Nicola shook her head. "Gilliam, Hugh is no fool. Did you not say he wished to avoid your brother's animosity? If trying to steal me might not move Lord Rannulf to tears, your death most certainly will. Do you think your brother will let Hugh keep me or Ashby when I say what he has done?"
"Why would you say so?" Gilliam shrugged. "You’re telling his woman that you hate me and wish to escape. Did you not do the same November past when you sought his aid in avoiding marriage to me? Unless you tell our neighbor differently he has no reason to believe you’ve changed in these last months. Indeed, I would expect him to be kind and gentle to you as he works to bind you to him against me. At least, that’s what I would do, where I he." He managed a meager smile.
"You are mad!" Nicola stepped back to stare at him in shock.
"Possibly," he said, his face drawn in worry, "but what I see here is an immediate way to free us of our dilemma. It buys us both house and peace. If Hugh has sent the reeve's daughter, she will offer you a chance to meet with him. De Ocslade will come, thinking to secure your support against me. There is no reason to even cross swords. I need only observe the meeting from hiding. Once I have seen him, my hands will no longer be tied and I can borrow soldiers and attack him as the man who sought to kidnap my wife."
Nicola closed her eyes in defeat. He was right. This lie coupled with her past behavior would bring Hugh racing here, thinking he could finally finish Gilliam. She leaned against him in a terrible fear. "What if you do cross swords, and he kills you?"
He rested his cheek against her head. "You will send to my brothers. They will come, all three, and lay waste to Ocslade in revenge."
Suddenly, his arms closed around her in a bone-crushing embrace. "Jesu, stop me. Tell me you will not do this. I am gambling what I cannot afford to lose."
"How can I?" she said softly. "I want you and Ashby, whole and well. What you plan can give us both our hearts’ desires, but if he hurts you even the slightest bit, I will not wait for your brothers. I will carve him into pieces too small for the crows to eat." It was a vicious snarl.
Gilliam laughed, stepping away from her. "I am counting on it. Now, I will retreat into the church until I see you take the reeve's daughter into the village with you. Run to her. Set your seeds in her brain. Say to her that de Ocslade should come five days hence, as I am expected to be gone from Ashby that day. When you are done, hie yourself home. I will not breathe easily until you are safe in my arms once more."
Nicola turned her back to Gilliam and started toward Ashby's gate, resolved to do as she must. She glanced only once over her shoulder, but her husband was no longer in sight. Ahead of her, Tilda now stood on the drawbridge as the guards called for her to identify herself. The petite commoner tilted her head to the side, her smile a beautiful thing
"It’s just me, Tilda, daughter of Thomas the reeve, come to call on Lady Ashby," she replied. "I have been gone from Ashby for a time, and now I am returned."
"See her, yourself," the man said, pointing toward Ashby's lady.
Tilda turned, her bright expression dimming. Although Nicola stopped within arm's reach of the girl, the gap between them felt like a chasm.
"Colette," the commoner breathed in English. "Oh, but look at you. I am hardly recognizing you." There was sadness and a touch of dismay in her voice. "You are so changed that I fear I’ll have to come to know you all over again."
Nicola stared at this woman before her. Her face was a fine oval, her brows lifting in a gentle arch over luminous brown eyes. Lush, full lips, usually held in a tempting pout now trembled. Without Tilda’s customary sensual mask, every beautiful plane of the girl's face was achingly familiar. Why must it be this woman who betrayed her once again?
Despite Nicola’s pain, memory after memory filled her, some happy, some sad. One stood out and would not be denied. "Oh Tilda, of a sudden I am remembering how I hid you in Ashby's cellar to keep your mother from giving you a beating. She'd caught you with someone, I cannot remember who. I lied for you, saying you had run from home, never to return. After three days in the dark, me feeding you on the sly, you emerged."
Tilda's face resolved into the carefree expression of the girl she'd once been. Her laugh was simple, clean of anything save the fondness they had once shared. "Oh, I cannot believe you thought of that! Do you remember how happy Mama was when she learned I wasn't dead? She forgot all about beating me. I never thanked you for that, Colette." Her mouth twisted into a wry grin, and her eyes gleamed in pleasure. "Thank you for saving me then, and all the other times you spared me what was no doubt deserved punishment."
