by Jenny Jacobs
“I am thinking about this accounting that you are so sure my lord Robert would not object to.”
“What is it?”
When he was younger, he could not wait to tell her, the words tumbling from his mouth. But now he shook his head.
“Malcolm?”
“I am considering what it means. This is very useful, Imma. I want you to do something for me.”
Her sickened feeling returned.
“What?”
“You need to learn what his greatest weaknesses are.”
He loves his horse more than any woman, she thought. He likes to listen to stories when he should be doing something else. He is a better lord than John, but does not know it.
None of that was what Malcolm wanted. He wanted military information, fortifications that were in disrepair, thanes who were untrustworthy.
“That is not something he is likely to share with me,” she said.
“You are a woman. You will find a way. Look, I cannot stay — I am not supposed to be here. But I will return. I expect you to do the duty I know my father charged you with.”
She didn’t respond.
“Imma?”
She lifted her head and glared at him. He must know what such a thing would cost her, the risk she would have to take.
“I would like you to return home, too,” he said, and kissed her cheek.
Chapter Ten
Sounds from outside caught Imma’s attention. She stopped and leaned out the window. Riders had returned. Picking up her skirts, she ran outside, arriving in the foreyard just as the company crossed through the gate in the earthworks. Other members of the household joined her on the stones, anxious and concerned. Which of the men had not returned this time? She held her breath as Osbrycht trotted in on his stallion, followed by a group of men, some of whom she recognized from the ring-giving. Stable boys darted forward to help the men dismount and to see to their horses. Imma stepped forward and grabbed Osbrycht’s reins. “Where is my lord?”
“He is lost,” Osbrycht said, barely sparing her a glance as he alighted from his charger.
“Lost!” Imma clutched Osbrycht’s arm as his words shattered against her heart. The world spun around her. “Lost?” She could hardly take her next breath but she forced herself to ask, “How — how did he fall?”
“He did not fall,” Osbrycht clarified, pulling loose from her grip. “Or, rather, no one saw him fall. He’s lost — in the forest. We don’t know what became of him.”
“You returned without your lord?” she demanded, handing the horse’s reins to a waiting stable hand and darting after Osbrycht, who was crossing the foreyard to the keep.
“Mistress, my men are exhausted and wounded. I will send a party of the stoutest men — ”
“I can’t believe you abandoned your lord!” she shouted, not caring who heard. “What kind of thanes do they have in this England? A Welsh warrior would die before abandoning his lord!”
“That is enough, mistress,” Osbrycht snapped, wheeling to face her. “Your Welsh warriors have tried to wrench the heart from Wessex. Hold your tongue.” He glared at her, then turned to enter the keep.
Swearing at Osbrycht’s retreating back, Imma dashed after him. But she did not attempt to pursue her argument with him. Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been charged with holding the keep. She would know what to do.
“Elizabeth! You must do something,” she said, storming into the other woman’s room, ignoring the dictates of polite behavior. But Elizabeth wasn’t there. Frantic, Imma threw open the door to the chapel. There. Elizabeth held a tray of altar utensils for the chaplain, who was inspecting the pieces before putting them away in the tabernacle.
“Elizabeth!” Imma called, hurrying toward the other woman. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, her brows drawn together in concern. “You must come quickly! Lord Robert has not returned — ”
Elizabeth dropped the tray, the silver chalices and candlesticks crashing to the floor. The chaplain looked more alarmed about the utensils than the news Imma brought, dropping to his knees to gather up the scattered pieces.
“Robert?” Elizabeth whispered, pressing a hand against her chest. “Imma, I feared it. I had a premonition — ” Her voice broke and she swayed. Imma ran forward to steady her as her knees buckled and she collapsed.
“Father!” Imma said sharply. “Help me with my lady.” The priest gave her a distracted glance but got to his feet and helped Imma support the older woman. They brought Elizabeth to her bed.
