He reached into his tunic and pulled forth a neatly folded paper, complete with wax seal. “These are your official orders; I had your uncle whip them up. It’s amazing what you can do with the proper connections. Do you think anyone in Wincaster will be upset with you leaving?”
“Relieved is the word I would use, I’m not very popular right now.” She felt bitter, and it must have reflected in her voice.
“My dear,” he said, placing his hand upon hers, “I know that things have been bad of late, but I promise you I will do all I can to rectify the situation. Enjoy your time in Hawksburg for I fear the future will be…tumultuous. We must be strong for what is coming.”
“And what, exactly, do you think is coming?”
“I should think it’s war of some sort. The king is a tyrant, and the nobles are becoming increasingly concerned with his erratic behaviour. Either someone will snap and challenge him, or some outside force will try to take advantage of our internal strife.”
“Invasion or rebellion, is it that bad?”
“I’m afraid it is. I shall do what I can, but I have few resources. Can I count on you to do your part when the time comes?"
“Of course, Father, I shall do whatever needs to be done.”
“Good,” he said at last, “in that case let’s not be maudlin about it. Server, another round of cheese!”
“And that’s my signal to leave,” said Beverly. “Take care, Father, and please be careful.”
She stood, leaning forward to kiss her father on the forehead. She was not sure what would happen, but events appeared to be spinning out of control. She almost wished she didn’t know, but felt a sudden rush; perhaps she had a purpose after all.
Twenty-Five
Hawksburg
Summer 958 MC
They struggled to put the heavy wooden beam into place. The job was made harder by the waist-deep water and the sticky mud which sat at the bottom of the stream. When an ox had put its hoof through one of the rotting old bridge's planks, they knew it was time to replace it. Lord Robert was in Wincaster again, looking after the Royal Estates, so it had fallen to Lady Mary to organize the work, but it was Aubrey who dug up a book with the plans for rebuilding the bridge. At fourteen, Aubrey was an insatiable reader, a trait which she inherited from her mother. She now watched from the bank while Beverly and some townsfolk all pitched in. Pulling down the old bridge had been easy for it was quite literally falling apart. They had sunk the new pillars as deep as they could, and now they were connecting the horizontal beams that would support the planking. It was a heavy, wet chore on a hot day with all workers all in trousers and shirts, along with a liberal coating of mud, including Beverly, who had forgone both armour and a dress for practicality's sake. She had brought along her sword, for she never left her room without it, even here, but had left it at Aubrey’s side on the bank, while she laboured alongside the townsfolk.
It was hard work, but rewarding. She had adjusted to life in Hawksburg easily, and her hands-on approach was remembered by the townsfolk. She would always be the ‘strange lady knight’ who wore a sword, even when dressed for dinner, but they respected her; her work ethic was strong, and she was always eager to lend a hand.
With a final one, two, three count, they heaved the massive beam up onto its rightful place. Two workers on the frame used their mallets to tap the beam down; its notch lining up perfectly with the rest of the structure. The workers bent over to catch their breath after giving a rousing cheer.
Beverly made her way to the bank with the others, rubbing her sore arm. The beam had slipped, causing her to fall and catch the beam on her shoulder as she went. Other than a dunking and a few bruises, she would recover. Stepping up onto the bank, Aubrey handed her a tankard with some sweet cider in it. She downed the icy cold liquid quickly and then wiped her mouth with her forearm. Aubrey laughed. Beverly looked down to see just how muddy she was, and that was when she realized she must have wiped mud all over her face. She grinned back, “Let me give you a hug, cousin!” she yelled and chased after the girl. They ran up toward the road, but Aubrey suddenly stopped. Beverly was about to say something when she noticed a rider. He was sitting on his horse watching the activity. Beverly’s eyes went wide; it was Aldwin!
Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized him, but then panic set in. She had not seen him in such a long time; did he still feel the same? She felt unworthy, the events of Shrewesdale still buried deep within her.
“Excuse me, sir,” requested Aldwin, “could you direct me to Dame Beverly Fitzwilliam?”
She caught her breath for a moment, and then remembered she looked like a man, filthy with mud, dressed in pants, her hair tied up; he didn't know who she was!
“It’s me, Aldwin,” she explained and watched for recognition to dawn on his face. He dismounted clumsily and led his horse closer. “I see your horsemanship hasn’t improved over the years,” she joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
He grinned back, “I’m a smith, not a horseman, but it’s good to see you, m’lady.”
Aubrey, who was now standing beside Beverly, stared at the man. “You must be Aldwin,” she said finally.
He looked down at the youngster, “I am, but I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” he said.
“I’m Lady Aubrey Brandon, daughter of Baron Brandon and cousin to Lady Beverly Fitzwilliam,” Aubrey said, curtsying.
“Pleased to meet you, Lady Aubrey,” he responded with a bow, “but I’m a commoner, you shouldn’t curtsy to me.”
“Nonsense,” she said, “you’re a guest here, and I should extend you the proper courtesy.”
“Aldwin,” said Beverly, interrupting, “what are you doing here?”
“Your father sent me. I need to deliver you a message.”
