A large shadow moved over him, blocking the last of the waning light where he knelt. Heart pounding, he fell back, fumbling for the missing dagger.
When he looked up, standing over him, was the very horse he’d sought. It whickered a greeting before dropping its head to take a long drink from the brook.
Was it a figment of his addled brain?
Henry ached down to his weary feet. His head and wounded shoulder throbbed from the movement, yet he had to know if the horse was real. Using a broken limb for a cane, he stood and reached out to touch the animal. The horse twitched, but remained steadfast, drinking as deeply as Henry had just done. He rubbed his hands over the mare’s neck, murmuring words of comfort as much for his sake as the horse’s. He inspected the saddle and found a leather bag tied to the back. Inside were a dry shirt and a small linen pouch that contained roasted corn enough to satiate his hunger and renew his energy for the pursuit to come. It also held an empty silver flask that reeked of ale and a small tin of salve, which had the strong odor of camphor, a good ointment to put on his head wound. The last item in the bag, tied with a strip of wool, was a rolled-up map. The name and location of the Black Swan Tavern was drawn on the parchment with a crude sketch of Henry’s family crest, which was painted on the doors of his carriage. Crossed swords of valor with a war horse in full armor on one side and an eagle clutching arrows on the other painted on a black background with a gold cross in the center representing faith and honor.
Fear warred with anger as the realization seeped into his weary mind. Who hated him so much to plan this attack? He rubbed his thumb over the letters on the parchment. There was something familiar about the scrolling loops of the handwriting, but with his throbbing head, he couldn’t place it. When he remembered, he would know the identity of the person who had hired those murdering cutthroats. He returned it to the bag for safe keeping as proof when the time came.
Its thirst quenched, the horse wandered to a nearby patch of tender grass. Assured that the horse would graze for a while, Henry rinsed and filled the empty flask with water. When he rubbed the grime off the silver, a faint etching appeared on the front. Tilting it to catch the light, he read, “To Lord Henry Stanton for valor on the field of battle.”
Lord Henry Stanton.
Henry had been named after his grandfather. The flask conjured up childhood memories of trips to the hunting lodge. His grandfather had been an elderly man with laughing eyes who often sipped from this same flask to ease his gout. He’d stored it high upon the fireplace mantle after he caught Henry with it.
Henry’s grandfather had passed away six years ago and eighteen months ago the lodge had been burned down with his wife inside leaving nothing left to bury. How had this brigand acquired the flask if not by murder?
Henry walked to the horse and slipped the water-filled flask into the bag, vowing to make sure the murderers told everything they knew about the death of his wife before they died.
By the position of the sun, even with a rested horse, it would take another miracle to track down the kidnappers before evening. Urgency overrode his doubts. He picked up the fallen reins and drew the horses’ head up from grazing.
It took all of his strength to pull himself up onto the saddle. The effort increased the pain until it blurred the ground beneath him. Sweat beaded his brow, but determination to save Sarah overrode his physical misery.
He pointed the mare in the direction he hoped would take them back to the trail of the carriage, and let her pick her way through the thick underbrush. When they broke free onto the dirt road, two evenly spaced grooves of carriage tracks stood out in the waning light. He urged the horse into a gallop, which tortured his aching body and threatened to spill him onto the dirt. At the fork in the road the tracks kept to the right.
He had a vague memory of the tavern keeper at the Black Swan telling his driver, Alfred to keep to the right at the fork in the trail, which led only to Brighton castle. The left fork led to the coast and a small fishing village.
Were Lord Brighton’s captors also accomplices in the kidnapping waiting for the brigands to bring his only heir to the castle as a pawn in their lethal game?
Chapter 3
In her haste to get to Brighton castle to see the child, Evangeline had to go by the abbey to gather herbs and supplies to doctor her father. Fresh herbs would give her, in disguise as Sister Margaret Mary, a reason to appear two days earlier than her regular twice-a-week scheduled visit. The fake heir, going by the name of Richard Greene, the Earl of Evanwood, would have her murdered, too, if he suspected she knew he was an imposter and was plotting his demise.
Every visit allowed her to help determine his and his hireling’s weaknesses. It wouldn’t be long before she knew all of his secrets, then they would pay dearly for their deeds.
Henry and the child would be safe enough at the castle, for the earl would not be so stupid as to threaten them during their visit. Even he dare not harm the king’s favorite son-in-law.
She stopped at the garden on her way and hastily gathered several medicinal herbs, both fresh and dried. Many different herbs hung, curing on the fence. The variety would treat several maladies. She also grew lethal herbs to deal with vermin and would gladly use them on the evil earl, but he made the servants taste all of his food and drink before he consumed it.
She went inside the abbey to gather the other herbs and oils she’d put aside to take with her. Urgency pressed her to hurry.
Why had her husband come? Was the child that stirred the longing inside her indeed her own?
She longed to take her sword in case of trouble, but it was not possible to conceal. Patting her side, she confirmed the dagger hidden within the folds of her nun’s habit and the smaller one concealed within her cross. She would have to hurry to make it to the castle before nightfall.
