This Ravished Rose

by Anne Carsley

  “Who are you?” Katherine spoke more sharply than she had intended and the girl stepped back.

  “Alison Potter, My Lady. My sister and I are to go with you to the castle as your maids. Did you not know?”

  Weariness settled over Katherine. “No, no matter. I will come straightaway.”

  She went up the winding stairs and through the chill rooms until she came to the storing room where the coffers lay. There were several of them, heavy chests with iron bands and heavy ropes. Another girl, perhaps a year or so older than Alison, blond where her sister was dark, stood beside them.

  “I am May, Lady Katherine. Is there anything we can do to help you here?”

  “Leave me.” They glanced quickly at each other and Katherine caught their shared grimaces before they bent respectfully before her to go.

  Left to herself, Katherine opened the first coffer to discover that it held several lengths of velvet of an emerald green so deep it might have been the very woods in summer. It was cracked along the folds as she shook it out for it was obviously very old but much might be made of it by a skillful seamstress. There was a warm cloak of brilliant red which might warm the cold, and battered gloves with edging of fur. The next coffer held gauzy headdresses of a style long outmoded. Regretfully she closed the lid. There was nothing she could use there.

  In the last, however, Katherine found two books wrapped in black velvet. One was a lives of the saints in Latin, the other was in Greek of which she knew nothing. Sitting back on her heels, the girl viewed her treasures, her help against what loneliness and privation she might encounter. Who knew how long it would take to leant Greek, to turn the passages into Latin or into English? She would manage and surely she could fashion the velvet into a fair gown wherein she might dine in her own hall.

  Her mercurial spirits swung. She knew why John Redgrove had sent her here alone, for among Lady Dorotea’s belongings were things which could bring her comfort. The steward’s kindness touched her, for Katherine had known little of such in her life.

  She caught up her skirts and ran out into the hall, intending to find and thank him. Instead she ran into a thick, sturdy body which gave before her and they both fell to the icy floor.

  Katherine extricated herself, gasping apologies as she held out a hand to the lady who still sprawled ungracefully before her.

  “I am most sorry, Mistress. I was coming to seek Master Redgrove.”

  With a quick huff the lady came to her feet which were small and neat as were her hands. Her eyes were bright blue, her hair graying under the white cap. Breathlessly she said,

  “I am Joan Barstow, widow of the soldier Bartholomew and hired by Master Redgrove to go with you to Hunsdale. I did not know ...”

  She stopped and Katherine, seeing the flush mount to her cheeks, could guess the rest of it. The wife of a great lord did not go rushing out of rooms to find the help, she summoned them or kept them with her for designated duties. What tales would those three tell of their new mistress? Then, looking into the kindly, inquisitive eyes, Katherine suddenly did not care. She held out both hands.

  “Welcome to my service, Mistress Barstow.

  ”The woman curtsied, then began to bustle about, talking as though she had lived in the house for years. Katherine began to laugh. It was good, for her talk brought release and the knowledge that she was not really alone. At least not in the business of everyday living. In the aftermath of her bruising passion for James, that was enough.

  Chapter 12

  Hiatus

  The next morning they rode out of the City of York, Katherine and John, the three new servants, ten men-at-arms and a young scrivener. Katherine’s few chests made a small enough collection of belongings. She could view herself wryly as they clattered through the narrow streets toward the nearest gate. The wife of a powerful lord, wearing the old gray gown in which she had worked yesterday, her ears and fingers bare of jewelry, hair bound plainly back, face thin and taut in the sharp morning light.

  None bade them farewell. Katherine left York with a sense she would never return, a part of her life was forever done. Here, as on the moors she had known happiness and pain. Now, as she went toward a life which at its best would be uncompromisingly bleak, she wondered if the time would come when she might see the pattern of her fate clearly.

  They left the creamy-walled city, turned across the great plain of York, and headed toward the high lifting hills and the deepening dales where progress would necessarily be low. Hunsdale Castle stood very near the border of England and Scotland; it was a fortress, a war castle.

