by Shea,Lisa
Reynald saw at once that his guess had been accurate, and he stood in triumph. “My investigations have done me well,” he congratulated himself with pride. “Well then, we shall set off at once.”
Sarah blanched at the thought of causing trouble for her parents, but she held her seat with a stiff posture. “I have not said where I was, and I shall not leave this keep today unless I am called for by a patient,” she insisted with quiet deliberation. She reached forward to pick up another piece of bread, buttering it with patient care.
Reynald’s head swiveled automatically to her father. “Sir Christopher, I insist you force her to tell me if she has seen the wanderers, and to take me to them if she has.”
Sarah’s father sat back, considering. When he spoke, his voice was inflectionless and steady. “Here is the issue. You see, Sir, she is of course an adult in her own right. That is item one. Here, in this household, we raise our women to be strong-willed and to follow their instincts.” His gaze moved fondly across his two daughters. “It might get them into trouble sometimes, but we would have it no other way.”
He nodded. “Item two is her profession. From the moment she started her training as a midwife, we have had an agreement - with the whole family - that the business she conducted was completely private. Surely you can imagine the types of situations she finds herself in. If the women she dealt with thought that their location and situation might be revealed, they would not call for her - and they could die.”
Reynald’s eyes moved to Sarah’s mother, but found her stare to be equally firm. Her voice was smooth but resolute. “Now, if you are considering extracting the information from our daughter by force ...” she purred, her voice deceptively pleasant.
Reynald’s eyes sparked in anger. “God’s teeth, no!” he snapped.
Sarah’s mother smiled. “Good. I don’t know how women were expected to behave in the lands you were off serving in, but you are back in England now. And while you Templars were interminably fighting and conquering, we women left behind here at home were running the inns, managing the taverns, and operating the local government. We’ve brewed the beer and protected our homes. We watched over the keeps, organized the patrols, and kept our world running.”
She leaned forward, her face firming. “Let me make this clear. We English women go where we want, talk with who we want, and are accountable to ourselves.” Her eyes flashed. “We have gotten quite used to our independence and will not be treated like chattel just because some of the soldiers are finally returning.”
Sarah’s father nodded, twining his hand into his wife’s. “I would not have it any other way. I treasure my wife’s strength – and we are raising both of our daughters to have that same inner fire. A woman here in England needs it. Especially when nearly every able-bodied man can be gathered up for war at any time, leaving the women behind, alone, to keep society whole. I want my girls to be strong and able to take up the reins in their time of need.”
Reynald looked between them. “I understand well the strength of an English woman. I’ve met many a female innkeep, shop owner, and crafter along my travels who was thriving without a man at her side. Many of their men had gone off to war and never returned. Casualties were astronomical in some of the campaigns. Those women left behind can hardly languish in an ivory tower or hide themselves from society, acting the part of a cloistered nun.”
His fingers rapped the table. “But while I praise your daughter for being a midwife, if she is catering to outlaws, then I do have an issue with that.”
Sarah pressed her lips together. She would not give this cocky knight one ounce of information. And she doubted anyone else in the region would, either. In these parts, the locals looked after each other.
Reynald took in a deep breath. “Your daughter is not the only midwife in the region. Sir Christopher, do I have your permission to talk with the other women in your villages, to discover what they are willing to tell me?” The internal conflict showed on his face, and after a moment he bit out, “of their own volition, of course?”
Christopher nodded his head complacently. “Certainly, every person in our lands is free to speak or not speak as they wish, and you are free to talk with them, to see what their decision is.”
His voice gained an edge. “However, Sir, if I hear from one person that you have used pressure to extract what you wish to know ...” Sarah saw the flare of her father’s honor and strength in his eyes, and pride welled in her chest at his statement.
Reynald nodded in agreement. “That is quite fair,” he replied, his voice only conceding temporary defeat. “I shall seek lodging in one of your towns -”
Sarah’s mother spoke up immediately. “That would not be necessary,” she stated with a smile. “We have ample quarters here to see to your needs, and our stables will take fine care of your horse.”
Reynald bowed at this. “It would be an honor to share in your hospitality,” he agreed more gently. “I have already found your food to be quite commendable.”
Sarah sighed. With Reynald skulking around the keep, any follow up visits to the gypsy camp would become hard to manage. Her gaze sharpened as she realized this was undoubtedly his aim. She would not allow this meddlesome knight to interfere with her responsibilities.
A wave of dizziness hit her, and she remembered suddenly how little sleep she had gotten. She needed to get clear of Reynald before her tongue slipped and she said something she regretted.
Taking one last bite, she slowly stood, her body steeped in exhaustion. “If that is all the news for now, I have tasks to attend to.” She glanced briefly across the table, her eyes stopping as they met with Reynald’s. His eyes seemed so sharp and clear, she felt as if he could see within her. She quickly dropped her eyes, then turned and went out the rear door. Three short steps led her down into the fragrantly verdant herb garden, spread out in decorative grids behind the main keep.