“Sister! Help me, please.” A frantic voice called from outside. “My baby…he cain’t breathe.”
Evangeline hurried out to see a young peasant running up the dusty path toward her. The girl held a small naked child, not more than two years old. The babe dangled limp as a rag doll and had bluish tinges around his dirt-crusted mouth.
Evangeline ran to meet the girl and grabbed the child. Opening the little boy’s mouth with her thumb, she cleared it of dirt as best she could then held him upside down and slapped his back soundly. Nothing.
“Oh, please God, save this child.” She righted the thin youngster and squeezed him. Air escaped with a gurgling noise. Again she held him upside down and thumped him firmly between the shoulder blades. This time, a small stone flew from his mouth. He gasped and started to wail. The young mother pulled the child into her arms, weeping as she rocked him in her arms.
Relief flowed over Evangeline like an ocean wave crashing against her body, and her legs would no longer hold her. She sank onto the tree stump at the end of the garden. Her hands shook with relief until the anger sat in.
“Why is this child’s mouth filled with dirt?” Indignation scorched her voice into a low gravely whisper.
“My milk dried up over a month ago, and the watery gruel we make from the wild onions and roots don’t set well with him. He’s always hungry.” The mother wept and continued to rock the screaming toddler.
“He needs milk. Have you sought a wet nurse?” Evangeline waited for her extremities to gain strength so she could stand.
“No one will help me for fear they will dry up too.” The young woman drew a ragged breath. “The taxes have left us naught to buy food or milk but even so there be no farmer willing to sell, lest he be punished for stealing from the crown.” Barely into her teens, the maiden had a pale haggard appearance, evidence of a hard life with too little to eat. “Lord Brighton demands our entire harvest for payment. Tis no food left to eat.”
“It was not Lord Brighton who caused this injustice.” Evangeline barely held back the fury that brewed within her to defend her gentle and kind father.
“I knowed that it is the fault o
f the Earl of Evanwood, though if he be gentry my Aunt Essie be the King’s mum.” The girl gave a stone an angry kick. “But only Lord Brighton has the power to stop him, and he’s naught done it.”
According to the rumors, a stranger had appeared two years ago claiming to be her father’s long lost cousin and next of kin. There was a battle within the castle. Afterwards, her father had been locked away, and the “earl” took over. He had demanded outrageous taxes in the name of her father, claiming his kinship. Evangeline knew from her years of studying her family lineage that no such person existed on either side. In fact, because of war and pestilence, her father and mother’s entire bloodline rested solely in her. The King of England would appoint another Lord over Castle Brighton when her father died, unless Evangeline came forth with her husband.
An impossibility. He thinks she’s dead and even if she made herself known, betrayal isn’t something easily overcome in a marriage. A deep ache stirred within her with that thought.
“Our prayers will soon be answered, Sister. The Fox will dispose of the lot of ’em.” The girl shifted the child in her arms.
“Where is your husband?” Evangeline needed to change the subject. Heavy regret weighed her down. For the immediate present, the Fox’s reputation far exceeded her small band’s abilities to fulfill the hope of freedom. Evangeline turned her thoughts to the fretting baby. There was something familiar about his features and his lazy eye.
“I ain’t got no man.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “Is this God’s way of punishing me, Sister, for getting a baby when I weren’t married, even if it weren’t my fault?” She stopped rocking and stared at Evangeline, fear and truth evident in the young girl’s eyes.
“Of course not. God is love. He punishes only the wicked.” She brushed a tear from the child’s gaunt cheek. “It was He who saved this precious life, not I.” She pointed to the bucket she used to water the garden plants. “Wash his hands and face. Make sure you clear his mouth.” She smiled to soften her words. “Stay here until I return.”
Evangeline walked to the crumbling abbey and to her room in the back. She wiggled loose a stone in the wall and pulled it out. She reached inside and tugged out a small leather pouch of coins. She removed some of the few remaining, enough to purchase a milk goat. She returned the bag to its hiding place and replaced the stone to cover the hole. With her shoe, she swept away the loose dirt and pebbles made by its replacement. On her way out she took her last bit of bread and cheese and wrapped them in a cloth.
The girl remained where Evangeline had left her, rocking her sleeping child, who now had a clean face and hands.
“Here.” Her throat ached from so much talking. “This should be enough to buy a milk goat. I know a farmer that might be willing to sell you one.” She offered the coins to the girl, but the young woman stepped back and shook her head.
“No good will come of me having coins. Da will take them and beat me for holding out. He has a powerful thirst for ale.” Sad eyes looked at the coins with despair. “He boasts of the fine goat herd he’d buy with the reward for catching the Fox, but not he nor any peasant would do such a thing, even for so great a sum as forty gold crowns.”
She’d known there was a bounty for the Fox, but it had doubled since last she’d heard. Hunger could cause even an honest man to betray his dearest friend if the price was right. Had one of the gang also decided the reward was a better choice than hanging if they were caught?
“What are your names?” Evangeline waited as the girl shifted her stance again. Even so small a child would soon weigh heavy in her thin arms.
“I be Anna and this here is Angus.” Anna gently touched her child’s face.
