Each step might well have been a mountain, but no one offered help. Leaning on the crutch and the inside wall, he took one agonizing step after another, stretching raw muscles. Sweat trickled down his cheek.
They stopped at the second level, and Jock led the way to an open door and again stood aside.
Robert Howard limped inside and faced the chief of the Charltons. He’d feigned unconsciousness when the man had stood over him before, and now he got his first look at the man who would decide his fate, and had Kimbra’s and Audra’s lives in his hands as well.
The Charlton sat heavily in a large chair. “I thought you were a dead man,” the Charlton said. “God must have had a hand in your life.”
“God and Mistress Charlton,” Robert Howard replied. “I thank you for permitting it.”
“She has a way with herbs,” the Charlton said.
Robert Howard started to sway. He feared that he would fall soon.
The Charlton waved to a chair. “Sit.”
Robert Howard sat.
“Kimbra told us ye were a Howard.”
He hesitated, bowed his head slightly. “Aye but not one they recognize,” he said bitterly.
“Your father?”
“’Tis said he was Sim Howard. I am a bastard and not sure.”
“He is dead.”
“I learned that when I returned. I was fostered far away enough not to be an embarrassment to his wife.”
“Your mother?”
“Died in childbirth.”
“Ye speak with an accent.”
“I have been a mercenary in Europe. I had no place here. It took me ten years to return.”
“How did ye join the battle?”
That was the crux of the explanation. “I rode right into the English Army. I joined them.”
’Twas a flimsy explanation at best, and both Kimbra and he had known it, but it was all they had.
The Charlton’s gaze bore into him, weighing every word. “Where were you during the battle?”
“On the left flank. I saw several of the enemy fleeing and rode after them. I thought to claim some armor and weapons. Suddenly I was surrounded. I took two down, then I went down. When I woke, there were two dead Scots, and my horse was gone. I tried to move, but . . . I do not remember anything after that until I woke in Mistress Charlton’s cottage.”
He was thankful for his gift of mimic. Still, the Charlton’s eyes remained suspicious.
“I’ve sent riders to the Howards. I thought there might be a reward.”
“For me? I doubt many know of me, and if they do, I mean nothing to them.”
“Yet ye were going to them.”
“Is it so strange to want to see a father? Even if he did abandon you?”
“But to fight for them?”
“Not for them. For me. I sought to find favor. Mayhap some plunder.”
“Ye dress like a borderer.”
“As I said, I fostered on the border. I like the clothing.”
“’Tis dangerous to be a stranger here now.”
Robert Howard said nothing. He did not want to protest or defend himself.
“Ye will stay here until ye are better. I told Kimbra that. And until we hear from the Howards. Jock will be looking after ye. I will also have my physician tend ye, though from the look of ye, I think Kimbra served ye better.”
The Charlton turned away, and Robert knew he was dismissed. He wondered where Cedric was at the moment. He would be the greatest danger.
Cedric, and his own nightmares. What if he uttered words in his sleep?
It was obvious that the Charlton was not convinced he was who he said he was.
He rose and followed Jock out the door and down a dark hallway lit by sconces in the walls. He leaned on the crutch and made his way past five doors, praying he would not have to mount more steps. The prayers were answered when Jock stopped at a door and opened it.
The room was small and contained only a rough bed and a chair. A tall narrow window was the only source of light. He gratefully lowered himself onto the bed.
“Someone will bring ye water and food,” Jock said.
Robert Howard nodded. He wanted to say as little as possible.
“I will be outside if ye need anything more.” The large man left the room.
Outside.
For all the hospitality—required, he knew, by custom—’twas clear he was naught but a prisoner. One to be tended until the truth of his story was confirmed.
Or not.
THE cottage was intolerably empty since the Scot left the day before.
Just as it had been two years earlier. She’d spent months trying to fill it back with life. Now even Audra and Bear appeared dispirited as they went through their daily routines.
When she milked Bess, she remembered the Scot’s wry expression and his milk-drenched clothing. Other memories followed. The way he held the lute as he sang to her daughter. Drawing letters in the dirt. The story he’d told Audra. She prayed as she had not prayed in a long time that he would get back to Scotland and find his people. His family.
Later she found herself humming his lullaby to Audra as she went to sleep again in the big featherbed the Scot had occupied. Though she had washed the bedclothes, she thought the scent of him lingered. His jack hung from a hook on the wall. She had an excuse now to visit the Charlton tower and return his property.
But not today, and not tomorrow. Too much concern could well injure him as well as herself.
Once she was sure Audra was asleep, she went back up into the loft and pulled out the broach with the crest again. The stones included rubies along with some others she could not identify. But she knew the rubies. The Charlton had a ruby ring he prized. It glowed like a living thing. Other small stones outlined a tower within a double circle. Three words were carved in gold within the double circle.
She traced them, wishing she’d had more time studying with the Scot. Would they tell him what he longed to know?