Then Imma summoned the physician and sent a servant to find Tilly. She sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her friend, holding Elizabeth’s cold hand between her own. It had never occurred to Imma that such a thing could happen to Elizabeth, that she could be utterly overwhelmed.
As the physician examined Elizabeth’s suddenly frail figure, a pale ghost beneath the covers, Imma chided herself for delivering the news so cruelly. Had she been more careful with her words, perhaps Elizabeth would not have collapsed and she could have ordered Robert’s men to search for him.
“It is her heart,” the physician said, looking up from his examination. “She must rest now, and not be harassed. She must not have any worry or anxiety whatsoever. I will leave a sleeping draught for her to be given if she becomes agitated. Please be careful not to alarm her.”
“It will be as you say,” Imma said.
“Imma.”
The words were barely more than a breath. Imma looked down and saw that Elizabeth had turned her head, and was blinking her pale blue eyes. “Robert — ”
“He will be fine,” Imma assured her, patting her hand. “I did not mean to alarm you! All will be well. I was overwrought, and I should have calmed myself before speaking with you.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, as if the effort of listening was too much for her. A moment later, Tilly hurried into the room, breathless and bursting with questions. Imma steadied her with a warning look, reaching out to take her hand as the physician turned to her and repeated his findings and cautions. Tilly nodded her understanding, wide-eyed and sober, then asked a few quick questions, and dismissed him.
“Tilly, Lord Robert is missing,” Imma said, getting to her feet and drawing the other woman aside. Tilly gave a startled gasp and Imma quickly explained what she knew. “Will you look after Elizabeth while I see what I can do to assure his safe return?”
“Of course, Imma,” Tilly said. She squeezed Imma’s hand, then took Imma’s place on the edge of the bed. She reached for Elizabeth’s hand and held it in hers, just as Imma had. Satisfied that Elizabeth would be well looked after, Imma left the room, her mind racing. She must do something about Lord Robert, but what?
She would ride out to search for him but she did not know this country. If she became lost herself, that wouldn’t help anything. But neither could she just sit and pray or wait for others to act. She must do something. But what?
If only she knew this country a little better. If she were in Wales or even in Canterbury, she would know where to look, how to get home again. But Wessex was unfamiliar to her and she did not know enough about the land to trust that she could find Glastonbury forest again. She had never entered it from this direction and she scarce remembered the headlong flight through it that had brought her here.
Then she remembered that Lord Robert had a horse that did know this country. His black stallion, now lame, had traveled this part of Wessex with Lord Robert for many years. Hardly had the outline of a plan become clear to her when she darted down the hall to Lord Robert’s bedchamber and accosted his chamber-thane.
“My lord Robert’s dog,” she said, as Kenneth blinked and stared at her, a bundle of bed linens in his arms. “Where is his alaunt?” she asked urgently.
Kenneth nodded toward the corner where an animal curled, sleeping.
“What is his name?”
“Theox.”
Hunting-spear. She smiled, her heart aching. If that was not so like Lord Robert. There was no subtlety in him. “My
lord is missing,” she explained quickly. “I would like to use the animal to help me find him.”
“Lord Robert?” Kenneth blinked again. “Missing?”
“Yes. Sir Osbrycht says he did not command his men to find him because they are weary and wounded.”
Kenneth set the linen down and gave her a measuring look. “You intend to find him?” He did not sound scornful or condescending.
“Yes.”
He nodded at once. “You will need my lord’s scent.” It was a moment’s work for him to find a stocking belonging to Lord Robert, which she tucked in her sleeve. “Shall I call for a handler?” he asked. “Theox is high-spirited.”
“No, I can manage him,” she said. Her uncle’s household had always tumbled with dogs, all vying for first dog status and even as a young girl she had learned she must dominate them all. “Come, Theox.” The dog rose at her command and followed her as she left the room.
