The Adventurer's Bride

by June Francis

  One of the girls spoke and Jane looked up and realised her stepdaughters were still watching her. She felt her cheeks flame despite knowing they could not possibly know what she was thinking. She should be ashamed of herself. ‘A blanket,’ she said brightly. ‘Master Hurst will catch a chill if he is not kept warm.’

  She hurried over to the other chest where she kept sleeping pallets, as well as blankets. From its interior she removed what she needed and returned to Nicholas. As she did so it occurred to her that as far as she was aware her stepdaughters had never seen a man half-naked before. Their father had not been one to bare his flesh, even in her company, but it was too late now to tell them to avert their gaze. Suddenly she remembered the classical naked sculptures in the garden of the house in Oxford that her husband had chiselled out himself. She had voiced her disapproval because of his daughters, but he had told her it was art. At the time she had thought how contrary men were. Yet, so many considered contrariness a failing in women.

  She unfolded the blanket and tucked it about Nicholas, wondering what to do about their sleeping arrangements. Propriety insisted that he remove himself to the inn. Yet she was not of a mind to wake him and insist on his going there. Neither did she think it would it be right for him to do so on the morrow in his wounded state.

  Upstairs there was a large bedchamber and an adjoining smaller one. She and the children normally shared the double bed in the larger room, but during the worst of the winter weather when ice had frosted the inside of the windows and their breath turned to mist, they had taken to sleeping on pallets downstairs in front of the fire. She did not like doing so, but common sense told her that it was the sensible move to make if they were to survive the winter without succumbing to severe chest ailments. She had been considering moving upstairs the last few days, but then the snow had arrived. Hopefully it would go as suddenly as it had come.

  The children had finished eating their supper and now Jane ate some bread and broth. Then, with their help, she removed pallets and blankets from a chest and settled them on the floor a safe distance from the fire. After saying a prayer with them, she waited until they were asleep before removing some coins from a jar. Then she put on her coat and left the house.

  The storm seemed to have passed and the snow was turning to mush underfoot. She could see stars twinkling overhead, although the moon had not yet risen. Anna lived but a short distance away up the High Street with her baker husband, toddler and five older children, so it was only a matter of minutes before Jane was knocking on her front door.

  She refused Anna’s invitation to come inside, saying, ‘I must get back as soon as possible. You managed to feed Master Hurst’s daughter without difficulty?’

  ‘Aye. She is only tiny and does not need as much milk as Simon. My son is almost weaned, so it is fortunate for her that I have been feeding Simon, otherwise my milk would have dried up. As it is, only our Lord knows how long I will be able to feed Simon and this new little one.’

  Jane looked at her in dismay and then suddenly thought of Tabitha, a nursing mother and wife to Ned, one of Philip’s troupe of travelling players. For a short while Tabitha had helped Jane in the Oxford house towards the end of her pregnancy while Rebecca was away. If the worse came to the worst then perhaps Ned could spare Tabitha if she was able to feed Matilda? She would keep it in mind.

  ‘It has occurred to me,’ said Anna, ‘that the little one will need a feed during the night and at first light. I suggest that I keep her with me until morning.’

  Jane agreed. ‘I will not bother asking Master Hurst as he is fast asleep in the chair. I doubt he will stir until morning. I deem he is not well enough to be moved to the inn.’

  Anna gave her a look that spoke volumes and Jane flushed as she pressed the coins she had brought into Anna’s hand, adding, ‘I will bring Simon to you in the morning and collect Master Hurst’s daughter then.’ She wished her a good night before hurrying back to the house.

  * * *

  She was relieved to find Nicholas still sleeping, although she thought he looked uncomfortable and would awake with a terrible crick in his neck if he remained in such a position. She fetched a small cushion and managed to ease it beneath his head without much difficulty.

