Margo Maguire

by The Virtuous Knight

  Keeping the blanket around her, Lucy went to the place, walking with some difficulty over the rocky ground. She tried to remember everything that had happened after she’d fallen into the river, but could not. All that was left in her mind was the memory of a terrible cold that seemed to go through to her bones.

  Lucy found her belongings—all but the tiny piece of soap that must have washed away when she’d fallen. Her underkirtle was lost forever, so she had no choice but to wear one of Lady Elsbeth’s gowns without the benefit of underclothes. When she slipped the red kirtle over her head and pulled the bodice laces tight, she was chagrined to see how immodest a garment it was. Eyeing the blue one, Lucy saw that it was even worse, with the neckline cut much too low, and the sleeves partially unattached.

  Pulling at the bodice, she raised it as high as it would go, but it still left her far too exposed for comfort. She remembered some of the things Elsbeth had said about the ladies at court, and knew that this gown was no worse than some. Still, Lucy decided she’d use the blanket as sort of a shawl for the day…that is, if Sir Alex was willing to travel with her.

  Well aware that she had been nothing but trouble for him since the moment they’d met, Lucy did not blame him for wanting to be rid of her. Sitting down upon a nearby rock, she vowed to be no more trouble to the man if he stayed. She would guard her tongue, and avoid any further incidents—like falling into the river.

  How embarrassing to have to be rescued in such an ignominious manner. ’Twas clumsy to have lost her footing in the first place, then to be unable to swim to safety…that was almost worse than being carried out of the water entirely naked.

  But not quite.

  She had always kept herself modestly covered, though she had to admit that vanity made her hide her lame leg. ’Twas the last thing she wanted anyone to see, especially a man so well made as Sir Alexander Breton.

  The rushing water caught Lucy’s attention and she shivered when she looked at it. The cold depths, the treacherous rapids… She told herself ’twas better not to dwell on what might have happened, and to be thankful that Sir Alex had been there to pull her out, no matter what the circumstances.

  If he still planned to escort her to Holywake, Lucy was sure they would arrive at the abbey sometime today. And Sir Alex, who had never wanted to be saddled with her in the first place, would leave her then. Lucy had no doubt it would be difficult to watch him ride out of her life, and she felt bereft already, just knowing he would go.

  Lucy could not remember ever feeling this way about anyone else. Years ago, when Roger had gone away on Crusade, she had missed him, but there was naught to do but go on without him. The deaths of her parents had been devastating, but she and John had still had each other. They’d made a proper life for themselves at Eryngton, and, though Lucy had been sickly, she’d never felt she was a burden to her brother, or an impediment to his life. John had even been in the midst of negotiating his marriage when he’d been thrown from his horse and broken his neck.

  Life had changed drastically for her then. Everyone she’d known and loved had been taken from her, and she’d been left at the mercy of her cousin, Hugh Kyghley. She had missed John desperately. Her first few years at Craghaven had been dismal and bleak.

  Somehow, she had survived. And she would survive again. When Sir Alex rode away from Holywake, Lucy would hold her chin high and smile as she bid him farewell.

  Chapter Eight

  “’Tis a warm day for autumn,” Alex said, wondering why Lucy was still wrapped in her blanket.

  She nodded absently.

  “You are not still chilled?”

  “Nay,” she replied. “I, er…lost my…”

  Not her clothes. He could see a skirt of crimson underneath the blanket.

  She blushed and turned away. Alex would not allow himself to care. If she wanted to swelter beneath the woolen blanket, ’twas her own concern, and none of his.

  She cleared her throat. “My underkirtle was lost, sir,” she said, “if you must know. While I was washing in the river, it fell in, and when I reached for it, I lost my balance and—”

  “Fell in, yourself.”

  “Aye,” she replied in a small voice. “And you pulled me out.”

  “I did more than pull you out,” he said, though he regretted his words as soon as he uttered them. He did not want to engage her in any more conversation than was absolutely necessary.

  “You kept me warm,” she said.

  “I had to swim downstream to get you,” he countered, anxious to change the topic. “You were caught in the current, and would have been lost if I hadn’t noticed you tumbling by.”

  “That’s twice you’ve saved me, Sir Alex. I wish there was something, some way to repay you for every—”

  “’Tis not necessary,” he said abruptly. “I would have done the same for anyone in need.”

  She bit her lip. “Aye, but—”

  “Speak no more of it. ’Tis done. And your lack of…er, underskirt…means naught to me. You are clothed, are you not?”

  He felt her eyes searching his face, but he kept his own gaze trained upon the road ahead and wondered how much longer ’twould be before they reached Saint Agatha’s shrine and the lane that led to Holywake Abbey.

  Lucy settled into the ride again, and only then did Alex allow himself to glance at her. He’d done everything possible to avoid thinking of his fear when he’d carried her out of the river. When all he’d been able to feel was the deathly chill of her skin.

  It had only been the result of that fear that made him lie down with her and hold her through the night. He’d needed to keep her near to ease his worry. Alex readily admitted it had been a kind of madness, but it had passed.

  He was fully composed now, and had been, ever since he’d left their bed that morn. His senses had returned and she could do nothing else to cause him to stray from his purpose.

