They’d left so much danger and uncertainty back at the fortress, and for three days they’d wrapped themselves up while Evrart had told her stories of his childhood here. She had been looking forward to her life in this village. But those thoughts had been dreams, which left her with this...nightmare.
‘While they take care of the food, let’s move her things to the other room,’ he said.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t.’ Margery was the youngest, but she remembered the arguments between Bied and Mabile. They’d always mended matters because they were sisters. Margery didn’t want to cause any injury when she wasn’t certain of her place here.
Evrart stopped in his tracks. ‘I’m not sleeping anywhere else.’
Her heart filled, then warmed. The restlessness in her eased. He did care about her. Maybe she was simply tired...maybe her time in the fortress was skewing her perceptions. Tomorrow Evrart would be here, defending himself and her against his sister. She’d get an opportunity to talk with his mother, who had at least frowned at her daughter. Tomorrow it would be better.
They’d partly cleared the room before she realised that although Evrart had claimed the room, he hadn’t truly included her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Evrart eyed the field. ‘Are there more stones than last I was here?’
Azamet, his friend since they could first tie their boots, gazed at the sky and rocked on his heels.
‘You cleared your field and dumped them here,’ Evrart said.
‘They were to be gone before you next returned,’ Azamet said. ‘Didn’t expect you back so soon.’
So soon...
It would be almost two years since he’d returned. Some of the village had stayed the same, but there were improvements to be noted. The biggest change was in Peronelle, whom he knew had entered some terrible time in a female’s life that he didn’t want to examine too closely. Never a happy child, she was now almost a woman...and she might be spoiled.
After days here, he’d expected Margery to say something to her by now. But Margery wasn’t the same. He’d thought what was between them had been all set to rights when they’d shared berries, when she’d asked if he wanted to pick some.
He should have known that was unusual. His Margery would have simply demanded he pick them, not asked if he wanted to.
He had felt so joyous to be holding her again, he hadn’t noticed those subtle differences. And when they’d entered the village, she’d grown so quiet, her eyes too wide. She hadn’t looked that fearful...ever.
He’d shrugged that off as well, thinking she was tired, but days had gone by and that look hadn’t left her. Could it be she didn’t like it here?
He’d expected to offer marriage to her by now. He wanted at least to ask her, but now he was unsure if she wanted him in any way. At night, however, when all was dark and quiet, she curled up against him. It wasn’t the same as under the mulberry canopy. He lay there but didn’t hold her, and she never did anything. Just leaned into him as if she needed his support. So he gave it to her.
His mother, bless her, had given him time and the room. Quiet as she was, he could tell she was as happy as he was that he was home. When he’d told her he didn’t need to return to Warstone Fortress tears had fallen and she’d patted his hand. Such affection from his reserved mother had been so overwhelming he’d almost hugged her, as Margery would have done.
Picking up another stone, he threw it to the pile he’d created. He’d propose to her soon—he’d tell her his intentions since he’d already told her his feelings. But how? And what woman would accept him, with his past, if he had nothing to offer? Building a home for them would take time, and his field was strewn with stones. The soil was good underneath, though. Crops would take a while... But he didn’t want to wait. He wanted his Margery.
He remembered how, when he was young, he’d imagined working side by side with his wife in this very field. But Margery, with her tiny frame and soft hands out here, in this field with more stones than soil? Never. He would show his worth to her and protect her from this toil as well.
‘I’ll see you later tonight?’ Azamet said.
Evrart bit back a growl.
‘For some fine ale?’ Azamet said, his voice a bit weaker.
Azamet wasn’t much taller than Margery. As a boy, Azamet had shadowed Evrart, and as such he’d always been protective. Well, no longer. His duties were to another.
‘We will clear this field together,’ Evrart threatened. ‘And if you don’t want to be here as dawn breaks over tomorrow, you will acquire others to help as well.’
* * *
This day was no different from the last. Margery tried to help, was rebuffed, tried to be friendly, but was ignored, and when she tried to disappear was scorned.
Well, not verbally scorned, or rebuffed, or ignored. But Evrart’s mother had a multitude of looks—none of which she could understand. Sometimes she looked almost friendly and smiled, but when Margery started a conversation, the woman would just stare at her. Which led her to believe again she’d disagreed with her son’s choice for a lover.
All her life she’d protected herself from people, and here she was being battered about by Evrart’s family. She had begged Evrart to travel to his village, and along the way with his childhood tales, she’d thought she knew how living here would be for them. Now it felt as if she’d been picked up and placed somewhere she wasn’t meant to be.
And she’d tried to get past this feeling of doubt, because she’d sold her virtue to Josse and then Roul. But seeing Evrart in his home, with all the goodness of this village and all the love of his family, she knew he deserved better than her.
