by Lisa Shea
A noise came from behind her. She spun her head, but there was nothing but the soft fog of morning drifting across the meadow on either side. No sign, yet, of the three men. Martinus, Tibault, and Simon. They were all but strangers to her.
Why was she so sure she had to see them off?
A patch of tangerine-gold caught her eye, and she smiled. There was the section of marigolds, just where she’d remembered them. She could at least do some good by collecting her basket full while she waited.
She started down the bank.
The harsh call of a raven startled her. The large, black bird billowed out of the meadow before her, its wings spread. She cried out in alarm, stepping back as it flew up, up, higher into the lightening sky. It circled once, its sweeping wings beating the air, before heading off to the north.
A chill settled over her heart, and she put her hand automatically to the cross at her chest. Her father had put his faith firmly in Jesus, insisting all his children be raised properly by the church’s laws. But her mother, fair-haired and large-eyed like herself, had still retained a hold on the old ways - on paying attention to nature and the messages it could convey.
Steeling herself, she carefully climbed down the bank, turning right toward the flowers she sought.
Slam.
A large, sturdy hand clapped over her mouth while an arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Her shriek of alarm was cut off, and her feet left the ground as he lifted her. A rough voice in her ear hissed, “Stay still and I won’t hurt you.”
Alicia’s eyes swept forward and she realized there were at least four other well-armed men crouched beneath the level of the road, hidden in with the tall grasses. Far more than she could hope to overcome on her own. The blacksmith had taught her simple sword parries, enough to ward off a callous cut-purse, but not even remotely adequate to take on this seasoned group.
She allowed herself to go limp, nodding against her captor.
He crouched back down, maintaining his hold on her, and she twisted her head to get a better look at his partners. They seemed like soldiers more than bandits – neatly kept and in good shape. They wore unmarked leather jerkins and each held a sword in his hand. Their faces were serious and attentive, and to a man they stared south, toward Canterbury.
The man holding her put his mouth near her ear. His ice-blue eyes shone with serious intent. “When the fighting starts, you stay here. You should be safe enough. If you behave yourself, when we’re done with our task we’ll see you safely back to Canterbury. Understand?”
Alicia’s heart pounded against her ribs. She nodded mutely.
One of the men let out a hsssst.
The group went dead silent. The only sound was the soft swish of the meadow grasses against each other and the low chuckle of the partridge in its nest.
Seconds passed … there. The gentle clop of horse hooves coming toward them. Two, maybe three steeds. And then, out of the mists, the forms began to resolve. The center was a large, black animal, and mounted on it was –
Alicia bit down hard on the fingers at her mouth.
The man holding her shook her off, growling a sharp curse. In the next moment his fist slammed against the side of her head.
Her world tumbled headlong toward the deepest black. She gathered every ounce of strength within her to shout out, “Martinus! Ambush!”
The hooves turned to thunder. The roar of the men around her was the echoing crash as they boiled up over the bank and into the road. More shapes drew in from the opposite side.
Then the sun crested the trees and lightning flashed all along the road, from swords moving faster than her eye could follow. The three men on horses wheeled expertly, keeping their backs to one another, as they took on the threat deluging in from all sides.
Darkness spun her, and Alicia could no longer resist its strength.
*
A hand was grasping her arm, gently shaking her awake, and she groggily struggled to open her eyes. A man’s face was there before her, his jet-black hair laden with sweat, one eye swollen, a stream of crimson blood snaking past the opposite ear.
His voice was hoarse. “Alicia – God’s teeth, are you all right?”
The world settled into its right course, and she smiled with the joy of a thousand golden marigolds. “Dylan.”
His hand shakily went to the side of her head, and she barely felt the pain throbbing there, so warmed was she with emotion. Her tongue seemed thick in her mouth. “You came back to me. I knew you would.”
Then he faded, drifting backward into the fog.
