From the field outside the town walls, Rafe could hear shouting, the clash of steel, hammers on wooden stakes, the bellow of men and beasts, all carried on the slight breeze.
From inside the house, he could hear women chattering as they went about their weaving and sewing. The clack of looms was an underlying rhythm.
Of course. A woman’s place was in the home, seeing to the clothing and feeding of their men. Sydney would be found there, not out here in the yard. No one here would suspect that she was more capable of tripping and felling a giant like Tegid than was Rafe.
Feeling happier, he moved inside. He would have to present himself to Llewelyn first, to see what his orders for the day were, then he would find an excuse to speak to Blodwen, the Lady Catrin’s head woman. While he was conferring with Blodwen, he could check the rest of the women where they usually gathered around the big tables during the day.
Once he had found Sydney, he could begin his search for the monk who was copying Nennius’ history, so they could help him write the new story he needed to insert into the book.
Then he and Sydney could jump home again.
It was a simple, straightforward plan and did nothing to interfere with the facts of history. Why had he been so worried about this?
* * * * *
She was being followed.
There were many people on the road, now. They were all travelling in the same direction, which confirmed that this was a market day, or a town gathering of some sort. If she followed the crowd, she would be guided to the event. Once there, she would circle around and look for Rafe.
Except that now she was being followed.
Yes, there were a lot of people behind her moving in the same direction that she was. However, instinct told her that someone was watching her.
The edges of the head cloth she was wearing did not allow her much lateral vision, so the next time a cart rumbled by her she stepped aside as others did, to watch it go by. Casually, she looked farther up the road, behind her.
There were three men walking together and one of them wore a metal over jacket that made her think of medieval knights and their chain mail. That probably meant this man was a soldier of some sort. He was unshaven and his forehead jutted over his eyes. He was watching her, while the other two were looking elsewhere. All of them were carrying flat leather sacks that bulged at the bottom. Wine or mead, or some sort of alcohol, she guessed. After all, this was market day.
She shivered and started down the road at a faster pace, moving past others with a murmured apology. Her hair, which was tied at the back of her head in a braid, bounced against her hips as she walked, which was a novelty that was quickly becoming irritating.
Her shoes slipped in the earth, for they had no tread to grip with. What she would give for a good pair of sneakers! She strode as fast as she could, then glanced over her shoulder openly.
The three men were keeping pace with her. That confirmed that they were following her.
Her heart thudded and she increased her pace until she was almost at the point of breaking into a run.
Ahead, the street ended and the straw-latched buildings gave way. She hurried forward. It was likely a town square and there would be many people there for her to hide amongst.
The three men apparently thought the same, because she heard one of them say sharply, “We will lose sight of her if she gets to the market.”
Her throat closed up. What did they want with her? And where was Rafe? He would be armed with at least a knife and would make them hesitate. She just had to find him.
Sydney could see the stalls ahead, between the heads of those in front of her. And she could hear the murmur of commerce.
“Quick. Stop her!”
Running steps.
Sydney began to run, too. Her feet in the sole-less shoes gave her no grip. She slipped and almost fell. Her basket banged against her hip and her braid fell forward over her shoulder, beneath the edge of the head cloth, to brush over the dirt. She recovered her balance and surged forward between the shoulders in front of her, but it was too late.
A hand snaked around her face and slapped over her mouth. A strong arm circled her waist. She was lifted off the ground and her basket tumbled.
Sydney kicked backward, struggling, as she was carried between two houses. There was the sound of heavy breathing behind her and echoing footsteps. She was being taken away from the square. Away from people.
She struggled harder, fear giving her strength. An isolated place was a dangerous place and there were three of them. She didn’t know what they wanted, although she could guess.
“Help me hold her. She’s strong, this one.”
Her legs were picked up and bound by another arm, reducing her struggles to helpless writhing.
They turned another corner and now Sydney could hear how lonely this place was. There were no more houses. Instead, there were terraces of earth, secured by walls of timbers. Three terraces, topped by a palisade. Far above the houses and farther away, she could see the tops of two wooden towers with tiny windows. There would be a gatehouse of some sort there. Between the terraces and the houses was twenty yards of open ground, dotted with weeds and neglect.
There was no one in sight.
“Here. This will do,” the man with the deep voice said. “Put her down. Hurry.”
She was being lowered to the ground. They were going to rape her right here among the weeds.
They dumped her on her back, confirming her guess. The hand that had been over her mouth was removed.
Instantly, she filled her lungs and screamed. “Help! Somebody help me!”
“Christ above,” one of the three muttered. “Shut her up!”
The heavy man, the one with the armor, leaned over her and backhanded her across the face.
Instantly, the side of her face went numb and her lips, too. She lay dazed.
The soldier settled over the top of her, his hands scrabbling at her dress. That reminded her of the knife on her belt.
She got her foot up underneath him, planted it against his chest and shoved as hard as she could.
