Black poppy? That was opium. Pure and undistilled. Like taking a shot of heroin. Tempting, but I wasn’t quite to that point yet.
“N-no thank you,” I managed. “Just give me a minute, please.”
It was more than a minute. But eventually my pulse slowed. The pounding receded enough so that I could at least see again. I exhaled long and slow, then turned to Rachel. “Thank you.”
“You look better,” she said, her anxious expression clearing. “Mistress ah . . .”
“Hope,” I told her. “Hope Walton.”
“Well, Mistress Walton, I am Rachel bat Judah. And I thank you for saving me.” She offered me a hand up. “I think you are new to Londontown, yes?”
I smiled. Oh, you have no idea.
I noticed she’d replaced the yellow silk veil. Her gown was lovely, made of fine, moss-colored wool, with amber sleeves that draped elegantly over her slim white hands. As she leaned down to pick up a dropped cloth, a chain of interlocking gold links popped out from inside her bodice. At the end swung a circular pendant set with an opal. A big one.
“It’s good to meet you, too, Mistress Rachel.” I tore my gaze from the pendant. “And I thank you, too.”
We started down the street. Though wobbly at first, I soon got my feet back under me as we strolled across an open, cobbled area. There I got my first real look at the mighty Thames, and the famous London Bridge. The traffic increased as we neared the river. People lined up to cross the rickety wooden passage, while wagons and horses boarded flat-bottomed ferries that crossed dozens of times a day.
“Mistress Rachel!” A rangy soldier in his early twenties thundered up on a sorrel gelding. He dismounted in a leap and flew toward us. I lurched back, ready to run. Then I saw Rachel’s expression.
Chain mail glinted on the boy’s arms. A hood of the metallic rings draped from the back of his neck over a knee-length surcoat emblazoned with three gold lions on a bed of scarlet.
He looked Rachel frantically up and down. “God’s bones, I heard you were running through the streets as though chased by demons. What happened?”
“William.” She breathed his name.
The look that passed between them stretched like a piece of taffy, sweet and long. William’s eyes ate her up. Their bodies swayed toward each other, as if magnetized. Lined up with a dozen others, waiting to cross the bridge, an old man in a pointed yellow hat grunted and frowned at the two of them. Rachel’s gaze broke first. Her eyes darted toward Yellow Hat, and she took a careful step back.
I had to admit, William was cute in a medieval boy-next-door way, with wide-set blue eyes and a nose that looked as though he’d broken it more than once. Rachel became suddenly interested in the cobbled ground. In the late-afternoon light, her cheeks flared red.
A Jewish girl and a Christian soldier in the Middle Ages. Uh oh.
Yellow Hat kept eyeballing them and tugging on his impressive beard.
“Hello,” I said to break the awkward silence. “I take it you’re William?”
The soldier tore his gaze from Rachel as if he just realized there were other people on the planet.
“Mistress Hope Walton.” Rachel hurried to introduce me, hands fluttering. “May I present William Lucie, newly made a sergeant in the queen’s service, and . . . my friend.”
Something like a growl came from Yellow Hat. Rachel turned and dropped a hasty curtsy in his direction. “Good morrow, Master Yeshova,” she called. “Fine weather today, is it not?”
He grumbled a reply but turned back toward the shuffling line.
“Captain Lucie”—Rachel’s tone turned carefully formal—“Mistress Walton is new to London. When she became injured, I simply offered my assistance.”
Her eyes pleaded with me to go along.
“Yes,” I agreed, getting it. “Yes. I fell and hit my head. Rachel here helped me.”
William studied me. When his tense features relaxed into a gentle grin, I got it. I understood why Rachel loved him. And oh, it was glaringly obvious he loved her, too. I felt the gentle pulses of electricity just standing near them.
For one instant, my thoughts turned to that moment on the Scottish mountain when Bran Cameron had skimmed the twig of heather behind my ear. I’d thought . . . but, no. That was stupid. I shook my head to dislodge the memory and smiled at William and Rachel.