  He muttered indistinctly and opened his eyes. She held her breath as he smiled up at her, seemingly instantly recognising her. Then his eyelids drooped. Impulsively she dropped a kiss on his head. His smile had been so warm and friendly that she was oddly affected by it. She lingered for a while, considering his proposal and what he had said about her having a choice of two houses in which to live. That he had two homes was news to her. However, it would mean another move for the children. Was that fair on them when they had only recently left the home that had been theirs since their births and were just settling down here in Witney?

  She continued looking at him as she hung up her coat, wondering if he would do as she asked and wait a month before broaching the subject of marriage again. Then she bolted the front door before going into the workroom and making sure the door to the garden was locked as well. After placing a log on the fire that should smoulder for hours, she unrolled her own pallet and, wrapping a blanket around her, lay down to sleep. She had much to ponder on, but was so tired that she was asleep in no time.

  * * *

  It was discomfort and pain in his head and shoulder, as well as the noise of a woman hushing a crying baby, that woke Nicholas. For a moment he believed himself back at Louise’s house in Flanders and then the events of yesterday flooded in. Somewhere a cockerel crowed and then another and another. He forced open his eyes and looked about him.

  ‘Jane, is that you?’ he asked in a low voice.

  In the pearly-grey light coming through the window he saw a woman’s head turn and then she tiptoed over to him. He thought he remembered Jane placing a cushion beneath his cheek. Had he dreamed that she had also pressed a kiss on the sore spot on his head? If so, that raised an interesting question.

  ‘I’m sorry to wake you,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

  He shrugged. ‘I had intended spending the night at the inn in order to protect your reputation, but...’

  ‘You were exhausted and who is to say that your enemies might not have found you there?’ she said hastily. ‘I fear you must have been uncomfortable.’

  ‘I’ve spent nights in worse places,’ he said, easing his neck and slowly rolling his head before drawing the blanket over a naked shoulder. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m taking Simon to Anna. I left your daughter with her last night and will bring her back with me.’

  ‘The nightly feed!’ he exclaimed, grimacing with pain as he eased himself upright. The movement resulted in the blanket slipping down again and revealing his chest. ‘I had given no thought to it since coming here and I forgot Anna needed paying despite remembering to pay her son.’

  ‘I have paid her,’ said Jane, wondering if he had a spare shirt in his saddlebag. ‘Rest now. The children are sleeping down here as they have done most of winter. I must make haste, for Simon is hungry.’

  He smiled. ‘I will not delay you and will reimburse you when you come back.’

  Jane nodded and hurried from the house.

  Nicholas rose from the chair and, avoiding the sleeping children, picked up his coat from the stool where it had been drying. Leaving the blanket on the chair, he swung the garment with difficulty about his naked shoulders and went through into the rear chamber where he was able to make out shelves, as well as a spinning wheel, a loom and baskets of raw wool and thread. He drew back the bolt and lifted the latch, wondering if Jane had come to a definite decision yet regarding his proposal.

  He went outside into the garden and found to his relief that most of the snow had already melted and that the sky was free of cloud. There was an apricot-and-silver glow in the east and the scent of spring in the air, as well as the tantalising smell of baking bread. His stomach rumbled, reminding him tha
t he had not eaten since midday yesterday.

  For a short while he lingered, gazing down the garden over a vegetable patch and herb garden to a couple of fruit trees and what must be a hen house; he could hear the fowls clucking sleepily and unexpectedly was reminded of the woman’s voice he had thought he had recognised as he made his escape yesterday. If he was right, then it surely meant that she was behind the attack and had hired the men. And what of Berthe? Why should she have decided to make an enemy of him? It was troubling that she knew his destination was Witney. Maybe he should prepare for unwelcome visitors? He frowned, thinking that perhaps he should get in touch with the constable of the shire. He’d had dealings with him last year after the attempt on his life in Oxford.

  He returned to the house. Despite a throbbing head, an extremely stiff and painful shoulder and various aches and pains in other parts of his anatomy, he managed to steer around the sleeping children to the fire. He split the smouldering log with a poker and added some faggots of firewood. Then he poured the remains of a jug of ale into the pot containing what appeared to be barley broth and hung the pot over the fire.

