In a Glance

by Lisa Shea

  Hugh looked over to Joan. “If you are sure …?”

  She nodded, leaning over to sprawl on the soft rug, curling up with her back against the fire. “As long as I get my spot, you can sleep anywhere else you wish,” she smiled sweetly at him.

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile and he nodded. He took a pillow down from the couch, then lay lengthwise across the floor, so he was facing her. If they had both stretched out their arms, their fingertips would have just barely touched.

  A serene quiet settled across the darkened room, with the flickering embers of fire sending dancing shadows of orange and gold along the walls. Hugh’s eyes were steady on Joan. She found a gentle warmth stealing through her body, one having little to do with the flames behind her.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she drifted into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Peacefulness penetrated every corner of Joan’s body; she gave a long stretch, relishing the feeling, before blinking her eyes open. Hugh was sitting there, leaning against the couch, his eyes steady on her own. He smiled in greeting.

  “Sabah el kheer,” he offered.

  “Good morning to you too,” she responded, pushing herself up to sitting and running a hand through her hair to comb it away from her face. “I imagine Master Martin is already off?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Up at dawn, the man was. He certainly has an enviable amount of energy.”

  Joan groaned, shaking her head. “How many mornings I cursed that energy,” she returned. “Did he at least leave us some breakfast?”

  Hugh nudged his head at the low table, still pushed off to one side. Joan’s eyes lit up with delight. A spread of hummus, fresh eggs, sausages, and other treats were waiting. In seconds she had plunked herself down next to the table and was preparing a trencher with a little of each. Hugh gave a low laugh before coming over to join her.

  His voice was warm. “So, it is the last day of the exhibit – by noon Master Martin will be packing up and heading off to London. What are your plans then?” A thought occurred to him, and his smile dimmed. “Will you be going with him?”

  She gave her head a shake, stuffing a nicely browned sausage into her mouth. She sighed in pleasure at its luscious spices. “Awf haf ta hep wif Uriel’s thister,” she reminded him.

  His eyes widened for a moment, then he sat back, looking her over. “I completely forgot,” he admitted in a low voice. “This all began because you and Muriel came to ask for help in rescuing her sister, Linota.” His eyes sharpened on hers with curiosity. “You clearly knew who I was.”

  She laughed, taking a long drink of her ale before responding. “Of course I did; why do you think I trusted you with such an important task?”

  He gave a low bow at that, but then his eyes returned to hers. “Then why not tell me right out who you were?”

  She snorted in merriment. “Oh, right,” she countered. “I would have walked into that tavern’s back room and introduced myself as Nightingale, the secret courier of a spy organization nobody knew you belonged to.” Her eyes swept up to hold his. “And you would have said …?”

  A smile stole across his face. “I imagine you are right,” he conceded. “I would have been hard pressed to believe you.”

  “It seemed a much better plan to unfold the story slowly, in small pieces,” she continued, scooping up a large serving of eggs and stuffing them into her mouth. “Essier to digess.”

  His eyes twinkled, but he said nothing.

  *

  It seemed all too soon they were standing in the cloudy grey of the early afternoon, horses and carts milling around them, as Master Martin bid farewell to Lord Weston and the other friends he had made during his stay. At last the elderly man turned to where Hugh and Joan waited patiently side by side.

  Master Martin moved to stand before Hugh first. “I am so glad, after all these years, to finally be able to meet you in person,” he stated, offering his arm. “Your work in the Holy Lands was legendary and worthy of the highest praise.”

  Hugh clasped his arm warmly. “And you, Master Martin. You are remarkable beyond anything I could have imagined. It was an honor to meet you. I wish you the safest of journeys.”

  Master Martin nodded, then turned to Joan. Her breath eased out of her, and then she tumbled into his arms, holding the frail man close, lost for a moment in his familiar, exotic fragrances. For so many years he had been her guardian and confidant; these few days with him had made her realize just how much she missed him.

