice hesitated, gentling her question. “Mayhap you misheard?”

  “These ears may be old. My mind is not.”

  Clarice smoothed Maud’s wrinkled hand. “I had hoped I hadn’t heard correctly, or that I missed a vital word or two. If I am ever to unravel this knitted pack of lies, I must first locate the threads of truth hidden in their coil.”

  “’Tis a difficult task you set for yourself.”

  “Nothing more than my father would have done for me,” she said.

  “You must not stay here.” Maud’s rheumy eyes held her gaze. “Your stepmother refuses to leave until she hears from Robert. His return is expected at any moment.”

  Clarice picked at a piece of thread hanging from the elbow of her sleeve. The ache in her right arm increased. Had she managed to tear open the healing flesh? She felt along the strip of linen. The bandage was dry. She pressed, just hard enough to feel the sting. The physical pain was bearable. She could manage that easier than the pain of betrayed love.

  “Maud, I have need of answers that are more pressing than your silence. But one day I would hear why you never showed me my mother’s grave.”

  Clarice rose and picked up a jug. After sniffing to see if ’twas fit for consumption, she filled the cup with wine and held it out to Maud. “Before I left, Annora swore th
ere was irrefutable proof that I am of Margrave blood. Did she succeed in her search?”

  “No. She raves at the king’s thieves. Swears the soldiers took it right from under our noses.”

  Clarice’s heart began to beat a little faster. “Have you any idea what her proof might have been?”

  Maud pressed her palms against the thin woolen blanket draped over her legs. While Clarice waited, she noted how thin those bird-like legs had become. “Have you had not a morsel to eat this day?”

  Maud lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “’Tis of little importance.” She waved her hand to silence Clarice’s protests. “I serve no purpose now.”

  Clarice’s stomach clenched. “Lady Annora should—”

  “Lady Annora doesn’t believe she is required to give me food. Not unless ’tis the scraps off the trestle table. Which,” Maud added with a glint in her eye, “after that woman picks the meat off the bones, is very little indeed.”

  “We shall remedy that.”

  Digging in the pouch hidden under her skirt, Clarice pulled out a small wad of cloth. She unfolded the corners to reveal the hunk of brown bread Hamish had given her and placed the gift gently on Maud’s lap. With reverence, her old friend gathered the crumbs and put the morsels into her mouth.

  Clarice was struck by the magnitude of how her life had changed since she’d left Margrave Manor. Not once, since awakening in Ranulf’s arms, had she suffered lack. The return of loneliness echoed with his absence. Oh, how she wanted the comfort of his embrace.

  Maud touched the back of her hand. “I’ve had a great deal of time to work out the tangle, but I don’t know where to tell you to look.”

  “Anything will be more than what I know now.”

  Maud hesitated. “’Tis odd to speak of things that have been sworn to silence all these years.”

  Clarice glanced at the window. Time was passing. Despite her worries, she wore a calm smile and leaned in to hear Maud’s words.

  “I came to Margrave Manor when I was a young girl. To be your mother’s chambermaid.” A faraway look floated over her eyes. “So very long ago.” She exhaled and began again. “Though your father was betrothed to Annora Stanford, he could not turn his eyes from her younger sister, Angelica. Their attraction reached beyond normal boundaries.”

  “Angelica.” Clarice’s heart fluttered with fragile butterfly wings.

  Maud nodded. “Angelica could do no wrong in his eyes. Devotion came from all who did her bidding. Tiresome chores were made pleasant by a simple word and kind smile from her ladyship.”

  “I imagine Annora didn’t feel such devotion.”

  “Lord and Lady Stanford were sore displeased as well. However, your father would not turn from his decision.”

  “And Annora . . . was she not pained by my father’s rejection?” Clarice pressed her cheek against the window frame and tried to envision Nicholas and Angelica. “And did my parents’ love comfort them when guilt reared its head?”

  Maud flicked her question away with the sweep of her hand. “Despite the problems it created, a love as great as theirs couldn’t be ignored.”

  Turning from the view outside, Clarice sat beside Maud. “Must love always extract its price?”

  “How little is the cost of hurt feelings when a blessing was on its heels?” Maud’s face became radiant with sweet memories. “Soon after your parents were wed, we received news that a babe was due. The manor became a flurry of activity. Forgoing propriety, the nursery was designed so that your mother might see to your care at all times of the night.”

  Maud paused to take a sip of the watered wine, then cleared her throat. “’Twas right after that blessed peaceful time that Annora returned. She had been to visit once before your parents’ vows. It ended terribly. Her bid to hold Lord Nicholas to his word failed. She did all she could to sway his attention but to no avail. He was enraptured with your mother. In a fit of spite, Annora cursed their marriage and all they held dear.”

  “Could she not see their love?”

  “Annora did not stay away for long.” Maud shook her head. “Soon after the news of your mother’s pregnancy, Annora arrived at the gate. She, too, experienced the symptoms of motherhood.”

  “Robert.” Clarice swallowed and nearly choked on the name.

  Maud nodded. “Lady Angelica was beside herself. How could she force her sister to go out into the world disgraced? She encouraged Nicholas to invite Annora to stay until the birth of her child. A husband who would take Annora and the babe as his own would be found.”

