by June Francis
‘A sensible decision, mam’selle’, Blanche gave her the smallest of smiles and walked away.
Louise left the hall, feeling unexpectedly exhausted. Once in her bedchamber she seriously considered undressing arid going to bed. It would save the emotional strain on her nerves of having to face the twins and Blanche again. But it would be a long night up here in this cold room on her own, because she was not fool enough to consider leaving in the dark on such a night. The cloak which was spread over the bed felt slightly damp and she decided that she would take it into the hall and warm it by the fire. She changed quickly and went downstairs, taking up a place by the fire, where she was almost immediately spotted by John’s father.
‘We missed you at the feast, lad,’ he murmured, his keen gaze scrutinising her delicately boned face, which was flushed from the fire’s heat. ‘Where have you been? My son’s been seeking you.’
‘Oh!’ She sought quickly for an answer and stuck to the truth. ‘I was — at the feast, m’sieur,’ she responded hurriedly. ‘I was clad differently and wearing a mask.’
‘You were in costume perhaps?’ His blue eyes twinkled slightly.
‘You — could say that.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Was it for anything in particular that your son wanted me?’
‘He didn’t say. But he seemed vexed when he could not find you or Harry. It might be best if you sorted out whatever it is that you’ve disagreed about as soon as possible.’
‘I was not aware that we had quarrelled, m’sieur,’ she said brightly.
‘Perhaps I misjudged the matter.’ Guy smiled. ‘But he’s gone to the stables to check on the horses. A quieter place than this rowdy hall, I deem, where you wouldn’t be disturbed.’
‘Merci, m’sieur.’ She returned his smile despite the tightening of the muscles of her stomach. ‘You can tell the difference between your sons?’
‘I have been known to mistake them one for the other,’ he said frankly. ‘But that is not often. There is something about their expressions, as I’m certain you’ll have noticed, having been in John’s company for some weeks.’
He paused, and his eyes held hers. ‘How did you meet exactly?’
Her heart bumped. ‘Didn’t he tell you?’
‘Calais — down by the waterfront — you were looking for your sister. You saw his likeness to Harry and told him of it, and in return he promised to help you find your sister. It seems unlikely behaviour for a youth whose sister had been taken from him by the enemy.’
‘I was desperate to find Marguerite,’ she said gruffly, swirling the cloak about her shoulders.
‘So you were prepared to take any risk to your person?’
‘Oui!’ She lowered her eyes, seemingly giving all her attention to fastening her cloak. It would not be a bad idea to check that her horse was all right, although her heart pounded at the thought of seeing John so soon after their quarrel. ‘I will go and seek out John now, m’sieur.’
‘Of course.’ He laid a hand on her shoulder and pressed it gently. ‘Perhaps we can have another talk some time. I would know you better, Louis. After all, we do owe you much for helping bring Harry back to us.’
‘Oui, m’sieur.’ Her voice was soft, devoid of artifice. He took his hand from her shoulder and she walked away, thinking that there was much she could like about John’s father.
A few snowflakes swirled in the air, but the night sky had a peculiar cast to it that hinted at more to come. There was a thin white layer on the steps, broken by footmarks. She trod carefully and came to the bottom safely. Huddling inside her cloak she put her feet into John’s footprints and followed them across the courtyard to the stables.
A candle was set on a niche in the wall, casting wavering shadows about the building, as she opened the door to let in a freezing wind that caused the horses to shift restlessly.
‘Shut that door!’ John’s irritated voice came at her from a dark corner. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Louise. Your father said that you were looking for me,’ she said with an assumed calmness, thinking suddenly that maybe he was sorry for what he had said and would apologise to her. There was a brief silence.
‘So you came to find me.’ There was a hint of surprise in his words. ‘I’d have thought being alone with me would be enough to prevent your seeking me out here.’ ‘What did you want me for?’ she said wearily, disappointed. She leaned against a wall.