  He pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Ah, my girl,” he murmured against her ear. “You have so much to look forward to in life.” He pulled back, gazing at her. “Tell me you will start to seek ahead, rather than behind.”

  She smiled tenderly into his wise eyes. “I shall try.”

  “You are always welcome to visit in London, for as long as you wish,” he offered.

  She gave a nod. “When I can make the time, I will certainly come see you,” she promised.

  Master Martin tenderly ran his fingers down the side of her face, then looked over to Hugh. “Will you keep an eye on her for me, until then?”

  Hugh nodded, bringing his own gaze to hers. “It would be an honor.”

  Then Master Martin was stepping back, climbing onto his roan, and the entourage headed out. The clattering of hooves filled the courtyard and thunked across the wooden bridge. Joan strained to follow their shapes as the group moved down the well-worn path. A turn in the road, a stand of maple, and they were gone.

  Lord Weston’s voice called her back from her far-off gaze and thoughts. “I do not suppose I can tempt you into staying another night?”

  She shook her head as she turned. “I need to get back home. Sarah has been having some trouble at the mill; I want to be nearby in case she needs assistance.”

  Lord Weston’s brow furrowed. “Are those outlaws – those wolves’ heads - bothering her again, trying to drive her out? I would gladly send some guards with you.”

  Joan smiled in appreciation. “I know you would, and you know why you cannot. I am sure Sheriff Elias is behind it all. You are already in enough trouble with that man because of me.”

  He responded without hesitation, his eyes gleaming. “And gladly would seek more.”

  “I appreciate that,” she soothed him. “But for now, there is no need to exacerbate things. I will be sure to send a message if I need help.”

  He gave a snort. “You never ask for help,” he countered. “You would plow into a gang of cut-throats and thieves without hesitation if you saw someone in trouble.”

  Hugh glanced over at her, his brows rising slightly, but he remained quiet.

  Lord Weston gave a resigned shrug. “If you will be going, then I will help get you on your way. It is a long ride back to that wilderness you call home, and I would not want you riding alone after dark.” He gave a wave of his hand and a young, wiry lad went running off toward the stables.

  Hugh turned to her at that. “If you would allow me to, I will accompany you home. Then I could head into town from there and see if Muriel is done helping Father Picot.”

  Joan’s heart kindled with warmth.

  It might work. It just might work.

  “As you wish.”

  *

  Joan could not quite tell when the greyness began to seep into the world. She knew she had been full of delight when the aroma of spiced figs had filled her nose, when Master Martin’s bright eyes had looked so insightfully into her own. For a moment – for a brief, shimmering moment, she had felt at home again. She had felt comforted and warmed. The world had returned to the shimmering blues and the radiant golds she had remembered.

  But now, despite being back on her beloved Aquila, despite the miracle of having Hugh riding by her side, those smoky tendrils were wreathing around her chest. Perhaps things were not as ebony black as that first day, the sight of the messenger’s eyes so harrowed and worn, the searing pain of the knife edge burning through her thigh. She could b
reathe now, after all, could move through the world, could speak.

  And yet … she pulled the reins to the left, slowing her steed to a stop by a small brook. She dismounted, looping the leather reins over a young elm tree. Behind her, she knew that Hugh mirrored her actions, but he did not speak as she moved down to the mossy banks and knelt to cup fresh water in her hands to drink.

  She sat back on her heels, looking downstream to where the grey waters tumbled along a series of smooth, slate rocks. The sun seemed to have eased for the moment, hidden behind a scattering of dirty clouds.

  She pushed her hair from her eyes with a weary hand. “I try to tell them,” she murmured, barely aware that she was speaking aloud. “I try to explain what it was like in the Holy Land. The stunning, almost radiant sunrises when the light gilds everything in sight, making it too lovely to look on. The shimmering depths of the waters, swirling in turquoise, teal, and cerulean.” Her voice caught, and she pushed away tears with the back of her hand. “The sunsets that stole your breath away; the clearest sign of God’s hand on Earth that I had ever been graced with.”

