While attending on Goodwife Baker, she hadn’t allowed herself time to come to terms with the enormity of what had occurred back at the manor. Had she put her uncles at risk? Had she put dangerous information into the hands of a dyed-in-the-wool Protestant, a man loyal to the king and determined to do his duty to his country? Allan cared for her, evidently, but would that affection be enough to compensate for her betrayal? And how much had she, by concealing the truth, put him at risk from the authorities, too?
Then she learned of the skirmish at the commandery, which had taken place the same day as the birthing. She discovered that Allan had been set upon by Master Wright, the local constable, and two “dutiful citizens”, incited by Master Kennett to arrest a man suspected of harboring Catholic plotters.
Her immediate response to the news was to pace back and forth in her cottage, gnawing at her fingers, her stomach tied in knots. What should they do? Flee? Deny everything? Rescue Allan? Bribe Kennett? Should she go to Kennett and reason with him, offer herself to him in exchange for Allan’s freedom? Would Kennett’s word be enough to clear them of all charges?
This was where her knowledge failed her. She knew little of the process of law, only that much of it seemed to be at the whim of individual magistrates and that, generally, it worked in favor of those who had the most coin.
Allan’s arrest was too catastrophic an event for her to deal with alone. She must seek counsel from her uncles—surely, they had grown to like and respect Allan enough not to want him to see him rot in jail? If only they could help him without endangering themselves!
Her search for Anselm, Benedict, and Martin in the village proved fruitless, adding to her burgeoning feeling of panic. Eventually, not knowing what else to do, she donned her cloak and set off for the commandery. She kept a wary eye out for Kennett, and continually checked the presence of the knife at her belt, making sure it was easily to hand should it be needed.
As she approached the manor, she could hear the sound of maul and chisel on stone and was greatly surprised to discover all three men methodically removing ashlars from the back of the chapel.
“Merciful heaven—what are you doing?” She ran forward, horrified to see the building that had once meant so much to them with a great hole in its roof, and a massive breach in the wall.
Benedict straightened and brushed his gloved hands on his leather apron. “It had to be done, Child—it had to be done. We talked about it long into the night and decided it was best to brazen it out and confound Master Kennett’s accusations by continuing to work as normal as if we had nothing to hide.”
“But the chapel, where we used to worship? Could you not have finished demolishing the guesthouse instead?”
“Nay, Daughter.” Benedict’s face was solemn. “I found an irregularity in the wall of the chapel some moons ago. I fully suspect the Templars’ cache will be hidden within it, behind a shallow facing stone. But I’ll not risk bringing the whole structure down upon us by chiseling away at the footings. We must take down the wall from the top, stone by stone, and speedily.”
She could understand the need for haste. “But what if Master Clark catches you? He’ll claim the treasure for himself, now that Allan’s in prison.”
“Allan, is it? Not ‘Master Smythe’ any longer?” Benedict’s eyes twinkled. “I thought as much. You’ve grown fond of him, have you not? Nay, I’ll not chastise you for it—despite being a Protestant, he’s a noble, hard-working man and would suit you well.”
She flushed. “Never mind that now. What can I do to help you?” She couldn’t bear the thought of Kennett stealing the fruits of all their labors. Speed was of the essence.
“I doubt Master Clark will be back for a while. He thinks himself safe now that Master Smythe is incarcerated and will doubtless be quaffing ale at some inn or other. If I’m right, we’ll have the Templars’ hoard in our hands by nightfall. Then, we must make our plans. They could include flight to France.” He held Cecily’s gaze. “Could you endure to leave this place and begin anew?”
She didn’t know the answer to that question. Was there any point in staying if Master Clark took over the commandery, with Allan either dead or brought to his knees?
Nay—she’d not allow that to happen. Allan must be saved at all costs. Partly because he could not, then, be forced to denounce them, and partly because—well, because she couldn’t bear the burden of guilt, knowing she was partly responsible for his fall.