  Whilst he waited for the food to warm, he took a knife from the table and cut the stitching in the hem of his riding coat. He removed a narrow oilskin package and a strip of folded soft leather containing several gold coins. Placing them on the table, he stared down at them. He would need to change one of them for coins of a smaller denomination if there was not enough in his pouch to pay Anna and to reimburse Jane.

  Was there a goldsmith or banker in Witney? If so, he would be able to produce proof of his identity and avail himself of more coin if necessary. He wanted to hold on to a couple of the gold coins to give to his younger brother. The other year they had made a wager as to which one of them would marry first. Nicholas smiled at the memory, for he was extremely fond of his actor-and-playwright brother and prayed that he would soon return to Oxford so he could discuss with him not only yesterday’s events, but also his plans for the future.

  He rose and went over to where he had left the saddlebags and removed thread and needle from a leather container and returned most of the gold coins to their hiding place. He kept out the package and sewed up the hem of his coat.

  By the time he had accomplished his task, he was feeling faint again, so rested for a while before getting to his feet and going over to stir the broth and remove it from the heat. The room was getting lighter by the moment, so he had no difficulty in seeing his way about in his search for an eating bowl. He wondered when the children would wake. He would appreciate silence for a little while longer, at least until Jane returned.

  But it was neither Jane nor the children who disturbed the peace as Nicholas sat down to break his fast, but the sound of the back-door latch being lifted that instantly alerted him to an intruder. A voice called out a greeting. He was on his feet in moments and hesitated before seizing the poker, then made his way into the back room where he came face-to-face with a man.

  He had grey eyes in a strong-boned face and Nicholas thought he looked vaguely familiar, but could not put a name to him. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  The man stared at the poker in Nicholas’s hand. ‘I might ask you the same question, except I know who you are.’

  Nicholas’s expression hardened. ‘Do you, indeed? Make yourself known, man, before I use this!’

  The intruder removed his cap and smoothed down the black hair that fell to his shoulders. ‘I am the weaver, Willem Godar. Is Mistress Caldwell within?’

  ‘Willem! That is a Flemish name,’ growled Nicholas, his fingers tightening on the poker, ‘and so is Godar.’

  ‘Aye, but my family have lived in England for years and I was born over here.’ His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. ‘If I am not mistaken, you are the renowned explorer, Nicholas Hurst.’

  Nicholas questioned whether that was a note of amusement or derision in the man’s deep voice. He had an accent which was not from this part of England, but one that was familiar to him. Kentish! Nicholas kept a firm grip on the poker and drew his coat more tightly about him. ‘How do you know me?’

  ‘I was born in Tenderden, not far from Raventon Hall. I remember seeing you on a couple of occasions when you visited Sir Gawain and Lady Elizabeth. I was amongst those who helped search for the murderer who killed his first wife. You were there then.’

  Nicholas remembered the occasion. There had been a time when he had wanted to marry Elizabeth. He told himself that it was highly unlikely that Godar and Berthe could have met before and be in league with each other.

  ‘All right, I accept that you’ve seen me before, but what are you doing here in this house? Mistress Caldwell made no mention of expecting a visit from you.’

  ‘I heard she was in need of a weaver and so I decided to come and see her,’ said Willem. ‘I have been to this town before and liked it.’

  Did you, indeed? thought Nicholas. ‘Who told you she was in need of a weaver?’ he asked.

  Willem rested a shoulder against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Sir Gawain Raventon was my informant.’

  Nicholas lowered the poker, thinking that Rebecca must had been in touch with Elizabeth and told her about Jane’s difficulty in finding a weaver. Even so, for this man to travel such distance from his home town, to work for a woman, surprised Nicholas. As did the earliness of the hour he had called and his entering by the back door. His suspicions resurfaced.

