by June Francis
‘But he might yet be caught!’ she cried, twisting her hands.
He scratched his head and winked at her. ‘A resourceful man, Master Niall. Don’t you be worrying. You get on the boat in the morning and leave the rest to me.’ He nodded sagely, his jowls wobbling.
She eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You will help him, Master Upton?’
‘Now, if I see the man — and I won’t say that I haven’t been making a search of my own — maybe I’ll be helping him out of trouble.’
Constance held out a hand. ‘You are a friend indeed, Master Upton.’
He took her hand and patted it. ‘You take care of yourself, Mistress Constance, and don’t be worrying about anything. It does no good at all. No good at all!’ Then he left her in the garden to gaze unseeingly at the roses, wondering if she would ever see Niall again.
*
Constance stood on the deck of the ship, watching the shores of Ireland recede into the distance. Her eyes reached beyond the huddle of Dublin and the plains — to the hills that lay fold upon fold, some long and of gentle outline, others sharp and conical. Perhaps Niall and his cousin were there, even now? She had no way of knowing. The Earl of Ormonde had come, as Master Upton had predicted, and spoken with her, and she had obeyed Upton’s words. Ormonde had seemed convinced of her sincerity. She could only pray that Niall would continue to elude him. Turning away with tears blurring her vision, she collided into someone.
‘Mistress O’More,’ said a sombre voice, ‘you really must be more careful.’
Constance blinked and rubbed her eyes, hardly able to believe that it was Niall standing in front of her. ‘How ... ?’
He shrugged. ‘Master Upton is a resourceful man.’
‘He said the same about you.’ She gripped the side of the boat firmly as the deck slanted. ‘But, even so ...’
‘Why did you not tell me about your father?’ He looked angry.
‘I thought you might not let me go, and I have to go.’ She had known it would be difficult to tell him, but she wished he would not be so vexed.
‘You consider me such a selfish man? I understand your concern for your father.’ He sighed. ‘Or did you not tell me because you had it in mind to return to England anyway?’
She was silent a moment. ‘I do miss my family at times — and because of the child, I thought I should go home.’
‘Why?’ he said forcibly. ‘Do you not wish to be married to me, even for the child’s sake?’
‘I did not say that! Let us forget about the child for now. I am no longer sick in the mornings, and I can almost believe that it was all a mistake.’ She laughed.
‘A mistake! You would wish it to be a mistake?’ He seized hold of her. ‘Do you detest me so much?’
‘Of course not.’ Tears suddenly clogged her throat, and she had to swallow. ‘Let’s forget about it now. I can think only about my father. I might never see him again,’ she whispered unsteadily. She clutched at his surcote as the deck tilted again. It was rather large, and of a sober hue. Master Upton’s, she presumed.
Suddenly the anger died in his face and he wrapped his arms round her and pressed her head against his shoulder. ‘You are imagining the worst again! You thought that I would be captured — killed — yet I’m here.’ She sniffed to stem her tears. ‘Have faith,’ continued Niall. ‘Together we will save your father. As you once suggested asking Ormonde for a boon — Dermot’s freedom — might it not be possible that King Richard could grant you a boon? You have his ring — a life for a life?’ He hugged her to him. ‘It’s worth a try.’
She lifted her head, and smiled. ‘Of course it is,’ she said cheerfully. Strangely, she was comforted by his words, even though she remembered that he had not had much faith in the idea of a boon where Dermot’s freedom had been concerned. But she was soothed by his just being with her. For a while she would pretend that theirs was an ordinary marriage, and forget what Sil and Brigid had said. She stretched up and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you, Niall. I feel better now.’
‘Good.’ He smiled, and his finger traced a path down her cheek where a tear had fallen. Then he turned to her, and they stood side by side looking towards Ireland. ‘What happened to Dermot?’ she asked suddenly. Niall grinned. ‘On another boat that will take him down the coast and hence home. And Ormonde has his horse back, so perhaps he will let the matter drop when he doesn’t find us.’
‘I hope so.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘Brigid is going into a convent. Your brother thinks it best for her.’