She’d tried to talk of it in the garden, but he had dismissed it. She’d let it go. Her question then had been whether he kept her in the dark to protect her, or if he was simply unused to conversing. Now she realised she shouldn’t have let it go. She wondered if she had been wrong about everything when it came to this man. Maybe he didn’t keep quiet to protect her but because he thought she wasn’t worthy. How could a whore be worthy?
And Peronelle!
Margery was used to people gaping at her. Oddly, she was grateful she wasn’t being treated as if she was something better because of her colouring. But she missed her own family. She missed being able to talk of matters like this. She wished, not for the first time, Evrart had said something of the guards bringing his sister gifts. She would have brought something from the fortress.
She’d offered Peronelle some of her ribbons, and even the headdress which hadn’t stained. Peronelle had merely turned her back on them and asked what she would use them for.
She agreed with Peronelle. They were useless. And if she was to be more helpful to Evrart, if she was to stay, she’d need more serviceable clothes. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
With certainty she wouldn’t ask any of the women in this village to swap. They’d look at her clothes just as she did and see uselessness. Maybe there was something nearer the abbey.
‘Is there a market near, where I could find some wool or linen weave?’ she asked.
Peronelle stepped through the bedroom doorway, looked her over, then looked at the satchels they had brought full of clothing. ‘You do not have enough clothes?’
That was not what she meant. ‘I thought I could find something more...’
‘More village-like?’ Peronelle said.
‘I used to live in a village. I still have family there.’
‘But you left it, so you must not have liked it.’
Arguing with her would solve nothing. ‘Please, Peronelle, where can I purchase some fabric for clothing?’
‘And fill up my room with more of your things when you’ll be leaving here soon enough? I hope not.’
Margery’s heart plummeted. Leaving? Was Evrart wanting her gone or was it simply his sister? She’d had en
ough of not knowing and asking herself these questions. She needed to talk to him!
‘Where is Evrart now?’
Peronelle shrugged.
Margery looked at Blanche, sitting in a padded chair in the corner. She was mending clothes. A heaped basket was beside her.
Over the last few days this was what Blanche mostly had been doing. Sitting in the corner, never saying a word, while people brought her baskets of clothes to mend.
Margery knew Evrart’s mother should have been the one to answer her question. Certainly, a woman who needed thread would know where there was fabric. If she hadn’t wanted to get up from her seat, she could have called out. Instead, she had allowed her daughter to enter the room and announce that her son would be sending her away.
And Evrart. Up at dawn...back when it was almost dark. He was busy with something, but when she asked, he merely said he was taking care of the land.
He looked so pleased to be here—how could she complain about his mother and sister? She wouldn’t. But they couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t fair to him or to his family. Or to her.
Why didn’t he merely say what he was doing? Was he deceiving her? She knew he didn’t actually lie, but he had never told her everything. He’d told her amusing stories of his youth, but they’d been simple. They hadn’t let her know he was from such a fine family, who with one glance had known that she was not.
And if Evrart never stood up for her, she would never be accepted. ‘Where is he?’
Blanche looked up and frowned at Margery’s gown. ‘Fields.’
The fields—of course. Even years out of the village, she hadn’t truly forgotten. It was just...well, she’d never done that...worked in the fields. Hadn’t because Biedeluue had done it, and then, when Bied had left, and she’d grown old enough to be productive at harvesting, Josse had ridden by.
‘You’re going to go to the fields?’ Peronelle said.
‘You are busy with food, and your mother with mending. I’d like to help, too.’
‘In those shoes?’
They were the only shoes she had. ‘I suppose I’ll need the cordwainer as well...’
‘A cordwainer! First you want new clothing—now new shoes. Will you never be satisfied?’
Margery blinked at the tears that threatened. She looked at Blanche, whose eyes seemed to have softened, and saw that she gave a nod of encouragement. But how could she tell if she was being kind to Peronelle or to her, when her eyes were so full of tears and everything was blurry?
She’d been a burden to her family, and what skills had she gained so she would not be a burden here?
She’d left the fortress because she hadn’t fitted there, and now she was even more out of place here. This—being here and not fitting in, being a burden—was why she should have protected herself. There she’d been, demanding Evrart protect and defend himself from Ian, when it was her who shouldn’t have included Evrart in her heart. Because of course he’d have family, and friends, and villagers who adored him. And how could she—worthless, useless—defend herself to all of them?
Once she had attempted to explain to Evrart about her worthlessness, but he’d brushed her off. No more.
Firming her resolve, she said. ‘Point me in the direction of the fields.’
Peronelle pointed at the opposite wall. Margery didn’t dare ask for anything else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Margery found Evrart easily enough. Following Peronelle’s pointed direction, there weren’t many turns until she came to an open field she hadn’t explored before.
Evrart wasn’t the only man in the field. Many men were rolling rocks or conversing. But he was the only one she noticed.
His back to her, he was unhinging some oxen, lifting the tackle and putting it in a cart beside him. It being a warm day, he wore only his breeches and heavy boots. His tunic was off, and his skin gleamed with sweat and dirt. He was dressed as most of the men were dressed, but Evrart stood out from all of them.
