by Anne O'Brien
Alone, she bent her mind to her plan, focusing on the enticing tale of an ancestress, back in the distant days of the Conquest. Sybil de Lacy, a glorious heroine of Elizabeth’s childhood, the subject of endless fascination, had taken a dagger to the murderer who had killed her lord because he desired her in marriage. Could she, Elizabeth, emulate Sybil? If she could not act within the law, then she would act outside it and take her revenge, by her own hand as Sybil had done. And that would take the burden from Richard and from David. As for the repercussions for herself, at that moment she neither knew nor cared. All she knew was that her brother’s blood would be avenged. His soul that cried out to her would be laid to rest.
‘Are they gone?’ she asked Jane Bringsty.
‘Yes.’ Jane leaned forwards, watching, at the window. ‘I still don’t see why you would not—’
‘Never mind that.’ Elizabeth stood, her distracted air quite vanished. ‘If you are of a mind to be useful, come with me.’
She took the steps at a brisk pace and vanished through the door of Richard’s chamber where she began a hasty and selective search of the coffers and chests. The results were wrapped into a rough parcel with a cloak.
‘Take this.’ She handed over the parcel. ‘Meet me in the stables within the half-hour. Arrange for two horses to be ready.’
‘Leave well alone is what I say!’ Jane clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘I don’t know what you intend, but I see danger…’
Elizabeth rounded on her serving woman, all patience at an end. ‘Leave well alone, indeed. Do nothing, my lord says. For once the pair of you are in agreement. But I will not allow my uncle to escape without retribution for spilling Lewis’s blood! If Richard will do nothing, than I will.’
Then Elizabeth was already on her way to borrow a few necessary items from the soldiers’ quarters. Within the quarter of the hour they were riding out in the direction of the Midsummer Fair.
The whole of the March had come together for the Midsummer Fair. Striking livery was evident on all sides, banners drifting in the warm air, both York and Lancaster well rep resented. But for this day, allegiance to York or Lancaster would be put aside. The sun shone and the ale flowed, conflict put aside in the cause of local unity and frivolous celebration.
Richard had anticipated the event with mild pleasure, as he did every year. Now he set the muscles in his jaw as frustration bit deep. He ought to be able to enjoy it. Instead, he found his thoughts re turning to Elizabeth’s strangely wayward behaviour and her sharp words. To his own regret that she had not turned to him and begged him to stay.
Don’t you trust me? she had asked crossly.
Well, no, not always. Even now he was wondering what she was planning. When Elizabeth looked at her most innocent, he feared her the most. Not that she had appeared particularly innocent. As he knew better than anyone, she could be headstrong, fool hardy in her loyalty to those she loved. Difficult, wilful, capricious, and yet he admired her. Was intrigued by her, enjoyed the fire and heat in their physical union… His body leapt to uncomfortable readiness as he imagined her carrying his heir, before he deliberately turned his thoughts away from such pleasures and back to Elizabeth’s unusual recalcitrance. Sharp in tuition told him that some thing was afoot. Yet after the episode of the poison, surely he could trust her to keep her serving woman in check, and herself not to step beyond the line of what was acceptable behaviour for the Lady of Ledenshall? Perhaps there was a very simple explanation, he decided, even if it were not her usual modus operandi—that she would stay away to avoid any confrontation with her uncle, who had blood on his hands.
He found himself distracted by the approach of Mistress Anne Malinder, superbly and expensively gowned, magnificently victorious in the company of her newly betrothed husband, Hugh Mortimer of Wigmore, wealthy and well born. Richard did not linger. He could see the calculation in those sharp green eyes even at a distance. For the first time, Richard had to admit to a sense of relief that Elizabeth—and Jane Bringsty—were not present.
So with David at his side, purely male pursuits in mind, Richard made his way across the grassy space to accost Robert Malinder where he stood, cup of ale in hand, to watch the start of the archery competition.
‘Richard!’ Robert snared two passing cups of ale. ‘And David. I heard you were back at Ledenshall. Does your uncle approve of your association with The Enemy or did you escape without his per mission?’ Tactless as ever, Robert grinned.
