Margo Maguire

by The Virtuous Knight

Alex said naught, and Lucy began to feel as if something was out of place. Or mayhap she still looked like a stray waif dressed in finery that was far above her.

  “Aye,” he finally said. “Your task was well done.”

  His voice sounded strange, and Lucy did not know if he spoke the truth, or if he’d just given an expedient reply so they could leave right away. Expedience was the more likely explanation, since he’d barely given her a glance.

  Alex paid the woman and took possession of her new cloak and a parcel that contained the other clothes that had been altered for her. He said naught to Lucy, but opened the door for her and took her arm to escort her to their wagon.

  “One more stop and we’ll be on our way,” he said after mounting the wagon behind her. Lucy assumed he meant they’d be on their way to take the Mandylion to its destination, for that was the only reason Sir Alex was in England.

  In silence, they rode through the streets until they reached a church with a walled cemetery beside it. Alex drove the wagon to the front and stopped. Jumping down, he quickly tied his horse, then helped Lucy down. He did not say what he was about, but walked up the stairs beside her, and went inside.

  Alex kept his eyes straight ahead since he could barely breathe when he looked at Lucy.

  She’d been lovely even in her disheveled and ill-fitting clothes, but now that she wore garments better suited to her form and her fair complexion, she was breathtaking. He’d devised the perfect plan for her future, but doubt entered his mind whenever he looked at her.

  Alex walked up through the nave of the church he’d visited several times as a child, with Lucy right behind him. There were windows of colored glass in the tower over the altar, but ’twas getting late so the light did not shine through as it did when the sun was high. Still, Alex knew he would have no trouble finding the place where he’d hidden Roger’s scabbard.

  Fortunately, the church was empty. Alex did not want to encounter anyone who might remember him and speak of the knight who’d drawn a scabbard from a concealed place at this altar. He lit a candle and climbed the one step to the chancel.

  “What are you about, Alex?” Lucy whispered. She did not follow him up, but remained behind, appearing ill at ease in the empty church.

  Yet she looked as innocent and vulnerable as a bride, standing in the aisle before the altar. Alex could not imagine a more beautiful bride….

  “My scabbard is hidden here,” he said, certain she would understand what he meant. “Once I have it, we can leave York.”

  Many years before, during a visit to York, Alex and his brother had gotten into mischief while their father had met with the priest. ’Twas because of that foolishness that Alex knew the statues of Mary and Joseph were hollow. He also knew that they were not terribly heavy. He approached Joseph and tipped the statue to one side, reaching underneath with his free hand. A moment later, he drew out Brother Roger’s silver scabbard, containing the Mandylion.

  Alex replaced the statue of Joseph and slid the scabbard into his belt.

  “Halt, you thieving—”

  Lucy gasped and Alex spun his body ’round to confront the intruder. He found himself facing the priest, dressed in a traveling cloak and carrying a satchel. The man held up a lamp, illuminating Alex’s face.

  “Alexander Breton, is it not?” the priest said at length.

  Alex gave a quick nod. He recognized the priest, too. The man had been Clyfton’s cleric for several years. At one time, they had known each other well.

  “Father Massey.”

  “’Tis been a long time, lad,” the priest said more gently.

  Alex nodded. Father Massey had prayed over the graves of Isabella and Geoffrey. Alex had not seen him since then and wondered why he was here in York, and why he was dressed for travel.

  Regardless of the answers to those questions, Alex could not regret this chance encounter with the priest. Father Massey had hardly aged in the past three years. His hair was the same sandy-brown color, although strands of white had appeared at his temples. The man’s expression was one of kindness and tolerance and he looked much as he had when he’d presided over Alex’s wedding.

  And a strange thought came into Alex’s mind when he remembered that day so many years ago.

  “I would stay and speak of old times,” Father Massey said. “But the master of Mannington Manor lies dying and I must go to him.”

  “I understand,” Alex said. He’d noticed Lucy’s sudden pallor, and he took her hand in his own to reassure her.

