In a Glance

by Lisa Shea

  Joan’s heart pounded in her chest. And here came the second obstacle, so crucial.

  Would Hugh follow along the path she created for him?

  Muriel’s voice held just the right balance of reluctance and resignation, and Joan could have kissed her for it. “I was planning on staying with Father Picot to help with his patients through Tuesday afternoon,” she offered. “Joan is going near to Lord Weston’s keep. It was one of Joan’s horses I rode here on. If she is willing, you can have the use of that steed to get to your appointment.”

  Hugh’s eyes turned back to Joan’s and she warmed in the subtle shift in dynamics. Now she was the one who had something he wanted. She could feel it in his gaze, in the subtle dropping of his shoulders.

  His voice was tight when he spoke. “I would be grateful if you would lend me the use of your steed.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  Hugh sighed, easing back into his chair for a moment, then scanned the rest of his group. “We regroup at the bridge on Wednesday at noon,” he informed them. “Ymbert, you do your usual magic to gather the background we need.”

  Ymbert was busy shoveling stew into his mouth; he nodded. “Of course,” he mumbled between bites.

  Hugh stood. “Then we are settled.” He glanced at Joan. “Give me five minutes to collect my things from the stables, then we can leave.” He was out the door at a steady stride.

  Muriel stood, nodding to the group. “Thank you,” she offered them. She turned to Joan, her eyes warm. “And thank you,” she whispered.

  Joan smiled back, tenderly clasping her friend’s arm. “We will get both women back safely,” she promised in a low voice.

  Muriel nodded, then she headed out into the main room of the inn, Ada right on her heels.

  The door settled closed again and Joan looked at the three remaining people at the table. They were ignoring her now, a fixed dismissiveness which drew a smile to her lips. The coins on the table were gone, undoubtedly swept up by Ymbert the moment Muriel’s back had turned.

  Her eyes went to the wiry man. “You seem the betting type,” she murmured.

  His eyes flashed with interest and he put down his spoon. “I admit I like a good wager,” he agreed. “What are we betting on?”

  The corners of Joan’s mouth turned up. “I bet you do not want me to come along with you on your adventure.”

  He chuckled at that, his eyes gaining a sparkle. “You hardly need a bag of bones to divine that one.”

  She took a step toward the table. “Well then,” she smiled, “here is my bet. I bet you, if you leave me completely alone with Hugh for the weekend, that by Wednesday he will insist you take me along with you.”

  Sybil burst out laughing. “Hugh? Want you as part of our crew?” She shook her head. “That man is not interested in women. If he had his way, I would not be here – but he needs my particular abilities to open certain doors.” She scoffed, looking down the folds of Joan’s cloak. “He will never want you.”

  Joan spread her arms wide. “So you accept my bet?”

  Sybil leant forward with sharp interest. “What are your terms?”

  Joan looked across the three. “If I win, and Hugh wants me with you, then you accept me without argument. I will not interfere, but I will be there when you seek out the two women.”

  Norman’s brow wrinkled in thought. “And if you lose?”

  She shrugged. “If Hugh does not want me, then I will not go with you. You can travel unimpeded.”

  Ymbert glanced down at the pouch at his side. “And the money?”

  “I will tell Muriel that my role is separate from yours. Her terms will be satisfied and you can keep your extra money.”

  Ymbert’s eyes lit up. “Done!” He held a hand out to Joan.

  Joan ran her eyes across all three. “But you cannot say a word to Hugh, nor bother us in any way. Otherwise all bets are off.”

  Sybil grinned widely. “Oh, absolutely,” she agreed. “We would not dream of doing anything but watching your hopeless plan unravel into frail little threads.”

  Joan nodded. In a moment she had clasped three hands.

  Joan’s eyes sparkled. “In fact,” she advised the group, “I will even give you a head start and annoy him a bit before we leave.”

  Sybil laughed out loud. “You are already playing a weak hand and you want to make it worse? By all means, this I want to see.”

  The door was pushed open and Hugh strode in, a pack over his shoulder. “I am ready. We should head out – I will miss half of the ceremony as it is.”