She stopped in the bedchamber she shared with Tilly, pausing only long enough to grab her cloak and belt. Throwing her cloak over her shoulders, she tied the belt around her waist as she hastened to the kitchen. Kenneth had gone ahead to warn the staff to prepare what she needed. As the cook gathered provisions, Imma tucked a waterskin into her belt, then added a tinderbox. Kenneth took the food from the cook and put it in a pack, which he handed to Imma with a nod of approval.
She pinned her cloak closed as she headed to the stable, Theox at her heels. She hesitated a moment, then saddled the gray palfrey. A hunter would be stronger and faster, but she needed to ride an animal she knew well, one that would obey her commands without challenging her. The palfrey suited her purpose perfectly.
The stable hands were busy caring for the horses Osbrycht’s company had ridden. Young Jacob caught her eye as she led her horse from its stall, but he did not remind her that Lord Robert had forbidden her to ride unaccompanied. He nodded at her, then turned away as the horse-thane shouted a command at him.
She led the palfrey to the pasture where Lord Robert’s lame stallion was pegged. No one tried to stop her as she untied the stallion.
“My lord is missing,” she told the horse, rubbing its velvety nose. She would have ridden this horse instead of dealing with two but she knew its remaining strength must be saved for the search for Lord Robert. “Find my lord,” she said, and turned the stallion loose. After a moment, she climbed up on the palfrey and followed.
The stallion knew the way to Glastonbury and picked its path carefully down the causeway and across the edge of Sedgemoor Valley. Imma followed on the mare, staying close to the stallion but letting it take the lead. Theox kept near, bounding off now and then to investigate a sight or sound but always loping back at her command, his tail wagging.
When the trees of Glastonbury forest closed around them, she knew she could find her way now. There was only one road through Glastonbury forest. But she felt no moment of relief — she would never forget what had happened here. She did not relax her guard. Theox trotted nearby and she was happy to have the big alaunt there.
Dusk was gathering in when she began to see the signs of fighting on the road — the churned-up mud, the smears of dark blood on the fallen leaves. She stopped the stallion, then dismounted from her palfrey, her movements slow and jerky. She didn’t know what she’d find and she was rather loath to find it.
She tied the horses separately to trees at the side of the road so they wouldn’t wander off and strand her this deep in the forest. The long shadows pressed in on her, and an unthinking prayer slipped from her lips. She wished she had brought a companion with her. Even Kenneth would have been better than no one. Taking a steadying breath, she withdrew Lord Robert’s stocking from her sleeve and presented it to Theox.
“Find your master,” she said, letting him take the scent. “Find him.” The alaunt pricked his ears and stepped off the road. Leaving the horses, Imma followed the dog through the winter-bare trees, the fallen leaves crunching beneath her feet. She tried not to remember what had happened the last time she had walked among these trees.
Her hearing seemed unnaturally attuned, her heart hammering as animals — men? — rustled among the trees. She squinted, casting about her, trying to anticipate any threat. Her breath quickened and she took her dagger from her sleeve. Just in case.
In the dusk, she tried to keep close to the alaunt, but suddenly Theox sped off, bounding across the pine needles that carpeted the forest floor, and she was alone. Biting back the instinct to cry out, she put a hand against the nearest tree to steady herself. She was not lost. The road was near and if she listened carefully, she would be able to hear the horses and find her way back. Lord Robert would not be very pleased with her for losing his dog, but she would explain —
The alaunt barked, a sharp staccato sound intended to get her attention. “Theox!” she shouted thankfully. “I’m coming.” She followed the sound of the barking until she spotted the agitated movement of the alaunt, a shadow amidst the trees. He danced impatiently, waiting for her, then gave another sharp bark of excitement as she reached him.
“Good boy,” she praised the dog as she dropped to her knees where Lord Robert had fallen. She touched the man, so still and silent among the winter leaves. “You cannot be dead,” she told him stoutly. He hadn’t even claimed his boon, the kiss she had promised him.
“Imma?” She barely heard the whispered word.
“Yes,” she said, helping him turn over onto his back. “I am here, Lord Robert. All will be well.” Her stomach churned as she told the soothing lie. She did not know all would be well. She could not even tell the extent of his injuries.
