by Olga Daniels
“Bernard—don’t leave me.” Marcus’s voice screamed after them. He tried to struggle to his feet, but fell back. He lifted his hands in supplication. Bernard ignored him. He screamed louder as he saw Sarah, determined to keep up with Bernard, riding straight at him. He crouched and covered his head with his arms, clutching his rosary beads. Sarah jumped over him as he fainted. She did not even look behind.
Meg was terrified and helpless. Every movement of the horse jolted her. She was held awkwardly upright, and the rope cut into her flesh. She was being taken back to London with all possible speed. Back to her uncle. Back to the King.
Sarah followed, riding faster than she had ever done in her life, taking risks she would never have contemplated in normal circumstances. Having only one rider, her horse could cover the ground faster than Bernard’s. But what could she do when she caught up with him? She cursed her lack of strength, her limited expertise in riding. She had some vague idea of trying to grab the reins from Bernard and pull the galloping animal to a standstill. Even as she thought of it she dismissed the idea as impractical, and concentrated on following him. It took all her courage and concentration to stay on the galloping beast and keep up.
The rough road turned sharply around the wall of a barn and momentarily they were out of sight. Sarah followed as fast as she was able. Shouts rang out somewhere ahead. Men’s voices, angry voices, and one of them sounded wondrously familiar. She couldn’t believe it! Her ears must be deceiving her! She prepared herself for disappointment as she rode round the corner—but it was true!
She almost fainted with relief. Alan Crompton and Sir Richard were there, miraculously face to face with Bernard and Meg. His horse had risen on its hind legs and Bernard was striving to control it, yelling at the oncoming riders.
“Out of my way. The boy’s had a fit. I have to get him to a physician immediately.”
Meg was making muffled sounds. Bernard was almost smothering her, holding her close to his chest, his wide-sleeved, rough woollen habit hiding the rope with which she was bound.
“Hush, lad. I’ll take good care of you.” Bernard’s voice was smooth and caring as he tried to bluff his way past the oncoming riders.
“What ails the lad?” asked Alan.
“He’s been cursed by a witch. She’s made him ill and he’s turned against all his friends. He needs help—”
“Poor young man.”
Richard and Alan drew their horses aside. “God help you on your way,” said Richard.
“Alan,” Sarah shouted. “Stop him.”
They stared at her without recognition. Wild-faced, in boy’s clothes, hair cut short, her hat blown off long since.
“It’s me. Sarah,” she screamed.
“That’s her. That’s the witch.” Bernard dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. It sprang forward, passing the bewildered Richard and Alan.
“He’s kidnapped my lady,” Sarah shouted.
Richard reacted immediately. He set off at full gallop, chasing after the monk.
“Sarah!” Alan was horrified. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m all right,” she shouted. “Don’t let that bastard get away—”
The swear word slipped out. Alan took one long hard look at Sarah, then, obeying her wish, spurred his horse. It leapt forward at full gallop. Sarah followed.
Bernard glanced over his shoulder. His pursuers were coming up fast. The gap between them narrowed with every minute. He knew he’d never get away and decided to save his own skin. He loosened his hold on Meg, gave her a shove and flung her off the horse.
It had the desired effect. All three riders halted where Meg had fallen. She lay frighteningly still. Trussed by the rope, she had been unable to do anything to save herself. She’d fallen hard, but fortunately on to soft muddy ground.
“Meg. Oh, my darling—speak to me,” Richard implored her.
Her eyes were closed. Sarah knelt beside her. “She’s alive,” she said. “She’s breathing.”
Richard used his dagger to cut the ropes that bound her. Sarah took her mistress’s hand and chafed it between her own, seeking to assist the blood flow. Meg remained unconscious. Richard took off his cape and wrapped it around her.
“Please God, don’t let her die,” Richard prayed.
“My lady needs rest, and a physician to look to her injuries,” said Sarah.
“I’ll take her to Leet Castle,” said Richard. “It’s not far from here.”
“Will she be safe there?” asked Sarah.