  Hugh eased to one knee at her side, so close that she could have swayed in the wind and rested against him. His voice was a quiet murmur in the breeze. “Jerusalem was full of beauty,” he agreed. “Just as every place on this Earth has its own, unique, gifts to offer.” His eyes stayed steady on the stream. “Trust in me. Close your eyes.”

  Joan exhaled, nodded, then let her lids fall. The grays faded away. She was left with the slow, steady rumble of the water tumbling and turning over the rocks, taking the course it had followed for centuries. Her skin glowed with a soft warmth as the sun eased free of whatever cloudy wisps had held it back. A soft breeze trickled across her cheek, and she turned into it, inhaling the scent of rosemary it brought with it.

  Hugh’s voice moved into her awareness as a returning loved one resolves out of a morning mist. “I want you to bring to mind all those you help here,” he instructed. “Young Linota, who Muriel trusts you will bring home to her safe and sound. Sarah, at the mill, who relies on your strength to protect her. There are countless others; innocents who have nowhere else to turn. Your presence here will bring them joy. You will be the candle lit in the darkest night.”

  There was the gentlest of touches on her hand, just the softest caress, and yet a shiver coursed through her entire body and left her weak.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She lifted her lids. The stream before her sparkled as if a million emeralds and diamonds had been scattered along its surface. The moss beneath her hand had taken on a velvety texture, and the rosemary scent had intensified to intoxicating levels. High above, a pair of siskins danced in the breeze, their golden bodies tracing shimmering arcs.

  She soaked in the beauty of the world, her breath coming in long, full sweeps.

  “It is beautiful,” she stated at last.

  He nodded at that, a quiet smile coming to his lips. “I understand better than you might think,” he murmured. “And yet, trust in God. He has made beauty in every place; a light in every darkness.”

  Hugh turned to her. “Have patience, and allow it to reach you.”

  He drew to his feet, holding out a hand. She waited for a long moment, the tendrils of smoke still tugging at the sides of her ribs, the edges of her toes. Then, at last, she put her fingers into his, and he was drawing her up.

  Chapter 5

  The last vestiges of the burnt-orange sun had just drifted below the horizon as they rounded the corner and came upon her homestead. She pulled into a stop, and at her side Hugh reined in, his eyes scanning their surroundings. His mouth spread into a smile, and Joan’s heart eased.

  “So, you approve?” she asked, finding that there was more emotion in those few words than she would have thought.

  He nodded. “Woods cut back from the outer fence, house centered within it, the stables hard aside. Your gardens are well tended, there is plenty of grass for the horses.” His eyes focused on a small stone structure. “And you even have a well?”

  “Yes, I do,” she confirmed, smiling.

  His brow furrowed. “But apparently no gate to your fence,” he added.

  She chuckled. “True enough,” she agreed. “Be sure to follow me closely. If you were to break Accipiter’s leg, I’m afraid I could not be responsible for the consequences to your health.”

  He smiled at that, giving a wave of his hand. “Lead on, and I shall be your shadow,” he promised.

  She gave a sharp nudge to her steed, and in a moment they were flying down the path, straight at the wood slats of the rail fence. Aquila hardly needed a hand on the reins, he knew the way so well. In a moment they were soaring over the hurdle, turning hard right, then twisting around the oak stump. There were several dips and large rocks around her homestead, placed there to wreak havoc on unsuspecting cut-purses. But for her steeds, it was merely a last, joyous obstacle course to maneuver before their final rest of the day.

  Aquila pulled up on his own as they reached the stables, and Accipiter was at his side in a heartbeat. Hugh slid down, moving to the front of the two animals, giving a fond pat to Accipiter’s neck as Joan came to join him.

  His voice was low. “I can stay while you stable Aquila, and then move on to town to bring Accipiter to Muriel,” he offered.

  Joan’s heart wrenched. What if he departed now? What if he mounted, rode off, and she were left on her own, left with the suffocating isolation that blanketed her every night?

