He was silent for a moment, and then I sensed him moving about the room, reaching, touching things.
“What are you doing?”
“You must have a bag or a trunk here somewhere. It is time to go.”
I drew in my breath sharply. “Go where?”
He straightened. I could tell, because he was framed, just barely, in the window again. “Go. To my keep. You are my wife. It is time to go.”
I folded my arms. “We are not married.”
“A mere formality. Your father and I have an agreement, and your whole village saw you ready to marry me. You just told me that yourself.” He paused. “Or would you prefer to stay?”
Would my father complain if I was taken from this house without a church ceremony? Would he object to the idea of Sir William’s invasion of his home and abduction of his daughter? I heard in my mind the echo of laughter in the courtyard this very night, their reveling after my humiliation. I knew the answer. They would care nothing for the formalities, so long as Blanche was free.
I took my cloak from the hook beside the door. “You can send a servant for my things in the morning. Husband.”
The same ladder from his last visit stood propped under my window. The distance to the cobbled streets below, lost in darkness, had never appeared so long. Before I could think any more about it, I tucked my skirts and bulky train up over one arm and clambered up onto the windowsill. There, with my feet hanging over empty space, I froze. Once I set off down the ladder, my choice was irrevocable. If I came back—and I did not ever want to—but if I did, it would not be as a daughter of this house but as Lady Kathryn Pendaran. I shot a glance back over my shoulder. Sir William waited, hands on hips, not quite ready to toss me out the window but nearly.
I set one foot in its delicate wedding slipper on the ladder, setting the wood quivering all along its length. I gripped the windowsill, digging in my nails. My teeth began to chatter, even though the night air was not cold at all. I was sleepy, and hungry, and still angry with him for… well, for all of this. Not a good state for climbing down unstable ladders.
His hands suddenly on my waist made me start, and I nearly pitched out the window with a gasp. “Kate,” he said in my ear. “Climb down. You will come to no harm.”
Making a dubious noise, I forced myself to move. I put all of my weight onto the ladder and turned carefully to face the house. Sir William released my waist as I went, but his hands hovered near, and despite my wish to ignore him, it was comforting to know that his strength was there in the event I faltered. The ladder shuddered and shook with each step as I descended, and I wondered why there was no man at the bottom to hold it steady. Why had he, a knight with servants, come alone? Then, too, should he not have come to the church and married me this morning? None of this made any sense.
Only for tonight, I would do as he asked. Let him get me away from this horrible place, and then all would be different between us.
Once I was safe on the ground, he climbed down nimble as a thief and hoisted the ladder onto his shoulder. The sight of it, so long in front of him and behind, made me realize at last how improbable it was that he had such a ladder at all, one high enough to reach my window on the third story of the house. I looked around for a horse or wagon, any hint of his plans from here.
“What—?”
“Hush!” he commanded, and led the way along High Street in the faint moonlight.
I watched him go, staggering a little under the burden of the ladder, then followed. What else was there to do?
Just off the village square, he turned aside toward the stable at the back of the inn. I watched as he deposited the ladder back where it belonged, leaning against the stable with its top end just under the little door to the hay loft. Of course. I should have known. Where else would he have come by such a ladder? As he came back to me in the street, I said, “A woman less angry might admire your audacity, sir.”
He bowed slightly and took my arm. “This way, my lady,” he said and escorted me west along High Street. The buildings of the town ended. The grass of the market green yielded to the pounded earth of the outskirts which dwindled to two wagon ruts with a trail of hooves between them beaten into the earth, and we continued to walk in silence.
“Exactly how far is it to your home, sir?” I asked, feeling every pebble through the thin leather bottom of my silk slippers. “If I had known we were going to walk halfway to Wales, I would have worn my boots.”
“Not long now, not long,” he said, and just at that moment, a man emerged from a thick stand of hazel bushes, making me gasp and start with fear.
“Good evening, sir, milady,” the man said, bowing low. “I’ve the horses ready. Right this way, milady.”
We stepped off the road, and now the prickles of thorny weeds pierced my feet and snatched at my dress. I muttered wordless complaints, but we did not have far to go. Behind the holly, three mismatched horses waited: a ragged little hill-pony as silver-white as the moonlight itself; a pretty bay saddle horse, mahogany under the moon, with a black mane and tail, four white stockings, and a long blaze streaming down his face; and behind them, like a giant guardian, the knight’s destrier, red as wine, red as blood, each hoof larger than my head and heavy enough to crush it without noticing. I froze when he swung his huge face around to look at me, to snort at my arrival. Big as he had seemed at a distance in the stable yard, he was a nightmare up close.
As I shrank back from the beast, Sir William came up behind me and put his hands on my waist. Before I could protest, he had lifted me and deposited me in the saddle of the pretty bay, who danced a little as I grabbed his mane and tried to settle my seat.
For once in my life, words failed me.
“Your wedding gift,” he said before walking away to swing easily into the saddle of his own horse.
“What shall I call him?” I asked.
He paused, considering. “For the moment, call him Conveyance, a means to get you home,” Sir William said. “After that, we shall see.” He turned his head away. “Gregory.”
