by A. L. Tait
Dessert is on its way, which means that I have little time left. The Airl will not allow his daughter to be absent beyond the serving of the last course and will turn the castle upside down to find her.
I need to find Anice first and restore her to the feast, untouched, her reputation unsullied. It is the only way to keep the Lady Cassandra’s wedding on course and keep us from being in the nunnery by tomorrow.
The only place I can think to go is the knot garden, with its walls offering protection from prying eyes for a couple planning a rendezvous – yet close enough should one half of the couple wish to be ‘stumbled’ upon.
I reach the door to the courtyard and skid to a halt, my skirts swirling around me as I reach for the handle.
‘And where might you be going?’
I have no time for Lorimer right now, but I take a deep breath to calm myself before turning to face him. His dour expression tells me that any story I concoct will need to be a good one.
‘It is not seemly for young women to be running through the castle halls after dark,’ Lorimer continues, turning from me. ‘Particularly when everyone else is at table. Come with me now. I must write up your indiscretion in the book.’
I bite my lip to hold back the curses against this uptight busybody, a stickler for the rules when it suits him. Anger will not help me now.
‘Good sire, my Lady Cassandra has sent me to –’ I begin, groping about in my mind for a thread. I catch sight of a wooden bucket, full of wilting pink roses beside the door . . .
‘Gather roses,’ I continue, looking away from the bucket even as he turns back to me.
‘Roses?’ Lorimer says, sniffing at the idea. ‘Right now? In the dark?’
‘Well, er, yes,’ I prevaricate. ‘She wishes to take a rose bath after dinner and . . . well, you know what her whims can be like.’
For once I am grateful for Cassandra’s reputation as a demanding mistress. Lorimer considers my words. ‘And yet there are roses by the door,’ he says, walking over and picking up the bucket. ‘There are petals here enough to fill my lady’s bath.’
He hands the bucket to me and I can do nothing but take it from his gloved hand.
‘I, well, that is to say . . .’ I begin, staring into the bucket at the thorny stems. Tucked right at the bottom, all but buried by green and faded pink, is one tiny white bud.
‘They need to be white,’ I say, as inspiration strikes. ‘These are pink, and my lady has requested white. So, you see, I must go.’
Without giving him a chance to respond, I shove the bucket back at him and run to the door, ignoring his calls to stop. ‘Back in a jiffy,’ I shout, forcing a cheeriness I do not feel, barely pausing to pull the door shut behind me with a bang, before sprinting towards the garden.
As I round the corner to approach the gate, however, my heart sinks.
Someone else is there, bent low, peering through the handhold to the garden inside.
If Reeve could be anywhere else right now, he would go there. Anywhere. He stooped to peek through the handhold again, hoping that the view had changed.
Alas, it had not. He was still observing Brantley and the Lady Anice in a close embrace – which put Reeve in a terrible position. If he was to obey Sir Garrick and ‘fetch the Lady Anice from wherever she is’, he would need to enter the garden, making him a witness to their behaviour – behaviour that would surely rank at the top of a list of things that the Airl would not wish to hear about right now.
But . . . was it his imagination or did the Lady Anice appear to be struggling within Brantley’s embrace? Brantley was holding her closely in his arms, whispering ardently into her ear, one hand on her face. So far, so lover-like.
But when Reeve’s scrutiny moved down towards her feet, a different story emerged.
‘What are you doing?’
Reeve jumped at Maven’s fierce voice in his ear even as relief flooded through him. ‘Am I glad to see you!’ he countered, realising as he spoke how true the words were. ‘She doesn’t want to be there.’
As Reeve spoke, he realised that Maven probably had no idea who or what he was talking about, but she didn’t hesitate.
‘Anice? How can you tell?’
‘Her feet are pointed towards the gate, not towards him,’ Reeve said, earning himself a strange look, but Maven leaned to peep through the gate before straightening up.
