More shouts were heard outside.
Cecilia looked up at Owen, her eyes frightened. "How long do you think your men can hold the gates against him?"
"Scorby and his men are not the trained fighters we are. But we cannot stay here indefinitely."
"I should go speak with Paul."
"Perhaps if he saw her condition?"
She gave him a surprised look. "He did this to her. How could he not know her condition?" She spoke in a quiet voice, but behind it quivered controlled emotion.
"What do you intend to do?"
Cecilia Ridley shrugged. "Keep him away from her somehow."
"May I see her?"
She gave Owen a searching, not entirely friendly look. "Why?"
"I am an apprentice apothecary. I might be of help."
"I thought you were the Archbishop's man."
"That, too."
"Your life is rather complicated, Captain Archer."
He grinned. "You do not know the half of it, Mistress Ridley."
"What could lead a Captain of Archers to apprentice to an apothecary?"
Owen tapped his patch. "A reminder of how easily Death creeps up on us."
Cecilia stared at Owen a moment; then, seeming to decide something, she rose and indicated for him to follow her upstairs.
The room was next to the one Owen had used when he had come in summer. A brazier kept the room warm. A young woman lay in the bed, the hand outside the counterpane bandaged. Her face was bruised and swollen, one side of her mouth cut. She watched them with one eye; the other was blackened and too swollen to open.
"Mamma?" Her voice was ragged, frightened.
Mistress Ridley crossed quickly to the bed. "It is all right, Anna. This is Captain Archer. He is an apothecary, though he looks nothing of the sort. He thought he might be able to help."
Owen wondered how Cecilia Ridley managed to sound so calm with her daughter so badly hurt, her husband murdered, and her son-in-law shouting at the gate. But it was good that she could manage it, for her daughter looked terrified even without knowing all that was the matter. Owen knelt beside Anna and asked, "Your hand is broken?"
"A finger," Cecilia said. "We pulled it straight and splinted it."
"And applied a salve of boneset?"
Cecilia nodded.
"Is anything else broken?"
"No. The rest are bruises, her face and her stomach. And the cuts on her mouth." She told Owen what she had done for her daughter.
He motioned to Cecilia to step out of the room with him. They stood on an open landing looking down onto the hall.
"Some valerian would calm her," Owen said. "You say her stomach was bruised. Was there bleeding?"
"Yes. But it has stopped."
"Do you think she could keep down some wine with valerian?"
"She has kept wine down."
"Keeping her calm, that is important." Owen rubbed the scar on his left cheek. "Jesus Lord, what sort of man would do that to his wife?"
"He says he has needs and she denies him. That it drives him mad."
"If there is anything else I can do, Mistress Ridley ..."
She took his hand and squeezed it. "You are a good man, Captain Archer." Her eyes swept over his face, lingered on his mouth.
She seemed too close. Too intent on him. Owen resisted the urge to back up a step.
Cecilia smiled through tears, smoothed down her skirt, sighed. "And now I must confront my son-in-law."
Owen lay in the room next to Anna's. He jerked to attention at every sound in the house. Cecilia Ridley felt that Scorby would stay away for the night, that she had convinced him to sleep at an inn--Beverley was a large enough town to have several comfortable inns--but Owen could not rest. He tossed and turned on the pallet as he listened to Cecilia Ridley pacing anxiously back and forth in her daughter's room.
Suddenly the footsteps in the next room changed in character, moving decisively to the door, then outside. There was a knock at Owen's door.
"Come in."
Cecilia Ridley held an oil lamp to her face. "Forgive me for disturbing your sleep."
"I've been unable to sleep."
She came in, closed the door behind her, placed the oil lamp on a small table next to Owen, and proceeded to pace back and forth at the foot of his pallet, her hands behind her back.
"What is it?" Owen asked.
"You must help us. Anna must not stay here."
Dear Lord, the woman was panicking. "I want to help, Mistress Ridley. I cannot sleep for thinking of your poor daughter. But she cannot be moved. Not with the bleeding."
"It has stopped."