*
She was being carried, there was a squeaking sound, and then she was gently laid on top of a hard, smooth surface. She pressed her cheek against it, breathing in the smell of beeswax. She carefully drew her eyes open.
She was on the counter in the middle of her uncle’s shop, and Benet hurried toward her with a pail in one hand, a clean rag in the other. His face was pale, but he did not hesitate as he dunked the rag into the water, then carefully began dabbing at the side of her head.
The pain was far away, separated from her by thick layers of wool, but she sensed it would be on her doorstep soon enough.
Benet’s voice was tight. “How did this happen?”
Martinus’s response came from her other side. “My companions and I were heading north this morning, on the main road. Brigands were waiting along the road to ambush us.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder. Alicia felt the warmth seep through the fabric of her dress, down into her very soul.
His voice was lower when he spoke again. “Alicia was ahead of us, and she must have seen them, for she called out a warning. The bastards clubbed her to silence her – but it was too late. We had heard her cry and were able to defend ourselves.”
Benet continued to dab carefully at her temple. “Ah, my foolish lass. What were you doing on that road alone, so early in the morning?”
She turned her head, drawing her eyes around to see the man behind her.
Her vision shimmered, blurred, and it seemed that it was Dylan there, the lad she had given her heart to in the gently rolling hills of Wales. But, no, as he came into focus it was Martinus, his face smeared with dirt, blood caked on the side of his face, his brow creased with worry.
Her voice creaked out of her. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, a slight smile coming to his lips. “Thanks to you, none of us have serious injuries. I’m not sure I could have said the same if we had fallen fully into their trap.”
Benet looked between her and Martinus, and his shoulders eased. “Ah, lass, you are headstrong, like your mother was when she was your age. She gave your father no end of trouble.”
Alicia’s throat felt rusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. “My mother adores my father.”
Benet chuckled. “That she does.”
He drew close to her forehead, parting her hair with serious attention. After a moment he nodded. “The wound was messy, but it seems that no serious harm was done. Let’s see if we can sit you up.”
Martinus put an arm behind her back, and she could feel every movement of his hand against her, every contact point as a comforting warmth seeped into her, enriching her. The world wavered as he drew her to a sitting position, but a few blinks later it settled down into a stationary course again.
Benet gazed closely into each of her eyes. “You want to take it slow, my dear. You had a good knock there.”
Martinus glanced to the sword still at her side. His brow drew together in confusion. “You are armed?”
She tilted her head, looking at him. “Nearly all women carry daggers on them and know how to use them. There are certainly other women in Canterbury who can wield a sword as well. Have you found that to be so unusual on your travels?”
Martinus’s eyes swirled with emotions she could not quite name. “Well, no. Certainly I’ve met a number of women on my journeys who were quite talented with a blade. But you’re – ” He ran a hand
through his hair, clearly changing mental gears. “I mean, you’re a clerk in a woodshop. I hadn’t thought Benet would train you in sword-work.”
Benet chuckled. “Oh, I didn’t train her with that sword. She came to me fully armed when she arrived from Wales.”
Martinus’s eyes flashed with heat. “What? You didn’t accompany her here?” He rounded on Alicia. “Alicia, your father allowed you to come all the way here to Canterbury on your own?”
She grinned. “Oh, he certainly refused at first. But after I put in the long months of training with the blacksmith, and proved my skill, he began to weaken. Then, when that group of pilgrims came through, and the three elderly widows offered to chaperone me, well, he finally gave in.”
His eyes moved from the sword to her gaze, and he nodded. “I can see why. You have that determined look to you. The look that nothing will stand in your way.”
“And nothing did,” she agreed. “Besides, the trip was quiet and uneventful. There are so many pilgrims on the road to Canterbury that it was quite fun. I met many interesting people along the way. I’m just grateful Benet welcomed my surprise arrival with such open arms.”
Benet’s eyes sparkled. “It is a pleasure having you here, Alicia. You are family.”
