Mary Reed McCall

by Secret Vows

  A few onions followed the rest. As a final thought, she added a parchment-wrapped bundle of wax tapers from a pile that lay in the coolest part of the larder. They were a luxury, unsuitable for the life she and the twins would be living once they escaped, but they might be bartered, later, for more food. Taking a last look around, she pulled the string tight on the sack and gritted her teeth to lift it over her shoulder.

  Saints, ’twas heavy. The trick would be getting it back to her chamber unnoticed. Then again, perhaps she ought to hide it somewhere nearer to the stables, so that it would be easier to hoist onto her mount when the time was right tonight.

  Biting her lip, Catherine considered her options. There was a mound of clean hay, covered by a pavilion of sorts, just behind the stables; she could hide the bag there until night fell and the area emptied as most of the workers went to the Punkie Night celebration. She dragged the sack to the door, so caught up in her thoughts that she opened it and stepped out without checking first.

  “Good morn, Lady Camville,” a harsh voice rasped. “Planning a journey, are you?”

  Catherine silenced the scream that bubbled up in her throat; her sack thudded to the floor as she snapped her gaze to the person who’d surprised her.

  ’Twas the deformed man, swathed in his customary black robes. He stood crouched in the shadows just outside the door, his mouth the only visible part of his face. His thin white lips pursed together, and though his eyes were hidden in the folds of his hood, she felt the strength of his stare on her.

  “You seem to have packed a great deal there,” he said, nodding to the sack. “It must be a sizable journey you plan to undertake.”

  “I—I’m having a picnic,” she blurted, despising herself for the fear that tightened her throat.

  “Oh, aye, a picnic,” he cackled. “All the way to Faegerliegh Keep, I’d warrant.” She felt herself blanch, but before she could even attempt a denial, he shuffled closer to her, making her shrink against the wall. He started to say something, but then stopped as two laundresses opened a door down the corridor and started toward them.

  The women chattered, unaware of anyone else, until at last they veered away and disappeared down another passage to the great hall. But their interruption seemed to change the man’s mood. He swung his hooded head around, as if checking for others who might disturb him.

  Finally, he leaned closer to her again, rasping softly, “If you wish to keep your children safe from harm, lady, then do as I say. Meet me after the nones bell in the abandoned crofter’s hut beyond the limits of the fallow field. Fail me not.”

  With that he coughed, the sound rattling from his chest, and turned to hobble down the hall. She heard the portal to the yard swing open and bang shut behind him. And then her knees gave way. She gripped the doorframe to steady herself, her breath coming shallow, her eyes a blur of dancing black dots.

  If you wish to keep your children safe from harm…

  Holy Mother Mary, the man was Eduard’s spy, and he’d caught her planning her escape.

  Her babes. Sweet God, her precious babes. She’d done this to them with her clumsy, ridiculous ideas of a rescue. Would the spy tell Eduard about her transgression against him? And would her odious brother by marriage choose to take out his anger toward her on her children?

  Her heart hammered with thick, painful beats. She released her hold on the wall, sinking to the floor as she clasped her hands tightly to pray. She begged God to help her, beseeching Him for the courage to face this nameless spy of Eduard’s…and for the strength to deliver her children from the clutches of evil.

  Pushing his hand through his hair, Gray strode into the village tavern in Somerset, bone-weary from the events of the past six days. The grand as-size was over, thank God. He’d conducted himself in a way sure to please King Henry, but the whole time his mind had kept straying to the task awaiting him here; his chance to learn more about Elise and the secrets she was keeping from him.

  His gaze swept the dim recesses of the inn. At this time of the afternoon, the place was predictably full of customers, all seeking a pint of ale or some watered wine to ease their day’s toil. He’d sent a message ahead to Alban, informing him of his arrival, but it seemed that his friend remained occupied elsewhere for the moment. Ah, well. Waiting for Alban gave him good reason to sit and cool his own parched throat.

