by C. C. Wiley
* * * *
Madrigal sidestepped over a log and around a felled tree. Nathan shifted in the saddle, the torch held high overhead. Stars winked in the pitch-black cloudless sky.
The man they called Matthew rode toward him. “There are all but ten that are still unaccounted for.”
Nathan nodded. “’Tis good news, then.” The villagers had joined in the search and helped round up the stragglers. All but a handful had made an appearance. Lady Meg, that stubborn woman whom he had ordered to stay put in the keep, remained out of sight. It pleased him that she had obeyed his wishes. He imagined her fiery reception would be filled with indignation. He would receive all that she had to say, and then perhaps silence her with a kiss. A smile caught his lips by surprise.
Her passion for the people of Fletchers Landing should be commended. When he made his report to the king he would ensure there will be recommendations for her family. Baldric and her sisters were in need of a desirable future that far outreached the North Country.
Phillipa remained at the pen, ensuring that none of the sheep were harmed. Meg’s youngest sister gestured for him to ride closer. “Have you seen Brother John?”
Nathan narrowed his gaze, probing the crowd for the tall elderly monk. Brother John’s absence was commented upon by several of the villagers. He prayed that come daylight, they would not learn that another man of the cloth had sacrificed others for riches. He shook his head. No need to voice his concerns without evidence. “I shall continue to be on the watch for him. Is there something amiss that I may help with?”
Phillipa’s eyes widened before she set her attention on the pen’s fencing. “No, I…I found it curious. ’Tis all.”
Nathan followed the path where Phillipa had been focused mere seconds before. Torchlight wavered near the shoreline. He tugged on the reins, turning Madrigal’s head.
“Sir Nathan,” she said. Her hand came perilously close to Madrigal’s bridle.
“Stay back, my lady.” Nathan’s gut clenched. Any other person would have been knocked to the ground by Madrigal’s massive hooves. Instead, the steed bent his neck so that she could reach that sweet spot behind his ears and give him a good scratch. Nathan took a shuddering breath to steady his own nerves. “You have a golden touch with the animals.” He scrubbed at the whiskers roughening his jaw. “What is it that you seek from me?”
Her eyes widened as she fluttered her lashes. “Oh, I, um…thought you should look over there.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “A few of the lost sheep might be found in the meadow to the east.”
Nathan chewed on his lip. “Are you certain? I have already been over that land. Mayhap we should let Matthew handle the search on that side of the village and keep.”
“If you must,” she said. “At last count we were down to only a couple of the ewes missing.”
He wheeled Madrigal to the west. “If I don’t find anything of interest, I promise to return and speak with your servant.”
“Look,” Phillipa exclaimed. “There’s Meg now.” She jumped up and down in her youthful enthusiasm and waved. “Over here.”
Meg had a cloak wrapped around her body as if to ward off winter instead of the summer breeze. Her lush lips slashed a thin line over her pale face. “I see that almost all are found.”
“The hinges on the gate are old, rusted,” Nathan snapped out his report. Why did she have to disobey his order? “Did you find what you sought along the shoreline?”
She flinched. Just a slight jerk of her cheek. It was enough to let him know that she was up to something that she did not want to share.
“No. I saw nothing unusual. Only a fishing boat or two in the water.”
“Border reivers take to the water just as easily as the field, Lady Margaret. By going alone you put yourself in unnecessary danger.”
Her shoulders drew back, unwittingly exposing the curves hidden under bodice and cloak. “As you informed me, ’twas not the work of reivers but of faulty metal.”
Nathan wished he could enjoy the view from where he sat above her in the saddle. His fingers tightened around the reins. “But we did not know this at the time. Did we?”
“Meg,” Phillipa said. “We are worried because Brother John is missing, too.” They turned as a group of villagers carrying torches drew nearer. The flock of wayward sheep trotted in front of them.
“This be the lot of them,” Matthew shouted. And all gave a collective sigh.
Phillipa swung the gate shut. “Meg, we must bring out a cask of your best ale to celebrate.”
Nathan silently thanked the young girl for redirecting their discussion. The night’s task was successful but as far as he was concerned, it was not over.
* * * *
Meg paced her chamber after she sent Anna on to her own room. The smugglers had indeed returned and stole the remains of the casks filled with ale and mead.
She had had enough. Where had Brother John been since vespers? It did not matter the hour. She must speak to the monk. Together they would figure out a way to help Nathan finish his report and send him away. Otherwise she would never have the time or the peace to complete another shipment. The next time she met with the smugglers, she would come armed and ready to negotiate a stronger agreement.
Her feet stalled. Could she involve the Graham’s protection without losing anymore?
She whipped on her cloak for the second time that night. There was a rapping at the door.
“Did you forget something, Anna?” She swung it open and gasped.
“Lady Meg,” Nathan crossed his ankles and leaned his forearm against the frame. “I would speak with you in private.”
“The hour is late,” she snapped.
Her skin flushed under his scrutiny. “And that is why you are leaving your chambers?” He rubbed his whisker-shadowed jaw. “I would offer my escort for safe passage.”
“Through my own keep?”