But David was not listening. He had stiffened, his eyes narrowed on the middle distance. He drew in a sharp breath. Then grabbed Richard’s sleeve.
‘Richard!’
Richard, indulgently, would have brushed the lad off. ‘Go and find yourself another cup of ale and an archer to talk to, and give me some peace. It’s not your turn at the butts for some time. You’re like a flea on a warm dog!’
‘But, Richard! Look. There!’
So he did, if only to keep the boy quiet, following David’s direction. A figure, a tall, slim young man with a cloak draped over his arm, made his lei surely way around the edge of the crowd, his face averted from the spectacle. In a moment of terrible recognition, Richard’s fingers tensed on the cup, blood running cold.
‘God’s blood!’
‘I thought it was Lewis,’ David murmured, ‘but of course, it isn’t. If you were to ask me, I would say that—’
‘I know exactly what you would say,’ Richard interrupted through his teeth.
‘She used to do it when she was a girl—borrow Lewis’s clothes, take a horse and ride out. Until our father beat it out of her. What is she about?’
‘How would I know what my wife is about?’ Richard retorted. They were already in pursuit with elbows and apologies, but the crowd was dense.
‘Why was she carrying a bow and a sheaf of arrows?’ Robert asked, following. ‘Surely Elizabeth would not participate in so public a display as this?’
‘No, she would not.’ Richard’s eyes locked on David’s, horribly aware that the boy’s thoughts mirrored his own. ‘But she might just consider… And if she does, the Midsummer Fair will become a bloody battlefield.’
As the crowd thinned they ran in fear.
Elizabeth marvelled that her blood ran ice cold, her breathing still and calm. From the rise where she took up her position, she squinted against the sun to bring John de Lacy into sharp focus. How easy it would be to wing the goose-fledged arrow towards his arrogant heart so that Lewis’s shade would rest in peace. There were no doubts in her mind. They had all been weighed and discarded. Sybil de Lacy would be proud of her. The slightest smile, stern and controlled, touched her face. With no further thought, Elizabeth selected an arrow.
Richard saw her immediately on the little hill. The cloak was laid at her feet with the sheaf of arrows. Except for one, which she was intent on notching to the bow string. Her whole attention was focused on the distant figure of her uncle the murderer, clearly visible amidst the throng in his rich blue tunic, his draped and feathered hat. Richard found that he was holding his breath as she took up her position, lifted and pulled back the bow to her ear. Calm, composed, purposeful. Would she carry out her plan or lose her nerve at the last moment? No, he accepted. He could not rely on her re thinking her deadly scheme. Would she risk endangering others in the crowd? But her aim was excellent. In her eyes it would be a justifiable execution to avenge Lewis. Her face was pale, her lips set in a thin line, all sharp focus. Had she even considered the repercussions if she were to be successful? That she would be taken and brought before the weight of the law for murder, and with all the witnesses to so public an act, would un doubtedly be found guilty.
Richard felt cold sweat prickle along his spine. He doubted that she had given such trivial matters even a passing consideration.
All this swept through Richard’s mind in a blink of an eye as he considered his next move. If he shouted to distract her, it would draw attention to them, some thing that he would avoid. Nor would it
necessarily stop her. If he waited until he was close enough to wrest the damned bow from her hand, she could already have released the first arrow with dire results.
Oh, God!
But the faintest tinge of admiration brushed along his tightly wound nerves that she should consider such a plan and execute it so perfectly. Without David’s eagle eye on the crowd, she would now be sighting along the arrow, aiming at John de Lacy’s black heart with no one being the wiser.
The decision over what to do was taken out of his hands.
‘Stop! Elizabeth…’ David shouted at his side, his arms raised in furious gestures to gain her attention. ‘Not that… Don’t do it.’
Elizabeth stiffened, but did not lower the bow, merely turned her head. Richard looked on, appalled, as her eyes, bright with fulfilment, met his.
