Spring's Fury

by Denise Domning

  "But I told you," the girl protested. "Hugh would finish your lord, making you a widow, then you would kill Hugh. That’s what we agreed. It served us both, giving you full control of Ashby, while I got my revenge on Hugh for his mistreatment."

  "Aye, that was what you said," Nicola repeated, stunned. "You told me. What you said was exactly what you meant. It was not a way to twist me into Hugh's custody." Her heart lifted.

  "Why do you keep talking when we must hurry?" Tilda sobbed, again grabbing her lady's hands. "Hugh has taken Papa hostage to prevent me from betraying him to your lord. His man came to the house to say that if I do not bring you to meet him before a quarter hour's time, Hugh will kill Papa."

  "Hugh does not trust you?" Nicola stared at her in surprise.

  Tilda raised quaking shoulders. "He has no reason to trust me. Colette, come, please."

  "My lady," Jos said quietly, "I cannot let you go to this place without an escort, and we must let my lord know what has occurred. He could yet arrive in time to see the nobleman."

  He was right; their hopes for the day were not yet lost. "Aye Jos, ride like the wind. There is a goodly three miles between where he waits and the south meadow, where Hugh now is."

  "Nay my lady, I'll send one of the stable boys. Go now, and I'll follow once I fetch my bow." There was no time to argue with him; he turned and sped into the hall.

  Nicola grabbed the weeping Tilda's elbow, nigh on bearing the smaller girl from the bailey. "Walter," she called to the man as she passed him, "when Jos is gone, close the gates and hold them fast until I or my lord returns."

  "Aye, my lady," the solder replied.

  Jos's pony came clattering across the bridge on their heels. Hal was mounted bareback on the little horse, his brother, Rob, a year less in age than Hal's dozen, seated behind him. Once across, the smaller lad slid off the pony's back and Hal set heels into the creature's sides. It cried out, but leapt into its fastest stride.

  Rob raced past his lady and into the village. As he passed the William's smithy, he called out to that man's sons, asking them to come along with him. A moment and no more, the two boys came running after their friend.

  Tilda jerked free of Nicola's hold. "Faster, Colette, or we'll be too late." She lifted her heels into a steady trot.

  Nicola strode swiftly beside her. They passed the village green. Dickon, the potter's son, and two girls were tending to the geese and tossing a bit of wood between them in a game of catch. They watched as she and Tilda hurried by. In childish interest they tagged along behind, forgetting their chore.

  When this odd troupe reached the village's far edge, Nicola glanced behind her. There was no sign of Jos, but Dickon left his female companions behind to veer off to the west, dashing across a plowed expanse. His work seemed completely forgotten in some new game. Nicola shook her head. That would cost him a blow or two.

  The south lea lay atop a hill, bordered on the north, east, and west by Ashby's wheat fields and on the south—below the hill's crest—by woodlands. The fields below it were already planted, leaving them peopled only by boys. The lads were clutched along the edges of the fields, pitching stones at the wood pidgeons and crows that came to steal the precious seeds. Nicola and Tilda moved slowly between them, walking only along the hedgerows and often backtracking to cross into the next, higher field. When they were almost at the summit, they came across John and another lad.

  "Where do you go?" John asked, idly rattling his handful of stones.

  "To the south meadow," Nicola replied, as if such a trip was a common thing for her.

  "What do you know? We were to join the other lads standing watch this day there for our meal. We'll come with you."

  "Best you do not," she warned them.

  "But we must," John replied with a grin. "They've got our bread and cheese."

  There was no point in commanding them away. To do so would only pique their interest. Ah well, once they saw the nobleman and his forces gathered there, they'd scatter to hide in the woods. The four of them crested the hill together.

  The meadow spread out before them, lush and green, dotted with clutches of early blooming flowers. Ewes grazed peacefully while their lambs, bright white against the new grass, leapt and danced in their own peculiar joy. As Tilda started through the lea, her feet sinking in the damp and springy earth, John grabbed his lady's hand.

  "Jos is in yon oak,” he pointed to the huge tree, its lower fork more than roomy enough for a boy to stand solidly within it. "We've come to protect him should he need it."