  ‘When did you arrive in Witney?’ asked Nicholas. ‘And what was your route?’

  ‘I came north with Sir Gawain to Oxford. He wished to visit his printing works and bookshop on Broad Street.’

  Nicholas frowned. ‘I was there yesterday and there was no mention of Sir Gawain visiting the premises.’

  Willem shrugged. ‘Maybe he wanted to catch his workers unawares. What hour were you there? We did not arrive until after noon. By the purest chance a man called Mortimer was in the shop, purchasing a copy of your latest book. Sir Gawain suggested that I accompany him to Minster Draymore, which is but a short distance from here.’

  ‘So you spent the night at Mortimer’s manor house?’

  Willem grimaced. ‘Despite the unexpected blizzard, he told me that it was not fit for visitors, although he planned staying there himself, so I found lodging in Minster Draymore.’

  Nicholas nodded, thinking what he had to say sounded feasible. ‘Where is Master Mortimer now?’

  ‘I presume he is still abed. When I saw the weather was clearing, I decided to make my way here without bothering him.’

  Nicholas stared at him pensively. ‘Does he know your purpose in coming here?’

  ‘Aye, Sir Gawain told him.’ He smiled. ‘I received the impression the news did not please him.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Nicholas drily. ‘It is a wife he wants, not Mistress Caldwell having another man to turn to.’ He paused, for his coat had begun to slide from his shoulders and he hoisted it back in place again with a wince. ‘Tell me, Master Godar, why come here when Tenderden is famous for its broadcloth and you are at home there?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions, Master Hurst,’ drawled Willem, ‘and I don’t see how that is any of your business.’

  Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. ‘Fair comment! Perhaps you would not mind telling me if you are married?’

  He hesitated. ‘My wife died recently.’

  ‘My condolences. Do you have children?’

  ‘Aye, although again I do not see what business that is of yours, Master Hurst.’ Willem frowned. ‘I would ask you another question despite you did not answer my last one! Why the bandaged shoulder? How did you come by it?’

  ‘I was attacked on my way here,’ said Nicholas, his expression hardening. ‘Now, if you can explain why you didn’t knock on the front door, but sneaked in the back way?’

  Willem’s eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘I did knock, but received no answer, so I came round here and found the door unlocked.’ He paused.
‘Have you reported the attack to the constable? If I did not mishear Sir Gawain yesterday, then you were attacked last year in Oxford, as well as in London.’

  ‘So you were discussing me,’ said Nicholas, frowning.

  ‘Only because of your book. Will you be staying here long?’

  ‘Until this latest attack is dealt with I will be remaining in Witney.’ He thought that Godar looked none too pleased with that news.

  ‘How many of them were there? Were you robbed?’

  ‘Fortunately I managed to escape with my possessions intact as there were only two men.’

  ‘Then you were fortunate.’ Willem walked over to the loom and gazed down at it. Watching him, Nicholas experienced a flash of anger. It seemed to him that this weaver was making himself at home much too early. He wished he could kick him out, but sensed the weaver would not be so easy to get rid of and had a strong feeling Jane would resent him taking charge in such a fashion.

  As if aware of Nicholas’s eyes on him, Willem turned and met his gaze. ‘Perhaps Oxfordshire isn’t the safest of places for you, Master Hurst? Do you think the two attacks are in any way connected?’

  Nicholas shrugged and a flash of pain crossed his face. ‘Unlikely, although I didn’t believe myself to have so many enemies.’

  There was a long silence.

  Willem hesitated before saying, ‘Mistress Caldwell...?’

  ‘She has gone to the bakery and should soon return,’ said Nicholas. ‘Perhaps it is best that you remain in here whilst you wait. The children are asleep in the other room.’

  Willem nodded and went over to one of the baskets and fingered the wool. Nicholas decided to leave the weaver to his own devices, wondering what else he might have discussed with Sir Gawain. He doubted the knight had mentioned the names of the men involved and the reason why they wanted him dead.