Wildewood Revenge

by B. A. Morton

  “Both. Sire.”

  “Good. Both have their uses and it’s important that you recognise your role.”

  “My role, Sire?”

  “Yes, Miles. Did you imagine that I rattled the cage of my Northumbrian Baron, de Frouville’, simply for the pleasure of doing so? I gave you title to Wildewood for a very good reason.”

  Grace shifted her gaze from Edward to Miles and noted the tightening in his jaw as he held his tongue.

  “You have proven yourself in battle, Miles, and along with Hugh have assisted me before in matters of some delicacy where a knight with less courage and more conscience may have faltered. I may have need of you again. It’s important that you maintain your position at Wildewood.”

  Miles nodded slowly. “Wildewood is my home, I would defend it and the border with the same intensity as I have defended the crown, Sire, but I fear I am no longer the man you recall from our days on crusade.”

  “Sir Hugh tells me you are fully recovered now.”

  “Yes...Sire.”

  “Then you are the same man, Miles, whether it pleases you or not. We are all the product of our deeds, the glorious and the inglorious. You may wish to put the past behind you...and I may choose to allow it. However it would serve you well to remember we have all done things in the heat of battle which we may later regret. Men may critique our actions, but only God can judge our souls.”

  He turned and Grace coloured guiltily as it became obvious by his sardonic smile that he was aware she’d been eavesdropping. “Mademoiselle, you have a fine knight here before you, but I fear you have unwittingly grasped a tiger by the tail. I would suggest you hang on tightly if you wish to avoid his claws.”

  He turned back to Miles with a smile. “I hear a wedding is afoot. You have my approval. Make haste, Miles. Enjoy your delightful lady. Fill Wildewood with your sons...” He leaned forward, dropped his voice and lost the smile. “But there may come a time soon when you are obliged to revisit your past and I expect you to be ready.”

  * * *

  “What did he mean?” Grace asked when they were free of the castle. She was desperate to know what Miles had done to deserve a reputation that even the king alluded to in hushed tones.

  “Edward talks in riddles. Ignore him,” Miles replied shortly. He marched ahead, dodging this way and that avoiding the crowds milling the narrow streets enroute to the market place. She was forced to run to keep up.

  Grasping his arm she pulled him to a halt. “What have you done that’s so bad you don’t want to remember?”

  Miles shrugged her off impatiently. “Nothing that should interest you.”

  Grace ignored the dark look he sent her way, the red flag that flashed in his eyes and ploughed on regardless. “You want me to marry you, but you don’t want to tell me the truth?”

  “Truth...” He pulled her off the main thoroughfare and down an alley adjacent to an overflowing hostelry. The noise of the street vendors and the clatter of hooves on cobbles were dampened by the closeness of the walls but the smell of effluent and decay was overpowering. Grace’s eyes watered as she struggled against the odour.

  “You ask me about truth? When you have woven a delicate tapestry of deceit and maintained it diligently to this day.”

  “I....” she sought for an answer, but had none. He was correct, what right did she have to demand that he relinquish his secrets when she was loathed to part with her own? She pressed herself against the grimy wall, kicked at the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “The king implied that you were dangerous,” she muttered.

  “Perhaps I am,” he sighed. “Perhaps you would do well to run as far away from me as you can.” He too dropped his gaze and Grace was overwhelmed by the sudden sense of despair that appeared to cloak him, and of her need to dispel it.

  “I could never do that...I love you...whatever you’ve done.”

  “Whatever I’ve done?” he caught her gaze and held it.

  “Yes,” she replied determinedly.

  “Do you still believe I would hurt you?”

  She stepped toward him and slipped her hand in his, “Of course not.”

  “Then for now, trust me when I say there are things I’ve done of which I’m not proud. However, be assured they will never be repeated, despite what the king may think.”

  “Secrets...” she said softly as she laid her head against him and felt his embrace, “...they will be the death of us.”

  * * *

  Early morning sunshine crept through the irregular glass windowpane creating prisms of coloured light on the chamber wall. Grace watched Miles through lowered lashes, maintaining the illusion of sleep, stretched out beneath the covers in the best room at the grandest inn Miles could afford. Offered separate rooms at the castle, it had not been difficult to decline. Grace had assumed Miles preference for the inn had been motivated by their need to stay close. They’d been through too much to be kept apart now. After the final meeting with the king she was glad his choice had kept them well away from the castle. The closer Miles got to the king the further he seemed to drift from her grasp. Her hand slid to her abdomen, she had the perfect means by which to anchor him, but sensed his need to reach a decision without her interference.

  She felt the mattress depress as he leaned across and kissed her gently.

  “We must make a move.”

  Smiling, she opened her eyes wide, casting off her subterfuge. “Feel free to make any move you like.” She reached out a hand and gently caressed his cheek, knew in her heart that no matter what he had done she could never leave him.

  He shook his head and flashed his crooked smile. “Enough, temptress, or we shall never leave this chamber.” He slid his hand beneath the covers, caressed her silken skin and held her gaze enquiringly as he rested his palm against her belly. She lowered her lashes and he removed his hand.

