by Sole, Linda
Ruth turned to look at him, her gaze narrowed and wary. ‘Who told you about Beth?’
‘It was Sister Isolde of the Sisters of Mercy. She told me that a woman who calls herself Beth was living in the woods here when she gave birth to her child – would she be the lady you speak of, mistress?’
‘Yes, Beth lived in a hut in my cousin’s woods until she moved into the village, quite recently. She might have been there still had she not been taken for a witch.’
‘Would you tell me what happened? Why was she treated so ill?
‘The priest was a sly malicious man and, when she attended the church hoping to have her babe christened, he turned the people against her, naming her a witch. They put her to the test and almost drowned her. Before she was ducked, a woman took her child and ran off. Beth was in great distress over her daughter’s loss, because of what she believes happened to her as a child..’ Ruth looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Will you tell me who you are, sir – and why you wish to find her?’
‘I am Lord Tomas Ryston, and I hope – I believe that Beth may be my daughter. Her name was Elspeth and she was stolen from us nearly fifteen years ago. We searched for her and offered rewards but no one came forward with news of her until a few weeks ago when I was given fresh hope. Recently, I was shown a gold chain she wore about her neck the day she was snatched and told of a green silk gown…’ He moved towards her eagerly as he saw the startled look on her face. ‘You know something of this? Please tell me! It would mean much to me to find Beth – and her child.’
Ruth hesitated, then, ‘Beth told me a little of what she thought she remembered of her past. She said that she dreamed that she had lived in a castle and that there was a lady with a lovely smile she thought might be her mother. She said she thought she had been stolen by evil men, who raped a woman in a clearing. She thinks that she wandered into the woods, because she was dazed and frightened by what she saw. She believes that a woman called Marthe found her. The woman claimed she was Beth’s mother and brought her up to live in the woods on my cousin’s estate. People named her a witch, though some say she helped them when she could. Nearly two years ago Marthe was put to the test and hung.’
‘God be praised! It is her…my child.’ Tomas cried and his lips moved in silent prayer for a moment. He seemed overcome with emotion, unable to gather his thoughts, then, ‘Forgive me, lady. Your news overwhelms me for I have waited so long to discover what happened to my daughter that day. I have heard of the witch before. Tell me about the green dress, if you please.’
‘Beth told me that her child was wearing it when she was snatched. The gown was hers as a child, kept for her with the cross and chain by Marthe, despite its worth. Beth had altered the gown to fit her babe. It was her intention was to have the child christened at the church – but the priest called her a witch and the people turned against her.’
‘What had she done to deserve such cruel treatment?’
‘Nothing that I have heard of,’ Ruth replied, a note of bitterness in her voice. ‘She had some knowledge of herbs, but used much the same as Mother and I use to treat common ailments, comfrey and lavender and marigold to name but a few. If my cousin had not offered us his protection, we too might have had to earn our living and perhaps the people we helped would have turned against us too. Women are oft persecuted for using witchcraft when all they do is try to help the sick. They allow the nuns to work amongst the sick under the direction of the monks, who have studied at medical school, but a woman may not practice medicine. We are supposed to know naught of the four humours or the balance of the body, but it is often we women who nurse the sick and ease their pain. For that we receive scant praise. Any woman who dares to think she knows more than the monks and priests is accused of witchcraft. Men blame us for Eve’s sin when she tempted Adam with the forbidden fruit. It is unfair and malicious, but it happens.’
Ruth trembled with indignation, for the subject was close to her heart. After a moment she calmed and smiled ruefully. ‘Forgive me. I have said more than I ought – but I speak only as I find.’
‘Yes, I fear this is true,’ Tomas agreed. ‘Too many innocent women have been condemned as a witch and either died being put to the test or were hung and some were burned so that their spirit could not re-enter their bodies. It is a cruel and unjust law that allows such things and I am shamed that men permit it to continue to this day.’
‘My cousin will have none of it on his land. He banished the priest who attacked Beth and the villagers turned against him, because he had inflicted harsh punishments on them. They threw stones and beat him, driving him from the village. They killed another man, who had been the first to condemn Beth. Some tried to defend her and she had friends there, yet I do not think she will return to the village.’