There was a hesitant note in his voice. ‘I just wondered if you wanted to be included in the hunt tomorrow. Our host and cousins are presuming that you will. If you don’t wish to go, then I can make up some excuse for you.’
She thought quickly. ‘I’d like to hunt. It is something to do — unless you would rather I didn’t?’
‘I’m honoured that you should defer to me,’ he mocked. ‘But I agree with you that it’s something to do.’ There was another silence, before hesitantly she said, ‘Did you explain to your mother that you weren’t Harry?’
He glanced at her, then looked away again, caressing his horse’s neck. ‘She knew it once we started talking, and she asked who you were.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘That I had no idea. That I’d imbibed a little too freely of the wine and got carried away by the sight of a fair stranger. She scolded and teased me a little, but accepted my story. It’s feasible. There is the occasional traveller who passes this way even at this time of year. The laws of hospitality being what they are, all are welcome.’
‘Blanche thought that Harry dressed as a woman was you,’ she said, infusing amusement into the words. ‘That she knows you well enough to tell the difference.’
‘Did you tell her that you made the same mistake the other night?’ he rasped. ‘Except that it was the other way round?’
‘We’re not on those sort of speaking terms. But she’d guessed who I was — and warned me of the dangers of being unmasked and almost ordered me to change out of my skirts and into my doublet and hose. She has a dread of me creating a scandal.’
‘So you changed.’ He eyed her up and down. ‘I prefer the skirts.’
‘You should not say that,’ she murmured, her fingers trembling slightly as she rested her arms against the wall. ‘Look upon me as one of the lads. Blanche doesn’t like it at all that I’m a woman.’
There was a silence, not an unfriendly one, but when he burst into speech she jumped. ‘Louise! The other night! Did you believe I was Harry all the time?’
‘Didn’t I explain that I was confused? When you said that your brother was with Blanche, I presumed the brother was you because I’d last seen you with her.’
‘But when I kissed you?’
‘That’s when I became really confused, because — ’
She stopped abruptly.
‘Because what?’ he insisted, seizing her arm.
‘What does it matter?’ she murmured. ‘You’ll marry Blanche because she’s a suitable wife for you.’
He drew her close and touched her cheek with a gentle hand. ‘I’m not looking for a wife, Louise. I mightn’t mourn Dorothy, but it’s not long since she died, and I can’t forget what life was like with her. I’m in no mood to rush into another such alliance.’
‘But you’ll marry her one day! Harry said — ’
‘Forget what Harry says. He enjoys making life complicated. Being unhappily married once, I might never marry again.’
She was shocked by his reply, but did not want him to realise that, so sought for something else to say. ‘Harry was going to change and pretend to be you because Blanche was certain to believe you were him.’
John grinned reluctantly. ‘See what I mean?’
She nodded and realised that she could not leave the way she had planned now if what he said about Blanche was true. ‘Do you think that you can find out where Marguerite is from him? He’s got me so that I don’t feel that he’ll tell me the truth because he teases me so.’
‘He’s amusing himself at your expense.’ He
sounded resigned. ‘So much more interesting than telling you the name straight away. It’s like fishing. Get your fish on a hook, and then play him awhile before reeling in.’
‘He’s impossible!’ She shook her head. ‘So you reckon that he’ll tell me sooner or later?’
‘If he doesn’t tell you, he’ll tell me,’ he said grimly, pulling her hand through his arm. ‘Now let’s get you out of here and in by the fire. Your hand’s cold.’ Louise unexpectedly remembered how he had saved her from the freezing sea at Calais. Suddenly she turned to him. ‘John! Your father doesn’t know the truth about me, does he? Only he questioned me about our first meeting.’
He flashed her a glance as they made their way across the courtyard. ‘He’s extremely perceptive. I should have warned you that I had to skirt around the truth about that meeting. What did you tell him?’
‘I didn’t tell him anything — he told me that we made a pact to help each other find your brother, my sister.’ She gnawed at her lower lip. ‘He thought it unlikely behaviour for enemies.’