“I’ll go to Allan. I’ll see what can be done.”
“I wouldn’t advise it. You know naught of such places as prisons, Cecily. And what can you hope to achieve?”
“I can take him succor at the very least. Mayhap, discover if he means to give us away and if so, persuade him not to.” She didn’t really know what she could do. All she knew was that she couldn’t stand idle when a crisis of such monumental proportions threatened her family.
“If I forbade you to go, would you listen?” Benedict held her gaze.
She looked back, praying he wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes. She was used to being strong for the brethren—she mustn’t let her courage fail her now.
He shrugged. “As you are determined to go, might I suggest taking Master Smythe’s horse? You’re less likely to be molested if you ride into Bulforde with your head up and looking confident. And if you’re waylaid, just dig your heels in and flee. Take Simpkin with you—he could sit up behind you.”
She wasn’t confident about riding, and Baldur was a spirited stallion. She also knew the steed did not enjoy being taken out in inclement weather. It was a risk. But she’d controlled plow horses before now and ridden on their backs. For the sake of everyone, she must try her best.
Fortunately, Simpkin appeared almost as soon as she left the men to their demolition and headed toward the stable. He wasted no time in saddling Baldur and, soon, she was perched awkwardly atop the beast on a saddle not designed for ladies. Simpkin elected to sit astride the horse’s neck and control the reins.
“He knows me, Mistress, and will be guided by me. Have no fear. I’ve fed him enough apples to keep him sweet-tempered for as long as it takes to get to town.”
He did an admirable job of getting both them and the animal safely as far as the lock-up in Bulforde. Cecily slid from the saddle and hurried toward the tiny building. No one seemed to be about, so she stood on tiptoe and peered through the bars into the gloom beyond.
“Allan? Allan! Are you there?”
There was a rank smell of damp emanating from the building, like old straw and rats’ droppings. There was no smell or sound of fire—he must be freezing to death in there.
“Cecily?” There was a rustle from within, and she saw a shape move toward her in the gloom. Pulling her head back a little allowed sunlight to filter through, illuminating Allan.
She cringed. “What have they done to you?” His face was a mess of dried blood and bruises.
“I took a lot of subduing,” he replied. “And was rewarded with a blackened eye and a bloodied nose. But it’s not broken, so my good looks may yet be restored.”
He grimaced then, and she saw his lip was split, in addition to his other injuries. Her heart swelled within her.
“You should not have come, sweeting. It appears that Kennett will go to any lengths to wrest either my livelihood or the manor from me. And we both know he wants you. You and your family must leave the village immediately. I have foolishly let my guard down and must reap the consequences. You are still free. But every second counts if you are to remain so. Get you gone, and take your so-called uncles with you.”
“Not while you languish here. What can I do? What can I bring for you? How are you to be freed?”
“That’s not your problem. As soon as Master Swaffham learns what has occurred, he will launch a countersuit against Kennett for theft and fraud. That should enable me to be released while the case is investigated. You must concentrate on saving your own skin. Don’t worry about mine.”
I
t was magnanimous of him to be concerned for her safety after she’d deceived him so cruelly. Or had he tired of her, and now wanted her gone?
“I’m going nowhere,” she replied stoutly. “Not until you’re out of here. I care not what Master Clark may claim—he has used you most ill and must be punished.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A drop of mercy for an unrepentant Protestant like me? I’m honored.”
“Don’t jest. It’s not about faith—it’s about fairness. And justice.”
“Sometimes prudence must take precedence over all those things. You and your ‘uncles’ need to leave. Kennett is vengeful and spiteful—this I have learned to my cost.”
“But we can’t go. Not until we’ve found—” She bit her lip.
He narrowed his eyes. “Found what?”
“I can’t tell you now—it’s too dangerous. But it is something that could help us all. You must trust me on this.” Though she knew full well that she’d given him little reason to have faith in her. Better to change the subject.
“What may I bring you? I shall ride home and fetch whatever you need.”