Sarah spent the next few hours in a daze. She still ached from the lack of sleep and barely knew which plots she was weeding or tending. She did not want to go to sleep for fear that it would prolong her off-cycle rhythm. If she could just stay awake until evening, she would be back on course.
She worked her way wearily through the herbs, moving further and further from the keep’s towering height, back toward the circular gazebo which sat alongside their small pond.
She knelt down in the deep, rich dirt next to a large patch of dill, admiring the circular head of yellow flowers. So many uses for dill. For example, she simply adored pickles ...
The next thing she knew, her face was pressed against the rich soil, she was soaking wet, and a heavy rain was drumming incessantly against her skull. A pair of strong arms was gathering her up, hoisting her against a solid chest. Her eyes struggled to open; a horrific flash of lightning lit the sky, immediately corresponding with a thunderous peal. Then they were running …
Within a few moments her rescuer came to a neat stop, and the rain was suddenly shielded from her, although the tumult was all around her. She looked up and saw he had carried her into the gazebo. A curtain of water surrounded them, isolating them from the world.
She looked up at him and was caught by the tenderness in his eyes. He stood easily, showing no strain in holding her in his arms. She found she was comfortable, almost safe, cradled against his body, her head against his shoulder. His wet tunic was redolent of musk and cedar. It was almost intoxicating.
Blushing, she forced herself to speak.
“You can put me down now, Reynald. I am awake.”
The knight gently lowered her to the stone bench which sat to one side. She brushed a few strands of wet hair away from her cheek as she settled herself. He leant against a support of the gazebo, watching her.
“You must have fallen asleep tending the herbs,” he explained. “I was watching the storm approach out the back window and spotted you lying there, unmoving. I am only sorry that I did not reach you in time.”
Sarah chuckled softly,
self-consciously smoothing out her dress. “Over the years I have experienced far worse than a little soaking,” she consoled him with a grin. “I will not melt. In any case, I suppose my hopes of staying awake until the evening were far flung, given how little sleep I had last night.”
Sarah immediately regretted her words. She saw in a glance how Reynald’s mind was reminded of his task, and how his look became cold and calculating again.
“Was it a long ride you made, on this errand of yours?” he asked with casual smoothness.
“Long enough,” Sarah replied shortly, turning her head to gaze out at the falling rain.
“Do your errands normally involve assisting those outside the law?” he further queried, his voice gaining a slight edge.
Sarah bit back a curse. Patience. “Just what information do you have about the wanderers who live in this area, that they have broken any law?” she asked with forced lightness.
Reynald’s eyes shuttered. “You are not in a position to question me,” he snapped. “What they have done is my business. You need to tell me everything you know, to help me find them.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need to say anything to you,” she reminded him.
Reynald took a step closer to her, and she could hear his increasing frustration in the clipped tone of his voice. “I cannot stress enough the importance of my mission,” he stated coldly. “It is your duty, as a loyal Christian, to aid me in my task. Would you go against the will of God, as conveyed by me, his sworn knight?”
Sarah’s shoulders tightened. That this soldier felt he could walk into her home and instruct her on her Christian duties! She had heard quite enough of that talk from several of the priests in other parishes. They practically denounced her for her midwife activities. They told her in no uncertain terms that God required women to bear the ‘pain of Eve’ – childbirth - without medication or care as their punishment for being female.
No wonder mortality rates were so high in those areas!
Thankfully, her own priest was far more understanding. He appreciated her efforts in helping innocent young children be born healthily into this world. But to have a newly-arrived Templar stride into her gardens … and lecture her on her role as a Christian woman …
She stood and stalked to face the sheets of rain descending from the sky. She glared through the deluge at the sturdy building beyond. She could sense Reynald’s stormy presence a few steps behind her, silent but potent.
She spun to look back at him, her face taut with anger. A hundred retorts sprang to her lips, but she fought them back with an effort. He was a guest in her home, and a man of power. It would not do to deliberately antagonize him. She forced herself to remain calm.
“Well?” he pressed, his voice low and edged.
A jagged blast of lightning lit the sky, and Sarah made her decision. Retreat was the safest option. She pitched her voice so it was low and without emotion.
“We are done talking, my lord.”
She looked up again at the roiling, dark clouds, and the stone path drenched with buckets falling from above. Then, taking a deep breath, she took the first step into the downpour.
“My lady, please wait here,” Reynald called after her in consternation. He seemed shaken that things had gone so far. “Stay, if only for a short while. I am sure the torrents will abate soon.”
Sarah glanced back at him, her eyes firm, standing in what felt to be a powerful waterfall. “It is but water. The walk is a mere hundred yards.” She held his gaze for a long moment. Pique made her add, “After your comments, I feel I am in need of a bath.”
Turning, she strode out into the near-dark afternoon, walking with a slow, measured step through the deluge. She considered herself a martyr for her cause and held her head up high as she moved.
She felt less sure of her proud actions a half hour later after she had left a river of rain between the entry door and her room, which the poor servants were attempting to soak up with rags. She was shaky and weak, although whether due to her lack of sleep, her lack of food, or her to-the-bone soaking she could not tell for sure. Once she had been toweled off, Polly tucked her in to bed, and she fell immediately asleep.