“I shall guard her with my life and she will be attended by one of the best physicians in the land. I know nowhere else she can get the attention she requires.”
Tenderly he lifted Meg, wrapped in the cloak. “Hold her for me, Alan, whilst I mount.”
Both men were strong; they had no difficulty in holding the inert body. Alan lifted Meg, very, very carefully, and handed her up to Richard. He placed her in front of him, tucked close to his own body, held by one strong arm as he rode at a steady walking pace.
Alan swept Sarah into his arms and kissed her long and hard. “I’ve been so worried about you, my love,”
he said. “Why on earth did you dash off like that, without a word to anyone?”
“My lady was in danger; you know that, Alan.” Sarah regarded him witheringly.
“You should have told me.”
“We were afraid to let anyone know. You’d probably have forbidden us even to try and get away.”
“You’re right!” Alan helped Sarah up into the saddle, then leapt up on to his own horse. As they followed a short distance behind Richard he added, “Now you see what a foolish escapade it was.”
“What else could we do?” Sarah challenged. “My lady said she’d rather face death than marry the King. She’d have gone on her own, but there was no way I’d have let her do that, so don’t you suggest it.”
A little later, with a touch of her old mischievous smile returning, she asked, “Was there a great to-do in the house when it was discovered we was missing?”
“There probably is now. We didn’t even know you’d gone until mid-morning, when Richard went to look for Lady Margaret. He knocked on the door of her chamber and there was no answer, so he looked inside. You were not there, and a dummy with a chamber-pot for its head was lying in the bed.”
Sarah chuckled.
“It wasn’t funny,” Alan said. “Richard was frantic. He expected me to know what you were up to and accused me of helping you. We were both nearly out of our minds when we went out to the stables and realised you two had ridden off alone.”
“I wanted to tell you, Alan. Honest I did. I’m sorry you was so upset. We didn’t dare tell anyone. So how did you know which way we’d gone?”
“I remembered the stable boy you’d befriended. I made him tell me what he knew.”
“You didn’t beat him?” Sarah asked anxiously.
“I felt like taking a whip to him,” Alan said grimly. “But we bribed him instead, just as you did. He didn’t know where you were going, but Richard felt you might have been heading back to Norwich.”
“Thank goodness you did,” breathed Sarah.
Leet Castle stood on the bank of a slow-flowing river. Some clay-lump thatched hovels were clustered around the outer walls of the tall-towered castle. The last rays of the setting sun twinkled on its windows as they approached.
Sarah was suddenly very tired. She had never before ridden so far or so fast, and she was desperately worried about the state of her mistress. Richard had moved steadily on and Sarah and Alan had followed, talking in low voices.
At walking pace they approached the entrance to the castle, where they were confronted by the joists of the underside of the drawbridge, uplifted and unwelcoming.
“Open up,” Richard called. “Tell your officer of the watch that Sir Richard de Heigham is here and requires immediate assistance.”
Within minutes a tall, grey-haired man came forward. He looked up an
d a smile spread over his face.
“Sir Richard! How good to see you.” He turned to the guards. “Lower the drawbridge—and quick about it.”
As soon as they were inside the courtyard, Alan and Sarah dismounted. They hurried over to Sir Richard. Meg was carefully lowered into the waiting arms of Alan Crompton whilst Sarah gazed anxiously at the waxen face of her mistress. There was still no sign of life.
Chapter Twelve
Meg had no recollection of what had happened after Bernard had flung her from the horse. When she came to she tried to move and found that her whole body ached. Clad only in her shift, she was lying on a large four-poster bed, the heavy curtains closed, making it into a rich tapestry box. Suddenly she remembered that Bernard had been carrying her back to London. Was that where she was now? She shivered with fear at the thought.
She stretched out one arm, moving with care, for even reaching to draw back one of the curtains was painful. The room was strange to her. There was a window through which the morning sun streamed cheerfully. Rushes were spread on the floor. She heard a door open and a moment later gasped with relief.