"If she sits a horse, it might begin again."
Cecilia whirled round and sat down at the side of Owen's pallet. "Worse will happen to Anna if she does not get away. You must see that." Her eyes were dark, huge, and wild in the flickering light.
Owen understood what she feared. Was it not what kept him awake, listening for sounds of the man breaking into the house? But Anna was in no condition to travel. "I cannot understand how Anna bore the trip here," Owen said. "To travel again so soon--" He shook his head. "No, you cannot mean it."
"Merciful Heaven, there is no other solution." Cecilia leaned toward Owen, as if with her body she could convince him how serious this was. "You said she needed calming. How can she be calm if she fears he will come take her back there? There is not enough valerian root in all the kingdom to wipe that fear out of her heart."
True enough, and Anna did need to stay calm to heal. A shower of hot needle pricks across his blind eye warned Owen that he was getting too involved in the Ridleys' problems. He lifted a hand to his scar and discovered that he wore no patch. Of course not--he'd thought he was going to sleep. Amazing that Cecilia Ridley could stare at him with such intensity and not wince at the ugly, puckered lid that would not completely close over the sightless eye. The light in the room was not dim enough to conceal it. Owen reached for the patch on the table beside him.
Cecilia Ridley took it as a sign that he was dressing, that he had decided to help. She stood up. "Good. I'll prepare her."
"For pity's sake, I have agreed to nothing. I merely wished to spare you the sight of this eye."
Cecilia sat back down. "But it is just that about you--your scar, your suffering--that made me think you would help. Could you rest anywhere near the person who did that to you?"
"I killed the person who did this to me."
That made her hesitate. She clutched her hands in her lap and studied them for a long moment.
Something in the terrible effort put forth to keep that back so straight, those hands so still, put Owen in mind of Lucie. "You remind me of my wife."
"Oh? And what would Mistress Archer do in my place?"
Owen did not correct the name. He thought it best that Cecilia have no idea of any imperfection in his relationship with Lucie. But what would Lucie do? Owen thought back to the night that Thoresby, Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor of England, had given Lucie an order and she had refused. She had decided what was best for her husband, Nicholas, and nothing in Heaven or Hell could move her to change her mind. Cecilia Ridley's back looked that stubborn.
"Lucie would confront Scorby with what he has done," Owen said. "Bring him up here to see Anna's condition. No doubt Scorby left right after he'd beaten her. He may not realize how far he'd gone."
Cecilia's eyes opened wide with disbelief. "Are you mad? Anna is terrified. What if he attacks again?"
"I will be there in the room. I will watch his reaction, and I will be ready to protect her. But I suspect that Paul Scorby will go away quietly when he sees his wife's condition. He has nothing to gain by forcing her to travel."
Cecilia shook her head. "No. I cannot put Anna through such an ordeal."
"But you could put her through another journey?"
"Just to St. Clement's Nunnery outside York."
"She cannot travel."
"1 cannot let him near her."
<
br /> "No matter what you feel, Anna is married to Paul Scorby. He has a right to see her." Owen did not like the pain in the woman's face. He did not like disappointing her. But he must. To take Anna Scorby on horseback through the snow might kill her. But Cecilia Ridley still did not seem convinced. "Do you have any reason to fear Paul Scorby will do more than beat her?" Owen asked.
"Isn't that enough?"
"You misunderstand. I am asking whether you have reason to think Paul means to kill Anna."
Cecilia looked uncertain. "I never thought that. But look how he hurt her. I don't think he can control himself."
"Let us try this, eh? See if being forced to face what he did, and in front of others, might teach him something."
"Perhaps ..."
"I am curious. How did the priest let himself get involved?"
"Anna begged him to bring her here, hoping her father would ..." Cecilia looked stricken. "Dear God, I had forgotten Gilbert for a moment. How could I?"
Owen took her hands. "You have much to bear right now. You are wonderfully strong."
Cecilia gave Owen a weak smile.