"It was what I wished to do for you," Ashby's lady replied softly.
So it had always been between them, Nicola having long since formed the habit of shielding Tilda from herself. Silence opened up between them, and she swallowed the tears that filled her throat. "Oh, Tilda, how did we ever arrive at this moment?"
"Things happened," Tilda said in a sad whisper. "I know we cannot go back to repair what we destroyed between us, but mayhap, we can begin anew?" Her expression altered into one of rue. "Colette, I have come to beg your forgiveness for what I have done. These last months have been naught but a horrible mistake."
Nicola hesitated in replying. What if Gilliam was wrong and Tilda had thrown over de Ocslade? She might have come home to heal, not to hurt. The tiniest flicker of hope woke in her. "I can only keep reminding myself that even as you tried to lure me to Hugh, you were warning me against him."
"Do you know he yet believes that those thieves truly took you from me?" Tilda struggled to smile at how she had succeeded in fooling the nobleman. "Oh Colette, this whole mess lies in your lap. Why did you send me to him, knowing he was the way he was and I, who I am?" She looked up to the sky, blinking away tears. "You should have chosen a simpler man to use."
Nicola watched Tilda in silence, stunned at how easily the commoner shifted the blame. Where others sought to ease Nicola's sense of wrongdoing, her erstwhile friend heaped more upon her. When she said nothing, Tilda continued.
"He wooed me, Colette, speaking words of love and promising a life I could never have at Ashby. It was a lie; all he truly wanted was you. Can you imagine my hurt when he wanted me to help him wed you? Oh, he vowed you would never mean anything to him, but I could not bear sharing him, not even with you. I made certain you would not come to him." It was a hushed confession.
"You want him no longer?" Nicola waited to be convinced by Tilda's response.
"Oh, Colette," she breathed, "he wants me no more." She threw herself against the taller girl and sobbed. "I cannot believe how I hurt over this. It’s rightful repayment for my cruel rejection of others and a terrible lesson."
Nicola gathered Tilda into her embrace, feeling her friend's pain. So too, would it destroy her if Gilliam were to no longer care for her. "Oh, my poor girl, you have come home to heal. Johanna is with child and sick as she can be. She'll be right glad to have your help in the house."
"Nay, I cannot go there. Papa will only scream and call me whore. Might I not stay with you?" Tilda pushed away, wiping away her sorrow. The quickness with which her sobs ended was startling.
Nicola searched the girl's expression and found the same sort of desperation she'd seen when Tilda had bartered with Alan. Aye, de Ocslade was done with Tilda, but the reeve's daughter was not yet finished with him. Whatever it was she yet needed from Ashby's neighbor, Tilda meant to use her noble companion to get it.
Sadness washed over Nicola. Their course had been firmly set on that day in November past, and it was far too late to change now. They would both play their parts as they saw this dance to its end. Sweet Mary, as much as she didn’t want it to, it would end as it must with Tilda betraying her once again.
"I cannot keep you with me. My lord husband would never allow it." The words fell stiffly from Nicola’s lips in flat statement.
Tilda’s expression crumpled. "Please, Colette, I cannot bear Papa's hatred for me. You must need a maid; you
r lord would not deny you that. I need you, Colette, you and no other."
The pain and pleading in the girl's voice washed over Nicola like a wave, sucking on her, pulling her back into her old habit of soothing the reeve’s daughter. She fought it with all her might. It might not matter to her heart that Tilda meant to hurt her, but it did matter that what Tilda intended could hurt her husband and her folk.
Armed with that, Nicola stepped swiftly into the part Gilliam needed her to play. "Dear God, what have I been thinking? We have been standing here where all can see us. Come, we must hie, praying all the while no one tells my lord I have been speaking with you." She took the smaller girl's arm and began to lead her away from Ashby's gate at a quick pace.
Tilda hurried her steps to keep up. "Colette, I do not understand this. What is it you fear?"
