Jack was gnawing his fist but content and eager to be diverted by the sparkling toy of a gold chain and crucifix, dragged by Valens across the rim of his circle of blankets. Gurgling, the baby obligingly tottered, then crawled on plump little legs after the pretty thing. Valens allowed Jack to grab the chain and picked up the baby, settling the child on his hip. Jack snuffled and stared up at him in wide-eyed wonder. He trusts me.
“Jack! Where are you?”
On her knees now, the woman was patting and throwing aside the empty circle of clothes, gasping in her panic. Valens loomed closer, sweating a little himself, though his voice was cool and low.
“Here with me. Shush.” He closed his other hand around his little mother’s thin wrist and yanked her to her feet, deftly releasing her and removing her eating dagger from her belt as she stumbled. She fell against him and he caught her again, winding an arm about her middle and snagging her against his body as closely as he cradled her son. Her mouth and eyes were as wide as Jack’s, but she did not scream. Her attention was altogether on another matter.
“No, Jack, not in your mouth.” She grabbed the gold chain and made a brave attempt to smile at her son. “Never something you could choke on.”
Valens released her wrist to sweep his dark cloak around all three of them. “I shall know that next time.”
“Give me my boy.” The wench reached for him but Jack nuzzled against Valens, who was in no hurry to release either of them. He leaned closer, keeping a firm hand on the baby.
“No.” Valens gambled on her not wishing to scare or hurt Jack by trying to wrest him free.
Her eyes glanced away from him and her baby to the camp. At a snap of his fingers, Sebastian’s two good men rose out of the undergrowth, taking a step closer. The woman moaned as she saw the chance of any possible escape diminishing to nothing.
“No help here or over there,” Valens spoke as if no other fate was possible. “You and Jack are coming with me.”
“Why should we?”
He liked the flash of temper. Anger meant she would not faint. This close, he saw her face for the first time, rather than her bent head or profile. He stared for an instant—he could not help it.
My little mother is a pretty waif. Not beautiful, he corrected at once, not with that grubby hair or sharp little nose, but her face was free of pox scars and had an open, impudent look. She had a narrow head and a thin mouth that curved up at the corners and green eyes that shone with fury, lightening them to the color of fresh beech leaves. He had done well for himself by her capture. To marry this will be no torment.
He inhaled sharply and smelled her sweet, milky scent, felt her turgid breasts press against his lower ribs. She was smaller, much slighter than him, but tucked nicely under his chin for all that. The realization slid through his mind as fast as an arrow bolt, and then he was answering.
“I need your help.”
He had not meant to say that. He wanted to get her walking, get them farther into the trees, away from the others. “Come with me now. No trouble.”
He prodded her side with a finger and she jerked sideways, flinching as if she feared a dagger thrust. “I promise I will not hurt you or your boy,” he added.
“Such vows are easy to make,” she answered at once, reaching out again. “Give me my son.”
He prodded her shoulder. “Walk first.” He did not tell her there were horses nearby, one step at a time was enough.
Still the woman did not move. She stared at how he held Jack, balanced against his hip, and more suspicion flared in her face. “Why—”
I cannot waste more time on this. Edith is ailing. Valens scooped baby Jack into her arms and picked both of them up. Ignoring her instant struggles, he began a shuffling retreat, flanked by the two men. When the girl opened her mouth to yell, he silenced her by pressing his lips onto hers.
Refusing to acknowledge either the guards’ knowing smirks or the blistering agony when the annoying, squirming, necessary wench bit him, he staggered deeper into the forest.
How had he ever thought this would be easy? Once I have them back at home, it will be.
He could only hope.
Chapter 2
“Here.”
A strong arm reached over her shoulder and her kidnapper offered her a flask and a hard strip of something that looked like old leather in the darkness. Katherine tried to ignore it but curiosity compelled her to half-turn in the saddle.
“Dried meat for Jack to chew on,” the man explained, dipping his head as if unsure of her reaction. “I saw he has some teeth. I thought, perhaps, that chewing would soothe him.”