  Lucy let the blanket drop, baring a large portion of her shoulders and chest. Alex swallowed thickly and understood her concern over the missing underclothes, but he refused to say another word about it. ’Twas too warm to stay covered by the heavy wool, and he’d already told her that her garb meant naught to him.

  “Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto,” he began silently, averting his eyes.

  Holywake Abbey was a long, low building with dingy walls and only a few narrow windows. Its roof was not thatch, but made of some other material that had suffered the damage of neglect. The grounds were overgrown with brush, and a rickety barn stood among the weeds and sapling trees. The main door of the abbey was scarred by the blows of someone who’d tried to break the lock to gain entry.

  ’Twas an altogether dismal place.

  Alex remembered seeing a heavy brass key inside the nun’s money purse. He took it from Lucy and unlocked the door, pushing it open on creaky hinges.

  He noticed a hesitation in Lucy’s step as she went inside. Though he had planned on saying adieu and going on his way, he found himself tying Rusa and following Lucy into the building, pulling down cobwebs and adjusting to the gloom as he went.

  She did not speak, but as he followed her through the entrance and the various rooms, he could see that Lucy’s task was overwhelming. She could not possibly make this place ready for habitation in a fortnight.

  “Now I understand why there’s so much coin in that purse,” he said, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling, then down to the floor. “You will need all of it to hire help for this.”

  Lucy gave a quick nod and turned away from him, her shoulders visibly slumping. Alex set his jaw, unwilling to involve himself any more deeply in Lucy’s affairs. What she did here was her concern. They’d seen a tidy village in the distance, and that was where she would find laborers to help her with her task. ’Twas not up to him to offer further assistance.

  A rodent scurried by, startling Lucy. She jumped away from it and lost her balance, falling into a rotting table that collapsed in a dusty heap on to the floor
. Alex caught her arm and kept her from falling, and when he felt her trembling, he could not let her go.

  “There will be workmen in the village,” he said. He felt his pulse in his throat, and it was beating much too fast. His hands were moist and his tongue grew thick.

  Lucy nodded and walked away. Alex clenched his fists and watched as she rubbed the grime from the corner of a nearby window and looked outside.

  He could not leave her like this.

  Her shoulders were far too bare without the under-tunic that he’d never noticed before this morn, too delicate to shoulder the burden of Holywake alone.

  “I’ll ride into the village at first light and hire laborers for you,” he said.

  “I’ll go with y—”

  “No!” he said more vehemently than he intended. But she could not go into the village dressed as she was. Every man within miles would find his way to her, just for a glimpse of her lovely form, of which too much was left uncovered. And when they discovered that she was staying alone at Holywake…

  “But you…” she frowned and shook her head slightly. “I did not think you would stay beyond—”

  “And I won’t,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be gone tomorrow, after I find men who can clear out this mess for you.” And after he found someone willing to sell him some more suitable clothing for her.

  He couldn’t leave until he was certain that all was secure here at Holywake. That Lucy would be able to accomplish what she’d been sent to do before she went on her way.

  Sir Alex stalked away from Lucy again, muttering his Latin prayers, and she smiled tremulously. She considered following him, but she knew that he was disconcerted. His Latin prayers were a sure sign of it, and he would appreciate her company even less than usual just now.

  She knew she was the cause of his dismay, or rather, ’twas his own reaction to her that upset him.

  Yet Lucy had never experienced anything so stirring as the way his appreciative gaze had made her feel. She had wanted him to touch her, to lower his head and touch his lips to hers. She had wanted to feel his strong arms around her…and more.

  They were foolish desires. Sir Alex had made his intentions plain. He had wished to be rid of her almost from the moment they’d met. He was going to leave her here at Holywake. And sometime later, he would travel to France and take his monastic vows.

  Lucy took a deep breath and walked farther into the abbey, in the direction opposite Alex. She was a mere stranger who happened to cross his path. She meant naught to him, and the fact that he’d rescued her twice had no particular significance. As he’d said himself, he would have helped anyone in her situation.

  In the handful of days they’d been together, she had foolishly allowed tender feelings for Alex to develop and grow, and she knew those feelings were not returned. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier. In another day—mayhap two—he would be gone, and somehow, Lucy would have to adjust to her life without him.

  Misgivings arose in her chest. Was she hopelessly naive to think she could survive alone in The World? In the last few days, she’d lived through one disaster after another, surviving only because of Sir Alexander’s intervention.

  And now, this mess at Holywake—Alex would help her find men to put it right before the Craghaven nuns arrived.

  Squaring her shoulders, Lucy turned her attention to the walls and floors. She was no stranger to hard work, and as soon as she had buckets and rags, she would get to it. With help, ’twould take no more than a few days to make Holywake habitable, and then she could move on.

  Without Sir Alex.

  “Must be our week for his majesty’s knights to be riding through,” said Father Robson, the priest of Saint John’s Church.

  Alex raised a questioning brow.

  “Aye.” The man had a comely face and a trustworthy mein. “They were here not two days ago. Fierce-looking men, though. Black livery, black horses, all three.”

  “Where are they now?” Alex asked.

