by Nicole Locke
Once she had attempted to explain to Evrart about her worthlessness, but he’d brushed her off. No more.
Firming her resolve, she said. ‘Point me in the direction of the fields.’
Peronelle pointed at the opposite wall. Margery didn’t dare ask for anything else.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Margery found Evrart easily enough. Following Peronelle’s pointed direction, there weren’t many turns until she came to an open field she hadn’t explored before.
Evrart wasn’t the only man in the field. Many men were rolling rocks or conversing. But he was the only one she noticed.
His back to her, he was unhinging some oxen, lifting the tackle and putting it in a cart beside him. It being a warm day, he wore only his breeches and heavy boots. His tunic was off, and his skin gleamed with sweat and dirt. He was dressed as most of the men were dressed, but Evrart stood out from all of them.
It wasn’t his size; it was him.
It was the ease with which he handled the beasts and the apparatus.
As much as she’d admired him in the lists...as many hours as she’d watched him wield a sword or some other weaponry...it hadn’t been him. She realised why now. It was the fact there had been walls around him, that there had been men who worked against, not together, with him.
He belonged out here, with the elements and the ease of camaraderie.
Which made what Ian had done to him all the worse. All those battles he’d fought, the scars on his legs... All the dead bodies he’d had to drag around and this man was still good. Useful. Kind.
She didn’t belong here; she didn’t belong to him.
When they’d been at the fortress, she’d known her past separated them. And though his future wasn’t with the Warstones now, it was here, he should be away from her all the same.
She deserved none of this. Not the blue sky, not the friendly faces, not the man who made her mouth go dry with want and her heart hammer with so much love and need.
She deserved nothing!
And he needed to know this.
He needed to know—except the field was saturated with mud, swathes of water, and Evrart was on the other side.
No more being a coward.
A step...two.
Her foot got stuck and she pulled it out. She stumbled and her other foot stuck. Still too much space between them.
Two more steps... Enough!
‘I made my sister lie with neighbours so I could have blankets thick enough for winter,’ she called out. ‘Me, not her—and not my sister Mabile either. No, by the time the taxes were paid and there was some food on the table there was just enough coin to purchase the wool for blankets that went to me.’
Evrart stopped wrapping the rope that hung from his hands and around his shoulders. Stopped midway. So did everyone else around them.
She stumbled a few more steps towards him and lost a shoe.
‘I don’t care if you make the argument that I was only eight,’ she said. ‘I did much worse before then. The first terrible thing I ever did was be born. I broke my mother and became a burden to my siblings, who could barely feed themselves.’
There was whispering off to her left, and Evrart’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t let go of the rope and he didn’t move towards her either. It was as she deserved.
‘You know they had to stop their work to find me? I’d be stolen away by other families, and my mother’s breasts would be leaking, but what did I care? Some other mother had me at her breast. I was fed, comforted. But my mother suffered. My brother Isnard told me it used to send her into laments. It only became worse, and then she lost her reason because of me. My brothers and sisters lost their father, too, because he left soon afterwards.’
She knew these things, she’d lived them, but her voice, the very breath she panted through her lungs, didn’t sound or feel like hers.
Some of the men were dropping stones around her and leaving the field. Off to the side she saw others ushering their young ones away. Evrart stood still, his arms in the same position.
She stepped again and her gown dragged against the puddles. She fisted it tighter. If she’d just listened to reason and protected herself she could have avoided the villagers’ stares, avoided Evrart knowing how terrible she was. But there was no hope for it; she’d do it now and be done. Tell him everything and be on her way.
She took a wider step and lost her other shoe.
‘At some point even all the sacrifices my sister made to save me weren’t enough. Bied had to leave the village to work elsewhere. One village after another...she never could stay in one place. But it didn’t matter. She had to go farther and farther away, and we...we had to wait for the coin to borrow oxen. And the waiting...’.
The furrows in the field allowed her to walk on mounds and she was almost to him now. Close enough that she could see his expression, but she still didn’t know what he thought of her screeching like this.
‘I thought you were poor. I thought when Ian stole you that it was a way for you and your family to survive.’ She heaved in an uneven breath. ‘When I was stolen...when I agreed to earn coin for my body...it was to survive. You...you should never have left here. This place is good—like you. I don’t belong. Why did you bring me here?’
Stumbling a few more steps, she righted herself. And then he was right there. Unmoving. Uncaring...?
This. This was what had been bothering his Margery. Her past. Evrart had vowed to protect her in the future, and yet he hadn’t known it was her past that was affecting them now. Why had he brought her here? Because he was desperate to share his life with her.
But...
That meant sharing their lives, and he’d been quiet for far too long. All he knew was this vocal woman had gone quiet, too. And that couldn’t be borne. He was a fool not to have realised it earlier.
‘What else?’
Out of breath, she huffed. ‘What?’
He tossed the rope which was around his shoulders into the cart. It made an awful clang and he waited until it ceased. ‘Tell me the rest; all of it.’