  Nicola stared at the lad in surprise. Jos was here already? To have arrived so quickly, he must have sprinted directly through the fields. Then the rest of John's statement registered. "Nay lad. There's naught you can do against armed men. Stay well away."

  "If there's naught we can do to help, we'll stay hidden," John said. "You should know that your lord's enemy has the reeve with them, but I think Old Thom is dead already. There are fourteen more men with the nobleman close within yon woods, but another twenty-five lurk farther into the depths. Jos sent Rob to warn Lord Ashby of this when he comes on the road. Have a care, my lady." John darted into the bushes that marked the beginning of the forest.

  Nicola's heart stopped at the number of men. Jesu Christus! When Gilliam rode into the lea with their twenty, Hugh would fall on him and finish them all. She caught back her fear. That could only happen if Gilliam arrived in time to meet Hugh. Determination firmed in Nicola as she hurried to the oak. She'd just speed this little tete-a-tete to a rapid conclusion and send Hugh home. Gilliam would have to find another way.

  "Why Lady Ashby, I cannot tell you how surprised I am to see you here." Hugh's smooth voice came from the grove of trees about fifty yards from the oak. Helmeted and armed in his mail with his sword belt buckled atop his green surcoat, he rode his horse out into the meadow at a slow walk. His nephews, also armed in mail, followed. Behind them, came the remaining twelve wearing leather armor similar to Nicola's hauberk.

  "Where is my father?" Tilda cried. These past months had much improved her French.

  "Show the whore her father." Hugh called the command over his shoulder without looking behind him.

  The final soldier rode slowly forward, in his hand a rope. At its end was Thomas's inert body, tearing up the moist sod as he was dragged along. Where Tilda screamed, Nicola fought to control her rage. Hugh needed to believe her humble and meek.

  Tilda fell to her knees beside Thomas's body. "Oh Papa, I am so sorry," she cried, her fingers working to loosen the knots that held his wrists in the rope.

  Hugh drew his mount to a stop a good ten yards distant from Nicola. Helmed as he was, she could not see much of his face, but she felt his stare. Bid by a simple jerk of his head, his men enclosed her in a circle of horses. She kept her focus on Hugh, alone.

  "Thank God and his saints for bringing you to me." She made it a woman's frail plea and punctuated it by wringing her hands. "Please my lord, I haven't long. My husband is gone for the day, but he leaves me under guard. If I am not soon returned, I'll be missed. You must say you will help me."

  Hugh took a moment to wrench off his helmet, but left his coif tied about his head. The thick black lines that were his eyebrows rose slowly over eyes just as dark. There was a gleam of satisfaction in his gaze. Then, he tilted his head to one side to peer at her, his mouth pursed in interest. His perusal included every inch of her long length.

  "I would hardly have known you, my lady." It was a quiet statement. "Marriage has changed you."

  "Aye, so it has," she said with a quiver in her voice, hoping to portray herself as a desperate wife. "Oh my lord, I have learned my lesson. Please, no longer damn me for so rudely refusing your affections. I was arrogant and insufferable. Say you will forgive me."

  Satisfaction grew in Hugh's expression. Against his sallow complexion, his smiled gleamed brightly. "My lady, who could deny one as lovely as you when you ask so nicely. You are forgiven."

  Nicol
a remembered to smile at him then bowed her head to hide her true reaction. Did Hugh believe her dim-witted enough to forget he had called her an ugly Amazon? But, neither was Hugh dim-wined enough to have forgotten her insults. "You are too kind to me," she said from her meek position, "when my previous behavior toward you does not warrant your aid."

  "Ah," the small knight said, "and here I find myself confused. Just how do you believe I can help you?"

  Nicola raised her head, her brow creased in a very real worry. There was no sign of his previous smile left in Hugh's face. Had not Tilda's message told him all this? "My lord, I thought you knew. I wish to be free of my marriage. Would that I had accepted your offer last year. You showed more care for me then than my husband does."

  Hugh cocked a single brow. "It has taken you these many months to come to this decision?"