  “We must be on our way soon, too,” he said.

  “In what direction do you travel? We might go together.”

  “North,” Alex replied noncommittally. And he was suddenly in no hurry to arrive at Eryngton with the Mandylion. ’Twould mean his parting with Lucy for the last time.

  “Last I heard, you’d gone to Cluny,” Father Massey said quietly. “What brings you—and your lady—to York?”

  Alex took Lucy’s hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “We wish to be wed.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  What was he about? The blood drained from Lucy’s head and she felt as if she would faint. ’Twas only Sir Alex’s grip on her that kept her upright. Was this some new ploy?

  “Ah,” the priest said. “What of the banns?”

  “You know I am widowed,” Alex replied.

  “But three years is a long time,” Father Massey countered. “How am I to know that there is naught impeding you—or your lady—in matrimony? I had not even heard that you’d returned to Clyfton.”

  “There is no time to argue.” Alex pulled Lucy forward, keeping his hand at her waist. “You are leaving for Mannington and we must leave York. This woman will be my bride. Today.”

  Neither man moved, though Lucy felt the cool, assessing gaze of the priest’s dark eyes as they roved over her. He rubbed one hand over his face, clearly torn. It seemed obvious to Lucy, too, that though he was in a hurry, he did not wish to part with Alex so soon.

  “I will petition the bishop for a dispensation. In one week’s time, I can have his permission—”

  “Father, Lucy and I must leave York today. I would be lawfully wed before we take our leave.” He turned and caught Lucy’s gaze. “Do you agree?”

  “I…yes.” She wanted to cry out with joy, but somehow remained outwardly calm in the face of his puzzling behavior.

  “Then you will have to wait until my return from Mannington Manor,” Massey said. “The lord lays dying, and I must attend him.”

  “Nay. Before you go,” Alex said adamantly.

  Lucy did not understand why he was insisting upon this. They had already traveled miles together, and stayed at Holywake without benefit of holy matrimony. She wondered what had suddenly changed, why he wanted to make their ploy a reality.

  Father Massey sighed audibly. “You were always the stubbornest lad… I’ll have your solemn oath that there is no lawful reason why you should not be wed,” he finally said. “Both of you.”

  Lucy swallowed. She thought Alex had intended for them to pose as man and wife on their journey. She’d had no reason to believe he’d changed his mind about taking his monastic vows. Yet here she stood before a priest, her heart pounding, wearing fine new clothes, on the verge of becoming Alexander Breton’s wife.

  “Nay, I am no man’s wife, nor promised to anyone,” she heard herself say.

  “And Sir Alexander,” the priest said. “What of your vows to the Benedictine Order at Cluny?”

  “I have taken no vows, Father,” Alex said quietly, “other than one that I made to a dying friend in Jerusalem.”

  “And this vow does not hamper your marriage to this woman?”

  Alex shook his head. “No, Father. It does not.”

  Massey shrugged off his cloak and draped it over a chair beside the pulpit. He placed his satchel beside it. “Come, stand before me,” he said. “Unfortunately, we must be quick.”

  A few minutes later, Lucy was Alexander Breton�
��s wife.

  Lucy had never witnessed the marriage ceremony before, and she was struck by its stark simplicity, its basic honesty. She had freely given her vow to remain a faithful wife to Alex for as long as she should live. He had given his vow to be her husband.

  But she did not know what that meant to him. He’d already dedicated his life to his wife’s memory, and had planned to become a monk. What would happen now that he’d taken another wife? Did he mean to keep her with him?

  She dared not hope.

  Elsbeth had often spoken of husbands who left their wives at home and went about their own business. Yet a wife was never allowed to do the same. She was bound to remain at home keeping the master’s house and bearing his children.

  Would Alex go to Cluny and leave her here in England? Her heart sank at the prospect of being abandoned by him.

