“Enough! Jesu, ’twas only a suggestion,” Jhone complained, then scowled at Milisant. “And do not think I am not aware that you would rather leave than marry Wulfric. Verily, I doubt me not that you are secretly glad that this has happened.”
To that Milisant sighed. “Nay, I am not glad to have made an enemy of King John, just to escape marriage to Wulfric. Even as a last resort, I would not have hoped for this.”
Thirty-two
“This will never work,” Jhone complained as she stared at the trunk that Milisant meant to climb into.
“It will as long as you remain with the trunk at all times, so the carriers aren’t tempted to look inside to see why ’tis so heavy.”
“Couldn’t I just say ’tis a wedding gift for you that needs be hidden?” Jhone suggested. “Then I wouldn’t have to pretend to be you.”
“But you would not hide a gift in the stable, which is where I want the trunk delivered. Nay, it must contain special feed for Stomper so it can be placed near to his stall, which does not get much traffic since the stable folk do not like to get near him.”
Jhone tsked. “You can’t leave on Stomper, so why the stable?”
“Because it is close to the gate, and I can watch from there who leaves, to find a group I can blend with. ’Tis either that or I try to climb over the walls, which you pointed out would be much more likely to fail, with as many guards as are posted on them.”
Jhone sighed. “’Tis just much easier to be you when ’tis only a lark. When ’tis serious like this, I just know I will do or say something and give the pretense away.”
“You will do fine, Jhone, I know you will. You need only deal with the guards at the door, my escort, and the two men you find to carry the trunk. You need not deal with anyone who knows you.”
“Until you are gone,” Jhone reminded her with a frown. “Then I must deal with your betrothed.”
“I have told you how to do that. He made mention of it just the other night, that he tells the difference between us by the set of my mouth, the way I press my lips together when I am annoyed. You can copy that easy enough. Just keep your distance from him so you need not speak to him, and you will have no problems.”
Jhone was not convinced. “But if he wants to speak to me—I mean you—then—”
“Fear not. I have been furious with him since we last spoke, and well he knows it. I have not spoken to him since, nor would he expect me to after what he did.”
“Which was? You never did say why you have been killing him with your eyes these last few days.”
Nor would Milisant have mentioned it, as embarrassed as she still was. But she could no longer keep it to herself if Jhone was going to take her place for the next few days, and do so successfully.
While she’d dressed in her old clothes, Milisant had repeated, as best she could recall, every conversation she had had with Wulfric. Jhone needed every detail just in case Wulfric did try to talk to her and brought up something that had been said between them.
She had left out only their last encounter, but realized now that she couldn’t keep it to herself, not if Jhone was going to be successful for as long as possible. And the more time she was successful, the more time Milisant would have before she was pursued.
So she replied, albeit in a mumble, “Wulfric nearly bedded me.”
“Nearly?” Jhone’s brow shot up, then her expression altered to amazement when she concluded, “He tried to force you like John?”
Milisant blushed profusely, remembering. Then, not at all happy to be admitting to her own weakness, she muttered, “Nay, not exactly. I was rendered daft by his kissing again. I did not even think to tell him to stop. If Lord Guy had not come upon us, I doubt me not we would have sealed the joining ere the priest gives it his blessing.”
Jhone opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, then shook her head. Lastly she sighed.
Her tone was reproving, though, when she finally said, “If this incident had not occurred with King John, I would have much to say about that. But with John obviously set against you wedding Wulfric—’tis better now for all involved if you do have Roland to husband instead, so let us hope all works out well with that.”
Milisant smiled, now that Jhone was finally in agreement with her. “It will, I am sure of it. I need merely reach Clydon, and my woes are sure to be ended.”
“I wish I were as confident of that as you are,” Jhone replied.
“You worry too much. You have been ’me’ countless times. Never have you been discovered. You know how easy it is. If you can fool even Father—”
“He was always blurry with drink, Mili, whenever I did try it.”
“Even so, he was always the ultimate test. No one else knows us as well.”
“True,” Jhone was forced to agree.
Milisant smiled now, to add to Jhone’s confidence. “We both know you can do this. And this is the only way that will give me the time I need ere I am searched for. ’Tis all up to you, Jhone. Two days, longer if you can. That should be enough time for me to get to Clydon, even on foot, and then from there to Dunburh, as well as give me time to do any convincing that needs doing. As long as Lord Guy and Wulfric do not know I am gone, then no one will be searching for me. You can do this, I know you can.”
“’Twould seem I must,” Jhone said, sighing again. “Then let us be quick about it, ere the sun is fully risen. ’Tis fortunate I woke so early this morn. The bailey is not full active yet, nor the hall below.”
Milisant nodded, tying off her last cross garter. It was good to be in her own clothes again, rather than Jhone’s borrowed bliauts. She felt almost free of the shackles that had been placed on her with Wulfric’s coming to collect her … but she was too clean.