He nodded. ‘I thought Dougal might persuade her. The nuns might calm her, and good deeds will help her to forget.’
‘I hope so,’ murmured Constance, glad that he did not seem concerned about Brigid. He nodded, and they were both silent as they watched the coast of Ireland until it vanished from their sight.
*
Constance could not help a rush of emotion when she saw the shores of Liverpool, with the beacon plainly visible on Everton hill. She had hopes of finding Robin and Kathleen at his father’s house in Dale Street, only a short distance from the market place near the castle.
Robin opened the door to them, and she did not know whether to laugh or to scold him. He spoke first in an incredulous voice mixed with delight and trepidation. ‘Sweet Jesu! I hoped, but I never believed, that you would get here, Con. Kathleen said that she thought you and O’More,’ he cast a wary eye in Niall’s direction, ‘might make a match of it, but I couldn’t quite believe it.’
‘Then you can believe it now, Master Milburn,’ said Niall drily. ‘Constance and I are wed — which is more than can be said for you and Kathleen, I suppose.’
Robin grinned. ‘Well, you’d be wrong there. We were wed as soon as Mother was told what was happening and how far we’d travelled alone.’
Constance laughed at the look on Niall’s face. ‘I told you that Robin was a gentleman — and he would deal with Kathleen properly!’
Niall grunted before giving Robin his hand. ‘Shall we be friends, Master Milburn, for it seems that we are kin?’ They shook hands. ‘Now where’s that sister of mine?’
‘I’m here,’ said a quiet joyous voice, and Kathleen pushed her way past her husband and threw herself into Niall’s arms. ‘Oh, ’tis so good to see you both! And you have caught us just in time, because we are on our way to London.’
Immediately the atmosphere changed, and they all became serious. ‘Tell me,’ demanded Constance, ‘have you more news of my father?’
Robin sighed heavily. ‘Only that he is being kept in prison, kicking his heels, because he won’t recant when Sir Richard Stury and the others have done so — with the threat of the foulest death hanging over them if they break their oath.’
Constance sighed with relief. ‘At least he’s still alive — and Niall and I have a plan for his release.’ She began to tell the others about it, and it was with some hope that they all set out for London later that morning.
*
London Bridge was crowded with wagons and carts, walkers and riders, so that it was slow work making their way across to Southwark.
Niall’s eyes idly scanned the crowds; he had never seen so many people, even in Dublin. Suddenly his gaze fixed as he thought he recognised a figure in the throng. He glanced at his wife and saw her weariness, then turned to Robin and murmured a name in his ear. Immediately Robin looked up, and followed his eyes. For a moment he was silent, and then he said, ‘Ay,’ softly.
‘Constance!’ called Niall quietly.
She broke off her conversation with Kathleen. ‘What is it?’ Immediately she sensed the suppressed excitement within him.
‘I think I have seen someone we know, who might make our case with the king. You’ll make Robin’s and my excuses to Master and Mistress Wantsum?’ He covered her hand with his.
‘Who?’ Her eyes were curious.
‘Later!’ He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them, before riding back with Robin the way they had come.
‘Well, w
ho can it be?’ said Kathleen with a frown. ‘I hope Niall will not get Robin embroiled in one of his escapades!’
‘It was you who once said that with Niall around, life is never dull,’ stated Constance absently, her eyes following Niall’s back. ‘I think Robin is about to find out that that is true. Myself, I have known it for a long time! Come, Kathleen, let us go and make their excuses to cousin Beatrice and my stepmother, and pray that they won’t be long.’
*
‘Love, I never expected to see you so soon.’ Philippa Milburn held out her arms to Constance as she entered the large, comfortably furnished hall. ‘But I am so pleased that you are here.’ The two women who loved Guy Milburn most in the world hugged each other and burst into tears. They were a foil for each other. Constance, dark-haired and olive-complexioned, her stepmother, silver fair, with a skin as delicate as a rose.
‘He is still alive?’ Constance demanded in a trembling voice, as they drew apart.
