Beyond Reason

by Avril Borthiry

  BEYOND REASON

  A Novel

  Copyright © 2011 by Avril Borthiry

  BEYOND REASON is a work of fiction. Though some actual towns, cities, and locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Any similarities of characters or names used within to any person past, present, or future is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. Brief quotations may be embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contains adult situations.

  Chapter 1

  August, 1346

  Westmorland, England

  Isobel heaved the wooden bucket onto the outer wall of the well and unhooked it from the pulley, sloshing water down the front of her kirtle as she did so. She blew a stray curl out of her eyes, wiped a forearm across her brow, and rested for a moment. Around her, the grey walls of Glendennan's bailey rose to embrace blue skies. There was a time when she'd been free to wander beyond the castle gates, to visit the village and savour the splendour of the surrounding hills. Now she only did so in her imagination.

  She also imagined herself chained to a wagon, looking back at Glendennan's walls as she was carted off to debtor's prison.

  “Cease,” she murmured, closing her eyes against the familiar burn of tears. “Cease this torment of yourself.”

  Shaking dark thoughts from her mind, Isobel hoisted the bucket and staggered across the bailey, slopping yet more water down her skirts. She gritted her teeth, thinking that the door to the kitchen had never seemed so far away.

  “Isobel, wait. Let me get that.”

  She glanced sideways to see Glendennan's sergeant-at-arms striding toward her. With a sigh of relief, she set the bucket down and flexed her fingers.

  “My fault, Bernard. I shouldn't have filled it to the top.”

  He lifted the bucket with apparent ease, cursing under his breath. “It's not right, lass. Felix can't treat you like this. Let me speak to him. Better yet, let me break a few of his ribs.”

  Isobel gave a wry smile. “The offer is appealing, but nay. He'll surely call in the bailiff. A servant's work is far preferable to the alternative.”

  Bernard huffed. “As God is my witness, that little snake will be sorry when his lordship returns.”

  “His lordship might side with Felix.”

  “Little chance of that. How many times must I tell you? Robert Montgomery has a fierce sword arm but a gentle heart.”

  “I pray you're right.” Isobel pushed the kitchen door open. “It's not that I don't want to pay off my debt to Glendennan – I do – but Felix is such a hard task-master. He barely allows me a moment to myself.”

  Bernard hoisted the bucket onto the table. “His authority has gone to his head. He's getting on everyone's nerves.”

  Edith, the housekeeper, peered around the inner door. “Felix wants to see you, Mistress. 'E's in the master's office.”

  Isobel nodded at Edith and gave Bernard a weary smile. “My thanks, Bernard. Please give my regards to Elisabeth. The baby must be due soon?”

  “A few weeks yet. She's been unwell these past few days. This confinement has not been easy, poor lass, unlike the other two, which gave her no trouble. She's had to give up most of her duties around Glendennan of late. They've become to much for her.”

  “Now you mention it, I haven't seen her about for a while. I'm sorry she's not well. I wish I had time to visit, but –”

  “Felix said to come right away.” With a scowl on her face, Edith loitered in the doorway. “'E don't like to be kept waitin'.”

  Isobel gave Bernard a grim smile. “I'd better go.”

  Bernard scoffed and glared at Edith. “What's so urgent that it can't wait a moment?”

  The housekeeper shrugged. “'Ow should I know? Jus' passin' on the message.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The door to Glendennan's office stood open. Isobel paused on the threshold, her heart missing a beat at the sight of a familiar oak chest sitting in the middle of the office floor.

  “That's...that's my travelling box, Felix. Why is it here?”

  Felix De Lisle, Glendennan's steward, set his pen aside and turned to look at her.

  “I've taken the liberty of confiscating your belongings, mistress,” he said, with an air of smugness. “They're to be sold to help pay down your debt.”

  Isobel blinked. “Sold? But...those are my personal items.”

  Felix suppressed a yawn. “Anything of value that you possess is forfeit to Glendennan. Your chamber has been cleared out. From now on you will use a pallet in the great hall.”