  They followed the priest into the vestry where he found quill and ink and etched documentation of the marriage into the church record. Lucy felt strangely numb as she watched, and her eyes refused to come into focus.

  The day had been all too confusing and she wondered if the bump on her head had caused some damage to her mind. She glanced down at her clothes and saw that they were real, as was the pressure of Alex’s hand at her back.

  They went back into the church.

  “You cannot plan to ride to Clyfton tonight?” the priest asked as he pulled on his cloak once again. He picked up his satchel and started toward the door. “’Tis a distance from York.”

  Lucy nearly collided with the priest when he stopped and turned toward them again. “I’ll likely be at Mannington two or more days…you might consider staying in my cottage, waiting ’til daybreak before leaving town.”

  “My plan was to go this afternoon.”

  Lucy was surprised that Alex did not correct the priest’s misapprehension. Their destination was not Clyfton.

  “’Tis beyond afternoon,” Father Massey said with a quick glance toward the windows. “It will be dark before long and there is no suitable inn on the eastern road where a man might take his wife. Especially a new wife.”

  While the priest let that thought drift between them, Lucy noticed a reddening of Alex’s ears. She tipped her head down and felt her own face heat.

  Alex drew in a deep breath. To Lucy’s ears, it sounded like resignation. “Aye,” he said. “We’ll stay the night.”

  Father Massey pointed out his small house beyond the church.

  “There’s a bit of food and ale, and you’re welcome to it,” the priest said. “Stable your horse in the shed.” He seemed to regret being unable to spend more time with them, but made his farewell, leaving Lucy alone with her husband on the church step. She shivered and pulled her cloak tight against the sharp wind. And when Alex started down the steps, she followed.

  ’Twas a short walk to the cottage. When they arrived there, Alex left her at the door. He barely looked at her. “I’ll, er…put Rusa in the shed.”

  Unsure what to do, Lucy went into the cottage. With daylight waning, she lit a lamp and looked ’round. There was no fire in the hearth, so she started one to take the chill out of the house before exploring any further.

  It seemed strange to perform the mundane tasks of lighting fires and looking for food stores. She was Alex Breton’s wife—a rank to which she had never hoped to aspire except in the deepest recesses of her heart.

  ’Twas long past time to go into the priest’s house. Rusa had been unhitched from the wagon some time ago, but Alex stood with his forehead resting against her flank, wondering at what he had done. What of the monastic vows he’d planned to make?

  What of Isabella’s memory?

  Lucy awaited him in the cottage and was likely even more unsure of their situation than he was.

  Now that the deed was done, Alex could not say why he’d told Father Massey they’d come to the church to be wed. He could have come up with some other tale to cover his retrieval of the Mandylion.

  But he had not. He had made Lucy his wife. And he did not regret it.

  He gathered up his packs and headed for the house. It had started to rain and Alex was glad the priest had offered his cottage. ’Twas far better to retire here for the night, rather than trying to sleep in some makeshift shelter on the road to Eryngton.

  That thought gave him pause. He and Lucy would share a bed tonight. The unrelenting desire he’d felt since their days at Holywake would be—

  The sound of riders caught Alex’s attention before he reached the house. In the distance were three knights in black, riding south into the city from the direction of Bootham Bar. Light from the setting sun glinted off their helms and swords and Alex could make out a pattern of white upon their chests. He did not doubt that they were Skelton’s men.

  While they were still a fair distance away, Alex returned to the shed and crouched near one wall so that he could see them without being seen. Within a few minutes, the knights rode past in silence.

  Alex set his packs on the ground. Lucy awaited him in the cottage, and every instinct urged him to go to her. But he did not want to lose sight of the knights. He had no choice but to follow, even though he carried the Mandylion. But there was no time to replace it in the statue or find a hiding place in the cottage.

  Keeping to the shadows of the trees and buildings on the way, he followed the black knights. He wanted to know exactly where the men were going and if they were staying in York or heading in some other direction.