‘Praise Jesu, yes,’ she replied with a bright smile that did not quite reach her eyes. ‘But the king’s moods are changeable, and he considers your father a traitor.’
‘But Father isn’t a traitor!’ cried Constance. ‘He is the king’s most loyal subject.’
‘I know,’ said Philippa in a soothing voice, leading her over to a settle in front of which played two small boys, dark-haired and blue-eyed images of Constance’s father. ‘It is because the Lollards’ aims were pinned to the doors of St Paul’s, and written in the common tongue. They stressed that to slay one’s enemy in warfare is directly contrary to Jesus’ teachings. And what king doesn’t have his enemies slain?’
‘I understand.’ Constance’s legs suddenly gave way and she sank onto the settle. ‘I think that the sooner Niall and I see the king, the better it will be.’
‘Niall?’ questioned Philippa, her green eyes curious. ‘Niall O’More is an Irishman,’ said Constance, flushing, ‘who has a habit of rescuing people from seemingly impossible situations.’
‘Tell me more,’ demanded Philippa, noting her blushes. ‘He sounds like the answer to a prayer.’ Constance hesitated, and then decided that the time to unburden herself had come, although she did not plan to tell all and shock the woman who, while she had behaved unconventionally in the past, might not look too kindly on Niall because her stepdaughter was involved. But she would have her advice.
‘You love this Niall O’More, don’t you?’ said Philippa after Constance had finished talking.
‘Ay,’ said Constance in a low voice, ‘strange as it may seem in some of the circumstances.’ She gave a reluctant laugh. ‘He believes that we were fated to meet.’
‘Perhaps you were. It would make some sense of your disastrous marriage to Milo.’ Her white forehead knitted. ‘Concerning what this terrible man Sil said about him being Milo’s half-brother, I would suggest that you ask your husband whether it is true.’ She shrugged. ‘It could be that he said it just to upset you — you said yourself that the tale of the abduction was known by Desmond. Possibly this Sil knew of it, too.’
‘I never thought that he might be lying,’ murmured Constance. She squared her shoulders. ‘I will do as you say, although it will not be easy to ask such a thing.’ She smiled at her stepmother and touched her hand. ‘I should not be burdening you with such matters at this time. We shall forget it until Father is with us once more.’
A shadow crossed Philippa’s face, but she only took Constance’s hand in her gentle hold, and said, ‘Of course.’
*
Philippa had been prepared to be polite to Niall for Constance’s sake, although she had concealed extremely well her reaction to parts of her tale. She knew how lusty some men could be! What she was not prepared for was the sheer charm of the man, and his handling of Constance. Immediately she understood how Constance had succumbed to him. Even so, she allowed none of this to show in her face. Her husband, when — if — he was freed, would decide what attitude they would take concerning his daughter’s marriage. But she might speak in his favour, for it was obvious to her that Niall cared for her stepdaughter.
‘Constance said that you had a plan to persuade the king to set my husband free, Master O’More,’ she said gravely, as the three of them sat on the settle. ‘I pray it is one that will work!’
Niall smiled at her, and then flashed a particularly mischievous grin at his wife. ‘I think so. It involves a man who has a taste for extremely long, pointed, shoes.’ Constance’s eyes widened. ‘Brandon?’
‘The very man! He’s here in London, and I know exactly where to find him.’ His hand covered hers and he squeezed her fingers gently. ‘All we have to do is gain access to the king.’
‘That should not be too difficult,’ interpolated Philippa, her spirits lifting. ‘Master Wantsum is a member of the council, so he will be able to arrange it quite easily, I should imagine, especially if you give him the king’s ring to pave the way.’
‘Then it’s as good as done,’ said Niall confidently.
*
‘You understand, Constance and Master O’More,’ murmured Master Wantsum, as they walked side by side along the passage in the lower, ‘that the king can be as obdurate as your father when it comes to one of his subjects deliberately defying him.’ He shot a quick look at the servant who was escorting them to the king’s chamber.