‘We have to act fast,’ she said. ‘Brantley’s friends are on their way here, no doubt to “surprise” the couple. If they catch them like this, Anice will have no choice but to accept a betrothal to save her reputation. We need to get her out of there before the others arrive.’
Reeve groaned. ‘We can’t do that without providing him with a witness. He only needs one person to see them embracing to make a betrothal binding. The Airl will be livid with both of us if we give Brantley what he needs to force a marriage.’
‘We won’t give it to him,’ Maven said, and he was cheered by the determined steel in her voice. ‘But we must extricate her. If I get her through the gate, can you take her back to the Great Hall without having to go through the kitchens?’
‘I think so,’ Reeve said. ‘I don’t think she came down that way. Brantley would have, to ensure he was seen, but she is not that stupid. Which means she knows a discreet way back.’
‘I have no comment on her wits,’ Maven said. ‘But good point.’
Reeve put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I don’t understand how you plan to rescue her without him seeing you.’
‘He’ll see me,’ Maven replied with a small smile, ‘but I will not see him.’
With those words, she shrugged off his hand and, reaching through, lifted the latch on the gate, pausing a moment before stepping inside and then pulling the gate behind her.
Reeve glanced warily around him. The inner ward of the courtyard was quiet under a big, fat moon, the light of which picked out a handful of servants going about their business. Torches flickered from sconces dotted around the walls, but they served more as decoration under the full moon than necessary sources of light.
A crash rang out from the stables, followed by a bellow, and Reeve wondered briefly if Kit had followed his advice and sought out Myra when Sully did not appear. Maven had promised a message would be sent, and Reeve hadn’t asked how.
A door opened somewhere further down the covered walkway that ran along the side of the keep walls. Reeve heard the low buzz of voices before the door closed with a sharp click. Pressing himself flat against the garden wall, he peered into the yawning darkness of the walkway but could see nothing. The moonlight did not reach far enough into the recesses to illuminate anyone lurking there.
Reeve could only hope that whatever Maven had planned, she would be able to carry it out soon. It would not do for any of them to be found skulking around the walled garden in the dark.
My mother and my sisters have always said that my face is so blank that the monks could write psalms upon it, and I can only hope that their words, said in barbed jest, are, in fact, true. For success tonight will depend on it.
As the gate latches behind me, I breathe in the night air, taking in the sweet scent of orange blossom and honeysuckle underpinned by the heady perfume of the roses. Then, keeping my pace measured, I glide towards the knot at the centre of the garden, where I can hear Brantley whispering fiercely to Lady Anice, who is struggling to free herself from his grasp.
Inwardly, I curse this horrible man who would hold a girl against her will for his own gain, but, outwardly, I show nothing, strolling as though I have all the time in the world.
In moments, I am upon them, and I do not miss Brantley’s expression of glee. This is what he wants, a witness to his embrace with Lady Anice, someone to support his claim that she is compromised, and, for it to be me, someone totally unconnected to either of them, must look like a Heaven-sent opportunity. I must act quickly to ensure that I am the only one who sees them together, and I suspect that I have only minutes before the agreed t
ime at which his cronies will ‘stumble’ upon them.
‘Ah, Lady Anice,’ I say, ignoring Brantley. ‘I have been searching everywhere. The Airl seeks your company at the top table.’
I hold out my hand towards her, and she reaches for it like a drowning woman. Her copper hair, so artfully arranged with plaits and curls not half an hour before, is a tangled mess, and her fine features are streaked with tears.
But Brantley will not give up that easily.
‘She is busy,’ he crows, trying to clutch Anice closer. ‘You can see that. You are witness to our love.’
I stare only at Anice, willing her to catch on. ‘Come now, my lady. I know the scent of the garden is intoxicating, but duty first.’
The listless Anice gapes at me as Brantley tightens his grip. I pretend not to notice that she is corralled in his embrace; instead, I smile at her as though I have caught her dancing barefoot under the stars – alone.
