Sophia had hoped with all her might that Beon would kiss her and now that it was happening the whole world stood still. Her heart was beating as fast as a sparrow’s…especially after the exhilarating ‘blind run’ Beon had led her through. She truly felt as though she were flying! It reminded her of the feeling she would get in the chapel when the sound surrounded her.
Beon Everard, the one who made her feel like she was where she belonged, the one who made her feel wanted, and the one she’d loved for as long as she could remember. Yes, she thought, she had loved him her whole life, perhaps longer. Having grown up with him, it seemed as though they had always been together. Even from the beginning, even when he’d been young and obnoxiously arrogant…as if it had already been written in the book of time.
His lips were soft and his scent commingled with the salty air. Sophia would cherish this moment forever, no matter what happened. She had learned not to expect very much out of life. The apathy of her father, the untimely death of her mother, the isolation of the convent, and now her one true love sailing off across the sea to fight a war on foreign soil. She would hold tight to this perfect memory and let it sustain her, whatever the outcome. Sophia braced herself for the very real possibility that she would never see Beon again.
When he finally pulled away and looked down at her, the tears were still flowing, but she was smiling.
“Will you write to me?” Sophia asked.
“As often as I can.”
“I know better than to ask how long you’ll be gone…it is beyond your control.”
Beon nodded and then drew her close, his hand coming up to press her cheek to his chest. It was the kind of embrace that frightened her because it felt final somehow. Fear of the unknown had her stomach in knots.
“Come,” he said, “There’s time for one more thing before we ride south.”
Beon released her and took her by the hand to begin walking back toward Sir Lyndon and Eva. She smiled when she noticed they too were walking hand in hand.
As they got closer, Beon called out, “Ho there! Are you up for another sculpture before we depart? Something to leave behind as a remembrance?”
“Sounds like a splendid idea,” answered Sir Lyndon.
Sophia found herself wondering if she would survive losing Beon, especially with yet another sculpture to remind her. Forcing such horrible thoughts from her mind, she clutched onto his hand more tightly, biting her lip to keep from bursting into tears at the idea. But then again, the wooden bird and the first sculpture had been a source of great comfort for her while he’d been away. Oh, why was she so conflicted?
“You’re going to make another?” Eva exclaimed and then laughed in her hysterical way. “It’s been the talk of the island. We’ve even had some mainlanders cross the low simply to get a look!”
“And it nearly gave the Abbot a conniption,” Sophia added. What would the Abbot do if there was another?
“In that case, we’d best be extra stealthy. We don’t want to get our girls into trouble, now do we?” Sir Lyndon said.
“And why should we pay for your sins? We will deny we even know you,” Eva said, continuing to laugh.
“Perhaps we should choose a hedge on the perimeter, so as not to attract too much attention,” Beon offered.
“Ah, my young friend, we must let the shrubbery choose us, not the other way round! Artistic genius cannot be mollified!”
In spite of herself, Sophia laughed along with the others as they made their way back to the garden courtyard of the Priory grounds and the men began searching for ‘the perfect hedge.’
Sophia would admit that she found the antics between the men quite amusing. After some conspiratorial whispering between them, Sir Lyndon said, “’Tis a fine-looking hedge, do you not agree?”
“Can you tell any difference from this one and the myriad of other wild looking hedges we’ve passed?” Sophia asked Eva.
“Um, well...if I am to be honest, the answer is no,” answered Eva, giggling.
“What are you going to sculpt this time?” Sophia asked, eager to see the creation even if she was a bit apprehensive about having it there on the grounds, haunting her.
“Let it be a surprise, my lady, for now, I think it best to bid you goodnight before you catch a chill.”
“Or worse, the Head Sister catches you out at night with two rogues,” Sir Lyndon teased. “He’s quite right, my lady, it’s best if we say our goodbyes, however difficult.”
With their final farewell upon her so suddenly, Sophia found herself rushing to embrace Beon where he stood.