‘We understand,’ said Niall, easing the high collar of the blue houppelande that Constance had persuaded him to wear for the occasion, having informed him that Richard laid great importance on dress. Earlier her eyes had teased him and he had longed to make passionate love to her, but always in his mind was the remembrance that she had wed him only for the child’s sake. There was a kind of loving between them, but his desire had never been given full rein, for he feared wrecking what they already had. He only hoped that it would grow into something more, that would be able to take all the knocks that life inflicted.
‘I shall, perhaps, cry,’ said Constance, disturbing his thoughts. She smoothed the scarlet skirts of the satin gown lent to her by Philippa. ‘Do you think that it would move the king?’
‘It might,’ said Master Wantsum with a small smile. They approached the great oak door.
The servant knocked on the door, and opened it wide at the invitation of a voice within.
Richard sat at a table, writing, and did not look up for several minutes. Then he set the scroll aside and gazed at them from his heavy-lidded eyes. ‘Master Wantsum, Master and Mistress O’More — you may approach.’
Constance thought the servant scowled, but she could spare him no more than a quick look. Surely Niall was right in his assumption?
She went forward with Niall and Master Wantsum, and sank into a billowing curtsy. Richard signalled for them to rise. ‘You saved my life, Mistress O’More, I remember that.’ He turned the ring she had presented to Master Wantsum round the tip of his middle finger. ‘You, Master O’More, killed one of the men who plotted against my life, so I have been informed. But,’ he addressed Constance again, ‘your father is an obstinate man — a traitor and a heretic! I cannot disregard such blatant disobedience. Does he count himself higher than Stury and the others that he still defies me?’
‘I am certain that my father intends no disloyalty to your noble person, my liege,’ said Constance in a quivering voice, and she allowed the tears to fall.
Richard stared at her uneasily, but said nothing. Niall felt his temper rising, not enjoying the experience of letting his wife behave thus in front of this man whose life she had saved. ‘Lord Richard!’ he cried, ‘my wife’s father is as loyal to you as she is, but there is a man in this building who even now plots to kill you, as he did in Ireland!’
‘What’s this?’ Stark terror suddenly gazed out of Richard’s eyes and he clutched at the arms of the chair. ‘Who are you talking about?’
Niall moved swiftly towards the servant, whose hand was already on the door, and seized him by the back of his tunic and spun him round. ‘Master Brand
on, I believe,’ he said cheerfully.
The king let out a roar. Brandon snarled and spat in Niall’s face, struggling furiously. Master Wantsum pulled Constance swiftly back. Suddenly Brandon broke free, and she heard the hiss of Niall’s indrawn breath and saw the blood on his hand. She wrenched herself out of Master Wantsum’s grasp, as Brandon dragged the door open and fled up the passage, with the dagger still clutched in his hand. ‘After him!’ yelled the king.
Niall wiped the blood on the blue houppelande, and took to his heels. Constance ran out of the doorway and would have followed them, had Master Wantsum not seized her arm and dragged her back.
‘Not this time!’ he said firmly. ‘Master O’More stressed that you were to be looked after if anything like this happened.’
Tears sparkled in her eyes. ‘But what if something happens to him? More than it has already? You saw that dagger!’
‘I know.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘But your husband knows that the dagger is there now. Brandon had it hidden inside his tunic before.’ He led her back into the chamber where the king stood, seething with rage over how close he had come to death in one of the most strongly guarded fortresses in the kingdom.
It was not long before Niall appeared, dragging an unconscious Brandon by the hood of his tunic. His eyes were alight with satisfaction. He dumped Brandon in front of the king. ‘An exchange, Lord Richard,’ he cried in ringing tones. ‘Master Milburn for this traitor!’
Richard gazed at Brandon’s limp body, then at Niall. Suddenly he laughed, and held out his hand. ‘Well done, Master O’More! You may tell Master Milburn that my enemy’s life has bought his. But this enemy will die!’ He kicked the man on the floor, and nodded his head several times, a smile on his face.
*
‘So, Master O’More, I owe you my life,’ said Guy Milburn, his bright blue eyes on Niall’s scarred profile. ‘That is what my wife tells me.’
