by Linda Madl
"WHAT DO YOU mean you used all my seasick remedy?” Brenna wailed as they stood amid a maze of crowded Penzance market stalls the next day.
She ignored the heads that turned at the sound of her voice. Anger flashed hot in her heart. She whirled on her cousin and planted her hands on her hips. “That's just like you. Take what you want for a noble cause, of course. Then do as you please."
"Shh. Lower your voice.” Leandra glanced around awkwardly.
They'd sailed into Penzance Bay at midday under clear skies. When they docked, Sir Garrett had promptly sent them off to the market with an escort of guards while the cog was being unloaded. To keep them out from under his feet, no doubt, but Brenna would never object.
On all sides of them Cornish and foreign merchants sang their wares. The pungent scents of tar and tidal water filled the air. Disappointingly like home, Brenna thought. Overhead, noisy sea gulls followed the fishing boats, but she heard a new sound here. Across the harbor tin-toting mules brayed and throughout the market foreign tongues babbled. She had made it to the shores of Cornwall at last.
But Leandra's confession angered her.
"The remedy was sorely needed.” Leandra turned from the fine woven goods she examined in a market booth. “I discovered one of Lord Reginald's men ill last night when I went on deck. You hadn't shown the least twinge of seasickness, so I gave him the potion."
"Who was it?” Brenna yanked an embroidered wimple from Leandra's hand and feigned interest in it. “Tell me. Tell me. Was it the black-haired sailor with gray eyes?” Brenna gasped at a new thought. “Was it Wystan?"
"No, not Wystan.” Leandra pressed her lips together. “Someone else."
"I'll wager it was the blond soldier with the hazel eyes and big nose. You know what they say about a big nose?"
"No, I don't, and I don't believe I want to hear it. I gave my word not to embarrass the man."
Brenna sniffed. It was futile to pursue the topic. If Leandra had promised silence, she would be silent. But the thought of Wystan made her drop the wimple and stare off into the blue spring sky, dreaming of the squire's handsome face and blue eyes. “Of course it's not Wystan. He's too wonderful. Have you seen the way he smiles when I play the harp?"
Leandra turned away. “There is something I must tell you about Wystan."
Brenna held up the fine white embroidered cloth and ignored Leandra's earnest tone. She didn't want to think about serious things now. She wanted to dream about Wystan and to buy things in the market and see the town. “Come try this over your hair."
"Brenna? About Wystan?” Leandra began, taking the wimple from her cousin without making an attempt to put it on her head. “Sir Garrett would prefer that you not distract his brother with your company."
"Me?” Brenna stared at Leandra, uncertain about the meaning of her cousin's words. “Distract Wystan? Is Sir Perfect still angry about the day Wystan was hit in the head? I told them both I was sorry. I tried to care for Wystan, but his brother sent me away."
Leandra cast Brenna an uneasy look. “Sir Garrett wishes his brother to marry into an influential family."
"What?” Brenna cried. “Influential family? He means that the house of Lyonesse—no, he means I'm not good enough for his brother? As if the Bernays are so good."
"I don't like the implications of Sir Garrett's request any more than you do,” Leandra admitted with a frown. “I think it best that we comply for now. At Tremelyn there will be other squires and knights for you to meet."
"But what about how I feel?” Brenna complained. “What about Wystan? Does Sir Perfect consider his brother's feelings?"
"Let's not offend Sir Garrett more,” Leandra pleaded. “Please consider that we still have a long journey ahead and the coming marriage to the earl."
"Of course, anything for your marriage to the earl.” Brenna pressed her lips together and turned away. “Humph! Wystan's not the only man in the world."
"Indeed, not,” Leandra said, her tone taking on the indignation that Brenna liked to hear. “I'm certain the earl will suggest some more appropriate candidate for you."
"Yes, I'm sure he will,” Brenna agreed, and tossed her head.
A cry of distress and the flash of pikes caught her attention. She and Leandra turned to see their escort shove a crone and an old man away from them.
"My lady? We must speak with you. My lady?” the stooped woman begged, waving her walking stick at them.
Brenna instantly recognized the dusty black cloak the woman wore as that of a pilgrim.