  Joan slouched her shoulders, bringing a regretful droop to her eyes. “I am sorry, but I am afraid I need to use the privy before we leave. Could you please let me know where it is?”

  The string of curses which followed her path out back were all she could have hoped to achieve.

  Chapter 2

  Joan waited a full five minutes before coming out of the small outhouse and strolling toward the front of the inn. Hugh was pacing in frustration before the structure, glancing at the waves of sunset radiating from the west. She drew in a moment, letting herself take him in.

  He wore a dark brown leather tunic, stitched at the shoulder, over a midnight blue shirt. His leather leggings and boots matched the brown top, and he wore a long sword at his hip. His stride was steady, well balanced, and she knew well just how agile he was with that sword in hand. She had been the one to write out the orders for Hugh and Michael, to receive back the summaries of their actions. They were a legend in the field, with Michael’s planning and Hugh’s execution. They had been -

  She pushed the thoughts out of mind with harsh effort. That had been five long years ago. She needed to focus on the here and now in order to see this through. But it had to be done carefully, slowly. The unfurling of a fern in the gentle spring’s warmth.

  She ambled at a relaxed pace around the corner of the building, and Hugh whirled at once. “There you are,” he ground out. “Ready now?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she offered in a low voice. She meandered across the green, smiling at the field of primrose. It really was quite a sight, with the delicate white petals over the sea of darker green.

  Hugh’s voice was tight. “It is a full five miles to Lord Weston’s keep and the ceremony was set to start immediately at sunset,” he muttered.

  “Not to worry,” offered Joan sweetly. “I am sure everything will work out.”

  Hugh looked up as they approached the blacksmith shop and his shoulders slouched in despair. “Are these your horses?” he growled.

  Joan followed his eyes with a bright smile. She had seen the decrepit steeds when she and Muriel had ridden in; she had wondered to her friend just what kept the two poor nags upright. They were skin and bones, with gaunt cheeks and rail-thin ribs.

  She dug into the pouch at her hip, withdrawing the two apples she had bought from Ada on the way out of the back room. She tenderly offered one to each horse. “You poor things,” she murmured. “Life can be rough sometimes.”

  Hugh’s gaze narrowed. “You do not care well for your steeds,” he snapped.

  She innocently glanced up at him. “I suppose we all have our own standards,” she countered. “In any case, these neglected creatures do not belong to me. Mine are around the corner.”

  Relief eased across his face and he followed her around the edge of the building. His feet drew to a halt as he stared between the two stallions.

  Joan stepped past him, her heart warming with pride as she looked on the joys of her life. She was frugal in many aspects of life. She wore no jewelry and her home had neither pewter bowls nor glassed-in windows. But she believed with all her heart in the value of a strong and worthy horse. Her most important role in Jerusalem had been that of a courier, and more times than she could count it had been a sure-footed steed which saved her life. There had been instances that her messages, delivered in the nick of time, had saved Michael’s life, and Hugh’s as well.

  She smiled, s
tepping forward to the horse on the left to run a hand down his mane, looking up into his large, brown eyes. “This one is Aquila,” she informed Hugh, “while yours is Accipiter.”

  “Eagle and Hawk,” mused Hugh, running his eyes over the two steeds. “They are magnificent creatures.”

  She turned her eyes to him in quiet regard. “So you approve of my horses, then?”

  He smiled at that, nodding. “Absolutely,” he agreed, stepping forward to offer a strong pat to his steed’s neck. In a moment he had fastened his bags onto the back of the saddle and vaulted onto the steed.

  Joan was up on her own, then swung her horse to face north.

  Hugh’s brows creased. “The main road to Lord Weston’s is to the west,” he pointed out.

  Joan’s brows rose in curiosity. “I thought you wanted to be there by sundown?”

  He glanced at the road again. “You have a quicker way?”

  The corners of Joan’s mouth tweaked into a smile. “If you think you can keep up with me,” she teased sweetly.

  Hugh’s eyes sparked with interest. “Lead on!”