William Lucie bowed in my direction. “Mistress Walton, if I can ever be of service—”
A wagon driver yelled for us to move on. William glanced toward his horse, his brow crinkled with conflict.
“Go back to your duties, Captain Lucie,” Rachel said softly. “We are fine.”
The soldier bit down on his lower lip and leaned toward her. When he noticed Master Yeshova’s critical observation, he turned his movement into a courtly bow.
“Be careful, Mistress Rachel,” he said. “I worry when you roam the streets alone, especially with all these ruffians in town for the coronation.”
Rachel’s chin lifted. “I can well care for myself, sir.”
“I know,” he said. “But I would not see harm come to you.”
William dragged his eyes from Rachel and bestowed one of his lovely smiles on me. “Well met, Mistress Walton. You won’t find a better friend than Mistress Rachel.”
He mounted and rode away, his horse’s hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles. I looked at Rachel, brows raised. But all her attention was fixed on the retreating boy.
Chapter 21
IN THIS SECTION OF THE RIVERFRONT AREA, MANY OF THE large houses boasted stone walls with inset gates that protected the small interior courtyards. The evening air smelled better here, and the streets appeared cleaner.
I shivered as we strolled down the cobbled street, the sharp evening air penetrating cloak and gown to press frozen fingertips along my skin. My cheeks burned with it as the neighborhood around us quieted. In that odd, purplish nonlight of dusk, everything looked surreal and dream-like. Almost too clear to be real.
“So,” I said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen since we left William, “you deliver medicine to the queen?”
“Oh yes.” Rachel nodded.”My grandfather was once a great physician. In his youth, he studied at the University of Salerno. When our people were forced out of France, they fled here. Though in England he is only allowed to be an apothecary.” She frowned at that. “Her Grace’s old physician was too ill to travel to England. But Grandfather was once a classmate of his, and recommended him highly to the queen. Today, my saba tends an old widower who is near the end. Her Grace knows me, since I’ve gone with him before, so he sent me in his stead.”
I liked her grandfather immediately, a guy who chose to take care of a poor old man instead of a queen.
“What’s wrong with Her Grace?”
Rachel chuckled. ’Tis but indigestion. Though she bellows as if she were dying. She’s large with the king’s second child, you know.” Rachel lowered her voice confidentially, but her white teeth gleamed as she grinned. “Do not speak of it, but I heard her confess to Sister Hectare that she worries she’ll belch in the archbishop’s face when he lays the crown upon her brow.”
As we walked, my new friend kept up a running commentary. But all I could think about was my mom, and how she might be close and I’d never know it. She might even live on this street, or just around the corner.
What if she’s miles and miles away from here? Or . . . or worse?
“Mistress?”
I was startled out of my stupor. “Please,” I said, forcing a smile, “call me Hope. After all, you did save my life today.”
“After you stopped Eustace Clarkson from taking my honor.” Rachel shuddered inside her cloak. “Things have been worse for my people since Will—Captain Lucie—left the city watch for the queen’s service. He protected us. Now, for some reason, Eustace has set his sights on me.” Her lips thinned in disgust. After a moment, though, she shook herself, as if trying to cast off the horror of what she’d endured. “So, you
must be in London for the coronation, then?”
“No. Yes.” I stumbled on the uneven stones. I didn’t fall, but my boot heel splurched down dead center in a cold pile of horse poop.
Perfect.
I fumbled for our cover story. “We came from the country so my brother can handle some of our father’s business. While we’re here, however, I hope to find my cousin. Sarah de Carlyle. I know she was in town a few months ago, but . . .”
I trailed off as an insidious hopelessness snaked through me.
How will we ever find her in three days? This place is too big. There’re too many people. It’s hopeless.
We stopped in front of a green-painted gate set into a rock wall. The words MABRAY HOUSE was chiseled into a flat stone. My stomach coiled into a knot.
Oh God, please let them be here.
“You know,” Rachel mused, “I could ask Captain Lucie about your cousin.” She tilted her head in thought. “I must make haste now, as I am very late delivering the queen’s evening draught. But if you wish, you could come with me when I revisit the queen on the morrow. I do not know your cousin, mind. But the castle servants know everyone. They might be of help.”