So while Jhone went to fetch two men to carry the trunk down to the stable, Milisant began looking about the room for dirt to smear on her, and was soon cursing the castle maids for keeping the room so spotless—until she noticed the window. Because the glass was murky to begin with, letting in light but not offering a clear view, it was overlooked as a gathering place for dust and a buildup of smoke soot, which was perfect for her needs.
Milisant had placed herself in the trunk along with the few items she was taking with her: her bow and one change of clothes. So she was hidden with the lid closed long before she heard Jhone’s loud chatter outside the chamber, which warned of her approach.
There had been no nervousness—until then. She might have discussed this escape fully with Jhone, might have covered all aspects and possibilities of it, yet she knew she would not be safe until she was actually behind Clydon’s high walls. And escaping Shefford was still her biggest obstacle, at least until she was out in the countryside—on foot. But one worry at a time.
She found herself holding her breath more than once on that long, jostling trek to the stable. The trunk was nearly dropped once, causing her heart to leap into her throat. Jhone should have clouted the carriers. Milisant would have. She wasn’t that heavy.
But the nervousness didn’t lessen any, even after the trunk was finally set down in the stable, nor would it until she was finally out of Shefford. There were still too many mishaps that could occur within the castle. And she couldn’t even get out of the trunk until Jhone let her know it was safe to do so, which hadn’t occurred yet.
Instead of the signal she was waiting for, she heard Jhone tell one of the servants she had fetched, “Find Henry for me. He is one of the lads who accompanied us here from Dunburh. He is easy to recognize, filthy as he keeps himself. He should be about the bailey somewhere, since he tends our horses. I had hoped to find him here …”
Milisant couldn’t imagine what Jhone was talking about, since no Henry had traveled with them to Shefford. And it was still a while more before she could ask, with the four guards who had escorted Jhone to the stable still milling about, too near for her to get out of the trunk yet.
But as had been their habit, when Jhone showed no sign of leaving the
stable soon, they dispersed a bit, two moving to the entrance to watch the doings in the bailey, one visiting a favored mount on the other end of the stable. The last, Jhone asked to fetch her a bucket, her own skirts hiding the bucket that was near to Stomper’s stall.
At last, though, she kicked the trunk, the signal that it was safe for Milisant to get out of it unobserved, and she did that right quickly. She dashed into Stomper’s stall to hide behind the planks there, in case one of the guards wandered near again. It allowed her to speak with her sister, for a few minutes at least.
“That was easy enough,” she told Jhone. She wasn’t going to mention how nervous she’d been. “Do you return to the keep now and take those shadows with you, I will be able to watch the gates—”
“Wait, I have thought of a better way. I just wish I had thought of it sooner.”
“What? And who is this Henry you sent for?”
Jhone grinned. “You, of course. Not that the servant will find you, but the guards now know I am looking for you, so when I find you, they will think naught of it.”
“To what end?”
“To getting you out of here on a horse.”
“That would be wonderful, but we already agreed I cannot ride Stomper out of here or I will surely be stopped. He is not exactly an average-looking horse.”
“Aye, but you are so used to riding no other mount that you did not consider another mount. Think you. If I was to send a message to Father, I would not send the messenger on foot, would I?”
Milisant began to smile and ended beaming. “Nay, of course you would not. But how will you find me when I am in here, yet the guards know Henry is not in here?”
“I will leave with them, yet pause just outside. If you can be quick about it, leave the stable through the back and come around to hail me. You can say you were told to find me. I will then tell you what I want, and we will get you a mount. I will also likely have to explain to the gate guards, to make sure you have no problems with them.”
Milisant nodded. It could work very well, better than her own plan to try and blend with some other group leaving, especially since no group might be leaving that day, and she would have been forced in the end to try it alone.
“Let us do it then.”
They did, and it did work perfectly. “Milisant’s” escort didn’t question Henry’s presence, and she was soon mounted and following Jhone to the gate. There was a moment there of anxiety, since the gate guards took their jobs seriously and questioned everyone, coming and going.
After Jhone had explained Henry’s duty, one guard questioned, “Will your father not be insulted by this filthy wretch?”
Jhone chuckled. “My father knows Henry well and his uncleanly habits. He was raised in our stables. Father would be more surprised to see the lad with a clean face, might not even recognize him.”
Milisant made an appropriate mumbled complaint, which had the guards laughing at her—him. It worked, though. They waved her through. Jhone, bless her, had saved her a great deal of time with the change in plans. She was out of Shefford. Now she just had to deal with being alone in the country on the way to Clydon.
Thirty-three
The storm, thankfully, had traveled on to other regions, though the weather was still cold enough to freeze small bodies of water. The sun had made a few appearances, enough to melt the solid blanket of snow the storm had left behind, but there were still large patches of it remaining that were nigh blinding when the sun did appear.
Milisant had to shield her eyes often from the glare that morning. She followed the road toward Dunburh until she was beyond sight of Shefford. She then turned south to Clydon—at least, she thought Clydon was south. She had never actually been there, had only heard Roland speak of the location of his home a few times.