“I look forward to seeing you again, my lady,” Beon said as he embraced her.
“And I you. Until then…know that you carry my heart across the sea along with you.”
Beon sketched an elegant bow and then kissed her hand. She felt Eva put an arm around her, drawing her away from a man she never wanted to let go.
As they walked slowly toward their quarters, looking back occasionally, Sophia noticed the men hadn’t wasted any time in executing their plan. Silhouetted by the moon-kissed ocean, the sound of waves rolling in the distance, they sliced away at the branches.
Chapter 12
Crushed Hope
“Please, I need to see him! There may still be time!” Beon pleaded desperately.
The guards standing post outside the quarantined compound of tents housing all the afflicted soldiers refused to let him see Sir Lyndon. Drawing his blade and forcing his way in crossed Beon’s mind, but he knew these guards were simply doing their duty.
How had Sir Lyndon, the indefatigable knight who had been like a cherished uncle to Beon fallen ill? Like a nightmare, it was hard to believe it was real. Sir Lyndon was such a fierce giant, inside and out, but like so many, something small had felled him as swiftly as a fire could devour a village. Beon must be allowed to say goodbye; his guts twisted into a tangle that made him feel quite nauseous.
The war amongst countries and kings had become so overshadowed by the devastating losses from the pestilence that neither side, the French or the English, could continue the fight. The king gave orders that all were to return to England, the war was to be put on hold until this plague ran its course, or ‘wiped the French off the face of the earth for us.’
All in all, it had been a year of horror...and not only due to the massive loss of life. Ever since Beon and Sir Lyndon had surprised Sophia and Eva with a visit last summer, Beon had been stricken with homesickness for Sophia in a terrible way. The years previous had been rather glorious for Beon. He had truly become a seasoned warrior and trusted strategist for the King and his lieutenants. But the greatest glory of all had been fighting alongside his father. They had never been closer, and he could tell his father was very proud of his performance. Beon had become a man. It was completely forgotten, or at least overlooked, that he was still technically a page for he had paid his dues time and again on the battlefield. Almost all of his dreams had come true, until his luck made a dramatic turn for the worse.
Last fall, not long after he and Sir Lyndon had returned to France, his father caught the deadly pestilence that had claimed the lives of so many. Beon had watched his once mighty father wither and develop dark sores all over his body as his flesh died from the inside out. It was the most horrible thing Beon ever witnessed, and he had seen plenty of horror at war.
By the time his father passed, Beon knew he was beginning to lose his taste for fighting. For now, he just wanted to go home...home to Sophia. As more and more men died from the sweeping plague, it became clear that the fighting could not continue. Beon and Sir Lyndon had rejoiced at the prospect of reuniting with Sophia and Eva for good.
But now, one of his truest friends in this world, Sir Lyndon, had succumbed as well. They were no longer allowing healthy soldiers to commingle with infected ones. Visiting was strictly forbidden for fear of further spreading. Beon did not care. He had to at least say goodbye to his mentor and comrade, and he tried to wrestle past the
guards.
“I must be allowed to see Sir Lyndon!”
The three guards shoved him back. One spoke up and said, “If you go in, you don’t come out! The decision is yours, but think hard, laddie.”
Beon had thought hard. He’d thought of Sophia. He’d thought of his mother. Knowing he couldn’t risk becoming trapped with the sick for the sake of the women in his life, Beon backed down as he hatched a plan to see Sir Lyndon without hindering his freedom.
Shoving free of the guards and straightening his tunic, he stepped back, turned, and walked across the divide that separated the living from the dying and sank onto a makeshift bench at the fire between the two.
As varying scenarios flitted through his mind, he kept a close eye on the tent where Sir Lyndon lay.
After a couple of hours, when almost the entire encampment had gone to bed, Beon stood at alert for the changing of the guard. Once the replacements arrived, he would find the right moment to sneak around the perimeter and slip inside.