  The man shrugged. “Stayed one night at Ada Lampet’s inn. Then they were gone. Never stopped in church.”

  “Do you know what direction they took?”

  “North,” he said. “Toward York.”

  And toward Eryngton. What bothered Alex most was that they’d stayed so close to Holywake. There was a possibility that they would backtrack some time in the future and discover Lucy alone at the abbey.

  Nay, that would not happen. Alex was going to find men to help put the old building to rights, and Lucy would be safe enough for the time being.

  “I’m looking for men to hire,” he said to the priest. “Do you know of any who would care to earn a day’s wage up at the old abbey?”

  The man shook his head. “Not with the harvest,” he said. “No. And old Artie Carpenter didn’t even finish the work he’d been hired to do before he managed to kill himself falling off Wickers’s roof.”

  Alex scratched his beard. He’d noticed the golden fields when they’d ridden to Holywake, but it had not occurred to him that all the villagers would be occupied with cutting the wheat.

  “Who was Artie Carpenter?”

  “I had word from the bishop some time ago,” the priest elaborated, “that the old nunnery was to be opened again. Some work was needed out there, so I bade Artie to build beds and tables, fix the windows…whatever else was needed.”

  “But he died.”

  “Aye. Helping old Wickers patch his roof.”

  Alex made the sign of the cross and said a silent prayer for the carpenter.

  The man had gotten quite a bit done before his death, Alex thought. There were new bed frames in the dormitory, and the main door had obviously been repaired recently.

  “What about women?” Alex asked. “Are there any who would wish to earn a few coins for their labor?”

  “Sir Knight, you must know better,” Father Robson chided in a friendly tone. “The women work the fields alongside the men. ’Tis our way.”

  ’Twas the way in most places Alex had known. Everyone had to help bring in the grain in autumn, else the crop would not be cut in time, and be ruined when winter came.

  “So ’tis you who have come to open up the abbey?” the priest asked.

  Alex gave a noncommittal grunt, unwilling to tell the priest any more.

  “Is there a place where I might buy some provisions?”

  “Might be that Ada Lampet has extra over at the inn,” he replied. “It’s not far…just follow the lane and after you cross the bridge, you’ll see it. The inn stands just beyond the square.”

  Alex received the priest’s blessing and took his leave. Picking up Rusa’s reins, he led the mare down the lane, following a low stone wall that bordered the narrow road. He did not notice the pretty shrubs or the late blooming flowers in tiny gardens near front doors. His eyes were trained straight ahead, toward his destination, as he mulled over what the priest had told him.

  Arriving at the inn, he tied Rusa and opened the main door. The common room was dark and the fire threw smoke as well as unnecessary heat into the room. An assortment of travelers sat eating at long, scarred tables, and two young women served them. The two turned to look Alex over when he stepped inside.

  Both were comely wenches. The younger of the two had russet hair braided and twisted on top of her head. The other wore her dark hair tied at the back of her neck. Their kirtles fit low, showing more chest than Lucy did in her scarlet gown, but they weren’t half as alluring as the woman he’d left behind at Holywake Abbey.

  “Lookin’ fer a good meal?” the red-haired one asked, smiling seductively.

  “I’m looking for the proprietress,” Alex replied.

  “Ada?” the other serving girl asked. Smiling, she took his arm and looked at him coyly while rubbing her bosom against him. “Come on wi’ me and I’ll take ye to her.”

  Alex extricated himself from her grasp and said, “I can see you’re busy. Just tell me where to find her and—”

  “Ceily! Liz
zie!” a sharp voice rang out. “Get to yer chores!”

  A tiny woman came into the room wielding a long, wooden spoon. She waved it at both girls, who hurried away to the far corners of the common room while the lodgers at the tables laughed. Alex concentrated his attention on the newcomer.

  “Ada Lampet?” he asked.

  “Who’s askin’?” she replied, looking up at him, and squinting one eye.

  “I am a knight of the realm, which is all you need know,” he answered, to which she gave a short bark of laughter.

  “Well then, Sir Knight,” she said, looking him over. She licked her lips, then turned and walked toward the back room. It was dingy and poorly lit, and Alex detected a coating of soot on all four walls. Leaning over a pot that hung over the cookfire, the woman stirred its contents. “What is it ye want of me?”

  “I’m told you might have provisions to sell.”

  “And what kind of provisions would ye be wantin’?”

  “Bread. Cheese and meat if you have any,” Alex said. “And I would buy a bucket from you if you have one to spare.”

  He told her all the other things Lucy would need and found the woman willing to part with some of her goods for far too many of the coins in his purse. Seeing no choice but to give in to Ada Lampet’s avarice, Alex paid her. He gathered up the food and placed it in the bucket, along with several rags, then went outside to the place where his horse stood waiting. He tied it all to his saddle.

  “All that clutter makes yer fine mare look like a peddler’s mount,” Ada said, laughing at her clever insult.

  Alex was not amused by her jest, or by her greed. Nor was he pleased when the dark-haired serving wench came out and whispered an improper suggestion in his ear. Not tempted in the least, Alex did not dignify her proposition with an answer, but mounted his horse and rode away from them.