She had been loath to mention that to Jhone, though, that she didn’t know exactly where it was. That would only have worried her sister further. And she felt no qualms about asking directions of whomever she came across, so she didn’t doubt she would find it.
She was looking forward to seeing Roland again. She had missed the close friendship she had shared with him, and their many talks at Fulbray. She didn’t consider that he might not be home at Clydon just now.
That would really put a serious dent in her plans, if he was not there when she arrived, especially when she had so little time to work with. She could speak with his parents, of course. Roland had never had aught but good things to say of them, and she had met Lord Ranulf that one time, and found him to be much like Roland, so she would not be too hesitant to speak with him instead, or his wife, the Lady Reina, for that matter. But that would certainly not be as easy as discussing her plans with Roland, and yet that, too, wasn’t going to be that easy.
She had imagined many times what she would say to him, once she had made the decision to marry him. Never once, though, had she come up with the exact words that would be perfect. It was simply not something a lady did, making the proposal of marriage. That was usually left to the parents or guardians, or the lord interested in marriage. The bride-to-be was never asked for an opinion.
It should be otherwise. She wished it were otherwise. Yet another reason to rail against the body she’d been born into. However, Milisant was going to be the exception to the way it was traditionally done. She was forced to be, due to circumstances. There was no longer any time to have her father make the arrangements instead. She had to do it herself, and then present it to her father for approval.
At least now, after what had happened with the king, she didn’t doubt she would get Nigel’s approval. Ironically, she actually had King John to thank for that.
Clydon was less than a day’s ride from Shefford. She knew that much. And she soon found a road leading south, so she left the woods, knowing that she was more likely to come across others who might give her exact directions if she kept to a well-traveled road.
She was being followed. She had known it since she had left the woods. But she wasn’t worried, assuming the three men to be a Shefford patrol who had spotted her in the woods and thus were doing their job, to make sure she wasn’t poaching or anything else they might have to put a stop to. She expected them to double back the way they had come as soon as she was fully off Shefford lands.
She did get a bit uneasy, though, when they slowly but surely shortened the distance between them. They were not trying to be obvious, which was why she was getting nervous. If they wanted to have words with her, they were close enough now to get her to stop with a shout. They were instead being sneaky.
And that was when she recalled that in escaping one threat against her, the king’s revenge, she was leaving herself open to that other threat—the men who had thrice tried to do her serious harm. If they had not given up, if they had been watching Shefford from afar… Jesu, why hadn’t she once thought of them before she’d plotted her escape? Not that it would have stopped her. John had been the more immediate threat. But she could have been more cautious if she had recalled them sooner.
She had several choices. She could set her horse into a gallop and head back into the woods on either side of the road, to try to lose them. Not the best of choices since she wasn’t familiar with these woods. Or she could stop beside the road on some pretext, to see if they would pass her by and continue on. Nay, she didn’t like that idea either. It would let them get too close if they were indeed who she feared they might be.
There was one more choice. She could turn to confront them now, with drawn bow, which would get them to at least stop and explain themselves—or not. Yet if they were merely a Shefford patrol, they could likely convince her easily of that, find out that she was harmless herself, and go about their business. And if they were the Shefford patrol, they would also pursue her if she suddenly made an attempt to lose them, thinking she had something to fear of them in particular. So that would not let her know, really, who they were.
Either way, she would be better served to confront them, and ho
pe she was being nervous over naught. But she needed to dismount to do so. If it was necessary to use her bow, her feet needed to be solidly planted. She couldn’t take the chance that her horse might shift his weight or otherwise move to ruin her aim, when her aim was her only advantage.
It allowed them to draw closer when she stopped there in the middle of the road. But they did stop as well when she dismounted. She wasn’t prepared, though, for their reaction to her bringing the bow off her shoulder to hand and reaching for an arrow.
They dispersed instantly, and in opposite directions, two galloping off to different sides of the road, and the third charging right toward her. It was a maneuver to confuse, expertly done, likely planned in advance. She couldn’t keep her eye on all three of them if they were circling around her.
She had only moments to decide that the one charging directly at her was the one of immediate import, and only seconds to shout, “Desist and you can live!”
He didn’t. She fired. Notching a second arrow was automatic and nigh instant for her, and she was turning toward the next target before the first hit the ground.
Two more arrows were released in quick succession. Whether she had done any serious damage through their heavy winter clothing was questionable, but she didn’t stay to find out. One was slumped over his horse, the other two men were sprawled unmoving on the ground. She had disabled them for the moment, which was all she had really meant to do, in case they were Shefford men.
But those two who hadn’t moved worried her as she galloped off. She prayed they hadn’t been the Shefford patrol. She prayed that if they were, she hadn’t killed them. She was sick at heart, fretting over it. Trying to convince herself that she had just saved her own life wasn’t easy when she didn’t know that for sure.
Thirty-four
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