by D. F. Jones
One thought did linger as she reached the hall: Her cousin had made a remarkably quick journey from Dunner to Roxley.
Chapter 4
When Hugh finished eating, he rose and motioned Martin to accompany him. Strolling away from curious ears, he asked, “Did you assign everyone their duties?”
Martin gave a curt assent. “The gate’s secured and the remaining men are posted around the bailey. Looks like the place doesn’t have a large force. When the rest of our troop arrives, we’ll be well fixed.”
Hugh folded his arms and gazed around the hall. “I’ll announce the changes once the others appear. They should be here before nightfall. I don’t think we’ll have problems. Everyone must be expecting a new lord.” He glanced at his friend. “Perchance not this soon, however.”
Spotting a man wearing a long, rust-colored tunic with a leather bag hanging from his belt, Hugh said, “That must be the seneschal. He has the look of a man who gives orders. Come, let’s find where we can bathe and change our clothing. Your odor has a right tang to it.”
Martin buffeted him on the shoulder and grunted. “That’s yourself you’ll be smelling.”
The man, indeed the seneschal, told Hugh he could find water, a basin, and cloths in the barracks, where the soldiers slept.
Hugh folded his arms and held the man’s gaze until the man shuffled and cleared his throat. “You can use the chamber off the kitchen to change your garments. There’s water for washing, and if you pull the curtain, some privacy.”
Hugh relaxed his stance and uncrossed his arms. “Your name?”
“Sir Crafton,” the man muttered.
“Call me Sir Hugh. Send my squire, Rupert, to me with my bag.”
With a gesture of his head, Hugh set out, Martin at his side.
“That should set tongues wagging,” Martin said.
A good while later, bathed, refreshed, and wearing a clean tunic and hose, Hugh buckled on his sword and slid his two knives in their sheaths—one on his belt, one inside his right boot. He passed the back of his hand over his cheek. Not totally smooth, but free of three days’ worth of bristles.
“Ready?” He motioned to Martin, and they set out to assess the surroundings. As they toured the very large bailey—room enough to build an inner bailey—he allowed himself to feel a trace of pleasure. Not complete; he’d grown wise in his score and nine years. He knew well that seeds of anticipation, allowed to sprout too quickly into expectation and pleasure, often withered—or lay trampled beneath luckier, more influential, boots.
But it seemed he’d achieved a home. He’d worked long and hard since he won his spurs at ten and eight. His father had praised him, but with four older sons to establish, he could offer Hugh praise only. Thus Hugh learned early that if he wanted land of his own, he must earn it.
At last, he had. Now, exploring his prize, he offered a silent thanks for all those others who had gained their holdings before he had. This, Roxley, was the one meant for him. And with each servant or worker he spoke with, each structure he viewed, each castle trade he toured, another bud of pleasure bloomed.
As they left the stable, Hugh sucked in a deep breath. The familiar smells of clean hay and manure and horseflesh offered a comforting end to their quick circuit. His chest filled with pleasure and cautious thanksgiving. Perchance, at last, he could accept his good fortune.
“The village later?” Martin asked.
“Tomorrow,” Hugh answered. “I should face the hardest chore now.”
“The lady?”
“The lady.” He grimaced. “Best tell her who I am before she hears it from another.”
“Umm,” Martin agreed. “Didn’t take long for people to catch on to your identity. They’ll be buzzing about it for a good while. She may not be happy.”
“Judging from her welcome, I’d say she won’t. But I do enjoy a challenge.” Hugh sent Martin off to make certain all was ready for the rest of his troops, those men who had chosen to give up constant fighting and join him in creating a new life. He only hoped it would prove to be a quieter life.
What he’d seen of his new wife-to-be gave him cause to wonder. He smiled absently at the memory of their earlier meeting. The lady Annis was the subject of several conversations during his review of the castle grounds. Those conversations, that is, he could understand. Most here appeared to speak only English.