His servant, holding the reins of the pony, looked like a child beside that immense destrier. “Yes, sir?”
“See to the lead, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Gregory looped his pony’s reins around his wrist and came over to my horse’s head. The bay snuffled eagerly at his hands, searching for a treat, and Gregory gave him something while taking hold of his headstall and clipping a rope onto it.
“What is that?” I asked.
He glanced up at me. “It’s a leading rope, milady.”
“I know very well what it is. I want to know what it is doing on my horse.”
“Well, one end of it is going to stay there, milady, and the other end of it is going to be attached to me and my little mount here.”
“Why?”
“Because,” cut in Sir William, who had wheeled his mount in a circle and was now right next to us, “I have seen your behavior and I do not trust you to do as you are told.”
I scolded both of them, master and man, as we set out. Receiving no response from either of them, I gave it up. It was to be a long ride, after all.
By my best reckoning, we had been riding for more than two hours with the waxing crescent moon setting in front of us. Sir William led the way, his destrier’s long strides putting the familiar country surrounding my town far behind us. During this time, Gregory’s pony had two problems. First, it had to keep up with the strong, steady pace of the warhorse, which required frequent outbreaks of a bouncy trot, clearly jarring to its rider. Second, and more vexing, it had to contend with leading my “Conveyance,” whose longer legs meant that he was always covering more ground than the pony. Creeping close, he would brush his nose or shoulder against the pony’s rump, causing the pony to flick his tail in annoyance, or stamp a hoof in warning, or—again—trot away. Conveyance and I found this all rather amusing. The pony did not.
“Milady, please,” Gregory said, “I
don’t want my pony to kick.”
“I’m very sorry, Gregory,” I replied. “I don’t want your pony to kick either. But as you are aware, I really have no control.”
“Now, milady,” Gregory said, but that was all I heard.
The pony took that moment, that very moment, to make it clear that the encroachment on his rear end was no longer acceptable. He tucked both of his hind legs under him and lashed out with his sharp little heels. Conveyance, startled and offended by this sudden change in the pony’s demeanor, jerked up and back, but the lead rope prevented him from moving as far as he would have liked. I grabbed his mane, having been denied reins, and slammed my heels down in the stirrups. Conveyance tossed his head against the lead rope and pulled back again, rearing up a little on his hind legs, then a little more.
I wanted to cry out for help, but my throat was frozen, airless.
The pony kicked out again, whinnying at the ruckus.
Conveyance bucked, and I went off.
The world went upside down, slowly, silently, and then I was slammed on my back in the middle of the road in the one place—the one place—that still held any moisture from Friday’s rain. I lay still for a long moment, taking stock, judging whether anything was broken, realizing that some of the soft dampness was horse manure—horse manure on my wedding dress!—until I heard raised voices and forced myself to sit up.
Sir William and Gregory were standing in the road, facing each other. The knight’s rapid, staccato phrases were punctuated by a finger pointed at Gregory’s breastbone. “My lady was in your charge,” he was saying as I approached. “A less tolerant master would beat the stuffing out of you!”
For his part, Gregory looked just as angry, but, as a good servant, he could not articulate it. Fists clenched, body tense, he sputtered and blurted a few words in his defense. “I didn’t—I tried—” I could tell he longed to smack Sir William’s finger away and yell right back at him.
Something about this seemed so familiar….
I struggled to my feet, the back of my kirtle heavy with the damp. “Sir William,” I said, making my unsteady way toward them.
He turned on me. “What?”
His eyes snapped with dark fire. I recoiled but spoke up for Gregory. “Why do you chastise your servant for your own mistake? You put a leading rope on my horse when I am perfectly able to direct the creature myself, and you put the slower horse to leading the faster. You should have known this would happen, and yet when it did, here you are passing off the blame! Shame on you, and shame on you for punishing your servant for your own failure.”
His hand twitched and my eyes darted to it. I did not flinch, but I threw his own words back at him: “I swear I will cuff you if you strike me.”
He blinked and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. I released my breath slowly.
“You have a good memory,” he said.
“Oh yes,” I replied. “I remember everything.”
He nodded and said, “Good.” He glanced at Gregory, who had gone to attend the horses, all now grazing in the thick grasses and weeds at the side of the road. With a graceful hand, he gestured toward Conveyance. “Please.”
I was not going to argue.
I should have untied my filthy, mud-soaked, manure-stained train and left it there, instead of sitting on it all the way to Bitterbrook Keep. I would have plenty to regret later, but that night, a wet, cold seat was all I had to complain about.
Part II
Bitterbrook Keep
Chapter 10
Monday
I must have fallen asleep on the horse’s back, his leading rope now tethered to Sir William’s saddle instead of poor Gregory’s. The journey seemed interminable, though of course in the uninterrupted dark once the moon had set, it was hard to tell which direction our path took and impossible to know how long we had been riding. We splashed across several streams, waded a river up to the horses’ knees, climbed steadily up a long rise of land, drifted in and out of woods…. I was in utterly unfamiliar surroundings I could not even see properly. Yet Sir William rode on, never hesitating, never turning around to check on me, never stopping for a rest.