I blinked at her. The castle. Someone there was bound to have news of her. I beamed at Rachel. “Yes! That’s awe—I mean yes. That would be most welcome. I’m so sorry I made you late. But I would love to go with you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Rachel grinned and moved as though to embrace me. She checked herself, the smile dropping from her lovely face as she stepped back.
“For-forgive me,” she muttered to the ground.
It took me a second to get it.
“No.” I reached out and squeezed her in a quick hug. “I don’t care what religion we follow. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
As I let go, Rachel ducked her head, but not before I saw a tear glimmer behind her lashes. I began to feel lighter than I had in months. I had a lead on my mother, thanks to Rachel. A cold breeze gusted, bringing with it the smell of smoke and sewage, fish and tar and ice. The smells of the medieval world.
Rachel started as a distant bell rang in the gloaming. “Curfew soon,” she said. “I must away.”
After promising to come by and fetch me in the morning, she hurried off into the vicious London streets. As I watched her go, I thought about what I’d endured in only one day here. I realized Rachel was the bravest person I’d ever met.
Through the gate, I passed an herb garden gone to seed. In the cobbled courtyard, I stared up at the thatched roof and shuttered windows of the half-timbered house. Torches flamed on either side of a green front door. As I raised a hand to knock, the door jerked inward.
Light streamed from behind the familiar form, casting his features into shadow. A profound relief turned my knees to jelly.
“Collum” was all I could manage to say.
He stepped out onto the stoop, arms folded across his chest. His normal irritated demeanor seemed like play time at Chuck E. Cheese compared with this. He squinted, glaring at me. “Where,” he asked through stiff lips and clenched jaw, “the bloody fuck have you been?”
My head reared back as if he’d slapped me. Before I could respond, before the angry words could leave my lips, he reached out and snatched me to him. Strong arms wrapped me up, pressing me against his chest as he rocked me back and forth, murmuring into my hair. Shocked into an exhausted, melty state, I sighed and let my bruised head rest against him.
As if the embrace caught him by surprise, his arms dropped abruptly to his sides and he stepped back. “Get inside,” he said, his eyes scanning the street beyond the gate.
Inside a low-beamed front entrance hall, Collum’s eyes lingered on the bandage wrapped around my head. Some of the anger that raged in his eyes softened. “What happened?”
I tried to explain, but the words jumbled on my tongue.
When I swayed, he scooped me up, carrying me like a child past a set of stairs that led up to a second level, and into a larger room where he deposited me in a high-backed chair near a central fire pit. “Jesus, you’re a right mess.” He thrust a pewter goblet into my hands. “Drink.”
Firelight flickered off moldering tapestries. Cobwebby beams disappeared into the shadows above as the swirl of alcohol, cinnamon, and cloves rose up to envelop my face. I clenched the cup, letting the heat soak into my frozen fingers.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“No.” My voice came out raspy. “I’m okay. I just—”
We both looked up at the sound of feet pounding down the steps. Before I could blink, Phoebe flung herself at me so hard, I nearly dropped the cup.
“Great fuzzy sheep balls, Hope! We feared you were dead.” On her knees at my feet, she looked up into my face. “We looked and looked for you. Collum just got back from searching. I stayed here the last hour, hoping you’d show.”
“That’s enough,” Collum interjected. “She’s here now. Give the girl some air.”
Phoebe gave my legs another painful squeeze before she stood. Though Collum still looked disgruntled, I grinned up at both of them, feeling stupidly grateful to have real friends for the first time in my life.
When I took a huge gulp, the spicy, pungent liquid scalded my throat.
Phoebe chuckled at my expression. “Mulled wine.” She plucked the goblet from my fingers and refilled it from the pitcher warming on a flat stone near the fire. “With cinnamon and cloves. There’s beer, but”—she made a face—“it’s sore bitter. And when I asked Hilde for some boiled water, she looked at me like I was mental. Told me I could keep the bath water when I was done washing if I liked.”
“Who’s Hilde?”