She had to discover the meaning of the crest. She had thought about the problem every moment since he left, and now she settled on a course of action. She would take herbs into the small village near the castle, bargain for some meat and listen to gossip. She would stop by Jane’s to see if her friend had learned anything, as well.
There was a priest in the village who could read the words on the crest, but he had flatly refused to teach her to read when she had asked years ago. A reiver’s woman had no need to read, he’d said.
She certainly did not believe he would keep her secret safe.
Nor could she trust the few other people she knew who could read. They, too, had laughed at her when the priest had announced to the entire village she wanted to learn to read.
But mayhap she could learn more of the battle, more of the clans that had participated, or the nobles who had ridden and died at King James’s side.
Thus, decided on her first action, she replaced the crest in its hiding place, then decided to get some sleep herself. She’d had none the night before. She wanted that contact with her daughter.
She wanted to assuage the guilt she had in not returning the crest to him, or at least, showing it to him to see whether it stirred memories.
But if she could learn what he needed to know to return home, to where he belonged . . .
She would still miss him desperately, miss his touch, his slow smile, the sound of his voice. But at least she would not carry the guilt that ate like poison into her . . .
She told Audra the next morning that they would go into the village. “Can you gather some herbs while I milk Bess and collect eggs? Perhaps we can exchange my herbs for a piece of mutton.”
Usually the prospect of a rare trip to the village brought some enthusiasm from her daughter. Today it did not.
“I want to stay with Bear,” Audra said stubbornly.
“You cannot stay alone, and Bear can come with us. We will ride Magnus.”
“Can we see Mr. Howard?”
/> “I think we should wait several days first.”
Audra frowned. “Why?”
She decided to tell Audra the truth. “Because it could be dangerous if someone believes we are too close to him.”
“Why?”
“Because Cedric wants to marry me and will do anything to accomplish it. Even try to destroy Mr. Howard.”
Audra did not ask why again.
Kimbra did not want to frighten Audra, but her daughter had to be aware of what could happen if she said something that indicated a relationship that might be viewed as improper. Another load of guilt added to too many already. She should never have to burden her child like that.
“But we will see him again?”
“Aye, I imagine so.”
Her daughter’s blue eyes were so much like Will’s. The familiar pang was not as great as it had been. Audra was quiet and curious, while Will had been confident that he knew all that he needed to know in his world. He’d never understood Kimbra’s yearning to know more of people and lands beyond the border.
“We must go,” she told Audra.
The ride would take them at least an hour and a half, probably longer, both coming and going. She did not want to ride at night with Audra.
In less time than she thought possible, they were mounted on Magnus, a basket of herbs and eggs clutched in Audra’s arms. Her small body snuggled against Kimbra’s for warmth, as a wickedly cold wind swept the hills. Kimbra shivered. She knew the path well, had ridden it often with Will, then too many times alone.
The village was far busier than usual, and she saw men in English uniforms huddled in a small group outside the blacksmith’s shop. The village was small, with only a little chapel, a butcher, the blacksmith, and the merchant Davie Carroll, who sold seed as well as cloth and household items. She went there first, knowing he heard everything.
Inside, Davie was talking to a soldier, saw her, then hurried over.
“Mistress Kimbra, it is good to see ye. And your pretty young miss.”
“I have some herbs and eggs I thought you might buy.”
He brightened. “I can always sell your herbs, and I am almost out of eggs.” He named a small sum that would barely cover the mutton she coveted. But she had little choice. She nodded and handed him her basket in exchange for two coins.
“Have you heard anything since the battle?”
“They say ten thousand Scots died,” he said in almost a wondering whisper. “They say Scotland’s most powerful nobles and knights were killed.”
“And the Scottish king?”
“Taken to the Branxton Church. They say it took time to know who it was. Stripped naked, he was. They say his head was bashed in.”
“And the English? How many English died?”
“About half that, they say. Some are being cared for by local families.”
“I found one,” she said.
“I heard such,” Davie replied.
So the gossip had spread rapidly.
“He’s at the Charlton tower now.”
Davie nodded.
“And prisoners. Were there any taken?”
She knew what Jane had said, and Jane was as direct as the sun. But she still could not believe her countrymen would order the slaughter of wounded and helpless men.
“Nay, the order was to kill all the wounded, though I heard several powerful borderers are defying the order and demanding ransom.”
She absorbed the information, reluctant to ask more. But she had gleaned enough that a plan had started to form in her head. “Thank you.”
“Come more often.” He hesitated, then added, “We all miss Will.”
She simply nodded.
“I heard rumors of a wedding. Cedric, mayhap?”
“You have heard wrong,” she said.
She turned and left then. She wished she could ask him the meaning of the words on the crest. But she could only show it to someone who did not know her.
She purchased a piece of mutton for supper, then she and Audra headed toward Jane’s.
THE surgeon that the Charlton sent to his room wanted to bleed him.
He’d clucked over the wounds, obviously unwilling to give Mistress Kimbra Charlton any credit for the healing. “’Tis God’s mercy,” he mumbled as he took leeches from a box.
