The thought didn’t cheer Rufus. “It is that of which I wish to speak.”
William’s grin dropped, and his eyes narrowed. “It is what we’ve been fighting for, Rufus. Our home, our land, our prosperity. Are you not pleased?”
“Of course, I am.” He sighed. “It is not the work I was made for, William, that’s all. I’m not a man of the land. I’m a man of adventure.”
“But just look at the land. It’s beautiful. Rich, fertile, well planted. What’s not to like?”
Rufus looked at the view mournfully. “It’s the same. Every day.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it, brother. I know it’s your world, the one you love. But I do not hold the same feelings for it.”
William grunted dismissively and walked away. He struck one hand above the archway of the gatehouse, and looked out at the land.
Rufus walked up behind him, remembering what Kezia had said to him about William and the land, her words having planted a seed which had matured and grown with each passing day until now he was sure.
William, tall and broad, was like a part of the oak of the gatehouse lintel, part of the plow furrows of the land. With his windswept hair, the weathered skin around the eyes and stoic set of his, mouth, he was every bit a part of this land as the men who worked it. He was of this land, and Rufus wasn’t.
He slapped William on the back and moved on past him, through the open doors of the gatehouse to where he could see the land and the sea beyond it. He took one long look around and then turned to face William. “It is yours, brother.”
William’s expression didn’t change, he simply looked at Rufus. “Of course it’s not. I am but a younger brother. None of this will ever be mine. The best I can hope for is to marry someone who has money but no prospects and buy land of my own one day.”
Rufus smiled, relieved that he’d made the decision, freed by their recent victory, Kezia’s words and, sadly, his mother’s death. “No. This land is more yours than it will ever be mine.” He walked up to William and placed one foot on the steps. “I don’t want it, William. I have a yearning to return to sea and explore far shores. With Kezia. Bayard told me that he believed Kezia’s family came from Sicily. He’d hoped it would mean I would discard her.” He shrugged. “As if I would, as if I could. And I have a wish to take her back there so she can find out where she comes from, discover if there is any family left of hers. That is my future, our future. Not this.”
For the first time since he’d begun speaking, William’s expression slowly began to change. Like the seasons on the land, Rufus thought. Changing imperceptibly, slowly, subtly. Nothing happened fast but when it did, it wouldn’t be moving again for some time. But still there were clouds of disbelief in William’s eyes.
“For sure, you’ve always had a restless nature, Rufus. But since you’ve been married you’ve shed some of that, and I thought you were ready to settle.”
“I was ready for Kezia, was what I was. Not this. Not any of this. She’s done the impossible and melted a heart which I thought was dead, not frozen. And now that it has happened? I have no choice but to be with her.” He met William’s eye. “Don’t get me wrong. I love this land because it is where my family live, and there will always be some part of me who calls it home. But you are the natural lord of this place, not me. Take it, William.”
The clouds in William’s eyes vanished like the mist from the fields under the brilliance of the proposition and the two men embraced. They stepped back and Rufus grunted a laugh, watching as William looked around the land—his land—with fresh eyes.
“I don’t know what Sir Harry will make of this,” said William with a sideways grin.
“Not much to begin with, but after he considers it, he will be pleased. I do not think he and Kezia could continue under one roof,” he added.
“Aye, to be sure, their truce is uneasy, much like that of us, and the other barons, with the king.”
“The king has other concerns in France. At least for a while. But if you ever need my support I’ll return to protect what is yours.”
They embraced one more time. And as Rufus pulled away his eyes smarted and he thought he saw something flash on the dunes in the distance. He narrowed his eyes to find again the flash of gray on gray but there was nothing. He must have been seeing things.
Kezia lifted her dark gray gown, donned so she could become invisible once more, and descended the bank to the river.
The oarsman sunk the pole into the shallow water and propelled the low boat forward again. He would have been the only one visible across the marshy land. Just one laborer easing a boat laden with reeds through the network of waterways. They wouldn’t see Kezia, who sat low on the bottom of the boat, where the water soaked into her gown but she remained hidden beneath an animal hide, should anyone pass by.
“You can rise now, my lady. There’s no one around. We’re clear of the villages.”
With a sigh of relief, Kezia flung off the hides and sat on the bench, out of the musty smelling water, and looked around. She felt instant relief at seeing the sea, which was quickly replaced by anxiety. A line of clouds hung low, obscuring the horizon, just offshore.
“The fret.” The oarsman nodded to the cloud. “It’ll roll in come sunset. There’ll be no boat leaving harbor this night.”
“But the wind may rise.”
The oarsman looked around as if sensing what weather would come. “Nay. It is settled weather at this time of year and only the big cogs with oarsmen will be leaving port this night.”
Kezia nodded and looked out to the sea which had become so dear to her. But, as much as she’d come to love it, and this land, there would be other lands. But no other man, she said to herself. She could replace the land, find the land beyond the horizon, but she was leaving her heart behind her. She’d explore this world, her life, alone.