It wasn’t his size; it was him.
It was the ease with which he handled the beasts and the apparatus.
As much as she’d admired him in the lists...as many hours as she’d watched him wield a sword or some other weaponry...it hadn’t been him. She realised why now. It was the fact there had been walls around him, that there had been men who worked against, not together, with him.
He belonged out here, with the elements and the ease of camaraderie.
Which made what Ian had done to him all the worse. All those battles he’d fought, the scars on his legs... All the dead bodies he’d had to drag around and this man was still good. Useful. Kind.
She didn’t belong here; she didn’t belong to him.
When they’d been at the fortress, she’d known her past separated them. And though his future wasn’t with the Warstones now, it was here, he should be away from her all the same.
She deserved none of this. Not the blue sky, not the friendly faces, not the man who made her mouth go dry with want and her heart hammer with so much love and need.
She deserved nothing!
And he needed to know this.
He needed to know—except the field was saturated with mud, swathes of water, and Evrart was on the other side.
No more being a coward.
A step...two.
Her foot got stuck and she pulled it out. She stumbled and her other foot stuck. Still too much space between them.
Two more steps... Enough!
‘I made my sister lie with neighbours so I could have blankets thick enough for winter,’ she called out. ‘Me, not her—and not my sister Mabile either. No, by the time the taxes were paid and there was some food on the table there was just enough coin to purchase the wool for blankets that went to me.’
Evrart stopped wrapping the rope that hung from his hands and around his shoulders. Stopped midway. So did everyone else around them.
She stumbled a few more steps towards him and lost a shoe.
‘I don’t care if you make the argument that I was only eight,’ she said. ‘I did much worse before then. The first terrible thing I ever did was be born. I broke my mother and became a burden to my siblings, who could barely feed themselves.’
There was whispering off to her left, and Evrart’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t let go of the rope and he didn’t move towards her either. It was as she deserved.
‘You know they had to stop their work to find me? I’d be stolen away by other families, and my mother’s breasts would be leaking, but what did I care? Some other mother had me at her breast. I was fed, comforted. But my mother suffered. My brother Isnard told me it used to send her into laments. It only became worse, and then she lost her reason because of me. My brothers and sisters lost their father, too, because he left soon afterwards.’
She knew these things, she’d lived them, but her voice, the very breath she panted through her lungs, didn’t sound or feel like hers.
Some of the men were dropping stones around her and leaving the field. Off to the side she saw others ushering their young ones away. Evrart stood still, his arms in the same position.
She stepped again and her gown dragged against the puddles. She fisted it tighter. If she’d just listened to reason and protected herself she could have avoided the villagers’ stares, avoided Evrart knowing how terrible she was. But there was no hope for it; she’d do it now and be done. Tell him everything and be on her way.
She took a wider step and lost her other shoe.
‘At some point even all the sacrifices my sister made to save me weren’t enough. Bied had to leave the village to work elsewhere. One village after another...she never could stay in one place. But it didn’t matter. She had to go farther and farther away, and we...we had to wait for the coin to borrow oxen. And the waiting...’.
The furrows in t
he field allowed her to walk on mounds and she was almost to him now. Close enough that she could see his expression, but she still didn’t know what he thought of her screeching like this.
‘I thought you were poor. I thought when Ian stole you that it was a way for you and your family to survive.’ She heaved in an uneven breath. ‘When I was stolen...when I agreed to earn coin for my body...it was to survive. You...you should never have left here. This place is good—like you. I don’t belong. Why did you bring me here?’
Stumbling a few more steps, she righted herself. And then he was right there. Unmoving. Uncaring...?
This. This was what had been bothering his Margery. Her past. Evrart had vowed to protect her in the future, and yet he hadn’t known it was her past that was affecting them now. Why had he brought her here? Because he was desperate to share his life with her.
But...
That meant sharing their lives, and he’d been quiet for far too long. All he knew was this vocal woman had gone quiet, too. And that couldn’t be borne. He was a fool not to have realised it earlier.
‘What else?’
Out of breath, she huffed. ‘What?’
He tossed the rope which was around his shoulders into the cart. It made an awful clang and he waited until it ceased. ‘Tell me the rest; all of it.’
Blinking, she swallowed hard. ‘Bied was gone and our family was still struggling. My brothers worked until their fingers bled. I was harvesting one day when strangers rode through. They were always riding past the fields, and I hardly took any notice, but I was foolish and tired and I used the road to return home. It had been raining and the fields were bogs, the road was easier—but it was also easier for Josse to spot me...or rather the back of my head. I wore a head covering, but it was the end of the day and some of my hair had escaped. He slowed, and I could feel his eyes upon me, but I refused to look up. I knew what would happen if I looked up. Then he pulled his horse right in front of me, so I stopped. He asked for directions, and I gave them to him.’
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 66