"Cease that,” Leandra ordered.
The guards froze, paralyzed by Leandra's best commander's voice.
Brenna grinned. Sometimes having a sergeant of the guard for a cousin was most amusing.
"You dare to be unkind to an old woman, and a holy pilgrim, too?” Leandra chided. “Can you not see her badge? Let her pass."
"Begging your pardon, my lady,” one guard protested, confusion and apology in his expression. “But no one is to be near you. Sir Garrett ordered it so."
"What harm can there be in this pious woman?” Leandra demanded. “Where is your respect for womanhood and the Holy Church?"
The shamefaced guards exchanged frowns, then raised their pikes and reluctantly stepped aside. The crone cast them a triumphant look as she passed, nearly stabbing one's foot with her walking staff. The bent old man hobbled along behind her, followed by a child—a boy of twelve or thirteen years, possibly—with the hood of his pilgrim's cloak pulled low over his face.
"Thank you, my lady.” The old woman bobbed a curtsy before Brenna and Leandra.
"Look at this, Leandra.” Brenna studied the crone's floppy-brimmed hat. “Mistress Pilgrim wears the cockleshell badge of St. James's shrine."
The lady pilgrim smiled a toothless, amiable grin that Brenna found contagious. Delicious excitement boiled up in her. “Tell me where you have been Mistress Pilgrim. What strange and new places have you seen?"
The crone waved her arms in the air as if to embrace the world. “We have traveled far and wide, my lady. Spain and France."
Brenna giggled with delight, feeling at last that the world was hers, ready to be explored.
"What can we do for you Mistress Pilgrim?” Leandra asked, stepping to Brenna's side.
"The hostler says those be yer horses he is packing for a trip to the east, my lady."
"Yes,” Leandra replied. “I suppose so. Why do you ask, good woman?"
"We've paid our homage to St. Michael's mount here.” The old woman gestured toward the isle in Penzance Bay. “Now we travel to Canterbury, me deaf husband and I and our grandson, Alfred."
The old man ducked in a vague bow and grinned an ingratiating, yellow-toothed expression. Several days’ worth of gray beard stubble gleamed on his chin. The hooded boy ducked a bow, also.
"Me old man, he don't hear so good, so I do the talking,” the woman explained. “We seek company to travel in, lady. It be not safe to tramp the roads alone. The thieves these days have no honor, no mercy. They rob merchant, noble, and pilgrim alike. Defy the will of God, they do. What has the world come to, I ask ye?"
"What indeed, mistress,” Brenna agreed in sympathy. “We've had our trouble with pirates, right, Leandra? Tell me, what stories do you bring from Spain and St. James?"
"We have seen great things in them foreign lands, my lady. Stories, I could tell such stories of our travels along the road to Compostela. We would be good company, my lady. I assure ye."
"Think what stories they could tell, what sights they've seen,” Brenna whispered into Leandra's ear. “It would make the trip go faster. Will Sir Garrett allow them along?"
"Of course, we cannot fail to give aid to holy pilgrims,” Leandra whispered back. “Sir Garrett is pledged to protect the innocent and the Holy Church. Let me talk to him. He cannot refuse."
* * * *
"NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Garrett said without blinking an eye and gazing straight into Lady Leandra's face. What a ridiculous
request. She must understand that he could take no pilgrims under his wing and that he would not change his mind.
He leaned against the stableyard fence, eager to finish selecting the hired mounts and annoyed with being interrupted. “No pilgrims, my lady,” he repeated, even more irritated when she gave him a crestfallen expression that tugged at him inexplicably. “Have you taken a good look at them? They're disreputable. They probably steal free travel like this all the time. Pilgrims, indeed."
"They are pilgrims, sir,” the lady stammered, as she stole a look over her shoulder at the crone and her cousin, who loitered near the inn. “We have an obligation to them, Sir Garrett. You as a knight, I as a Christian lady."
"I know my obligations, Lady Leandra.” He purposely stood a little taller and folded his arms across his chest as he held her gaze. He wished he didn't recall so clearly those moist lips almost brushing his nose last night. “No strangers travel with us. I've already refused a company of merchants who were willing to supply our food in exchange for our protection."
