by Robyn Carr
“Will the lady of the keep see our wares?”
“I have no time,” she returned brusquely. “You may trade in the village, but make yourselves swift.”
“The hens have gone bad, I fear, but the leather is undamaged. “ She looked into the old man’s eyes and felt sorry for him. She reached into her pouch and pulled out some coins.
“For your damage,” she said shortly, putting a few pieces of silver in the old man’s hand. She saw that one of his arms was withered and useless and his back was badly bent. He smiled gratefully, and toothlessly. “You can purchase what you need with this. Hurry with this mess – we cannot leave the gate open to vandals. Be quick.”
“Look at our leatherwork, my lady, I pray you.”
“Leave me be,” she whispered, looking over the scraggly group again. Two women younger than she, dressed in pitiful rags and looking frail and hungry, lifted their skirts to wade into the moat to retrieve floating cages. A young boy, equally thin and gaunt, used a long pole to try to pull them toward the shore. Another old man struggled with his donkey, now refusing to move either into or out of the keep. The village people had already started to gather around the small cart laden with trinkets and leather goods.
“A new pouch for your keys, my lady? A new girdle or strap?”
“Nay,” she said, turning to leave them and their mess alone. She wanted to get away from the confusion so she could think. She took quick strides toward the hall, her mind churning.
Her first frantic thought was that Sloan or Gage might kill their real father, but an even worse fear startled her--would Dylan be forced to end the lives of his sons to save himself? He would not, she decided. He would die, himself, first.
But if she told her sons the truth, that they were both of Dylan’s blood, how would it affect their lives? Sloan had once admired Dylan, and Gage hungered for a father’s love. But, bastards must make their own way – adulteresses lived at the mercy of their betters. Dylan was too far away, in too much danger, to help her now. And following her admission, would Clifton kill her? Would he pursue Dylan alone, out of jealousy? She had long since ceased to know what her husband really wanted.
She was unsure what to do about Sloan, but Gage was too young to be a part of this, too young to hear the truth while still living in Clifton’s house, too young to go with Clifton in pursuit of Dylan. She would have to spirit him away somehow. She could wait no longer.
“My lady,” Sir Gravis said from behind her. She turned impatiently to see what he wanted. “The leather goods, my lady. Have a look.”
She jerked her eyes to that direction, both annoyed and confused. A man in a wide-brimmed hat was showing his wares to village women, while behind him the rest of his group was trying to put order back into their modest entourage. She checked eyes with Gravis. She did not understand, but lifted her skirts to walk swiftly toward the cart. The village women made room for her, retreating from the cart slightly. The man slowly lifted his eyes, his wide-brimmed hat rising. Dylan! His eyes caused her heart to lurch in an excited and terrified spasm. How many times had those same eyes glittered from under a peasant’s hat, from behind the trunk of a tree, from a dark corridor? She looked slowly in the direction of Clifton’s departure, but saw only the dust from the knights’ horses. Still, she could not speak to him, for she did not know for certain who could be trusted. A word whispered in Clifton’s ear by a village wench might be enough to tip the cart against her.
“What do you recommend, sir?” she asked.
His eyes sparkled. His lips parted briefly in a dazzling smile that was quick, and quickly gone.
“This purse of doe’s hide should please her ladyship,” he said quietly.
She shifted her eyes in the direction of the rest of his ragged group. “What does your family require of Ayliffe?” she asked.
“Only silver, my lady, if our goods please you. We will travel on to Huntingdon to buy seed. We farm near Huntingdon.”
A farm near Huntingdon, she thought frantically. She had heard that Dylan traveled fearlessly in Richard’s own country, stirring up trouble, rounding up rebels. He would be in Huntingdon.
“Will you leave by the afternoon light?” she asked, her voice quiet but courteous.
“Aye, my lady. We do not look as fleet as we are.” Then, in a whisper, “Send him to me. ... Anne!”
She picked up the doeskin pouch and noted that there was something inside. “How much, then?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you deem as fair, my lady.”