  Joan did not need a second prodding. She nudged Aquila, leant over his mane, and in a second he was in flight.

  Aquila adored running. Joan’s soul soared as they flew, skimming over mossy streams, blasting, almost airborne, through the narrow twists of the woods. A dim thought flickered in the back of her mind - she needed to take the unveiling slowly. She needed to dole out her revelations in small, gentle portions. But she could not draw in the reins. The thrill of the ride blew all thoughts of caution out of the hidden corners of her being. She threw her hood back, letting her long, chestnut-brown hair stream unfettered, laughing with the sheer joy of breathing in the world’s delights.

  She turned her head to the right and Hugh was immediately beside her, matching her pace. Accipiter’s hooves fell nearly in perfect rhythm with Aquila’s. And well they should; the horses were brothers, raised by one of the finest stable masters in Jerusalem. They had been hand-picked by her when they were wobbling colts on stick-thin legs. She knew their sires, knew their lineage, and time had borne out her faith.

  Hugh smiled at her, and then they were twisting, streaming, flowing like quicksilver beneath the shimmering sunset. It seemed all too soon that the ride was behind them, that they were coming out into the open clearing around Lord Weston’s keep.

  Torches lit the walls at regular intervals and a row of metal lamps lit their way to the main gate in the curtain wall. A crowd of horses gathered in a stamping mob, waiting as the guards talked with the owners, checking over their identities before passing them through.

  Hugh pulled up alongside her, his eyes shadowing as he looked over the blockade. “This will take a while,” he sighed.

  “Follow me,” she instructed him, then gave her reins a gentle tug. She headed around the edge of the wall toward the right, moving easily through the growing dusk. She guided Aquila around a fallen log, then pressed forward toward a small, dark area of the wall.

  A bored voice called down from the walkway. “All visitors proceed through the main gates for the security check,” he intoned as if by rote. “No exceptions.”

  Her eyes twinkled as she looked up into the growing darkness. “And here I thought you wanted another ride on Accipiter,” she mused. “Ah well. I guess I will just – ”

  The voice became warm and urgent. “Joan? Is that you? Wait!” There was a scurrying noise and a sharp scraping. In a moment the door was being pulled open. Joan and Hugh dismounted, then led the horses in through the opening.

  The guard laid a hand reverently against Accipiter’s neck, gazing up at the steed. “I will get them stabled for you,” he promised. “The best grain, just the way you like it. I will take care of everything.”

  She smiled. “I know you will, and thank you.”

  In a moment he was leading the two horses away and she hitched her head toward the keep. “Shall we?”

  Hugh’s eyebrow went up in appreciation. “After you,” he offered with a wave.

  She turned right, heading away from the main keep entrance. It seemed he was learning to trust her. He did not voice an objection, simply followed along at her side, his gaze sweeping over the open courtyard. The stables were behind them, currently mobbed by arriving guests, and a collection of out-buildings filled the other sides of the open area. She led Hugh alongside the kitchen’s stone walls.

  A maid moved past them carrying a tray of rosy apples. Joan reached forward, plucking one off the tray. The maid glanced back, then smiled warmly.

  “Just as long as you eat that yourself and do not feed it to those steeds of yours,” she chuckled. “I swear they eat better than us humans sometimes.”

  “And well they deserve it,” agreed Joan. “For they have defended me far more ably than a bodyguard many times in the past.”

  She followed behind the maid as she went into a side door of the keep, and Hugh was close behind her. There was the narrow spiral staircase up to the main floor where it sounded like dinner was going strong. She crossed the landing and started up the second flight. Hugh paused for a moment, his eyes going to the throng of people and the wealth of food, before following along after her.

  She moved down the long, stone hall, slowing as she approached the guard stationed by the door at the end.

  The guard nodded his head in welcome. “You are running late,” he teased, glancing over her shoulder at Hugh.

  “Business comes before pleasure,” she returned, giving him a wink. Then he was pulling open the door, ushering them into the room.