  "Until Tilda returned home, I had no ally through whom to reach you. When Tilda said you might yet wish to wed me, well it made me believe—" She paused in sudden understanding. Hugh was making certain that she, not he, suggested murder and remarriage. "I thought you might find some way to rid me of my husband. We would then be free to wed."

  There. It was out. Now, all he need do was agree, then retreat to Ocslade. She willed him to hurry.

  "Is it murder you have on your mind, then?" Hugh's face remained free of any disgust, revulsion, or even pleasure at the thought of killing Gilliam.

  "Nay," Nicola said, keeping her voice soft and feminine. “It’s not murder when it is done in combat."

  "I think the effort would be wasted. Your overlord will not have me as his vassal after I end his brother's life. It’s said that if you scratch one FitzHenry the others are after you like hounds at the hunt." He made it a flat statement, again cautiously avoiding responsibility for what might happen.

  "Are you refusing me, my lord?" she prodded.

  "I am only waiting to be convinced. Since you are plotting this, tell me how you think to wed me when your overlord will not have me?"

  It came like a lightning bolt. "Throughout all this past winter, Ashby has been plagued by thieves. We thought they’d moved on since there've been no attacks since Easter. What if they have not, and my husband should come across them while hunting one day? Who can blame you for what thieves have done?"

  Hugh watched her for a long moment, then a slow smile spread across his narrow face. "Well now, this is indeed the day for surprises."

  He turned in his saddle to stare back at the woman who had been his leman these past months. Tilda sat on the ground, her father's head cradled in her lap as she rocked and sobbed over him. "So whore, what is your gain in this?"

  When Tilda did not respond, Hugh jerked his head toward the man who had held Thomas's rope. "Make her answer."

  The man reached out with a foot and tapped Tilda none too gently on her head. "Answer Lord Hugh, bitch," he said in English.

  The girl looked up in confusion. Nicola shifted from foot to foot. This was taking too long. She willed Tilda to say something.

  "My pardon, I was paying no heed. What was it you asked of me, my lord?" Both her fine French and the abject humility of the girl's voice startled Nicola.

  "What's your gain in this, my lovely?" he sneered. "I have yet to see you do one thing that did not benefit you in some way." There was no sign in Hugh that he had ever held any affection for Tilda.

  "None, my lord," she managed.

  "It’s true, my lord," Nicola said, hoping to hurry things along. "Tilda and I have been close since birth. She does this only to aid me. Such is the value of our love for each other."

  Hugh returned his empty black gaze to her. "That creature loves no one but herself; she is not capable of more. This meeting of ours plagues me, Lady Ashby. Your lord husband has not left Ashby on any excuse for the past months, yet within five days of the whore's return, he is off on business."

  Nicola's mind scrambled, seeking the right explanation. "As I said, the thieves have kept him trapped here. Believing them gone now, my lord went to do what he could not achieve these past months."

  "This sounds plausible enough," he agreed, nodding his head slowly. "Yet I still find myself doubting. I have me an idea. Why do we not wait here until after the midday hour? That way, I will be certain."

  "Certain of what?" Nicola clenched her fists to keep from screaming.

  "Why, certain that your husband does not wait for me at our designated meeting place. It’s simple enough. If he is not there, he cannot ride back within Ashby's gates seeking you when you do not appear." His grin was the devil's own.

  It took every bit of Nicola's strength to stave off her cry of despair. Hugh owned them. Gilliam would come for her with his small force, and he would die.

  "Osbert, I think we've caught ourselves another hostage." Hugh said with a quick lift of his brows. "How much do you wager that Lady Ashby's sudden pallor says that her husband comes anon?"

  "Why Uncle, I think you are right," said one of the mailed men, his laugh mirthless.

  The knight rode forward and drew his horse to a halt directly before Nicola. She blinked away her pain for Gilliam to present a woman's fearful mien. Her only hope remained in lulling them into complacency against her, praying that when the time came to act, she could be of some use to her husband. If only she had her sword and mail!

  Enough of this knight was revealed beneath his helm and coif to suggest he resembled his uncle in his dark complexion and black eyes. However, instead of being small and slim, he was near her height with powerful shoulders. His gaze wandered over her, much as Hugh's had done.