And then there was nothing for them to do but sprint ahead up the hill towards her. Elizabeth remained exactly where she was, bow still drawn to taut readiness. She sighted again and Richard knew with dread that they would not reach her in time. Answering his worst fears, he could only watch as she loosed the arrow to soar over the heads of the nearer crowd and vanished towards its living target. A sharp cry rang out above the general babble. An immediate confusion in the crowd, voices raised. And Elizabeth calmly fitted another arrow to her bow, drew it back, sighted, as if she had all the time in the world to unleash the arrow at an in animate bale of straw as she had done at Ledenshall.
Impelled by a fear greater than any he had ever experienced in his life, Richard took the only option left to him.
Before she could release the arrow, Elizabeth found herself struck with force from the side, with an impact so great that she was flung to the ground, to be buried under a heavy weight. As a last-ditch effort, Richard had launched himself at her as if she were an opponent and they were engaged in mortal combat. Lacking finesse it might be, he decided, as he lay above her, breathing laboured, but it had provided the solution. Elizabeth lay beneath him, winded, shocked from the unexpected attack, her face white, her eyes dark with thwarted passion. He felt her breath heave against his chest. Fury shimmered round her. It crossed his mind momentarily that she might be injured, but no time for that. Faces in the crowd were beginning to turn in their direction as a clamour of voices rose from the vicinity of Sir John, who might or might not still be alive.
‘I can’t breathe.’ His wife glared up at him, hands braced against his chest. ‘You’re crushing me. How dare you interfere? You’re hurting me! Let me up.’
‘In God’s name, Elizabeth! That’s the least of our troubles!’ He fought to temper the hot words that threatened to pour out and blister them both, pushing to his feet, pulling Elizabeth with him with a jerk of his hand around her wrist. It would be a disaster to be seen wrestling on the grass with his wife, a long bow and goose-fledged arrow on the ground beside them, if John de Lacy lay dead in the crowd with a similar arrow buried in his chest.
‘You shouldn’t have stopped me! Let me finish it.’ Dishevelled and furious, she was beyond reasoning.
Richard kept his fingers tightly around her wrist and watched the surge of people, forcing his brain into icy calm. It would require more luck than skill to get them out of this without blood shed.
‘Sir John lives. But is injured—his arm or shoulder, I think,’ Robert reported as he joined them. ‘At least he’s on his feet.’
‘Right. Then there’s hope for us.’ Richard picked up the cloak and cast it round Elizabeth’s shoulders. It fell to cover her from shoulder to ankle, to cover her unconventional appearance. He pulled the hat firmer on to her head. Then pushed her to stand behind Robert, as a young squire might wait behind his lord.
‘Don’t say a word. Don’t move until I tell you. Try to be in visible.’ He snarled the words, hoping that the venom might encourage his wife to obey him. ‘If you value your life or your freedom, you’ll do as I say. Or even if you value mine.’ He ignored the quick reaction, the stiffening under his hands as she absorbed his words. There was no time for niceties. ‘You are Robert’s squire and will wait behind him in silent service. Keep your eyes down, your face in shadow, your mouth closed.’
Not waiting to see if she would comply, he spun around. A group of soldiers in de Lacy livery were covering the ground at a run, some with drawn swords. They had accurately judged the direction of the arrow. Praying their luck would hold, Richard plucked up the longbow, the arrow, and thrust them both into David’s hand.
‘What…?’
‘Play the role as if you life depended on it. Which it might very well do. A foolish boy, lacking discipline, judgement and ability with a bow. A lad who deserves a harsh beating for his stupidity this day.’ Which was enough of a hint. David immediately fell into an arrogant posture and a suitably sullen expression. ‘Let’s pray your uncle is un willing to push the matter beyond the obvious when he sees who’s involved. If you ever had ambitions to be a mummer, now’s the time.’
Richard brushed the dust from his own tunic, ran a hand through disordered hair and snatched at the veneer of confidence and authority that threatened to be overcome by the whole ridiculous situation. Praying that Elizabeth, his superbly unpredictable wife with a commendable passion for vengeance, however ill timed it might be, would remain silent, he turned with a stern expression to face de Lacy wrath.
