Lady in Red - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 8)

by Shea,Lisa

  “You have taken your daily dose of mercury?”

  He nodded, his eyes moving to a small vial sitting on a table by the window. “Rudyard is very good to me, and tends to my every need,” he soothed her. “I am doing all right.” He gave a movement which passed as a smile. “Now, tell me all about your trip with Sabina.”

  Jessame hated to deceive him, but in his condition she saw no good in burdening him with extra pains, in weighing his heart down with more sufferings. She knew he had outlived his doctor’s predictions much as he had outlived the elderly doctor himself. Every day she had with her father was a blessing, and she would treasure each hour.

  “The town glows in the summertime sun,” she told her father with fondness, laying her head against his shoulder. “The robins sing their sweet song, and the doves add a counterpoint to the medley. Roger’s shop is as neat as ever, and you should see the new cross he had put up at the church. It makes the sanctuary more beautiful than ever. Mary is doing quite well for herself, and the Cavendish family keeps her quite busy with their orders for her services.”

  Her father looked at her fondly. “You should get yourself a new dress the next time you are in town,” he urged his daughter. “Something to dance in the meadows in.”

  She looked away for a minute. “I will think about it,” she murmured. “But let me tell you about the party at the Cavendish estate! The new Lady Cavendish is beautiful, with long, golden hair, and her younger sister is equally stunning.”

  His eyes twinkled. “I am sure neither holds a candle to you.”

  Jessame blushed. “You have the eyes of a father,” she pointed out gently. “At the party, everyone in town was there, and the afternoon was delightful. They had twelve types of bread and the juiciest strawberries you have ever tasted.”

  “Did Lord Cavendish host a sparring exhibition, to show off his skill with swordwork?”

  She shook her head. “No, I imagine his new wife would have frowned at such activity. She seems to have precise ideas about what a proper social function should entail.”

  Her father leant forward, drinking in her news with eager delight. “And were there any interesting conversations to share?”

  Jessame searched through her mind. Most of the talk had been fairly commonplace; news of a new colt at the farm or of how Hosea had nearly fallen from the roof of the Midway stables while repairing a hole. Nothing her father would find compelling.

  A cooing noise drifted in through the windows, and she smiled. “Oh, Aphrodite!” she remembered. “Berenger and I were talking about Hephaestus and Aphrodite, and he said …”

  Her father’s stare was suddenly sharp, and she drew to a stuttering halt.

  “Berenger has returned from the Crusades?”

  She nodded mutely, her face turning pale. She had wanted to hide the news from him as long as possible, to forestall the questions she knew would follow. Why was Berenger not a constant guest in their home? Why had he not been welcomed with open arms into their richly furnished dining room for dinner, rested for a talk in their elegant sitting room, and enjoyed the bounty of their hospitality?

  She could not – would not – allow her father to realize just how dire their circumstances actually were.

  His eyes filled with concern, and he tenderly patted her hand. “How are you doing, my dearest?”

  She looked down, a turmoil of emotions cascading over her. It was all she could do to murmur, “It is complicated.”

  He gave a long sigh. “You take it slowly,” he gently advised her. “I am sure, that over time – ”

  A hammering resounded loudly from the front door. Jessame looked up, startled and upset. They never had visitors. Millie and Rudyard went to town a few times a month for the few supplies they required. If it was that tinker returning again …

  “I will be but a moment,” she promised her father. She rose to her feet with a push, walking across the room with a quick stride. She closed the door to the study behind her with a secure click.

  As she approached the main hall she could hear Millie at the front door, talking in a low voice to someone. Then the man’s voice came more strongly. Jessame drew in a breath, staggering back against the wall.

  Berenger was clearly upset. “This is the third time you have turned me away,” he ground out. “I will see either Jessame or Terric on my visit tomorrow. If not, I may be returning with someone who can force you to let us in and see the state of things.” Then there were heavy footsteps on the stairs, and the clatter of hooves as he rode back in the direction of his estate.

