‘Your mother’s?’ he confirmed, frowning.
‘Aye. Well, for some obscure reason, the knight who waits for me, Lussac de Belbigny, has an identical cuff. And when I saw it in the bailey, I thought it was mine!’
‘And you picked it up.’
‘And I picked it up. Oh, Waleran, I wish to God I hadn’t done so. He wants me to take him back to my home!’ Her voice rose, tremulous, shrill. ‘And you know what will happen if I go back there!’ In the gloom of the tent, dirty-white, her eyes widened, alert, serious. Memories crowded into her head. The bitterness between her father and his older brother, the constant fights and petty bickering, all so worthless, so useless. And her own hand, promised in a marriage so inconceivable that she had no wish to partake. Lifting her head, she forced a wan smile towards Waleran.
‘I had better go,’ she said. ‘Otherwise, he’ll come barging in here to drag me out.’
Stunned, Waleran eyed her in disbelief. ‘You can’t leave, Katerina, John will go completely mad! The troupe is nothing without your act. You cannot go with that man.’
Katerina shook her head. ‘I have no choice.’
‘No, Katerina. You need someone to take care of you, to look after you. That man out there wouldn’t dare take you away if you had a protector.’ Waleran’s voice adopted a curious lilt. He traced one silky wing of hair spilling forwards from the voluminous hem of her hood, a swag of undulating satin in the dimness of the tent.
Katerina arched one eyebrow, catching his odd tone. ‘What do you mean?’ she answered slowly, suspiciously. ‘I don’t need anyone, I can look after myself, you know that.’
‘Aye, I know,’ Waleran replied. ‘And up to now, it’s been fine. But you’re so vulnerable, being a woman. You’re the only maid in this camp with no protection. All the other women have husbands, or fathers in the troupe.’
Katerina shifted uncomfortably. She never liked to dwell for too long on the precariousness of her situation.
‘I can help you, Katerina,’ Waleran continued. ‘If you were married, or even betrothed, that French knight out there would think twice about carting you away.’
‘What are you saying?’ she whispered.
‘I realise this might come as a shock, Katerina. We’ve been friends for a long time, and, well, I’ve come to think of you as more than a friend. I didn’t intend for all this to be such a rush, but your current situation demands it—I think we should marry.’ There, he’d said the words, finally, the words that had swirled around in his head for nigh on a year now.
Nay, nay, nay! Why did he have to go and say such things?
‘You don’t have to do this,’ she muttered.
‘I want to do it.’ Waleran beamed back at her. ‘I’ve wanted to say those words for a long, long time. I love you, Katerina.’
Face flushing, she dropped her gaze to the neck of his tunic, the embroidered eyelets that carried each loop of leather lacing. How could she tell him the truth? That she had no wish to marry for anything other than love.
‘Waleran, I had not...I...you’re like a brother to me,’ she stumbled over the words, her tongue big and clumsy in her mouth. She folded her arms across her chest, bracing herself away from him, defensive.
Waleran’s mouth tightened at the gesture. ‘Let me be more than a brother to you,’ he suggested gamely, although a note of doubt crept into his voice, wavering, unsure. He tipped forwards, unexpectedly, grabbing clumsily at her shoulders, pressing his lips against hers.
‘Nay!’ Katerina wrenched her mouth away, appalled at his behaviour. ‘Waleran, stop this. It isn’t right, it doesn’t feel right!’ She scrabbled to her feet, away from him, dragging her sleeve across her face, wiping away the feeling of his mouth against hers. Her lips felt numb, assaulted. ‘Why are you doing this? It will make no difference to that man out there; I suspect he’ll insist on dragging me off whether I’m betrothed or not.’
‘I’ll stop him,’ boasted Waleran. ‘He’ll listen to me, listen to reason.’
‘That man will listen to no one,’ Katerina replied. ‘Have you seen him?’ She recalled his breathtaking speed, his agility in the forest as he pursued her. ‘I know what that man is capable of, Waleran; we have no hope of besting him, at least physically. It is best if I pretend to go along with his plans, then try to outmanoeuvre him in other ways, outwit him.’