"'Tis but an old woman,” she persisted, “her lame husband and their grandson. What harm could they be?"
"They'll hold us back.” He turned to look at the horses once more and hoped she would take the hint of dismissal.
"I think not,” she said, undaunted by his back. She leaned over the fence also, peering into his face. “They are seasoned travelers. They wear the cockleshell badge of St. James."
"I will take on no burden that might allow bandits or assassins to endanger us.” He refused to look at her. “We're on my lord's land now, and I rule here. If you will excuse me, I wish to see to the final settlement for the packhorses."
She hesitated. He suspected with growing irritation that she was gathering her wits, making ready to tackle him once more from another angle.
"But what if these pilgrims are angels in disguise, come for our help, and we turn them away?” she pointed out. “'Tis God's test, they say. Ask Father John."
Surprised and amused, he chuckled. He looked back at the crone and her family. “Angels in the form of a pilgrim hag, a bent old man, and an ugly boy? I think not. The answer is still no, lady."
She drew a deep breath, preparing to speak again. He almost cringed. Sweet Jesu, did nothing discourage her?
"I am your liege lady, am I not, Sir Garrett? Would you deny me this?” she asked. “Besides, you owe me a debt for a secret kept."
In truth he had expected her to use this tactic earlier and was prepared. “I have sworn no fealty to you yet, Lady Leandra. Lord Reginald made my position clear. Your safety, first and foremost, is my charge. I will make the decisions I deem necessary to protect you. Secret be damned."
"I see.” She stared at him, her face taking on a rosy hue. He waited for her to throw a tantrum, but she continued to speak calmly. “You were so amiable last night. I enjoyed your company. But today I find you as stubborn and overproud as ever. Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind?"
"No, nothing.” It was best to forget about last night. He deliberately glanced away from Leandra. But Brenna's glare caught his eye and bore into him. “Am I to assume from the disfavor your cousin casts in my direction that you have spoken to her about Wystan?"
"Oh, yes,” Leandra replied. “She was quite hurt. I hope she will get over it by the time we reach Tremelyn. She'll be terribly disappointed if you refuse these pilgrims."
"So long?” he muttered, a little dismayed by the prospect of a tense journey ahead.
"There you are, Sir Garrett,” Father John shouted from the corner of the inn. A smile split his narrow, kind face, and he waved. “We've had great good fortune, my son.” He beckoned to someone to join him. Two frocked churchmen appeared, one tall and thin like Father John and the other stunted and rotund. “This is Father Rhys and his clerk, Brother William. They will travel with us on their pilgrimage journey to Canterbury."
Inwardly Garrett cursed. Refusing the lady was one thing. Refusing a holy man was another.
A slow smile of victory spread across Lady Leandra's face. She had him, and she knew it. With a nod of acknowledgment toward the priest and his friends, she stepped closer to stand nearly shoulder to shoulder with him.
She whispered, her pretty pink lips barely moving, “Now, Sir Garrett, may I hear you refuse Father John and his holy pilgrims? Or will you welcome mine?"
* * * *
WITH HER FOREFINGER Brenna rolled the empty phial of seasickness remedy back and forth across the table of the inn dining room. Then she plucked the love potion phial from the cuff of her blue surcoat and held the containers side by side.
"Reliable Leandra,” she muttered, as she sat alone waiting for the Tremelyn party to gather for supper. “Keeps the potion tucked in her cuff where she put it the day we visited Vivian."
Just how did Leandra plan to use it? Brenna examined the phial closer. Would her cousin pour it into the first cup of wine that she shared with Lord Reginald when they arrived, or would she wait until the bedding ceremony?
Brenna glanced up at the sound of footsteps in the passage. Hastily she slipped the phials out of sight. A dark-haired Tremelyn man-at-arms passed the door. When he saw her, he paused to smile. She raised a hand in greeting, then turned away, purposely refusing to invite him to join her. She was waiting for Wystan, who appeared at that moment, elbowing the soldier aside.
"I received your message, and here I am.” He grinned bashfully, like a man uncertain of his welcome.