  "Now, Uncle, why did you tell me she was an ugly creature? I think I will not mind bedding her at all." Nicola's eyes flew wide.

  "Aye, I think I will enjoy comforting you in your grief, poor widow that you will soon be. If your overlord's pride would never let him accept my dear uncle as his vassal, his business sense will not deny him the joining of our houses. I will be a palatable substitute, especially since you will give me a son to be Ashby's heir." Osbert had the gall to wink at her. "You need not worry overmuch about pleasing me. I am a simple man. Tie a woman to my bed and I am happy, is that not so, whore?' He shot the question to Tilda.

  "Aye, my lord," the girl replied with a tremble in her voice.

  Again, Hugh turned in his saddle to look at Tilda. "My lovely, I might just see to it you receive those coins I promised you in November. You've done far better than I expected."

  "I want no coins, my lord," Tilda said, her head bowed. "I have pleased you. That is sufficient reward."

  "You need the coins. A Judas like you cannot survive without blood money. Osbert, against the chance of Lord Ashby's appearance, take Lady Ashby onto your saddle. Her husband will need to see we hold her."

  Nicola's gaze darted frantically around the circle of men until she once again won her calm by force of will. The knife on her calf burned against her skin. Aye, if she were calm and meek, she would win herself a chance to wreak some sort of havoc.

  Osbert reached down a hand. Instead of fighting, Nicola helped him to raise her into his saddle, easing into a sideways seat in front of him. As he rearranged his reins, one leather strap at either side of her, she bowed meekly and stared at her leg. It would not take much of a reach to get to the knife, but once she had it where could she use it against a man dressed in mail?

  She raised her head to look at her captor. His eyes gleamed as he smiled slightly. The links of his mail were too small to allow her dagger to penetrate any one circle. She knew there were vents beneath each arm, but those would not be easy to reach, nor would an injury there necessarily render him helpless. Ah but if she could get him to remove his coif, his throat would be vulnerable.

  With a trembling smile, she screwed her expression into one she thought was terror. "I am very frightened, my lord." It was but a whisper. "Say you will not hurt me."

  "If you do not fight me I can be kind." His reassurance rang hollowly against his previous threat of tying
her to his bed.

  "Might I look upon your face? If I see proof of this kindness in your expression, I would be much at ease." Her fright seemed to please him, for he grinned broadly and wrenched off his helmet.

  "Loosen my coif lacing, my lady, and look upon your new master."

  The arrogance in his voice was a spear's thrust to her gut. Rage simmered just within her control as Nicola did as he commanded. She was careful to see that his hood lay all the way back, exposing the whole of his throat to her. Aye, he was her master, but only for the moment.

  "Now, my lady, since we are not long from being united in marriage, why not kiss me and give me a try?" he asked with a laugh.

  Nicola shook her head in a shy nay, then bowed her head like a modest maiden. Her humble posture concealed her careful reach for her concealed dagger. The quarrel whirred so close to the back of her neck she swore it shaved hair from her nape. Osbert gagged and reeled in the saddle. Blood, warm and wet, spattered Nicola's cheek. The knight's horse rose on its hind legs in reaction to its master's sudden relaxation. Nicola instantly grasped the reins, kicking her leg over the horse's head to sit astride, her skirts at her thighs. She didn't know whether to curse or bless Jos.

  She glanced behind her. Osbert's life blood flowed from the torn vein in his neck, his eyes already going glassy in death's onset. His sword hilt was within reach. Nicola praised God as the blade came easily from its leather scabbard.

  "To arms!" Hugh shouted, reeling his mount around to face the edge of the woods from whence the attack had come. When the next expected bolt did not arrive, Hugh glanced back at Nicola then looked again, his lips twisting into a snarl of rage. "Take her!"

  Nicola jabbed both heels into the beast's sides. The horse's sudden motion made Osbert's limp body tumble off the saddle. Sword lifted to strike, she sent the frightened horse barreling toward the soldiers ahead of her. Her blade met the first man's. His surprise and her womanhood made his swing sloppy. Her blow sent him flying from his saddle. It was distraction enough to escape their circle.

  "Run, Tilda!" she screamed in English as her horse galloped toward the woodlands.