  “It’s late the sun is well up. We should have left at first light. If we want to reach Wildewood before dark we need to leave soon.”

  They’d overslept having spent the night making up deliciously after the altercation in the alley and the last thing either of them wanted was to spend the day on horseback, but they needed to get back. They’d spent three days in Alnwick, longer than intended due mainly to the necessity to complete the painting before the king’s return to London. The carter had returned to Wildewood the day before with all of their supplies and Miles’ concern at the state of the truce was ever present. The king’s words had put a damper on their trip, rekindling doubt and suspicion. Grace knew the time for secrets was almost at an end. Soon all would be revealed but first they needed to go home.

  Home...Grace rolled the word around in her mind and smiled.

  .

  Chapter Forty Four

  The journey back took best part of a day and by the time they reached the welcoming safety of Wildewood, Grace knew something was amiss. Convinced the pain in her abdomen and the rise in temperature were merely the result of the long ride she shrugged both off, confident that a good night’s sleep would set her to rights.

  During the night her fever worsened and she woke bathed in sweat and beset with nausea. Miles roused as she vomited wretchedly. He held a damp cloth to her forehead and cursed the humours that invaded her.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered weakly. “I must have eaten something tainted while we were in Alnwick.” Although the food at the castle and the inn had been beyond reproach, the same could not be said for the food offered on the stalls and she recalled they had stopped to eat following their argument the previous day.

  Miles rose and pulled on his clothes, “I’ll fetch Martha. She’ll have something to give you.” He pulled the covers more snugly around her despite her need to be free of them and slipped quickly from the room.

  When he returned he had both Martha and Hugh in tow and the man wore a concerned expression as he placed a cool palm against her brow.

  “She’ll be needin’ bled no doubt,” announced Martha as she heaved her bulk
between Grace and Hugh causing him to take a step back.

  Grace looked up in alarm, catching Miles’ eye. “No I don’t. I just need to be left alone. I’ll be fine.” She winced at the pain, and tried unsuccessfully to hide it. “Just go away everyone,” she whimpered.

  Hugh pulled Miles to one side and spoke quietly to him gesturing to both her and Martha. Grace tensed, if she were about to be subjected to some form of medieval doctoring then she would have to resist. Miles approached the bed and crouched beside it taking her hand in his.

  “Hugh wishes to examine you, he is skilled in these matters as you know, but if you do not wish it I shall, against my better judgement, send for Gerard’s physician and have Martha make up a potion in the meantime.”

  Grace looked from one to the other she wanted neither choice but figured Hugh to be the lesser of two evils.

  “Hugh may help if he thinks he can,” she muttered and Hugh nodded as Miles stepped back.

  “Martha, away and make your potion, Miles go with her. Grace will be safe with me till you return.”

  Miles shot him a glance, seemed to hesitate then think better of it as he followed Martha from the room.

  Left alone, Hugh sat on the edge of the bed and gently pulled back the covers. They were damp with her sweat. “Please don’t be alarmed, Grace, I’m only going to place my hands gently against you. You must tell me when you feel pain.”

  He revealed her bare abdomen and pressed gently, eliciting a howl of pain. Drawing back he considered her for a moment.

  “Grace, not so long ago I suggested there may come a time when it might be necessary to uncomplicate matters.” He replaced the covers and smiled kindly at her. “I think that time has come.”

  “I don’t know what you mean?” muttered Grace warily. Despite the pain she was not so befuddled that she’d forgotten her initial distrust of Hugh.

  “You may well be suffering simply from food poisoning,” he began, “In which case, Martha’s potion will set you to rights. But as you are also very obviously with child, I could be mistaken and the pain may be a consequence of complications with your pregnancy.” He ignored the look of shock on her face. “Either way we do not have the skill or facilities here to treat such a condition successfully and prevent a tragedy. It is time you went home.”

  “What do you mean, how do you know these things, you’re a knight not a doctor...and I am home,” she added firmly.

  Hugh cocked his head and smiled. “Come, Grace, you know that I am more than a knight. Have you not suspected that since our first meeting?”

  “My suspicion regards your relationship with Miles and your reluctance to tell him you’re his father. What other secrets are you keeping?”

  Hugh narrowed his eyes at her sharp tone. “We share more than an interest in Miles, Grace, and I think deep down you know that. You have simply been reluctant to face the truth.”

  “And just what truth do you allude to now, Hugh?” she clutched the covers to her, suddenly unwilling to confront what she’d suspected for some time.

  Hugh glanced at the door. “We have little time, Miles will soon return and I fancy you are reluctant to share your account, so we must make haste. Listen well, Grace and I shall tell you my story.”

  The candle light flickered as he drew up a stool by the side of the bed. He gazed for a moment distracted by the patterns it created as he pulled his thoughts together and began his tale.

  “I did not begin this life as a knight, Grace. My life began much as yours, many years, and many miles from here. I trained as a surgeon at a London hospital. At the height of the Great War I volunteered my skills to the defence of the country and was sent to France an idealistic young man.”

  “The Great War?” Grace’s eyes grew wide. It was one thing to suspect, quite another to accept another’s unbelievable tale. She shivered with excitement and apprehension.