“My thanks.” Good manners prompted her answer before she could stop herself and thirst made her take the flask as well as the meat. Nursing made her thirsty and her kidnapper had known that, just as he had noticed that Jack had most of his milk teeth.
But do I like it, that he notices things? He is still a pig and my captor. I wish I had not thanked him. He had not done these things from kindness, she decided. He was taking them somewhere, sneaking through the dark woods, and he clearly wanted them both quiet.
He could have gagged you, a deep inner voice warned, but Katherine blinked that away and let her baby grab the meat strip. Jack was wakeful and fretting, suckling at her half-bared breast—she loathed the idea of her kidnapper seeing her bosom and had done all she could to keep herself covered, save what was needed—more for comfort and habit than hunger. Her one consolation was that Jack was not truly frightened and watched everything with dark, amazed eyes.
It irked her like an itch she could not scratch that little Jack, her baby, liked their kidnapper. He grabbed at the strip of meat again, waved it around, and gurgled at the man who had carried them off.
“I am surprised you do not swaddle him,” said her captor. Katherine bristled at the implied criticism.
“That is a southern custom,” she snapped. “And a new thing.” The lords and ladies of faraway London might do it, but she disliked the thought. Let my Jack kick and flap as he wishes.
“Pardon, Mistress,” came the breathy apology along her ear, tingling like a warm finger. “I meant no insult.”
Determined not to be so easily mollified, Katherine relaxed nonetheless. She drained the weak ale then asked, “Where are we going?” She wanted to keep watch for a chance for her and Jack to escape, but at the moment, pinned in her captor’s wiry arms, she knew escape remained elusive.
And they were on the back of a horse. Jack, perched astride in front of her, seemed delighted with riding, but Katherine was not. This steady amble was still faster than she could walk. They were going farther and farther from the women’s camp. In which direction, she wondered. The skies were overcast, with no stars to give her any clue. Yet Jack has not been hurt or threatened and I have not been treated harshly. The guards are not coming with us. Surely these are all good things?
“We are traveling to my home.”
Katherine started, having forgotten she had asked anything, and those warm, wiry arms tightened around her.
“I am Valens, the arrow maker,” the fellow went on. He released his grip on the reins for an instant to do something, clean his face with his sleeve, she realized. As if that will make him more agreeable to me. “What is your name?”
“I am a weaver,” she replied, without mentioning her name or the other trade that Eric had refused to teach her, before he died.
Her captor ignored her refusal to tell her name, making her brief victory seem petty. “And Jack?” he asked instead.
“Is mine.”
Valens the fletcher sighed above the top of her head. Her unveiled, uncovered head, although she was—
“I am a widow,” Katherine burst out, not wanting this man, her kidnapper, to assume that her son had been born out of wedlock. “I was married for over two years. Jack is my boy.”
“How old is he?”
“A little over a year.”
“By Adam, that is fortunate,” she h
eard the man mutter, and then, more loudly, “You still feed him yourself?”
It was obvious she did, since she had her gown half unlaced and Jack’s small warm hand pressed against her left breast as he gave another half-hearted suck. Her nipple was sore and she flinched, covering her yelp with speech. “Why this interrogation? What do you mean with us? Are you a necromancer?”
She felt inhaled breath ghost across her hair. “What?” demanded Valens.
“Everyone knows such men will do terrible things to gain knowledge.” Rumor whispered of secret rituals of blood and power. “Perhaps even murder babies…”
A firm squeeze of her waist made Katherine choke off the rest of her question, terror leaping up and down her back in a brand of ice. She closed her eyes in desperate prayer, clinging to her baby while the would-be Herod and slayer of innocents seated behind her cackled.
He was laughing, she realized an instant later, snorting and scolding.
“Ah, if my lord Sebastian could hear you he would box your ears! Necromancers and learned men alike care for infants the same as we and would no more harm your Jack than any Christian, Jew, Muslim or Pagan. Where do you get such ignorant ideas?”