  Jessame came up to Millie as she pressed the door closed. Millie’s face twisted with chagrin. “Oh, Jessame,” she sighed, “I am so sorry. I know your time with your father is precious right now.”

  Jessame stared at the solid wood of the door, the thick oak suddenly seeming a thin shield against Berenger’s steady pressures. “It is my fault, Millie,” she soothed the woman, giving the elderly cook a gentle pat on the back. “I know you turned him away twice last week, but I thought he might be distracted enough with his own party and the other village affairs to let us be for a while.” She laid a hand against the door. “I certainly did not realize he would become so insistent.”

  Millie’s voice was gentle. “He did seem upset at not being able to talk with you.”

  Jessame flushed, looking away. Had he come at last to apologize for his long absence? To expect her to shrug, to say it was all right, to forgive him for running off without a word, without a backward glance?

  She pressed her lips into a thin line. Whatever it was he had in mind, she would not allow him to interfere with the sanctuary she had created for her father, nor with the plans she had set in motion to track down a murderous swine.

  She tapped a finger to her lips. Berenger had sworn to return tomorrow. She had no doubt that she needed to have a solution ready by then, if they were to prevent the situation from escalating even further. But what could she do? She could not simply meet with Berenger, of course. He would take one look at her face and realize that she and Besame were the same person. He would ruin everything; insist she give up her quest for bringing peace to Sabina’s ghost.

  Her eyes strayed to the veil which hung on a hook by the door, the one she used when going to check on the hives. An idea formed in her mind, and she smiled. Yes, it just might work.

  “I will meet with him tomorrow when he arrives,” she informed Millie, her shoulders easing as she laid out her plan. “I will wear my green dress and braid back my hair fully. Most importantly, I will wear my full face veil at all times. I will inform Berenger that I am now allergic to stinging insects as well as berries.” She nodded in satisfaction. “If I handle this well, he should not realize I am the same person, at least not for another week or two.” She dropped her voice in resignation. “Surely it cannot take me longer than that to figure out which wolf’s head is responsible for these heinous deeds.”

  “How is it coming?” Millie asked, her own voice low, glancing in hesitation toward the closed study door. “Any leads yet?”

  Jessame shook her head. “I am making my lists, though,” she promised. “It is only a matter of time. The trap is set and baited. Now the killer will come to me.”

  Millie’s thin face creased into a worried frown. “You just be careful,” she warned. “It would do no good if you ended up buried alongside Sabina in our back meadow.”

  Jessame’s eyes automatically tracked up to look through the dingy walls of her home toward where Sabina’s body had been gently laid to rest. They had not wanted to involve the priest, not involve anyone in the village and spread the news of what had happened. They wanted to keep that hidden for as long as possible. Instead, Millie and Jessame had gone to retrieve the body themselves, had gently shepherded it home, and had carefully laid it to rest in the soft earth. Rudyard had read passages from the Bible as they covered Sabina’s body with her final brown blanket.

  Jessame gave herself a soft shake. “This will
all be over soon, I promise,” she vowed to Millie. Then she turned with determination, heading back into the study to sit by the side of her failing father.

  *

  Terric’s head nodded onto his chest, and Jessame waited a long moment before standing and moving next to him. She snugged his blankets against him tenderly, laying a hand on his shoulder for a long moment. Then she nodded to Rudyard and the two of them quietly stole from the room. Dusk was sending velvety shadows across the hallway, but a golden gleam came from the pantry. In a moment Millie emerged carrying a pair of tin lanterns.

  Jessame changed quickly, carefully putting her green dress on top of her trunk before changing into the brown work garb. Then she walked back out into the hallway.

  Jessame nodded to her two friends, and they pushed open the front door, making their way around the side of the house, past the vegetable gardens brimming with cabbage, lettuce, onion, and other hearty foods. She sighed in resignation as they came to the stables. Once the building had been her pride and joy, holding six delightful steeds as well as the various farming implements used around the property. Now the stalls were covered with dust and delicate spider webs. A fox scrambled for a hole as they pushed open the main door and came into the structure.