She took a silver from her own pouch and laid it in his hand. Her fingers wanted to linger and she paused over his palm for a long moment. She bit her lip in indecision, then softly, “Deirdre?”
Another fleeting smile was his answer, and quickly he dropped his gaze to look into his hand, as if examining the coin. “This will do. My thanks, my lady. Visit Huntingdon yourself one day soon – a good city, certes!”
“Perhaps one day, but I cannot soon. I await the return of my eldest son. But the best of luck to you in trade.”
“You are generous, my lady. Long life to you.” He bowed away from her, keeping his eyes respectfully downcast.
The temptation was to linger, watch him for a while, or just remain near enough to assure herself that he was alive and well. She knew better than to indulge and she spun away, resuming her brisk walk toward the hall. Will this never end? she asked herself. The sound of his whispering voice, his eyes, his mere presence filled her with both hope and doom. She could find a way to send Gage to him, but when could she finally go with him, give up the lying and the penalties of loving him? Would she ever be free to escape to him? So intent was she with these deep thoughts, she nearly ran full speed into Sir Gravis’s broad chest. She looked around the hall almost fearfully before whispering to her vassal. “How did you know?”
“One among them was not a peasant, although he kept his bearing low. There are whisperings, madam. Some of us remember days long past, other secret men, from the time of Warwick’s short reign.”
“What do my people think they know?” she asked. She had divulged nothing of a personal nature to Gravis, but only asked him for his help, when and if she needed it.
The large knight only shrugged in reply. “People are fond of guessing. I will only say that I never thought you were smitten with Sir Cliff, I thought you loved the old lord. We all knew, though, that the knight wanted you. In your presence he was a chivalrous knight--but among his own kind his more selfish passions were known. I heard the old man urge you to the leather monger’s cart. And?”
“Whom do I trust? If you betray me, it is surely over,” she said uncertainly, knowing she had no choice now. She did not want to doubt Gravis, but then she had doubted no one before today. “Will you take my son to Huntingdon, Sir Gravis? By moonlight? In secret?”
“You have but to ask it of me, my lady.”
***
Gage was more than a little reluctant to leave her, especially without any explanation. But the explaining would have to be done by another. And sending him away by night, with only Gravis to ride with him, to be left with a band of rebels, was the hardest thing she had ever done, although Gage was a large, healthy young man. She knew that henceforth he would ride with his natural father, on whose head there was a handsome reward.
In her doeskin pouch there was a crude coastal map. Only four cities were lettered, and Anne did not know how to read the directions. She guessed at the location shown by dotted lines, no doubt meant to be travel lines, but she nearly wept for all the good it would do her. She did not understand what it meant, where it was, or what Dylan intended her to do with it. Was this where he would take their son?
Equally terrified of Dylan venturing back to Ayliffe for any reason, she did not mention the map or her lack of understanding to anyone. She sent Gage off with simple instructions. “Say only that I await my eldest son,” she told him. “And trust me, my love, that I send you to the best possible place.”
> Gravis returned to Ayliffe alone, passing the word to her secretly that he had left Gage in the grateful hands of the nameless leathermonger. She was not certain whether or not Gravis knew who Dylan was, for these things were better left unspoken.
“The man told me to help you with the drawing, my lady. I know the route. It is a safe house for you – one Clifton will never find.”
Anne smiled gratefully at Gravis. “You have been here a long time. Sometimes, I forget that.” She took the doeskin pouch from her belt and passed it to Gravis. “Do you think it will ever be possible to leave here?” she asked him.
He smiled at her. “Before today I thought it more possible to leave than to have a place to go.”
“And do you think you can take me there, when it is safe?”
“If God spares us from Sir Cliff, my lady. I say go now, while he is away.”
“Nay,” she said solemnly. “There is one more son. None of mine has ever been favored – no one has ever been neglected.”