  Maud patted Clarice’s hand. “Before that time, blind to her sister’s contempt, Angelica believed the best of everyone. As time passed, she came to suspect the mischief Annora created. But ’twas too late to mend the damage. Margrave Manor was in disarray. The reigning peace and love were about to be dethroned.

  “One fateful day, the two sisters had a terrible argument. Angelica told Annora to remove herself from Margrave. Never to return. That night, you were born, and my lady . . .”

  “Angelica was gone,” Clarice finished.

  “Yes.”

  “But how is this story to help me now?”

  “’Tis best you understand Annora’s pain. She still believed she was meant to hold your father’s heart.”

  “And my father’s pain? Why would he marry Annora after what he knew?”

  “I am sorry, child. I cannot explain away your father’s actions. Mayhap the loss was too great to bear alone. The day before your birth, Lord Nicholas received word there was trouble on the other side of Margrave lands. He rode hard and found nothing amiss. By the time he returned home ’twas too late. His love had been taken from his life. That same night, Annora’s labors began.”

  “And she delivered a son,” Clarice finished. “Had Angelica not interfered, Robert would have rightfully carried on the Margrave line. My father had his son.”

  Maud caught Clarice’s hand. “’Tis always been my belief Annora forced both births to arrive early. She wouldn’t have left it to chance.”

  “And did you tell my father this?”

  “Oh, I dared not.”

  Outrage failed to curb Clarice’s tongue. “Was your position so rare a find?”

  “No!” Maud cried out. “I had lost you once before. I could not chance that fate again. Your death was proclaimed on the same night as Angelica’s.”

  “My death?”

  “Annora reported your death herself and cast out the nursery maid on the guise that the woman failed to protect you.” Maud grabbed Clarice’s hand and pressed it to her thin chest. “Can you not feel how it tears me to cause you this pain, but it must be said.” She paused and took a deep breath. “There is more that I must tell you.”

  Betrayal, delivered by a friend, bent Clarice double. She gripped the edge of the mattress and waited. The dam of secrets broken, truth poured out with every agonizing word. Try as she might, she could not stop Maud’s words. “Then please do so.”

  “Soon after his marriage to Annora, your father discovered her duplicity. I never will forget the night he brought you back to Margrave. Both of you, covered in soot and smoke. The gateman threatening to set the dogs upon the lord of the manor.”

  “Where had I been?” Clarice asked, afraid she already knew.

  “I dared not pry. Should have been an occasion for rejoicing, but I knew the look on Lord Nicholas’s face held a different story. Your father tucked you into my arms, smoke-tainted blanket and all, and charged me to watch over you with my life. Not another word was to be said about that night.” Maud plucked at the blanket. “I have been trying to keep my promise ever since.”

  The bitterness faded. “You have done a fine job.”

  Maud laid her palm to Clarice’s cheek. “Would that I had been a valued servant to my Lady Angelica and his lordship.”

  “You’ve been much more than that.” Clarice rose to fill the cup with wine. “Is there nothing more you can think of?”

  Maud tugged at her
ear as she rummaged through old memories. Then a flicker of hope danced in her eyes. “Lady Angelica kept a book with her all the time. Bound in leather. ’Twas her book of prayers. ’Tis possible she wrote what happened between sisters.”

  Clarice stood with indecision sticking her feet to the floor. “Do you recall the trunk I found when I was a little girl?”

  “How could I forget? ’Twas also the day that devil Robert fell and injured his arm. Annora was furious with Lord Nicholas for not punishing you severely. He purchased that ruby ring to quiet her.”

  “He was ordered to burn the trunk’s contents.”

  Maud chuckled. “To Annora’s great frustration, his lordship didn’t always listen to her commands. It is still here, in the tower nursery.”

  Chapter 30

  “Maud,” Annora called out. “Why are you skulking about like a fishmonger’s cat?”

  The door to the tower nursery swung open. With no time to find a place to hide, Clarice pressed her back against the wall and did her best to make herself small.

  Annora stepped inside the tower room. “I see you aren’t so weak that you are unable to leave your bed,” she snapped “’Tis time you earn your keep.”

  Amber light of the setting sun poked through the window slits of the barren chamber. Sensing movement, Annora swiveled on her heel. Cobwebs hanging from the rafters shifted in the wind, teasing her attention from the far corner. “Suit your own concerns,” she called out. “You’ll come to regret it in the end.”

  Her face twisted into a scowl. “Old woman, you have been nothing but a thorn in my side since the day you arrived at Margrave. I told Nicholas repeatedly to rid us of your services. But did he listen? No,” Annora muttered, “that would be an affront to the memory of his precious angel.”

  She paused in her complaining and turned toward the cot. Nearing the edge of the bed, she sniffed the air as if she were a hound upon a coney in its warren.

  Clarice’s heart galloped a frantic race in her chest. She feared the woman could hear it from across the room.

  “Come out, little rabbit,” Annora whispered as she bent down to peer into the shadows. Her lungs squeaked against the uncomfortable position of her body, bound by a snug bodice, and fought for air.