by Georgie Lee
‘That woman is impossible. How dare she behave to me in such a manner?’
This was Gilbert through and through. Veering between tongue-tied shyness and wild outbursts of bullishness. Managing him took all Gui’s efforts.
‘We have invaded her land and now you wish to claim her daughter as your wife. Did you expect to be greeted with open arms?’ Gui asked.
‘Wish to marry her daughter! Wish to?’ Gilbert threw his arms up. ‘The wish is not mine. You know that, Gui. It is as much a penance to me as a reward. I don’t want to marry an English mouse who by her mother’s own account might be feeble-minded!’
Gui doubted that Gilbert had the urge to marry any woman. His mind was consumed entirely with thoughts of riding or breeding his beloved horses. Give him a kindred spirit and he would waste the night in enthusiastic discussion, but with a woman he was useless. Gui strongly suspected he was still a virgin.
‘Calm yourself. You might not want the girl, but you do want this.’
Gui gestured at the imposing house and the fields surrounding it, his throat catching with envy. It was built in the old style from tall planks of oak with wicker fencing surrounding a courtyard. To own such a home would be the greatest thing Gui could imagine. Gilbert shrugged him off and stalked to his destrier and the mare Gui had hired in York.
Gui followed him. ‘You’ll be a man of means with land here. Plenty of room to breed your horses. It’s better than being the second son of a nobleman in Brittany, even if it does mean marrying an English mouse.’
Much better than being the son of a vassal in that nobleman’s fief, too. Although Gui had accompanied Gilbert from Brittany at the behest of his friend, no one had offered him land, much less a bride for the part he had played in the conquest.
‘You know where the girl is now. All you need to do is go fetch her and the matter can be settled. You can have her back here by midsummer’s day. That would be a good-omened day for a wedding.’
‘I can’t go fetch her. I’ll be as useless persuading the girl to leave the priory as I was compelling her mother to retrieve her,’ Gilbert said gloomily. ‘Besides, I’ve been offered an opportunity I’d like to take.’
‘Which is?’ Gui prompted.
‘I’ve been invited to hunt on the Earl’s lands in the west. One of the men going breeds good stock horses. I told him I’d be there. There are good deer to hunt. You should join us.’
Gui’s jaw clenched. He jerked his head to his left arm. ‘And how would I bring them down with no means of drawing a bow?’
Gilbert’s eyes lit and he pointed a finger at Gui. ‘My friend, I have a solution. Go to Byland in my place. Bring the girl back for me while I am away.’
Gui gave a short laugh, then stopped short. He scowled. ‘You actually mean that, don’t you?’
Gilbert swung himself into the saddle. ‘Why not? It should be a simple matter. If you don’t intend to come with me, you have nothing better to do with your time.’
Gui had planned to spend his immediate future visiting as many of York’s drinking dens as he could and passing into oblivion. Traipsing halfway across Yorkshire to collect another man’s bride did not hold any appeal, even if that man was his oldest friend. He mounted his horse, gathering the reins in his right hand.
‘We’ll make arrangements within the week,’ Gilbert mused.
‘My lord! Gilbert! I said no.’
‘Of course you did, but you’ll do it anyway.’ Gilbert exuded confidence, displaying the easy charm that had failed to work on Lady Emma. ‘I could command you as your liege lord, but I know I won’t have to. My good friend. I ask a lot of you but I’ll reward you, too. You’ll need a better horse, of course. Better clothes, too. It will cost me dearly.’
Gui rolled his eyes. He was ambivalent about horses, something Gilbert found incomprehensible.
‘I imagine Lady Emma will see it as a personal insult if you send a messenger in your place.’
Gilbert pouted. ‘It’s the daughter I have to marry, not the mother.’
Gui gave him a stern look. Diplomacy was not Gilbert’s strongest feature.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Gilbert conceded. He broke into a trot and they skirted around the edge of Lady Emma’s land towards the forest path. Gui followed, uneasy on horseback and watchful for signs of trouble Gilbert might ignore.
As they reached the edge of the forest Gilbert pulled his reins sharply and turned to Gui.
‘You go as me!’
Gui drew his horse to a halt, momentarily puzzled.
‘You go in my place to Byland,’ Gilbert clarified. He smiled. ‘Take my name. Lady Emma is sending word I am coming, but the Lady Sigrun and I have never met. She won’t know you aren’t me. I’ll even give you my seal to wear to add to the deception.’