  He walked to the back of the wattle and daub building, finding an empty bench near the hearth. He sank down with a sigh, stretching his back and trying to work the kinks out of his neck, noticing that several village residents favored him with curious stares. ’Twas nothing out of the ordinary. His size alone usually elicited such attention, but today he’d worn several of his finest garments for the conclusion of the grand assize, and it assured that many here would find him an interesting sight.

  “Here you go, love.”

  A blond serving wench set a cup of ale in front of him, sloshing some of the brew over its rim. With a false mew of distress, she leaned over to wipe up the spill, ensuring that the full mounds of her breasts wobbled temptingly in his face while she cleaned.

  Gray lifted his brow. Tavern lasses were a usually cheeky lot, but this one was bold, even by common standards. When she smiled and pulled away, ready to flounce her nether assets at him on her way to the next customer, he decided to smile back at her. It stilled her in her tracks as effectively as he’d hoped it would.

  “I’d prefer some spiced cider, lass, if you have any,” he said, lifting the cup of ale to hand it back to her.

  The girl stared at him, her mouth gone slack. Finally she clamped it shut, seeming to regain her wits enough to run her appreciative gaze over him and dart out her tongue to moisten her lips. “The name’s Cassie, milord,” she answered in a husky purr, “and I’m not so sure Master Jack keeps much more than ale and wine in store.”

  “Cassie, then.” He held the cup to her again, still smiling. “I’d be grateful if you’d look for me.”

  She smoothed her hands over her curved hips and tilted her head ever so slightly, fluttering her thick fringe of lashes at him. Ah, she was good. Too good, perhaps. It wouldn’t surprise him if he came back here in a year to find Cassie full and ripe with a babe, courtesy of one of the men with whom she so shamelessly flirted.

  “Are you sure you want to make do with cider, milord?” She blinked again, pulling his attention back from his meandering thoughts. “And not try something a bit more…potent?”

  “Nay, Cassie. Cider will do fine if you can find it for me.”

  Disappointment flared for a brief moment in her eyes, but then she just nodded, a bit more shyly, he thought, before going off in search of his drink.

  By the time she returned with it, he’d worked most of the stiffness from his neck and was even beginning to relax a little. He took the spiced brew from her with murmured thanks and drank deep. He was readying to take another healthy swallow, when the hissing, slurred voices of two men hidden on the other side of the jutting hearth gave him pause. He leaned forward to look. They appeared to be common soldiers of some sort, engaged in drunken conversation.

  “’S blood, Francis, I’m sick to death of hearin’ it! You didn’t bury the wrong corpse! ’Tis a story the like of which you’ve told a hundred times. Only if Lord Montford hears you tellin’ this one, it’ll be the long sleep for you, it will!”

  Lord Montford?

  Gray set down his cup. Eduard was lord of these lands, and had been since his elder brother’s death some five or six months past. The soldiers could mean no other man.

  “Christ Almighty, I’m tellin’ true, Rolf!” the man named Francis hissed, before dropping his voice so low that Gray strained to hear.

  “May Saint Peter strike me down if I’m false! Lord Montford made me sneak in and put her in our lady’s tomb. ’Twas the dead of night. He had her wrapped up real good, so’s I couldn’t see her, but I’m telling you, ’twasn’t mistress Catherine! I knew our lady as well as anyone, and ’twasn’t
her! This one was ’alf her size. Like a little bird, she was. And I saw a lock of hair peepin’ out the top of the shroud—not brown like our lady’s, but pale as spun gold!”

  Golden-haired? Like a little bird?

  Montford kept her so secluded within the keep, ’twas impossible for me to gain an audience with her. I told you the only information I could gather from the people of the village. They described Elise de Montford as small and fair-haired. One of the villeins even likened her to a tiny sparrow.

  Alban’s apology from the day of his wedding shot through Gray’s brain like fire. Without even realizing that he was going to do it, he surged to his feet and lunged across the hearth, grabbing Francis by the front of his tunic and pushing him up against the wall.

  Francis gasped and sputtered, his eyes rolling wildly in his head. “What—what the devil?” Before he could say more, his gaze fell on Gray’s fine garments, took in his masterful height and the iron-muscled arm gripping him, and then he fell to blathering like an idiot.