He had already been on his knees, so all she managed to do was tumble him backward, which gave her room to roll over and get to her hands and knees. She screamed again. “Help! Help me!”
She saw movement at the tiny windows of the nearest tower.
One of the three men cursed and grabbed her braid and pulled. Hard.
Tears stung her eyes in reaction. Sydney blinked hard to clear her vision and reached beneath her dress for the handle of the knife. She pulled it out and kept the knife swinging up and around. The swing of her arm pulled her shoulder around. She leaned into it, the blade of the knife whistling through the air around and behind her.
The blade sliced open the arm of the man pulling on her braid.
He let go with a yell and grabbed at his arm.
Sydney scrambled to her feet and turned to face her attackers, the knife held out in front of her.
The soldier just grinned, showing yellow teeth. His eyes narrowed speculatively. “I like the ones wot wriggle,” he told her.
“What about the ones that spill your gizzards?” she said.
One of the other two lunged for her and she swiped at him and leapt backward.
The lunge had been a feint. The soldier came after her, using her distraction to get close enough. She corrected quickly, bringing the knife around toward him. He was already inside the radius of the knife. He gripped her wrist and squeezed, laughing at her. His bad breath washed over her face, making her moan.
Sydney rammed the heel of her spare hand up hard under his chin, putting her full bodyweight into it and driving her arm up with every ounce of muscle she could muster.
The soldier’s head snapped back as he lifted off his feet and she heard his teeth clack together with a sharp click. He fell heavily onto his back.
She didn’t wait to see if that would be enough. She landed on his chest with her knee and pu
shed the knife up against his throat. He was conscious enough to roll his chin up and away from the threat of the knife. He was breathing heavily.
“Halt!” came the command in a voice that rolled over them, rich with the tones of command.
The soldier beneath her stiffened.
The other two were still and silent.
Sydney dared to look away from the soldier for quick glance only. She didn’t trust him to lie still, not even with a knife at his throat.
There were more than a dozen people crowded around the end of the alley through which the three men had first carried her. Townsfolk, by the look of them. They had been drawn by her cries. They were watching with large eyes, many of them with hands to their mouths in surprise.
In front of them stood armed soldiers. She knew they were soldiers, because they wore more of the mail the one beneath her wore, plus helmets. They were carrying spears.
And standing in front of the soldiers was a man that by his dress and stance alone she knew was a superior officer or leader. His tunic came down nearly to his ankles and was a rich dark red, with braid or embroidery all around the hem. His boots were clean. His beard was neatly trimmed and shot with grey, while his thin face was unlined. He had dark eyes and he was standing with his hands on his hips, taking in the scene before him, with a scowl on his face. “Get up,” he told her.
Sydney rocked back on her feet and stood up. She put the knife away, so that the guards behind the lord would relax.
“Cover yourself,” the lord said shortly, lifting a finger toward her head.
Sydney felt her hair. The head cloth had fallen down behind her head. She felt around for the edges and drew it back up over her hair once more.
“You dare attack and fell one of the Lady’s own men?” the lord asked. There was absolutely no inflection in his voice. She couldn’t tell if he was pissed about it or not.
“There were three of them,” Sydney pointed out. “They were going to rape me.”
There was a gasp from the people behind the soldiers. This, she realized, was entertainment for them. There were even more of them now, as people silently slipped through the alley and gathered behind to watch.
Then she focused on what the lord had said. Lady. The Lady. Was she in Mercia, then?
The lord examined her. “That would explain why your dress is in a state of disrepair,” he said dryly.
She glanced down. The top layer was torn from the hem almost to her hip, and the pink underlayer was showing through the gap.
“This was my best dress,” she said, then wondered where that had come from. Clear in her mind was the knowledge that her other dress was not nearly as grand as this one, for it was her everyday dress and needed replacing, although cloth for garments was expensive….
She lifted her chin and looked the lord in the eye. “They should pay recompense,” she said as firmly as she could.
“Get him up,” the lord said, indicating the soldier at her feet.
Two of the soldiers behind the lord put up their spears, handing them to those beside them. They hurried forward and pulled the soldier up onto his feet. He hung between them, breathing hard.
“Does the widow speak truly?” the lord demanded.
Widow. Sydney recalled Taylor telling her that sometimes when she jumped back, she jumped into a life that was fully formed, with others of that time knowing who she was, while she had to sort out for herself the facts of that life while not giving herself away.
If Sydney was a widow, that would cover her advanced age and lack of male escort.
Where was Rafe?
The soldier coughed and spat on the ground. “She enticed us with her wares and her wiles.”
Another murmur of shock went up from her audience.
Sydney grew wary. Women suspected to be of loose morals did not fare well throughout most of history. She had to cut off this line of speculation immediately.
“I am a virtuous woman,” she said firmly. “Ask anyone who knows me. I was bringing cakes to the market to sell. These men waylaid me.”
“Where are your cakes?” the lord demanded.
She looked around. “I dropped the basket. It will be in the town square somewhere if no one has stolen it already.”