"My lord husband. If he knew I had an ally in you, he would soon see you gone. He's not much different than his brother, Lord Graistan. A true brute. Jesu, I can only hope we find some way to convince your father to let you stay. Tilda, no matter what Thomas asks of you, agree to it. If you cannot stay with him, you will have to leave Ashby. Now, say no more. I cannot tell you this tale unless we are private."
In silence, they hurried past the green and down the narrow lanes. When they reached the village outskirts and Thomas's house, Tilda gasped. "Look, 'tis all remade just as it once was. I never thought to see it this way again."
She stood back to look at her father's cottage. The door stood half-open against the day's mild chill. The shutters on the two small windows facing the path were thrown wide. Over the winter months, the thatch had darkened into brown while the whitewash on the exterior dulled to a less brilliant hue. The front garden was thick with leeks, onions, and cabbages, all three of which were much farther along in growth than the herbs Johanna had just planted. Chickens wandered before the door, while a sow suckled her newborn piglets in the small pen at the cottage's side.
"Look at you, you old thing." Tilda went to scratch the swine's ear. The pig grunted in recognition of a former household member. "Another year, another litter to feed us."
Johanna thrust her head out of the door in surprise, her face pale against the sickness she suffered. "Tilda!" she cried in disbelief. It was not a happy greeting.
"Johanna," the girl said coldly. "You look awful."
Thomas pushed past his daughter-by-marriage, his gait even more painful than ever despite spring's warmth. He halted before the door, arms braced on his hips, feet widespread. His brows were drawn sharply over his eyes, his mouth but a harsh line. There was no mistaking his intention of never again letting Tilda enter his house.
"Johanna, go inside and close the door." He waited until he heard the panel shut. "So you have dragged yourself home at last, have you? Be glad Young Thom's not at home just this moment to meet you; he'd kill you for sure. And you," this venom was aimed at Nicola. "What are you thinking bringing her here? I've told you I'll have no whore in my house."
In response, Nicola meekly bowed her head. "Thomas, I have already told Tilda how my lord will never allow her to be my maid. Since she cannot stay with me, you must"—she let her voice linger on the word and lifted her head to eye a message to him—"keep her here. You know the sort of man my lord husband is." Nicola hoped that between her fearful woman's stance and her words, she could drive Thomas to understand her meaning. If only he could be led to play along until she could explain it to him later.
Thomas brought his full attention onto her. After a long moment he said, "Aye, that I do. This means I had best hie myself to him, I think. He'll not much like it when he learns my daughter has just arrived, after I had told him she was dead."
Nicola's head snapped out her meek pose. That old cheat! But, his message was clear; he was reminding her of their game over the fees and boon work owed to Ashby manor by its villagers. That had been the same day they'd spoken of Gilliam and his plans. She fought a start of amusement.
"You told my lord Tilda was dead? Oh Thomas, my lord husband will think you lied to avoid paying the fee you owed him for letting her live outside the village. I fear for you and your family at what my lord's reaction may be." Better that he fear what her reaction would be, as keeper of the accounts.
Still struggling with what she was trying to convey to him, Thomas stared a moment longer then turned on Tilda. "Look on how much you continue to cost me. How many fines for adultery and lewdness have I already paid, and now this? Go within and confine yourself to my hearth. I do not wish the neighbors to see the whore who is my daughter."
"Aye, Papa," Tilda said, staring at her toes. "I will do as you say."
Thomas glanced at his lady. "I will go see how I can soothe this situation. Do you know where your lord is just now?"
"Nay, I left without gaining his leave." It was a humble statement.
"And without his escort," the reeve pointed out. "What will he think when he hears of this? Best you return with me." He knew not the reason she was always escorted, only that Gilliam wished to keep her protected.
"Oh Thomas, I would stay with Tilda just a few moments. I pray you, please do not tell him you have seen me." Her voice quivered in anxiety.
Nicola could see Thomas worry mightily over her behavior. At last, he shrugged. "Do as you will, but I think your lord would not be happy to hear that you comport with whores. Do not stay overlong. If you must visit, do it within doors so no one sees you."