‘Have you any idea where she might go?’
Ruth was silent as she considered, then, ‘She might go to the convent of the Sisters of Mercy. I told her that they were good people and sometimes took women in dire distress into their number.’
‘Yes, I know of them,’ Tomas said. ‘It was, as I told you, Sister Isolde who helped Beth when she gave birth. Beth gave her the chain, which I now have and know to have been Elspeth’s when she was a child. Sister Isolde works amongst the sick and poor and she’d heard from travellers that Lord Tomas Ryston searched for a missing child. She sent me a message with a pilgrim but he was taken ill and it was some months before I received her letter.’ He smote his forehead with his fist. ‘Had I come sooner I might have found her in the woods and saved her from this ordeal. To come so close and then to lose her…’
‘Do not despair, sir,’ Ruth said and moved towards him, her hand outstretched in sympathy. ‘Beth has little money and cannot travel far on foot. You should return to the convent and ask if they have seen her. Mayhap along the way you will hear tell of a young woman who seeks for her child. I am certain it is what Beth will do. She is alone and has no one to help her.’
‘I understand why she ran away,’ Tomas said and sighed. ‘She feared that she would be taken and hung for Sir William’s murder. I think she may be hiding in dread of her fate should she be taken.’
‘I thought at first that he might die,’ Ruth said. ‘I gave Beth my cloak and basket and a few pence and told her to go. She was my friend but I knew that my mother would see her hung if Sir William died. Mother hates her because she hoped William would wed me.’
‘Your cousin is recovering?’
‘It was but a small wound after all but it bled a great deal and he was unconscious for some hours. God be praised, he will live and soon be himself again.’
‘I think he may owe his speedy recovery to you, lady,’ Tomas said and smiled. ‘You will tell Sir William why I came and ask him to let me know if he should hear anything of my child. The chain Isolde gave me and the story you have told me has convinced me. I am certain now that the woman who calls herself Beth is my daughter Elspeth. I must continue my search for her – and for her child.’ He turned to leave. ‘I must go. Beth is somewhere close at hand and I must find her before it is too late.’
‘Will you not stay and eat with us?’ Ruth said as servants brought in food and wine. ‘Your disappointment must be sharp, but an hour can surely make no difference.’
‘Had I not delayed to bury my squire I might have been here in time,’ Tomas replied. ‘I thank you for your hospitality and will take the bread and cheese with me, for the men must eat something – but I shall not rest until I have discovered if she has managed to find sanctuary with the Sisters of Mercy.’
Fifty
‘It is not much further,’ Raoul said as he heard Beth’s sigh of weariness. ‘I did not want to seek rest at an inn too near de Burgh’s land for your enemies may still be searching for you.’
To either side of the road the woods were thick, rising to steep banks, which made the way dark and shadowy. Beth had no idea where they were or how far they had travelled. She leaned her head against his chest, as he had b
id her earlier. They had ridden for miles, stopping only to rest the horse for short periods, eating bread and cheese he purchased at a market stall and drinking a cup of ale from a woman selling it from a barrel outside her house. The ale had a sweet nutty flavour but was not as good as the ale Beth brewed herself. However, it had quenched their thirst and she was grateful for it.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked. ‘Did you say we should go to London?’
‘It was my intention,’ he agreed. ‘I have changed my mind. It will be best if we go to my manor and rest there for a few days. ‘Tis but a few hours ride and we shall be there before nightfall. If we are to go to London you will need clothes and a horse of your own to ride.’
‘Shall I?’ Beth’s heart was racing. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you will be my lady and I wish you to be dressed accordingly.’
She tried to turn her head and look at him, but his expression gave nothing away. During the night she had lain close to him on a bed of dried leaves in the great forest, which bordered Sir William’s land. He had not tried to make love to her. Instead he had told her to sleep, covering them both with his cloak.
‘How can I be your lady? I do not know how to behave as a lady.’
‘You can be anything I want you to be.’
‘You do not know me,’ Beth said. ‘You do not know what I have done.’