“Housekeeper. Comes with the place. Wait till you meet her. Gah, she’s a piece of work, that one. And just get your knickers out of that twist, Collum MacPherson. Hope’ll tell us what happened when she’s ready. Gads, what happened to your head? Oh! You must be starving. Come on.”
She tugged me to my feet, chattering as we walked across the flagstone floor toward a wide doorway. I noticed Collum staring at me, his normal dour expression returned.
“Don’t mind him,” Phoebe said. “He was worried witless, and don’t let him tell you different. I knew you’d find your way, though, with that epic brain of yours. But Collum insisted on searching. Kept yammering, ‘No man left behind.’”
I giggled at her spot-on impression.
“Tell you true, we were both scared. Almost as bad as when this horrible Spanish Inquisitor bloke tried to arrest Gran for heresy.” She patted my hand. “Now, let’s get you something to eat. You look fair dreadful.”
“Gee, thanks.” My hand went to the bandage. My hair poofed over it like a mushroom cap.
Thank God the mirror isn’t common yet.
Collum followed at our heels, grumbling under his breath as we passed into a room with a long, ornately carved dining table. Another central pit blazed, sending out tendrils of heat.
Weariness pulled on me like gravity. My feet tangled in my skirts. Stumbling, I caught myself on one of the massive, faded wall tapestries. I looked up to see an ancient ship being dragged down by an enormous kraken while the tiny figures on board screamed in terror.
I knew exactly how they felt.
“Sit. Sit.” Phoebe guided me into one of the two carved armchairs near the fire and bustled to a chunky buffet near the far side of the room. The pain was back, and my eyeballs now pulsed with each boom of my heartbeat.
“Here you go.” Phoebe handed me a fresh cup of wine, sloshing a few drops of thick red liquid onto my lap. “Tell us, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I managed a wobbly smile. “Just a headache.”
I slumped against the high back of the chair and studied the smoke curling up from the crackling flames. It slithered over blackened beams that crisscrossed the low ceiling, before finding its way out a hole in the roof.
Phoebe pushed open a door near the back of the room and called, “Hilde? Can you
bring some food in for my sister?”
The next few swallows went down way better than the first. Warmth spread out from my gut, and I started talking, leaving nothing out. When it was over, I slumped deeper in my chair.
“You took too much risk,” Collum spat. “What is the number one rule, eh? Do not interfere with the locals.”
“What was she supposed to do, Coll?” Phoebe said. “Let that git rape the girl?”
He mumbled something into his cup.
“That’s right,” she chastised. “You’d have done the same thing, and you know it. So hush. Hope got us a lead on Sarah. Thanks to her, we have something to go on. Good job, Hope.” She saluted me with her cup and took a long, thoughtful draught.
Collum grabbed my shoulders and stared at me intently. “Still,” he said, “from now on, you will listen to me, stay near me, and follow my rules, understood? You could’ve been attacked or robbed or.” His jaw worked. “Or worse.”
My teeth started to chatter at the thought of what nearly did happen. I set the cup down quickly before he could notice, and glanced around desperately for some way to hide my shaking hands. A basket of raw, cottony wool sat on the floor beside me. A thin, rounded stalk of wood with a circular base lay on top of the fluff. I picked it up, tied a piece of the wool to the top of the stick, and began rolling it between my palms. A slim strand of attached wool stretched out of the raw material. I twisted. The thick warp of wool began to thin. My hands moved faster and faster as the events of the day blurred in my head.
Never let your hands lay idle, child. A soft, comforting voice filled my mind, bringing with it an odd sense of nostalgia. Not too quickly, or you shall tangle it.
“Hope!” Phoebe’s voice jerked me back to the smoky room.
I blinked to see her and Collum both gaping at me. No, not at me. At the bundle of wool thread now wrapped around the stalk of wood in my hands. Somehow, I’d turned the messy wad into a lumpy strand of undyed yarn.
“That’s brilliant,” Phoebe gasped. “You know how to spin wool in the old way? Even Gran can’t do that. Sarah taught you, then?”
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