Sarah was there, beaming at her. “Oh, praise God, my lady! You’re awake”
She hurried across the room and dropped to her knees at the bedside. She would have clasped Meg in her arms, but quickly realised that would hurt her mistress.
“We’re not back in London, are we?” Meg asked.
“Gracious, no! Away in the back of beyond, this is.”
“Did Bernard bring us here?” Meg whispered.
“Don’t you remember, my lady? He threw you off the horse and rushed away as if the devil himself was after him, as well he might be. Wicked old man. It was Sir Richard who brought you here.”
“I remember Richard was there, but—”
“Thank God he was!” said Sarah. “He brought us to this old castle. He’s known here. The Captain of the Guard let us in straight away an’ he sent for the physician.”
“The physician?” asked Meg. “I don’t remember—”
“You was unconscious, my lady. He looked at you last night, an’ said as how no bones had been broken an’ it was just bruises and shock—an’ that with rest you’d get over it—an’ Sir Richard and me have sat with you for most of the night—”
“Richard? Here?”
“Yes, an’ that reminds me. I must go and tell him that you’ve woke up. He didn’t want to leave you, but I said as how he’d got to keep up his strength and he’d better go an’ get something to eat. He’s with Alan now.”
“Alan’s here, too? Your Alan?”
“That’s right, my lady.”
“How did they find us?”
“Never mind about that now. The important thing is they did, an’ I can’t bear to think what would’ve happened if they hadn’t. That wicked old Bernard, posing as a holy man! An’ that Marcus, too. I’m glad I broke his leg for him. It’s no more than he deserved. I’d have killed him if I’d got the chance.”
“Dear Sarah.” Meg gave a wry smile, recalling that in fact Sarah had jumped her horse over the fallen man.
“There! I’ve made you smile! An’ here’s me rambling on and I’ve never asked you how you’re feelin’.”
“A bit sore,” Meg said with a grimace. “But I’m sure I’ll survive—at least I would if I could get washed and then have something to eat.”
“Hungry, are you?” Sarah clapped her hands together with joy. “That’s good to hear. As for washing, I brought up a jug of hot water. I left it over by the door. I’ll fetch it—”
“Help me out of bed first, please, Sarah.”
Shakily, holding on to Sarah for support, Meg managed to stand on her feet. The physician had been correct. She had no broken bones, but every movement was painful. It took ages to complete her toilette and to get dressed. Sarah had washed Meg’s everyday gown when they had arrived at Bixholm.
“It got a bit creased on the journey,” Sarah fretted, shaking it vigorously.
“I’m not worried about that.” Meg smiled.
Sarah laced her bodice, with tender careful fingers, quite loosely, mindful of the bruises that coloured her mistress’s body. Her arms were yellowish, black and green where the cord had been lashed around her. Her shoulder was swollen and bruised where it had hit the ground, likewise her hip and ankle. Sarah tut-tutted over the state Meg was in.
“If I could get my hands on that brute!” she exclaimed more than once.
“But I’m alive. And you’re here to help me,” Meg said. “I can’t thank you enough, Sarah, for coming with me.”
“Yeah. We’ve been through a lot together, ain’t we? But never anything as bad as yesterday, an’ I hope to goodness we never ever have to do anything like that again.”
“Amen,” agreed Meg.
Sarah brushed her hair, which didn’t take long, for it was just a golden glow of curls around her face.
“There, my lady! You look more like your old self—a bit pale, but lovely all the same. Now, you sit in that chair by the window and I’ll fetch something for you to eat.”
She hurried away to the kitchen and very soon returned bearing a laden tray, which she placed on a small table in front of Meg. She stood with arms akimbo, watching, until she was satisfied there was nothing more she could do at that moment. Then quietly she left the chamber.
Meg willingly tackled the appetising food and sipped the tankard of small beer. The window by which she sat looked down upon a relic of a formal garden. It must once have been lovely, but had been sadly neglected, the little boxwood borders overgrown, and more weeds than useful herbs in the beds. Nevertheless it was a pleasant outlook.