  ’Twas only by the grace of God that he and Lucy had not encountered the knights on their way out of the city, for they, too, would have left by way of Bootham Bar. It would not have been possible to avoid the men as they returned to the city via the northern road.

  Their pace was unhurried so ’twas not difficult for Alex to stay with them. He kept a fair distance between himself and the knights, and followed as they kept to the main streets. Eventually, they came to a tavern near the center of the city where all three dismounted. They tied their horses and went inside.

  Alex paused and considered what to do next.

  The most logical course would be to return to Father Massey’s cottage, saddle Rusa and leave York immediately. As long as Skelton’s men were here in York, he could be certain that the road to Eryngton was safe.

  But logic had not dictated his actions in several days. Especially not since last night when he’d pulled Lucy from the fray at Saint George’s Inn. He’d felt no overwhelming desire to pray. He’d barely given a thought to Cluny and the vows he intended to take.

  Alex’s mind had been fully occupied by thoughts of Lucy.

  She’d spent half the night upon his lap, the other half in the bed, lying in his arms while he resolved never to leave her unprotected again. He’d inhaled the scent of her hair, felt the curves of her body, guarded her while she slept.

  He would not leave her tonight.

  Certain that Skelton’s knights intended to stay in York at least until morning, Alex headed back toward Massey’s cottage. He remained as concealed as possible, reluctant for anyone to note his passage, in case the black knights heard of a man wearing two scabbards. They might not recognize him with his beard shaved off, but there was no doubt in Alex’s mind that they would suspect a man who carried two swords.

  He was anxious to get back to the priest’s house. Eager to see Lucy dressed in the gown he’d bought for her at the tailor’s shop, and even more eager to help her out of it.

  Lucy could not imagine what was keeping Alex. He was probably regretting their impulsive marriage and trying to figure a way out of it.

  That would not be too difficult. If Elsbeth were to be believed, then a husband could take his leave whenever it suited him and never explain his absence to his wife.

  Her hands shook as she sliced bread for their supper and she wished she knew what to do. Was there a way for Alex to dissolve the marriage before it had even begun? Was he preparing to leave her already? No matter what Alex intended to do, Lucy would show him
how suitable a wife she could be. She would prepare his meals and…and find out exactly what else wives were expected to do. What little she’d learned about wifely duties from Elsbeth was probably not accurate. She did know, however, that she would share a bed with Alex, and they would continue what they’d started on their last night at Holywake.

  Breathless anticipation flooded Lucy’s senses and emotion swelled in her heart. She longed for his kiss, for his intimate touch. She’d never experienced anything to compare with the sensations she’d felt when Alex had begun to make love to her. And he’d been tender and protective of her last night at Saint George’s Inn.

  As darkness fell, Lucy doubted that Alex would ever return. He’d broken his promise to the monastery at Cluny and likely regretted it. If he was not in the church doing penance for his offense, then she guessed he must be on the road to the estate where he was supposed to take the Mandylion. Then he could be off to Cluny. Certainly the abbot of such a large Order would find a way to nullify Alex’s marriage vows.

  Still carrying the knife and heel of bread, she went to the single window that faced in the direction of the church, hoping to catch sight of Alex. It was nearly dark now, and had begun to rain and Lucy was nearly positive that he would not return. Why should he, when—

  “Oh!” she cried when the door opened with a blast of cold, moist air. “You…”

  “Skelton’s men are here.” Tossing his packs inside, he removed his wet cloak and hung it by the fire, then pushed his wet hair back from his face.

  Lucy dropped the knife. Her panic must have shown in her eyes, for Alex came to her and placed his hands upon her shoulders. She wished he would take her into his arms, but he did not.

  “Rest easy. They do not know we’re here.”

  Her breath returned and she gazed questioningly into her husband’s eyes.

  “I saw them as I was coming to the house earlier.” Alex released her and closed the shutter over the window. “I followed them to a tavern down near the Shambles,” he added, reaching down to pick up the knife. “They’ll never know we’re here.”