And she would be leaving. While she might be leaving earlier than Sir Harry had anticipated, she would be taking the place he’d booked for her on the cog heading for Marseilles. She just wished Rufus could be with her. She closed her eyes against the sun as she remembered how he’d talked of the world and all the treasures it held. Of the far-off places in the east where the sun always shone.
“Aye,” continued the oarsman, squinting toward the port of Yarmouth. “We’ll have the sun until nightfall and then the fog will take the land.”
She’d boarded the boat early to avoid lingering in the port where someone might have recognized her. Even so, as she surveyed the busy port, with the horses dragging up the carts for loading wool and fish, she watched for anyone out of place, anyone she might recognize who could give her away. But everyone was focused on their own jobs, of getting the wool and fish stowed onto the boat in time for it to leave on the rising tide.
Satisfied she was unknown and safely hidden behind a barrel, she allowed her eye to be drawn away from the busy dock beneath her and move along the coast, north to where Wanham Castle was. She closed her eyes and could imagine its gray walls muted by the incoming fret. She opened her eyes again to see the last of the sun pierce the fog that rolled in from the sea, as if pointing to the castle, reminding her of all she’d left behind.
She wasn’t superstitious, but Ethelinda had been. She would have seen significance in the brilliant moment that now died before her eyes. Was it giving her thanks for leaving it in the hands of those who could keep it, or was it calling her back?
She shivered and turned away. The idea of the castle calling her back, of Rufus calling her back, was nothing but a figment of the imagination she’d inherited from her Romani sister. That was all. She turned and stepped away from the shelter of the barrel, away from sight of the castle which had already become engulfed in the mists, and fingered the ruby brooch at her throat. She’d done the right thing, the only thing for the people she loved.
Rufus pushed his way through the crowds, looking every which way for signs of fair hair, of flashing green eyes and a wicked tongue which talked too much.
But all he saw was fishwives haggling and men loading the boats which lay at dock, waiting until the tide was right.
He hadn’t had to force the information from Sir Harry, who quickly broke down under Rufus’s interrogation. Sir Harry was no match for lord’s determination, or for the grief which consumed him over the death of Lady Charlotte.
He scanned the boats. Before he could ask which of the boats was leaving for Marseilles, something moved on one of them. He turned, and his eyes passed over a woman, small, with dark hair which she was trying to coil and keep from the wind. Then she raised her hands to pull on her hood and something caught the light of one of the braziers from the shore over which fisherwomen were cooking food. It glinted like the fire—Kezia’s ruby brooch. What was this woman doing with such a brooch? Then he looked again. A strand of dark hair escaped her hood and he knew then, what she’d done. She’d dyed her hair. That was how she’d been able to move so easily through the land to the port without being seen. She’d made herself invisible once more.
He watched as she melted into the shadows, heartsick that his beloved had left the light where she had fully bloomed, and had re-entered the shadowy world where she felt she could exist safely. He walked along the quay to her boat without pausing, his only plan to ensure she would never again need to be invisible.
A shiver tracked down Kezia’s back and she drew her cloak tightly around her and withdrew behind the canvas that hung slackly in the damp misty air. The fret that had hung out to sea all day was now swathed around the ship, cool and sticky against her bare skin, and blurring the edges of the world, making everything indistinct. She shivered again but not from the chill. She lived her life by seeing things clearly, by being prepared, by being one step ahead. She was prepared, and she was one step ahead. But now, after seeing the last of the land disappear in the fret, as the people on the quay became unreal in the low gray cloud, she was scared. She couldn’t see clearly. Her thoughts were with the people she’d left behind, anchoring her as surely as the ship was anchored, battling with her will to do what she knew to be the right thing for them all. It was a sacrifice, but she knew all about those; the family she left behind didn’t. She owed Rufus her life; now she’d give his back to him. Then why did she shiver yet again? She retreated further into the shadows.
She felt the rumble of the goods being heaved up the gangplank through her body. She could smell the contents of the barrels around her—leather, from the tanneries in Norwich. Even above that pungent smell was the fishy smell of herrings, bound for southern ports.
She peered at the quay, trying to decipher any threat to her plan in the shadowy silhouettes of the people who moved in and out of the lighted fog, but couldn’t see anything. She closed her eyes to better differentiate the noises. Above the shouts of the men, chivvying on their horses and admonishing each other, were the shouts of street vendors selling their wares, and the smell of hot pies. It made her mouth water and her stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast but she couldn’t delve into the food she’d brought. It had to last her the journey and that depended entirely on the weather.
She looked back, down the gangplank, searching the darkened cobbled street for something, someone… but he wasn’t there. Then she tightened her grip on her small bag of belongings, enough for her to begin a new life for her and her child, and walked up to the ship’s deck. The captain met her.
“We’ll be leaving shortly, my lady. If you’d like to come with me?”
A flutter of panic ran through her. “Where to?”
He smiled. “My cabin. I think you’ll be more comfortable there.”
“But I haven’t paid for such a space.”
“You are welcome anyway.”
He opened the door and she entered the darkened space, lit by only one candle at a desk. She sat down and turned as the captain closed the door behind him without a further word, leaving her alone. She put her head in her hands. “What have I done?” she whispered in the dark emptiness. The candle sputtered as a chill waft of sea fret blew in through the gap around the door. The boat rolled slightly.