The next day passed in a haze of noise and darkness. Her conscious moments were tormented with shivers and heat. Polly sat by her side, passing wet cloths across her head and pressing her to drink soup and mead when she was able.
She was beginning to feel better on Sunday morning. Despite Polly’s protestations, she insisted on dressing for church. She wore her best dress, russet colored with short sleeves over the long white chemise. Her outfit was topped with the traditional white headdress, held fast with a vine-design bronze circlet. On her chest she wore her simple but beautifully carved wooden cross, a present she had earned many years ago from a woodcarver whose wife she had helped through a difficult birth.
She came down to the main hall to find her mother and father waiting, both dressed in richly embroidered violet clothing. They came over to her as one when she entered the room.
Her mother’s eyes held concern. “Are you sure you are all right to attend, my dear?” she asked solicitously. “You know well that Father Smythe would not mind coming up to you afterwards, if you wished.”
Sarah shook her head. “I am quite fine to sit through his sermon,” she insisted. “The worst of the fever has passed.”
She turned as more footsteps sounded. Reynald entered the hall, freshly shaven and groomed, wearing a somber, dark blue tunic. At his heels followed Rachel in an outfit Sarah found a little too bright for Sunday worship. The dress was sunshine yellow, cut in a revealing manner. Her headdress was more of a see-through lace mesh of yellow gold than an actual covering. She wore a circlet of gold on her head, decorated with laughing cherubs.
Sarah’s mother and father exchanged amused glances, but said nothing. Together they turned, leading the small group out to the stone chapel which lay to one side of the keep’s entry stairs.
Sarah was not surprised when Rachel maneuvered herself to follow Reynald into the quiet stone chapel, sliding down the polished wood pew to kneel at his side. Chuckling to herself, Sarah took an empty pew two rows back. She sat back to relax, letting the soothing sounds of the Latin mass wash over her. She knew much of the litany by heart and found the experience comforting.
Her mind wandered; she found herself silently praying for the strength to stand by her convictions, to protect the women she helped from the interference of others.
The minutes eased along in gentle rhythm. Without meaning to, she found that her eyes strayed to the strong, jet-black-haired man who sat solemnly two rows before her. Why was he after bandits – and why was he sure that they were part of the group she had worked with? He had refused to give her further details. If they truly were law breakers, wouldn’t he have shared the charges, both with her family and with the local sheriff?
From everything Sarah had seen during her visits to the camp, the group was made up of tinkers and craftsmen, not of cutthroats. If they were armed, it was only to protect themselves from the wolves’ heads who regularly roamed the area.
Sarah shook her head. In the end, it did not matter why Reynald wanted access to the wanderers. She knew that if rumors circulated that she revealed the secrets of those she helped, women would no longer believe in her or her word. She would not betray that trust.
Father Smythe’s gentle voice came to the end of his sermon, and he offered one final “Amen,” which Sarah echoed with heartfelt sincerity. She crossed herself and slowly stood, giving her weary head time to adjust to the movement. She was able to hold onto the pew back until she moved to the end of the aisle, then paused for another moment as her father and mother moved on ahead down the path.
A low voice sounded at her shoulder. “Would you appreciate an arm, M’Lady?” Sarah looked up in surprise to see Reynald standing there, quietly offering his support. “Your face is a bit white,” he added more softly by way of explanation, gazin
g in concern at her eyes.
Rachel piped up from his other side, her voice sounding piqued. “Sarah is fine,” she insisted. Her voice dropped down an octave. “However, I would love an escort, sir Knight,” she added with a husky quality.
Sarah took a step back, clearing the aisle for the couple. “I will be fine; please, go on ahead. I just need a little air,” she explained with a forced smile.
Reynald’s face creased with concern, but he nodded in acceptance, moving forward with Rachel. Sarah waited until the two were well ahead of her, then took a deep breath. She eased slowly down the stone floor of the aisle, placing her feet carefully to support her.
To her surprise, she found the two lingering by the entrance when she reached the arched doorway. Reynald was staring up at the top of the chapel, and Rachel was eagerly explaining the history of the cross on the top to him. His eyes flickered briefly to Sarah’s face before nodding to Rachel.
“I think I understand now, thank you so much for describing the details,” he responded to the blonde with a nod. “I believe I am ready to head in to lunch now.” Rachel enthusiastically pulled him inside, and he allowed himself to be led, although at a slow pace which Sarah found easy to keep up with.
The group settled themselves around the main table, with the smaller tables filling up with various members of the household staff. Sarah sat beside her father while Rachel and Reynald took seats on the opposite side of the large wooden table. The conversation swirled around Sarah at a dizzying speed while she wearily sipped at her mead, taking small bites of her cheese pie. She barely noticed as Sally flitted in to refill her cup or take away her trencher.
Her father nudged her on the elbow. “Sarah, are you sure you are feeling fine?” he asked in a worried tone. Sarah realized everyone at the table was looking in her direction, and she blushed. Apparently she had missed something important.