  “Please, milord Montford! God save me, oh Lord, sweet Jesu in heaven spare me, milord Montford! I didn’t mean any of—”

  “I’m not Lord Montford!” Gray muttered, giving him a shake hard enough to rattle his teeth, while he jerked his other arm to remove the loyal Rolf, who’d attached himself with drunken fervor to Gray’s elbow in an effort to protect his friend. Rolf slid to the floor, a boneless heap, crossing himself repeatedly and moaning that they were both doomed now, for sure.

  Gray scowled and leaned into Francis, talking slowly, so that the man couldn’t help but understand him. “Tell me everything you know. Who was the woman you buried? And if she was a lady, why was she buried in secret? I want to know everything, damn you, and I want to know it now!”

  “Gray, for Christ’s sake, let up on the wretch. He’s senseless already.”

  With a growl, Gray released the swooning Francis and twisted to face Alban. His friend’s expression was stony, and a chain with something round and metallic dangled from his fist. Alban held out the object. “I think this will go a long way in explaining what you want to know.”

  Taking the offering from him, Gray squinted at it in the dim light, trying to see it more clearly. ’Twas a locket, fairly new. He popped the clasp to see the miniature inside. A thread of shock wound through him. He looked back to Alban in question, not understanding how this could explain anything.

  Rolf had been kneeling in desperate prayer on the floor near Gray, but now he dared enough to peer around him and catch a glimpse of the tiny painting. “Ah,” Rolf murmured softly. “’Tis our beloved mistress Catherine, God bless her soul. A fine lady and a good woman she was.” He crossed himself again. “May she rest in peace.”

  And in that instant all of the strength seemed to leave Gray’s limbs. He sank down to the bench like a stone, wondering if he’d ever find means to rise again.

  Chapter 14

  A breeze caressed Catherine’s fevered skin as she made her way across the clearing, toward the path that cut through the fallow field. With each breath, she inhaled the fertile scents of fallen leaves and sun-warmed grass, but she had no will to enjoy autumn’s bounty this day. Her stomach felt sick, the echoing notes of the nones bell matching the relentless thrumming in her ears.

  In a few moments she was going to reach the abandoned crofter’s hut and come face to face with Eduard’s evil spy.

  Her fingers tingled, and she kept flexing her hands to keep them from going numb. Trying to force herself to focus, she patted the handle of the sheathed dagger she’d secured at her waist as protection. ’Twas little comfort, considering the ordeal that lay ahead, but ’twas better than nothing.

  The wind seemed to pick up, gusting through the trees as she approached the old cottage. It crouched like a troll in the woods, with chunks of thatch missing from its roof and several boards hanging askew. A fitting choice, she thought, for Eduard’s misshapen spy.

  She paused at the portal, trying to gather her courage to go in and face the man. But then the door creaked open, and she forced her trembling legs to carry her into the cottage’s dim recesses.

  It was quiet inside. A film of grit seemed to blanket everything in the oppressive atmosphere, and a damp, musty smell assaulted her. Rubbing her eyes, Catherine squinted, trying to make them adjust from the light of outdoors. Where was the wretch? He’d arrived first, the open door made that clear. Was he hiding to frighten her? Was this some perverse game he played, worthy of his evil master?

  A grinding crunch sounded to her left, and she swung her gaze to the spot. The hunched man stood half in shadow, his form partly illuminated by daylight streaming in from the shutter he’d just opened. Dust motes danced in the slash of light, swirling round him. He stepped closer, and Catherine forced herself not to shrink back. As before, only his thin, pale lips showed beneath the folds of his hood.

  “Have you come alone?” he asked in a low rasp.

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  “You’re certain that no one followed you?”

  She nodded mutely this time, feeling what little courage she’d mustered beginning to fade. This man, this spy, held her children’s lives in his hands. Holy saints, what could she do to stop him from making them suffer for her mistakes?

