by Syme, R. L.
Aedan’s stomach cinched. “You came here as a fugitive?” He thought he recognized a wariness in the man’s eyes. Aedan had seen enough fugitives in his life to know that look.
That was the look he feared so much seeing in Anne’s eyes. And why he pushed so hard for France, for a new life. He would do anything to keep her from feeling trapped, forever fearful.
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” The man’s face looked suddenly old and tired.
“Molnar said it would be a lot of money.”
Fergus nodded. “It will be. And the more people, the more expensive.”
Aedan had shied from the topic long enough, waiting to decide if he could trust the man. He had to take the leap of faith, to be able to provide what they needed.
“Molnar said you would be able to get me past the recruiting questions with the captain at the barracks.”
Fergus’ brow shot up. “I wondered if that might be why he sent you. Heaven knows he’s got enough connections to people like my mother. He needn’t have sent you here unless you had some connection to the area where you could hide until the papers were finished, or if you needed a leg up with the English.”
Aedan clasped his hands together over his legs. “The women don’t know of this, but Molnar said it was the only way to get the rest of the money we need.”
“You know they don’t pay on deployment.” Fergus sat forward in his seat. “But I imagine that’s why you need me.”
“That’s right.” Aedan’s tone sounded ominous, even to himself. “Molnar said that we could pay you to keep the women in your house, my wife and her sisters.”
“That we can.”
“So you’ll claim me, and them?”
Fergus’ gaze darkened. “This isn’t a game, boy. You won’t come back from this. England is at war with Scotland and every day, they gather troops and march northward. They mean to level your countrymen and raze the whole place to make it theirs.”
Aedan had a quick flash of his home, of the rolling hills and the animals, of the cheerful people he’d known as a child, of the friends he’d made in Scotland, of Molnar, of Anne. It was a sacrifice he had to make.
“It’s the only way to get her a fresh start.”
Fergus nodded. “Well, let’s start with your clothes, then we should bring your women to the house before I take you to the barracks.”
“They mustn’t know what I’m about to do.” Aedan reached for Fergus as the two men rose. He grasped the older man’s shoulder and gave him as forceful a stare as he could. “Anne knows that we will attempt to live with you and your wife until the papers come through. The rest, she doesn’t know.”
With a shrug, Fergus grunted and made for the door. “I hope she’s not the violent type.”
*****
Anne ran across the open field, her breath short enough. But she couldn’t wait to return to Aedan. Since he’d kissed her so thoroughly and so pleasantly in the barn, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his lips on hers, his body pressed against hers, his hands covering hers.
The whole affair of locating Reva had been significantly less frightening because she felt like she carried Aedan with her wherever she went. And the news she had was so good, she couldn’t wait to share it with him. Not only had Reva agreed to do all four of them for the price Aedan had suggested, but she said she could have all the papers ready within the month. It would be far less than Aedan had feared.
Until then, they could travel if they had to, or stay with this son of Reva’s that Molnar insisted they should see.
When she reached the barn, the cart was empty. Elena and Brighde had both vacated the barn, in addition to having taken all their things. Both horses were also gone.
Aedan had promised that if she returned to the barn to find this, she should come to the farmhouse they’d passed, that this would be the sign Molnar had been telling the truth and everything would turn out in the end, as it should.
She slowed her pace as she walked in the direction the map showed the farmhouse would be. She folded the map and tucked it back into her dress. It had been accurate for finding Reva, and she had no doubt it would be accurate as well in finding Reva’s son.
The heavily-wooded countryside might have unnerved anyone else, because the visibility was so low, but the closeness made Anne feel safe. She knew, no matter what came upon her, there was always a place to hide, and she was never left open and vulnerable.
She checked overhead to the position of the sun, which was almost ready to set, but still constant in its place in the heavens, and she ran onward, toward the sun. Just as the map promised, she came out of the woods into a small clearing with a farmhouse and a tilled field with the till still in the ground, awaiting further work.