As Thomas left, Nicola and Tilda entered the long house. With the shutters open to let light enter, the fire was banked to a low glow. It emitted just enough heat to make the vegetable stew simmer in its iron cauldron. Most of the bags and barrels that had occupied the far wall were gone now, leaving an emptiness that only next autumn and the coming harvest would fill. This made Thomas's great chest, used to store the village tally sticks, seem all the larger. So too, was the cross beam above them empty, all the meat having been consumed over winter; Johanna's pottage was nothing but a bland mix of beans, cabbage, and leeks, filling but without the spice of herbs or the brawn of meat.
"Everything looks just as it once did," Tilda repeated in amazement, then leaned close to Nicola. "Watch how easily I drive Johanna out the door," she whispered, and continued in a louder voice. "Aye, all is the same save that loft, there," Tilda pointed. "Makes me think that my brother no longer cares to perform with his wife before the whole room." She sent Johanna an arch look.
Johanna stepped back, her face tight with dislike. "I think I will go tend to my garden and see if the chickens have left me any eggs." With a huff, she swept from the room, catching her son by his hand as she went.
Tilda made a face at her back. "She's made herself right high and mighty taking my mother's place, has she not?" She kicked out a stool and fell onto it. "Who do they think they are, judging me? They're nothing but peasants, who'll live and die in this place, not knowing or caring that something better exists." It was a muttered comment, not meant to elicit a response.
When Ashby's lady sat beside her on another stool, Tilda turned to her. "Colette, best you tell me all now. What has happened to my fiery girl? I take hope in hearing he keeps you under guard. This must mean some of you yet exists."
Nicola stared into the shifting flames as she spoke. " FitzHenry hunted me down, then brought me here as his captive. He bought everyone’s loyalty by building them new houses, so they all ignored my cries of forced marriage when he made Father Reynard wed us." She had not lied yet. "Did you not see the harsh way your father now speaks to me? I think all the villagers yet hate me for June's destruction. And, look you upon this bit of cloth atop my head. My lord husband insists I expose my cropped hair for all to see."
Tilda grabbed her hand, patting it as if she meant to console. "No doubt he seeks to humiliate you by this." Not even the cottage's dimness could hide the tiny flare of satisfaction in the girl's eyes.
Nicola bowed her head, unable to look upon her suckling sister. The only reason she could think for Ti
lda’s pleasure over this tale was that Tilda thought she could use Nicola’s abasement to soothe her into Hugh's custody. The need to leave, to be as far from Tilda as she could get, drove Nicola hard.
“I must go. If your father reveals that I have left Ashby's walls, I cannot say what will happen to me."
Tilda made a sound. "Your husband beats you, as well? This is impossible. Here I thought I would come home to find you once again owning Ashby."
Nicola shot the petite commoner a swift look of disbelief. “Were you blind in November, Tilda? Did you not see FitzHenry? He is a giant. I told you I could not control him, thus my desperate need to escape before we wed. He owns me, Tilda. " She hung her head as if this were the sorriest state she could imagine.
"My poor Colette," the girl said. "How my heart aches for you, and for me as well. If I stay, I think I will suffer your fate. Damn my father. He wants to control me when I am sick to death of men not only telling me what to do, but forcing it on me." With a sharp sound of irritation, Tilda turned on her stool and laced her hands over her knees. "What a fool I was to think I could come home again."
Nicola couldn’t help herself. The habit was too old to resist; she had to try and save Tilda. "But you did come home,” she said. “If you did, it must be because you want to be here. Perhaps if you work hard and show your father how different you are now, you’ll be welcome once again.”
Tilda shot her lady a brief, but glowing smile. The firelight gleamed against her flawless skin and traced beautiful shadows along the gentle planes of her face. "But what if I’m no different? Do you know that from time to time during my absence I convinced myself I would have done better if I’d married one of the lads here? Of course, each time the thought crossed my mind, I’d realize the impossibility of it."
Nicola watched her a moment. "Why is it impossible? Are the lads here different from those in any other village?"
Tilda laughed. "It’s not the lads, but the village. I quail at the thought of falling into the dreary routine of life at Ashby. Toil through spring and summer. Toil harder through autumn, then tighten your belt for winter's duration. When winter closes, the process starts again. It is not like a wrestling match or a dice game, where someone wins and others lose. Nay, this is but a trap that locks a body into never-ending drudgery."
The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three Page 94
