by Sarah Hegger
Warning be damned. Faye returned the pressure, willing him to ask about Simon.
“Cannot be sure.” The farmer scratched his chest with a grubby hand. “Was late at night. Strange time for him to be out and about I thought.”
Gregory grunted and shook his head.
“Was he alone?” Faye couldn’t wait another moment if Gregory wasn’t going to ask.
Gregory stiffened, but Faye judged it worth the risk. The man might have proof of Simon.
“His lordship?” The farmer snorted. “Nay, lad, when does he ever travel without a bloody fuss and bother? Disturbed my best milk cows they did.”
“Was there a little b—”
“You have the truth of it there.” Gregory applied steady pressure with his knee. “Anyway, good day to you. Best get these supplies out of the sun.”
“Oh, aye.” The farmer nodded. “No need to go and spoil good food over the likes of his lordship.”
Gregory slapped the reins and the bullocks ambled forward.
“Why did you interrupt me?” Gregory had sat there and talked about the weather. Even had the gall to hush her while he passed up an excellent opportunity to gather more information.
“We are trying not to draw attention to ourselves.” He glanced at her. “Asking about a boy with Calder would have given the man fuel for gossip. You might have noticed he was a chatty sort. His speculation would not have stopped with us.”
“Oh.” Faye lapsed into a chastened silence. “At least he thought I was a boy.”
“Lucky sod. He must be blind,” Gregory muttered.
“What do—”
“There is an inn a ways ahead.”
Faye blinked at the rudeness of the interruption. She must have misheard him.
“We will stop at the inn for the night.”
“Why?” She had no knowledge of distance, but they had passed the tall, stone cairn that marked the border between Anglesea and Calder’s demesne a ways back and it could not be much farther.
“Our arrival in Upper Mere must be timed to attract the least notice. Calder has eyes in that town.”
Calder had eyes everywhere. Faye had learned that at her own peril once or twice. “Are you not afraid we will be recognized?”
“It is not the sort of inn I normally frequent” Color climbed his cheeks.
A hundred questions tumbled through her mind. “What sort of inn is it?”
He went redder and she laughed. He was so easy to tease at times. “The sort you should never enter.”
“I see.” That sounded interesting. The daughter of Sir Arthur of Anglesea was shielded from the common world and Calder had kept her guarded and confined.
They stopped to break their fast beside a stream. It was a lovely spot, the trees providing cool shade and the stream whispering a happy gurgle over the rocks. The weight in her chest lightened as she ate the bread and cheese.
Gregory gave her the largest portion of their meal. She pushed it back at him. A man his size needed a fair amount of feeding. He’d lost weight at the Abbey. His face was thinner, more defined, but the bulk of him beneath his robe was still impressive. He’d allowed his hair to grow, and it brushed his cowl in rich, sable curls. Who would have guessed Gregory to have curls? How they must gall him with their unruliness.
Faye tilted her face to catch the warmth of the sun.
As the day had worn on, Gregory’s silence lost its edge. He had even unbent enough to have brief conversations with her. The ground between them became more familiar for the last few miles. It had always been thus. For the most part, she spoke and he listened. Or the boys were with them demanding all the attention.
His gravity lightened around the boys. He laughed more and told them wonderful stories. Gregory had endless patience with them. Answering questions, guiding their youthful exuberance, like a real father. What would her life have been like with Gregory as her husband and father to her sons? There were times when she would pretend they were a family. The quiet caused her head to go places it had no place meandering. “Do you have a plan? When we get to Upper Mere.”
“Aye.” Of course he had a plan. Gregory did nothing without a plan.
A flock of sparrows argued noisily above their heads.
“We will need to be cautious.” He rose and washed his hands in the stream. “Calder is arrogant, but not stupid.”
That was true. She had banged her head against the wall of Calder’s conceit and come away bloodied. “He must know my father will act.”
“Aye.” He bent to clear up their meal. “But he will be expecting an attack to come from Anglesea. We will sneak in beneath his nose and, if we are fortunate, be gone before he knows we were there.”
“With Simon.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” It took her a moment to register his meaning. There was no perhaps about it.
“We will see what we find.”
Faye’s belly tightened and she forced herself to calm her breathing. They would find Simon in the hands of the devil himself. “I am not leaving without my son.
“My lady, first we survey the situation.” He packed their provisions into the cart.
Faye gaped at his back. That was not at all why she went to Calder Castle. She wanted to yell the words at his broad back. A lady never yelled, however, she explained her point firmly but graciously. “This is my son we speak of.”
“We do not know what we will find at Calder Castle.”
“Simon, we will find Simon.”
“And Calder will be expecting something.” He drew the words out as if he spoke to a child.
“He won’t be looking for us. You said as much.”
His jaw clenched. “But he will be alert and I will not put you in danger.”
Her angry pulse throbbed in her throat. Gregory planned to protect her when he needed to protect her son. The danger to her was meaningless. This was about her son. “I care only about getting Simon back.”
“I understand, but we cannot react out of our fear and anxiety.” He didn’t mean their fear and anxiety. He spoke of hers, her cowardice.
“I am getting my son back.”