‘When you are ready you will tell me. You cannot have done worse than I, lady.’ Raoul smiled oddly. ‘God will judge your sins not I.’
‘Someone…hurt me,’ Beth said, her throat tight with emotion. ‘I hit him with a candlestick. It struck him a glancing blow but he staggered and fell against the wall, striking his temple on an iron sconce. His head was bleeding and I think he might die.’
‘Was he dead when you fled?’
‘Ruth said he lived but she thought he might die of his wound. She told me to run away for her mother would have denounced me as a witch – and they would hang me, as they did Marthe.’
‘Who was Marthe?’
‘A woman I lived with for many years. She was not my mother. I was stolen from my home as a child and Marthe found me. I do not know my mother’s name – nor yet my own. Something terrible happened at the time I was taken and I could not bear to remember, though sometimes I see a castle in my dreams.’
‘I knew you were not the witch’s daughter,’ Raoul said and his arms seemed to tighten about her possessively. ‘You are proud and there is something fine about you. If you remember a castle you may have been a lord’s daughter. It is not the first time a child has been stolen for ransom or revenge. The lawless barons often rob and steal from their neighbours, especially in uneasy times.’
‘Marthe said the men searching for us wanted to kill us, but I think she lied. She was lonely and did not wish to give me up to my family.’
‘It is as likely a tale as any other,’ Raoul murmured huskily. ‘Where you came from hardly matters now, sweet Beth. You will be my lady and I shall keep you safe. No one shall take you from me.’
Once again, Beth tried to glance at him over her shoulder. The wind howled through the trees, bending them almost double with its ferocity, and it was bitterly cold. Her breath made little clouds on the frosty air. Yet with his arms about her she felt safe and warm. Suddenly, it was easy to tell him, the words tripping from her lips.
‘Before this happened the priest condemned me as a witch and someone took my child. I did not want her to die in the miller’s pond with me and so I let her go, but I loved her dearly. I do not want her to be lost, as I was.’
‘Has no search been made?’
‘Sir William de Burgh’s men searched but though they found the body of a dead child by the road, it was not hers. My daughter has hair the colour of moonlight – the dead child had dark hair.’
‘Why do you tell me this now?’
‘I was afraid to tell you at first but now I do not fear you.’ She glanced over her shoulder at him once more. ‘Will you have a search made for my daughter, my lord?’
‘If Sir William’s men could not find her it is unlikely that mine will,’ he replied in a careless manner. Why should he be interested in a lost babe? Children often died or went missing and few bothered to search or grieve for long. ‘I shall have it done if it pleases you, but do not expect too much.’
‘The child is yours…’
Beth felt him tense and the next second he brought the horse to a halt and dismounted, lifting her down so that she stood before him. He was frowning, his expression almost angry, disbelieving – as if he thought she lied.
‘Why do you say that? You were not virgin when I lay with you that night.’
‘Only one man had lain with me before that. He…forced me by a trick but I did not have his babe. After that I went with no man until you came to me.’
Raoul’s eyes narrowed, seeming to burn with silver fire. ‘You swear to me that the child was mine?’
‘I swear it on my life,’ Beth said, her gaze unwavering. ‘May I die this instant if I lie. I ask God to bear witness that I speak truly.’
Raoul took her chin in his hand, looking down at her for some seconds, then nodded. ‘You would not lie. I thought you innocent that night yet knew you had lain with another. Now I understand. Who was it that raped you?’
‘Sir William. He was sorry for it and he saved me when the priest put me to the test. He swore that he would wed me and that he cared for me – but then…’ Her throat caught and for a moment the tears hovered. ‘After they found the dead child, he realised that my child was not his and grew angry. He hurt me and I hit him, as I told you. It was his men I feared would find me in the woods’
‘May he rot in hell!’ Raoul exclaimed, such a dark look in his face that Beth drew back, afraid of the anger she sensed in him. ‘I shall avenge you one day. You have my word. He will pay for what he has done to you.’
‘Please…’ she caught at his sleeve. ‘I would not have you fight for my sake. What is done is done and cannot be mended. All I want is to find Katharine and…be your lady.’