Much to Beon’s surprise, however, along with the new guards came Sir Percy as well. What was he doing here at this time of night? Sir Percy was never seen outside his tent in the evenings. It was the topic of much discussion amongst the fighting men. Some joked that he needed his beauty rest. Others thought he had some sort of night sickness or a weak constitution. The only time Sir Percy was ever seen after sunset was if a surprise attack from the French roused the encampment. Then and only then would he appear, and only in full armor, including a helmet with full visor, fighting with the ferocity of ten men, per usual.
Beon was in awe of the man and distrusted him all the same. As the years wore on, Sir Percy’s abilities became more unsettling. How was it possible for a man to do what Sir Percy does? Beon would ponder, knowing that he personally gave his all on the field and his abilities were quite superior to most. Somehow, Sir Percy, despite his lack of height and bulk, managed to accomplish physical tasks that would even challenge Sir Lyndon. Mystery surrounded the man. He seemed to float above them all without a care in the world, without fear of death. Something troubled Beon about the man but he had yet to put his finger on what it was exactly.
Sir Percy was wearing a black cloak and stared at his feet as he walked. When he approached the guards at the entrance, they parted for him without a word. Sir Percy disappeared inside the main tent. Instead of executing his plan, Beon waited. Had Sir Percy not been there, Beon wouldn’t have hesitated, but something in his gut told him he’d be found out with that particular knight around.
Only embers remained of the fire when something startled Beon awake. Not knowing exactly how much time had passed, he watched as Sir Percy reemerged. This time, he had a companion, a large man, also cloaked in black, head completely concealed by a hood. Again, they both walked with heads down as if staring at their feet. As Sir Percy passed the guards with their torches, he stopped and raised his eyes slowly to meet with Beon’s from all the way across the yard. Beon was so startled it caused his breath to catch. A bewildering sense of déjà vu made him think he’d seen that look before, those eyes, but he couldn’t pinpoint where and when.
Sir Percy dropped his head and started walking straight toward Beon. He and his companion came to a stop to Beon’s left, their faces still completely hidden.
“I’m afraid Sir Lyndon is no more. I’m sorry for your loss,” Sir Percy said, his tone lacking emotion.
“What? How…so quickly? He only just became sick—”
“He decided he wanted his suffering to end,” Sir Percy interjected.
Stunned and devastated by this horrible news, Beon struggled to find enough air for his lungs. “He gave up the fight? I can’t believe that…I beg you, what do you mean by your comment?”
“You’ve seen firsthand what the infection can do to a mighty warrior, have you not?”
This question struck Beon in the gut, and for a brief moment, he hated Sir Percy for bringing up the painful memory of his father’s suffering. The large man accompanying Sir Percy made to come toward Beon, but the Knight put out a hand and stopped him.
Sir Percy glided off into the night as he called over his shoulder, “I shall see you back in London, Master Everard. Safe travels until then.”
Beon had reserved judgment about Sir Percy, feeling it would be unfair of him to measure his character without really knowing him, but after the callous way he’d addressed the loss of such a great warrior, Beon decided he was done reserving judgment and could now freely hate Sir Percy.
The Head Sister walked nervously into the chamber where Sophia and Eva were reading and said, “Sophia, your father is here. He has been meeting with Brother Thomas, but he bids you gather your things for a trip to London post haste.”
“I’m to go to London now?” Sophia asked.
“Yes, and be quick about it, or you will draw his wrath. He seems in an awful hurry.”
Sophia swallowed and caught onto Eva’s wide-eyes as the Head Sister rushed away. If Father was already in enough of a mood to put the Head Sister in a dither, did she really want to go with him? Sophia saw no way of escaping it, though, and promptly set her book aside, rising to prepare for the journey.
“Could this mean a wedding or a funeral, do you think?” Sophia asked as she moved toward the door, remembering the many letters about suitors, as well as the war that had kept Beon from her these many months.