“Ride?” He was looking at her askance. “Don’t tell me you came on Baldur?”
“Aye. Simpkin steered him. The boy’s here, too—he’s keeping an eye out for the constable.”
“That corrupt knave.” Allan rolled his eyes. “When I am free, I shall set about having Bulforde’s constable replaced. Nothing will convince me that he wasn’t bribed by Kennett to imprison me. They have no proof that I’ve done anything wrong. No proof at all.”
Good. Then they couldn’t keep Allan here. It pained her to see all those hurts upon him and be able to do nothing about them. And it aroused a righteous anger within her breast.
“Just tell me what you need. I’ll be back straightway.”
His eyes softened as he gazed at her. “Very well. If you are determined not to leave as yet, a stub of candle would be welcome. An additional blanket, and something to eat and drink. But don’t come yourself—’tis too dangerous. Send the items along with Simpkin.”
She was about to shake her head, but his gaze intensified. “Swear to me that you will not come back here but will lie low until you hear from me. Send Simpkin. Do you swear it?”
She nodded dumbly. A few days ago, she’d been only too eager to run from him. Now, she could hardly bear to leave him.
“Whatever happens, Cecily—and I fear I cannot predict what that might be—please know that I meant what I said that night. If fortune smiles on us, I will make you my wife, and the commandery will be yours again. You hold my heart, Mistress Cecily Neville. Pray care for it well, and treat it gently. It has been broken once before and is but barely healed.”
She couldn’t bear to look at him after that, filled with fear, shame, and guilt. She should have told him the truth far sooner, and now she’d put him in mortal danger. Yet still, he said he loved her.
“I do not deserve it,” she gulped, then turned away and stumbled across the cobbles to where Simpkin waited with Baldur.
It was not until they were halfway back to Temple Roding village that she realized her sin of omission.
Should everything fall apart, she might never see Master Allan Smythe again. So, he would never know that she returned his love.
Chapter Eighteen
Being incarcerated with nothing but the rats for company gave a man plenty of time to think. It would have been easy for Allan to slide into melancholy—he was betrayed by Cecily, abused by Kennett, and his plans were in ruins. But a vein of bloody-minded determination ran through his nature, and he was determined to resolve his difficulties. Only—it was impossible to do so from this noxious and noisome cell.
He drew out the miniature portrait of Hannah and turned it to catch what little light filtered through the bars of his prison. The gems sparkled, and the gold settings shone. His heart lurched as he gazed at the beloved face of his dead wife. Nothing would ever bring her back, but her memory would remain in his heart. God forbid he should ever forget that face.
“I need you now, more than ever, my love,” he murmured, then pressed his lips against the cold, beautiful face. “But not in a way that either of us would have imagined. This sacrifice cuts me to the bone, but I hope you’ll forgive me for making it and understand that there’s no alternative.”
He clutched his hand around the jewel and leaned against the wall of the cell, waiting. The constable must come soon to bring him bread, or to let Simpkin in when he came with that blanket Cecily had promised, and some decent vittles.
How could the woman have deceived him so? But had he ever given her any reason to trust him with her secrets? As she’d said, what had remained hidden was to protect others, not just herself. He’d given her every cause to dislike him when Kennett’s greed had forced him to claim fees for renewing the leases on the cottages. Now that he understood better how the village worked, he knew full well why that proposal would have caused hardship and why Cecily, quite justly, had opposed it.
Her experiences had made her loath to trust a stranger, particularly the one she considered to have deprived her of her home. She’d fought him with every ounce of her being—he should have suspected that when she suddenly offered her own and her “uncles’” help, it was a smokescreen for something else. But what that something was, she’d not been prepared to share with him.
She had felt so soft and sweet in his arms on that Christmas night and had answered his kisses with an innocent hunger that incited him. How fortunate that he hadn’t pursued his advantage any further, knowing what he now knew.