“She’ll be a right good lady fer ye, Sir Hugh,” the blacksmith assured him in rough Norman French. “When Lord Aubrey fell sick, she stepped straight in and took up the duties like she’d been trained for ’em. Which I suppose she was, at that, what with her bein’ the old lord’s only get. We all ’spected him to remarry onct his lady died, but he never. They was that attached.”
The cook, a tall, thin woman who didn’t once look up from forming rounds of bread for baking, had a more precise opinion and a better grasp of his language. “Lady Annis is a prize, and don’t forget it. She sees we all have what we need, and usually more.”
Lady Gwen, wife of the seneschal, raised her eyebrows when Hugh stuck his head in a small cottage where several women sat sewing.
“Cooler in the summer out here,” she said when he asked why they’d been banished from the hall. “Lady Annis knows sewing is an exacting task and does her best to ensure we’re comfortable. You pay no heed to my man. He likes to think nothing at Roxley is done properly if he doesn’t see to it. He wants this cottage for storage, but milady insists we have it in the warm days.”
Her blue eyes might be faded, but they were sharp when she turned them on him. “You don’t plan to change her way of doing things, do you?”
Hugh held up one hand and reached for the door behind him with the other. “Lady Annis has full reign over any household matters,” he vowed before whipping outside once again.
“And I’m happy for her to have it,” he murmured to himself.
Annis was not in the hall when he returned, although servants were setting up for the midday meal. Odors of roasting meat and baking bread prompted a growl from Hugh’s stomach. God, he was hungry. And tired to the bone. Of fighting, of riding, of searching, of hoping. At last he could be easy.
He signaled one of the maids. “Where is your mistress?”
The young girl shrugged, then giggled and dashed back to whisper to one of the other maids who watched.
He’d set out to find Annis when Martin ducked inside and called, “The men are here.”
Hugh paused. They’d made good speed. He’d see to them now and deal with the lady later.
Chapter 5
Annis tucked the last chemise into her pack. She’d decided to forego a bundlesome trunk and carry her clothing in soft bags instead. Easier to take on horseback. She had limited herself to two but was pleased with all she’d been able to squeeze in.
As she tightened the cords at the top, a commotion in the bailey caught her attention. She handed the bag to her maid, Jeanne, and ran to her chamber window. It overlooked the front of the castle with its two towers guarding the open gate and raised portcullis.
In front of the tower housing the barracks, a contingent of horses and riders gathered, kicking up dust from the packed earth. Grass hadn’t a chance in that part of the bailey.
Her stomach seemed to leap into her throat. All those mounted soldiers. He must have arrived after all. Why else would so many soldiers be here? She pressed a hand against her stomach. She did not want to meet Sir Hugert. Any conversation between them would only create problems.
Glancing again at the turmoil outside, she realized—she should leave now, while everyone concentrated on the new arrivals. She and Randal could slip out the open gates with no one the wiser.
She raced down the corridor to pound at the door of his chamber. It opened immediately.
“Soldiers have arrived,” she said, “and the bailey is in confusion. If we hurry, we can be gone well before we’re missed.”
His expression changed immediately from questioning to determined
and his eyes narrowed. She could tell he was deep in thought, not really seeing her.
“I’m ready,” she said. “So we can travel faster, I’ll bring but one bag, and borrow from your mother when we arrive. Come. We must not miss this opportunity.”
He ducked inside and returned immediately with his cloak. “We have to find my squire.”
“Send someone for him. I’ll join you at the stable. It’s better if we go separately.” She dashed back to her bedchamber and grabbed the bag she’d just packed. Jeanne had gone below, thank Mother Mary for the favor. The less the girl knew, the less she could reveal under questioning.
Annis refused to think of all that could go wrong with her flight from home. She paused at the top of the stairway outside the hall to search the bailey—on the chance she might glimpse the knight she was intended to wed. But no one man stood out from the mass congregated there — quite a disturbance. With luck, even the tower guard would be wrapped up in the excitement and fail to challenge Randal and her as they left.