He trotted on, lost in his plans, talking half to himself. ‘It would cause difficulty if she discovered the deception halfway home. Swear to me that you will take my name until you return here with my bride.’
‘I haven’t agreed yet,’ Gui pointed out. ‘She’ll discover I’m not you on your wedding night. What will she do when she finds out she has been deceived?’
‘She’ll be uncomplaining if she’s as timid and compliant as her mother says,’ Gilbert answered. He smiled. ‘Court the girl on my behalf, Gui, but do not let her know what we have done. When she arrives here she will be more amenable to the thought of marriage. If I went to bring your bride back, I can see that would be a problem, but as it stands...’
He left the thought unfinished. Gui ended it for him.
‘As it stands she will take one look at you and thank God she does not have to marry a one-handed, scar-lipped, crook-nosed beast after all.’
Gilbert had the grace to look abashed. ‘That isn’t what I meant.’
It had been, but Gui had long grown accustomed to Gilbert’s unwitting tactlessness. The offence was never meant. Besides, it was true. A wife of his own had seemed an unobtainable dream since his injuries.
‘You really don’t look as bad as you imagine,’ Gilbert said. ‘If you were wealthier, a woman would look past your injuries anyway. When I am master of this manor I’ll have the power to grant land. If you do this for me, I’ll grant a portion to you. I’ll make you my reeve. My second-in-command.’
Gui gazed around him. Lady Emma’s land had been spared the worst of the harrying that had all but destroyed the north. A river ran through the flat plain that lay barren, but in time could be brought back to life. It reminded him a little of home and the farmer’s son in him awoke. To be master of his own lands under the fiefdom of his friend would be a good thing to be.
Gilbert had been spinning tales of riches and power for them both since they had left France. They had so far failed to appear, for Gui at least, and this could be the opportunity he craved to rebuild his life and start afresh. All for making a journey of a week and escorting a girl to her home. What could be simpler? His lips twitched into a smile.
‘I’ll bring your bride,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll take your name if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes.’
* * *
Gui raised himself high in the saddle and rolled his shoulders back. It was now mid-afternoon and he had been riding all day, but the final stage of his journey was almost complete. He had reached the highest point of the hill and stopped beside the stone marker, and could make out the roofs of the priory nestling in the dip below. It stood along the opposite bank of the river that wound lazily between hills and back towards York, passing by the remains of a couple of desolate villages and vanishing periodically into knots of trees.
He pulled at the neck of his cloak to loosen it. In the three days since he had left York the spring weather had changed steadily for the better and the new wool was still stiff and itchy in the unexpected sun.
Not that he was complaining about his new attir
e. Gilbert had been so grateful for Guilherm’s agreement he had presented Gui with the new cloak, two fine linen undershirts and a new tunic of light wool with a deep band of embroidered braid along the thigh-length hem. A new buckle adorned the worn leather belt Gui insisted on retaining along with his old boots and gloves. They were by far the finest clothes Gui had ever possessed and how he looked exactly like what he was supposed to resemble: a knight of middling wealth hoping to make a favourable impression on his bride.
He could almost believe their plan would be a success, and as he rode he passed the time making idle plans for the crops he would plant and the house he would build when the promised land was finally his. It wouldn’t have to be a big house; he would be living there alone after all. Best not dare to dream too big—a companion to share his life with was so unlikely that the pit of loneliness that made his heart ache soured his thoughts.
He brushed his hair back from his forehead where it had become damp with exertion from the ride. Despite all Gilbert’s coaxing Gui had steadfastly refused to shave his head in the same style as the knight, and had kept his dark-brown hair longer than fashionable so it skimmed his jaw and framed his face. Sweat pooled beneath his arms and the linen clung to his torso. He frowned. It would not do to arrive at the priory looking so travel stained. No doubt the prioress would provide the means to bathe, but sunlight turned the river silver and to Gui it was a more appealing prospect. He turned the horse towards the river and in a lazy walk he made his way down the hill to one of the bends where trees would afford him some privacy in the unlikely event he encountered anyone.
Gui tethered his horse to a tree close to the river where she could drink as she wished or take shelter from the sun. He unbuckled the short sword he wore at his belt and stowed it alongside the bow and quiver of arrows he could not bear to part with, which were wrapped in leather and strapped to the pannier. He stripped off his clothes, gritting his teeth in frustration as he worked the buckles and laces with his right hand. He paused before removing the padded glove on his left hand, but in this isolated spot no one would cast their eyes on his affliction so he removed that, too.