"You know," Owen said, "although I am honored that you offer me the role of champion, I cannot risk it. You must remember that I am here on the business of John Thoresby, Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor of England. He would not take it well if I were to break the law for you, Mistress Ridley. Neither would my wife."
Cecilia Ridley flushed, withdrew her hands. "I did not think. . . . No, of course you must not break the law."
Owen nodded. "So when your son-in-law returns in the morning, let him in. 1 shall come upstairs with you."
Cecilia rose, picked up her lamp. "I will do so." She walked slowly to the door, turning just before she reached it. Her eyes were dark in the lamplight. "I pray God you are right, Captain Archer."
With that, she left Owen to toss and turn till just before dawn, when he fell into a fitful sleep.
6/ Goldbetter and Company
Owen dreamt of Cecilia. She stood in the doorway of his mother's house, a bowl cradled in one arm, wooden spoon in hand, and asked Owen if he would be home before dark. He retraced his steps and kissed her forehead, then walked away only with a great effort, hating to leave her.
Owen woke confused. Why would he dream of Cecilia as his wife? Did he desire her? Had she suggested in any way that she desired him? The tenderness of the moment when he looked into her eyes and kissed her forehead lingered with him still. He had to admit to himself that Cecilia Ridley's eyes haunted him, her strength impressed him. But that did not explain why he would dream of her as his wife.
Owen dressed and rubbed some salve into his scar before putting on the patch. He told himself that he was tired in mind and body, and this weariness had confused him. He told himself that what the dream really meant was that he missed Lucie.
Nonetheless, Owen wished he could slip away without seeing those dark eyes again.
But that was impossible. He must help Cecilia deal with her son-in-law. Then he must question her some more before he could return to York. Owen left his room reluctantly.
Downstairs, the hall was dark but for a cocoon of golden light near the hearth. Two oil lamps sat on a small table. The fire had been stoked and was burning brightly. A young woman stirred something in a pot.
Cecilia sat at a table set up near the hearth. Her snow white wimple and dark veil lay on the table. Her midnight hair fell in a thick braid down her back. She looked up and greeted Owen with a tired smile, motioning him over. Her hand then dropped to the table, coming to rest on the wimple. "Sarah! My headdress." Cecilia touched her bare head. "Forgive me, Captain Archer."
The servant abandoned the pot and, with an embarrassed nod to Owen, she proceeded to undo her mistress's braid, then loop up the heavy hair, a coil on either side of Cecilia's face.
Owen eased himself onto a bench opposite Cecilia. She managed to lift the pitcher and pour a cup of ale for him without moving her head. The wimple and veil were soon in place.
"Ah," Owen sighed after tasting the ale, "this is welcome this morning." He was glad that her long black hair was now covered. He must not be distracted.
"You could not have gotten much sleep," Cecilia said. "I am sorry for that after your long journey."
Good. A safe topic. "I feel a stiffness in my joints from the ride yesterday. Was a time I would not have noticed it."
The dark eyes watched him with sympathy. "Do you miss your
soldiering days? I should think you would miss your companions. My father used to talk about his comrades-in-arms as if they were dearer to him than his brothers."
"Aye. When you've fought for your lives side by side ..." Owen stopped himself. If he began to tell Cecilia about his old comrades and she listened with such sympathy, he would be in danger. Lucie hated anything to do with soldiers. Cecilia's sympathy was as tempting as her hair. The dream, Owen now saw, had been a Heavensent warning. "It is best not to remember the days that are past."
Cecilia frowned, puzzled. But she changed the subject. "Where are you from? Your speech is different. Softer than ours."
"Wales."
"Of course. A Captain of Archers would be Welsh."
"Nay. Tis not always the way of things. In fact, it's a rare man like the old Duke, Henry of Lancaster, who would trust his judgment of a man enough to let a Welshman have so much power."
"I trust you. And Anna does, too. She said you had warm, dry hands and an eye that did not hide its thoughts."
Owen did not want to discuss himself. He did not wish to hear compliments. "Any sign yet of Paul Scorby?"