The color drained from Eva’s face, and Sophia regretted her choice of words. Of course, Eva worried about Sir Lyndon perishing in battle as much as she feared for Beon. Reaching out to her with trembling hands, Eva said, “Come, let us pray that it is a welcome home ceremony for our men at war and not—oh, I just can’t say it.”
Taking Eva’s hands into hers, they bowed their heads as Eva whispered a short prayer. The very second Eva whispered, “Amen,” Sophia left in a hurry.
When she arrived in the cloister with her small trunk in tow, her father only acknowledged her with an impatient sideways glance. He continued to speak with Brother Thomas in hushed but emphatic tones.
Brother Thomas nodded somberly to words she couldn’t hear, and panic began to rise within her.
Since Brother Thomas was the Priory expert on demon extraction as well as revealing the identity of witches and blood sucking creatures like the one she and Beon had encountered on the south road, this intensified her concerns. Could Beon and Sir Lyndon have fallen prey to that thing rather than the perils of war? With their plans to capture the beast returning to her memory, the dread within her rose.
After a moment that felt more like a month had passed, the men shook hands, and her father strode toward her.
“Come,” he said as he passed her on his way out.
Scrambling to drag her trunk along with her, she obediently followed.
The mood remained very somber among the party that traveled south to London. When it appeared to Sophia that Father had very few men left in his charge, a fraction of what normally would have accompanied him on such a journey, the worry within her intensified.
Sophia studied him, doing her best to read a man she’d never truly been able to read anyway. Not only was his detail of guards fewer in number, but Father seemed a mere shadow of his former self. He was distracted and harried and he wasn’t raging about whatever it was that had displeased him. Sophia clutched the small wooden bird in her pocket as they rode side by side, desperate for any comfort to her anxious thoughts.
The only small comfort she found in the journey was seeing her youngest brother again, Marcus, who had grown into a fine young man, resembling their mother to the point it was like being in her presence again.
Nudging her horse ahead slightly, she caught up with Marcus and asked, “What news do you have for me, Brother?”
“It’s all very sudden, according to Father. The war with France was simply called off due to the pestilence sweeping Europe. So many died there was no one left to fight. They say the plague has reached England, but Father says that it is o
nly hearsay and not to bother with such rubbish.”
“What sort of pestilence are you talking about?” she asked, praying it wasn’t the same evil pestilence Brother Thomas and the others whispered about at the monastery.
“Some are calling it the Black Death.”
She’d heard the monks and nuns whisper of that too, but she still could not breathe freely because she did not know if the men she cared about had escaped either threat with their lives.
“Have you heard word of Marcel, Sir Beon, or Sir Lyndon?”
Marcus laughed coldly, the sound making her think of Father far more than she’d expected, and his response was just as heartless. “How should I know? None of them bother to write me. And don’t be an imbecile, Beon is still a page, therefore you mustn’t refer to him as a knight.”
At such unkind words, she couldn’t find anything else to say, and so they rode in silence for a while, so much sadness for her brother filling her heart, Sophia thought she might cry. Clearly, the absence of their mother had cost her brother dearly. Marcus was already becoming as cruel as her father.
When the silence grew to be too much, Sophia raised her chin and asked, “Why must we go to London if the war is not won?”
“The king has requested all the lords and ladies of the land attend a memorial for the fallen upon his return. It is a funeral procession as much as it is a welcome home apparently.”
Sophia felt a momentary sense of relief that one of her questions had been answered. Father had not married her off as of yet, which meant that Beon could ask for her hand now that the war was over and they could finally be together. Any relief promptly dissipated as the fear of death continued to loom, however. What if Beon was one of the many men taken by the horrible infection or the evil demon?
“Why does Father have fewer men with him than usual?” she asked, hoping the answer might explain the absence of Beon or Sir Lyndon.
Marcus shrugged his shoulders, again proving his nature had been poisoned under their father’s guidance. “Father said they were weak and fell victim to this pestilence as well.”
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