“Dangerous work, this,” he grumbled. “But ... I cannot work for Sir Clifton ... and I cannot pledge to King Richard. Whom I will finally pledge to, I can only guess.”
“Will you stand fast by me?”
“Yea, I do. You were steadfast in loyalty to the only noble I ever knew who wanted good for his vassals. This place cannot endure under Sir Cliff or Brainard. This I do for you ... and Ayliffe.”
Her eyes misted at the memory. She touched Sir Gravis’s arm. “I did the best I could,” she whispered. “I am sorry it was not good enough.”
“Your best was better than that of many others, my lady. Do not weaken now.”
She strained her eyes each day for the sight of Clifton’s returning troop, quizzed each traveler that passed through their gates about the happenings in London and around the country, and prayed earnestly to be delivered through this terrifying time. It was the last week in May when the banner approached and Clifton was home. With him, Sloan.
The reunion was strained, for Clifton let it be known instantly that his plans had grown while he was on the road to London.
When Sloan crossed the channel from Calais, Clifton met him and took him to Westminster to wait upon King Richard. Sloan talked excitedly about his visit with the king, about his pledged arms to the cause to wipe out rebels, for Clifton had had Sloan’s ear to himself for days. And Sloan was taken with the troubled young king and his serious household company of courtiers.
As she listened to Sloan, even though she feared she had lost him, she could not help but study him with her eyes. He was fully a man now. At four and twenty he was handsome and tall. He had mentioned no woman yet and had no plans to marry. He had traveled with a few English nobles into France, partaking of small battles here and there, securing some prizes of which he was quite proud. Now, home in England, he was eager to make his mark, build his wealth and reputation. She almost smiled, for he was rather pompous – a typical, immortal young knight. She wondered what principles really drove him. She wondered if the virtues she had taught him of honor, honesty, and compassion were lost to his youth, or if those qualities would rise in him again.
Oh Dylan, he is strong and able, and ours. Yet we do not know which way the winds of fate will blow him. Will he be your son or your slayer?
“You have been well tutored about these villains who would snatch the crown,” she said. “What of Brainard, then?”
“Brainard,” Sloan scoffed. “We did a piece of business there, Sir Cliff and I. After a long list of promises made to the king, he has secured a date for Brainard’s execution. I shall stand heir to Ayliffe for my father’s memory. Brainard dies next week.”
“So soon,” Anne said in a breath. What Clifton could not do, Sloan would. Richard might have thought it chancy to give Ayliffe to Clifton, but it must have appeared quite safe to give all of Ayliffe’s fighting men, all this land, and these thick walls to the dedicated young nobleman she had raised. She almost smiled again, but the worst was surely yet to come. She watched Clifton wander about the hall and fetch himself a cup of wine. He was decently dressed, for once, and did not stagger in a drunken lurch. He must have paid attention to his indulgences and manners to have managed to retain Sloan’s respect for this long. Anne had hoped that her son would see Clifton’s true colors. Sloan had not been with Clifton for three years.
“It will seem rude to leave you so soon, but I must stand witness to Brainard’s death. Therefore, we return to Westminster right away.”
“And then?” she asked, letting her eyes close briefly, as she spun a silent prayer.
“Northwest, where it is rumored Tudor gathers forces with the help of deFrayne. Madam, do you see the opportunity in this?” he asked excitedly. “To put down a rebellion will win me much favor in Richard’s kingdom, but beyond that, to support the king is my sworn obligation.”
“You swore once to Edward. What of his heirs?”
“They are safe and hidden. To give them freedom would only encourage the Woodvilles to begin a new campaign to restore them”
“Do you believe that, Sloan?” she asked gently.
He looked at her now with cold eyes combined with a wrinkled brow. She remembered distinctly where she had left it with Dylan. Sloan was a man now. The choice of futures was his.
“What else?” her son asked. “They cannot be freed, of course. What troubles you, madam? I thought you would be pleased for me.”
She shook her head. There were close to a dozen knights in the room, and when she had considered this black day, she thought of a secret conference. Now she realized that it was better thus. There should be witnesses.