  Jessame gave a weary smile. “We just have to get one stall clean,” she pointed out. “We can ensure Berenger never comes back here during his short visit. Still, I would not want his steed to be uncomfortable while with us.”

  Rudyard looked out to the pasture with a wry nod. “We certainly could not let him graze there,” he agreed. “With the number of holes in that fence, we would lose him in under ten minutes.”

  Millie put the lanterns down in two opposing sides of the stables, and a striped pattern of light splayed across the floor. Gathering up brooms and rags, the trio got to work preparing their equine guest’s lodging.

  The moon was high overhead before their efforts were complete. Jessame wiped her brow in weary satisfaction. The stall was swept and clean, with a fresh layer of hay spread out in preparation for its first inhabitant in many long years. The wooden trough was scrubbed, polished, and filled with sparkling water from the well. In the morning she would stuff the feed bag with fresh grass and clover. Her shoulders eased in relief. Berenger’s horse would be quite content for his brief stay.

  Millie reached to gather up the pair of lanterns, but Jessame waved at her to leave the second.

  “I will follow in a short while,” she advised the older woman. “I would like a little time alone in here.”

  “As you wish,” answered Millie gently. In a moment she and Rudyard had moved off into the dark night, leaving her alone with the rasping of grasshoppers and the gentle creaks of the structure settling in the night.

  Jessame looped her hand through the metal handle of the lantern, bringing it into the stall with her, closing the half-gate behind her as she did. She settled down against the back wall, making a clear spot in the hay before placing the lantern at her side on the dirt floor.

  In the direct light the carving on the gate’s inner side was thrown into sharp relief. She remembered clearly the days that Berenger worked on it, when her beloved Misty was out gamboling in the meadow. Berenger had said it would keep Misty company on the rainy days she was forced to remain inside.

  The work of art was perhaps the size of her head. In the stillness of the night Jessame drank it in, her eyes moving tenderly over every detail.

  The fish swam as if contented beyond all measure within its circular pond. Its elegant tail streamed behind it, and its delicate fins helped guide it along its path. She could see both strength and agility in its form. The traits were a mirror of the hand that had created it.

  Without conscious thought she was moving across the floor, resettling to lean against the gate, and her fingers slowly traced along the shape. She closed her eyes, holding back the tears, losing herself in her memories.

  Chapter 6

  Jessame scrubbed herself in the wooden tub, removing every ounce of grit and grime from her body, fighting off the seeming hive of bees that had taken hold of her stomach. It was well and good for her to be the grungy, wild woman when she was acting the part of Besame, a woman Berenger had never seen before this week. But now she would be meeting him as herself, as the quiet girl he remembered, the girl with the neatly braided hair and the green dress the color of the morning grass. The lass who had sat with him for hours while they dangled their fishing lines in the pond, their toes making tiny ripples on the sparkling surface of the water.

  She dressed carefully, pulling on the freshly cleaned white chemise, then the rich green tunic. She ran her hands down the fabric, giving a soft sigh of dismay. Millie did the best she could with mending, but her outfit was a far cry from the lush beauty of Cassandra’s wardrobe. The dress was threadbare at the elbows, and a stain or two spotted its length.

  She shrugged, turning to sit on the bed. There was nothing for the state of her outfit. This is what she had, and it would have to do. She carefully wove the braid along one brow, then the other, joining them at the back into a long, single plait.

  She moved to the front hallway, drawing the veil down over her head, placing the thin bronze circlet on top to hold it in place. Then she pulled open the heavy door, slipped through the opening, and closed it firmly behind her. Spreading her skirts, she sat down on the stone steps, gazing down the path west.