But she had touched something inside him, ignited a flame that would not be quenched. It was more than desire, more than admiration—it was, he very much feared—love. Which meant he must safeguard Cecily at any cost, either by giving her the protection of his name, or getting her out of danger—well away from Temple Roding and Kennett. The idea of her in that serpent’s coils was anathema. He’d rather recant his own faith and flee with her—abroad if need be—than see her a victim of that man’s cruelty and spite.
A shadow filled the window slot. “Master Smythe?”
Relief flooded through him. “Swaffham! You heard, then?”
“Aye.” Allan’s bailiff spat onto the cobbles outside. “That venomous worm Clark has bribed a crooked constable and his cronies. They have no evidence of wrongdoing on your part—only hearsay. I’ve made inquiries, and none of the villagers are prepared to support Clark’s assertions. Much of that is down to the efforts of a certain young woman—I’m sure you know who I mean—and her kin. But I expect your decision to put off charging for the leases until the spring has also influenced everyone. Clark will have to part with a great deal of coin if he is to bribe any of them to change their minds.”
Cecily! She’d been working on his behalf. Good—it meant she cared enough to make the effort. He smiled.
“In good spirits, I see, despite your injuries. We will bring a counter-charge of assault, methinks. I have already spoken to the local magistrate to see if the constable can be held to account, but it seems that only coin will set the wheels of the law running smoothly hereabouts. Right glad am I that I live in a town and not the countryside. It feels positively feudal.”
“Then what are we to do?”
“I shall raise coin on your behalf and stand surety for your release. It will absorb the rents I collected at Christmas, however, which is a shame.”
“Nay—don’t waste those on setting me free. We need that money to pay Simpkin—and Lettice when she returns—and to buy winter feed for the animals. It was my folly that put me in this cage, and I’ll have neither beast nor man suffer for it. Take this, sell it, or offer it in lieu of coin, and do what you can. I can’t do anything in my own cause until I get out of this place.”
Allan pushed Hannah’s bejeweled miniature portrait between the bars. If Swaffham noticed a pause before Allan let go of the object, he gave no sign of it.
“Thi
s will certainly oil the machinery of the law and borrow you the freedom you need to clear your name. Have no fear—I’m your man, steady and true. And if you’re unable to pay my wages for a month or so, I shall not complain. I’m no pauper, having other accounting work to do besides that of the commandery. And it would gall me to see that conniving Kennett Clark triumph over us after all our endeavors.”
“It does dent one’s faith to see such villains prosper. Were he not my wife’s only surviving relative, I would have cut off the acquaintance long since.”
“Ah, speaking of acquaintance—your serving wench, Cecily, gave me a basket for you. But I’ll have to fetch the constable to open the door, so I can give it to you.”
“Stay. How did you know I was here?”
“Cecily rode over to tell me, on that monstrous stallion of yours. She is naught if not courageous, that girl. You have a propensity for winning the loyalty of your servants. I can’t imagine my maid bestirring herself much on my account.”
Cecily had ridden Baldur to find Swaffham? After he’d told her to lie low, avoid Kennett and keep herself safe? Would she never hearken to his advice? He rolled his eyes. The Hospitallers must have had their work cut out for them when they tried to raise her.
Despite the fact that they, too, had beguiled him, he couldn’t hate them for it. Even though they were of the old faith, every single one of them had more grace, more honor in his little finger than Kennett Clark had in his entire body.
Swaffham bade Allan adieu for the time being, and he moved back to prop himself against the wall again, considering it both safer and cleaner than the floor. His hand automatically reached for the comfort of Hannah’s miniature portrait.
Of course, it was no longer there—he’d traded it for his freedom. What was he going to use for comfort now? Was he truly ready to replace Hannah? He pressed his lips together. Was there any hope of future happiness with a closet Catholic who had deceived and used him for her own ends? And even if he and Cecily resolved their differences, would fortune favor them? Because fortune, as he’d learned to his cost, was a fickle mistress.
Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5) Page 13