“If I judge it prudent once we have assessed the danger.” He spoke so calmly, dismissing her, making light of how vital it was to retrieve Simon.
Well, he discounted this new Faye, the one in charge of her own fate. “I am not leaving without him.”
“You may have to.” He loomed above a good foot, taut with suppressed emotion. He could tower and glower all her liked.
“You cannot stop me.”
“I will if I must.”
She could hardly credit her ears. Verily, this entire conversation was a cruel jest. Her mouth dropped open and she snapped it shut again. “Let me explain this to you. I am here to rescue Simon, whether you will it or nay. It matters not what you and my father planned. There is a new plan now, and I will see this done.”
He grunted and shoved a hand through his hair. “This is no place for a woman.”
A lady does not show her temper. A lady does not screech like a hag. The trees dipped and swayed in her vision as she battled her temper. “I am his mother. Where else would I be?”
“Safe at Anglesea.” His support at Anglesea had been nothing but mouthing words. Here and now, when challenged, he took the same line as her father and brothers.
“You said you understood.”
“I do understand—”
“Nay, you do not. For you to even speak to me thus means you understand nothing of a mother’s pain when her child is in the hands of a monster. You think you know how much of a monster, but you don’t even know the half of it.”
“My lady—”
“It was me who suffered every blow of that animal’s hands. It was me he forced to submit to his will. I bore it all to shield my children from him. Do not think you understand. Do not think you can stand between me and my God-given right
to protect my child. You want to shield me.” A broken laugh escaped her. “You cannot shield me from what is done. And you will not stop me now.” Her breathing rasped in the sudden still. Good Lord, had all that come out of her mouth?
Stark anguish crossed his face. “I take your meaning, my lady.”
What meaning had he taken? His words were laden with so much more. She’d wounded him in some way. Her newfound courage flickered and died. He cared for Simon and he’d demonstrated it in hundred different ways. She hadn’t meant to speak all that, but she had opened her mouth and it had all poured out. “I beg your pardon.”
“Nay.” He hunched over the bed of the cart, his expression hidden from her. “It is I who must beg your pardon.”
Chapter 7
Faye’s outburst exhausted all her words. She used the continuing journey to tuck away all the messy tendrils of emotion that swirled about her. Thank God, Gregory kept silent about her appalling behavior. As the miles passed, the tension eased. She must keep a closer watch on her mouth and her emotions. God alone knew what could come out if she didn’t.
Day bled into evening with a glorious display of red and orange flung across the sky in lavish abandon.
“The inn is a hard by.” Gregory pointed to a small branch in the road. “We will stop for the night.”
Faye nodded. Tomorrow they would arrive at Calder Castle and the greatest challenge of her life. There was no choice but to rise to the challenge. William’s knife pressed against her ankle.
“We will sleep in the common room.” Gregory cleared his throat. “It is not what I would like for you, but anything else will cause interest.”
A night in a common inn, another new experience to tuck into her memory for when this was done. Beatrice had said something similar about her adventure. How she had discovered a world far removed from life within keep walls.
The forest grew thick through this section of road. Tree limbs soared overhead and blocked the waning daylight. The reedy call of pipes twined with the rise of wood smoke in the evening air. The noise grew louder as the bullocks plodded forward. The hum of voices underscored the pipes as the tavern wove into view.
A drab, squat building huddled in a small clearing between the trees. People spilled out of the door and onto the benches set against the wall. A few heads turned their way as Gregory drew the cart to the side.
Other carts littered the space to the side of the inn. A few horses sheltered beneath a makeshift barn. None of them had the look of a destrier and Faye relaxed. A nobleman might mean recognition, but these were all mean beasts, meant more for plowing than riding.
“Do you know how to unharness a bullock?” Gregory kept his voice low.
“Nay.” The Lady Faye in a bullock cart stretched credulity far enough.
“It will look strange if you do not help.”
“Indeed.” She had never so much as saddled her own palfrey. Needs must. Copying Gregory, she hopped from the wagon.
“Good evening, Father.” From behind a nearby cart a rough looking man appeared.
“My son.” Gregory nodded in return.
Faye hastened to nod her greeting. She dropped her gaze to the ground. Hopefully she looked meek and obedient and not sly. Excitement tiptoed up her spine. Her quest overshadowed everything, but this new adventure was so far removed from her life.
“Good, keep your head down,” Gregory said as he loosened the traces.
Faye studied his actions and tried to, at least, appear as if she knew what she was doing.
Gregory removed the neck yoke. “See that they are watered.”
The bullocks stood and looked at her, their tails swished back and forth. Goblets of saliva dangled from the their lips, mixed with green and brown bits that made her stomach churn. She shuddered and inched her hand forward, grabbed the head harness and led the beasts toward a water trough. The disgusting, sticky mess coated the back of her hand as they trundled along after her. She breathed through her mouth to lessen the stench.
Gregory tossed her a lightning quick grin. Aye, he could well grin, he was not covered in cow spit.
Once the beasts were settled, Faye trailed Gregory into the inn.
The noise hit her like a wall. People filled the rough benches and tables and even crouched along the walls. All eating and bellowing at each other.