Martinus seemed confused again. “Alicia, I thought Benet asked you to come help him at the store. Why else would you have come to Canterbury?”
Tension slid down her shoulders, and she looked down. It was one thing to admit her faint hopes to her uncle and to see the kind acceptance in his eyes. It was another altogether to share her desperate dreams with a man she’d just met.
Martinus stilled. His eyes moved between Alicia and Benet.
He stepped back.
Alicia’s chest constricted, unreasoning panic suddenly sweeping over her, stunning her with its power. The words blurted out of her.
“You’re not leaving?”
Emotion flitted behind his dark eyes, vanishing as quickly as it’d come. “No,” he breathed, his face regaining some of its color. “Not for a few days,” he amended. “Simon’s right wrist was badly sprained during the attack. Given our encounters of the past few days, it seems safer to let him heal up before heading out again.”
Alicia shook her head. The men seemed to have the worst of luck. Pilgrims came and went constantly through the city and most made their journeys without more than sore feet and parched throats. For this trio – and well-armed men at that – to have hit bandits twice in such a short period of time was a true wonder. She asked, lightheartedly, “Have you killed a raven or something?”
His eyes sharpened and came to hers. “What do you mean?”
“Your attacks – your bad luck. Surely something is causing it.”
His gaze gentled at that. “But I have had the good luck of meeting you. I must’ve seen a fox along the way.”
She grinned.
He waved a hand toward the door. “We’ve taken a room at the inn, so we’re not far off. Maybe we’ll see each other in passing.” He nodded to her, then to Benet. “A good day to you both.”
And then he was stepping out into the sunshine, lost in the glow.
He wasn’t leaving.
Relief coursed through Alicia. She knew, logically, that he was not Dylan. He was a stranger she had barely met. Yet somehow, deep within her, the thought that he would not be heading north today was the soothing balm spread over an agonizing wound.
Chapter 5
Alicia smiled with joy as she sorted through the red-yellow apples at the farmer’s stall, selecting the very best of them to put into the box tucked into the crook of her arm. Benet and Ethelfleda always did adore her apple stew, and she felt like making a special treat for them. Her uncle and cousin had made her feel wonderfully at home in this bustling city. As much as she adored her mother and father, she found her soul lifting in this new environment. At home she’d been constantly scolded for not caring for the pigs properly or for making mistakes with the crops. Here, Benet and Ethelfleda lived a life of joy and encouragement.
It was almost enough to make her forget the hole in her core.
The noise of the Saturday market whirled around her with its laughter and haggling as she turned each fruit carefully in her hands, checking for blemishes.
Dylan had always done this while they were courting. He’d seek out just the right ingredients; find just the right flowers. She’d teased him about it incessantly. Heck, she could barely tell the family’s pigs apart. Her mind just didn’t work that way. But to Dylan, those differences had mattered – and she had tried her best to follow his lead.
She placed the last apple into its position and looked up –
Dylan was standing there before her. His eyes soaked her in as if he had struggled over the rise in a desert landscape and come across a hidden oasis.
Her voice gasped out of her. “Dylan!”
The box of apples tumbled to the ground, red fruit rolling in all directions.
A shadow crossed Martinus’s face, and her cheeks flared with heat as she realized her mistake. She dropped to her knees, her face down, hiding her tearing eyes with the curtain of her hair. She grabbed the apples up out of the dirt, wiping each down on her moss-green dress before putting them back into the box.
Martinus knelt at her side, turning an apple in his hands to clean it before handing it to her. “I’m so sorry, Alicia.”
She dragged the back of her hand across her face to wipe away the tears. “I’m a foolish girl,” she ground out, stretching out to reach one of the apples which had rolled beneath the table. “My father always told me so. He said one day I’d mistake a wolf for our family dog and let myself be dragged into the forest.”
“I’m sure your father and mother love you dearly,” countered Martinus gently.