‘Malinder!’ Sir John himself approached the little group on the hill, breathing heavily from his exertions. Blood stained the sleeve of his tunic and dripped from his fingers. ‘What in God’s name? Would you endanger another de Lacy life in so public a manner? When all the world and his wife is here to stand witness?’ He raised a hand to signal his men-at-arms to move forwards and surround the culprit.
‘Sir John… What can I say?’ Richard also groped for any latent talent for acting. A heart felt apology, a touch of wry humour, a dash of anger. ‘Thank God you’re not harmed.’
‘No thanks to you.’ Sir John’s fist clenched on his sword hilt.
‘Not guilty, my lord.’ Lord Richard spread his hands in uneasy regret. ‘Here’s your culprit.’ He grasped David none too gently by the arm and yanked him forwards to face his uncle.
‘David!’ Sir John’s face reddened under a surge of blood as he found himself facing his sulky nephew. ‘David?’ His voice harsh with disbelief.
Sullen, full of misplaced confidence, David cocked his head, a youthful braggart. ‘I was only practising. I would take my turn at the butts and not disgrace the de Lacy name against the Glamorgan archers.’
‘You fired into the crowd?’
An insolent shrug.
‘You fool! You put an arrow through me!’
‘It was an accident. As I said, I was practising.’ He cast a careless eye over his uncle’s bloody garments. ‘I think you’re not badly hurt, sir.’
There was an intake of breath at such defiance and Sir John looked ready to explode. Richard stepped in with perfect timing. ‘Practising? In a crowd of people? Aiming at a buzzard flying overhead, I suppose. Where did you expect the arrow to fall? You could have killed anyone.’
‘I didn’t think.’ The sullen cloud thickened. David hunched a shoulder. ‘I am a de Lacy. I am not answerable to you, Malinder, for my actions!’
‘You appear not to be answerable to anyone.’ Richard took on the mantle of strict guardian. He stared down his fine nose with superb and splendid disgust at the unrepentant young man and sliced at him with all the sharp precision of a boning knife. ‘As you are living under my roof, at the request of your sister, whose wishes and happiness are my first priority, you’ll accept my authority and my judgement. I’ll brook no such disobedience or in discipline.’ Without warning he lifted his hand and dealt the lad a brisk cuff to the side of the head. It knocked David to the floor, more out of surprise than force, but with the desired effect. ‘I’ve rarely seen such a display of thoughtless stupidity from one who would aspire to a knighthood. You should have been disciplined long ago. You could have had bloo
d on your hands this day.’
‘But I didn’t.’ David sat in the dust, managing a curl of his lip.
‘No, you didn’t. Fortune smiled on you, a situation you did not deserve. Sir John is only wounded. Get up.’
David did so, in undignified discomfiture, yet still as un gracious and unreasoning as before.
‘Sir John could have you beaten to within an inch of your life. As it is, you’ve made us the object of speculation. We’ll be the talk of every family the length and breadth of the March.’ Richard spared him one final contemptuous glance, then turned to de Lacy. ‘My apologies again, Sir John. Perhaps you wish to take him to task yourself.’ Hoping he had done enough to allay all suspicions.
‘Yes…well.’ Sir John had remained a silent witness of the scene. Now he ad dressed himself curtly to Richard, but without the previous edge of aggression. ‘There’s no need, I think. He’s young and will learn his lesson.’ He eyed his nephew dispassionately enough.
Richard exhaled slowly, carefully, conscious as he had been through out of Elizabeth’s simmering fury behind him, barely contained. He could sense it in the air, taste it, as he could sense and taste the passion in her when he took her in his arms and kissed her into shivering compliance. How could John de Lacy not be aware of so much emotion around him? Yet Sir John had taken no account of the apparently in significant figure, cloaked and eyes downcast, behind Robert Malinder’s large figure. ‘You need care, my lord.’ Richard gestured. ‘Your arm still bleeds.’
‘A flesh wound,’ Sir John answered curtly as he eyed David. ‘It is high time you returned to Talgarth. Some self-discipline and good manners are required as well as training before you step into my shoes.’ Then he inclined his head in final recognition of the Malinders and strode off back down the hill to where the archery contest had at last got under way, his retainers following.