She remembered her father's words the last time they had met. Someone she trusted would deliver a message. Who better than the smith that had stolen her heart!
“What’s the message?” she said, still mulling over his presence.
“I’m afraid it must be delivered in private, away from prying ears,” he said, glancing at Aubrey.
“Well,” the young girl said, “I can tell when I’m not wanted. I’ll take the workers over to the food; Mama must have it all set up by now. You’re welcome to join us, Aldwin, after you’ve delivered your message.”
“Thank you,” he said, “perhaps I shall.” He turned to Beverly, “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“Yes, let's put your horse in the stables, and then I’ll take you up to the manor house. It’s so good to see you, Aldwin,” she said, and then suddenly felt guilty. They walked to the manor house in silence, while Beverly wrestled with her conscience. She considered her reaction in her head from every angle. Why was she feeling this way? Had Shrewesdale ruined her? Was she incapable of loving someone because of what a handful of knights had done to her?
Still gripped in her self-imposed silence, she led Aldwin into the drawing room. Almost as soon as they entered, she turned to him, only to find he was much closer than she expected. Throwing caution to the wind, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Her fears disappeared as he enclosed her in his strong arms. Her body felt as though it was melting, melding with his. She looked up at him and, overwhelmed by emotion, kissed him passionately on the lips. They stayed that way for what felt like forever and yet not long enough. She was not sure who pulled back first, but then Aldwin pushed her back slightly.
“We cannot, m’lady. We are still of different worlds.”
She straightened herself, trying to smooth the muddy shirt to make it look presentable. “Of course Aldwin, you’re right. I’m sure my father didn’t send you here for this.” Her heart was soaring; she was not broken! Aldwin still felt the same as her; she knew it now with a certainty.
“He entrusted me with a message that, quite frankly, I find strange. Would you like to sit, it’s quite lengthy.”
She was about to sit when she s
uddenly remembered how muddy she was. Overcome with a desire to look clean and proper, she realized that it was because of Aldwin. It was a shock to the hardened warrior within her that she was now reduced to the vanity of a young girl.
“I should probably clean up first; I’m covered in mud.”
“Why don’t you go and change,” he said, “and I’ll stay here. It’s nothing that can’t wait a while.”
She grinned at him. “Good idea, I’ll just be a few moments.” She was about to leave the room when she suddenly broke out into a fit of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Your face has mud on it,” she said with a wicked grin. “I wonder how that got there?”
She left the room to change; her feet felt light on the floor as if she could fly. She tried to control her giddiness as she rushed to her room. What was wrong with her? She felt so…young. She proceeded to her room, stopping along the way to request a ladies maid. On a typical day, she would dress herself, but she wanted to look particularly nice.
She returned to the drawing room only to see Aldwin's eyes bulge when he beheld her cleaned up state. She had chosen to wear a low cut dress, while Constance had managed to quickly twist her hair up into a curled braid. As his eyes took her in, she felt a warmth spread across her heart. She smiled and curtsied then sat down on a chair, indicating with her hand for Aldwin to do likewise.
“Please,” she requested, “tell me what my father had to say.”
Aldwin cleared his throat. “He visited Uxley and confirmed what he had suspected. Her name is Anna, and she is healthy. Gerald is looking after her, but he has learned that the marshal-general is sending troops to the estate. He feels she may be in danger.”
She nodded as she took it all in, for the possible repercussions were overwhelming. “Did my father have specific instructions for me?” she queried.
“Yes, m’lady, you are to make your way into the service of Prince Henry. He says not to go to Uxley directly; it may be seen as a power play? You must convince Prince Henry to send you to protect her; it must be the crown's idea.”
“Interesting, I would have thought the king would be a better bet.”
“The prince visited Uxley recently and was attacked; he now has a vested interest in protecting her.”
“My father’s been busy. Did he say how soon I must proceed?”
“Events are moving slowly, but he suggested you leave within the week. No doubt you’ll need some time to wrap things up here.”
“Who else knows about this?” she asked.
“Just your father. He didn’t tell me the whole story, said it was safer that way.”
“Thank you, Aldwin, for everything.”
“Everything? All I did was deliver a message from your father?”
“Oh, you did much more than that Aldwin, much more than that.”
* * *
Beverly started making preparations to leave for Wincaster. She was not sure where the prince was, but it was the place to start looking. Aldwin decided to stay for a few days. Her aunt made it a point to include him at the dinner table for some reason, and Beverly highly suspected her cousin of revealing her secret to her aunt. He was captivating to watch; Aldwin was not used to eating at a dinner table and fumbled on occasion. Aunt Mary was polite, ignoring the errors, while Aubrey kept grinning at her cousin when their eyes met.
Aldwin came upon her the next morning while she practised, and was shocked to see the state of her armour. She had tried to keep it in good shape, but the smiths of Shrewesdale had not been skilled enough to get all the dents out from her duel. Aldwin insisted on fixing it himself, and so he took over the smithy for a few days. He smoothed out the dents, replaced some straps that were getting worn and worked out the nicks on her sword. She tried the armour on for him, and he made some final adjustments.