‘He didn’t say anything else?’
‘He seemed to believe that we’d quarrelled and that I should find you and make peace,’ she said shyly.
John stopped and stared at her, an odd expression in his eyes. ‘So you obeyed him — and we’ve made our peace.’
‘I suppose we have.’ She smiled. ‘Till the next time we disagree.’
‘Then we’ll just have to make peace again.’ He kissed her lightly, and led her up the steps and into the warmth. And Louise wondered if she had been a fool to make peace with him, knowing that she loved him. What kind of future could there be for such a love as hers for him?
*
Louise had to drag herself out of bed the next morning. She looked out of the window and saw a white world. There was no water to wash in this morning and she presumed that the water supply must have iced over and there was a shortage. She dressed quickly before going downstairs.
The hall was occupied with only a sprinkling of people, who were mainly men. John and Harry sat together, and one of them lifted a hand and signalled her over. She went, glad that it looked as if the brothers had also made up any quarrel they’d had. John asked her could she use a bow, as she slid into a place next to him. She nodded, accepting the one offered and a quiver of arrows. A few minutes later a platter of bacon and egg was set before her. She ate hungrily, listening with half an ear to the conversation between the brothers. It seemed that their father was considering bringing the visit to an end sooner than planned if the snow worsened, before the journey became impossible.
The hunting group gathered and mounted. Several hounds, yelping excitedly, milled around, leaving paw prints in the snow, which was a few inches deep. There was a sharpness in the air that caused breath to come out as steam, and flushed the cheeks. A few snowflakes twisted their lazy way to the earth.
Soon they set off. Some of the men carried spears, but John and Harry both had bows on their backs, and knives in their girdles. They headed for the forest. Bows were strung as they rode slowly beneath the trees. There were plenty of tracks in the snow — deer, boar, rabbits, foxes, weasels, as well as bird marks. Harry was after a couple of squirrels, not only for food but for stomach fur to trim a houppelande for his mother. They talked little, knowing that sound travelled the swifter in the snowy landscape, and kept their eyes and ears open.
A sudden movement in the undergrowth sent Louise reaching for an arrow, as it did John and the cousins, who accompanied them closely. Two rabbits. They moved on, the party splitting up. A flurry overhead and a couple of arrows winged their way into trees, bringing down a blackbird and a thrush. A couple of hounds went after them, and they were placed in a saddlebag. They went further in with one of the dogs, nose to the ground, zigzagging a trail ahead of them. It disappeared behind a bush and the next moment there was a terrific outburst of barking and grunting. Both cousins reached for spears while the others sought their arrows.
A boar came charging out from behind the bush with the hound yapping at its hoofs. It headed straight for Louise’s horse, which whinnied and reared. One of her feet slipped from the stirrup and she dropped her bow but managed to seize the horse’s mane. The next moment the horse was in flight, and she was desperately trying to get a hold on the reins. Despite the snowy conditions underfoot, branches whizzed past and, but for her being crouched low over the horse’s neck as her hand sought blindly for the reins, she could have been knocked from the horse.
Louise was aware of hoofs beating behind her, but had no time to look behind to see who it was. She was aware of snow falling more thickly, but was intent on catching the reins that were being tossed about as much as she was. After what seemed an age she caught them and looped a length around her hand and pulled. The horse began to slither and slide, as it slackened speed, twisting this way and that to avoid the trees, but partially blinded by the snow it blundered sideways into a tree trunk. All down one side of her, from shoulder to knee, received the full impact of the collision, and her head caught a glancing blow from a branch. She swayed dizzily in the saddle as the horse continued to stagger round and round. The reins slipped from her fingers and she slid from the saddle.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JOHN reached where Louise was slumped on the ground. She forced her head up as he dismounted, groaning and blinking snowflakes off her eyelashes. He looked anxious as he knelt on the ground, and lifted her so that her head rested against his knee. Brushing the sodden copper tendrils from one side of her face, his unsteady hand touched the lump there and she winced. ‘Poor Louise. That was some knock you took.