‘It’s because you’re unmarried, on your own, that he thinks he has authority over you.’
‘I suspect he hasn’t even thought of that.’ Katerina placed a hand on Waleran’s arm. ‘Look, I understand what you’re trying to do for me, and I thank you for it, but—’
‘Sorry to break up the fond farewells...’ Lussac stuck his head through the tent opening, observing the pair of them with a bleak, wry smile ‘...but we need to make headway, Katerina.’ The diamond glitter of his eyes struck hard, to the very centre of her. Her stomach flipped with a roiling emptiness. Lussac’s knowing look took in the closeness of the couple: the hectic colour washing Katerina’s pale, high cheekbones, Waleran clutching possessively on to her arm.
‘You can’t do this, you know!’ Waleran pushed in front of Katerina, facing the broad-shouldered knight. Against Lussac’s towering frame, Waleran looked like a child.
‘Are you the husband?’ Lussac glowered at him.
‘No, I...er, yes, yes, I am.’ Waleran flushed with the lie, a dull red colour washing over his neck and jawline.
Katerina stepped up to Waleran’s side. ‘I am unmarried,’ she pronounced simply. ‘Waleran is trying to protect me.’ Her clear, melodic tone cut through the thick, uneasy atmosphere. She turned to her friend. ‘Let me go, Waleran. And remember, I will be all right. I can look after myself.’
* * *
Queen Isabella and her entourage finally left the Earl of Norfolk’s estate around mid-morning, clattering out on horseback from the gatehouse, heading towards Bury St Edmunds. Even at this hour, a somnolence lay across the land, the warm air carrying a relaxed, ambling feel. It was as if the countryside had retained the high heat from early summer, storing it deep in the earth, and now released it shivering into the mist that hung over the river valley to the south. The breeze, drifting across the coloured wagons, the glossy horseflesh, the proud, snapping banner of the Queen, touched faces with warmth.
Sheep dotted the patchwork fields, white woolly spots against a backdrop of green, breaking away in anxious knots as the horses approached. A golden light bathed the shallow, undulating hills as the peasants busied themselves in the fields, cutting the wheat, bundling the cut grass into stooks to make hay. The shadow of the great famine hung over everyone; people had seen many friends, relatives, die of starvation. In that bleak summer a few years ago, when the rain never stopped and the air was cold, the crops had failed, rotting away to black mush in the fields where they had been planted; livestock had drowned. No one wished a repeat of what had happened and now the importance of preserving the crops through the winter took on added significance.
From the vantage point of Norfolk’s castle, Lussac observed the Queen’s party moving away, before sticking one booted foot into his stirrup and swinging up into the saddle of his destrier. The gold fleur-de-lys embroidery on his dark-blue tunic glinted in the sunlight, the side-seams deliberately split in order to ease riding. Beneath his woollen braies, his thigh muscles formed bulky indentations, flexing strongly as he controlled the excited skittering of the animal beneath him.
He half-twisted in the saddle, flicking a wayward strand of dark hair out of his eyes. ‘Have you everything that you need?’ Doubtfully, he eyed the small bag slung over Katerina’s shoulder, resting on her hip.
‘Yes.’
He frowned. Surely the chit must have more possessions than those that would fit into a leather satchel? His own effects had been neatly packed by a helpful servant and secured to
the back of his horse in two large saddle-bags.
‘Shall we go then?’ he asked.
Katerina, perched on top of a sweet grey palfrey, merely scowled at him. She had already refused to ride side-saddle, insisted on sitting astride in her ridiculous boy’s outfit. The flaming gold of her hair was hidden by her customary sack-like hood. Already he missed the pearl-grey dress that caressed her curves, revealing her slim, lithe form. ‘I suppose so,’ she replied grudgingly, seizing the white leather reins between her small hands.
‘I’m glad you decided to come.’
She rounded on him hotly. ‘Did I have a choice?’
‘No.’ His eyes were blank, unreadable. Every muscle in his body itched to drive his heels into his horse’s flanks and ride, ride like the devil until he found the man for whom he was searching. The murderer. He sighed. ‘I promise this will not take long. I’ll deliver you back to the troupe before they even notice that you’ve gone.’