Naked, he plunged into the river, which proved to be deeper than he had expected. He stood, gasping and shuddering, toes curling in the silt as the chilly depths closed around him to his waist. When he became accustomed to the cold, he swam under the surface with powerful strokes and emerged downstream when he could no longer hold his breath. He scrubbed at his hair and body until his flesh stung, wishing he had the means to scrape the bristles from his jaw that had become a rough beard. He resembled one of the Yorkshire Norsemen the longer he wore it.
The sun was still warm, lessening the worst of the chill. He lay back in the water and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of the sweet-scented air. He drifted along with the gentle current, allowing the water to caress him, feeling knots in his muscles loosen as the current and weeds played around his body. For what was almost certainly the first time since stepping foot in England, Guilherm felt truly at peace.
* * *
‘That’ll do until I come again next week.’ Aelfhild tightened the knot holding the bandage on Brun’s leg. She wiped the greasy balm from her fingers, pulled the threadbare blanket back over the old man’s legs and smiled. ‘Try to move a little if you can or you’ll get more sores. That poultice will help ease the discomfort.’
‘You’re a good lass, Aelfhild. You’ll make a good wife to some man,’ Brun rasped.
Her first thought was that she’d rather be a good nurse, and her second was whom would she marry anyway; now Yorkshire’s men were in short supply.
‘I don’t think a foundling with no dowry would be many men’s first choice,’ she sighed.
Brun started to answer, but coughs racked his frame. ‘I won’t be sorry to go, but you’ve made these months more comfortable,’ he wheezed.
‘Don’t talk like that! You’ve got years ahead of you,’ Aelfhild lied.
A film of tears covered Brun’s eyes. ‘Weeks. A month or two, perhaps. I didn’t think I’d see this year come when they came to burn the village. My home is gone; my sons are dead. I’m ready to join them.’
They. The Normans. They’d lain waste to the villages all around Elmeslac, and further afield if tales were true as the new King’s vengeance for what had happened in York. For the people daring to try to regain their city. Aelfhild’s throat tightened with hatred. If she ever met a Norman she’d drive her knife through his black heart!
Brun was her final patient. She began to pack up her bag of poultices and medicines to stop her hand straying to the brooch she wore concealed beneath a fold in the neck of her shapeless tunic. She would not think about the man who had given it to her or her eyes would fill with tears, too.
She left the dimly lit hut where the remaining villagers lived together: the old and the young, those who had escaped the killing. She began to make her way back to the priory, considering herself lucky to have a home however much she hated the confining walls. She stomped along the rutted track and tried to ignore the fields that should have been thick with growing barley. Her boots were sturdy and she set a good pace up the hill, only pausing for breath when the top came into view. The breeze was warm as it caressed her cheeks, a sure sign that spring would be hot this year. She felt perspiration rising on her face and neck.
Aelfhild’s skirts billowed around her and she shook her head, enjoying the sensation of the wind’s kiss upon the back of her neck. She ran the last few paces to the top of the hill, then spun around, arms wide and head thrown back. She laughed at her foolishness, as she realised what she must look like. She did it again, sure no one was watching, for who was there left to watch her now?
Her stomach growled. Breakfast had been gritty bread and sour cheese, and supper was nothing worth anticipating. The river glinted in the sunlight, winding through the valley. Aelfhild had time to spare before she had to return to the priory and her spirits lifted. When such feeling came upon her she could forget her country was under the yoke of the Conqueror, could forget she had not seen her home for almost two years and the walls that now confined her.
She was thirsty and hot. The river could satisfy both those needs and she could even try to catch a fish to supplement the meagre diet at the priory, using the method Brun described when his mind wandered to his youth.
Anticipating the cool water swirling around her legs, Aelfhild hastened her steps as she neared the river where it bent towards her side of the bank, skipping and occasionally spinning in circles in the sheer joy of being alive. The world was empty. She could even bathe completely naked if she chose, though would not go that far. If her swim was ever discovered, Aelfhild would no doubt receive the customary whipping from one of the sisters, but there was no one to see and no one to tell. It would be her secret and hers alone.
Copyright © 2018 by Claire Lackford
ISBN-13: 9781488086748
Captain Rose’s Redemption
Copyright © 2018 by Georgie Reinstein
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