  At least, then, she was still to have a roof over her head, yet despite a twinge of relief, tears of anger filled her eyes. “Why must you be so cruel? What did I ever do to make you hate me so?”

  He tut-tutted. “I don't hate you, mistress. I'm merely obliged to take care of Glendennan's interests while Lord Montgomery is absent.”

  “But my belongings are worth so little.”

  “I disagree.” Felix frowned and inspected one of his fingernails. “I saw some nice pieces of jewellery amongst your things that should fetch a pretty sum.”

  Isobel shuddered inwardly at the thought of him going through her belongings. “Please reconsider, Felix. The jewellery was a wedding gift from my husband.”

  “That is of no consequence.”

  “But it's not even two weeks since he died.” Her throat tightened. “Do I not merit some mercy?”

  “Throwing your weight around again, De Lisle?” Bernard stood on the threshold, casting dark looks at Felix. “Why don't you leave the lady alone?”

  “He's selling my things.” Isobel brushed away a tear. “My...my jewellery, at least.”

  Bernard shook his head. “Nay, you must have misunderstood, my lady. You're not going to do that, are you, Felix?”

  The steward's expression hardened as he rose to his feet. “This is none of your business, soldier.”

  “It is now.” Bernard took a step forward. “Give the lady her jewellery and I'll be on my way.”

  “I repeat, this is none of your business.” Felix lifted his chin. “Lord Montgomery put me in charge of Glendennan's fiscal affairs, and I – ”

  “He'd not approve of your methods, Steward.”

  “You think not? Well, perhaps I'll summon the bailiff then.” Felix's eyes glinted. “I'm sure he'll be happy to settle this matter.”

  “Nay!” Isobel put a hand on Bernard's arm. “Leave it, Bernard.”

  “Sorry, my lady, not this time. The bastard goes too far.” His hand fell to his sword hilt as he glared at Felix. “Unless you wish to spend the next few months looking over your shoulder at night, De Lisle, I strongly recommend you let the lady keep her jewellery. This business of the debt can be discussed with Lord Montgomery upon his return.”

  Fury, in unmistakable form, turned Felix's face crimson. “And it will be discussed, believe me.” He threw a spiteful glance at Isobel. “Take your cursed baubles, then, and get back to work.”

  “Thank you, Bernard,” Isobel murmured as they left, her jewellery pouch clasped in her hand. “Your arrival was once again timely.”

  “My arrival was planned. I had a feeling you might have need of someone at your back, so I waited outside, just in case.”

  “You're a good man. I'm very grateful.”

  “I wish I could do more.” He paused his stride. “Stay strong, Isobel. Rob will stop this when he returns, I promise. And he will return. Death does not await our lord on any French battlefield.”

  Isobel sighed. “You sound so sure.”

  “I am.” He gave a kno
wing smile. “Rob can't die, because he didn't take his heart with him when he left. It's right here at Glendennan, where it has always been.”

  That night, Isobel settled onto a straw pallet in the great hall. Indiscernible whispers wove through the darkness, uttered by those who were now her equal. No doubt much of the subdued discourse was about her. Gossip always flourished among the servants.

  “It'll be alright, m'lady,” said Mary, who lay at Isobel's side. The maid, who had formerly attended Isobel, was at least sympathetic to her mistress's plight. “You'll see. It'll be alright.”

  “I pray so,” she replied. Yet, despite Mary's attempt at reassurance, fear and uncertainty sat like a ball of ice around Isobel's heart. Surrounded by so many people, yet floundering in the depths of despair, she had never felt so alone.

  Chapter 2

  November 1346

  Northern France

  Cold north winds blew across the English Channel, invading the northern coast of France with almost as much vigour as Edward III's English army, who were now solidly entrenched outside the walled town of Calais. The siege showed no sign of ending. The French would not be ousted and the English could not breach the walls. Both sides had reached an impasse, a stalemate. At least for now.

