Beloved Abductor

by June Francis

  They halted at the bridge, where, to her surprise, Edmund dismounted and went over to a small boy. Several beggars huddled there. Edmund sat back on his haunches, so that his face was almost level with the boy’s. He could not have been more than ten years old, and he moved himself along on a wheeled trolley by pushing two wooden platens beneath his hands. Edmund spoke earnestly to him before ruffling the mop of tangled hair. The lad grinned, and the physician returned his smile before dropping several coins into his pouch. She felt a stir of admiration as Edmund rose to his feet and mounted again. It was a Christian duty to give to the poor and disabled, but there were not many who would go to the length of actually touching such a dirty urchin.

  ‘Is he the one, Edmund?’ asked Dickon, as they moved onto the bridge.

  ‘Aye. You will do as I ask when the conflict is over, and give him a chance?’

  ‘If you think him worth it, my friend.’ Dickon shrugged his shoulders. ‘Are you sure he is as clever as you think?’

  ‘He is,’ replied Edmund firmly.

  Felicia looped her fingers through Edmund’s belt again. ‘What a lovely smile he has, despite the dirt,’ she murmured.

  Edmund said easily, ‘He would say that his dirt keeps him warm. He has withered legs, having been damaged during childbirth. His mother died and his grandmother takes care of him—but there is little money.’

  ‘Is that why you were arranging matters with Dickon so that there might be more money?’

  He sighed. ‘There is nothing else I can do for him.’

  ‘My nurse used to say that demons caused sickness, and that deformity was a punishment from God,’ said Felicia. ‘Sometimes I think it is a lack of care and the dreadful food these poor people have to eat. So often it is rotten.’

  ‘I used to help in the infirmary at the monastery where my uncle Walter is abbot. A boy there had lost both parents and had been living off scraps until he was brought to our attention, thin as a reed and always sickly. We thought he would die,’ said Edmund. ‘But some good plain food, decent clothes—and Brother Thomas was a great believer in cleanliness.’ He glanced over his shoulder at her and grinned. ‘The boy’s recovery seemed miraculous.’

  Felicia smiled faintly. ‘What is it like to be a physician? You must find much satisfaction in it?

  He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Sometimes I hate it! Those I treat can die. I study the stars in their courses, as I was taught. I know about the humours of the body and of certain cures from the East. I patch up wounds and give advice, but often the remedies I learnt from my mother are the ones that work. I watch and learn from men more knowledgeable than myself. Sometimes I find to my surprise that I have cured someone of an ailment that I had no luck with before. Then I am satisfied and thank God for it!’ He fell silent.

  Felicia was moved by his words and considered him unusual in her experience of physicians. The majority of those whom she had encountered were charlatans—out to make the most money they could out of their life and death calling, but Edmund obviously cared for those he tried to help. Was he able to overseer a manor, though? She swallowed a sigh.

  Aware of the sun on her face, she closed her eyes before opening them again at the sound of a lark. It hovered above a field with strips of pease and corn. To their left lay the abbey buildings and fruit trees thick with creamy pink blossom. Her spirits rose.

  For a while they rode abreast, Edmund and Dickon chatting desultorily about the passing scene. Monks could be seen on their way to the abbey, either on foot or riding on mules. Richly dressed merchants sat astride fine horses, while their servants walked, leading the pack-animals laden with goods. A peasant passed, driving his pig before him, his stout wife panting to keep up, at the same time trying not to spill the eggs in her basket. Gradually the road became less populated, and then suddenly they heard thundering hooves and the jingling of harnesses.

  Swiftly the two men dragged their horses off the road, just in time to avoid being trampled down by a company of armed and mailed men. They swept by, banners flying, their faces determined and grim. Felicia noted the colours and markings on the trappings and shields of the company. For a fearful moment she had thought it was her cousin in pursuit of her. She saw Edmund and Dickon exchange glances but they did not speak. Soon they would need to turn and go east.