She descended the stairs as calmly as she could and thought she had indeed escaped notice when she caught sight of a warrior. He looked familiar. His height, his broad shoulders, his confident stride. He angled his chin to call something to another soldier, and she saw his face more clearly. She stumbled on the bottom step.
Her stomach did a little flip. Good heavens, he was handsome. He was…the knight who had arrived earlier today. The one who brought the news of Sir Hugert. How he had changed! How had he changed?
Obviously, he’d bathed and removed his beard, found fresh garments. Had he also donned a new attitude? She didn’t remember this air of command surrounding him. It must come from the arrival of his captain, Sir Hugert.
The very one she wanted to avoid, and here she stood, transfixed at the sight of his rude representative. If she didn’t move, her attempt at escape would end before it began. She started forward again, holding close to the castle wall as she crept toward the back.
At last, the shadows of the stable swallowed her, and she let out a long, silent sigh. Now to saddle her mare. Yet another thing she gave thanks for—learning to care for her horse. Papa had insisted.
She’d nearly finished the task when Randal appeared, trailed by a youth who must be his squire. They worked in silence and soon mounted. Annis rode astride, her lower legs revealing men’s hose she’d donned beneath her gown. The hem of her ample skirt draped past her knees.
“What in all of Satan’s realm are you wearing, cousin?” Randal muttered when he reined his horse beside hers. “Cover yourself!”
“Don’t be a goose,” she answered in an equally low tone. “I have on the same thing as you and no one is shocked by your appearance.”
“That’s different. I’m a man.”
“Exactly. Never mind. Follow me.” She set off, circling around the bailey to avoid passing too near the mass of horsemen. The hood of her cloak fell forward enough to hide her features unless someone looked closely, but not far enough to signal a furtive attempt to avoid recognition. Randal rode beside her, while his squire followed.
Walking their mounts, the three passed through the still-open gate. No one appeared to notice. Once outside, Annis urged her mare into a trot, and when they reached the bottom of the hill on which Roxley perched, she set it to a canter. They entered a wooded area soon after and she drew rein.
“Please take the lead,” she said to Randal. “You can find the way to Dunner faster than I can.”
After a quick change of positions, the three resumed the journey. She gave a last, quick glance behind. No pursuers yet. As they moved farther away, her tension eased, and she settled in the saddle for the lengthy ride.
Annis had visited her aunt’s home a handful of times but not for many years. Thus she had a slight knowledge of the roads to take. But Randal, having just made the journey, must know less traveled, even shorter, routes. No matter how much shorter, the distance still would take hours to cover.
Her original plan called for an early morning start, which would enable her to arrive before nightfall. With the change of schedule, they might have to halt overnight. The thought made her a bit uncomfortable.
No need to worry. Randal is perfectly capable of finding shelter.
Perchance her discomfort came from memories of the wild, often thoughtless, boy he’d been. But no need to worry about nighttime accommodations. She was as able as the others to ride all night if necessary. Or to sleep in the open.
As day wore on her feeling of unease grew. Dunner lay to the west of Roxley, that detail, Annis knew. Yet her cousin led them on a path that put the lowering sun on their left side. Was he going in the correct direction? She waited for some time before asking, “I thought I remembered the road to Dunner took us directly into the setting sun.”
He gave her a quick look. “This trail leads to an old forester’s hut. I thought we could stop there overnight. The moon will not turn full for a sennight; seeing the way after dark will be difficult. Just thinking of your comfort.”
She ought to have been pleased to know he’d considered her and picked a sheltered place to stop. And she was, of course. However, she really hoped they traveled as long as the light allowed.
“Not afraid, are you?” Randal asked, his tone light, teasing.
She gave a small laugh. “Not at all. I simply hoped we would be far along enough so any searchers could not find us.”