Suddenly Sarah came into view, walking hand in hand with Alan Crompton. Their pleasure at being together was obvious, open for all to see. Even as Meg watched, Alan took Sarah into his arms and kissed her, whilst she twined her arms around his neck, holding his head down to hers as if she never wished to let him go. She ran a finger over the scar on his face, a gesture that expressed her wholehearted love, despite the blemish which gashed his fine, honest face.
It stirred the ever-present ache in Meg’s heart. Her own love was every bit as strong as was Sarah’s, but Richard’s response was never as clear and unfettered. A few moments later, Alan took hold of Sarah’s shoulders and stepped away from her. He held her for a moment at arm’s length, then turned and strode away. Sarah attempted to run towards him, but he waved her back. A groom brought forward a horse and held it for Alan to mount. With one last wave of farewell, he rode swiftly away. Sarah stood watching until he was out of sight, then with drooping shoulders she turned and walked into the castle.
Her sorrow seeped into Meg’s soul. Puzzled and unhappy, she pushed the tray away. She wanted nothing more to eat or drink. She had a premonition that all was not well at Leet Castle. She sat still, with her gaze fixed on the scene outside, and shivered involuntarily.
Richard stood at the open door of the chamber. Meg was unaware of his presence and for several minutes he stayed there, quite still, gazing at her.
He found it pleasing that she was dressed again in those simple garments she had worn when he had first encountered her in Norwich. They were so plain as to be almost puritanical, but how sweet and innocent she looked. He cursed the wickedness of Thurton, hell-bent on driving her into Henry’s lustful arms.
He had discovered quite early yesterday morning that she had left Thurton’s London house. Then Alan had told him that Sarah was also missing. Richard had recalled Meg’s anger and despair when he had been with her in the garden, and he had plunged into an abyss of fear and worry. He’d searched the whole house, opening doors, peering inside, regardless of who was there or what embarrassing situation he came upon. He had been too maddened to care. She had gone! Vanished.
He had cursed himself for not agreeing to her suggestion that he should marry her, but that would have placed her in greater danger. He didn’t trust Thurton or Nancy. Meg was so honest and ou
tspoken that they might have tricked her into revealing the plan. He’d remained convinced that he was right in his reasoning, and he’d also believed that because she was being courted by Henry she had not been in immediate danger. Now he could see that he should have told her that he was trying to make arrangements to take her to France. He’d cursed himself again, but it had been too late for recriminations. The only thing that had mattered was to find her.
Alan had questioned the lads at the stable. He’d sought out Dugald, knowing Sarah had made a special friend of the lad. At first Dugald had angrily denied any knowledge of missing horses or anything else. Not until Alan had persuaded him that his concern was entirely for the safety of Sarah and Meg, and had given his solemn word that he would tell no other person of his part in their escape, had Dugald spoken.
“Are they in danger?” he’d asked.
“Sir Richard and I both think so. For the love of God, Dugald, tell me—did they ride away together?”
Dugald had nodded.
“Which direction did they take?”
“The lady spoke of Bishopgate,” he’d muttered. “An’ that’s all I know.”
“They’ll be heading back to Norwich,” Richard had said. “Let’s go that way and look for them.”
They had ridden hard all day. Once or twice they had questioned travellers coming in the opposite direction, but no one had seen them. Two young ladies riding alone would have been so unusual that they would surely have been noticed. Richard had begun to think they must have taken a different direction, but where else would they go?
He had begun to despair of catching up with them when he had encountered the monk. Richard groaned at the memory. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t recognised Meg, even dressed as a boy and clutched inside Bernard’s rough woollen habit. But for Sarah’s warning shouts Bernard would have succeeded in carrying her off.
He uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving that he had been able to rescue her. It wrenched at his heart to see Meg, sitting by the window, for she was looking out with a lonely, forlorn expression on her face. How pale she was, too! He moved a step towards her, intentionally making a sound so that she would hear. Slowly she turned towards him, then rose to her feet rather shakily. She did not smile, and as her eyes met his he saw tears in them.