“Nay,” Robert Howard said. “I think God had little to do with it and Mistress Charlton a great deal. And I have lost enough blood to cure a dozen men.”
The physician looked at him as if he’d committed heresy.
“It merely needs a fresh cloth,” he said more mildly, reminding himself to curb his tongue and be more injured than he truly was.
“Thomas Charlton said you were near death just a few days ago.”
“The fever broke.”
The physician regarded him much as Robert Howard thought he would regard a devil.
“My leg burns like the fires in hell,” he grumbled, “and until yesterday I could not even stand alone. But I will not be bled. There are no more poisons in my body. Just lack of blood.”
“I will tell the Charlton you do not desire my services,” the physician said, his cheeks puffing out with indignation as he stalked to the door and walked out.
Once the door closed, Robert Howard sat up and used the crutch to stand, then walked across the room and back. Again and again. He had to find a way to leave before anyone discovered he was no Englishman, much less a Howard.
CLOTHED in her mourning gown with her hair hidden under a cap and the hood of her cloak, Kimbra started toward Branxton. She thought it was more than a half day’s ride, but she had never been there before.
Jane, as agreed the day before, came to stay at her cottage to look after Audra and milk Bess for the next two days. Kimbra did not explain her reasons for going, only that she had to leave for several days. If anyone looked for her, particularly Cedric, Jane was to say she went to help a sick friend.
She would have to go past the battlefield, and she supposed that scavengers were still at work there. It would be dangerous, but she had a dagger with her.
She should be safe enough on Charlton land, but once she left it, she would have to be wary. She would stop in some secluded place and change to her reiver’s clothes, which she’d packed in a bundle. She did not wish a priest to learn who she was, and Branxton was far too close for comfort.
Lying to a priest was a sin.
But then so was robbing the dead.
She rode toward the woods where she’d found the Scot when he’d left the cottage. Finding a secluded place, she dismounted and changed clothes. She wrapped a piece of cloth tightly around her breasts, then pulled on the breeches and laced them. Finally she took off her woman’s cap, replacing it with Will’s skull cap, then pulled the steel helmet over it.
Once she was finished, she wrapped the gown and cloak together in a piece of cloth and tied it to the saddle. She mounted, grateful that she no longer had to fight her skirt.
As she approached the battlefield, she could smell the odor again. Now it seemed even worse. Ten thousand Scots, another four thousand English, and why? It had been three weeks and obviously many still lay in shallow graves. She veered away from the battlefield, but the memories had lodged in her head. She feared they would never go away, not any of it. Not the English soldier calling for water, nor her pulling a ring from a dead man’s finger.
She finally passed the battlefield, and the odor faded. She joined a stream of people carrying bodies on horses or in carts.
She stopped one elderly man pulling a cart. A pair of bare feet stuck out from the end. “I am looking for Branxton Church.”
“If ye want to see the Scot King, he’s gone,” the man replied and made the sign of the cross. “His body was taken to London.”
“Is that your son?” she asked, trying to deepen her voice.
“Aye. He joined the English just before the battle. Foolish lad. He was my last.” Then he apparently remembered the question. “Straight ah
ead.”
Then he turned back to the road, his back bowed with grief. Her heart cried for him, and all the others looking for sons and fathers and brothers. Was someone looking for her Scot?
She turned back to the road. The man had not looked at her curiously.
She continued on as the sun started to dip. People on foot looked at Magnus enviously, or drew their eyes away. Then she reached the church. Grand compared to the small chapel in her village.
She dismounted, tied the reins to the post, and went inside. A handful of people were praying silently. A priest approached her.
“Can I assist you, my son, or are you here to pray?”
“I am hoping ye can help me,” she said. She took the crest from a purse she’d attached to her belt and told the tale she’d rehearsed. “I killed a man on the battlefield. In his dying breath he asked me to return this to his family, but he died before he could tell me what family. I hoped ye might be able to help me.”
She handed the crest to the priest who studied it for a moment. “‘Virtue Mine Honour,’” he read. “But I do not recognize it. You will probably have to go into Scotland to find the family name. I can take it and try to find whoever should have it.”
“Nay, ’tis something I must do myself. I made a vow.”
The priest did not voice the observation that rarely—if ever—did a borderer try to return an item, particularly one of value, but she knew it must be going through his thoughts.
However, he did not say so.
“Thank you, Father,” she said, holding out her hand for the broach, then fleeing as he reluctantly handed it back to her. She wanted no more questions.
She did not have what she needed—a name, a family, a title—but she had her first clue, something to give the Scot for his search. She did not know how she would explain how she discovered it, but she would.
By the time she left the church, it was dark. Magnus was where she had left him, and she gave a prayer of thanks, then mounted. She wanted to ask more people about the crest, but nearly all would be English in search of those killed by the Scots, and those who were not would probably not admit it. She did not like defeat. But more questions might endanger the Scot as much as herself. And she had something.
Beloved Stranger Page 14