Before she felt ready, it was time for her to depart. She didn’t know what the future might hold, but she knew that she fought for her family, and the man she loved. That, perhaps, was her most significant discovery, for she had finally admitted to herself that she loved Aldwin. Not just a childhood crush, but a love that would last her a lifetime. They choose to leave the haven of Hawksburg on the same day; he to return to Bodden, and she to travel south to search for a prince. Aldwin left first. Beverly rode with him to the outskirts of town where he turned briefly, his eyes drinking her in, perhaps for the last time. She was seized by the urge to run away with him, to ignore all that was expected of her, but instead held his eyes with hers. He kissed her hand and, turning, rode off down the road. She watched him go, saddened at his leaving, but pleased to know that with the coming storm, he would be safe in Bodden. She rode back to the Brandon estate, thinking of her future. Would it include Aldwin? She could only hope it would.
Finally, it was time for her to leave. She gathered her belongings and mounted Lightning. She would be away for some time, of that she was certain. What the future held for her she didn’t know, but she remembered the words of Albreda who said she was on the cusp of events that she could not imagine. She now understood that something big was building and she had a role to play.
She turned in her saddle to wave one last time. Lady Aubrey and Lady Mary were standing at the estate entrance along with the servants. Several townsfolk had shown up to wish her well, and as she rode off to the south, she was once more filled with determination and purpose. It would be a long road, she suspected, but she would find Prince Henry, and she would do what she could to protect the princess.
Twenty-Six
The Prince
Autumn 959 MC
It had been a long search. It had taken months to finally track him down, for Prince Henry was a young man on the move. After learning in Wincaster that he had gone west, she crossed the kingdom, all the way to Kingsford, only to find him departed; his destination unknown. She wintered there and then traversed back to the capital, to be informed he had travelled south. This game of cat and mouse continued as she chased him over half the kingdom, finally catching up with him near Eastwood, locating him at the Royal Estate that lay near the great northern city.
She rode up to the estate with the looming shadow of the Deerwood to the west. Its thick underbrush made the terrain all but impassable. To the east was the indistinct shape of the great mountain range which formed the eastern border of the kingdom. Beneath the mountains lay the Artisan Hills, home to the savage Orc tribes, but that was miles away. Orcs had not troubled the region for many years and were unlikely to do so anytime soon, for the Earl of Eastwood maintained a large army which was ready at all times.
Passing through the town of Eastwood, she had asked directions, and now she was riding up the trail toward the estate. The trees here were thick, not quite the full brush of the Deerwood, but enough that they lined the road, their great boughs forming arches overhead. The trail wound back and forth until finally, the road opened up into a field of well-kept grass. She saw the manor house in the distance; a gleaming white two-floor structure, with a large awning on the front.
Sitting upon Lightning in her full armour, including her helmet, she braced herself for what was about to transpire. Being one of the very few female knights in the realm, she fully expected to have to prove her skill. When she was in Shrewesdale, she had written to a number of the other women knights, but only one had responded, Dame Levina Charleston, who had been full of helpful advice. She was serving in Colbridge and had invited Beverly to visit her, but then events had taken a tragic turn before she had to opportunity to make the trip. She had written to Levina when she was in Hawksburg, but now, having been on the road for so long, any chance of a reply finding her was remote. Dame Levina had reinforced the same point each time they corresponded; a Dame must keep proving herself, lest the men see them as inferior. Beverly knew it was true, through her own horrible experience, so now she was always prepared. Since Shrewesdale, she had taken greater steps to protect herself; sleeping with weapons handy and not dull
ing her senses with strong drink. She was ready, as prepared as she could be, but at the road to the front of the estate, she felt a mild moment of panic. No longer was she the self-assured young woman who wanted to take the world by storm. Now she was cautious, almost timid in her movements. She shook herself mentally; she must control herself, her father had tasked her with a critical mission.
A stable-hand greeted her as she entered the yard, and contrary to her usual habits, she handed Lightning off to him, leaving her helmet and shield with her mount with a promise visit her horse later. A young lad led her through the manse, to where the prince and his entourage were sitting around behind, admiring the view. A large, well-groomed field behind the estate boasted a patio overlooking the greenery, where Prince Henry was sitting on a couch, his feet up on a footstool. A young woman, wearing a thin, see-through dress, sat beside him, feeding him while he absently gazed out at the trees in the distance.
“I should think,” the prince was saying, “that the hunting will be good tomorrow, there’s been a few sightings of deer this year.”
Another man, of a similar age to the prince, agreed. She walked down the half steps and turned to look at Prince Henry.
“Your Highness,” she said, bowing.
Prince Henry looked up, taking his feet off the stool. “Well, what have we here?” he leered.
He turned to his companion, “Is this your doing, Bernard? I must say I like it, does she have a name?”
Beverly resisted the urge to slap him, “I am Dame Beverly Fitzwilliam, Your Highness, come to Eastwood seeking to serve you.”
Prince Henry flashed a smile. A smile, people said, that could charm the clothes off of any woman. Beverly thought it looked well practised, but it didn’t impress her.
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