  Night fell early in the dark days of November. Unable to sleep, Robert Montgomery lay on his pallet, listening to the snores of his squire and the other knights who shared the cramped tent. Generous helpings of ale and wine had rendered most of them oblivious to the howling wind which pushed and pulled at the tent walls.

  Robert had drunk little, preferring to keep a clear head as he awaited his royal summons. Nigh on a year had passed since he'd taken up arms in Edward's name. Three months had passed since the battle of Crecy – since Robert had first requested his sojourn. At that time, the king had bid his knight wait, acknowledging his service and loyalty, yet reluctant to let him leave. After the victory at Crecy, Edward's army had turned north, heading for the coast and the town of Calais. Now, the seasoned fighting force needed to regroup and restock with fresh supplies, including men. Both had been arriving by ship from England over the past few weeks, so Robert had approached the king again.

  Along with the supplies, a missive had arrived that morning from Robert's steward, Felix De Lisle. For the most part, it spoke of mundane events and was little more than a muted report of the affairs of Glendennan. It also included a paragraph describing Simon De Clancy's death from a sweating sickness; a solitary event, seemingly, since Felix said that no one else at Glendennan had been affected.

  Thankful that his serfs had been spared illness, Robert nevertheless offered up a quick prayer for the deceased man. In truth, he'd forgotten about De Clancy, having been called away to war only days after the man had arrived at Glendennan. A friend of Robert's father, De Clancy had approached Robert for help after falling into debt. Knowing his father would have done the same, Robert agreed to pay the debt off, accepting the man's offer of fealty in exchange.

  “The issue of the debt is being resolved,” Felix had written, but gave no detail. Robert frowned, trying to remember Simon's wife. He'd met her only briefly. Isobel? Was that her name? A little redhead as he recalled, a good deal younger than her aging husband, always hiding in his shadow. Felix had not mentioned her in the missive. Perhaps she'd left Glendennan and returned to her family. Robert mentally vowed to send her a message of condolence when he returned home.

  Home.

  He sighed. The mere thought of his castle and the quiet village, nestled in the rugged northern fells of Westmorland, stoked his pulse. He shifted restlessly on his pallet and glanced at the tent flap, willing the summons to come.

  Perhaps the king had forgotten – again. Frustrated, Robert linked his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. Sleep had almost claimed him when he heard the tent flap being pushed aside.

  “Lord Montgomery, the king's grace will see you now.”

  On the cusp of sleep, Robert jumped, startled by the loudness of the squire's voice that carried even over the persistent howl of the wind. Several oaths burned through the darkness as the other knights around him cursed at the disturbance.

  “Shall I come with you, my lord?” Lucas, Robert's squire, sat up and yawned.

  “Nay, lad. Go back to sleep.”

  Robert rose, grabbed his cloak, and stepped out into the wild night. His heart quickened as he followed the squire across the encampment to the king's pavilion. The crimson walls of the royal tent glowed from the many candles burning within. The king's guards moved aside and Robert entered.

  “Ah, my reluctant warrior. Come in, come in.” Edward III, King of England, gestured with his hand, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight, his tall form resplendent in the rich trappings of a monarch.

  The king was not alone. Another man – his face somewhat familiar to Robert – stood with him. Older, fully bearded, with wiry grey whiskers that matched his grey hair, the man regarded Robert with unguarded interest and apparent recognition. The atmosphere in the pavilion hinted at some kind of conspiracy – benign perhaps – but conspiracy nonetheless.

  Curiosity stoked, Robert dropped to one knee and bowed his head over the monarch's bejewelled hand. “Your Grace. It's good of you to see me.”

  Edward laughed. “At last, you say, ne-c'est pas? You're like a persistent fly that won't go away. Arise, Montgomery.” He turned to the older man at his side. “Et voilà, this is he, Duncan, ever eager to return to his pile of stones in the north. He's a brave man, a savvy lord and a good soldier. He's served me well. I think it a fine match. What say you?”

  The bearded man raised his chin slightly as his blue-eyed gaze swept over Robert. “I say your opinion is beyond reproach, sire. Also, I knew and respected his father. A fine man too.”