‘It hurts,’ she said dolefully.
‘I wager it does.’ Gently he kissed the swelling and she was moved by his gesture. ‘How does the rest of you feel?’
‘Crushed!’ She smiled faintly. ‘But help me up and I’ll get back on my horse. I’m getting covered in snow.’
The side of his mouth lifted and he slipped an arm about her shoulders. ‘Do you think you can stand?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good girl.’ He smiled encouragingly but despite her brave words she began to tremble so much with the effort that he had to hoist her up and keep his arm round her once she was on her feet.
‘I don’t think I will be able to ride after all,’ she said in a shaky voice.
‘Of course you can,’ he said with a confidence he was far from feeling. ‘But not alone, sweeting. We’ll both ride my horse, but I don’t think that we’ll be able to make the return journey to cousin Hugh’s. We’ve travelled some distance and the best action to take would be to go on to my father’s house, which is nearer.’
‘I’ll do whatever you say,’ she returned wearily, having faith in his capabilities to look after her. ‘But won’t they be worried about us?’
‘Most likely,’ he said, sounding cheerful. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about that.’ He lifted her up on to the horse and she clung to its neck while he swung up behind her. Then his arm went round her and he took the reins. ‘We’ll take it slow and easy,’ he murmured against her ear as the horse began to move.
‘What about my mount?’
‘It’ll either follow us or go back home. I’m not worrying about it now.’
‘No.’ She rested against him and closed her eyes, attempting to block out the pain in her shoulder and hip, and left it to him to take care of getting them out of the weather, which had worsened so that their hats and hair and fronts were smothered in snow.
It seemed an age before John tapped her on the shoulder. ‘We’re here, and not surprisingly everywhere looks deserted. Although, thank God, there’s a wisp of smoke coming from the roof.’
Louise raised her head and pushed back the rim of the fur hat, wiping her face with a wet sleeve in an attempt to see the better the sprawling building created from grey stone. The roof wore a mantle of white and the wind had swept snow into the crevices between stones and sills. There was a well and outbui
ldings, and from somewhere came the forlorn sound of sheep bleating.
‘The house was built by my great-grandfather,’ said John, ‘and is somewhat old-fashioned.’ He dismounted and lifted a shivering Louise down from the horse. With his arm steadying her, they trudged their way over to the front entrance. The door opened beneath his hand and he ushered her inside.
It was a relief to be out of the blizzard and her eyes swept the low-pitched room with its dark-beamed ceiling, and the ladder leading upwards in one corner under which there were shelves. She thought that there were several books there and baskets and pots. There were a couple of armed oak chairs, stools, and a small table. Trestles and tops were placed near a far wall, and a beautifully carved settle covered with tapestry cushions was set close to the fire which glowed in the middle of the room. A tabby cat, which lay warming itself, opened both eyes and stared at them. ‘There’s nobody here,’ she whispered, finding the cat’s green stare combined with the unearthly silence unnerving.
‘Agnes must have gone to visit her family,’ said John, his voice sounding loud in the empty room. He led her over to the fire, took the saturated cloak from her shoulders and lowered her on to the settle, before easing off her boots. He ordered her to lie down before going over to a basket of wood. He soon had the fire burning more brightly so that the copper warming-pan and cooking-pots winked dully. He went and fetched a pot from the wall and picked up a jug from the floor near the fire.
Louise, stretched on the settle with her head resting on several cushions, still shivered slightly as she watched him pour ale into the pot and set it on the grill over the fire. Then he vanished through a door at the far end of the room and came back with a small jar and a nutmeg. His clothes steamed as he spooned honey into the ale and then grated in some nutmeg. She gazed at his profile lit up by the flames and experienced pleasure. A moment later he brought her a wooden cup.
‘Drink it up as hot as you can,’ he commanded, ‘while I go and find us some dry clothes and some blankets.’
‘What of yourself?’ she said quickly. ‘Will you not have a drink first?’