“I shall conduct an investigation come the morrow. Until I do, I feel it is my duty to protect all who are here in Fletchers Landing.”
Meg huffed and untied the cloak. She flung it on the chair near the door and motioned for the infernal man to enter the sitting room. Her back to him, she closed the doors to her bedchamber and pocketed the key. “You may speak your peace and then leave.”
Her brows rose as he selected the chair near the hearth. His proud chin lifted. “Sit. ’Tis certain you are as weary of this day as I.”
Her teeth clicked together as she attempted to keep from biting off his head. “I prefer to stand. Any discussion at this ridiculous hour will be short.”
“As you wish, my lady,” he said. “At least draw nearer so that I don’t have to shout.” His head tipped to rest against the chair. He closed his eyes, giving her relief from his penetrating gaze. Lines creased his brow. A heavy weariness seemed to settle over his broad shoulders.
Silence stretched between them as he waited for her to do as he bid. A battle of the wills had been drawn. If she were to ever find her bed she would have to concede to his wishes. Just this once. She stepped closer and stumbled as he opened one eye.
“I shan’t eat you,” he said.
Somehow, that did little to soothe her. Hands clutched together to keep them from showing her nervousness, she took a deep breath. “What do you wish to discuss that cannot wait until morning?”
Nathan leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. The leather chausses stretched across his thighs, drawing her attention. “How much do you know about your friar? Can you trust him?”
“Brother John has been with our family ever since our father returned from one of his many trips. Surely, you don’t think he cannot be trusted. He is a man of the church.”
“And he is human, capable of emotions that many of us do not wish to examine in the light of day.”
“I can assure you th
at there is nothing to fear about that old gentle soul.”
“And the blacksmith? Why did he not come when the call for help came?”
“I suggest you ask him that on the morrow when you do your investigation. Mayhap, you will discover that it was simply a case of worn hinges and lack of care. Nothing more.”
“I look for no reason to lay blame at their feet. I wish only to offer my protection to you. Your family.” He pressed up from the chair and tucked a curl behind her ear.
Her eyelids fluttered. She caught his hand, pressing his warmth to her cheek.
He cradled her face. “Meg, I must depart your chamber before I offend your virtue.”
A sigh broke through as she turned and placed a kiss into his palms. “Go,” she whispered. “Before we regret our decisions.”
The door closed behind him.
Meg stood alone in the center of the room and felt the emptiness grow deeper than any cavern she had ever known.
Chapter 10
After rising early, Nathan waited in the great room and watched the coming and going of the servants. It appeared the household had returned to their daily routine despite last eve’s romp through the pastures. He’d had several hours of restful sleep since his arrival. For some that would seem lacking. But for him, the last months had seen more waking hours, wandering the castle hallways and bailey yards. Reliving the torture. This morn, his strength had renewed. ’Twas as if he had clawed his way out of an enchanted faerie hole, finally escaping their spiteful torture.
“Ah, Brother John,” he called out.
The old monk slowed his pace across the room. He glanced to the corners as if to look for a means of escape.
Nathan’s smile broadened. He had his first victim of the morning in his sights. Brother John blanched under his scrutiny before presenting him with a nod. A halo of gray curls bobbed around his head.
“Good morrow, Sir Nathan. You are up early.”
“’Tis a busy day planned.”
He nodded. “There are always tasks to be done at Fletchers Landing.”
“I imagine some will be moving slower, what with having to chase after a flock of sheep.” Nathan let his gaze fall over the man. “I don’t recall seeing you there to lend that helping hand the men in cloth are always harping on. Were you unwell?”
“What? You harbor ill feelings for the men who serve God?”
“Not I! I only carry great distrust of them. But that is because I have yet to meet one who truly cares for more than bettering their position.”
“I fear you will find many who are not of the church who share those same aspirations. How then do you get along?”
Nathan spread his hands wide. “The past has taught me to treat all with great care and watchfulness.”
Brother John nodded and matched his steps with Nathan’s. “Mayhap you will one day meet one worthy of your trust.”
Nathan sought peace and bit his tongue. They took the path leading to the bailey yard. Nathan had yet to find the best place to start Baldric’s lessons. His exercise would serve twofold. One, to discover Brother John’s reason for his absence and two, to gain the location for the next steps to regaining the strength of his soul.
“Indeed,” Brother John said, “One must always watch over their flock. Even those who are contrary and do not act with wisdom.” He shook his head. “There are times that I do fear for us all.”
“Is that what you were doing? Watching over someone other than the sheep? I was informed that the keep is safe.”
“’Tis certes that you have noticed the lack of chaperones properly suited to watch over the children. The Lady Phillipa was safe amidst the villagers. They would not harm her for they know that she keeps the animals healthy. I set myself between Lord Baldric’s and Lady Anna’s doors.”
“But what of Lady Meg’s?”
“She would not nor could not hide in her bedchamber. What would the people say of her? That she is a coward? Too weak to lead?” He scratched the graying whiskers on his chin. “That is my role, though I will admit mayhap that I am getting older, feebler than when I first arrived with their father, Sir Godwin, all those years ago.” He cut his attention to wander over the fields. “My time grows shorter, Sir Nathan. It warms my heart to know that you are here.”