‘Hello?’ Brantley shouts, waving a hand in my face. ‘I told you she is busy.’
But my presence has revived her, and Anice begins to struggle in earnest. It takes everything within me not to step forward and drag her from his arms and this place, but I cannot. The only way out of this is if she is not seen with him.
And so, I will not see him.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ he says, as Anice kicks out at him, shaking her head from side to side and trying to wrest her body from his grip. ‘This maid may be a dullard, but she has witnessed our love. There’s no point in running now. Not when my friends will join us to celebrate our betrothal any minute. They will back up my claims that you have agreed to my proposal.’
At his words, I see her panic grow as the reality of his plans – and her plight – set in. I know I must act if we are to get away in time.
With his attention on Anice, I begin to ease myself around them until I am standing behind Brantley. Anice can see me and, at my nod of encouragement, continues to struggle, increasing her efforts until they are all but wrestling.
‘Ouch! That hurt, you cow!’
With one huge sideways movement, Anice manages to knock him off balance, and that’s when I step in with a giant shove that topples him. ‘Run, my lady,’ I shout, trying to keep out of his arm’s reach as she picks up her skirts. ‘That’s right. Hurry! Your father awaits!’
I have still not acknowledged Brantley’s presence, or the situation, in words, but I grab at his leg as he tries to roll under Anice’s feet to trip her. He thrusts his foot back at me, catching me on the side of the face. For a moment, the world wobbles and I let go of his leg, backing away and trying to catch my breath.
He is spitting with rage, glowering at me, but does not get up to chase after Anice, who by now has reached the gate. ‘Ha!’ he says. ‘It’s too late anyway. You saw us.’
In response, I walk over to a huge rosebush, so laden with frilly white blooms that its branches droop and the grass below it is strewn with petals. ‘Just what I was looking for,’ I say, managing to sound almost normal, even though my jaw is aching. ‘Lady Cassandra will love these.’
I unsheathe my knife and pull it from my pocket, making sure that Brantley sees the gleam of the blade in the moonlight, feeling a spurt of relief as he backs out of reach. Swiftly, I cut six blooms on long stems from the bush, ignoring the sting of the thorns in my fingertips. Then, as though I am quite alone, albeit with my knife still held aloft, I turn back to the gate, not favouring Brantley with so much as a sideways glance. I walk away from him at the same, steady pace at which I entered, not quite turning my back.
‘Hey!’ he shouts. ‘Hey! Answer me, wench.’
But I will not. If I cannot see him, I cannot hear him and I will not answer him. My aching jaw reminds me that I will have a bruise to explain on the morrow, and that it may be used against me.
But one bruise looks much like another.
As I reach the gate, I slip the knife back into my pocket and call out to Reeve in an undertone. As I expect, he pushes hard against the gate just as I arrive at it, catching me full in the face with a bang as he does so.
‘Gads!’ Reeve says loudly. ‘I’m sorry! I did not realise you were so close. Are you all right?’
Holding my cheek, I look past his concerned face to where Brantley’s posse is emerging from the kitchen door. They slouch towards the garden, elbowing each other in anticipation of Brantley’s plan.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, even louder, as I slide through the narrow gate and watch as the approaching men hesitate. ‘I was just collecting roses in the empty garden and I seem to have walked into the gate.’
Brantley’s friends look at each other, frowning, before turning as one and walking away back to the kitchen, their muttered conversation growing louder with every step.
‘What did you just do?’ Reeve asks me, his brow furrowed.
‘Did the Lady Anice get away?’ I whisper, leaning against the garden wall as my poor, sore head spins. Reeve nods.
‘Did she see you?’ I ask, and he shakes his head.
‘I didn’t think I’d be a welcome sight,’ Reeve admits. ‘So I hid when I saw her coming through the gate.’
I allow myself a small smile. ‘Then we did it. I must go to her now and help fix her appearance so she can return to the feast at once.’