  Edward nodded. “Montgomery, this is Baron Willoughby of Arnside. His daughter, Joanna, is not yet promised. She's in her seventeenth winter, fair of face and comes with a generous dowry.”

  Willoughby. Of course. The Baron retained expansive lands not too far from Glendennan. Robert knew nothing of the daughter. He gave a questioning glance to his king. “Your Grace?”

  Edward folded his arms. “The lass is yours, lad. You'll take her to wife when you return home. There's a ship leaving for Dover in two days. Be on it, and begin preparations for the wedding when you get back to Glendennan. Lady Joanna will join you there for the ceremony a few weeks later. Regrettably, I shall not be able to attend.”

  Robert blinked, looking from one man to the other as the meaning of the king's words registered. A wife?

  “Well?” Edward frowned. “Why do you stand there with your jaw slack? Have you naught to say?”

  “Aye. Aye, of course, sire. Thank you. I'm honoured.” Robert's head swam with the unexpected news. A wife? “I look forward to meeting the lady.”

  The king grunted. “My scribe is preparing the betrothal contract as we speak. I'll send for you in the morning for the signing of it. That is all, Montgomery. ”

  “My liege.” Robert bowed and turned to leave, thankful for the cold blast of air that clutched at him as he stepped outside. It helped to cool his blood and settle the speed of his thoughts.

  A wife? Marriage? Oh, he'd considered it, of course. Glendennan needed an heir. Joanna. Fair of face. Generous dowry. It sounded like a promising match. Still, he could not help but wonder about the young woman who was to become his wife. What would she be like? There had been women in the past, of course, but none had ever stirred him outside of the bedchamber. None had ever captured his heart.

  An image of his parents came to mind. Like most of noble birth, they had been joined in an arranged marriage, yet had come to share a rare and passionate love for each other. Indeed, when Robert's father had been killed in battle, his mother, utterly heartbroken, followed her husband to Heaven within the year. Beauty and wealth were fine things indeed, but Robert prayed he might also find the passion and love his parents had shared.

  Chapter
3

  Robert pulled Argyle to a halt at the top of the pass. The stallion whinnied, shook his large grey head and chomped impatiently on the bit. Lucas, seated astride a bay gelding, drew up alongside. Two weeks had passed since they had landed at Dover.

  The warm breath of man and horse clouded the frosty air. Robert sat quiet in the saddle, narrowing his eyes against a frigid wind that nipped at his face. Despite the cold, his blood ran hot as he surveyed the lands before him.

  “We're home at last, my lord,” Lucas murmured.

  Robert sighed, long and deep, as if releasing some darkness from his soul. “Aye, lad. It's a sight for God's eyes and mine.”

  Below, cradled in the majestic splendour of the surrounding hills, lay Glendennan. The castle, a bastion of grey stone, played guardian to the surrounding village. Smoke from peat fires rose up through the thatched roofs and drifted across the bare-limbed trees before spiralling up into Westmorland's pale skies. At the far end of the valley, a small stone church, its square bell-tower topped with a simple wooden cross, offered Christian folk a place to worship.

  Hardy black-faced sheep, dotted across the lower hillsides, grazed on frosted grass. Above them, virgin snow blanketed the craggy peaks, softening the harsh angles of rocky outcrops. Off in the distance, from high atop one of the fells, a ribbon of water tumbled down an ancient gully. A bright, bubbling stream sprouted from its feet and meandered across the valley floor like a silver snake.

  Robert absorbed the scenery as dry earth might absorb rain. Glendennan was his birthplace, his home, his beloved demesne. As he watched, the castle's portcullis rose and a man stepped out onto the road. A hand shading his eyes, the man looked up to where Robert and Lucas sat. Moments later, a hearty shout of welcome rose up from the valley floor.

  Robert grinned. “Bernard! He misses nothing, the rogue. Best watchdog in the country. I swear he can recognize a man a league away, even in the dark.”