Nathan narrowed his gaze. Somehow that old man had turned him around. “I do not intend on staying for any length of time. Once I have completed my mission for our king, I shall take my leave.”
“Yes? Mayhap, until that time comes, we are all in need of watchful care.” He sighed and plucked a yellow bloom from the gorse bush that lined the edges of the path. His foot slid over fallen thorns.
Nathan caught Brother John’s elbow. “Steady.”
“Gramercy.” He righted the cross hanging from a leather cord around his neck. “I would never hear the end of Anna’s scolding if I should fall again.”
Nathan furrowed his brows. “This has happened before?”
“A common thing when age creeps up on a soul.”
They came to a rise in the meadow. Not far from the keep, but close enough to see if a stranger should cross the gates. There was shade and a breeze when it came time to rest. And Baldric would have privacy to learn the steps of swordplay without others watching.
“This will do,” Nathan said with satisfaction. Now all he had to do was keep his head once they began their training. Sweat popped out on his forehead. He sat down on a nearby boulder. His hands trembled against his thighs. He curled his fingers under to hide them.
Brother John found a seat and groaned as he settled himself on the other stone. “You’re stronger than you realize, young knight. There will come a time when the dark memories no longer have the ability to haunt you.”
Nathan grunted. “What would you know of it, monk?”
“Think you that I have always resided on these shores? Nestling in a little cottage waiting to die of old age has never been my plan.”
The brother drew his sword and rested it on his knees. The steel glistened in the sun. His gnarled hands slide over the hilt, guiding Nathan’s eye. “This was gifted to me. By another man of the cloth. He too was a knight.” His fingers slid over a wing etched into the metal. “As am I.”
Nathan sat straighter. The itch between his shoulders had returned as he looked closer at the design. Swans in flight, linked their heads and wings. He had seen a similar weapon. They were carried by the men who came before him. The ones who first formed the Knights of the Swan. “What mischief are you about?” Nathan asked.
Brother John dug under his tunic and pulled out a small leather pouch that hung from his neck. “Open your hand.”
Taking a deep breath, Nathan unclenched his fists and did as he was bid. A coin like the one the messenger delivered at Clearmorrow Castle and like every other time that the Knights of the Swan were called into duty fell into his palm.
He lifted his head to meet Brother John’s watery gaze. “You were the one who called me here?”
A chuckle shook the old knight’s body until it loosened a cough. “I only made a suggestion. Though I must confess, I had hopes that it would be heard. The border between England and Scotland is of concern. And I’m too old to chase after border reivers and those who plot against England.”
“Henry will expect me to join him in Calais.” The journal the king sent became a weight in the pocket sewn inside Nathan’s tunic. Did the monk know of it? “This is the only reason you sent for me? To contain the reivers?”
“They are but a nuisance. Lady Margaret keeps them content for now.” He shrugged. “But for how long? Who can see into the next day? Or guess when they will change the arrangement and come a roving?”
* * * *
Meg shoved the strands of hair that had come loose from the twisted braid and resettled her cap. Hope swelled, lifting her steps. Her apiar
y was growing. Basket-shaped hives were lined up neatly in a row. The new swarm of bees had begun to settle in their skep. They buzzed and waggled their dance before landing on the oak slates. Bee after bee crawled through the opening and began to fill the honeycomb. Soon, she would gather the golden sticky liquid for making the mead. The endless process never ceased to amaze her. Mayhap the extra honey would help her fill the smugglers’ next order of mead.
Scowling, she yanked off her beekeeping gloves, slapping them against her palm. Thanks to reivers, the wares she had stored were stolen. That Duncan Graham had better have a good explanation for breaking the agreement when next she met with him.
The next load of honey mead and ale needed to be relocated to the caverns. Who could she trust to move it and stand watch until nightfall? For their safety, the villagers were kept unaware of the goings-on in the cavern below the keep tower.
The friar was becoming too feeble. She dared not include Baldric or her sisters. They were unsuited to defend themselves and did not have the strength to fight off the reivers or the smugglers. It was becoming too dangerous for everyone. But what choice did she have?
She replaced the bellows near the hearth. Embers glowed red, reminding her of the lights she had witnessed floating over the firth. The blacksmith, Wayland, was the strongest of the remaining men in the village. What did she know of him? He had newly arrived from Carlisle with his niece. Whether he was swinging his hammer against the metal or speaking with the other villagers there was a sense of danger in him. Could he be trusted to keep silent?
Her teeth scraped over her bottom lip. The sweet taste of apple blossoms coated her tongue, brought back images of Sir Nathan’s copper-colored mane as he wiped the sticky substance from her mouth.
She certainly could not ask the king’s knight to watch over the shipment.
Their survival during the next winter was in jeopardy. There were no other choices left. She would have to speak with Anna and Phillipa.
Meg looked over the beeswax that would be used to create additional candles. “Thomas, fetch Matthew and have him help you carry this vat of beeswax to the chandlery. Ladies Anna and Phillipa will direct you where to place it once you are there.”