“The goose women said—”
“The goose women,” Valens interrupted firmly. “Do you truly think their opinions are worth a peppercorn?”
A tide of sticky shame rose in her throat, before she reminded herself that she and Jack had been the ones stolen. “They took me in.”
“Good Christians, then.” His dry voice grew sly. “And allowing you to do the washing and stuffing you always at the back of their camp, far away from their fires and their nightly carousing. Feed you well, did they?”
The hunger that always ground in her sparkled before her eyes for an instant as visions of hot bread, hot pottage, butter, and cheese swam in the night air ahead of her. She had forgotten what it was like not to be hungry, or thirsty.
“Such charity,” Valens went on, as her silence proved his point.
“Better than you,” she spat in return, too furious for self-interest. Horrified by her outburst, she hunched lower, curling over Jack to protect him from the expected blows. Her son gave a whimper, perhaps sensing her shifting, uncertain moods.
“Steady, little mother.” As if he was truly concerned, Valens kissed the top of her head.
Katherine was disconcerted afresh. He had kissed her before, to cover her mouth and keep her silent, but this chaste embrace seemed kindly. He tucked the ends of his cloak about her trembling body and stroked Jack’s cheek with something which made her boy giggle and snatch at the new pretty thing.
Jack lifted the feather up for her to admire and she kissed his chubby hand—the same kind of kiss their kidnapper had given her.
“What is happening?” she cried, feeling that she understood nothing any more. She squirmed in the saddle and, for the first time that night, came fully face to face with the man who had taken her.
Surprise stopped her breath for an instant. A pair of knowing amber eyes stared back at her. There were deep shadows under his eyes and a pinched sadness hovered round his broad mouth, but for all that, Valens was young. As she took in his unblemished, beardless, open face, its complexion pink and white like Jack’s, she watched a slow blush creep up his chin to his hairline. No wonder he covered his face with dirt, earlier this night. That blush is near as bright as a moon.
“There is no other way,” he said, and the fiery blush across his sharp cheekbones deepened, looking black in the summer night.
Still, she did not know what he was talking about, and fixed on what she could understand. She knew he was taller than herself and wiry but not tall for, say, a knight. She sensed his lithe strength. He held her and Jack gently, as he did when he carried them off.
Accepting her scrutiny, he nodded to her and she saw that his shaggy mane of hair was black at the tips, brown half-way to his head, and red at his scalp. His full mouth twisted.
“Yes, I darken my hair. Red hair is too distinctive.” A tiny frown puckered his smooth forehead. “My sister’s baby has red hair, like a flame.”
Baby. Another baby, like Jack. “There is no other way.” She would have realized before now, were she not thirsty and hungry, weary and anxious. “You need a wet nurse.” And what does that mean for my son? She clasped Jack a little more tightly.
“I do,” came the low response. Valens stroked her clasping fingers. “You understand that I will keep you and Jack safe?” he continued, in the same, soft voice.
She shrugged, beginning to appreciate that although he had kidnapped her, she, too, had power. Perhaps she had power. “It is in your interests to do so.”
“The child you will be feeding as well as Jack is called Edith. Her parents are dead and she is sickly. I hope—”
But whatever he hoped for was clearly something he feared to share, as a spasm of alarm crossed his face and he shook the reins, urging the beast to a faster clip.
He fears for the child. But what sickness has she? What about my baby?
Terror lurched in her throat. She tried to fling herself and Jack off the horse’s back, run away, hide in the woods, but Valens trapped them easily with his arms and legs, pinning her in place, spreading steady fingers across Jack’s chest to keep him secure.
“She has no pox or fever, silly girl! Edith is hungry! Starving!”
Hunger Katherine knew too well. She closed her eyes and deliberately forced herself to stop struggling.
“I will help you,” she said slowly, as her mind sped ahead. This man had a home where she and Jack might be safe, especially with winter coming. And Valens had a lord, someone with influence, someone who could help her take back what was hers and restore the birthright of her son. “But I want something in return.”