Cecilia shook her head. "The men at the gate know to escort him in this morning." She sighed. "I would rather Anna were long gone from here, but this morning her fever is high and the bleeding has begun again, so I know you are right. To travel now would be dangerous for her."
Father Cuthbert joined them, giving them a blessing. "May I come with you when you take Master Scorby up to your daughter? I feel responsible for Mistress Scorby's being here. Perhaps I should not have given in. She might have stayed at home. She knew she could not make the journey alone."
"You should not blame yourself," Cecilia said. "It is best that she is here. The servants are afraid of Paul. They would have given her little sympathy."
They did not wait long for Paul Scorby. He strode into the hall and right up to Cecilia, demanding to know what she had meant, keeping him out last night.
Cecilia rose to face her son-in-law. As she was as tall as he, it was a clever move. Paul Scorby could no longer glower down at Cecilia, but must step back to meet her eyes. Owen mentally applauded Cecilia's courage.
"My daughter must be kept quiet, Paul. You will understand when you see her. She has suffered severe injuries."
Paul Scorby glanced at Owen and the priest. "Injuries?"
Cecilia picked up a lamp. "I will take you to her now."
Owen and Father Cuthbert rose.
Paul Scorby frowned. "I will see her alone."
"No, Paul," Cecilia said quietly. "You will not see her alone." With that she made her way to the stairs.
Scorby followed and, behind him, Owen and the priest.
When they entered the bedchamber, a serving girl was bent over Anna, blotting her forehead.
"Thank you, Lisa," Cecilia said. "You may leave us and have something to eat while we speak with Mistress Scorby."
The young woman scurried out.
Owen watched Paul Scorby's face as the man approached his wife. Anna's injured eye was still swollen shut. As Paul approached, Anna hid the bandaged hand and pulled the covers up to hide her bruised mouth. Paul Scorby flushed a deep crimson. His eyes slid over to his mother-in-law, then back to his wife.
"Anna has other injuries as well as those you see," Cecilia said in a tight voice. "Her stomach is dark with bruises that bleed within."
Scorby turned on Father Cuthbert. "How could you let her travel in such condition?" he demanded.
>
The priest, young and inexperienced in the world, was so astonished by the man's behavior that he opened his mouth but could make no sound.
"God forgive you, husband," Anna said.
Scorby wheeled round with a look of surprise. "Forgive me?" He knelt beside her. "What are you saying, Anna?"
She turned away from him.
Scorby looked up at Cecilia. "She has a fever?"
"Yes," Cecilia took care not to look into her son-in-law's eyes.
Paul Scorby reached a hand out toward Anna's chin.
"Don't touch me!" the injured woman cried, and tried to move out of her husband's reach.
"What do you want me to do, Anna?" he asked, his voice breaking with emotion.
A good actor, Owen thought.
"Leave me to myself," Anna whispered.
Scorby stood up. "Well, of course I cannot stay here, and you cannot travel." He looked at his mother-in-law. "You will keep Anna here until she is healed?"
"She wishes to go to St. Clement's Nunnery when she is well enough to travel," Cecilia said.
Scorby's mask dropped momentarily. He rolled his eyes, disgusted. "That again."
Father Cuthbert found his tongue. "It will help both of you if Mistress Scorby is at peace with her Savior before she returns to you."
Scorby smirked at the priest. "Oh, yes, I smell the rat of pious counseling in this. Are you permitting her to eat these days, since she is suffering in other ways?"
"Paul!" Cecilia barked. "1 will not have a priest insulted in my house."
Paul Scorby spun round on his heel and marched out of the room.
Cecilia knelt beside her daughter, smoothed the damp hair from her face, and kissed her on the forehead. "Rest now, love. He will honor your wishes, I will make certain of that."
They found Paul Scorby standing by the fire drinking ale. He was a handsome man, if one looked at his features and imagined them without the petulant expression in the eyes and the pouting mouth. Even the shoulders suggested a self-pity that was unbecoming. Such a man was dangerous. Owen wondered at Gilbert Ridley's judgment, to have married his daughter to this man.
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