Blinking, she swallowed hard. ‘Bied was gone and our family was still struggling. My brothers worked until their fingers bled. I was harvesting one day when strangers rode through. They were always riding past the fields, and I hardly took any notice, but I was foolish and tired and I used the road to return home. It had been raining and the fields were bogs, the road was easier—but it was also easier for Josse to spot me...or rather the back of my head. I wore a head covering, but it was the end of the day and some of my hair had escaped. He slowed, and I could feel his eyes upon me, but I refused to look up. I knew what would happen if I looked up. Then he pulled his horse right in front of me, so I stopped. He asked for directions, and I gave them to him.’
He hadn’t wanted directions. She knew that now. But maybe a part of her had then, too.
‘You looked up,’ Evrart said.
She nodded. ‘I did. And then I thought I could go on my way. But he dismounted, and immediately asked for my family.’
This Josse of Tavel might have had means beyond Margery’s family, but Evrart had never heard of him so he had to be of low rank and wealth.
‘You went with him.’
‘He went to my mother first, and when she was incoherent he went to Servet and Isnard. Josse had coin on him. A whole purse of it. They—’
‘Your brothers sold you.’
‘I agreed to it. He had no wife, only children grown. He was much older, and indulgent in ways that I benefited from. It wasn’t...terrible. But then Josse lost me at a game of knucklebones! I was not upset. I had no feelings for the man. I didn’t, however, know Roul.’
‘I do.’ Evrart could give her this secret...tell her this much. ‘Ian visited him many times. I travelled with him on some of those occasions.’
&nb
sp; ‘I never saw you,’ she said. ‘I hid when people came. I was hiding that night. It was long past time for bed... I thought it was safe. Why didn’t he kill me?’
Evrart wanted to sweep Margery into his arms and never have the world touch her again, but he knew better.
Part of him wanted to do harm to both Josse and Roul for taking advantage of a situation they could have helped in other ways.
All of him was proud and in awe of how brave Margery had been.
‘He should have killed me,’ she said. ‘I was no more or less than the woman in the corridor he did kill.’
Evrart hadn’t protected her from any of this, and from the look of her hands, clenched in front of her, from her trailing shoes and dragged gown, he shouldn’t have tried. They needed to share their burdens.
‘I interrupted his...scheme,’ she said. ‘He had a dagger at her throat, and in her hand was a scroll. I don’t know if I heard any words. All I saw was the knife.’
‘You told him this?’ he said. And at her nod, he added, ‘He believed you?’
‘I don’t think he believed me. He just...had this interested expression. I thought he was like other men and wanted to lie with me, but he didn’t. I should be dead. Not here. Not harming your family, or annoying your sister, or disappointing your mother.’
She’d used that word. Interested. Something unlocked inside his chest. The rest of her words could wait. This wasn’t about his mother or sister. It was about them. She was his family, and he needed to let her know it. By talking.
‘I am grateful that you stand before me.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m a mistress. I’ve done...seen...terrible things. I didn’t even try to help that woman. I can’t be with someone like you.’
He rolled his shoulders, winced. ‘I could have told you that.’
On a gasp, she turned, but her gown got stuck in the mud. Good, because he didn’t want her going anywhere.
‘Where are you doing?’ he asked.
She pulled on the hem to release it. Mud splattered her cheeks. Her hands were coated and misshapen with drying mud.
‘My leaving is the best course now.’ She freed one side of her gown, worked on the other.
‘You think after all this time I am worthy of you?’ he said.
She stopped pulling, but didn’t raise her head.
‘I told you I carried the steward out of the hall, glad that his death was fresh,’ he said. ‘Why should I care if a death was fresh?’
She didn’t move, and he admired the mud in her hair, across her cheek. He anticipated the moment when he’d be able to brush those flakes away with his touch and his kisses...if she’d allow it.
‘I cared because early in my training with Ian I had to kill a man. I was sick afterwards, and the Warstone wasn’t pleased with my weakness.’
Margery slowly straightened. Her cheeks were whiter than usual, but her eyes stayed with him.
‘We had to leave, and he had me carry that man on my back. Do you know what happens to a body an hour or two after death? His waste ran down my backside and over my legs. Ian forced me to carry him further yet.’
‘Don’t—’ she said, blinking rapidly, her eyes sheened with emotions. ‘You don’t have to say any more.’
‘These are my words to you. That’s how I’ve been with you: quiet. I thought I was protecting you, but I wasn’t. You’ve been wanting to tell me these things and I’ve been denying you. Now you think I’m some person who is above you in every way, but I’m not.’
He took a breath, scanned the field, grateful that the villagers had left to give them time.
‘I am certain I ended the life of innocent men, Margery. I never harmed women or children, and I tried to discern or choose my deeds, but in the end I truly couldn’t. You think you have no worth. But you’re standing before a man who has murdered people.’
Her eyes were wide, and the tears that had pooled slid down, but she stayed quiet.