  Katherine touched her mare’s flanks lightly and rode closer to John. “How many days ride from York is the castle?”

  He smiled at her and she was once more taken by the kindness in his eyes. After James and his cruelty it was balm to her spirit.

  “Some five or six, Lady, it is a border castle, as you know. Lord James has sent messengers on ahead of us, announcing his marriage, and indicating when we may be expected to arrive. We are ordered to proceed with all speed.”

  “Have you served him long, John?”

  Her question was idle and she was surprised to see the coldness cover his face as his gaze became watchful.

  “Fifteen years this Christmas.”

  “Then you have shared much.” Katherine persisted in the face of his reluctance, thinking to uncover some of the reason for her husband’s avid dislike of her. “Tell me ...”

  “Nay, lady. I do not speak for Lord James, I do but serve him.” His mouth clamped on the last words. Then he touched his cap, “Your servant,” and rode rapidly to the front of the line.

  Puzzled, Katherine turned back to her place. It was strange how little she knew of her own husband, he who had so changed her life. From Lady Dorotea’s talk she knew that he had traveled periodically to France and Burgundy in the past few years, that he often stayed afar in his various residences, going little to the court yet always coming to take part in the campaigns against the Scots under Richard of Gloucester. But of the man himself there was little told. “I know better than to ask, for whatever reason,” murmured Katherine to herself as she shifted in the saddle. They were climbing now, coming out of the shadow of the vast dale and into the sunlight. She pulled the coif from her head, allowing her hair to tumble freely in the warming winds. Behind her a young voice lifted in song,

  “Now comes the May, Returning to me and to my love...”

  It was the elder of the sisters who ceased as Katherine turned around to see. Apprehensively she ducked her head and waited for the reprimand this mistress might offer.

  Katherine smiled and offered her own scarcely true, shaky voice. “Aye, now, for he is come, come far for me.” They joined then in the sweet plaint, and after a few moments, Alison and Dame Barstow were lusty in the refrain, “I will go with him in the May.”

  They rode then until the shadows were shortened and the winds grew chill. Sometimes they sang the lusty ballads of the troubadours or songs of a lover to his lady that they had heard in the banquet halls, then a war song rose of the days of glory when England ruled two lands. When words failed for lack of language or translation, they substituted freely. Katherine laughed as freely as any when her voice failed to lift with the notes or when a ribald word was hastily turned aside.

  They rode into Aynarth Priory in the late afternoon in accordance with instruction given by John who had sent a messenger ahead. Travelers were few in these parts, especially when war was made against the Scots, and the accommodations were less than commodious. The men slept in their cloaks in a separate area for travelers outside, while the women, irrespective of rank, spent the night in narrow beds under a sheltering roof which was open on two sides. There were few friars and they did not believe in pampering themselves, the ale was thin, the morning gruel watery.

  Katherine scrubbed her face with cold water which did not alleviate the aches of a restless night. Her stomach growled with hunger but she was not tempted by the fare.
Annoyedly she accosted John,

  “Are there no better lodgings than these? Surely an inn or two remains in these hills?”

  Stung, he responded, “Such require money, Madam. These holy brethren are thankful for what we can give.”

  “Has James given you no money for such a journey?” Katherine was momentarily horrified before she realized that this was possibly part of the plan to reduce her, not only in her own sight but in that of others. “Never mind, I see that he has been parsimonious. Let it go.” She turned from the relief in the steward’s eyes. She could not demean James in the eyes of his retinue but she would add this fresh humiliation to the score she carried against him.

  John was saying, “We do not travel as liegemen of a great lord. That is dangerous in these parts. I was bidden to go discreetly and that you should do likewise.” He reddened, “Forgive me that I speak to you so, Madam.”

  Katherine could give ease to another’s discomfort, she who had so often been there herself. “You obey, John, even as I.” He smiled and the awkward moment passed as they mounted to begin the day’s ride.