A footfall landed on the wooden floor beside her and she looked up into dark gray eyes, their white brightened by the lone candle—Rufus’s eyes.
“Rufus!” she said, standing up, knocking the chair over with a clatter.
He stopped short of her, his eyes roving her body and face, searching, if for an answer. “Aye, it is me.”
“What are you doing here?”
He shook his head. “You would ask that of me? Surely it should be my question to you.”
“Then why do you not ask it?”
“Mayhap because I already know the answer.” He shook his head again. “Although I wish it weren’t true.”
She refused to look into those eyes which undid her. She focused on his chest. But it didn’t help. The breadth and strength of his chest reminded her of how she’d pressed her cheek to it, her tongue against his skin, and her lips to every contour and dip and rise of his flesh. She closed her eyes but his smell of outdoors and leather made her mouth water. She swallowed.
“Look at me, Kezia, and tell me if I’m right.”
She made a mistake, allowing the barrier to drop and looked at him, really looked at him. She opened herself up through her eyes and then he saw her. She knew he did. She knew it clearly, as if he’d told her in plain English that he was never going to allow her to shut herself off from him again.
“Kezia,” he said, with a weariness that cut her to the quick. “You think to leave me.”
“I am. I have to. And surely you know why.”
“I know how you think; I know you’re not leaving because you do not love me or my family, because you do, with a passion. But then, you do everything with a passion, don’t you, my love?” His hand cupped her cheek briefly.
She nodded.
“And all I have to do is work out what it is that you so passionately believe will happen unless you leave England… unless you leave me.” He turned away from her, walked across to the other side of the cabin and sat down. “And neither of us are in a rush.”
She felt angry with frustration and impotence. “Why? We will be leaving port shortly. You must disembark.”
“I, my lady, am going nowhere.”
She felt the blood drain from her body with shock. “Why? What do you mean?”
“Kezia,”—he shook his head—“do you not understand yet? I mean to accompany you.”
“But, the things I said…” She trailed off, unable to repeat the terrible things she’d forced herself to say to him when they’d last been together.
He shrugged. “Were said because you believed that leaving us would benefit my family and me.” A smile twitched at his lips. “Which shows you are not always right.”
She felt an echo of his smile quirk her lips. “I do not accept that.”
His grin widened. “Nay, I don’t suppose you would. Just as you won’t accept you underestimate the cleverness of others.”
“I do not underestimate you, in any way.”
He opened his arms wide. “You did not imagine me to be here, and yet here I am.”
She tried to control a flicker of a grin. “Maybe I underestimated you slightly, then.” She walked into his arms and rested her cheek against his chest. He enveloped her in his arms with a sigh.
“Good.”
Suddenly she felt the boat set sail. “We’re leaving port.”
“Aye. We’re leaving together. I’ve made the estates over to William and we, my lady wife, are traveling to Sicily to find your home.”
“But I know nothing of it.”
“Do not be afeared. It is where you’re from and we can stay, or we can leave. All I ask is that we travel together. And keep on traveling.”
“But what of your home?”
“It’s wherever you are.” He turned her in his arms and together they looked out to the bold line where sea and sky met. “It is beyond where we can see.”
She followed his gaze out into the unknown, her hand pressing lightly against her stomach. He pressed his hand against hers and she felt complete in that moment, in the certainty and future that life with Rufus, and their child, would bring.
Epilogue
“You are welcome to stay here as long as you like.” Lady Isabella d’Hauteville stood before the open window, her petite, upright figure outlined sharply against the bright blue Sicilian sky. “You’ve been so long absent from my life, that I would have you stay forever, Adele.”
Kezia didn’t think she’d ever get used to hearing herself called by the name she was given at birth—Adelaide d’Hauteville. For it seemed the traitor Bayard had been correct. She was of the noble d’Hauteville line, and she had family still living.
She’d been told that the long-ago slaughter of her family, deep in the English forest, had included both her parents and an older sister, whose wedding had been the reason for the journey. But the middle sister, Isabella, had remained in Sicily because of sickness. Her Sicilian family had believed there had been no survivors.
“You have been so kind, Isabella. But I fear you might tire of little Charles’s nightly awakenings.” Kezia shifted her newborn babe in her arms. It seemed that he liked to sleep all day, and lie awake at night, wanting petting and play. Kezia had teased Rufus that his son was much like him at night.
Isabella smiled and walked over to Kezia. “Nay,” she said, brushing her hand over the downy head of Charles. “I could never tire of him.”
Kezia placed her hand over Isabella’s and felt a lump in her throat. From the moment she’d met Isabella, she’d felt an instant connection. They looked alike, and they thought alike. And it seemed Isabella had felt the same. Even before Kezia had shown Isabella the brooch and told her of the circumstances in which she’d been found, Isabella had said she’d immediately known Kezia’s true identity.
“If we do leave here, we won’t go far.” Kezia smiled. “Mayhap only a hundred yards or so. I hear the Casa al Mare Villa is empty.”
Defending His Lady (Norfolk Knights Book 4) Page 22