“Edward’s heirs have not been seen alive in almost two years. There are plenty of Tower guards who would have seen them, if they yet live.”
“They are not in London, madam,” Sloan said with a laugh, as if his mother was not nearly as adept at politics as he was himself.
“They are dead, Sloan. Surely it will be proven one day soon. Ask Sir Cliff. He knows.”
Sloan looked at Clifton, but the burly man simply turned back to the full flagon to refill his cup. He shook his head and shrugged, as if he knew nothing.
“He knows,” Anne insisted. “One night over a year ago when he delivered the news that Richard’s son had died, Clifton said ‘an heir for an heir’ before a room full of knights. Sloan, my husband has an evil plan that will use you badly. He took you to the king not to provide your best opportunity, but to insure your demise.”
“Sir Cliff?” Sloan laughed. At the same time, there was the sound of the full flagon of wine tipping off the table and spilling to the floor. Anne was startled and she looked fearfully toward Clifton. His face grew red and his eyes smoldered.
“Do not shame yourself with lies to protect your daughter’s husband, madam. Do not spread useless tales here.”
“What is it?” Sloan asked. He looked between Clifton and his mother, shaking his head and giving a short, nervous laugh. “What is amiss here? Do you quarrel over the keeping of the boys? What matter? Richard is--”
“Clifton wishes to have you chase down Dylan deFrayne and kill him ... because Dylan deFrayne is your father.”
Anne kept her eyes focused on Clifton. He had looked at her from over his shoulder, but slowly he turned to face her. His mouth was set firm, and the silence in the room was as hot as fire. There was not so much as a movement among the few knights present.
“She lies, Sloan. She wishes to keep you from joining me on this campaign. She wishes to protect deFraynes ... for Deirdre.”
Slowly she turned her eyes back to her son. His face had paled and his eyes were glittering with shock and disbelief.
“I once pledged myself to Dylan deFrayne. We were very young and filled with hope then, but Lancaster and York went hard against each other and there was war. I came to Lord Forbes already with child. Lord Forbes knew you were not of his loins, and claimed you anyway.
“Much later, Lord deFrayne came to Ayliffe. He
was a spy in Edward’s camp and pretended to be close to George of Clarence and Warwick, he liberated this castle from Lancaster for Edward. Yet another time I pledged to him, this time in sin, and he gave me Gage. To save me from my shame, and to keep me safe from a bad union of marriage to a greedy stranger, Sir Clifton wed me. Sir Clifton knew who sired Gage. He has always known. Later, by way of his fist, my husband brought forth the truth about you. Once it was enough for him to be my husband, Sloan. Enough to train you and Gage. But no more. Ask him what he wants now. He means to have Ayliffe, and revenge.”
“Lies,” Clifton shouted, banging his fist on the table.
Sloan looked at Clifton, whose hard eyes were focused on Anne, and then back at his mother. He was speechless.
“Brainard must die,” Anne said, “for Clifton to have what he wants. Then? Perhaps my death, for defiance of some sort? I tell you this so that you will not trust him and be tricked into killing your own father.”
“Nay,” Clifton rumbled. “The old earl would not go to her bed and she craved a man! Twas me she used for her pleasures. Twas I who sired the boy, Gage! And wed her when she was widowed, to have my son and stay with you. She is wanton! She cannot be long without a man.”
Sloan glanced uncertainly at the faces around the common room. No one met his eyes. Only his mother would look at him.
“I loved Lord Forbes,” she said. “I regret that I hurt him. But I tell you this, and ‘tis truth I speak, truth that can be borne out by at least one witness--Lord Forbes knew I was unfaithful, he knew that I had loved Dylan deFrayne since girlhood, he knew about you and Gage, and he forgave me. He could have punished me, cast me out, divorced me, or even killed me, but he did not. Clifton, who has never had the right to make me pay for those sins, has punished me mightily. Even now, he would use you to mete out his revenge.”