Anne recognized her horse, tied in a long rope to a post behind the house. She circled, looking for the other horse, but couldn’t find it. Perhaps Aedan had taken the road in to Hull for supplies, or had to sell the horse in order to pay Reva’s son. She knew they would have to pay him, as well, but they hadn’t discussed how. She wished Aedan would have told her of his plans. Not that she minded losing the horse, but it did put them at a disadvantage if they had to take to the forests again. Having only the cart horse meant they were without a lookout. Or one of them would always be either piled in the back with their belongings or walking.
She approached the house and saw smoke rising from a fire in the back. Something cooked on the fire and it smelled wonderful.
A knock at the door sent the insides to bustling around and a short, busty woman answered, wiping her hands on a greasy apron. Anne smiled her greeting.
“Fergus!” the woman yelled. Her eyebrows knit together and she clucked at Anne. “Come in, dear. You’d best sit down, you’ve had a long day and it’s not about to get any better.”
Anne rushed in the house, her throat tightening. “Elena!”
Her sister called out from the other room, as did Brighde. A man came to the door and Anne squinted, expecting to see Aedan’s face. Instead, the kind face of an older gentleman greeted her with a sad countenance.
“You must be Anne,” he said. “Why don’t you have a seat here?” He pointed to the table. “Rosie, get her a dram of whiskey, will ye? Just to take the edge off. Maybe help her sleep tonight.”
Rumbling in the other room couldn’t distract Anne. Nor the promise of spirits. “Where is Aedan?” Her heart pounded nearly through her chest as she waited for someone to answer her.
“You’re his wife, eh?” the man asked. He escorted her to the table, but she wasn’t particularly interested in sitting.
“I’m…” she stopped. Was this what they’d agreed? She would pretend to be his wife? Oh, why didn’t the oafish brute come out and stop this surprise? They could get married for real, instead of pretending. She’d ask him herself.
“You’re his wife.” The man’s voice was insistent. “At least, that’s what you’ll tell the captain when he arrives.”
“The Captain?”
Fergus finally pulled her into the chair and Rosie set a cup in front of her. “Drink this, lass. You’ll need it.”
Brighde appeared in the same door that had produced Fergus. Anne closed her eyes and silently ordered Aedan to appear through that door. To end whatever strange game they were playing on her. To produce Aedan. Her love. The man she wanted to give her heart to. The man she wanted to marry. Not pretend to marry.
“Where is Aedan?”
Brighde put a hand on her shoulder. The evidence of sadness still carried in her puffy eyes and red-stained cheeks. Brighde was as upset by the situation as Anne felt.
“Where is Aedan?” she repeated. Still, no one answered.
“I didn’t know, or I would have stopped him.” Brighde’s voice cracked as she spoke. “I tried to tell him you were really and truly in love with him, that it wasn’t a ruse.”
Anne’s heart was in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Aedan was gone? And because she didn’t love him en
ough? Her eyes burned. Aedan was gone?
No.
“He said to tell you that he was doing this for you.” Fergus motioned to Brighde as well. “For both of you.”
“He went to join the army.” Brighde sobbed and sank to her knees next to Anne, but Anne could barely process that other people were still in the room with her. “He heard they pay handsomely for their soldiers.”
She shook her head. Aedan wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t leave her. Her mother had been wrong. He wouldn’t double-cross her. Her mother had to have been wrong.
Tears pushed out of her eyes, onto her cheeks, and flowed freely down as quickly as her body could make them. She sobbed along with Brighde, pounding the table in her frustration.
“Where is Aedan?” she repeated, sobs choking her voice.
“He went to get the money you’ll need to make a new life.”
Anne collapsed onto the floor and dissolved into her sadness. “Aedan. Please don’t be gone,” she whispered. “Please. Come back.” Her voice was so quiet, but she needed him to hear her, far away as he was. “Please, come back. I can’t do this without you.”