His mouth curved in a smug grin. “That’s why we follow this alternate route. Take heart, cousin. I have a plan.”
Chapter 6
Hugh made certain his men had settled in, ready to explore the castle and grounds. Martin would brief them on duties then show them the practice field where they would resume training in the morn.
Meanwhile, Hugh’s duty loomed like a storm at sea, and he had no doubt Lady Annis’s anger would match the fury of it. If he were honest with himself, he rather looked forward to announcing his identity. She may not realize it, but they were well matched. Because of the tales he’d heard, he had expected a lady who was timid and agreeable. He should have realized one as capable as she’d been described would also be strong.
Unlike many of his fellow knights, he enjoyed a woman with spirit. He’d not met a lady who displayed much strength of mind until now, and he looked forward to matching wits with her.
Once inside, he beckoned to Sir Crafton. “Where is Lady Annis?”
“I believe she is in her bedchamber, my lord, or the solar.” The seneschal’s tone sounded deferential, decidedly different from the first time the two spoke.
“Summon her.”
“My lord?” Sir Crafton’s head tilted to one side in question. When Hugh caught his gaze, the man repeated, “Summon her?”
“Yes. Tell her I wish to see her.” Couldn’t the man understand the language? Of course, he did. He’d answered Hugh quite well earlier.
When Sir Crafton beckoned to one of the maids, Hugh was reminded--most of the people here likely didn’t speak Norman French. And he sure as Hades didn’t speak their native English. Merde! That meant he’d be dependent on Lady Annis and the man in front of him to communicate with many of his people.
He didn’t like that one bit. Why hadn’t he considered it before? Nothing to be done but learn the language. Lady Annis could teach him.
But would she?
He paced the length of the hall and back. What was taking the blasted female so long? Finally, the maid returned and trotted across the floor, alarm evident in her frown and clenched mouth. She said something to the seneschal, casting Hugh a frightened look.
After a quick conversation, Sir Crafton approached Hugh. “Jeanne said Lady Annis was nowhere to be found.”
Without a word, Hugh raced up the stairs and into Lady Annis’s chamber. Near the bed, he found a bag packed with belongings. She was preparing to leave?
“Where is she?” he roared. He stormed into the corridor and flung open the other two doors on that level. Empty.
Had her cousin left already?
Hugh retraced his steps. Another search of the hall produced no seneschal, only blank-looking servants. If any knew her whereabouts, none was saying. They simply stood and watched him stride toward the doors.
Outside, Hugh shouted for Martin, then made for the stable. When he asked if any horses were missing, the lad either didn’t understand the words or chose not to. Finally, Martin appeared with one of the newly arrived squires.
“Thomas speaks the language,” he said.
Hugh told the youth what to ask and after a few minutes of insisting he knew nothing, the stable boy admitted Lady Annis and two men rode out earlier, shortly after all the soldiers came.
Damnation, she’d set out with only two escorts. For a female who appeared to have a sharp mind, Lady Annis had undertaken a foolish journey. It was Hugh’s duty to see she remained unharmed, whether she liked it or not.
He’d finished saddling the horse he’d chosen from the stable, a sturdy bay mare, when Martin appeared, leading a mount.
“I’d rather you remain in charge here,” Hugh told him.
Martin shook his head. “Utrech can handle the duties. I’ll have your back. You don’t know what you’re riding into. Besides, I track better than you do.”
It was a measure of Hugh’s concentration that he didn’t reply to the jibe.
Neither of their tracking skills was required to follow the trail the three left. Even the path through the woods was visible, marked with broken twigs, crushed grass, and occasional horse droppings.
They rode in silence until Hugh asked, “Did you recognize the cousin’s name?”
“Sir Randal? No.”
“I thought it sounded familiar when he arrived. I just recalled. He’s one of the others who made bid for Roxley Castle when word came of the king’s intention. I hadn’t known he was a relative of the late owner.”