‘If you say so.’ Her manner was churlish. ‘Although I’m sure John will not be happy when he finds out about my disappearance.’
‘I spoke to John while you were packing your things. He seemed most amenable to the whole idea.’
‘What!’ Katerina frowned, pinned her large grey eyes upon him. ‘I don’t believe you! How dare you meddle in my affairs?’
‘You won’t lose your position. I offered him some money to cover any lost performances.’ His gaze swept over her, blank, unconcerned.
Her blood boiled at his interference and she screwed up her eyes at him, trying to stare him down. She hated to be beholden to anyone, let alone this man, with his extraordinary turquoise eyes and carved, handsome features, but in his implacable presence, she became powerless, intensely vulnerable, a fragile leaf knocked about by the violent winds of his determination. She hated it.
‘Which way?’ Lussac said, bunching up his reins in one tanned, gloveless hand. ‘North?’
‘South,’ she said firmly, driving her knees into the rounded sides of the palfrey to lead the way down, across the marshes. She twitched her head sharply around so he wouldn’t see the lie in her face. It wouldn’t hurt at all to lead this arrogant knight on a wild goose chase, to stall him a little so she had time to regain some of her lost control, time to find a way to escape. She had no intention of returning home. Ever.
* * *
Tiny, loose stones spitting out from beneath her palfrey’s hooves, Katerina led the way across the dusty causeway bisecting the still, glistening marshland, deliberately curbing her horse’s gait to a slow trot. The causeway was too narrow for both her and Lussac to ride side by side, and she took great delight in weaving her horse from left to right, so that he had no hope of passing. A heat haze shimmered over to the east, blurring the line between ground and sky, and in the distance she could see the shine of the wide river estuary, the gleaming line of the sea. Metallic ribbons criss-crossed the plateau, ditches dug by legions of Flemish immigrants to drain the impossible, sponge-like land.
‘How far is it from here?’ Lussac said, his gruff voice falling on her from behind. He kicked his horse so that the animal moved alongside her, forcing her horse to move closer to the hedge on the right-hand side.
‘Oh...er...’ she stared studiously ahead, as if marking the route ‘...at least another half-day’s ride.’ She squinted at the southern horizon, wondering how long she could keep up this pretence, wondering how long it would be before Lussac became suspicious. She had scant knowledge of this area and prayed that this causeway led to somewhere significant, like a town, as opposed to the middle of the marshes. In a town, there were people, crowds, crowds in which she could lose herself, quickly.
‘I hope you’re not lying to me,’ he said slowly, his turquoise gaze pinning her uncomfortably to the saddle. A jolting weakness entered her knees at his words, her hands tightening imperceptibly on the reins. Her heart lurched with guilty conscience. Was he about to accuse her of leading him astray? What would he do to her? ‘But it would make no sense if you were,’ he continued, musing aloud, ‘no sense at all.’
It made every sense, Katerina thought wretchedly, if he knew what was to be her fate if she returned home. Which was worse? she wondered. Risking Lussac’s wrath if he found out she was leading him in the wrong direction, or going back to a father whose mind seemed warped by loss, torn to pieces by her mother’s sudden death? She hoped to extricate herself from the situation before she had to do either.
Reaching down, she plucked some glossy blackberries from the sprawling hedgerow that lined the raised causeway, popping them into her mouth. The sweetness burst on to her tongue and she savoured the delicate, flowery taste within her mouth, the taste of autumn. Her stomach growled; she had eaten nothing since before her performance last night. Hopefully she could find enough of these delicious berries to stave of the worst of the hunger pangs.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m eating blackberries,’ she replied. Her horse had slowed even more, the bridle tinkling merrily as the animal settled into a barely perceptible walk.
‘We need to be moving faster than this.’ He pushed one exasperated hand through his hair. Silky fronds fell back over his forehead, tousled. Katerina’s heart seized in her chest; how beautiful he was, she thought, the shadowed planes of his tanned face, the square-cut, powerful jaw-line. Her eyes drifted to the firm line of his mouth, the full generous curve of his bottom lip.