  Another mile, and she pointed out to Edmund a barely discernible path that twisted snakelike between two gently sloping hills. Eventually it led them to a moor, thick with bracken and yellow gorse, which gave off a sweet nutty fragrance. Overhead a sparrow-hawk soared, and instantly she was reminded of her cousin again. She was angry with herself. She should be feeling happy now. Soon she would gaze on her own manor. It was a long year since she had called it home. The house lay amid gardens, not far from the river. Oh, it would be good to be home again!

  Yet, even as her spirits lifted, they drooped moments later. Soon she would be parting from Edmund. He had done as she had begged him, and was taking her home. Her mind touched lightly on how she would feel when he vanished from her life. Surely what she felt for him would pass once he was gone?

  Within the hour they topped a hill and began the descent into the valley wherein Meriet lay. ‘There is the copse where my father took me on my first hunt!’ cried Felicia, her fingers curling and uncurling on Edmund’s back. ‘Soon we shall come to the mill and the river. Then we shall see the village, and not far from there is my manor house.’

  Edmund surveyed the scene, interested despite the irrational sense of gloom that suddenly descended upon him. ‘The soil is fertile here?’

  ‘Fertile enough. But, like all land, it requires much work and a fair share of serfs. My father and brother desired to purchase more land, to cut down trees and put the land to the plough—but the war came, and I do not know yet what I shall do about such matters.’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘You have a steward! He will advise you!’ Edmund wanted the parting to be over. Her voice had contained a note of loneliness and sadness that he did not want to think about. He had his own life to get on with and he would rid himself of the effect this woman had on him. He urged his horse forward.

  They clattered over a stone bridge, and Felicia was suddenly aware of a sense of urgency. Perhaps the horse had caught her mood, because it began to quicken its pace. She clung tightly to Edmund, one of her arms slipping about his waist, bumping with the rhythm of the lengthening stride as her braids and veil flew out behind her.

  The village came in sight, as did the walls of the demesne land. Above those walls rose the fat finger of the stone keep, the roof of the house should also have been visible. She stared incredulously. There was no roof to speak of—and the walls of the keep were darkened, not only with creeper, but with the effects of smoke.

  ‘Dear God,’ she whispered, clutching Edmund’s arm. ‘Something is terribly wrong!’

  She yelled for him to stop as they entered the village. Swiftly he tugged on the reins and brought his mount to a plunging halt. Dickon, who had galloped on, realised that they had stopped. He wheeled about and came cantering towards them.

  A woman working in a garden looked up, showing them a face that was both relieved and frightened at the same time. A white linen bandage peeked from beneath her veil. The hoe she held clattered to the ground, as Felicia slid from the horse without waiting for Edmund to help her down.

  ‘Agnes!’ she cried, clinging to the stirrup for a moment, before stumbling over to where the woman stood. ‘Tell me quickly what has happened here?’

  ‘My lady! My lady!’ squawked Agnes, pausing to grip and kiss Felicia’s hand before curtsying. ‘Your cousin! He has been here!’ The weather-beaten face creased into innumerable wrinkles as she gazed up with faded blue eyes. Then they darted a look at Edmund and Dickon, before returning to Felicia.

  ‘He is still here?’ asked Felicia in a low voice.

  The old woman shook her head. ‘As wild as if a thousand devils possessed him, he was! But it is three days since he
has gone, thank the Saints and our Lord.’ She crossed herself swiftly. ‘But not before your cousin did much damage.’ She paused, and bent to pick up her fallen hoe. ‘You will discover for yourself just how much when you go in search of your house.’ She rammed the hoe into the ground. ‘He called me a witch, the whelp of Satan! And he killed my cat! He beat me around the head with his sword when I cursed him.’

  A fearful apprehension gripped Felicia. ‘What of my cousin Joan?’

  ‘She is hiding somewhere, the poor child. We have not seen her in the village since he went, but she was seen walking in the forest.’

  ‘I see.’ Felicia attempted to clear her throat of the obstruction that seemed wedged there. She was aware with part of her mind that Edmund had dismounted and stood behind her. ‘What of Sir William?’ she asked.