‘You’re making me talk,’ he said. ‘You do know how difficult this is for me?’
She nodded, the tears dropping hard.
‘Your tears are more difficult to take,’ he said.
Giving a shaky smile, she said, ‘Sorry.’
‘We were both stolen from our lives, Margery. Both of us because of what we look like. You for your beauty. Me because of this great brute of body.’
‘Don’t... I like... You’re beautiful, too,’ she said.
‘You’re a mess,’ he said.
She plucked at her skirts, waved her hand around her hair. ‘I know, but so are you.’
He looked at his chest, his breeches, and wanted to laugh.
She raised her hands to her face, looked at her hands and grimaced. ‘What is this place?’
Were they ready to talk of all his mistakes when it came to her? The villagers had given them privacy, and Margery stood in front of him still, though he had told her some of his past. So he guessed they were.
‘It’s my family’s land.’
‘This is where you’ve been going every day?’
He kicked the dirt. ‘It’s been too long dormant, and needs to be made good again.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because it’s a wreck.’ He inhaled. ‘Because I felt worthless for not protecting you from this.’
‘Protecting me from what? Working this land? But I want to. I don’t want to be protected any more. Not from my own actions or from you. From anyone.’
‘I understand that now. You don’t do well if secrets are withheld from you.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What secrets are being withheld from me?’
Rolling his shoulders, he jerked his neck until it cracked, watched her eyes ease from suspicion to amusement.
‘A lifetime’s worth,’ he said. ‘And they not only have to do with me and my past, but Ian’s as well. They have to do with what Louve was searching for in that room. And what Ian’s parents are after. I don’t know it all, or how much of it can even be true, but I’ll tell you.’
‘Is it along the same matters that my sister knows?’
‘Most likely,’ he said. ‘It’s about legends and treasures.’
‘Oh...’ She laughed low. ‘So nothing important, then?’
‘Not to us,’ he said, and realised it was true.
None of it had to affect them. Louve wanted him to return often, to ensure the fortress stayed out of Warstone hands, but other than that they were free. And he was free to tell her. To make it better between them.
‘Ian...his parents...all the Warstones are looking for the Jewell of Kings.’
Her quick smile just as quickly dropped. ‘Your expression! You mean this in truth?’ At his nod, she added, ‘But it’s a legend...a story for children. No one can truly believe that whoever has the gem can make kings, can rule Scotland.’
‘Not only do they believe it, they’re in pursuit of it. It’s an ugly green gem hidden in a dagger. Ian knows where the gem is, and for a time the Warstones had the dagger, but it was lost again. Ian believed it was switched by some thief. Someone no one can determine. This fact alone consumed Ian in the last days of his life. That’s what he sent me out to get that last trip away from you. Reynold, Balthus, Ian, their parents, the King of England...all are after that dagger.’
‘Who has the gem?’
‘Some clan from Scotland. I think Ian, or at least his parents, had been attempting to steal it, but mostly it’s the dagger. They need both. One is no good without the other.’
‘You knew all this?’
‘I knew bits, and in the last days Ian divulged more...accidentally.’
Because his reason had been slipping. ‘His schemes and games were all for this? That scroll with a message? That woman he killed? All was so they could have an ugly gem?’
‘There’s more—and this part I am uncertain of, but I think your sister and Louve are involved in finding a parchment,’ he said. ‘Some further information that when combined with the gem and dagger would lead to treasure.’
‘And the Warstones and the King of England want this treasure?’
‘Very much. They have wealth, Margery, but if the rumours are true that kind of treasure could break countries.’
‘And kill many people along the way,’ she said. ‘This is why my sister didn’t want me to know. Everyone seems to be protecting someone.’ She looked away, nodded to herself. ‘It hardly seems as if it can be true, but it makes a certain sense now. Ian did like his messages...’
‘He did.’
‘I should let you know I’ve done some things to protect you, too,’ she said.
He blinked.
‘While Louve searched the rooms, I begged Biedeluue to keep an eye on you.’
‘You assigned your sister to protect me?’
‘She’s fierce.’
He grinned. ‘It appears to be a family trait.’
‘I thought it prudent to protect you, given you’re such a terrible swordsman.’
‘Margery,’ he growled, ‘I’m a very good swordsman. Very good.’
‘Doesn’t mean you won’t get defended by me or protected. You’re worth defending, Evrart, and...’ Margery thought, and then remembered. ‘And I’m to keep you safe! And if this pursuit of this legend, or this gem, or treasure affects us, then I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll protect you and that’s all you need to know. Just no secrets.’
He shook his head. ‘No secrets. And we’ll share more of these words tonight in bed, when it’s quiet.’
‘Sounds...perfect.’
It did, and he marvelled at what fate had brought them. But maybe it wasn’t fate. Ian’s unusual words kept ringing in his ears.
‘I think, after all this, that I know why Ian didn’t kill you,’ he said. ‘Ian liked his games, and it’s probably not the truth, but I’m going to believe it to be so.’