  Hugh continued. “If you think life here is brutal, that there is poor regard for the life of the common man, I would ask that you consider the trenches and the massacre of men within them. Cannon fodder is an oft used expression and unfortunately all too accurate. I did what I could to patch up men horribly injured. I amputated limbs that could have been saved under other circumstances, and grew a shield of indifference to the horror.” He glanced quickly at her as if suddenly realising his need to be succinct, that time was of the essence. “I don’t recall the exact moment the shell hit the trench all I do remember is waking some time later on a battle field just as bloody, and being carried to safety by strong and capable hands. Those hands belonged to Gerard de Frouville the Elder and the year was 1245.”

  Grace gasped, pain forgotten, all attention now on Hugh and his gripping tale. Hugh took her hand and smiled.

  “I’m sure you can imagine how I felt, to suddenly find myself in the midst of a raging medieval battle field. In truth it was not so very different from the one I’d left behind. The noise and the fear of men are timeless. I thought at first it was a dream, that perhaps I was suffering shellshock or some form of madness, but that was not the case. By some fluke I had travelled and found myself marooned far from home with no hope of return.”

  He rose from the stool, crossing to the fire where he cast a log into the flames amid a shower of sparks. Resting his arm against the mantle he turned and considered her.

  “We are alike you and I. I realised it the moment we met and that is why I must step in now whether you want me to or not. I do not wish the torment of my life upon anyone, particularly you.”

  “But I’m not tormented. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

  “And if I told you that your life is in danger and that you hold Miles’ safety in the palm of your hand, what then?”

  Grace’s hand strayed to her hair. “I don’t understand.”

  “Grace, you may be seriously ill, at the very least your unborn child might be at risk. Despite my skill, I cannot undertake an operation or treat a difficult pregnancy. The mortality rate is high and there are no modern drugs. You risk your own life and that of your unborn baby by staying. You must save yourself, Grace, go home and your baby will also be saved.”

  “Women have been having babies since time began. Katherine delivered Miles without complication why should I encounter problems. You’re just trying to scare me.”

  Hugh’s face darkened. “Grace, Katherine had no choice and she was lucky. You are a mere slip of a girl not used to the reality of medieval life. You cry with pain now, imagine the pain as your belly is slit open to save the child at the expense of your life. Believe me, Grace. That is what will happen if a choice has to be made.”

  Her hand strayed protectively to her abdomen. “I can’t go home - not without, Miles.” She cast about worriedly. This was madness. “I’ll explain everything to him. Miles will know what to do.”

  “Miles must not be told.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hugh paced the room sweeping his gaze across her many paintings. “Did you paint the king without his crown?”

  “No. I painted exactly as I had the copy. I had no need to change the past, to save my career. If it weren’t for the forgery business I would never have come home to Kirk Knowe, nor walked that day in the wood. I would never have found my way here to Miles.”

  Hugh smiled. “I did wonder whether you would work it out for yourself.”

  “How did you even know about the painting in the first place?”

  Hugh tapped his nose conspiratorially.

  “I have a way of finding out things, which are of importance.”

  “You’re a witch?”

  He smiled.

  “No, I had an interesting conversation with Edmund. He recalled a nightmare of yours that he witnessed, in which you’d recounted a strange tale of portraits.

  “But you advised me to change the painting, why would you do that?”

  “If you had, the circumstances that brought you here would have been irrevocably changed and I hoped that you
would be returned to your former life unharmed. When you returned from Alnwick with Miles I knew that you’d not taken my advice and history was set.”

  “I don’t want to return - not now.”

  “Grace, let me finish my tale and then you must make your decision.” He settled himself back on the stool and took her hand again.

  “I spent some months with Gerard senior, keeping my own council. I tried to come to terms with what had occurred and used my skills to assist his men. At the end of the campaign he brought me back here to Northumberland. I witnessed his marriage to Maud, the birth of his son Gerard the younger and I met Katherine, Gerard’s niece. She was a wonderful young woman, beautiful sweet-natured and of course I was attracted. It was mutual and, yes, you are correct, Miles is my son, but I did not know of him until after Katherine’s death. I unwittingly left her shamed and with child while I spent the next ten years scouring every battlefield in Normandy in a vain attempt to find the way home.”

  “Why would you want to go home when you had found love here?”

  Hugh sighed.

  “Because my dear, Grace, I had left a wife and child behind in London and I was beset with longing for them and grief at their loss. I am ashamed to say for a short while Katherine assuaged my grief, but at the heart of me I still believed that I could return and my darling wife and daughter would be waiting.”

  Grace reached out her hand and laid it gently on his arm.

  “Did you find your way?”

  Hugh shook his head. “No. When I realised the futility, I accepted the loss and turned my attention to my life here.” He gave a sad smile. “There are advantages to having knowledge of the future and as an avid historian I have been advantageous to those around me. I have developed a reputation as a tactician. The king is benevolent to those who are useful to him. I settled in France and although I have travelled extensively on behalf of more than one king, I know now that I will never find my way home. I’ve been here almost thirty years. It’s too late for me, but it’s not too late for you.”