  Agnes shrugged bony shoulders. ‘A message came. He went to Ludlow and has not returned. You should not have gone away, my lady.’

  ‘It was not my doing, Agnes,’ said Felicia earnestly. ‘I was tricked. But tell me, is my home utterly destroyed?’

  ‘Let it burn, your cousin said. The bitch shall have no kennel to hide in. If she comes here, tell her I will find her where’re she goes.’

  Felicia gasped and clenched her fists. ‘Holy mother! If I were a man, I would kill him with my own hands!’

  Agnes stared at her and then Edmund and Dickon. ‘Best let one of these fine gentlemen deal with him—if he can be destroyed, the devil!’

  A shiver ran through Felicia and she felt Edmund’s hand on her shoulder. ‘He is only a man,’ he said roughly. ‘Let us ride on.’

  Felicia glanced sidelong at his stern face. ‘There is no need for you to delay your journey, Master Edmund,’ she declared, tilting her chin. ‘You have done what you promised and brought me home.’

  ‘It is a sorry homecoming if you have no roof over your head,’ he said tersely. ‘And you forget I have an interest in seeing justice meted out to your cousin, preferably at the point of my sword in battle.’

  ‘Take me up, then, and we shall have a closer look at what damage he has wrought,’ she said.

  He lifted her onto his horse and swung up behind her.

  Felicia barely noticed the looks of the women working in the gardens for her heart was thudding in her breast as he held her against him. She could only pray that Edmund’s strength and deviousness could match Philip if they were to meet on the battlefield. She stared ahead between the horse’s ears. But had she escaped her cousin, only for Joan to become his victim? Why should she hide in the forest if it was not to lick her wounds like a terrified animal?

  There was no one on watch at the gatehouse, and they passed its torn off gates and under the stone arch without being challenged. Some of the villeins worked on the demesne land. Felicia thought she caught her name as the men murmured among themselves, but she made no response. Her fingers clenched on Edmund’s sleeve as they rode up the path. Now she could see the charred beams of the roof. Part of one wall still stood, but the main structure of the house had fallen in. Icy desolation gripped her.

  Edmund dismounted, his eyes fixed upon her set, white face. She came down from the horse, not seeing the hand he held up to her, and she walked from him to the husk of what had once been her home.

  ‘At least you can be thankful that you were not inside it!’ Edmund exclaimed, poking the charred remains of a bench with the toe of his boot.

  ‘You will be able to rebuild,’ said Dickon, coming to stand next to them. ‘It will take time, of course.’

  ‘Do I not know it!’ said Felicia bitterly. ‘And, in the meantime, I am defenceless.’

  ‘There is the keep,’ said Dickon. ‘That, at least, seems intact.’ The three of them turned and looked towards the stone tower. It was clad in newly burgeoning creeper, which curled crisp and brown in places, scorched by the heat of the fire.

  ‘Perhaps you will be able to make it habitable until you can rebuild the house?’ Dickon leapt over a pile of stones and walked towards the keep.

  ‘It would be spartan,’ said Edmund, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, ‘but maybe Dickon is right.’ He glanced into Felicia’s drawn features. ‘What did it contain?’

  ‘Most likely stores. It is a year since I was last here.’ She sighed deeply. ‘The door is on the other side. It might be locked, but Ralph, my bailiff, would have the key.’

  She began to walk slowly in Dickon’s wake, he had already disappeared round the corner. Edmund set his pace to hers and walked by her side, looking grim. Barely had they skirted the corner than they heard a piercing scream, then another, and another. Felicia’s startled eyes met Edmund’s, and he seized her hand and both broke into a run. The door, like the gate, had been battered down and hung tipsily on broken hinges. Sacks near the doorway had been slashed, and grain flooded the floor in gleaming gold hummocks. They crossed the threshold out of the sunlight and into the dimness of the tower’s interior. They could hear a girl sobbing uncontrollably.

  Dickon turned to them. His long face was taut and concerned. ‘I told her that she has nothing to fear from me,’ he said. ‘That I am a friend to you, Mistress Felicia, but she does not heed me.’