  The late morning sun shone warmly across the waving grass, a robin warbled from a nearby tree, and she drew in a deep breath of the fragrant breeze. Time spun backwards like a ball of yarn unwinding down a gentle slope. Her hand ran along the familiar rough stone of the step, and she could have been twelve again, her eyes gazing toward the bend in the path, to where it curved around the copse of oaks. He would emerge from their shadows, and she would race toward him on dancing feet, laughing, greeting him, telling him all about her plans for the day. She could remember it well, the feel of the wind in her hair, the fragrance of the wildflowers.

  There was a movement, and a shadow, and it was all she could do to hold herself in place as he stepped into view, leading his horse by the reins. He froze in place for a long moment, staring at her, and her breath caught.

  He was there. He was really there. Her dreams, her visions, her desperately longings for ten long years had finally merged into a shaky reality, and she clung tenuously to it, her thundering heart barely trusting to believe in what she saw.

  After a long pause he started into motion again. His stride was steady as he made his way toward her. His eyes stayed firmly on hers with every step, never straying. She could barely breathe, could not stir or blink.

  At last he drew to a stop before her, and it seemed as if he could not talk, could not move from his spot at the foot of the stairs. She rose to her feet, staring down at him, afraid to take a step. He was a vision, surely. For so many years she had sat in this very spot, wished and dreamed and hoped for him to come to her. And here he was – but surely the mirage would dissipate into a vanishing mist if she took one breath.

  Rudyard appeared from the side of the house, gently taking the reins from Berenger’s hands. Jessame let out her breath, coming back to reality. When they were younger, Berenger had only been allowed a horse a precious few times, and each time he had insisted on going to the stables himself, caring for the horse and seeing him fed. There was no way he would be allowed to realize just how bad things were, and this was the first hurdle Jessame had feared. Her sigh of relief was heartfelt as Berenger let his steed be led off and barely seemed to notice.

  Then they were alone again, and at last Berenger gave a soft shake. He stepped forward, reaching for her hand, and she offered it to him. He lowered his lips to her hand for a formal kiss, then looked up at her, still gently holding her hand.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “It is good to see you, Jess. After all this time, somehow it almost seems like yesterday.”

  Jessame blushed, lowering her eyes
. She had spent time with him this past week, had been able to inure herself to the golden flecks in his eyes, the strength in his shoulders, the sureness of his stride. To her, he had become almost second nature again. She had to remind herself that he felt he was only now rebuilding their relationship.

  His eyes moved to the veil, and he raised an eyebrow. “Is this a new fashion?” he asked, his voice regaining its sturdy timbre.

  “Ah, it is for allergies,” commented Jessame, her face flushing at the necessary lie.

  Berenger’s tone was neutral. “Oh, have you eaten too many raspberries?”

  Jessame shot him a sharp look, her heart racing. Had he seen through her disguise? But no, he seemed to be simply looking her over, showing no sign of realizing she and the wild, wanton woman in red were one and the same.

  “Um, no, I have developed allergies to bees,” she explained. “The veil helps to keep them at bay.”

  “Of course,” he answered noncommittally.

  She stepped down to the soft surface of the grass. They walked side by side in silence down to the fishing pond. To Jessame it was as if the years scrolled back, as if she were twelve again and Berenger were at her side, the world spread out before them, the warmth of the sun soaking into her skin.

  They reached the large, flat rock which had served as their favorite fishing spot, moonlit stargazing bed, and so many other things throughout the years. It had seemed enormous as a child. Even now she was sure she and Berenger could lay on its warm, smooth surface side by side, arms outstretched, and barely touch its edges.

  He offered his hand to her, and his touch sent a thrill through her body as she stepped up onto the grey surface. Through long years of habit she stayed on the right side, careful not to step on the large carving which traced along the left side of the stone top, the fish’s shimmering scales and curved fins glistening in the summer’s sun. She moved over to the rock’s edge, slipped her feet from her shoes, and leaned down to place them to her right. As she sat, as always, she ran a hand tenderly along the fish’s brow.