A portly man slammed his tankard on the table. “Watch yourselves, you blaspheming sons of whores. We have a good father with us.”
Silent people turned in their direction. The stench of unwashed bodies pressed in proximity fought the ale’s malty sweetness.
Gregory’s broad shoulders made a good shield. “God bless all here.”
The noise resumed.
“Here you are, Father.” A thin woman, meanly dressed in rough wool, shoved her son from the bench. “You can sit here.”
The boy leapt to his feet and dipped his head to Gregory.
“Finish your meal.” Gregory’s hand engulfed the boy’s thin shoulder. “Go on, lad. My…the boy and I will find a corner and be content there.”
The boy swallowed and edged back into his seat. “Thank you, Father.”
“Would you bless us, Father?” The woman pressed her hands together in prayer.
Gregory crossed himself and the small family bowed their heads as he delivered the blessing. The Latin words rolled smooth and rich as velvet from his tongue. His conviction shone from his beautiful face like the church paintings of the martyrs. People stilled around him and listened. He would be a wonderful priest. The knowledge lodged like a thorn in Faye’s chest. He was not hers, never hers. When would she get that into her dull head?
Gregory finished his prayer, took her elbow and led her through the crowd. People shifted to make way and they found a quiet spot near the wall beside an open window. Fresh air provided a brief reprieve from the heat and the oily tang of goat meat.
She sank to the ground beside him relieved to be below the heavy cloud of taper smoke hanging above their heads.
“Are you well?” Gregory stretched his legs out.
Faye didn’t want to risk tripping someone and kept her knees tight to her chest, her robes tucked beneath her toes. “Aye.”
“I brought our food.” His shoulder pressed against her as he rummaged in his sack.
“Is there enough?” The meat pie he held was only enough for one large man. Faye didn’t fancy the pungent goat the inn offered.
“Oh, dear Lord, Father.” On the bench nearest them a plump man turned and pointed to the pie. “You cannot starve a growing lad. That tidy little morsel will barely fill your belly. Great big man like you.” He clicked his tongue and turned back to his table. “Mother, here, give us some of that nut loaf of yours for the good father and his boy.”
The farmwife rose from the other side of the table. “Aye, indeed, Heart. And I have a peach tart to sweeten their journey.” She beamed at Faye, her apple cheeks pink and shiny. “Oh, and look at the lad, Heart. Such a sweet-faced young thing.”
Gregory shifted beside her.
The entire family looked at her and Faye reminded herself to act like a boy postulant traveling with a monk. She smiled and waggled her fingers.
A curvaceous young girl, a younger version of the woman, returned her smile with a wink. The brazen little strumpet.
Gregory would swallow his tongue if Faye winked at him like that. She ducked her head and hid her grin, her mind flooded with winking ladies and gaping knights.
“And so young.” The woman bustled over and frowned into her face. “You are taking them into the monastery with their mother’s milk still wet on their lips, Father. Such a shame. Why his mother must miss his pretty face every day of her life.” The woman cupped Faye’s face in plump, rough hands. “And his cheeks are still soft and smooth as a babe.”
Oh, Good Lord. If her face grew any hotter it would explode. People did not cup the Lady Faye’s chin. Most of them would hesitate
to touch her mantle. Faye lifted her chin out of the woman’s grasp. All the attention hung like a lead weight on her. She needed to do something fast.
“Step away from him, my good woman.” Gregory pressed the woman’s hand away. “His pretty face hides the soul of a very devil.”
The woman jerked her hands back and clutched them to her bosom. “Nay.”
“Aye.” Gregory nodded. “His mother brought him to St. Margaret’s herself. Three days she walked to bring him to us.”
“What did he do?” The farmwife gaped and stepped away from Faye.
Faye dearly wanted to hear the answer to that question, too. She bowed her head penitently.
“I would not soil your ears with his misdeeds,” Gregory said.
The woman’s shoulders sagged and she sighed.
“Should we feed him?” The husband peered around his wife at Faye.
Faye’s stomach clenched in objection as the nut loaf hovered out of her grasp.
“We are all God’s creatures.” Gregory clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Our Good Lord broke bread with saints and sinners alike.”
“Aye, Father.” The woman did not sound sure.
Faye would smack him if he talked their way out of that loaf. The smell of fresh baking and nuts tormented her tongue.
“Mother, feed the young knave.” The husband clapped his hands together. “The good priest looks to be just the man to have him well in hand.”
Skirting Faye, the woman handed the bread to Gregory. She added her peach tart and a large round of cheese. Her feet pattered beneath her skirt back to the table.
Faye pressed her lips together to stop her smile. “What were my sins?”
“Heinous.” His eyes twinkled. “Debauchery is the very least of it.”
Faye basked in his smile. It warmed the empty place inside her. They had not had many occasions for laughter betwixt them. She returned the smile. “You have been warned.”
“Still.” He glanced at the table. “It would be for the best if we stayed quiet until we depart.”
“We will sleep here?” The wall pressed hard against her back. At Anglesea, she had a huge bed, draped in peacock-blue silk and embroidered with swathes of flowers. The same bed little Arthur would rest in tonight. She sent a quick prayer homeward to him.