She shuddered, ashamed by her blatant perusal, tearing her eyes away from the carved beauty of his face, away from the mouth that had kissed her. Leaning over, she stuck her hand into the brambles, risking scratches as she wrapped her fingers around another bunch of blackberries.
Strong fingers curved around her upper arm, hauling her slight figure upwards, hoisting her from the saddle. ‘I swear you are doing this deliberately,’ he growled, searching her flushed face, her lips stained with purple juice. ‘I’ve a good mind to throw you up in front of me and lead your horse. It would certainly be faster.’
‘No, absolutely not!’ she declared, outraged, squirming beneath his close scrutiny. The thought of riding so close to him, her body knocking against his...that rigid, iron-clad chest, those hefty thighs! Hot colour washed over her pale skin in shame. ‘I’m hungry, that’s all.’
‘Then let’s ride on to the next town and buy a decent meal,’ he said, irritation threading his tone. ‘I’d rather do that than nibble away at hedgerows. You’ll never fill up that way.’
But this is how I eat every day, she thought. A few scraps here and there—sometimes days without anything but a thin watery gruel. Occasionally they would manage to poach or steal something more substantial. This was her existence and it had become nothing unusual to her.
‘Besides, you look like you could use a decent meal. There’s nothing of you.’
Stung by the accusation in his voice, the sheer arrogance, she hauled her tunic hem down over her slim legs, a wild, self-conscious movement, and stuck her chin out stubbornly. ‘I don’t deliberately starve myself, if that’s what you think!’ she flashed back. ‘How do you think I live every day? Dining on roasted swan off silver platters? Supping on fresh yeasty bread washed down with rich French wines? Think again, Lord High-and-Mighty.’
‘No, you misunderstand me.’ A ruddy colour flooded his cheekbones as he struggled to find an answer to placate her. ‘I only meant to say...’ He trailed off. What had he meant to say? That her body was lithe, and slim and exquisite; that it was exactly the right size, but too delicate, too fragile to be living this harsh life on the road? She would slap him for that, no doubt. The maid obviously prided herself on some misguided idea that she was invincible, could protect herself. But her cutting words made his own existence feel indulgent, coddled—an existence in which he gave no thought to the source of his food, or heat, or water. He was spoiled, a spoiled member of the nobilit
y, and her simple speech left a sour taste on his tongue.
On the other side of the hedge, the sad, mournful cry of a redshank filled the air. Katerina glared at him, spine stretched ramrod straight, rosebud mouth set in a stern line, her whole frame brimming with hostility. Her expression was so raw and so outraged that for one insane moment all he wanted to do was hug her, to fold her in his big arms and feel her tight against him. Like last night.
He shook his head, dismissing the tempting image. ‘Let’s keep moving,’ he said, snatching up her bridle so that her horse was forced to match its pace to his.
Chapter Nine
Ducking his sleek head beneath a dilapidated inn sign swinging from the stone archway, Lussac steered his destrier on to the flattened earth of the inn’s courtyard, pulling Katerina’s horse in alongside him. It seemed like the pair of them had ridden for hours across impenetrable countryside, a landscape of boggy, unstable ground and huge brilliant skies that made his eyes ache with the solid intensity of light. Often, they were forced to double back, retrace their steps in order to find ways to cross deep muddy ditches, or skirt around thickly planted forests. He wasn’t convinced that Katerina was certain of her direction; her eyes adopted a vague, hazy look when he questioned her. At least now, in this bustling market town, he would hopefully gain a clearer idea of the way to go.
Two-storey, timber-framed buildings rose up on either side of the yard, crumbling white plaster criss-crossed with dark wood struts: the inn’s accommodation. A stable-boy ran out to grab the horses, flicking an admiring glance at the tall knight. Lussac’s blue tunic was cut from a fine woollen cloth and shone with a lustrous sheen; he had pushed back the scalloped edge of his hood so that the material gathered in close folds at the base of his neck. The stable-boy’s gaze slipped across the young lad who rode alongside the knight, barely grazing his attention.
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