She touched him gently, her hands coming away sticky as she probed his arm. He had been slashed with a sword there. The leaves beneath him were warm and wet with blood. Using the stocking she had brought to give Theox his scent, she fashioned a bandage to cover the wound and stop the blood loss.
She helped him to a sitting position, cradling him in her arms, closing her eyes against the emotion that spilled through her. The relief she felt over finding him alive battled with her fear for him, for he was badly wounded.
“My lord, can you speak?” she asked.
He said nothing, his head lolling against her shoulder. She touched his face, his head, feeling his skull gently. Blood stained her fingers. Head injuries, she knew, were quite dangerous. He had probably been knocked clean out of his senses and lain here bleeding for — how long? How many hours? An entire day? When had Osbrycht abandoned him? Why? Fury slammed through her and for a long moment she couldn’t think clearly, let alone breathe. She held Lord Robert close, her fingers biting into him, and mastered her emotions.
The night drew in and darkness with it. She did not dare return to the horses for supplies. She could get lost too easily, leaving both of them in great danger. She remembered the waterskin she had tied to her belt.
“My lord,” she whispered, unhooking it and lifting it to his lips. He didn’t respond. She tilted his head back and said his name again.
“Imma,” he whispered.
“Stay with me, my lord,” she said. “Stay with me. Take some water.” She coaxed a few drops from the skin. Once his lips had been wetted, he opened his mouth for more.
“Better?” she asked.
He grunted, letting his head fall against her shoulder once more.
“I must start a fire. It is so cold, my lord,” she said. When there was no response, she said sharply, “My lord?”
“Cold,” he agreed.
“I will let you go for a moment. Here, do not go on that side, it is where you are hurt.” Gently she released him. The forest was dark but now a crescent moon had risen and moonlight glittered through the bare branches of the trees, leaving her a little light to see by. Staying close, she gathered dry leaves and twigs and fallen branches and arranged them in a pile in a clear space not to close to a tree. Using the tinderbox on her belt, she lit a fire. It caught right away. Once the flames grew warm, she went back t
o where she had left Lord Robert.
“Can you come closer to the fire?” she asked. “My lord, you must help, I cannot lift you.”
He grunted again. She helped him up and he staggered a few steps before sinking to his knees. It was close enough. Imma undid her cloak, then took him into her arms and settled the cloak around both of them.
“We will keep each other warm tonight,” she said. “My lord, stay with me. I am concerned for you. I do not want you to sleep again.” She was afraid he would not wake up. She knew that was a bad risk with a head injury.
“It is dark.”
From the fatigue in his voice she knew he was telling her he wanted to sleep. “Tell me what happened,” she said, wanting to keep him awake.
“Kiss me, Imma.”
If that was not so like Lord Robert, to claim his boon now. “Tell me how you came to be hurt.”
He sighed and she knew he did not want to make the effort.
“I will kiss you if you tell me.”
He chuckled but stopped almost immediately, wincing in pain. “Thiefmen,” he said. He drew a deep breath and she could feel him gather his strength to tell the story. “I left my horse to follow. One slashed with a sword. One struck me with a cudgel.” He motioned toward his head. “I fell.” The brief description was powerfully evocative. She could imagine the scene, and the sudden attack, and the blows landing and the fear that this time he might not survive. She tightened her arms around him.
“You have lain here all this time? My lord Robert, you are lucky to be alive.”
“They thought me dead. The thiefmen.”
“Oh.” Otherwise they would have been sure to finish the job. If he had not lain here all that time, he would not be alive now. “Oh, Lord Robert, I am very glad you are not dead.”
“So am I,” he said. She detected the wry note in his voice and she began to feel much better.
“My kiss?” he asked. And that made her feel almost cheerful.
She touched his lips with hers, a brief promise, then settled more comfortably against the tree she had braced herself against. He leaned heavily into her, his head against her chest.