  “Ah, the time will come, James of Hunsdale, when you shall pay.” Katherine thought that much of the morning as they rode ever deeper into the rising mountainous territory. Planning revenge did not wholly take her mind off her aching buttocks and parched throat but it did help. The maids, seeing her set face and brooding eyes did not venture close.

  “She misses her lord,” sighed romantic May. “The Lord James is so handsome. Does she love him fiercely, do you think?”

  “It was an arranged marriage, as our own will be.” Alison was practical.

  “I will not marry if I do not love.” May was bold but both girls dissolved in laughter at the unheard of thing.

  The next two days were all of a part. One night was spent in the open with the men-at-arms standing guard and a fire carefully watched that it did not rise too high. The next was passed at a poor inn where all slept in the common room on mats and ate dry bread for breakfast. The priory began to seem luxurious by comparison. Katherine’s dreams centered now on a hot bath, spiced ale and meat, in that order.

  Near noon of the day before they were to arrive at the castle, storm clouds built up in the north and a chill wind began to blow. Torrential rain followed and the party was soon soaked. Katherine felt more miserable than ever and began to sneeze.

  One of the men-at-arms rode close to John and spoke rapidly, his face a blur in the darkness of his mantle. John hesitated, then nodded. He came to Katherine, a closed look on his open face.

  “The soldier tells me that his relatives once lived in these parts before moving to York. There was a cluster of families, too small to be called a village. He thinks he can find it and I have agreed. The weather is too inclement for you.”

  Katherine could not resist saying, “But my husband’s orders must not be flouted. Have you not said so?”

  “You are in my protection and I must do as I think best.”

  They made an odd picture, she thought, discussing the proprieties while near to drowning in the inhospitable countryside. Somewhat ashamed Katherine said, “I agree. We must find shelter.”

  Several hours later she began to regret her decision as they wound through copses, over lengthening moor land, and up rocky trails. The rain was slowing up and thunder continued to boom. Their clothes were not only wet through but icy as well. They huddled in misery and followed blindly.

  Suddenly they rounded a sharp curve and saw a small valley where several houses sat close together. There was a wide expanse of cleared ground before them, and greenery nearby. Some of it had been woven into garlands which hung dismally in the cold rain. The soldier swung out in front and went ahead, calling in what seemed to be dialect. There was an answering hail and several figures emerged. They carried weapons and advanced cautiously, eyes fierce.

  Katherine watched as gestures were exchanged in an almost furtive manner. A hand was waved toward her and the bearded faces bent to look. John and the maids moved closer about her as a cry, quickly hushed, went up. The man, Martin, turned and hurried toward her, followed by a very old woman.

  “There is no need for alarm, my lady. There are only four families here now and they remember my kin. We are welcome for their sake. It will not be what your ladyship is accustomed to, but there is warmth and food.

  Abashed at his own temerity at so addressing his mistress, he wrapped the mantle more closely around his neck and was silent. John urged the party forward to Katherine’s relief. She could sit no longer, her bones ached with cold and her flesh was raw.

  As twilight came on, early in the sheltered outcroppings of rock, Katherine sat just inside the door of one of the huts—the houses were scarcely more than that —and enjoyed the first bodily comfort she had known in days. They had eaten heartily of the oddly flavored stew and black bread, drunk deeply of the ale. Rank and place were forgotten as they satisfied their needs. Then an old woman, crooning in a dialect Katherine could only partially understand, had helped her out of the clothes she wore and into a voluminous gray gown which wrapped several times about the too slender body.

  Dame Barstow nodded nearby while Alison and May giggled together. John had set himself to watch all night if need be; he kept a sharp eye on Katherine now as she yawned and stretched for she was ready to find anything that might double as a bed.