  Edmund’s grip on Felicia’s hand tightened as they saw the girl huddled on the floor in a far corner. Her face was hidden by a tangle of hair that gleamed barley-white.

  ‘Joan?’ The name came out in a barely whispered breath. All Felicia’s forebodings were crowding into her mind as there came no pause in the weeping. She darted across the room and knelt in the dust, putting an arm about the girl’s quivering shoulders. ‘Joan! ‘Tis I, Flissie, sweeting! Do stop crying, I beg you! I can’t bear it.’

  There came a break in the sobbing, and the girl lifted her head. She pushed aside her long fair tresses with a trembling hand, and stared intently into Felicia’s face. Tears formed furrows in the dirt on her cheeks, and a mouth that normally tilted prettily upwards was dragged down by the weight of her private sorrow. ‘It is you, Flissie!’ she murmured. ‘But you have come several days too late. Why could you not have agreed to marry Philip?’ Her mouth quivered. ‘Then he would not have come seeking you here and found me instead!’ She banged her fist against her breast. ‘I have heard of such acts performed by beasts like Philip. But never did I think it would happen to me! Do you understand what I am saying, Flissie? You are to blame for what happened to me.’

  Dickon made a move forward, but Edmund held him back as he watched horror darken Felicia’s eyes. ‘No! How could I know that he would treat you so cruelly? I would rather have died than have you take my place.’ Her voice broke, and she flung her arms about Joan and began to weep.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘How I wish I had stabbed him in the heart with my scissors!’ Felicia leaned back against the stone wall and her eyes were a hard cerulean blue. Edmund drew in a sharp breath at the expression on her face. She seemed to have aged during the last emotional stormy hour whilst he was absent from the tower.

  ‘Well, you did not, so there is no use in saying it! There is no use in anything now.’ Joan groaned and closed her eyes, resting her head on her hand.

  ‘There is revenge,’ murmured Dickon in a dreamy voice. ‘A swift slash of a sword-blade, and that’s the end!’ He gazed at Joan from his perch on a collapsed sack of grain.

  Joan lifted her head and considered him dispassionately. He hardly seemed her idea of a fighting man, dressed like a merchant in dark blue. ‘It is all right for you to say that! How can you, a man, know how I feel?’ She pushed aside a great handful of hair and sat up straighter. ‘Who are you, anyway? You have sat here an age, witnessing my distress, without speaking a word. And now you speak of revenge—which you look unable to carry out!’

  A flicker of annoyance creased Dickon’s face, and he rose to his feet and bowed. ‘I am Richard Mortimer, a wool-merchant from Shrewsbury. Unlikely champion I might look but appearances can be deceptive. I have often had to fight my way out of trouble.’

&nb
sp; Felicia regarded him in surprise, and could not resist glancing at Edmund. She saw his lips twitch and their eyes met. She remembered him saying that Dickon knew exactly how to woo a lady. Well, she wished Dickon good fortune where Joan was concerned but doubted he would succeed whilst her cousin still suffered so sorely.

  ‘Be that as it may, Master Mortimer,’ said Joan. ‘This is hardly your fight! I would that you stay out of my affairs. I do not know you, so why should I have faith in you? Men! They are not to be trusted.’

  ‘That is unfair!’ blurted out Felicia.

  ‘Of course, you would deny it,’ muttered Joan. ‘I have seen the way these men look at you. You have it all, whilst I…’

  ‘You have my sympathy, Mistress Joan, for what has befallen you’ interrupted Edmund, rising and stretching, ‘but do not tar Dickon or myself with the same brush as Philip Meriet.’

  ‘Flissie! Who is this man?’ Joan scrambled to her feet and glared at Edmund. ‘Why have you brought him here?’

  Edmund frowned. ‘Earlier you blamed Mistress Felicia for escaping Philip Meriet and for his treatment of you. She is not at fault. I took her from him. I sought revenge and blamed her for his filthy acts. I was wrong, just as you are.’