  “Please,” she blurted, “please don’t let Eduard hurt my babes. I’m begging you, do not to tell him of—”

  “Hush, Catherine,” the man said softly, and she stilled, feeling a tingle go up her spine at the change in his voice. There was something about it. Something that struck a chord at the very center of her…

  “There’s no need to fear,” he continued, his tone gentle and melodious. “I’ll not be telling Lord Montford anything, except to go straight to hell where he belongs, to roast with all of the other demons and villains.”

  With that the man slowly straightened until he stood miraculously transformed, just as tall and true as any other healthy person. When he lifted his hands to his hood, Catherine gasped; her heart skipped a beat as he swept the dark material back to expose his face and the silvery waves of hair atop his head. After staring for several moments, her voice finally squeaked past the tightness in her throat.

  “Heldred? Sweet Mother of God. Heldred, is it really you?”

  “Aye, my lady, ’tis me,” he answered quietly. “Blessed be, but ’tis good to speak with you at long last.”

  Shock dissolved into happy tears as Catherine threw herself into the old man’s arms. He hugged her tight to him, and she heard the catch in his breathing as he stroked her hair softly.

  In all of her years as Geoffrey de Montford’s wife, Heldred had been the only person, other than her own children, to show her kindness and love; the old weaver had been the first in her life to treat her gently, with courtesy. Though their stations in life were different, they’d become friends. She remembered how his sun-browned cheeks had wrinkled with smiles every time he helped her, teaching her new skills to perfect her weaving, and she’d never ceased to feel grateful for his care of her.

  Now she pulled back, gazing at his dear old face and spilling questions at him in a confusing stream. “Why did you—how did you know where to find me, and what do you know about all this—?”

  Heldred shook his head, smiling. “Ah, lady. I suspected something foul from the moment Lord Montford announced you dead.” He stroked his finger over her wet cheek. “When I slipped past the guards and found Elise’s body in your tomb, I saw the truth of his evil deed. I decided then that he had brought you here as his own sister, though at first I didn’t understand why he would commit such blasphemy. I came here to watch over you and to be sure that he planned no other harm.”

  Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place. Gripping his hand, Catherine smiled at him through her tears, “’Twas you all along, wasn’t it? You were the one who sent me that pot of salve for my blisters. And those bouquets of flowers—and the padded weaving mat that appeared in my chamber just last week. All this time, it
was you! But why did you not reveal yourself to me? Why did you let me think you were one of Eduard’s spies?”

  “For the fears that I caused you, my lady, I am heartily sorry,” Heldred murmured, bowing his head. “But I needed to keep my disguise to be sure that none other might recognize me and report of it. I didn’t want to endanger you in any way, so I watched and waited.” Shadows deepened his brown eyes. “And I learned. I think I understand, now, my lady, why Lord Montford sent you here. It has to do with your husband, does it not?”

  Catherine released his hands and stepped away. “Aye. Eduard wants me to prepare the way for Gray’s murder, so that he can assume Gray’s power and lands. If I refuse, he’s vowed to kill Ian and Isabel as punishment.”

  Heldred cursed under his breath. “’Tis as I suspected.” He looked back to Catherine. “When is the deed to be committed?”

  “I do not know. The order is certain to come soon, though. Eduard has been away with the king for nigh on two months already. ’Tis why I planned to escape tonight.”

  “But why have you not—” Heldred paused, studying her. “I mean no offense, my lady, but why have you not confided in Lord Camville? I’ve noticed in these weeks of watching that he seems to be a kind man. A powerful man, in a position, surely, to help you.”

  Catherine felt her cheeks heat. “Gray is a good man, Heldred. The finest I’ve known. I had resolved to tell him, and in truth, an opportunity to confess presented itself but a week past, when we were away from both the castle and Eduard’s spies. But I let the chance slip by.”

  Heldred frowned. “When was that?”

  “The day of the village fair.”

  “Ah, yes,” Heldred said. “I remember. Sir Alban left to find you and Lord Camville in the forest after the brawling began at the marketplace.”

  Catherine nodded, the heat in her cheeks intensifying. She remembered all too well those moments in the glen and the passion she and Gray had shared. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Heldred, dear as he was, the full reason behind why she’d remained silent.