  The old woman came up and bent before her in a half bow. Katherine touched a hand to the skinny shoulder and smiled as the woman drew back with an exclamation. It was strange, Katherine thought, that no other women were in evidence and only two or three men. Surely there were others around? And why did the woman watch her so? Questions ceased as she lay down on the pallet in the corner that had been indicated. She drew her cloak up over her shoulders and fell instantly asleep. Once again the scent of James rose up from it and she smiled into the warmth.

  Deadly fear woke Katherine. The scent was in her nostrils and the feeling in the gooseflesh that covered her shaking body. She knew she must not cry out. There was a humming sound, a covering of soft laughter and the breath of a song. Cautiously, Katherine opened her eyes, even as instinct held her still. Had she not been drymouthed, she would have cried out at the sight before her.

  The hut backed onto solid rock from which water had dripped earlier in the evening. Now part of the rock had swung back to reveal a larger space which seemed filled with people dressed in red, green, orange and black. They milled about, moved back and forth, paying no heed to the strangers who slept as if drugged so close to them. But it was not they who held Katherine petrified. It was three garish, crudely made figures which sat heavily on wagons at the far part of the room. She had never seen the religious morality plays performed by the guilds on church holidays, but at the convent they had acted out some of the Biblical stories. These were figures she imagined might have been used in such dramas but here there was the feeling of intense evil. One figure was all in black, with a hideous carved face and flaming red lips. Another was a giant woman with huge breasts flaunted high and the last was a male figure almost dwarfed by the huge penis affixed to it. As she watched in horror, the song rose higher in pitch and the people surged toward the figures, their hands stretched out almost in hunger. Katherine put her hand in her mouth to stop the cry that threatened to break out. As she did so she knocked aside the horn cup that had held the last dregs of the ale she had drunk before lying down. It rattled across the earthen floor, making only a small noise, but such was the quality of the sound that it rose above the song, along with the girl’s gasp of hopelessness.

  As those nearest her turned with the hunted motions of wild things, Katherine closed her eyes and tossed as if in sleep that had turned restless. Her out-flung arm lay where the cup had been. There was total silence, then a shuffling movement and the feeling of being burned by many eyes.

  A female voice spoke in the strange dialect and was answered by a gruff male one. A hand touched Katherine’s face and it took
all her will to remain still and breathe as though in sleep.

  “She drank as deeply as the others. All is well.” The male voice was familiar but she could not place it.

  “It was foolish to come here.” The replying voice was strange as it lapsed back into the unknown language.

  The cloak was pulled more closely up around her face and Katherine felt the watcher as the fingers moved on her. There was a sudden savage twist of the skin on the side of her neck and she almost cried out in pain. She knew that had she done so she would have died in the same instant. There was an odor of savagery in the air that was older than the faith. What power protected her she did not know, she was only thankful that she was thus far safe.

  There was a rustle of movement as the watcher rose, then the sound of massive objects being pushed about and a sharp click, then swift feet moved past and all was quiet. Katherine lay for what seemed hours in the same position, not daring to move. Her side cramped, her feet burned and her left arm ached intolerably. In a rash moment she lifted one eyelid for a second and saw that a cowled figure sat very near her in the gloom of the tiny hut. They had left one of their own to watch. Katherine was as near to panic as he had been earlier. Hastily she closed her eye and shifted position. As she did so the watcher rose and came near.

  “My lady Katherine, is there anything I can bring you?" The soft voice was that of the maid, May, whom Katherine had seen gamboling with one of the bearded village men. Now there was the patina of lust and roughness under softness.

  Katherine shifted again and mumbled, “Jamie, Jamie . . .” She used his name as an incantation and it gave her some measure of comfort. May laughed and the sound was harsh in the stillness.

  Katherine did not know how long after that that she lay stiff and immobile on the pallet. Time blurred finally and exhaustion took too much of her strength. She lay in sleep while the dark room grew still, May retreated, and light began to rise.

  “Madame, Madame, Lady Katherine!” Dame Barstow’s voice was high and insistent, dragging at Katherine as she tossed in what seemed a never ending nightmare. “The sun is high, you must wake up now.”