I turn towards the kitchen door.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks. ‘Anice went that way.’ He points into the darkness of the covered walkway.
I wave my roses at him. ‘I need to walk past Lorimer with these,’ I say, not waiting for his response as I stride away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Friday
How Maven had done it, Reeve did not know, but just as the last revellers in the Great Hall were leaning back in their seats, patting their stomachs and loosening their belts, the Lady Anice had slid into her seat beneath her father’s intense and angry gaze, not an errant hair out of place.
Reeve had watched as one of Anice’s companions had leaned across the table, giggling and whispering, only to recoil when Anice spoke to her in low tones. Whatever it was she said, it had the effect of dampening the spirits of the entire table, who had then sat in polite silence for a few more minutes before standing almost as one and filing demurely from the room.
Lady Anice had made a great show of curtseying to her father before mounting the raised platform on which the top table sat and placing a loving goodnight kiss on his red, wrinkled forehead, and a white rose into his hand.
During all of this, Maven had been nowhere to be seen, and Reeve could only imagine she’d gone to place a cool cloth on her face. He still felt bad about the force with which he’d opened the garden gate, and could only hope that she would not be bruised.
Now, having served Sir Garrick his breakfast, Reeve’s glance sought her out. The turnout for breakfast this morning was light, which was unsurprising given that last night’s feast had rolled on well into the early hours once the tables had been pushed back and the fiddler given centre stage.
The Lady Cassandra had excused herself not long after Anice, leaving the Airl and Sir Garrick to their business. Reeve had noticed that both had drunk sparingly as they’d greeted the long line of men who’d taken it in turns to fill the empty seats at their table, airing one grievance or another, or using the cover of the fiddler’s wild melodies for low-voiced conversation.
As the candles had spat and guttered and the fiddler had turned his hand to aching ballads of loss and forgiveness, the group around the Airl had stabilised into a handful of lean, hardened men, and the discussion had become intense and quietly heated.
Reeve had been relieved when, finally, Sir Garrick had turned to him. ‘You may as well go to bed, Reeve,’ he’d said. ‘Tomorrow will be another long day, and I have no need of you here.’
‘I would take the duty of the Squire of the Body, sire,’ Reeve had answered, stifling a yawn but knowing his duty. ‘You will need assistance in Neale’s absence.’
Sir Garrick had
demurred. ‘You have done enough today, Reeve,’ he’d said, and Reeve had blushed at the acknowledgement. ‘I can take my own boots off, but I will need you bright and lively on the morrow.’
Reeve had bowed and backed away, but he’d noticed that, as he did so, the Airl, Sir Garrick and the surrounding men had leaned in close, ignoring those slumped over scattered tables across the Hall.
Now, Reeve stood back in his place behind Sir Garrick, who was picking at the fruit in his trencher with little interest. The Airl, too, was slow to eat, though Reeve suspected he was more alert behind his heavy-lidded eyes than he was letting on. Certainly, he stiffened as a pale-looking Anice entered the hall, her companions trailing behind her, their faces still creased with sleep.
‘You are up early today, my daughter,’ the Airl said as she took her customary seat.
‘I could not sleep,’ Anice answered, not looking at her father.
‘How so?’ said the Airl. ‘Are you troubled?’
Anice raised her eyes to her father, and Reeve saw her swallow before she answered. ‘Not in the least,’ she said, and Reeve thought she was just convincing enough, though anyone looking for it would see the brittleness of her smile.
The Airl merely harumphed before mopping some soft-boiled egg from his plate with a hunk of bread. Fortunately, the Lady Cassandra chose that moment to enter, a bewitching vision in a deep-blue gown, her hair piled up to frame her face.
But it was not her face that made Reeve gasp out loud.
A few paces behind Lady Cassandra, already making for her favoured position along the back wall, Maven kept her head down, but even so Reeve could see the deep purple bruise that bloomed across her jawline. His mouth went dry. Could the accident with the gate be responsible for that?