“Well then, Anna, I find I have need of a milk goat.” Guilt for stealing these coins from a drunken, potbellied tax collector, scratched at her conscience only for a moment. “Come here every morning to milk the animal and feed the babe.” Evangeline dropped the coins into a small cloth pouch tied at her waist.
“Truly?” The girl’s eyes lit with excitement and then narrowed with suspicion. “Why would you do that for me and my babe? I can’t pay you back.” She raised her head with pride. “I cain’t take charity from the church.”
“The milk is part of your wages for tending the animal and help with the garden. I know little about goats.” Evangeline watched hope again light the young woman’s countenance.
“I knowed all about them. We used to have over fifty before the earl’s marauders stole ’em and broke my da’s leg for standing up against them. He turned to drink to ease the pain, but it’s been over a year, and his leg still hurts him fierce.” Pride stiffened her stance. “He was once a good herdsman…and father.”
“I’m sorry for all you’ve lost.” Evangeline handed her the bread and cheese. “This is for you to eat now. You need strength to carry your son. Once you’ve finished eating every bite”— she smiled as the girl hesitated only a moment before accepting the food—“I want you to go to the back door of the Black Swan.” She waited until the girl devoured the food and drank her fill of water.
Anna shook the crumbs off the cloth and handed it to Evangeline.
“Keep it and use it to wrap Angus.” She smiled as the girl fashioned the cloth into a nappy and tied the corners on each side to keep it in place.
Evangeline retrieved a coin from her purse and pressed it into the girl’s palm. “Tell the mistress at the Black Swan that I sent you. She will sell you enough fresh milk to satisfy Angus’s hunger for today.” The girl frowned, but Evangeline continued. “This is payment for your promise to help me. Say nothing to anyone about our arrangement.”
The young mother nodded and tucked the coin inside the top of the nappy. “It be safe in there. No man would chance a look inside.” She grinned and hugged her son.
“Off with you. With brigands and the earl’s guards wandering about, you don’t want to be late getting home.” Evangeline smiled at the happiness that lit the girl’s blue eyes, giving a glimpse of the beauty that lay hidden behind the despair. “I’m needed at the castle and may not return before you come tomorrow. I trust you to keep your promise.”
The girl nodded and hurried down the path with more enthusiasm than Evangeline felt.
Helen would care for the poor thing and her babe, but she would be far less sympathetic towards Evangeline for making such a commitment when the Fox could be needed at a moment’s notice. The arrangement would have to work out, for she couldn’t let the girl and her child suffer.
The Fox needed to break the strangle hold of the impostor who called himself the Earl of Evanwood before the whole land rose up to hang her father for the terrible deeds he had been powerless to stop.
Tugging her nun’s habit straight and dusting off the dirt, she picked up her basket of herbs.
First, she had a goat to purchase. She’d received cheese as an offering to the church from a farmer who still had livestock not confiscated by Evanwood’s hirelings. He’d remained isolated from the marauders by destroying all evidence of the road that once led to his place. The farm was hidden in a lush valley not far from the abbey. The walk took her only a little out of her way.
Her short detour was well worth it. By the generosity of the man’s devout wife, Evangeline was able to buy two milking goats and a few chickens with her small sum. The farmer had a son old enough to deliver the animals and build a pen to make sure the creatures were safe and secure at the abbey. There was an old shed in the woods that would make a good hen house, with a little work. The area was heavily wooded to keep them safely out of sight of the earl’s henchmen and tax collector.
Arrangements were made and the purchase complete, leaving her little purse empty but her soul satisfied that she had done the right thing. At her refusal to stay for a meal, the farmer’s wife insisted she take cheese, bread, and bit of smoked sausage to eat along the way.
The urgency to get to the castle quickened Evangeline’s pace. She needed to reach the keep before dark.
“Dearest Lord, I need wisdom and enough money to accomplish these lofty goals.” A whispered, Amen, and her burden seemed suddenly lighter.
A glint on the badly rutted road caught her eye. She stopped and picked up a gold crown. It was the fastest answer to prayer she’d ever received. She spotted another coin, then another. Would there be more? Hope filled her heart, as she gathered more coins scattered about, as if flung aside. Who would do such a thing? Maybe another of the earl’s drunken tax collectors?
Her pouch was soon bursting at the brim with gold enough to help many families. How was it possible that the coins had been untouched? More than likely, travelers and villagers had been warned that the castle guards were hunting for the Fox today and would stop anyone they found on the road. Questioning by the guards usually ended in being falsely accused of one infraction or another and fined, arrested, or killed. For whatever reason the gold remained on the road, she was truly grateful.
Overhead, a hawk squawked from the dense forest canopy. Fear made her clutch the newly acquired fortune tightly to her chest. She would need to keep these funds safe from the imposter’s hired henchmen, who would not think twice about robbing a nun.
Helen told her that the death of the abbey’s elderly priest, Father Andrew, had been caused by those same henchmen when he tried to stop them from stealing from a farmer.
Evangeline would need a better way of hiding this blessing.
The Secret Life of Lady Evangeline Page 3