"Join me while I await my cousin,” she invited, patting the bench beside her and making room for him. She liked his company and the reflection of herself in his blue-gray eyes. They showed her a maiden in bright colors, a laughing beauty, graceful and full of charm. This squire, soon to be a knight, found her desirable. What did she care that Sir Garrett forbade them to enjoy each other's company?
Obviously heartened, Wystan sat down beside her, staring as though reluctant to take his eyes from her face. “Will you entertain us after we sup tonight?"
"I don't feel like it today.” She pouted. “Your brother has taken away all the pleasure of the trip."
"What do you mean?” Wystan sat up indignantly. “What has Garrett done? Tell me and I'll speak with him about it."
"Your brother and my cousin have forbid me from being in your company on this journey.” She watched Wystan's face closely.
Surprise took the smile from his face. Satisfaction warmed her little heart. Just as she suspected. He knew nothing about his brother's decision. “Does your brother always dictate to you like that?"
"Yes, well, I am his squire,” Wystan said, turning away slowly, as if unable to face her. His indignation seemed to fade away as readily as a puff of smoke. “I must obey his wishes. But he said nothing to me about you."
"Well, he spoke to Leandra,” she said. “It seems he has some lofty ideas about your future, about whom you should marry."
When Wystan remained disappointingly silent, she added with indifference, “As if I scheme to wed you."
Wystan blushed and shrugged. “He did say something once—that he wanted me to wed a woman of property. I am the second son, you know."
She frowned and once more fingered the phials in her sleeve. She'd forgotten about his prospects. The title of knight sounded wonderful to her. The look of adoration in Wystan's eyes was what mattered. If he wasn't too poor, she could live on his adoration forever.
She squinted at him. His short-lived anger with his brother disappointed her. Perhaps he didn't find her quite so beautiful as she thought. “Is what your brother thinks always so important to you?” she asked, hardly able to believe that she'd been wrong about her power over him.
"I'm his brother, his squire. I can't dismiss his feelings,” he said, seemingly absorbed in the scarred tabletop before him. “Garrett has fought hard and planned carefully to regain knighthood for the Bernays. Don't let his good-humored smile deceive you. He knows exactly what he wants and how he is going to get it. He
always achieves what he sets out to do."
"And you are going to let him tell you what to do?” she demanded with a frown. One brother suddenly seemed nearly as bad as the other. “Is that what you are saying?"
He wagged his head in confusion. “I don't know—"
An enormous shadow blocked out the overhead candlelight. “Where is Lady Leandra?” Garrett's voice boomed.
Brenna and Wystan started.
"Lady Brenna, go tell her to gather here and tell the pilgrims, too. The innkeeper is ready to serve us.” The knight loomed over the table, the frown on his face chilling her through and through. “Wystan, you come with me to call Father John."
The squire jumped to his feet and bounded out of the dining room to do his brother's bidding.
"Well?” Sir Garrett stared down at her as if he were lord of the world. “Your sister has spoken to you about Wystan, has she not?"
"Yes, and I go to fetch her now,” she said, scooting off the bench.
She fumed all the way down the hallway and up the stairs to the chamber she shared with Leandra. She'd had enough of taking Leandra and Sir Prefect's orders. She and Wystan had a right to be friends if they wished it. She paused at the top of the stairway. A mischievous smile came to her lips. Would serve them justly if she took control of events, would it not?
* * * *
"'TIS SPRING,” FATHER John declared, standing at the head of the table in the cramped private inn dining room. “When nature awakens from her winter sleep. When the sun warms the roads and gentles the wind. When Englishmen yearn to travel."
Agreement was murmured around the room.
Leandra watched the candlelight glint off the goblet the priest held in readiness for a toast. She was tired and longed for her bed, but she must behave with the geniality befitting the Earl of Tremelyn's bride now.
"We celebrate tonight the beginning of a bridal journey for Lady Leandra,” he continued.
"Thank you, Father.” She reached for her goblet and acknowledged the toast with as warm a smile as she could muster in her exhaustion. Curiously, Sir Garrett lifted his cup, but refused to look at her.
Then Father John turned to the others. “And to the beginning of a holy pilgrimage for our friends. Father Rhys, Brother William, and the Pender family. To a safe and pleasant passage."