  The study was regally appointed in elm and oak, with glass windows along the far wall and an inlaid desk sitting to the right. Shelves of codices and scrolls filled the left wall. An elegant tapestry depicted a field of battle. The room sparkled with the light of the many beeswax candles that glittered from just about every flat surface.

  A middle-aged man turned from the windows, his curly hair almost black, his sturdy muscles not yet easing to fat.

  “Joan, there you are! I was beginning to think you turned me down in order to go off on another midnight race.”

  She smiled, moving forward into his arms. “My dear Lord Weston, I seem to recall you bet against me in that,” she joked, relaxing in his embrace for a moment before stepping back.

  He laughed. “I did not know better at the time,” he agreed. “I have certainly made that money back several times over.”

  His eyes moved to Hugh, who had come up behind them. “Hugh! I did not realize you knew Joan.”

  Hugh put out his hand and the men clasped arms. “I only met her tonight, but she was kind enough to offer me a ride,” he stated.

  Lord Weston laughed out loud. “Oh, you are granted a ride on Accipiter and you reluctantly accepted?” He grinned. “Many men here would give a month’s salary for that treat.”

  He turned back to Joan. “Here, let me take your cloak,” he offered. She turned dutifully, undoing the clasp at her neck. He eased the thick fabric from her shoulders and hung it on a hook.

  Hugh’s eyes were on her, and she warmed with the glow in them. She had worn her marigold-colored dress for tonight, its body a rich orange, the embroidery along the seams a burnt yellow color. It fit her perfectly, and she knew her chestnut-brown hair gleamed in the candlelight.

  Lord Weston turned back to them and chuckled at the look on Hugh’s face. “She is indeed a beauty,” he stated, “but it is her traits within that make her a rare catch.”

  Joan’s mouth tweaked into a grin. “For example, my appreciation for your fine cider?”

  Lord Weston’s laughter echoed through the room. He moved to the side table, pouring out three glasses. He handed one to each of them before taking his own.

  “A toast, to fine horses,” he offered.

  “Fine horses,” agreed Joan, and they all clinked their glasses before taking a sip.

  Joan sighed with pleasure. She had no idea how Lord Weston’s brewery man
aged it, but the cider was by far the best she had ever tasted. “I think I will just stay here for the week.”

  Lord Weston smiled broadly. “You will certainly get no argument from me,” he offered. “It would be worth the riot in the stables, with all the boys fighting over who gets to care for your steeds.”

  He looked over at Hugh. “And you, Hugh, I have not seen you in, what, a year? Not since you first returned from the Mediterranean, when your father passed away.”

  Hugh nodded, taking another sip of the cider. “Yes, and I apologize for not visiting sooner. I know you and my father were good friends. Life has kept me quite busy.”

  Lord Weston looked him over. “Still, it must be quite different from your times in the Holy Land. Your father said you were involved in some sort of reconnaissance work for the Pope.”

  Hugh’s face eased into stillness. “I am afraid I cannot speak about that.”

  Lord Weston gave him a warm pat on the arm. “Of course not,” he agreed. “I am just glad you made it back safely. That line of work claims many fine men.”

  Hugh nodded somberly. “It took the life of my best friend.”

  Hugh took up the pitcher of cider and refilled their glasses. “To departed heroes,” he offered. This time the glasses were held high for a long moment before the cider was downed.

  Lord Weston looked over to Hugh. “So, did you ever meet Master Martin, tonight’s guest of honor, during your years in the Holy Land? His sword school was located in Jerusalem, although the weapons collection he is showcasing this weekend comes from all over.”

  Hugh shook his head, coming back from distant musings. “No, I never had that honor,” he returned. “It is part of why I was so eager to come tonight, to hear him speak. His reputation is stunning; I only wish I had been able to train with him while I was there.”

  “Well, on Sunday he moves on to London to stay with the King for a while. If you are able to get free, and wish to go with him, I would be willing to put in a word for you.”

  Hugh’s eyes brightened, but then he glanced at Joan and shook his head. “I have business to attend to,” he demurred. “Perhaps after that I might seek him out.”