It was the sound of birds that stirred me, and coming awake on horseback was so disorienting, I nearly toppled off. I caught myself with fistfuls of mane, with knees clamped tight, and shook myself fully awake. The first pale light of day was washing over the world, turning it from black to colorless. Instead of black columns reaching from a black ground into a blue-black sky, now I could see trees, grass, clouds, all doused in lye, stripped of color.
Sir William said, “Halt,” and pulled up his destrier.
My Conveyance sighed and stumbled to a stop behind him.
Blinking, I looked up, past Sir William. I could hear Blanche’s voice in my mind: “A small keep with a tower and a moat...”
On a flat-topped hill before us was a stone castle with a crenellated tower and a massive curtain wall. A stream had been diverted to flow around the base of the hill, which had been stripped clean of all vegetation but grass. Where our horses stood and for as far as I could see, there was not a tree I could have wrapped two hands around.
Gregory pulled his little pony up alongside me. “Ah,” he said. “Home.”
“Gregory,” Sir William said, “go on ahead. Make ready for your lady’s arrival.”
“Yes, sir.” With a slap of his heels to his weary pony’s sides, he sent it jogging off toward the keep. Perhaps the thought of its own stall and some oats encouraged it, for it made a good pace.
I stared ahead. What to do now? Ought I to say something? If so, what? It’s a very old keep, isn’t it? Or, That’s a lovely keep you have?
“Bitterbrook Keep,” Sir William said at last. “You shall be lady and mistress there.”
“Aye, I will be,” I corrected him. He turned his face toward me, surprised by my vehement tone. “And judging by what I have seen of you so far, a better lord I will be, for all that I wear these skirts. Your servants must live in terror of a master who cannot be trusted.”
“What a rogue and arrant knave am I!” he exclaimed.
“Indeed you are!”
With his lopsided grin, he was clearly more amused than offended. “So you say from such a short acquaintance?”
“It is no hardship to see to the bottom of a shallow pond,” I said coldly. “I do not need the eyes of an eagle to see into the next room.”
“Ah,” he said, still half smiling. “But, my lady, you of all people must know that you will only see what you are looking for. Quaerite et invenietis.”
“Again you quote scripture at me? To what end, sir?”
He continued to smile. “I depend upon your knowing exactly what I mean. At some point, you will admit it to me.”
“It is interesting that you have such intimate knowledge of the Bible, a man who would not show his face in church to get married and instead sneaks about in the middle of night abducting helpless women.”
He laughed, only increasing my frustration with him. If I had had control of my horse, I would have ridden off in disdain. As it was, I could only dig my heels down in the stirrups, making my Conveyance dance and fidget under me.
Sir William looked away and clicked his tongue at his monstrous beast. My horse and I had no choice but to follow.
“Seek and thou shalt find,” I muttered the scripture under my breath, burning holes in his back with my eyes, hoping he would feel it. But somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, his words teased. “I depend upon your knowing exactly what I mean.” Well, I did. What did it matter to him that I did? And why was he depending on it? What was I supposed to seek, and what did he intend that I find?
I glared some more, and yet his back was impervious. Holding tight to my anger, I tried to shake loose his words and instead raised my eyes to the view ahead.
Despite its dreary name, Bitterbrook Keep appeared to very good effect as we approached. The dawn sun struck it from behind us, painting the gra
y granite a rosy-gold. I could see nothing but the tower behind the curtain wall, and of course the closer we rode, the less I could see. As we approached the entry, all that was visible was the massive, hulking wall comprised of enormous stones stacked one upon the other higher than several men. The sheer size of it took my breath away, a town girl with no first-hand experience of castles or war or knights.
Except now I was married to one.
Almost.
With a shiver in my belly, I pushed away the thought of what it would require to make this a true marriage.
The entrance to the keep was a broad archway through the wall, wide enough for two horses side by side. Thick wooden doors on both ends of the archway stood open, and as we entered, we rode under the portcullis, a wooden, lattice-like gate, its bottom edges sharpened like spear points. Arrow slits and other holes were punched at intervals into the walls and ceiling. I trembled a little in that dark space within the wall. If the doors were slammed shut, the keep’s defenders would have no difficulty killing anyone trapped there.
We emerged from the darkness into a wide courtyard, its grass mostly trampled into dust. Directly ahead was the tower, three tall stories watching over the countryside, and attached to its south side was a long, low stone hall. Pressed up against the hall and the outer wall were various wooden structures whose purposes I could only guess at. Stables? Storage? Servant quarters?
The ears of both horses perked up as they walked into the yard, recognizing the end of their journey. My spirits lifted as well, for though what lay ahead was uncertain, I was the lady of this place. I was here.
And my family was not.
A line of servants awaited us on the lowest step leading up to the hall, tugging at their clothes to set them right. Sir William drew his charger to a halt at the mounting block beside the steps, and one of the men hurried down to hold the bridle. Another quickly followed to assist his lord in dismounting. He barely glanced at them, saying neither a word of greeting nor of thanks.
Finding Kate Page 15