Alicia dug out the last missing apple from behind the back of a post and stuffed it into the box. “They do,” she agreed, hefting the box and drawing to her feet. “They just … we’re different. They expect me to be a certain way – and I’m just not put together the way they’d want.”
Her heart fell. She was a failure. Somehow she always felt that way when she was home. The light had been Dylan, the way he’d looked at her, and then one day he’d gone … he’d gone …
The elderly woman on the other side of the booth looked over with kindly eyes. “Got them all, dearie? I’ll just put that on your uncle’s bill.”
Alicia pulled herself back to the present. “Thank you, Agatha.” She turned to the street, and Martinus fell in at her side.
He looked down into the box with interest. “What shall you be making with those?”
Alicia’s shadows eased as they walked. “I was thinking an apple stew.”
His eyes lit up with interest. “Oh? With cinnamon?”
She nodded. “It’s one of Benet’s favorites – it reminds him of home. And poor Ethelfleda has never been there, so I try to make her dishes to help her learn about her heritage. After all, Wales is just the most beautiful part of the world. The hills shine green in the morning dew, and in the evenings, when you look east, and the stars begin to glimmer …”
Martinus raised an eyebrow. “Don’t most people look west at sunset, to watch the deepening colors?”
She blushed, looking down. “Most do,” she agreed quietly.
Their feet moved in silence along the dirt road. At last Martinus murmured, “It sounds like a wonderful place to live.”
Alicia’s eyes moved to the shops along either side of the street. “But you’d never have options like these,” she pointed out. “We have necklaces from Egypt. Wines from Tuscany. We talk with women from Paris and priests from Rome. The breadth of ideas is staggering.”
He nodded. “There’s something to be said for a city’s wide options. But sometimes all one craves is a simple cinnamon apple stew that reminds them of home.”
Her cheeks pinkened, and she kept her gaze steadily on the busy street before them, where it wended between homes a
nd shops. “Maybe you’d like to join us for some?”
She could almost see the breath fill him. “Absolutely.” His eyes shone with contentment. “Tibault and Simon are going to play dice tonight; I am free as long as you will have me.”
They reached the shop. Ethelfleda was leaning forward in her chair, petting a slender, fawn-brown dog. The woman before her, a portly middle-aged red-head, was animatedly talking with Ethelfleda, saying, “And I knew you would be the very person to ask, for you are so good with dogs! So you say I should try talking slower to him?”
Ethelfleda bobbed her head. “Exactly! Repeat the command slowly, with emphasis, and if you then –”
Alicia smiled fondly at her cousin. The woman seemed to have no end to her talents.
Martinus nodded a greeting to Ethelfleda, then pressed the door open for Alicia. “After you.”
Benet looked up from his workbench as they stepped in, and his eyes sparkled as he took in Martinus following behind Alicia. His voice held merriment. “Alicia, I see you brought home more than the groceries.”
A grin spread across her face, and she felt the lightness of it warming her heart. “It appears he likes apple stew with cinnamon.”
Benet chuckled. “And what man wouldn’t? But does he know how to wield a paring knife as well as that sword of his?”
Martinus nodded. “Absolutely. And I would be honored to help.”
Benet waved his awl. “Well then, don’t let me interfere with your efforts. I’ll just keep at this belt of mine, off in the corner. Don’t mind me at all.”
Alicia brought the box into the back room, placing it down at the corner of the large, thick table. She drew out two paring knives from the drawer, then poured out two glasses of mead from the pitcher on the sideboard. She sat down alongside Martinus on the bench, and they set to work.
Alicia couldn’t remember when she’d laughed so much. Martinus was full of tales from his travels, and somehow he was able to find just the right way to tell about the stodgy old priest or the freckle-faced dressmaker to bring them to life. The sun drifted across the counter, they sampled the apple pieces, and when Benet came in with the candles to hold off the encroaching darkness, Alicia blinked in surprise.