  Her voice sounded shaky even to her own ears. “If you would like –”

  There was movement to the right. In the growing dusk the shadowy form of a small wolf stalked toward them a step, then stopped. Its amber eyes gleamed. A heartbeat, and then a second shape joined the first.

  Hugh’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. He took a half-step before Joan, shielding her with his body.

  His voice was a low command. “Get into the stables.”

  “But Hugh –”

  The wolf on the left began a rumbling growl, deep in its throat, that set the hairs of her neck on end.

  Hugh took a step forward, his eyes steadily focused on the golden gleams. “Get inside,” he ordered again.

  Joan shook her head, staring at the animals. “Stop it,” she stated firmly.

  Hugh stopped moving, but his focus did not waver. “If you think –”

  Joan took a step forward to stand by his side, staring at the two wolves.

  “Romulus, you stop it,” she ordered again, her gaze holding the animal’s eyes with focused attention. “This is a friend.”

  She dropped down to one knee, and the other shape bounded toward her, licking her face. She affectionately drew him in. “That’s right, Remus. You show your brother.”

  Hugh looked between the two massive dogs. After a long moment he moved his hand from his hilt to carefully tousle Remus’s head, his eyes widening. “You call these things pets?”

  “They are mostly dog,” she grinned at him, “although I admit it seems there is some wolf in there somewhere.” She looked back at the second beast. “Come on, Romulus. You can trust him.”

  Hugh dropped to one knee beside her. After several heartbeats Romulus hesitantly took one step forward, then two. He came to Joan first, nuzzling her fondly, then stared over at Hugh.

  Hugh waited without moving, one hand still resting in Remus’s coat.

  At last Romulus took a step toward Hugh, interjecting his body between Hugh and Remus, drawing the man’s hand onto his own back.

  Joan chuckled. “I figured jealousy would get the best of him in the end,” she teased. “I apologize for their behavior; they are loyal defenders.”

  “I imagine they might get used to a visitor over time,” mused Hugh, giving Romulus a scratch between his ears.

  “I guess we will find out, as you are the first we have had,” offered Joan with a smile.

  Hugh glanced up at that, his hand stilling, and then he was giving a last
rustle to Romulus before standing.

  Joan glanced back at the house. “As our very first visitor, would you like the grand tour? And perhaps a drink?”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Hugh, and there was an ease to the tension in his shoulders. Together they moved into the stables and rubbed down the horses, hanging the tack and settling them in.

  “And now, for my luxurious abode,” teased Joan, moving out of the stables. “I have but two rooms – the main living area and then my bedroom.” She moved along the side of the building, past a shuttered window, to the main, oak door. She reached a hand into the leather pouch at her side, withdrawing a small iron key.

  “You lock it,” he murmured, intrigued. “Apparently there are treasures within.”

  She smiled at that. “Just one. And I imagine it is only special to me, but I do treasure it.” She turned the key and pushed the door wide, motioning him in.

  He stepped across the threshold, and Remus and Romulus swept along either side of her to pad into the room. She drew the door closed behind them, looking across the main room as it flickered in the light of the remnants of dusk. A small, rectangular oak table stood to the right, fronted by a bench. A thick fur rug lay before the fireplace. Windows were shuttered on either side of the room. A row of unlit candles lined the mantle.

  She moved to the grate, picking up the metal curve of the firesteel at the edge. She struck the stone chert next to it a few times until the sparks caught at the pile of birch bark, creating a low flame. A moment later she had taken one of the candles from the mantle and was kneeling with it. “The pitcher of mead is on the back wall, by the bedroom door,” she stated, turning and handing him the lit candle. “If you could pour our drinks, I will get the rest of the room prepared.”

  She turned back to the fireplace, lighting another candle, then using it to move down the row. In a moment all were glowing with flickering warmth. She rousted the fire, added on a medium-sized log, then moved to put a pair of candles on the small table. She turned …