“You’ll be well, my dear.” Elena was suddenly beside her, smoothing her hair, her voice distant.
“No, I won’t be well. And I’m not going to sit here waiting for him to risk his life for us. There has to be another way.” Anne wrestled against Elena’s grasp.
“You can’t. You know you can’t go.” Brighde’s hands were steel on her shoulders. “If we try to make trouble at the fort after they’ve gone to all this trouble, they’ll catch us all. They’ll hang Aedan on sight.” Anne’s tear-blurred vision focused on Brighde’s pretty face. But her heart sank as realization set in. Aedan was gone and she could do nothing.
Fergus’ voice continued somewhere in the periphery of her notice. “He knew you wouldn’t have enough for the price it would cost to get the papers and make the trip, so he did the only thing he knew to do. He went to sell his sword.”
“But they don’t pay for swords.” Brighde’s voice wasn’t any more stable than Anne’s, as she hovered somewhere over Anne’s body, sharing in her sadness.
“No, lass. Sadly, they don’t pay for swords.”
Anne looked up into the old man’s sad, wrinkled face and offered a wordless question. The wailing sadness that took her wouldn’t allow her to speak, but she needed to know why. Where he had gone. Where could she go to get him back?
“He knew you needed the money, and this was the only way he could think to get it for you.”
Anne shook her head. Why would he put himself in danger like this? Didn’t he know how much she loved him? How she needed him? Oh, God. Why hadn’t she told him every moment since she discovered it for herself? Why hadn’t she insisted on them marrying at the first parish they passed? Why had she let him sweet-talk her with promises of a new life in France?
She didn’t want France if she couldn’t have Aedan.
In the distance of her hazy exhaustion, she heard Fergus, the regret in his voice, trying still to explain. “They may not pay for swords, dear one, but they do pay for bodies.”
Anne’s eyes shot up to meet his. “Bodies?” she croaked.
His sad nod confirmed it. Aedan hadn’t gone to join the army. He’d gone to offer himself as a sacrifice for her happiness.
“King Edward needs to fill the ranks again for the war with Scotland. They call it the widow’s tax. A man gives his life for England and the crown will pay his life’s wages.” Rosie’s voice echoed in the tiny house as Anne closed her eyes against the world and prayed to wake up from this nightmare. Please, please, oh God, please. Wake me up from this. Save Aedan, please.
Chapter Sixteen
September 1297 – Hull, England
Anne de Cheyne had spent every day in this chair in front of the farmhouse since news of the battle at Sterling Bridge. Each battle they’d heard of for the six-month campaign seemed like it might be the battle that claimed Aedan’s life. But Stirling Bridge seemed to be the worst one yet. For the English.
Since Aedan had written her from York, trying to explain his decision and to encourage her to move on, she had been even more determined in her prayers. She could hear in his voice that he wanted to come home.
Every morning, every noon, every night, all she prayed was that Aedan would be wounded in the battle and returned to her safe and alive.
The death carts had preceded the return of the remnants of the Northern army. When Aedan had been in neither wave, her fear and prayers had escalated.
Perhaps he had been captured, found to be a Scot, and somehow tortured or imprisoned. She’d promised herself that she would leave her sisters and the children here with Molnar and go after Aedan herself if that was the case. But no news had come of him. Or of John Miller, who was the claimed brother of Trenton Miller, the name Fergus used outside the farmhouse.
She’d been to the barracks, asking in her best Northern English after news of John Miller. She’d combed the nearby villages for news of local men who’d been in the fighting. But nothing had come of it.
And since the last of the army had returned, she’d taken to sitting in a rocking chair in front of the house, alternately rocking one of Brighde’s twin boys until he slept.
Sometimes, Elena would sit with her, when there was no need for help in the kitchen or the field. She’d taken quite a shine to growing things and helped as much with the herb garden and the fruit trees and the crops as she did with anything else. It had been a long summer.