‘Is that your true wish?’
Beth met his fierce stare bravely. ‘You frighten me when you are angry. I sense something dark about you, my lord – but I loved you that night by the pool and I would be happy to be your mistress.’
‘Would you, Beth?’ An odd smile touched his mouth. ‘You say that I do not know you, but there is much you do not know of me. You are right to fear my dark side, though I swear by all I hold dear that I will keep it from you if I can.’ He smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip. ‘That night with you gave me ease. I was in sore torment when I found you in the pool, Beth. You took the pain away with your sweetness. I am recently returned from a bitter war where things were done that haunt my dreams. You gave me calm then – will you give me ease now?’
‘Yes, my lord. Whenever you wish it.’
Raoul laughed softly in his throat. ‘I thought that I had dreamed you. I feared that in the morning light you would be as other women and not as I thought – but you are as sweet and lovely as I remembered. I shall treat you well, my Beth. Do not fear that I shall force you, as he did. I have never yet taken an unwilling woman and I would not harm you.’
‘I do not fear you. I think…I am not sure what it means to love but I believe that what I feel for you is love.’
‘Is it truly?’ Raoul smiled and bent his head to brush his lips over hers. ‘I cannot promise to love you, sweet lady, but I will do all I can to make you happy. Will that content you?’
‘Find our child, my lord. It is all I ask of you.’
‘I shall do what I can,’ Raoul said. His mouth grew hard. ‘Never think of the past again. I shall protect you. Sir William cannot harm you now. You will live with me in France and – if our daughter is not found I shall give you other children to ease your grief.’
‘Yes.’ Beth smiled up at him. ‘I shall be yours to command, my lord.’
Raoul threw back his h
ead and laughed joyously. ‘We shall see who commands and who obeys,’ he murmured throatily. ‘Methinks the lady hath more power than she dreams. Come, my lady. Let me put you up on my horse. If we ride hard we shall reach my castle before nightfall.’
Fifty One
‘When was this child brought to us?’ Isolde gazed down at the babe nestled in the cradle the nuns at the school had provided. She had travelled from the convent to the school with messages from the Abbess and been shown the babe the sisters had taken in. The child was crying, her cheeks red with distress.
‘She arrived last night and has cried for most of the time since.’
‘Who brought her?’
‘It was not her mother. The woman who gave her to us was too old to have a child of this age,’ Sister Margaret frowned. ‘She told me that the babe’s mother was being put to the test as a witch and she saved her as a kindness. I have done my best to comfort the babe but still she cries. I do not know what ails her.’
‘I think she misses her mother.’
Isolde reached into the casket and lifted the child, who was still wearing the dress and shawl she had been wearing when brought to the nuns the previous night. The babe whimpered and then fell silent, looking up with her wide eyes. Isolde rocked the child in her arms, feeling certain that her instincts were right. Few children had hair this colour and still fewer wore a silk gown. Besides, she herself had given the shawl to Beth in the wood when the babe was born.
‘Did the woman say where this happened?’ she asked, feeling sad that Beth should have been treated so ill.
‘She was an ignorant woman and had been travelling since her husband and sons died of a virulent fever. She claimed the name of the castle was not known to her but she may have lied.’
‘No, I think I know the place of which she spoke.’ Isolde replaced the babe in her cradle and made the sign of the cross over the child and then herself. Immediately Katharine began to whimper once more. ‘This is the child I helped to bring into the world some months ago. Beth lived alone in the woods and told me that the woman she had known as her mother had been hung as a witch. I fear that the people turned against her. If Beth is dead this child has no mother – but she does have a grandmother and a grandfather. Lord Tomas came to look for his lost daughter. I told him where he might find her but he may have been too late. We must care for the babe. I shall send word to Sir William de Burgh and ask him if he knows where Lord Tomas may be found. If he has not yet returned home he may come to claim the child.’ Isolde frowned as the babe began to cry again. ‘She is hungry and needs changing. We must feed her with milk from the goat, though I am not certain it will suit her for she is not yet weaned from her mother’s breast.’