“Look for the basket,” the lord said, speaking over his shoulder. Two more of the soldiers pushed back through the crowd and disappeared down the alley.
He considered her once again. “The man you bested is one of the strongest in the Lady’s army.”
Sydney glanced at him. “He might be strong, but he is slow and dull-witted.”
“Indeed,” the lord replied.
She thought he might be suppressing a smile. Hope made her heart beat faster.
The lord shifted on his feet, turning so that he could address everyone standing in the narrow area between the houses and the terrace. “Osgar will be flogged and left in stocks for inspection until sunset. He has trifled with a woman against her will.”
“My lord!” Osgar protested.
The lord glanced at him. “Be thankful the lady was able to withstand your attentions, or we would be speaking of beheadings, not floggings.”
There was movement from the back of the crowd. A soldier pushed through and stepped up to the lord. He held up Sydney’s basket for inspection. “There’s a few cakes left in it. Most of them have been taken.”
“Bring the basket,” the lord told him. “And bring the widow. Everyone else, return to your business.”
He moved through the crowd in a direct line, as if he expected everyone to step out of his way and Sydney watched in surprise as everyone moved aside, clearing a path for him.
The soldiers followed.
One of the pair that had been holding Osgar up gripped Sydney’s elbow. The second soldier was pushing Osgar into a slow walk. “Come, widow,” the first growled.
“To where?” she asked.
“You’re to see the Lady herself. Mind your manners and your tone. You’ll not fare as well with her if you’re as cheeky as you were with Wulfstan.”
They moved through the same cleared tunnel that the Lord Wulfstan had used and Sydney scanned the faces as they passed by.
None of them was Rafe’s.
Chapter Four
On the other side of the busy town square was a large house built in the same manner as every other house Sydney had seen so far, except that this house was taller. There were four chimney holes along the length of the steep roof, all of them bellowing smoke. There were also several doors, each with an armed guard standing beside it.
There were few windows, although they were all open.
The Lord Wulfstan had already moved inside, using one of the doors at the far end of the building. The guard, though, was leading her to a different door. He pushed her through the narrow door and followed her in.
The door was shut behind them, cutting off most of the natural light.
The room she was in seemed to take up the entire bottom floor of the house. There were windows on either side and they were letting in a little light. Most of the light was coming from two fires that burned in the middle of the room. The floor where she was standing was made of wood planks, while the floor beneath the fires looked like dun-colored bricks. Mud bricks, Sydney guessed.
The air in the room was thick and warm. The smoke was all escaping through the holes in the roof above each fire so the air wasn’t unbreathable. There was a lingering aroma that might be unpleasant and over the top of it was sweeter smelling scents that made her think of flowers and herbs.
The guard pushed her forward again, this time leading her past the fires.
Many people stood about the room watching her. All of them were wearing clothing of much better quality than her ripped and stained dress. At this end of the room the watchers were all men, their tunics all ankle length and embroidered in rich colors. Most of them wore leather belts that were knotted in the middle, so that the leftover length hung down the front.
&nb
sp; At the front of the room, women gathered in twos and threes. Sydney brushed at the poor fabric over her hip because these women were dressed far more elaborately. They looked…clean. Their veils looked nothing like the simple headdress Sydney wore. They had metal circlets around their heads, holding down very fine veils. Their overdresses were almost as long as their underdresses and made of fabric that didn’t have the bumps and rough weave that hers did. They wore necklaces and earrings that dangled beneath their veils. Some of their sleeves were so wide they nearly touched the ground.
Their belts were complex affairs, with metal studs or embroidery, sometimes wrapped around their waists twice, then knotted so the second loop hung lower than the first. From each belt hung at least one pouch, well-filled.
The women were all watching her with avid curiosity. Some of them looked disgusted or amused.
Sydney kept her chin up.
Wulfstan was standing ahead of her, speaking to someone she couldn’t see. “This is the widow Sunngifu, of whom I spoke, my Lady.” He stepped aside.
The woman he revealed was sitting on an elaborately formed iron chair, with the heads and long bodies of fantastic creatures making up the four legs. There were scrolled cross beams forming an X between the legs and filigree panels on the sides.
The woman who sat upon the chair seemed small and delicate. She was old. How old, Sydney could not begin to guess. Her brows were pale and her face lined. Her skin looked soft, not from care but from age. Jowls were beginning to form on either side of her chin.
Her hair was hidden beneath a white veil that wrapped underneath the mass at the back of her head, then lifted up to fold over the sides of the heavy metal circlet around her head. The veil then dropped down either side.
The woman looked at her expectantly. Unlike the rest of her face, the woman’s blue eyes were sharp with intelligence and very young looking. This, then, must be Aethelfreda, the Lady of Mercia.
That meant Sydney wasn’t in Powys, where Rafe would be. She was on her own.
Sydney didn’t know if she was expected to curtsey or bow. So she lowered her head. “My Lady.”
Kiss Across Kingdoms Page 4