Chapter 3
Edith was older than Jack but thinner and colorless, like a bleached rag doll with half its stuffing ripped out. Katherine prayed that her face did not show her dread as she lifted the child from the crib. Light as a bird she was, her fine hair plastered to her tiny head.
How can I save this one? She has starved too long, poor thing.
The child coughed, a dry sound like old parchments rustling, and Katherine knew she had to try. “Edie.” The pet name fell naturally from her lips. A dull ache throbbed in her chest as the baby stared at her with dull eyes. “Feed for me, sweetheart.”
Conscious of Jack tottering across the floor rushes, making for the open door of the hut and the beguiling late summer dawning, Katherine nodded a warning to Valens. The arrow maker reacted as if burned and strode past her boy to block the door. At his “No, Jack,” her son plopped onto his bottom and began to wail.
“Feed, little one.” Forcing herself to ignore Jack’s crying, Katherine expressed some milk onto a finger and pressed it to the infant’s mouth. After an agonizing few breaths, Edith began to suck.
“Good, good.” Trembling, Katherine supported the toddler’s head and guided her to her breast. Edith snuffled and fussed and then latched on, her teeth clamping sharply. Katherine shuddered and tried afresh not to keep flinching at Jack’s howls and the raw, torn pain in her nipple.
“Is she?” Valens asked, eyes bright as he leant toward his niece.
“Yes.” Katherine transferred Edith to the other teat and endured the teeth again. In the midst of the sharp, searing pain she could not think of the usual prayers that she used to gauge time for feeding. But I must. Jack needs to feed, too.
She was sitting on a bench. When had it been brought for her? Katherine dismissed the thought and re-focused on the two infants now in her care. Edith was gasping and tiring, Jack’s steady sobs becoming more heart-broken.
“Hush, Jack. No one is angry with you.” Speaking, Valens scooped her boy up and hugged him. “Where is Mamma?”
Eye lashes dark with tears, lips trembling, Jack pointed.
“Let me have him.” Katherine sat up straighter and beckoned with her free hand, aware that her gown
was flapping open. She could not be bothered with modesty now. She settled Jack carefully on her lap beside Edith and leaned forward. Jack’s cry stopped and he began to feed. Katherine hung onto both babies and closed her eyes for a moment. She had not felt this weary since she was living as a maid at her mother’s old house and had done a day and night’s weaving straight, for a demanding bride-to-be.
“I need to look at your crib and make sure it is warm enough for Edith,” she said, when she felt her breath steady enough to speak. With his usual quickness, Jack finished feeding and turned on her lap to wave his feather again. Oh God, and that man can see me. The shame she had not felt a moment ago returned in force and she felt a prickling wave of heat wash up her body. Fumbling the ties, she attempted to re-order herself, but her captor seemed to have noticed neither her undress nor her blushes.
“And Jack,” he said, and it was a moment before Katherine recalled what they had been talking about.
“I shall keep Jack with me.” She decided not to trust Valens yet. “Can you…?” she began, unsure what she wanted to ask. After checking the crib, should she deal with Edith first or Jack? Edith was still very weak and deserved pampering, but Jack was hers. Both babies were content for the moment, but they would need winding and changing.
“I will take my granddaughter, if it pleases you.” The new voice gently pierced her rising uncertainty. She looked up into the solemn face of an older Valens—the same open-looking face, the same complexion, the same way of smiling at babies. He had brown eyes rather than amber and a duller, russet head of hair.
“I am Thorkill, Valens’s father.” This time the smile included her. “We thank you most humbly for your help, Mistress?”
Gentle hands lifted Edith from her lap, soothing and rocking. The child instantly snuggled closer to Thorkill and her Jack yawned comfortably against the crook of her arm, eyelashes drooping.
“Your lad is tired. You must be, too, Mistress..?”
Valens the Fletcher and his Captive [Medieval Captives 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 2