Anne was certain that, given the whirlwind of their meeting, her love for Aedan would wane and leave her with only a desire to protect Elena.
But instead, her love for him, her desire for him, her need for him… they had grown into such a monster, they consumed her days and nights. She spent her days rocking little John and little Jacob, wishing that Aedan had at least left her carrying his child so she would have this kind of physical memory of their love. But he had not. She spent her nights awake, holding her stomach, wishing it were his arm there instead of hers, and unable to lose the feeling that she would be sick at any moment. She was certain she’d dropped weight in the days she couldn’t eat, even though there were as many days lately that she craved everything on the table and ate more than her share. But everything was empty without Aedan.
When Brighde wasn’t around, Elena encouraged her to forget him, to find another young man to fill her thoughts, but Anne couldn’t get him out of her mind. The kind of man who would sacrifice himself for her happiness. How could she forget a man like that? She never would.
John had been sleeping fitfully that day and when Brighde came outside to nurse him, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud and they had their first truly sunny day in weeks. The autumn had been unseasonably cold and Fergus worried they wouldn’t get the harvest in before it snowed. He spent his days wandering the field and the grove, worrying over his crops, most of the time with either Rosie or Elena with him, carrying a basket in case they found apples that were ready to be picked or berries that looked ripe enough to eat. Today, they’d come back with an impressive number of ready apples, and they’d been much larger and tastier than Anne could remember having.
Brighde took John from Anne’s arms and began to suckle him. Anne watched with some jealousy. She knew that Brighde would gladly have given her the ability to nurse the boys as well, if she could have, for having to nurse twins took nearly all the time of the day, between the two of them.
“He’s been fussy all morning.” Brighde held the little head to her breast and made encouraging noises. “There you are, my boy.”
“It’s been warmer than we’re used to.” Anne glanced around the house toward the sun and offered a small smile. “He might just be too warm.”
Brighde unwrapped the small bundle so that all he wore was the tiny cloth and he settled right into his feeding.
“Thank you, Anne. I never would have thought to do that.”
“Tha
t’s because you’re his mother. You always think of keeping him warm.”
Brighde’s wide smile always reminded Anne of Aedan, and a joyous moment turned suddenly somber as Anne felt the tears threatening behind her eyes.
“You miss him every day.” Brighde’s voice was soft, but obviously not meant for her infant son.
“Every day.”
“I wish we knew more about the battle.”
Anne picked up the ends of her apron and fanned herself with the light cloth. “We know as much as we’ll know, I fear. I’ve asked everywhere, been to the barracks. No one knows anything. Or if they do, they won’t know that John Miller and Aedan Donne are the same man, and so wouldn’t know to tell me.”
“Fergus claimed him. They’ll know him as John Miller.”
Anne nodded. Fergus had explained that if a stranger was claimed as family by someone known to have lived in the area for an extended time, their questions were waived.
But if they’d been fighting in Scotland, and near Stirling no less, she worried that Aedan would have been seen. Why would he ever have agreed to this, knowing what could happen?
Anne wiped at the corners of her eyes. “John Miller is likely dead. And they’ll bring his body here for me to bury and I’ll be forced to go to…”
“We could stay here.” Brighde filled the silence left by Anne’s uncertainty. She didn’t want to be in a new country, in what would amount to a new life without Aedan.
This wasn’t a new life for her. It was Purgatory. With cherubic babies instead of demons. But Purgatory.
And she had done her waiting.
But with every passing day, she woke fearing this would be the day she would have to bury her love and become Annabeth Miller for all time, without John Miller at her side.
The baby burbled at his mother’s breast and Anne glanced down at his angelic face. She even saw Aedan in little John. Or the promise of Aedan. Perhaps it was the promise of her own little John that she saw there, but he tightened her insides and made the tears come a little faster each time she allowed her mind to dwell there.